Books by S. D. Smith

  Publication Order:

  The Green Ember

  The Black Star of Kingston (The Tales of Old Natalia Book I)

  Ember Falls: The Green Ember Book II

  The Last Archer: A Green Ember Story

  Ember Rising: The Green Ember Book III

  The Wreck and Rise of Whitson Mariner (The Tales of Old Natalia Book II)

  The First Fowler: A Green Ember Story

  Ember’s End: The Green Ember Book IV

  Best read in publication order, but in general, simply be sure to begin with The Green Ember.

  The events in The First Fowler take place around the same time as events in Ember Falls.

  The First Fowler

  Copyright © 2019 by S. D. Smith

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. A rabbitual liar is someone who can’t stop fibbing about rabbits. The science is settled on this. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at info@storywarren.com.

  Trade Paperback edition: 978-1-951305-00-0

  Also available in eBook and Audiobook

  Story Warren Books

  Cover art by Zach Franzen, www.zachfranzen.com.

  Map created by Will Smith and Zach Franzen.

  Printed in the United States of America

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  Story Warren Books

  www.storywarren.com

  To Granny—Mary Preston

  Domini est salus,

  Domini est salus,

  Christi est salus,

  Salus tua, Domine, sit semper nobiscum.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jo Shanks woke suddenly, gasping and wide-eyed.

  A red-furred doe looked down at him, hands on hips and face smirking.

  “I thought you were going to sleep all day,” she said. It was Emma, the newly promoted doctor whose expert care had helped him heal after the Battle for Cloud Mountain.

  “Hard to sleep,” Jo said, trying to breathe easy and slow his racing heart, “when strange does hover over you with judgmental looks.”

  She grinned; then her smile slowly faded. “I’m leaving, Jo.”

  “What?” He rubbed at his eyes and sat up. “You’re what?”

  “I’m leaving,” Emma repeated, pouring a small measure of purple fluid from a jar into Jo’s cup, “and so are you.”

  “I’m sorry, Emma. Hold on. I’m not quite awake yet. I was dreaming . . .” He hesitated, then smiled. “I sometimes dream of shooting arrows again for prizes and glory.”

  Emma handed him the cup and smiled. “Take this. It’s your last draft. The archer’s cup. The cup final. Drink it up, Jo.”

  He smiled. “Hopefully I’ll fare better with this one.”

  “Barely losing to Nate Flynn is no bad outcome,” she said. Jo had lost a close contest with the legendary Flynn just before coming to Cloud Mountain as part of his elite archery unit, the Bracers.

  “Where are we going?” He drained the cup with a grimace.

  “Well,” she began, stoppering the jar and setting it back on a shelf, “I’m going to Harbone Citadel. They have an outbreak of blue fever. They need help.”

  “But that’s so far . . . and so dangerous. Can’t they send someone else?”

  “It’s all dangerous, Jo,” she said, taking the cup back and setting it down on the table. “I didn’t become a doctor so I could be safe, just like you didn’t choose to be a soldier for safety. They have sick there, and many of them are children. They’re scared. I’m going.”

  Jo nodded. He had come to respect Emma as a more-than-competent doctor during the weeks of his recovery. But more than respect, he valued her friendship. While his wounds healed, she became his primary connection to what was happening in the world. She had shared Heather Longtreader’s gripping story of the dramatic rescue and rise of King Jupiter’s heir, carried off in large part by Heather’s brother Picket. Emma also shared details about the challenges facing the long-hidden heir’s fledgling coalition. Prince Smalden Joveson—Smalls, as his friends called him—was building an alliance to take on Morbin Blackhawk’s preylord tyranny, and Jo was eager to be released from the hospital so he could be a part of it.

  “Where am I going?” he asked.

  “Home, I think. Halfwind. Anyway, I’m releasing you, and you’ll be someone else’s problem.” She smiled. “Your shoulder will hurt for a while, but you’re well enough to be out of here. I’ll miss you, Jo. I wish you well.”

