When Lark and Able had gone downstairs in dire need of breakfast, Lark had marched straight up to Sol with his mouth full of apologies and reasons they should leave before anyone was hurt on his account. Sol would hear none of it. He explained he had already sent a messenger to Light Hawking in the night and that the two of them would go nowhere while they waited for the response. So they were to eat their fill then go back to bed and maybe try sleeping in it this time.
Somehow, Able had succeeded at that. Or rather, Lark had succeeded in pushing his worries away by folding him up in his arms and murmuring, "Let me look after you now, like you did for me last night." Another thing Able let happen, sinking into Lark instead of struggling for space, learning he was starved for touch instead of uncomfortable with it.
When he'd awoken, four spearmen and two archers awaited to escort them to the Burrows. The Burrows was a knoll tucked away in the forest that had, over the centuries, been burrowed into to serve as a fortress first by a particular tribe then later by Borealunders at large as they faced invasions from the Eastern nations long before Dagobar sailed in from the West. Presently the Resistance's base of operations, Light Hawking thought the wayward Larbant prince should be safe there.
All the more reason for Red to stop them from ever arriving.
The landscape was impossibly bright between the sun and the snow it was melting. Able was traveling well above the squelching mess on the back of Dusty, one of the Larbant coursers he and Lark had absconded with the night before last. It was initially terrifying to be up this high, but Dusty's long-legged amble kept a gentle and easy pace with the ponies trotting along below. Able tried to put this vantage to good use, scrutinizing the trees as the group rode through the field.
Lark showed little vigilance, though perhaps he—she, today, was simply relying on her supposed preternatural senses. One of the archers was a tall and surprisingly dark-skinned woman Lark had called Tem before catching her up in a hug. Perhaps they had bonded over their mixed heritage. Lark, aboard Red's black coarser named Pacer, fell in beside Tem on her brown and white splotched pony and chattered away. Tem contributed little to their conversation, but Lark still had her frequently cracking her stoic visage with smiles and chuckles.
However, the other archer rode to and fro around the group, scowling at the shadows in the distance. Able did his best to coordinate with his efforts, peering between the spearmen at scraggly bushes and brush, between the trees in the distance, and craning to his neck to check around mounds and snowdrifts. Any shadow could have been the Black Sword. What was their chance of recognizing her before it was too late?
As the day wore on, they passed into the spindly shade of the winter forest and were forced to line up single file. Though he fell into the center of the line, Able's view remained unobstructed, for the only other person on a tall horse was cheerfully humming behind him. He doubled his efforts, glancing back every tree they passed and peering into the less disturbed snow for signs of tracks.
It took him a moment to realize Lark had started singing instead of humming, "You should relaaax, Houser."
Able turned in the saddle to give him a withering glare. But Lark only grinned and jutted his chin forward. Able turned forward again. Through the span of trunks ahead...yes, perhaps that was a knoll he could make out. He risked standing in his stirrups to find a clearer view. Dusty whickered at this, perhaps to express annoyance or concern or something else entirely. Able had a long way to go before he could understand horse.
He sat back down but did not relax until the forward scouts had called their hails and their escort had returned them. He glanced about one last time before he exhaled his tension then took in the base as it revealed itself. The rockiness of the knoll disguised some, though not all, of the arched entrances that peppered its base and sides. Look-outs hailed the party from cavern perches near the knoll's pinnacle. Half the people milling around the base wore the gray coveralls and the rest wore overcoats of other drab colors. The snow here was still a soft layer that Able sank into when he dismounted. He looked up as people began clapping.
"Welcome home! Welcome back, Blackbird!" were the two clearest of the chorus of cheers.
Lark turned about to take this in, tears glistening in her eyes and her hands pressed over her heart. Two dozen people began to press forward, some offering handshakes and others hugs that Lark returned with equal measures of grace. Here she was no prince of Larbantry, nor a damaged lynchpin to a tactically significant alliance. No, here she was Lark, their hero, and they loved her.
While Lark made her way through the well-wishers, the escort went their separate ways and some girls led the horses off. And Able stood there in the snow, only a witness and a chronicler. As the minutes passed, he turned to survey the woods, trying to be satisfied his or Lark's would-be assassin had missed her chance. ...who was she, though, and what did she want?
Only a few people, dirty and tired but with genuine smiles, were still waiting to wish Lark well. She knew their names and had questions about their well-being. Finally, she waved to those still about and began to head inside. Able chased after her and, prompted by either nervousness or jealousy, slid his fingers between hers. She glanced back with a smile, this time for him, and squeezed his hand. They entered the Burrows together.
The arched corridor was dark but warm enough that the floor was tracked with water. It led them to a torch-lit earthen chamber which seemed a hub for several passageways. The scent of dirt, the half-muffled echoes, and flickering orange shadows were at once charming and spooky. Lark started up a set of stairs carved out of the side of the wall. Able cleaved to the wall himself as there was no railing.
