Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (57 page)

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I just don’t know …” He hoped Mr. Goss’ plan accounted for that.

They continued their surveillance as the camp settled down. They even spotted Bridget and Leland’s healer, Ms. Miralda Jenkins, who appeared to be shooing soldiers to go to bed already.

Augum used the spyglass to check how many stood on watch—a man in the watchtower, a man standing before the prison tent, and one idly patrolling the camp, sometimes stopping to chat with Ms. Jenkins. He wondered why she was still up and what she would do if she spotted them.

“Almost time to turn,” Bridget whispered, rubbing her eyes as the last sand particles dropped into the bottom of the bronze hourglass. She turned it over, embedding it carefully back into the snow. The time to act quickly approached. Dawn would soon come, and when Mr. Goss lit the fire, they’d have to move fast.

“All right, let’s go over everything one last time,” Leera said.

They went over the ancient verses, the Slow Time scroll, and strategized on how they were going to sneak in there, something that depended on how many left the camp to investigate the fire.

With about half of the hourglass left, Augum pressed the spyglass to his eye. Ms. Jenkins was still up, idly pacing the camp. Strangely, she stopped right where the Orb of Orion lay hidden.

“Bridge, you have the pearl in your hand? I think Ms. Jenkins might be signaling something.”

She fumbled around for it. “Got it,” and closed her eyes.

Ms. Jenkins took a careful look around before making a show of dropping something by accident. When she bent down between the tents, disappearing from his view, Bridget began nodding, eyes still closed.

“Yes, it’s us. Uh-huh. No, we’re here to save Mya and Haylee and use Hangman’s Rock to teleport out of there. We have to find this triangular mark on—” A pause. “Uh-huh. All right. That’s great … no, but in about half an hour Mr. Goss will light a fire to the north, anything you can do to—uh-huh … perfect, thank you, and what about—”

Augum shifted back and forth between the Bridget and the spyglass. Suddenly he spotted movement. “Guard coming—!”

“Ms. Jenkins, watch out—” was all Bridget had time to say.

He watched as Ms. Jenkins revealed to the patrolling guard the thing she had dropped, then seeming to profess her clumsiness, gesticulating how hard it was to find anything in the snow. The guard chuckled along, adding his own story, and the two moved on.

“All right, she got away with it,” Augum said, putting down the spyglass.

“So what did she say?” Leera asked. “And how did she know about the orb?”

Bridget covered the pearl so she would not be overheard on the other end, just like when they were able to overhear Erika speak to the Legion. “Get this—there
were
detecting enchantments around the camp, but guess who placed them there?”

“Ms. Jenkins—” he and Leera chorused.

“Exactly—didn’t take her long to figure out who crossed the arcane boundary.”

“What’s she going to do?” Leera asked.

“Well, she seemed to know about the witch’s mark on the Rock and promised to help when the time came. Also, she said she’d try to send as many of the soldiers after the fire when it starts.”

“What about Mya—?” Augum asked.

“Don’t know. The guard wandered over before I could ask.”

Augum checked the hourglass, judging about a third of an hour remained before Mr. Goss was supposed to start the fire. Excitement sharpened his awareness as he looked eastward to the horizon, spotting the first blush of dawn. A cold breeze sprang up, scratching at the branches of the blue spruce and shaking snow loose.

“It’s time,” he said. “I’ll go retrieve the Orb. Let’s meet on the other side of camp, closest to Haylee’s tent. Don’t go in there without me.”

“All right, we’ll take the rucksack,” Bridget said.

He gave her a nod. “See you soon,” and began crawling over his previous trail. The wind rustled the hardy grass of the Tallows, helping obscure his movements all the way to the southwestern-most tent, where he stopped to listen.

Someone snored inside. He edged closer and closer, stopping when the guard on patrol sauntered by. The snoring man coughed and the patrolling guard stopped briefly. Soon the rhythm of sleep resumed, as did the bored pacing of the guard. Deeming it safe once again, he slithered his way to the orb.

