Keeping close to the parapet, she hurried along the wall-walk. She reached a spot near the patriarchs and stopped, peering through a crenel.
The patriarchs were marching out in a body, all nine of them, resplendent in blue velvet capes and hats with white ostrich plumes. Behind them came a phalanx of guards, and in the midst of the guards, walked Franklin.
The Sunbiters sent out a procession too. It was led by a man wearing a shaggy fur robe, and a sword on one side and a dagger at the other, and a heavily dented helmet adorned with two blood-red horns. Behind him came a mob of armed men.
The patriarchs are going to be hacked to pieces, Chantel thought.
Of course, they had a hostage. They had Franklin. But he wasn’t worth much, surely. Chantel quite liked him, herself, even if he did have an annoying voice and an annoyingly superior attitude. But to the Sunbiters, he was just a deserter. Or that’s what he’d said, anyway.
Franklin walked with his chin up, as if he wasn’t afraid at all.
Chantel bet he was terrified.
The patriarchs weren’t carrying the dragon flag of Lightning Pass. They were marching under a white flag of truce.
The two processions stopped twenty paces apart.
A man stepped forward from the fur-clad ranks. He threw back his head, and yelled, “Who comes to speak to Karl the Bloody?”
So that man with the horns is Karl the Bloody, Chantel thought. Franklin had said that when he captured people, he let them choose the stake he was going to impale them on.
“The Nine Patriarchs of the Kingdom of Lightning Pass,” replied Lord Rudolph, his voice calm but carrying.
“The Nine Patriarchs of the Kingdom of Lightning Pass!” yelled the Marauders’ herald.
“I heard, thank you,” said Karl the Bloody. He took off his horned helmet and tossed it over his shoulder. One of his men caught it and held it reverently. Karl’s red hair glinted in the sun. “Greetings, Nine Patriarchs. Do you bring me word from your king?”
“Indeed,” said Lord Rudolph. “King Rathfest the Restless demands that you cease to surround his kingdom with belligerent troops, and go away peacefully.”
“We hold the toll road through the mountains,” said Karl the Bloody. “And we surround the harbor. We await the king’s response to our demands. Open the harbor!”
“It is His Majesty’s pleasure to point out,” said Lord Rudolph, “that the harbor is already open to such shipmasters as pay the fees.”
“Which are ruinous,” said Karl the Bloody.
Chantel was surprised to hear that all this trouble was about the harbor. Weren’t there other harbors?
But no . . . Franklin had said there weren’t any for three hundred miles.
“The king is put to great expense to maintain the harbor,” said Lord Rudolph. “Nonetheless, he will graciously consider your request, if you go away.”
Karl the Bloody sneered. “A worthy try, Mr. Nine Patriarchs. But we find ourselves comfortably situated here. We have plenty to eat—unlike you, I daresay. And it would be most inconvenient to move our catapults, with which we can hurl deadly missiles into your city, and our siege engines, which we’ve been at some trouble to build high enough to top your city walls. No, we’ll stay.”
“Do you not see the mighty dragon of Lightning Pass that circles in the sky, ready to wreak havoc on your camp, your women, and your children?” demanded Lord Rudolph.
Chantel looked up. Lightning was flying overhead, in plain view of everyone. People in the streets of Lightning Pass were crying out in excitement and alarm.
“I see an illusion, no doubt cooked up by your wise women,” said Karl the Bloody. “It is cleverly done. I congratulate them on their artistry. It doesn’t frighten us.”
“The dragon is not all we have,” said Lord Rudolph. “We have a hostage.”
He turned, and made a signal.
The patriarchs stepped aside, and the phalanx opened up enough for Karl the Bloody to see Franklin, who held his head high and glowered.
Karl the Bloody came a few steps closer to gaze at the hostage.
Chantel gulped in surprise. Franklin’s hair was exactly the same shade of red as Karl the Bloody’s. Their eyes were the same dark brown, and their teeth were crooked in the same way. Their noses had been broken differently, however.
“Oh, a hostage. I see,” said Karl the Bloody. “Well, boy? Do you find you have improved your lot by deserting your liege-lord?”
Franklin looked up at Karl. “I haven’t made it any worse.”
Karl smiled. “Bravely said, at any rate.” He turned to Lord Rudolph. “And I suppose the offer is that, if we leave, you won’t kill him.”
“That is correct,” said Lord Rudolph. “However, if you refuse to depart—”
“Understood,” said Karl. He shrugged with one shoulder. “Kill him.”
Chantel gasped aloud.
Lord Rudolph pursed his lips. “Do not make the mistake, sir, of thinking that ours is an idle threat.”
“Of course not,” said Karl. “Having threatened to kill him, you must do so. Otherwise, you lose face and, worse, cause me to doubt that you are a man of your word. And if we are not men of our word, what are we? I quite understand.” He nodded to Franklin. “Die bravely, son. At least do that right.” He turned back to Lord Rudolph. “Are we finished here?”
“So it would seem,” said Lord Rudolph.
And, still bearing the white flag of truce, the patriarchs and their attendants turned and marched back toward the harbor district. Franklin was almost hidden among the guards, who were clutching him more tightly than ever as they hustled him along. From where Chantel stood, he was just a tiny patch of red hair bobbing amid the uniforms.
Chantel was still staring after them in horror when Lightning swooped down on Seven Buttons. A hail of arrows bounced off his scales as Chantel scrambled hurriedly onto his back.
They took off, fast. They sailed higher and higher, and Chantel began to feel quite ill. At last they landed on the high mountain crag.
Chantel slid hastily off the dragon’s back. “I don’t believe it! They’re not really going to kill him, are they?”
“Who?” said Lightning.
“Franklin! The boy with the red hair!”
“Probably,” said Lightning.
“Why didn’t the Sunbiters stop them! There’s thousands of them, they way outnumber the patriarchs and the guards! They could—”
“Honor,” said the dragon.
Chantel grabbed Lighting by the shoulder urgently. “Do something!”
The dragon blinked a golden eye. “Such as?”
“Rescue him! Dive in there with flames and kill all the patriarchs!”
“And people?” said the dragon.
In the distance, far, far below, the patriarchs were making their way through the gate into the harbor district. Crowds pressed out of their way on the street.
“Well, no, of course not, not the people, but—” Chantel struggled to calm herself. “When are they going to kill him? And where?”
The dragon cocked his head thoughtfully. “On the wall?”
“On top of the wall,” said Chantel. “Where sacrifices are made. And where his people can see. Why? Oh, right, so the patriarchs can be men of their word. When?”
“Now?” the dragon suggested.