The metal monster was fatally wounded, listing to one side as it veered off into the trees to the east. There was a crash, a whoomph of flame that flared into the night and died away as the trees swallowed up the evidence.

It was over before it was begun. Ark stood at the center, numbed by such courage, surrounded by a storm of falling feathers.

As Mucum crawled out from under the wreckage of the cannon, and the last few Rootshooters tended to the wounded; as the King looked around in utter confusion, the grief of ages gouged into his face; as Little Squirt flopped onto his side and threw up great gouts of blood; as a child hugged his dead mother and cried a cruck pool of tears; as surviving ravens flew to nearby roosts to feed on Mawish flesh; as the envoy stood, surprisingly uninjured among the groans and rasping cries around her, Petronio took his chance.

He leapt up from under the table straight at his most hated enemy. “You! Why won’t you die?” he snarled.

Ark saw his childhood foe in front of him, eyes fired up with the heat of the battle.

Petronio was not content with words. His eyes flicked briefly toward the man who was once Commander Flint. He grabbed Ark’s right shoulder with one hand. The other plunged deep into Ark’s stomach, searching for dark treasure. “Not so magic now, are you?” he sneered, stepping back to admire his handiwork, hearing the satisfying crunch as the blade bit.

Ark staggered back, clutching at the dagger dug deep into his guts as if it was a gift. All was expected, dealt with. But not this.

46• THE LAST GRASP

Ark wondered why he wasn’t in pain. Was dying really this easy? Then he burst out laughing. “Corwenna said that fruit was good for me!” he shrieked hysterically.

Petronio was thrown. After all, he’d just stabbed the skinny twig! “Have you gone mad? You should say a few prayers before you meet your maker.”

“I did already, and they were answered!” Ark slid the knife from his body as if it was merely a blade in a butcher’s block, dropping it out of Petronio’s reach. So that was what the bag of apples was for! How did Corwenna know? Maybe miracles did grow on trees!

Ark’s hand shot out and grabbed Petronio’s wrist. “I don’t think my Diana’s forgiveness will do for you. Forgive those who tramp all over us? It’s a good ideal. But not this time. And especially not for my sister’s sake.” Ark finally knew what the raven-gift was for. He hoped that Hedd would be proud.

“Ow!” squeaked Petronio, feeling a sudden pinprick in his palm.