“All right, lads,” Percival said, his voice low so that the rebels could not hear. “One last volley, then shields on backs and onto the ship. Three. Two. One … now!”
Another volley whipped into the tunnel, then Arcturus barely had time to turn before he was swept up in the rush to board.
“Fire at will!” Sergeant Caulder roared.
Bolts whistled into the tunnels, sending rebels diving for cover. Men hurled themselves over the sides of the ship, and Arcturus fell into the bilges, half-submerged in the stagnant water slopping there. Even as he lifted himself, Sacharissa’s weight fell on his back and he found his face underwater, then he was lurched onto his side as they were launched into the river and the current took the ship.
He spluttered and struggled into a crouch. Quarrels buzzed back and forth as Percival’s soldiers fired over the sides, while thuds reverberated along the ship from the rebels’ returning fire.
Then their world darkened, the roof of the tunnel looming overhead. Arcturus snatched a glance at the chamber before it was out of sight. Rebels were streaming in, firing desperately as the ship drifted out of range. At the very back, he saw Barcroft, emerging red-faced from the tunnel. The general stared after the ship, then threw his sword to the ground in disgust.
Arcturus sat back and let the soldiers take command. Orders swirled around him, and for a brief moment he closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion overwhelm him. Then someone took his hand and led him to the back of the boat. He tripped and jostled his way over the rowers’ benches, before being gently shoved into a hollow at the back of the ship, where a pile of dry sacking was stacked.
Prince Harold let go of Arcturus’s hand and tugged some sacking over the exhausted boy.
“Get some rest,” the prince said. “You’ve earned it.”
CHAPTER
53
ARCTURUS WOKE WITH A start. At first, his eyes saw only darkness, but then he registered the undulating ceiling of the tunnel and he remembered where he was.
“How long was I out?” Arcturus asked, rubbing his head where it had pressed against the ship’s side.
“Less than an hour,” Prince Harold said.
The young royal was on the rowers’ bench in front of Arcturus, heaving at the long oar with another soldier. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were wide and alert. It was bitter cold, and as the Prince spoke, his breath misted the air.
Arcturus winced as he sat up, feeling the aches and pains of several days on the run. Still, his short rest had given him a new burst of wakefulness. He felt something shift beside him, only to see Crawley, bound and gagged. Sacharissa brought her snout close to the steward’s face and growled. He wriggled away, whimpering.
“Did you send a message to your father?” Arcturus asked.
“No ink and paper,” Prince Harold said, shaking his head miserably. “They still think we’ve been captured.”
Arcturus pushed Sacharissa off his lap and stood. The only source of light was a single torch on either end of the ship, and the tunnel seemed to stretch forever both behind and in front of them. The soldiers were sitting two to a bench all the way down, rowing slowly in the dark water.
At the very front, Arcturus could see Elaine and the others, curled up in the space beneath the prow. Only Alice was awake—tending to Edmund. Even from the other side of the ship, the boy’s face looked very pale.
“Ulfr, how long until we stop?” Prince Harold asked. “I assume there’s a way out on the other side? Perhaps somewhere near Corcillum?”
Arcturus turned to see Ulfr perched on the back of the ship. He was manning the tiller, guiding the boat’s path by swinging the rudder from side to side. The dwarf did not answer.
“Ulfr, I appreciate what you’ve done for us,” Prince Harold said, “and I will never forget it. But this is the third time I have asked you. I need to know where we’re going.”
The dwarf looked away, as if reluctant to speak.
“We’re going to the dwarven quarter,” Ulfr announced, jerking the nearest soldiers from their reverie of rowing. “And we’ll be there any minute.”
“The dwarven quarter?” Prince Harold repeated. “Is that … safe?”
Ulfr stared at him, as if he was scared to speak.
“The rebels won’t know you’re there,” Ulfr replied. “These boats could have belonged to anyone, as far as they know. You’ll be safe there.”
“What about the dwarven elders?” Prince Harold asked, his face suddenly panicked. “Will they shelter us … or use us?”
“Use you?” Ulfr growled, affronted by the idea.
“There’s a war being fought up there,” Prince Harold said, taking a deep breath. “Hominum’s whole political system is on the edge of collapse. With us in their hands, the dwarves would have leverage over both sides.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, you’ve got a small army with you,” Ulfr snapped. “And our men are not trained warriors—we’d lose twice your number to capture you.”
Harold opened and closed his mouth, unable to answer.
“And you’re more trouble than you’re worth. If the rebels were to find out we were sheltering you, they’d storm the dwarven quarter just to recapture you. Your father would do the same, even if we claimed to be keeping you safe for him. He hates us.”
Prince Harold looked at his hands, ashamed.
“I was scared to tell you because I think the dwarven elders might throw you out, you fool,” Ulfr said, his face red with anger. “Hurry you out onto Corcillum’s streets and stay out of this rebellion.”
“I’m sorry,” Prince Harold said.
“You humans are all the same,” Ulfr said, staring moodily into the darkness.
Then he straightened, peering ahead. “We’re here.”
The boat lurched, and Arcturus fell to the side. By the time he had scrambled to his feet, the boat had scraped itself onto a gravelly beach.
They could have sailed by it and barely noticed it in the darkness, for it was no wider than a man was tall, and there seemed to be nothing discernible other than that small strip of flat land.
“Everybody out,” Ulfr called.
Arcturus gathered his weapons and jumped over the side, landing in the shallows. He winced as his boots filled with water. Sacharissa sailed over him. She landed on the dry sand and gave him a bemused look.
“It’s all right for some,” Arcturus grumbled, stomping after her.
It took but a minute for the men to assemble on the beach, stamping and blowing on their hands to stay warm.
“Nobles, if you would,” Ulfr called, motioning for Prince Harold and the others to join him. Arcturus followed, and they stood away from the soldiers.
“We can wait here,” Ulfr said once they were out of earshot. “Wait until this all blows over.”
“If our parents don’t know we’ve escaped, the rebels will just keep lying to them and more of Corcillum will burn,” Prince Harold said.
“And Edmund won’t last long in this cold,” Alice said. “None of us will, really. We need shelter.”
Edmund was leaning against her, his black hair plastered with sweat across his forehead. He smiled weakly, unable to speak. Whatever injury the orc had done to his head, it was taking its toll on the poor boy.
“Well, then, I can present you to the Dwarven Council and they can decide what to do with you,” Ulfr said. “There’s nowhere else I can take you.”
“Can’t you take us to your home?” Arcturus asked. He had never heard of the Dwarven Council before that night, but it sounded like a risky move.
Ulfr let out a bitter laugh.
“I live in Vocans now. What, you think they kept a room for me here? We’re forced to live in a small circle of land in the center of Corcillum; there’s no space as it is.”
“Family perhaps?” Prince Harold said.
“And put them at risk?” Ulfr said. “Even if I wanted to, few dwarves own their own homes. Most of us only have a room in a communal dwelling.”
“The Dwarven Council will want no part in this,” Prince Harold said. “You said as much.”