Unfortunately, we require bringing a couple of carts with us, they’ve been filled as high as possible with the largest rocks and boulders we could find. They tumble away in the distance manned only by those tending to the horses, if they encounter anyone, they should be able to pass off as stonemasons.
Randall has finally shaken off his limp, managing a slight jog the morning before we left Tarrin. I had tried to dissuade him from joining us, but he was having none of it, we’ll just have to hope that his leg holds up once the action begins.
Damion and Horas walk next to us. Apart from Robyn, this will be the group that accompanies Orrian into the inner limits. As soon as the group had been suggested there had been unease among Thoren and the other leaders. We are all solely from Avlym or from the tribe and the entire mission will be in our hands, if we fail to reach the inner limits then we may as well hand ourselves over. The other leaders had wanted their own hunters to join us, thankfully Orrian and Arthur had managed to convince them that the group would be too large as they all started suggesting various names. There will only be the five of us so we should be able to move more freely with less chance of being noticed.
Orrian walks up front with Thoren, occasionally dropping back to check in on us. He says that we should be stopping soon until the morning, the colony should now only be an hour’s walk away.
Nobody sleeps that night. We close our eyes in hope that maybe we will silently slip away, but it never comes. Members of all villages bond as they try and fight away the nerves. They talk in hushed voices about anything that will take their mind off the coming morning. Those that lay their heads in solitude often have their eyes open as they come to terms with their inner selves. Their bodies shake violently, but it has nothing to do with the chill of the wind.
Robyn goes to sleep early. I had spent the last few hours rubbing shoulders with her as we walked and wondering if now should be the time I tell her everything. Tomorrow might be our last day, what if I never get another chance? But no. I know I can’t tell her, especially not now. I couldn’t cause such a huge distraction at such a critical time. She lays curled up on her side, a thin spare layer draped over her frame. Her eyes flutter regularly, and she repositions often, I can tell she’s having as much sleeping as the rest of us.
I spend my last few hours of peace with Randall, the man who had trained me to defend myself against bullying, now sitting beside me as we prepare for war.
Finally, just as the sky begins to lighten ever so slightly, I disappear into blissful oblivion.
CHAPTER THIRTY
We crouch in the bushes; the wall stands some distance before us. A sword is in my hand and several knives around my waist. We’ve all been equipped with several weapons to distribute to the tribe once we get to the dungeon. All of the villagers hide in the undergrowth, terrified of moving in case they should give away our position to the watchful colony guards posted on top of the wall. We had tenderly edged our way into our positions almost one at a time until the entire army sits as it is, ready and waiting.
A single leaf floats down onto my shoulder, I look up to find Robyn above me. She perches on the inside of a high branch, mimicking the other archers around her. Off to her side, Devin also sits waiting, an arrow already next to his slack bow string in anticipation. Robyn’s bow is slung across her back as she settles. From here, the two of them should have a clear shot once the attack begins. As Robyn looks down and sends me a slight smile, I try to steel myself and smile reassuringly back, but I know she can see right through me.
My knees burn as we wait, people around me are starting to shift dangerously. If any of us give away our position, the colony will refuse to raise the gates and will meet us with force. Our small group are all near the front of the others, the main road leading to the gate is only a few dozen steps to my side.
Finally, footsteps begin behind me. They are too loud and too many to belong to people who are hiding. There is a confidence behind them, a daringness. They are accompanied by the rough tumbling of wheels against the stones and the trots of horses.
I watch as Orrian is pulled past my position, he sits at the back of a filled cart, the first of two. He knows we all lay in wait but resists the urge to look down as he passes. He has been deliberately rolled in dirt and allowed some of his scabs to reopen. His hands have the appearance of being bound in rope, although like the ones connecting him to the cart with a slight pull they will fall loose.
He is flanked on all sides by a dozen members of the same village, with any luck it should look like one of the villages has honoured King Breyden’s letters. It’s a bold move, not only are we risking Orrian but also a dozen of our number. Shouts start up and down the wall before the lead villager even opens his mouth.
“We have brought you Orrian, the pretender, as requested by his majesty King Breyden the second,” the leader calls.
A couple