“All right, unlock it,” he whispered, giving it a tug. It didn’t give. He repeated the request but it wouldn’t budge. He cursed himself for forgetting to tell the girls to unlock it before departure. They simply weren’t paying attention to the pearl at that moment, so there was nothing to do but wait. Alternately, he could leave the orb there. The thought was amusing—having the ability to permanently observe the Legion outpost at Hangman’s Rock, as absurd as it seemed, was an idea that could come in handy one day, if not here, then somewhere else maybe. After all, the orb was supposed to be indestructible.

He peeked out from the grass. He was stuck between two tents, with another one in front obscuring his view. The sound of footsteps had him frantically tugging at the orb again—but it was still locked. Cursing, he slunk back into the grass.

A shape appeared ahead. It hovered a few moments as if looking directly at him.

“Lose something else, Ms. Jenkins?” called a laughing voice.

“Not at all, Sergeant, I just can’t seem to sleep tonight,” she replied, walking back.

“Aye, I know how that feels. Miserable cold …”

Augum slithered back to the orb, worried something happened to the girls. “Hey, can you hear me?” he whispered. “Unlock the orb—!”

Finally, he felt it loosen in his hands.

“Sorry!” came a tinny voice from within.

He didn’t bother replying, just happy to be able to crawl away. He swung southward in a wide loop, dragging himself across the path Tridian arrived and departed on. Luckily, no one saw him, his movements disappearing amongst the undulations of the grass. Eventually he stumbled upon Bridget and Leera’s crawl-tracks.

The sky to the east continued to brighten, the night retreating westward. The stars would soon disappear, leaving the crescent sliver of the new moon, until the sun made its inevitable appearance, outshining everything. He had to get to Bridget and Leera before it became bright enough for the watchtower guard to spot him. Taking a risk, he decided to double-time his crawling, the Orb of Orion secured tightly under his arm.

Suddenly there came a piercing whistle. He froze, only feet from where Bridget and Leera had to be. His heart threatened to punch a hole through his chest. This was it, they had been spotted. He expected the entire camp to be running his way, until someone shouted, “Fire to the north! Fire to the north—!”

Against the Odds

It’s begun, Augum thought with nervous excitement. He crawled forward the rest of the way, taking advantage of the confusion erupting in the camp, stumbling upon Bridget and Leera nestling behind a black tent. The trio exchanged suspenseful looks as they heard the shouts of commands, the whinny of horses, and the hustle of men rushing to get ready.

“You okay?” Leera mouthed.

He nodded, handing the orb over to Bridget. She stuffed it into the rucksack, retrieving the Slow Time scroll.

Leera peeked around the north corner of the tent. Her head bobbed a bit as she counted the horsemen that rode off to investigate the fire. “Only fifteen gone,” she said finally, meaning twenty-five still remained in the camp. Disappointing, since they’d hoped to be left with around ten or so. “There’s too many walking around, we can’t move yet …”

Augum had an idea. He slowly lifted the bottom of the back of the tent, peeking inside. “It’s empty.” He lifted the canvas so the girls could sneak through. Bridget crawled in first followed by Leera, lastly Augum.

Inside was a neat cot, simple folding chair, and a small trunk. A thin layer of hay covered the ground.

Leera rushed to the door flap, taking the tiniest peek. “Ms. Jenkins is out there shooing them along. If we can get to the next tent, the one after is the prison tent. We’re going to have to time it,” and, without taking her eye off what was going on outside, gestured for them to get ready to dart across.

Augum nodded for Bridget to go. She tiptoed up behind Leera, breath steaming in rapid bursts.

“Hold … hold … ready … and … now!” Leera yanked open the tent flap and Bridget raced forward, braids flying and rucksack bouncing.

“She made it,” Leera said, checking for guards.

Augum grabbed the flap. “You go next,” and kept a steady watch. Bridget peeked out from the tent opposite, eyes darting rapidly to the left and right. She gave a wink that it was clear from her perspective. He waited another moment until a nearby Black Guardsman with an axe turned his back.

“Now—go.”

She bounded across to the other tent. He was just about to jump out to take his turn when two burly men walked by, swords and armor clanking. They entered the next tent over.

“What do you think it is?” asked one.

“Couldn’t say,” replied the other. “There’s nothing there, not even a farm. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Probably some deserters lettin’ a fire get out of hand.”

“Well then it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”

Augum was forced to wait. It was too risky to go right then. Bridget, whose face peeked out from behind the opposite tent flaps, raised her eyebrows.

