All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [112]
“There be one more wee thing,” Jeremy said. “Wolf may have a grudge to settle with Scarab.”
“Why would anyone have a grudge against us?” Fiona asked.
Team Wolf strode onto the field and she had her answer.
The student leading them was tall and pale, and his dark hair fell at an angle over his eyes . . . the same person Jeremy had challenged that first day in class: Donald van Wyck. His nose was slightly crooked from where it’d been broken. He smiled a predatory grin as he saw Jeremy and the rest of them.
And more trouble: The others in Team Wolf were tall, lean, and looked like they could run circles around them.
Except one boy. He was smaller and had a long scar on his face. This was the student she’d seen duel by the fountain on the first day of school. Fiona recalled how he had won and twisted the rapier that had skewered his enemy’s hand . . . and had enjoyed it.
“So what’s the plan?” Robert whispered. “You’ve got maybe thirty seconds before Mr. Ma gets out here.”
Fiona struggled with the notion of her being Captain. She could argue the point and waste their time—or she could lead. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted to do ever since she’d seen the Battle at Ultima Thule?
Her mind embraced the problem: a team of superior opponents and a new and dangerous terrain. Her hands flexed. She could almost feel it under her fingertips: the weave of a tapestry.
Scarab had one advantage: No one knew who their Captain was.
If Sarah’s data was right, Wolf had one potential disadvantage, too: they predictably went after weak members of the opposing team.
Fiona had studied every battle from Agincourt to Waterloo, thanks to Audrey and Cee’s homeschooling. She knew about passive lures and overlapping fire—and something more than tactics whirled inside her . . . as if she had done this a thousand times before.
A plan crystallized in her mind.
She motioned them closer, and they huddled together. “Okay, this is it. Just listen. We don’t have time to argue. Mitch, Jezebel, Amanda, and Robert go high as fast as you can. You might get lucky and find a quick way to our flag. If you do—go for it. Four is a win.”
Fiona didn’t explain that their real purpose was to move Amanda along and keep her safe. While she’d be an obvious target, Wolf wouldn’t go after one so well protected.
She turned to Jezebel and told her, “Keep on eye on the rest of us. Drop back when trouble starts, and stop as many Wolves as you can.”
Jezebel tilted her head. “A pleasure.”
“Our second unit will be Jeremy and Eliot.”
They both recoiled and looked at each other with disdain.
“Don’t complain,” Fiona told them. “Just pick any path. And Eliot, don’t play your violin. I need you to keep moving fast.”
Fiona knew that Wolf would go after their other obvious weak target: Eliot. And with Jeremy being marked for revenge, it was a safe bet that they’d draw three, maybe more, of the Wolves . . . which was precisely what she wanted.
They were bait.
Fiona loathed using Eliot as bait, but it was the best plan. Besides, she was going to be there, too.
“Sarah and I will be the third unit,” she told them. “We’ll circle around, and when Wolf comes, we’ll close ranks. Jezebel has our backs.” Fiona chewed over the irony of trusting her and continued. “That gives us three going straight for the goal, a sizable rear defensive force”—she looked at Jeremy, Eliot, Sarah, and Jezebel—“and one of us should be able to break out and get to the flag for the win.”
That was it: the best, most flexible thing she could come up with on the spot.
Her team digested the strategy.
Mitch grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. Amanda swallowed, looked frightened, but nonetheless nodded. Robert scanned the jungle gym, looking for a route to the top.
“Bloody hell,” Jeremy said with a sigh, and then added, “okay, we’ll give it go.”
Mr. Ma walked onto the field and blew his whistle. “Teams,