The Outcast (Summoner #4)(90)

“It’s done!” Rotter called.

Arcturus turned, and was relieved to see that all the boats were in the water. Their own ship had been maneuvered to where the river was most shallow, and it drifted in the current, held in place by a few of the remaining soldiers.

“Hurry,” Sergeant Caulder ordered, helping exhausted soldiers climb over the sides. “They’ll be here any minute.”

The sound of thudding wood made Arcturus turn. A crossbow bolt had flown from the darkness, burying itself in a shield in the front rank.

“Fire!” Percival bellowed.

The twang of crossbow strings sent a volley into the dim darkness, and the sergeant was rewarded with a scream.

“Back,” Percival shouted. “To the ship.”

As one, the men eased back, still in formation. It was beautiful to watch, for they moved in perfect time, and the second row reloaded even as they walked.

“One, two. One, two,” Percival chanted, setting the pace. Arcturus crouched behind the third rank, his crossbow loaded, but unable to fire through the formation. Instead, he hurled his torch over their heads, illuminating the inside of the tunnel facing them.

Rebels. There were as many as twenty of them, crouched fearfully behind the rock formations that littered the passageway.

“Fire!” Percival shouted again.

Another volley whistled into the darkness. More rebels fell, their paltry cover giving them little protection. But more were coming around the corner now, and a scattering of return fire thudded into the shield wall.

“One, two. One, two,” Percival repeated, and the men took up the chant, making their way back to the relative safety of the ship’s high sides.

More bolts whistled above him, and Arcturus realized that Rotter’s crew on the ship was firing over their heads. The soldiers had almost reached the ship now.

“Hold fire.” Sergeant Caulder’s voice floated from behind. “Give them cover on my command.”

“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.