Venom and Song (46 page)

When Jimmy looked up, he looked into a massive grin of white teeth. The jaws opened and . . . AHHHHHhhhhhhhh!

There came a beautiful, melodic voice . . . like an angel: “Jimmy, wake up!”

Jimmy opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with a gigantic wolf. He screamed as the beast opened its jaws and . . . felt himself knocked backward by a rough, wet tongue the size of a diving board.

Kiri Lee was at his side in an instant. “Jimmy, are you okay? You were having a bad dream. I called to you.”

“Wha-whaa?” Jimmy's eyes finally focused, and he stared at Kiri Lee. “Yu're the angel,” he said.

The other lords gathered around. “I think he's delirious,” said Jett. The others laughed mightily.

Jimmy finally cleared the cobwebs. “Yu would be, too, if yu woke up next t' that, that, thing there! I thought it was gonna eat me.”

“What, Bear?” said Autumn. “C'mon, he was just being playful.” She nuzzled the giant wolf under its chin. “Weren't you, ya big fuzzy, wuzzle, fuzzer bear!”

Jimmy looked on in disbelief and then back to the other lords. “Yu named it Bear? It's a giant wolf!”

“Well,” said Tommy, “Autumn named him.”

“I wanted to name him Sam,” said Johnny. “After our dog that disappeared back home.”

“But I said no,” said Autumn. “Sam will find us. He'll come home. He always does.”

“So Autumn was snuggling with him,” said Jett, “just like now, and she kept calling him her big fuzzy bear, so . . .”

“So,” said Tommy. “So the wolf's name is Bear.”

Jimmy stood up and rubbed his side. “So where are we, then?”

“Near the Spine,” said Tommy. “And the Spine will lead us back toward Whitehall, and Jett and I can piece together the way to Nightwish from there. You about ready to ride?”

Jimmy looked at Bear. “If I have to.”

Had it not been for Bear, the trip back to Nightwish would have taken far longer than six days—if they ever got there at all. But at long last, the Seven Elven Lords of Berinfell began to recognize some of the environment.

“These are the big trees,” said Autumn, the only Elf riding Bear as the others chose to walk for a while.

“You're right,” said Tommy. “Grimwarden called them Silver Mattisbough. The entrance to Nightwish was somewhere in the middle of them.”

Something snapped in the forest.

Bear's entire body tensed, the hackles on his back standing up. Autumn leaped down just as Bear rumbled out a low growl. The Seven took his warning and prepared to strike, senses alert. In the clearing they were exposed, the closest cover more than fifty yards away. The afternoon sun illuminated them, easy targets.

“Maybe it's just a wee squirrel or something,” Jimmy offered up in a whisper. “Bah, I can't see what's going to happen.”

But Tommy shook his head. “That was no squirrel,” he said. “Bear doesn't think so, either.”

“Wait,” Jimmy said, holding a hand to his forehead. “There!” He pointed to a spot among the trees at the two o'clock position. The others looked, waiting for whatever Jimmy saw to catch up with present time. And then a lone Elf emerged from the woods, bow at the ready. He stood motionless for three beats and then raised a hand. And with it, more than one-hundred Elves emerged from the forest in a circle around the Seven and Bear.

“We are sorry, m'lords.” The lead Elf crossed his wrists and bowed, the rest of the group following his lead. “But we had to be sure. Endurance and Victory.”

“Endurance and Victory,” Tommy said, stepping forward.

Kat reached up and patted the wolf on the shoulder. “It's all right, Bear. They're friends.” He seemed to ease at her touch, but still took his protection of his new friends very seriously.

The lead Elf stood at Tommy's command and introduced himself. “I am Mathinil, flet soldier of the Third Order, Commander of the Twelfth, ordered by Guardmaster Travin.”

“Guardmaster?” Kat inquired. “But Grimwarden is—”

“Thank you, Mathinil,” answered Tommy. “We are grateful for your service. I am Lord Vel—”

“We know, sire. We have been expecting you.” Mathinil stood aside and gestured with his hand into the woods from which he had emerged. “If you please.”

The words
we have been expecting you
did not settle well with Tommy, or any of the others for that matter. They were each aware of the elders' plot to thrust them into battle. With Grimwarden, Goldarrow, and Alwynn gone, they feared the powers that now controlled the Elven survivors of Berinfell. And the fact that the elders had replaced Travin as the new Guardmaster confirmed Grimwarden's death. Travin had been loyal to Grimwarden . . . but would his loyalties still be true given the circumstances?

The Seven walked into the shade of the forest. They'd made it back to Nightwish, but they did not know what to expect. Bear followed them in, wary of the flet soldiers who filled in behind him. They walked for no more than a minute before Mathinil stopped beside a cluster of large boulders, the leader indicating a small cave behind a latticework of brush.

“You are fond of this creature?” asked Mathinil.

“Very much so,” said Autumn.

“Yeah, we are,” said Jett.

“Well, not all of us,” mumbled Jimmy.

“I see,” said Mathinil, clearly troubled. “I . . . I, uh, don't think it wise to bring it inside. The tunnels are cramped and there are children about. But you are the lords. We will do as you wish.”

“No, that's okay,” said Tommy. “You're probably right. But please see to it that he is watered and fed.”

“As you command,” said Mathinil.

Woof, WOOF!
Bear turned toward Jimmy, shot out his tongue, and knocked the Elf off his feet. Then Bear turned, leaped over the flet soldiers, and disappeared into the woods.

