“Don’t worry, little mouse,” she said. “You’ll meet them soon.”
Her solid body pressed into me, trapping me, but with a start, I felt something sharp prick my hip.My knife.In my panic, I’d forgotten all about it. I went still, not wanting to alert her, and began, with agonizing slowness, to move my hand to where I’d stashed it.
Rexim had vanished from the window now. Uirbrig gave a disappointed shake of his head and lifted his fingers. The onslaught resumed.
Iovawn Crake was muttering again, his eyes fixed ahead of him, his lips barely moving.
Ordinarily the laconite over the doorways in the ward, inlaid into the moat, reinforcing the archways, would have dulled and deadened any Mudmouth’s assault. But as it was…there was a rumble, a low growl, that reminded me, bloodcurdlingly, of the quake before the tidal wave. The ground in front of him seemed toripple…
With a series of reports like pistol shots, the stone around the keep’s entrance split open and crumbled. The ram then made short work of the door, which splintered and fell inward, smashed to tinder.
I could only watch as House Crake’s forces marched through the inner ward and into the keep.
—
“Time to get acquainted with our real masters,” said Nemaine, drawing back from me, shifting her grip.
The split second of freedom gave me time to whirl around and grab my knife, now inches from my fingers. I stabbed out at her, my hand twisting awkwardly, but the blade connected and sank into her side.
She gave a cry and clutched the knife’s handle. The wound didn’t look life-threatening, but it was enough distraction to allow me to run. I pitched away from her, almost tumbling, then bound down the hallway, my strides uneven.
I heard her spitting curses behind me, then the sounds of her fumbling with something—a tinderbox. I had to get away before she struck up a flame. But there, ahead of me: my pouch of laconite. I snatched it up and held it close as I streaked down the corridor.
I now knew these halls nearly as well as I’d known Arbenhaw’s, and I darted from corridor to storeroom to stairway, taking the maids’ passages, the footmen’s hidden doors. Soon the Sparkmouth’s heavy steps and snarls of rage faded. Perhaps her wound had slowed her down. Or perhaps Nemaine had other matters to pursue—and didn’t think this “mouse” presented enough of a threat. All the same, I was sure Crake would post guards in the keep. Safer, for now, to be outside its walls.
I slipped out a side door, steadying myself against the stone. My legs dragged, my exhaustion overwhelming, but though my body was tired, my senses were buzzing.
The thought came to me:I have todosomething.
There had to be some way I could help House Shearwater. Do something to prove to myself—and them, maybe—that I wasn’t who they thought I was: a traitor and a coward.
I took in the vista that opened ahead of me: a wide view east, looking down on the cove. The mist had thinned over the hillocks on the island, the fog moving westward, farther into the bay. And within it…lights at the far end of the island.
I squinted, wondering who would be down there. Crake must have sent men to cut off our retreat. Not that there was any escape at high tide, but when Crake arrived, the tide was lower. Uirbrig clearly wasn’t taking any chances. I was glad now that I hadn’t fled for the tower’s ruins.
And then I saw the boats.
There were three, pulled up high above the cove. I could just see dark figures moving stealthily around them.
Why would Crake have brought boats with them? They’d marched down the causeway. They couldn’t need vessels.
I recalled my confusion when I’d thought Crake’s army was the Cage. The Cage wouldn’t use the causeway; they’d come over the flats. Follow the high tide back out to the island, use the rivers, maybe, to get across the bay—undetected until the very last moment.
My pulse pattered rapidly as I peered through the gloom, watching as the tiny figures unloaded items.
Understanding came like a plunge into icy water.
A second later, I ran for the cove path.
—
I had to take the long route around, and I didn’t want to risk a torch. My feet didn’t know all its dips and rises, as they did with the shorter, well-trodden tracks, and with the mist still wadded in the hollows like gauze, I had to pick my way carefully, eyes on the ground.
As I approached the cove, I edged forward, concealing myself behind tall gorse and rocky outcrops. I caught whispered voices, the light steps of feet, strained words being exchanged as the figures milled ahead.
From what I could see through the haze and the dimness, the boat people were armed with bows and arrows, rusted short swords, battered-looking crossbows. They were dressed drably, wrapped in dark hooded cloaks, not a Crake banner or a piece of armor in sight.
I swallowed thickly, steeled myself to step forward, but before I could, an arm snapped around my throat.