  “Thank you, Emma,” he said. “You’ve made me well. And you’ve been a good friend. May your feet find the next stone.” He touched his ears, eyes, and mouth, closing his eyes for a moment. When he looked up, she was gone.

  Jo gathered his few possessions into his pack and left the hospital. He was keen to meet up with his unit, but there was one stop he felt he must make.

  A few minutes later, he walked into the Savory Den, joining the line of hungry diners moving up to be served. He was starving and had wanted to feast in this incredible eatery again ever since he’d been confined to the hospital, eating mild meals designed to help him heal. This place had food to bring a buck back from the dead, not just from some battle wounds. Jo stretched, feeling the tight muscles and lingering pain, especially in his shoulder. He gazed around, hoping to spot the portly proprietor, Master Gort, but couldn’t find him.

  Then he heard a shout from inside the kitchen.

  “Breshwack! I told you not to add anything to this dish, but you seem to have added everything!” That was Gort, and Jo smiled as the shouting continued. “Everything’s not nothing, is it, you air-brained apprentice?”

  “It’s only a little salt,” the high-pitched voice of the apprentice replied, “and a teensy handful or two of all your other spices. It’s going to taste amazingly.”

  “Amazingly?” Gort shouted so loudly that the entire line, stretching back to the cave entrance, could easily hear him. “What’s amazing is that I haven’t added salt and seven thousand other spices to you and cooked you in a pot for Nitwit Soup!”

  “I’m mostly bones,” came the squeaky reply.

  “I’ll break your bones!” shouted Gort, and a clanging chase ensued, enjoyed as a fairly usual kind of entertainment by the satisfied diners of the Savory Den. The sound of the mad chase settled down as a thin buck in a messy apron, with white hat askew, came sliding out of the kitchen. He smiled at the diners, waved confidently, then hurried for the door to escape just as Gort waddled out. Gort gazed back and forth, eyes bulging and jaw tight. Not seeing his absent apprentice, he quickly changed his enraged expression to a hospitable one, nodding politely to the offered thanks of the grateful patrons. Everyone seemed to love the food here as much as Jo did.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Gort answered the praising guests. “Please . . . come back and have some more.”

  The rotund cook bowed and backed into the kitchen, and the diners returned to their meals.

  Jo smiled. Not wishing to lose his place in line or seek out the chef while he was busy and flustered, Jo decided to try to catch Master Gort another time. Instead, he discreetly examined those around him in line. Behind him a young soldier from Chelmsford Citadel waited with five of his fellows. The Chelmsford bucks had been too late to help in the last battle, but they had arrived shortly after, with Lord Felson pledging his support to Prince Smalls. Emma had told Jo that there were now more citadels pledged to the prince than opposed, and those opposed were losing support. He hoped it was just a matter of time before they all united against their common foes. Jo nodded to the soldiers, then turned around. The old buck in front of him, supported by an ornate cane, tottered a little as he shuffled ahead.

  “Uncle,” Jo said softly, “may I bring you your portion?”

  Jo wasn’t related to the older buck, but uncle was a traditional term of respect. The elderly rabbit turned around slowly, smiled at Jo and nodded, then spoke in a slow, heavy-breathing whisper.

  “Thank you . . . my lad.” With his free, slightly shaking hand, he patted Jo’s. “You’re a tall one . . . aren’t you, bucky?”

  “I suppose so, sir. How does that seat suit you, Uncle?” Jo asked, pointing to a vacant chair at a table of young rabbits, many of them nurses.

  The old buck nodded. “They might not . . . be ready for . . . the energy I bring . . . to dinner conversation.”

  Jo led him, very slowly, toward his seat. “I’m with you, sir.”

  “My name’s Caldwell . . . I reckon you know yours,” the old buck said, smiling up at Jo.

  “Forgive me, Master Caldwell,” Jo said, “my name is Jo Shanks. I’m very pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “The pleasure . . . is mine, young Jo,” Master Caldwell said, slowly easing into his seat with Jo’s help.

