Food, at least, was no longer a problem. The red knapsacks, which had been given to Dirk and Sholto that morning on their release from the Riverside healer’s care, were packed with supplies. Soon Rye and Sonia were eating ravenously, talking and listening at the same time.
Dirk and Sholto had heard that Farr was to attack the following day, but they knew very little else. There had been no talk of war in the quiet chambers guarded by the Riverside healer. The only whisper they had heard on the streets since their release was that many of the soldiers would be armed with weapons called ‘flamers’.
‘Perhaps “flamer” is another name for “scorch”,’ Rye suggested hopefully. If Farr’s troops carried the deadly weapons Olt’s Gifters had wielded, they would be able to defend themselves from the Master’s grey guards, at least.
Dirk shook his head. ‘Nothing so powerful, I fear. Flamers sound like very crude devices—heavy, and difficult to aim, from what I heard.’
‘It does not matter what weapons Farr’s soldiers use,’ Sholto said restlessly. ‘The Master cannot be defeated by ordinary means. He commands powers that … that we cannot understand.’
It was the closest he had ever come to admitting that the Lord of Shadows was a sorcerer. Rye knew there would never be a better time to tell his secret. Hastily he freed the red cloth bundle from his belt and unwrapped it.
Dirk and Sholto exclaimed over the casket and looked at the disc inside with interest, but to Rye’s dismay they did not seem to feel the disc’s magic at all. And as he told them his plan, his words tumbling over themselves in his eagerness to explain, they both looked at him as if he had lost his senses.
‘Farr will never ask the Fellan for help, Rye,’ Dirk said. ‘He knows they are not to be trusted, and you should know it too. Have you forgotten that they stood by and let hundreds of Weld heroes die horribly in their cursed forest? By the Wall, I have not!’
‘Yes, but—’ Rye bit his lip. If only he could explain why he had faith in the guardians of the Fell Zone! For a moment he considered breaking his solemn promise not to tell where the bag of powers had come from, but his throat closed at the thought. He could not do it, and Sonia was bound by the same promise.
‘If the Fellan were the ones who made my mind a blank and drove me into the Saltings, I agree they are not to be trusted,’ Sholto said. ‘Also, I think you are putting too much faith in that disc, Rye. If the Fellan are as powerful as you say, how could a mere object stop them from doing anything they wished?’
Rye shook his head in frustration. ‘To the Fellan, the disc is not just an object! It is the symbol of an oath they cannot break. See here! I found this last night—it proves I am right!’
He flipped through the little book till he found the page he wanted, and read aloud:
‘You see?’ Rye exclaimed. ‘The disc may have been lost for centuries, and Farr’s people may have forgotten how the agreement began, but to the Fellan it still stands.’
He looked up to see Dirk and Sholto exchanging dubious glances and Sonia looking down at her hands.
‘Farr will understand me, even if you do not!’ he said angrily. ‘I am going to him now!’
‘You will not get in to see Farr now, Rye,’ Dirk said, with a kindly patience that Rye, in his present mood, found infuriating. ‘By this time he is again locked away with his councillors.’
‘And if my ears did not deceive me, Rye, you are thought to be an enemy spy,’ Sholto murmured. ‘You should keep out of sight and leave Farr to Dirk and me. We had always planned to see him as soon as he was alone. We will tell him what we know of the enemy, and with luck he will believe us and at least postpone the attack.’
Rye opened his mouth to argue, but Sonia lifted her head and spoke before he could say anything.
‘I agree that Farr will never be persuaded to take the disc to the Fellan,’ she said coolly. ‘And I agree that Rye will be in danger if anyone sees him here.’
‘Good!’ said Dirk, looking rather surprised. ‘So—’
‘So Rye and I will return the disc to the Fellan ourselves, and see what comes of it.’
Dirk was speechless. Rye shook his head. ‘Sonia, I told you, Farr should be the one to—’
‘If Farr is unwilling, someone else must do it,’ Sonia broke in. ‘And who better than you, Rye?’
Her eyes met his. Her voice whispered in his mind.
Who better than the one the Fellan trusted with the nine powers?
‘The Fellan here are not—not friendly to me,’ Rye stammered.
‘They are Fellan, wherever they are,’ Sonia said quietly. ‘However they feel, they will recognise the truth.’
Sholto was watching her intently. She returned his gaze with a defiant toss of her head.
‘You cannot know it is the truth, Sonia!’ Dirk growled. ‘You are relying on a tale from an old book that might be nothing but make-believe!’
‘Could I see it, Rye?’ Sholto asked, holding out his hand.
A little reluctantly, Rye passed over the book. Sholto began flipping through it, scanning a few sentences here and there as he had always done at home when he was deciding if something was worth reading.
‘Interesting,’ he said after a moment, and went back to the beginning.
Dirk frowned. ‘I do not care how interesting it is! Rye cannot go into danger, chasing after a myth that may or may not be real!’
‘It is real,’ Rye said stoutly. ‘And Sonia is right. If Farr is out of the question, she and I must go to the Fellan. You cannot stop us, Dirk!’
Dirk stared at him for a long moment, then grimaced. ‘No, I cannot stop you. Once I could have done, I daresay, little brother, but those days are gone.’
Ruefully he rubbed his forehead with his good hand. ‘Very well—have it your own way. But not before you have helped us release Jett. I doubt Sholto and I can do it alone, the way we are. We will need the hood and the key, at least.’
‘Surely Jett is safe enough where he is for now,’ Sholto objected, his eyes on the book.
‘He is not,’ said Dirk grimly. ‘If Jett stays in the watchtower he will not survive the night. Nothing is more certain.’
Rye felt a thrill of horror. ‘But Farr would never allow—’
‘Farr will have nothing to do with it. Somehow the real assassin will manage the business so that it looks as if Jett killed himself rather than face questioning. We cannot let that happen. Jett is one of our own. He has been falsely accused—’
‘How can you know that?’ Sonia demanded, frowning.
‘Because I know him,’ Dirk said simply. ‘He was one of the Northwall volunteers. Joliffe, Crell and I met him at the Keep. Jett was the leader of the Northwall riots. He is passionately loyal to Weld. He would never have tried to kill Farr, who is facing the same enemy as Weld and is our natural ally.’
Sholto looked up, his finger marking his place. ‘Then the proofs of his guilt must have been planted in his room.’
‘Yes,’ Dirk said grimly. ‘And if he dies tonight without speaking, the real spy will be safe and free to try again.’
There was no more to be said. Even Sonia, who was plainly burning to be gone, could not face the thought of leaving Jett to his fate. Trusting the book to Sholto, who plainly did not want to part with it, Rye wrapped the gold casket in the scarf again and tied it back to his belt. Then he slipped the armour shell onto his little finger, and in the shelter of the hood he and Sonia followed Dirk and Sholto to the watchtower.