“One moment—” he mouthed. The bustle of the camp slowly died down. One particular man who was removing his breastplate, headed directly for him. Augum immediately realized he was standing in the man’s tent and dived under the cot just in time for the flaps to shoot apart, a weary sigh escaping the man’s lips.

Augum held his breath watching the soldier’s mud-splattered boots. The man sauntered over to the trunk, threw something inside, slammed it shut, and sat down on the cot. The wooden bed-beams creaked as he proceeded to pull off his boots, throwing them aside. Then he fell back onto the bed, almost crushing Augum’s head in the process.

Augum lay motionless underneath, cursing himself for not running to the other tent sooner. He couldn’t imagine what Bridget and Leera were thinking just then. There was nothing to do but wait for the man to fall asleep now.

His heart never ceased its pounding as he lay there, feeling stupid. Every time he thought the man was finally asleep, the bed creaked with movement. At last, after what felt like forever, the man settled into the steady breathing of sleep. Augum gently wiggled his way from underneath the cot. The camp had fallen quite silent by then, amplifying every movement.

Just as he was going to pull his legs out, the man suddenly turned on his side, his nose a hair’s breath from Augum’s. The soldier blearily opened his eyes, looked straight at him, and closed them again.

Augum held his breath. He expected the soldier to bolt upright and sound the alarm, but amazingly, the man’s steady breathing returned.

Must have thought he was dreaming …

He waited a little longer before finally mustering up the courage to tiptoe to the tent flap. With one final backward glance, he peeked outside, spotting a relieved Bridget staring at him from the tent opposite. The morning sun brightened her face, having risen in the time he was pinned under the bed. He took the first opportunity to tiptoe across. When he got near, Bridget yanked him inside.

“What happened?” she mouthed. The camp was so quiet now communication was reduced to hand gestures and unspoken words.

“I hid,” he mouthed back, making a motion like diving under a bed.

A patrol passed by the tent. They froze, listening to the footsteps fade away, watching each other with wide eyes.

They were now one tent away from Haylee.

He wondered how much time they had. The soldiers that rode to investigate the fire must have reached it by now. The question then was, would the soldiers be on their way back, or had they gone on to search the wood?

The tent the trio stood in was near identical to the last, except there were two trunks and two cots. Augum tiptoed to the far end, lifted the canvas bottom, and peeked out. The prison tent was less than five paces away. To the left were bales of hay, to the right, a wagon filled with oaken barrels. The tower loomed overhead and this time, because the tent they occupied was a lot closer, there was a direct sightline between the guardsman occupying it and their position.

This was going to be tricky. Not only would they have to sneak across unnoticed but also hope there wasn’t a guard actually inside the prison tent.

He gestured to the girls about the tower guard then signaled he would go first, hoping they understood. Maybe that’s something they should have practiced—hand signals.

The tower guard spent most of his time looking north toward Mr. Goss’ fire, using a spyglass like theirs. Augum steeled his nerves, made one final check for anyone walking by, and scurried over to the prison tent. With one swift movement, he lifted the canvas and rolled underneath.

The tent was stuffy and relatively dark, the walls glowing from the diffuse morning sun. There was hay everywhere, along with post after wooden post embedded into the ground, manacles hanging from each. A lone figure hung from one.

Bridget crawled in followed quickly by Leera. Upon seeing what was inside, Leera stiffened, while Bridget put a shaky hand over her mouth.

He made to go to the figure but Leera grabbed his elbow, gesturing a reminder there was a guard standing directly outside the entrance. He nodded and the three of them crept forward.

A voice sounded from outside. It was Ms. Jenkins striking up a conversation with the guard. Did she know they were inside at that very moment? There was no time to dwell on it. As Augum approached the figure, he recognized the long blonde hair and his chest tightened.

Haylee’s condition was dire. She was unconscious and scratched all over, her hands manacled above her drooping head. Her bloody feet were bare, her frame covered by a muddy burlap dress, cinched at the waist with rope.

Leera inspected the clunky lock and shook her head. They exchanged an ominous look acknowledging there was going to be no way to open it without using loud brute force or stealing the key, two scenarios almost impossible to pull off successfully under the circumstance.