  “Pardon me,” Jo said, addressing the smiling young does at the table, “this is Master Caldwell. Be warned, he’s a champion conversationalist.”

  “We’re very pleased to meet you, sir,” a brown doe said, looking up from her meal. “I was just off to get a drink. May I bring you some tea?”
  Jo hurried back to the line, and the Chelmsford soldiers motioned for him to resume his spot.

  “That’s good of you, soldier,” a short buck at the fore of his fellows said, “to take care of an old veteran like that.”

  “Maybe someone will take care of us one day, if we survive,” Jo said, extending his hand. “I’m Jo Shanks, from Halfwind.”

  “I’m Ricker, from Chelmsford,” the short buck replied. “You fellas had all the fun without us. Good work, but we were sore not to be in it.”

  “I have a feeling you’ll get your chances pretty soon,” Jo said. “How long are you bucks here for?”

  “Not sure, really. Our lord is huddled up with the others and the prince. They’ll say ‘Jump!’ and we’ll say, ‘Into which wolf trap should we blindly bound?’ And then they’ll tell us, I guess.”

  “I like your take on things, Ricker.” Noticing they were now nearly to the front of the line, Jo turned back to the bucks. “May your feet find the next standing stone.”

  “Thanks, Shanks,” Ricker replied. “And, as we say in Chelmsford, ‘May your intelligent scout, and infallible guide . . . not lead you to lose your fluffy backside.’”

  “Now that’s a blessing I can back!” Jo laughed, shaking hands with all the Chelmsford bucks.

  A tall officer with the Chelmsford arms on his shoulder hurried up. “Ricker.”

  “Aye, sir!” Ricker replied, coming to attention and saluting.

  “We have a mission for you,” the officer said, his face grave. “It’s what you asked for, Ricker. It’s about as dangerous as they come.”

  Ricker nodded, glancing back at his fellows, who suddenly looked serious and certain. Ricker turned back to the officer. “We’re in, sir.”

  “Follow me.”

  Jo watched them go, his heart sinking. He received and served a meal to Master Caldwell but didn’t stay to eat with the grateful old buck.

  Jo wasn’t hungry anymore.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jo walked out of the Savory Den through the cave passage leading outside. The torchlit passage was damper than the Savory Den, and he could hear the small waterfall pouring out over the misty cave mouth ahead. Surly guards extended spears to block his way.

  “None can pass out onto the mountain without clearance,” a thin buck said.

  Jo’s mouth twisted in anger, and he was tempted to tell them what he had done in the last battle, how he had saved Heather Longtreader’s life with an impossible bow shot that no other rabbit had witnessed. He wanted to say how the desperate shot had torn his already wounded shoulder open and that he had fought on while his fellows fell all around him—and now all he wanted was some fresh air!

  He said nothing and turned to leave.

  “Shanks,” came a gravelly voice. Jo looked up to see Captain Frye. “Are you out of the hospital, soldier?”

  Jo saluted his captain. “Yes, sir. Released just now.”

  “Good, good. I want to show you something, Shanks,” Frye said. Glowering at the guard whose spear still barred the way, “Out of the way,” Captain Frye called, and the soldier stumbled back, embarrassed. Captain Frye charged ahead, motioning for Jo to follow.

  Jo hurried after the stout older buck. They slipped out of the misty cave mouth, and Jo extended a hand to feel the trickling water. He splashed some on his neck and walked out onto the level ground, where squads of vigilant soldiers kept watch.

  “You okay to walk a while?” Frye asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Jo replied.

  Captain Frye returned salutes and nodded to his fellow captains as his keen eyes took in the defensive setup. Jo glanced at Captain Frye’s badly wounded arm, bound to his body by a thick wrap. His arm had been mangled during the attack as he bravely fended off a wolf.

  So many wounds, and the war was just getting started.

  They cut across a company of alert bucks and found a winding path down the opposite side of the mountain where Jo had fought during the battle.

