Venom and Song (19 page)

Tommy walked slowly down the staircase that led from his bedchamber to a large chamber. Adorned with dusty paintings and cobweb-encrusted fixtures, the room was capped by a domed ceiling of glass, now hazy from lack of cleaning. Stretching his arms, Tommy continued through the chamber to yet another hallway that opened up to a columned courtyard on one side. It was here that he found Grimwarden twirling a long staff and looking thoughtful.

The famed Elven warrior followed the age-old forms of his people, moving the wooden weapon through the air in perfect rhythm to the counts of an invisible drum. Left and right, legs bending and stepping, the staff flipping over and under his arms—it was an act of beauty to behold. The motions would culminate in a sudden thrust in front, succeeded by a jab behind and a swift about-face, jarring an unseen enemy with the length of the wood.

When the exercise had reached its end, Grimwarden addressed Tommy, who stood awestruck beside a column.

“Good morning, Lord Felheart.”

“Morning,” he replied out of habit, a glazed look of fascination still in his eyes. “Just
Tommy
is fine.”

“Tommy. Right.” Grimwarden winced at the Earth name. “Did you find your bed comfortable?”

Tommy didn't answer the question. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Grimwarden smiled. “In time. All in due time. But first, your bed?”

“Oh, sorry.” Tommy took a step forward. “Yes, it was fine. A little musty smelling, but I guess I should have expected that.”

“The long, hollow years weigh heavily upon this place . . . it is as you say.” Grimwarden laid the staff against a stone bench and walked forward. “Shall we eat? The others are in the refectory.”

“Sure thing! I'm starving.”

Grimwarden looked at him curiously. “Tommy, I know our path was not the easiest, but did you not sup yesterday, and the day before?”

“Uh, right. It's just an expression.” Tommy rubbed his face. “Let's go eat.”

The two walked back into the corridor Tommy had come out of and continued farther down the hall before turning left at an intersecting hallway. Fingers of light worked through a large filthy window at the far end, accenting an open door. It was in here that Tommy and Grimwarden greeted the rest of the lords, all assembled at the large board in the center of the room.

“Good of you to join us, Master Felheart!” came a loud voice from the other side of the mammoth kitchen. It was Mumthers. Already beloved by the Seven, she was jovial in speech and action, a whirlwind of activity—in and out of the kitchen. She was as wide as she was tall.
Perhaps a little too fond of testing her own food,
Tommy thought. And who wouldn't be with cooking like hers? Her apron was permanently stained by any number of ingredients, and despite her largish form, she carried herself in her blue dress much like a ballerina, light on her feet and twice as nimble. Her effusive hand gestures and waves of her spatulas kept people out of her way and eagerly awaiting whatever sumptuous meal she had prepared.

“Come, child! Sit! Sit!”

“Thank you, Mumthers.” Tommy dipped his head. “Hey, everyone.”

The others gathered around the table greeted him and made room on one of the benches. Goldarrow gave him a warm smile.

“You, too, old Grimwarden,” Mumthers added. “Warriors need to eat as well.”

“No quarrel with you there, Lady Bathers.” Grimwarden smiled, his eyes dancing with anticipation. “What have you cooked for us this morning?”

“Considering no one has stocked this hole for a wee while, I was forced to use some of our rations. But the garden, though profusely overgrown”—she waved a spoon through the air in a grand arch— “still had a number of goodies that the rabbits overlooked.”

And whatever it is,
Tommy noted,
it smells wonderful!

She turned to the hearth where a large cauldron bubbled, and beside it an iron pan sizzling with, well, something.
Sausage?
Tommy wondered.

“Been up since well before dawn to gather what I needed for these scrumptious goodies, I was.” Mumthers produced a lined basket with two loaves of freshly baked bread, and poured everyone a mug of springwater and honey warmed by the fire. Next, she scooped the meat out of the skillet and onto a trencher proclaiming it to be rabbit sausage. The seven young lords winced.

“Thus the reason the rabbits have left the garden alone?” Grimwarden laughed. Everyone chuckled.

“Don't mock me until you try it. I added my family goods,” she said. Her family goods—Tommy would come to find out—were the secret spices of her great-great-grandmother that she had rescued from the flet during the ambush, a concoction that could turn even a piece of bark into a delicacy. After this, she produced a stack of bowls, passed them out, then filled them with soup from the steaming cauldron. “Asparagus, leek, and a little of the leftover ham. An egg and some cream to thicken it.”

“Where'd you get the cream?” Tommy asked.

“It would be wiser not to ask, Tommy,” Grimwarden whispered. “Just let your mouth enjoy and your mind relax.”

Tommy smiled and looked at his bowl, his spoon hanging over it. But Grimwarden couldn't have been more correct; his mouth enjoyed it, every mouthful. Mumthers had made a feast out of a famine, and every bite seemed better than the previous. He had never had rabbit before; even the thought made him a bit queasy. But as Mumthers had prepared it, he wondered why he had never tried it before.

“Watch the biscuits,” said Jimmy without looking up from his bowl.

“What?” asked Kiri Lee. “What bis—?”

Just then, Mumthers tripped, launching more than a dozen biscuits into the air. They descended like meteors, exploding with flaky goodness all over the table and all over Kiri Lee. One biscuit hit the back of Kiri Lee's spoon, catapulting a glob of gravy right at Jimmy. Again, without looking up, Jimmy lifted a cloth napkin, perfectly intercepting the gravy that would have splattered him in the ear.

“Okay,” said Kiri Lee, “a little earlier warning would have been nice.”

