Page 79 of The Huntsman's Heart
The boy straightens until I can see his chin and all of his overlarge helmet, lowering his voice an octave. “I am a guard of this city.” The effect is undermined when the helmet slips forward over his face.
“The hell you are,” I mutter. “Let me pass!”
“Who goes there?” he repeats.
With a sigh, I give him my full title, and he still hesitates. I am growing frustrated. What commotion could be going on within to cause them to station children at the gates? It bodes ill. “Boy, do you know the stories about me?”
His voice wavers. “Y-yes.”
“Then you know that if I wanted to, I could scale these walls and eat your soul, but I will not if you hurry up and let me in. My horse needs stabling and fodder.”
The boy swallows. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The gate is raised shakily as if the huge iron crank is too heavy for him. No doubt it is.
I duck underneath as soon as Tharrok can pass through behind me. The first sight that accosts me is that of several fires burning in the town. Distant screams and shouts echo across the open land, and I curse.
I hurry to tie Tharrok with the guard’s horses, only to find a single gray mare housed in the guardhouse. But there’s no time to question why one boy was left to man the wall alone. I doubt he will be able to give me sensible answers either. He looks as if his mama sent him out here to keep him out of trouble.
With a whispered apology to my equine friend, I remove his saddle and harness and give him the briefest of rub downs. The rest will have to wait, though he can take me no farther.
As I approach the first buildings, a young lad comes running toward me in a panic. “The dead walk again.”
He runs past before I can question him, not that I need to. I pick up my pace, fearing I know all too well what is happening. The town is in chaos. One house I pass is burning, the thatched roof completely alight. Sparks fly and catch on the nearby roofs, and soon the whole row will be in danger. I wish I could help, but there is the compulsion drawing me on toward the queen and,stronger still, the cold aching fear that has settled in my bones that Guin is in trouble.
A lurching unnatural figure staggers between the burning houses. Its head hangs off its shoulders and one leg appears broken. It staggers on, and when I reach for it, my mind skims over it. The vessel is occupied.
I do not linger to work out this puzzle. Rather, I keep moving, hoping against hope she has not been discovered.
The guards at the gate to the inner keep step into my path, weapons at the ready.
“Step aside,” I growl.
“None shall pass by order of the queen.”
“You idiot. Do you think Her Majesty will not want me?”
They glance at each other nervously.
I sigh. “You would be better off helping put out that fire. If it spreads, the whole town might be in flames by morning.”
“We were told to keep our post, sir.”
I shake my head. “Do as you will. Only let me pass. Unless you want to join the numbers of the dead.”
There’s a pause, and finally they lower their weapons and stand aside. I jog into the courtyard and look around. Rather than the commotion I’m expecting, the area is still and quiet. Where are my hunters? Where are the rest of the guards?
As I make my way inside, I find guards stationed at every door which leads toward the queen’s solar. So she knows she is under threat, but does she know what the threat is?
There is no sign of Guin anywhere I can find. Nor the gargoyles. I have to hope they found the right window and they’re waiting to swoop in should the need arise. I will simply act the way I always do and give away nothing, not until I figure out what is going on.
Reluctantly, I take the steps up to the solar, unsurprised when I find guards at the door.
“The queen has sent for me.”
The guard steps aside and opens the door, and I step into the room. The air inside is thick and hot, smoky, as if the fire is burning wet wood. Melantha sits at her dressing table as usual, though the mirror is covered. Lines I’ve never seen before show around her mouth and eyes and her skin looks thin.
A quick glance reveals nothing else unusual.
“You called.”