  “Sir!” A sentry came to attention along the path.

  “As you were,” Frye said.

  The nervous sentry seemed hesitant to speak. “Are you certain you want to head down the mountain, Captain?”

  “If I wasn’t, do you think I would be doing it?”

  They carried on. After seeing no one as they walked in silence, Captain Frye motioned to his eyes and put a finger over his mouth.

  Captain Frye stepped carefully up a rise and, leaning against a tree, cautiously peered around the edge. Turning back, he motioned for Jo to take his place. Jo did, and, leaning against the tree, he slowly stretched out to sneak a look down the mountain.

  Along the riverbank, a large company of wolves was encamped. There were so many. Jo felt conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to run away, another to empty his quiver into the pack until he had no arrows left.

  As Jo turned back, Captain Frye studied his face. The old captain jerked his head back toward the path, and they walked quietly back up the mountain.

  “I’ve been thinking, sir,” Jo said, when it was safe to talk again.

  “Go ahead, soldier.”

  “What if we don’t wait for them? What if we attack while they’re still massing their army?”

  Captain Frye nodded. “I’m glad you said that.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jo replied.

  “It’s ignorant, and it won’t work,” Frye went on, “but it tells me something about you. It tells me where you are. Stay alert, Shanks. Get back in the fight. We’re going to need bucks like you. Maybe very soon.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jo frowned as they made their way past the first sentry station and neared the entrance to Cloud Mountain.

  “That used to be Decker’s Landing down there,” Captain Frye said. “The wolves killed Decker and burned his place. They established a beachhead, and we do have to deal with it.”

  “How?”

  “The lords think an indirect scheme might serve best,” he answered. “And that will require some special teams.”

  “I volunteer,” Jo said.

  “Your services will likely be required elsewhere, Jo,” Captain Frye said. He paused to catch his breath. “That is, if you’re passed fit for duty by your commanding officer.”

  Ahead on the path, a small unit of soldiers headed down toward the wolf encampment. They wore dark colors and were outfitted with the usual weaponry, but they seemed to be going very lightly and moved with a focus he found captivating. Passing by Jo and Captain Frye, the short leader saluted.

  “Keep up the fight, Jo,” he said. It was Ricker, from Chelmsford.

  “I will,” Jo answered. “You bucks give them the sharp end.”

  “We will,” Ricker replied, then turned and headed down the mountain.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jo lugged his pack through a crowded passage, up the stone stairway, through King’s Garden, then past Hallway Round and out onto the village green. He passed happy clusters of soldiers and support staff hurrying purposefully in every direction. While there had been suspicion and fear when Jo first arrived at Cloud Mountain, the atmosphere had shifted since the victory. He had felt it even in the hospital, but out here it could be measured in larger doses. Soldiers stepped higher. The farmers who gathered on the edge of the green beamed. Cloud Mountain was a serious place, more serious than ever, perhaps. But it buzzed with possibility. It hummed with hope. Despite the heaviness of war, he felt it lift his spirits, too. He hurried into the caves.

  Soon Jo emerged from the caves onto the long plateau. He squinted up at the seven standing stones, then over at the mass of rabbits breaking camp. He spotted his old tent and hurried toward it.

  “Lieutenant,” he said, seeing his commander, Nate Flynn, overseeing the breakdown of their camp.

  “Jo,” Nate replied, smiling wide. “It’s good to see you walking around. I wish you could come with us.”

  “I can, sir. I’ve been released. Cleared by the medics here.”

  “So Doctor Emma says,” Nate said, “but I think she just wanted to get rid of you.”

  “As long as you don’t,” Jo replied.

  Nate slung on his pack and called over to a white rabbit who was bent over and folding his tent. “Owen, we’ve got time for one last practice, right?”

  Owen turned, saw Jo, and nodded. “Yes, sir. Hello, Jo. It’s good to see you. You seem well. That’s . . . that’s good.”

 

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