“Oh, Bear!” Autumn yelled. “Oh, come back!”

Bear did not return. “We'll see him again,” said Johnny. “I know we will.”

“I hope not,” said Jimmy, wiping gobs of wolf saliva off his face.

The long tunnel wound its way deep underground, intersecting others, growing larger and larger as it went. Finally it spit the entourage out into the northernmost section of Nightwish Caverns, standing on a ledge overlooking the entire city.

Like before, the incredible blue light filled the room, shining from the luminous rocks used to contain dremask. But unlike before, shafts of daylight mixed with the otherworldly hue: radiant beams of sunshine let in through large holes delved through the sandstone above.

But more shocking was the state of the Elven underworld. Where before the Elves went about their daily tasks, trapped in the dark routines of the subterranean, everywhere they looked their people were mobilizing for war. Whatever preparations had been stockpiled over the last eight centuries, they were being readied now. Weapons and armor were assembled and organized in various sections of the city: sword blades, spear points, arrowheads, and axe blades fresh from the forge fires were taken to carpenters who affixed handles and arrow shafts; cured leather as hard as rock was pulled from the tanneries and passed off to metalworkers who bound the plates with chain mail; long bows and short bows were sanded to a stonelike luster before being married to the high-tensile bowstrings that the Elves had perfected over thousands of years of use. Helmets were buffed, daggers were sharpened, and sword weights were tested. The Elves took great care and accepted nothing but the highest quality.

Hearth fires spewed out dark smoke, laden with the scents of meat, vegetables, and spices. Vats of an Elven drink called lychestine were being emptied into canteens, as were the fresh pools fed by the underwater aquifers. Dates, apples, and berries plundered from the forest above—now with renewed confidence, despite the previous week's reported attack on Whitehall—were packed along with the wrapped meats and canteens into backpacks, ready to accompany the growing army that could been seen swelling in the streets.

And with all the sights and sounds of life also came the foreboding feeling that things were accelerating out of control. Tommy felt a knot tighten in his stomach, growing worse when Mathinil produced a horn from his belt and gave a single long blast.

The entire city below came to an abrupt stop and looked to where the new arrivals stood.

“Elves of Nightwish”—Mathinil's voice boomed out over the cavern as he raised a hand to indicate his company—“our lords have returned!”

Memories of their first arrival in Nightwish flooded back as the city streets erupted in adoration of the Seven Lords. The people pumped whatever was in their hands in the air—swords, spears, bows . . . fists if nothing else. Children ran through the streets with flags, women fluttering blankets from second- and third-story windows. But it was not the same. It would never be the same. While the cheering persisted, Mathinil turned and led the Seven down a wide staircase that hugged the cavern wall. They crossed the river and descended into the city streets among throngs of ardent followers. And with every step the lords took toward the Great Hall, their anxiety mounted, unsure of what reception might await them within.

They all waved, despite their inward feelings, realizing their outward appearance must have looked more befitting of trained warriors, what with months of Vexbane training behind them. Their stature and resolve alone were a far cry from the seven middle-school students who first floated into this hall, wide-eyed and speechless.

The lords tousled the hair of children and smiled at doting mothers. The men of the city offered forearms for the shaking, or dipped their heads out of reverence for their superiors in both royalty and now fighting skills. And all the while the Great Hall grew larger, now looming high overhead. What waited within was anyone's guess; the Seven were prepared for a fight. Going to war against the Spider King was hard enough, but marching on Vesper Crag without the map would be near impossible, and with Manaelkin in place of Grimwarden or Goldarrow? A death wish.

Mathinil took them inside the passage of the Great Hall and shut out the boisterous world behind them with the closing of the massive wooden doors. Then he disappeared into the council room, giving a quick, “I'll be right back, m'lords.”

Tommy looked to the others, alone in the anteroom.

“I don't like it,” Kat said, her face fixed on the council room door.

Suddenly there were loud shouts from within. Shouts and the banging of a gavel. “Manaelkin, no doubt,” grumbled Tommy. The others nodded. “But we have a job to do, and I for one am not going to let some two-faced coward dictate—”

“If you please, m'lords,” came Mathinil's voice from the opened door. “The council will see you now.”

The Seven shared a secret glance. “Here goes,” said Tommy, taking a step forward. What he saw took his breath away.

“Good of you to join us, Lord Felheart,” boomed a familiar voice.
Grimwarden!
And beside him sat Elder Alwynn and Elle Goldarrow, all rising to their feet to welcome the Seven.

Tommy stammered for a moment before finally managing the words, “You're—you're alive! I can't believe it!” The lords filed into the room and spread out around the central table, trying both to ascertain the strangeness of the scene as well as Grimwarden's, Goldarrow's, and Alwynn's presence. “We thought you were—”

“Dead?” interrupted Alwynn. “We would have been, had it not been for Grimwarden here.” He patted the battle chief on the shoulder. “In any event, we're glad you have returned.”

“We are, too!” exclaimed Kat, tears bursting and running down her cheeks. She strode around the chair backs and embraced Grimwarden, who didn't quite know how to receive the gesture at first, but eventually relented and hugged her back.

When the others had finished greeting their favorite teachers and politician, Grimwarden indicated the high-backed chairs and they all took their seats, all but Grimwarden. He drew his rychesword and bellowed,
“Vex lethdoloc vitica anis. Wy feithrill e' Ellos abysscrahl nyas!”