Up here was another arched corridor. They passed a few rooms until they ended up in another chamber, this time lit with lanterns and hosting a round, fully-populated table in the center. With remarks of pleasant surprise, many of the people got up and mobbed around Lark. The only person Able recognized did not, so he slunk by the crowd and over to the table to pull on her sleeve.
Chessie she looked up from a map before giving him a small, warm smile. "Ah, you made it."
"Surprisingly," he huffed.
She raised an eyebrow. "You two seemed to want some time alone." She lowered it and nodded agreeably. "No, I didn't think I was leaving you to a violent confrontation without backup." Reading his mind again.
"Exactly how important are you to the Resistance, anyway? Because I had the fee—a suspicion Red would have murdered me before I got to Lark if you hadn't been there."
Chessie quirked half a smile and said, "You should trust your senses, then." Now she thoughtfully rubbed her chin. "Hm, I could see how she would consider me a higher-up to be left alone. Could also be why I didn't get a sense of danger. I didn't think to look to see if there was danger for you separate from me."
"I see." Able sighed and sank into the chair beside her. The people who were not crowding Lark seemed engaged in their paperwork, so he leaned closer and whispered, "But you did look for other things. Did you know what 'stopping Constance' entailed, but wouldn't tell me because then I might not go along with it?"
"Are you very upset that she's dead?" Chessie frowned like she hadn't considered that.
"I'm upset anyone's dead!" the words had just ripped out of him. He set his head in his hands and hoped no one was staring.
Chessie looked at him a long moment, once again with that piercing quality in her green eyes. She then looked at Lark for a longer moment. Naturally.
"And yes," Able just admitted in a whisper, "I am very angry he had to go through that."
"To be honest, Able, I wouldn't say she is stopped. Dead, perhaps, but that's not the same as stopped."
Able met her eyes. Was she really saying it had all been for nothing?
She turned her palms over in surrender and resignation. "I'm afraid we were just too late." She lifted her gaze from his face to above his head. "You'll see what I mean."
"What was I about to ask?" Lark said from behind Able, then chuckled when Able started.
"Light's this way." Chessie rolled up her map then stood and started towards another passageway.
"Chessie's giving you the runaround," Lark whispered as they fell in step behind her.
"You don't say," Able muttered back.
"In 'imperial terms,' she's a chief strategist or something. You remember how we freed the blockade and heisted the vault all in one night? That was her work."
"I only organized it," Chessie interjected from ahead of them.
"You orchestrated it," Lark redressed. "After composing it, maestro! You know I admire your humility, but sometimes you really do ramble into the realm of falsehood."
"I'm glad that operation left you in such high spirits," she drawled.
"Now that I can breathe again, I am pleased to call it a smashing success!"
Chessie shook her head. "I'll take what I can get, I suppose. Especially from Aimsby."
Lark laughed at that before shooting Able a concerned look. Able forced a smile. Lark didn't appear to buy this, but she didn't press it as they continued down the hall.
Had Able been actually angry with Chessie that she had not used her prescience to spare them from the ordeal? Did he really believe it was something she could have done? The people here...did they believe that was something she could do and counted on her to do it? Is this how the Resistance ran?
They descended into the largest chamber yet through an entrance on an upper ring above the circular pit in the center. It seemed one of eight such entrances, evenly enough spaced around. A glass window was jammed into the otherwise earthen dome above and let in some light though not as much if it hadn't been coated in snow. The dome resounded with the conversations of several dozen people, most of whom were seated in the rows between the ramp down.
It was exciting, getting lower, having to look up to see the seats. The bottom round housed a large table that hosted a cleverly designed map that showed a dimension of elevation beneath the strategy markers populating it. Able paused beside it to inspect how the model terrain was constructed of sand that had been glued in place by some waxy substance.
"It's pretty topographically accurate, too," Lark said proudly.
"I will take your word and be impressed like you want me to be."
She laughed. "What a difference going down makes!"
"Well, keep it down," Able muttered. Hopefully, the warmth rushing into his cheeks was not visible.
"Look who I found." Chessie had gone on to speak to a coppery-haired man with a matching beard. He was clean-cut and tall with broad shoulders and a solid frame, so not much resemblance to Flower Hawking.
Lark dropped her head and shuffled forward. "I take full responsibility. I really hope I didn't destroy a necessary alliance, but if so—"
Ah, there was the resemblance—Light Hawking had the same blue eyes that nearly gleamed with compassion when he turned to Lark. "No, I'm sorry. I saw how things were going but still asked you to deal with it. Alone. And all for an agreement we couldn't manage anyway." He wrapped Lark up in his arms and cradled her head to his chest.
So the leader of the Resistance was yet another son and perhaps father forced into a situation he had no training or preparation for?
"Don't you worry, all right?" Hawking continued. "You didn't ruin anything."
Lark delicately wiped her eyes once released. "This is Able Houser."
"Ah, the chronicler." Hawking's smile was as broad and warm a thing as the hand he offered. "I'm grateful I finally get to personally thank you for saving my mother."
Able shook his hand. "I'm glad I could help at least a little."