“The question is,” said Kat, “did Jimmy know what would happen earlier but just waited to warn you? Other than Jimmy, only I know the answer to that question.”

Much like the biscuits beforehand, the table exploded in laughter.

When the kids had cleaned the trencher of sausage and had exhausted their capacity for bread and soup, Mumthers declared their first meal in Whitehall a success and hugged each of them, including Grimwarden. Everyone else stifled laughs as she slapped his back like a baby being burped.

“I'm so full I don't think I could eat again for a day,” Tommy finally said.

“That's spectacularly good to hear,” Grimwarden said when he had broken free of Mumthers's embrace, “because you won't be.”

The kids looked up to him in shock. “What do you mean?” Autumn inquired hesitantly.

“Your training starts now. And your first lesson is to learn how to master your appetites. First physical, then emotional.”

“What's our second lesson?” Johnny asked.

“How to run,” Grimwarden said, to which the kids rolled their eyes. Then Grimwarden added, “In the dark.”

“I can't see anything,” Kat declared.

“Hey! Watch it!” Johnny whined, giving Kat a push. “You stepped on my foot!”

“Sor-ry!” Kat spat back. “Like I could see it.”

“M'lords, please,” came Grimwarden's voice from up ahead.

“Grumpy,” Kat whispered at Johnny.

“Geek,” he spat back.

“It seems you've met your match, Johnny,” Autumn stated.

Up until now, Tommy realized their relationships had been built on seemingly surreal circumstances, ones that did not truly reflect the normal everyday issues of
being human
, as Tommy put it. It was one thing to escape from school, fly across the globe, and flee through Gwar-invested territory, but it was quite another to, well, get along. As he had thought before, who among them would actually be friends given normal circumstances? Would they pick each other first at kickball? Would they sit at the same cafeteria table? Would they invite one another over to birthday parties? By the looks of things now, probably not. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

“All of you, enough. You are a team,” Grimwarden continued, “at least you will be.” Though they could not see him, Kat and Johnny knew he was staring at them. “Becoming a team means that you rely on one another . . . that you trust one another in everything, even with your very lives. Your destinies are not your own, but are intertwined with those of your people.”

With his voice echoing down the cavern beyond them, Grimwarden emphasized just how deep they had journeyed beneath Whitehall, and just how helpless they were when there was no light, not even the flicker of a torch.

“Everything I will teach you, from tactics of battle and skills with your weapons, to the history of your people and the legacy you carry, will be for naught if you do not know how to work together. And I can think of no better way to start than here, where all you have are your ears.”

“Sir? What do you mean?” Jett asked.

“Your ears, Lord Hamandar, so that you can listen to others more than you listen to yourself. It is an easy thing to speak. Anyone can do that. But it's quite another thing to listen, and even further, to
hear
.”

“But I thought you said we'd be running. How can we run in the dark?” Kiri Lee asked.

“By listening to one another,” Grimwarden said. “Before you lies a tunnel that stretches deep into the heart of Mount Mystbane and under the Thousand-League Forest. It goes on for miles. Somewhere along its path I have placed a clay jar.

“Now the rules: At least one of you must be moving forward at all times. Break the jar and you will start again. But bring the jar back to me and you will be allowed to have another of Mumthers's delicious meals.”

“Do you mean we can't eat until we find the jar?” Johnny asked anxiously.

“You are correct. Thus why you will run rather than walk—as the jar is, how can I say, not as close as you might prefer.”

“I don't like this at all,” Johnny interjected.

“All the more reason for you to complete the task in a timely fashion, Johnny,” Grimwarden said. “If you don't like this, believe you me, what is coming will make this one of your fonder memories.”

The young lords were already uneasy, what with the pitch-black dark around them. And now they were supposed to journey farther into this cave? Without lights? Though no one dared speak out, Johnny wasn't the only one who thought this was crazy. Cold fear began to wrap its tentacles around their chests.

“Now”—Grimwarden's voice came from behind them—“I'll leave you to your chore.”

The teens spun around. “Hey, how'd you get back there?” Johnny asked.

“You weren't listening,” Grimwarden said.

“I still don't get how we're supposed to do this,” said Kiri Lee.

“Let's just think about it, Kiri Lee,” Tommy spoke up. “We'll need to work together.” They couldn't see it, but Tommy was running his fingers through his curly hair, as he did anytime he was deep in thought. “We could stretch out in a long line, evenly spaced. Then the person in the back will run all the way forward, using the voices of those in front to guide them. After each gets in the lead position, he or she could take four steps or something feeling around for the jar. Then the leader could yell back to the person in the rear. That person runs forward and does the same in front of you. When we actually find the jar and head back to Whitehall, the person in the rear always carries it, passing it off when it's his or her turn to run forward.”

“Almost like a type of relay race,” Autumn said.

“Seems kinda silly if you ask me,” said Kat, trying to act as though she wasn't impressed. Then she looked to where she thought Grimwarden stood. “Silly, right, Mr. Grimwarden?”

“The lord does offer a workable solution,” answered Grimwarden.

“But that's going to take forever,” Kat said.

“Then I suggest you get started. And remember: break the jar and you start over.”

“This is impossible,” Johnny added.

“Young Lord Johnny, when you start listening as much as you protest, you will begin to
do
the impossible instead of
complain
about it, I assure you.”

“Yeah, Johnny,” Autumn chided him.

Grimwarden responded, “And Lord Miarra”—she could tell by his tone Grimwarden was glaring at her through the darkness— “provoking your friends doesn't become you.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied softly.

There was no reply.

“Commander Grimwarden?” Autumn's voice echoed down the cavern. An eerie silence befell them all. “He's gone!”