Free Deltora Quest #8: Return to Deltora by Emily Rodda

rumbled slowly over cluttered, cobbled streets.
    And at last … stillness. The smell of rotting vegetables. Footsteps moving slowly to the back of the van.
    The click of a latch. The doors opening a crack. Steven’s face, tense, peering in, the sky a dimming orange glow behind him. Steven climbing into the van, pulling the doors closed behind him and holding them shut.
    “All seems quiet,” he whispered. “The streets are empty. There are no Guards about.”
    “Then where are they all?” Jasmine hissed. She put her hands up to Filli, who was whimpering, nuzzling into her collar.
    “Del is a big place,” Barda growled. “Perhaps they are guarding the walls. Perhaps they are around the palace …”
    “Or perhaps they are waiting outside the walls, in the grove of trees — for us!” said Steven.
    Lief shuddered. That would mean that there was indeed a spy in their ranks. It would mean that their friends were at this moment walking into a trap. He began to speak, but Barda held up his hand.
    “If that is so,” he said harshly, “we must only be glad that the Belt is safe here. But our friends will not be unprotected. Steven will go now to the meeting place, if he can escape the city.”
    “I will escape, one way or another,” Steven said grimly. “And I will attend the meeting. To explain — or to settle a score.” He clasped Barda’s hand, then Lief’s, then Jasmine’s. “Good fortune,” he said husk-ily. “May I see you again, and soon.”
    Silently, the four companions climbed from the van. Rats gnawing on piles of vegetable scraps shrilled and scattered around their feet. Steven patted the old horse, which was nibbling at a wilted green leaf. “Wait,” he murmured. The horse nodded, snuffling softly.
    Threading their way through a crowd of battered carts, they stole to the end of the small yard. But before they could enter the market square, there was a sudden commotion. A door was flung open with a crash. Rough voices and heavy boots burst, echoing, into the night. The light of many torches lit the darkness.
    Hastily, the companions drew back into the shadows of the yard. The sound grew louder. There were crashes, grunts, the chink of stone. What was happening? Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Lief peered cautiously around the corner.
    Torches were blazing everywhere. Ten Grey Guards were working in the middle of the square. They were heaving huge blocks of stone into place to make a stepped pyramid with a flat top. Through the center of the pyramid rose a tall pole, towering high and held in place by the blocks that surrounded it.
    “Where’s the freak?” one Guard bawled. “The Ichabod?”
    “It’s in the palace, feeding,” growled another. “It’ll be down here presently, for more. It prefers its meat cooked, they say.”
    There was a gale of harsh laughter. Lief’s skin began to crawl.
    “Get up to the top, Bak 6!” barked another Guard. “There’ll be trouble if we aren’t ready when they bring the others.” He strode over to the shadows and came back hauling what looked like a bundle of rags.
    “They got them, then, Bak 1?” called the first Guard, climbing to the top of the pyramid. He had a length of rope and an oil jar in his hand.
    “Easy. Knew exactly where they’d be, and when, didn’t they?” Bak 1 was heaving the bundle up the steps towards the pole. “They got the old woman first, so she couldn’t try any of her hocus-pocus. After that it wasn’t too bad. The big, ugly one took a bit of time. And the gnome gave some trouble, they say. Killed three Quills and a Pern on her own. But they fixed her in the end.”
    Lief’s heart seemed to stop. He heard the sharply drawn breaths of his companions behind him, but did not turn. Rigid with horror he watched as Bak 1 pulled the bundle upright against the pole and Bak 6 began tying it into place.
    It was Dain. Dain, silky hair flopping forward, the side of his pale face flickering in and out of view in