Blade of Champions

Chapter Sixteen: Preparation

        CHAPTER SIXTEEN

        PREPARATION

 When the two spies arrived at Seven's Glade, the others could tell at once that something was afoot.

'Alright then, spit it out,' said Karver, looping his thumbs through his tool belt and looking from one to the other with an excited gleam in his eyes.

Nadoli paused, partway through skinning a rabbit, and sat back on her heels to listen.

Attagood launched straight into the proposal, wasting no time on preliminary explainations. When he had done, Karver was staring at the both of them with a thunderstruck expression.

'You're crazy,' he said. Then he cracked his knuckles and grinned. 'Count me in. What about you, Nads?'

Nadoli put down the rabbit and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her forearm. She stood up, her hands gory, her face earnest. 'Do you really think this could work?' she said.

Instead of answering, Attagood looked sideways at Hughell, who swallowed, but knew he couldn't back down now. Slowly, he nodded. 'I do.' 

A spark of determination flickered behind the lady's eyes. 'Tell me what needs to be done.'

Spurred by fresh determination, the four fell to work without wasting another hour.

Karver began gathering every piece of rope, cord and leather he could get his hands on to make a rope long and strong enough to lift a body. He sliced their bedrolls into strips and picked the handles off the saddlepacks, and when this was still not enough, he went so far as to cut the safety girths off their saddles.

Attagood disappeared often in the weeks that followed, sometimes for days at a time. Whenever he returned he seemed thinner and grimmer than ever, and they shrank from asking questions. His task was to plan their route back to Cytra, and if he were to prevent recapture, he would have to know the forest better than their pursuers and lead the slaves down secret, hidden paths through the mountains.

Nadoli consulted with him often, when he was around. Their supplies were running low already and most what they would eat would have to be caught or gathered on the move. Because of this, she was forever writing calculations in some scroll or another, the freckles on her forehead creased with concentration.

As for Hughell, he spent his time becoming invisible.

Day and night, he travelled the path between Seven's Glade and the armoury, planning every footstep, perfecting every move. With a chunk of soft limestone, he marked the uppersides of the branches they were to use, so that on moonlit nights the path could still be seen, glowing faintly in the blackness.

Yet even as the necessity of their tasks drew them apart, the four knights were all the more united by the purpose they shared, and the heart of the Prince that bound them together. 

They spoke little, each intent on what lay before them, each knowing that more than ropes and plans must be made ready for such an endeavour, but hearts as well.

Sweat dripped down Hughell's back as he clung in the darkness, the gentle rusltings of the forest surrounding him. Ahead, he could just make out the place where the lurid white markings zig-zagged to a stop, ending in a large, crossed circle on the wood. He had arrived.

The branch creaked as Hughell sat up, hooking his legs around the rough bark and taking a scrap of parchment from between his lips.

His fingers trembled as he scrunched the message into a tight ball and let it drop. For one instant it shone as it fell, a spot of white in a world of shadow. Then the darkness swallowed it up.

He strained his eyes to look down, knowing that it was a useless manoeuvre. Without the moon, navigating the forest floor would be like trying to see in a pool of ink. He could only hope that someone would find the message. It was not long; just a few lines scrawled in his rough, spidery hand, but he hoped with grited teeth it would do the trick. As a final safe-guard, he had ended the note with an instruction:

If you can read this, destroy this message and have two of your youngest sit back-to-back against the north wall at first light. I will be watching. The King Reigns... and His Son.

His task complete, Hughell lay still on the branch for a minute, imagining he could hear the breathing of the slaves below.

Almost two weeks had passed since the others had agreed to his plan. Preparations were nearly complete, although Karver had tested his rope several times and decided to add foot loops to make climbing easier. He'd have those done in a day or two, then all would be in place for the night they had set as the most suitable for the attempt: the night of the next full moon.

Just thinking about it made Hughell's palms crawl with anticipation, and the sweat break out and creep across the back of his neck.

It was worse for him than for the others, he though. If the rescue failed, he and his companions would all face death, along with any number of the unfortunate slaves. But only he would perish knowing that it was his proposal that had brought them to the end.

Fighting the sick feeling in his stomach, Hughell took a deep breath and began the slow, silent creep back along the branch, careful not to dislodge any large strips of bark. He wanted the slaves to find the note as quickly as possible, but dropping bits of canopy would be a good way to draw the guards attention. After watching them for days on end, Hughell was pretty sure the slaves would find the note without his help. He could almost picture them all in his mind. There was one woman who looked twice as old as any of the others, yet never failed to give encouragement wherever she could. A skinny wisp of a boy, whose fear of the Shadow Warriors had yet to match his optimism when they were out of sight.

No matter the risk, it would be worth it to know that he had given hope to those bruised hearts that lay sleeping below him; hearts that, just like his, would know that there was another Hand at work in Arrethtrae, and He had come to set captives free.