Just inside the opening into Artimé, Alex could see Samheed and Lani’s squad waiting. Alex caught Lani’s eye, and when she smiled, his stomach flip-flopped, despite her mean note. He mouthed the words “Be safe.”
Lani bit her lip and nodded. “You too,” she whispered.
They did not have long to wait.
A fleet of rust-colored vehicles, flanked on both sides by endless lines of marching soldiers, thundered closer. They raised no weapons. Slowly the vehicles came to a stop in front of the entrance to Artimé. They faced Simber head-on. When they came to a halt, a burly man stood up inside the front vehicle, his head and shoulders well above the windshield. He squinted as the colors of Artimé bled through the opening in the wall. Samheed recognized the man as General Blair.
“Attention, worthless Unwanteds! I have a message for Alexander Stowe,” he yelled.
Simber growled angrily.
Alex felt his heart drop and splatter on the road.
After a moment Simber nodded to Alex and growled in a low voice, “Step forrrwarrrd and claim it.”
All the squads inside Artimé who could see through the opening watched the scene unfold. Alex’s breath was shallow, and his teeth nearly chattered together. He stepped forward as bravely as he could, cleared his throat, and said in his deepest, harshest voice, “I’m Alex Stowe.”
The general stared him in the eye for a long moment, his upper lip frozen in a sneer.
Alex stared back, unflinching.
“The message is from the High Priest Justine.” He cleared his throat authoritatively.
Alex didn’t move.
“The High Priest Justine thanks you for the warning you gave to Aaron Stowe two nights ago.”
As the general spoke, two Quillitary officers in the seat behind him hoisted something long and bulky over their heads.
“She only wished that this,” the General said as the officers flung the object into the grassy opening of Artimé, “had truly been you.”
On the ground, inside a sheet of thin, ragged linen, was the lifeless body of the general’s own son, Will Blair.
Battleground
Alex remained steady despite the gasps around him, gathered his wits, and spoke in a smooth voice. “If you live through the day, General,” he said, “perhaps you’ll ask the High Priest Justine why she’s too afraid to come here and deliver that message herself.”
“Get back!” Simber barked as the far flank of Quillitary marchers raised long, rusty metal weapons to their shoulders. Simber’s wings burst open as a shield, forcing Alex behind them as loud blasts erupted from the Quillitary, followed by raining thuds of pellets against the stone statue. “Firrre!” commanded the stone beast.
Alex regained his footing as the others in his squad sent a round of artistic fire at the Quillitary. Those soldiers who hadn’t been hit rushed into Artimé and began firing on the Unwanteds within, and the vehicles roared and coughed in preparation to enter through the gateway. Alex sent off a round of blinding highlights from his fluorescent yellow pen, hitting the drivers of the first two vehicles squarely in the eyes, as well as General Blair himself. The first vehicle lurched wildly and crashed into the wall, sending the general and two others catapulting toward Samheed and Lani. The second vehicle smashed into it, causing both jalopies to hiss and shoot boiling spurts of water back at their occupants.
Samheed, still in shock at seeing his former friend lying dead, and witnessing Will’s own father show absolutely no signs of emotion or remorse, realized with full certainty that the Quillitary was no longer anything he wanted to be a part of. How foolish he had been! And seeing the heartlessness all around him—it was so much worse than he remembered. He felt the old familiar rage boiling up tenfold.
With a wild yell Samheed pulled a spiked metal star from his vest and flung it with all his might at the groaning general. It struck the man in the throat and embedded deep within. General Blair’s blinded eyes widened, and then closed.
But there was no time for anyone to reflect, as Artiméans all around Samheed fell to the ground.
Another round of pellets from the enemy blasted and chinked off Simber, leaving him no worse for wear. Meghan dropped the first two officers in the far flank with sleep spells, and Peter laid down the next dozen with words of destruction. They writhed on the ground and were succinctly trampled by the Quillitary that pressed forward, trying to get into Artimé.
From the squads inside Artimé came another round of spells, causing tremendous chaos for the unsuspecting enemy. Scatterclips flew through the air, some of them dragging the enemy with them until they reached something solid enough in which to stick. Still it was all the Artiméans could do to protect themselves as the lines of vehicles and the near flank poured into the magical world.
“Rrrufus, I need numberrrs!” Simber roared.
Immediately the squirrelicorn flew up and, hovering just below the barbed-wire ceiling, counted out a quick estimate and dropped to the cheetah’s back. “A thousand at least—they’re backed up all the way to the nursery,” Rufus reported. “More than I expected.”
“How many of ourrrs down?”
Rufus flew up again to look around, and then darted into Artimé and returned. “Twelve down out here. At least two dozen down inside.”
Simber roared his displeasure, which caused several nearby members of the Quillitary to hit the dirt. “Double up yourrr attacks! Make them perrrmanent!” he roared. “They arrre rrrecoverrring frrrom yourrr spells. Yourrr comrrrades arrre falling!”