Hawking, who seemed to shrink in size the nearer he got, clapped Able on the shoulder. "A lot is just a lot of littles—never forget that. And Chessie told me you helped more than just a little."
Able raised his eyebrow at her. "With what, I am not entirely sure."
"You got me into Lionstone, didn't you?" She spread her arms as though no further explication was necessary. Wait—could she read Bantara after all? What could she have learned under his nose? Which of the wings had she been the most anxious to get into?
He took a breath to calm himself. Simply being in Larbantry, let alone in a high-security area, surely provided a great amount of insight for a Borealunder like Chestnut Miller. Being in Borealund had for Able.
"So, what blew over while I was underground?" Lark asked wryly as she surveyed the map.
"Ha, very little," Hawking replied without humor. "Since the revolt in Adeptsby, Reeve has consolidated his garrison and provisions at Aimsby. It's left us free to move openly through most of the smaller towns, especially further east. So...probably he expects a Larbant force to land this way." He pointed along the eastern coastline. "He's tightened his patrols to the port and port roads and is seizing all incoming goods. We're attempting the same at Pearlshore and Roaringrocks, but..." Hawking's hand fell to hang at his side.
Lark rubbed her eyes. "Still worth it. Even once the navy blocks the incoming goods, we need to be able to reach the people there." Right, she had grown up in Fairbanks during the blockade. Able hadn't thought to ask her about the wartime scarcity or how the Larbant soldiers had treated the Borealunders then. Likely no better than now.
Hawking took a breath but let it out slowly without replying.
Able looked over the map again. "What is the state of Adeptsby now? Did you secure any of the stores?"
"It's under our control, for what that's worth," Hawking replied. "Which isn't much when, no, Reeve got the grain out. It's too far from our communities to use it as the half-completed and therefore half-defensible fortress it is. We're still trying to relocate the folks there, the ones that don't want to join the fight that is." And whose brands kept them from returning home.
Able raised his eyebrows. "Do you expect you'll be able to accommodate anyone who doesn't want to fight? Protect them, I mean?"
"I don't know right now," Hawking admitted. "I have agents at every town trying to learn what they need and what they can spare. Once they start reporting back, we'll have a stronger idea of what we can manage. But...to whatever degree, it's going to be a hard winter."
Able nodded to this then looked over the table. The Resistance, once constrained to skulking in the forests, now controlled vast swaths of territory. But it was too late to produce food with any of it. He glanced over at Lark, whose stricken expression dragged his heart into his belly. He followed her gaze to the southwestern corner of the map where enemy markers crowded Fairbanks. "What of Adeptson?"
Hawking exchanged a glance with Chessie then shifted uneasily. Huh.
"Did he not go to Aimsby? Has Reeve committed outright insurrection?"
Hawking took a breath. "Rumor has it that the count let himself out the gate, or at least tried to—" He held his hands up when Lark whirled to face him, and hurriedly added, "but he also might be merely sequestered in Aimsby for his own safety."
Lark whirled again. "Chessie?" What was she so upset about?
"I don't understand," Able said to Hawking, though he laid a hand on Lark's arm in hopes of comforting her. "You mean he tried to escape?"
"Not that sort of gate, Able," Chessie said gently before closing her eyes. Oh—oh, Gate as in the one in the Sky. "When I look for him, I see black. I'm not sure what that means. Sometimes, when I look for someone who has died, I sense absence. But I would not know what Adeptson's presence felt like, so...I can't help."
A shudder rushed through Lark's arms and she—he? whirled again as if to strike the table with a fist. Able caught her arm with one hand and around her waist with the other. Surprisingly, she turned into his embrace and buried her face against his neck. He brought his hand up to cradle her head there as she deflated and quivered against him.
"I didn't even like him," she said and then sighed thickly, as though on the verge of tears. After all, she hadn't liked Driver either.
Able sighed himself and held her closer. In...the middle of a primitive auditorium with the commanders of the Resistance watching. Well. Doing his best not to tense up, he turned to meet Hawking's eyes. "So...if I have this right, you expect Larbantry to control all the ports soon enough, and you have no navy to cut off their supply line. From there, they can easily squeeze you from both sides. What do you intend to do?" And please be something that wasn't setting Aimsby on fire.
Hawking shook his head. "That is not something I decide alone. We'll be having meetings as the reports come in, and everyone is welcome to attend." He gestured to the arena. "And that includes you, Houser."
"Thank you," Able said. But what must it be like to have a parliamentary approach to military strategy? Not efficient, to be sure, but still appealing.
And he didn't have to wait long to see it in action, as the first messenger arrived only the next day. More soon followed, and with each new report, Hawking conferred with his captains-by-other-names in the round.
Able did not miss a one, perching himself on the top ring so he could observe the other attendants as he took notes. But the attendance was habitually low. Meaning most people would wait until the leaders were preparing to take decisive action to weigh in and make an uninformed hash of the proceedings. He'd just have to wait until then to see what Hawking had up his sleeve.