A white gull screeched as it waddled down the stairs. It shuffled to Byronia who took the message.
“Uncle says: Keep to Alana’s lessons. I’m a Martlet now, no longer a child pretending to be one. I guess Orla complained to him, too.”
“The court rarely understand us, yet you and your sister have long been friends, you shouldn’t worry.” Alana tossed the gull a bit of bread, who caught it and flapped up to Caraine. It nestled into the blankets with her.
“I’m not,” Byronia lied, her eyes set on the grungy hammock where she would sleep. Alana handed her the lanolin.
*
Chapter 14
Province of Josael in the Realm of Daouail
Groundwater seeped over Kian’s leather shoes; icy brackish water squished between his toes as he followed Eohan, trying to stay in his brother’s footsteps.
He lifted his head just in time to see Cloudy stumble.
She jerked forward, knocking Eohan back as she sank into the muck. His brother jumped out of range of her frantic steps and scurried around in front of her. Eohan tightened the bridle and calmed her with soothing words. She cried a heart-wrenching scream.
Jaci and the other horses whinnied in reply.
Cloudy’s leg lifted; it was coated with blood.
The party moved to higher ground. Kajsa quickly pulled out bandages.
“Best we leave the horses here. Kian, can you be trusted with caring for the animals?” Kajsa asked. “Perhaps even brush some of this mud off?”
“Yes, my lady. May I have a fire?”
Kajsa looked around. “See that hillock? Let’s put you on the lee with the horses. They can graze.”
The party progressed towards the higher ground. Kajsa found an acceptable spot and lit him a fire. Doriel set up a cooking pot and threw tubers. The blaze seemed insignificant against the water and the scrawny bare trees whose twisting branches reached for a way out of the infernal damp mist.
Roark and Eohan took short lengths of leather from the saddlebags and tied the front right leg to the back leg of each horse while speaking gentle words of comfort. Seweryn unwrapped a bundle of hay and spread it around the hillock. “Keep your eyes on the horses. They’ll most likely try to stay on the firmer ground of the hill and only go to the water to drink. Just remember they’re stronger than you if startled.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Kian watched the others sink into the muck as they moved in a southwesterly direction. He wished for the familiar comfort of wine.
Alone, Kian drew his knees to his chest and forced the sobs to remain in his chest. Insects alighted on Kian’s skin, but the scent of Seweryn’s potion forced them to fly before they bit. Hating the idea he was useless, he pulled out a brush from Seweryn’s saddle bag. Kian curried each horse as well as he was able.
He changed into dry clothing and put on Eohan’s short riding cloak. He sat with his back to the fire, his eyes on the hobbled horses.
Kian wiped a tear from his eye. For the months he was enslaved, he couldn’t remember Ma, it hurt him too much. Now he couldn’t not see her singing.
Chop, Chop, Chop the pork,
Grind, Grind, Grind the pork….
He could see Pa coming in with the day’s leftover buns and breadcrumbs. They would kiss, and Pa would give the boys a treat.
“Don’t spoil your supper,” he’d say.
He wiped another tear away. He took a sip of water and recapped the water skin. It wasn’t wine, but at least he didn’t hurt anymore.
The swamp’s quiet was broken by a splash, but when he turned around the water’s surface was flat. “Just a fish or an eel …” He shivered. In the distance, something broke the surface, but he couldn’t identify it—or even if he really saw anything. “Calm down, you’re acting like a kid.”
Jaci whinnied, her eyes wide. He rubbed her snout.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted blackness crest the water again. This time closer. Ochre was near the water’s edge!
Not knowing the words to get the horse to move, but hoping his meaning was clear, he shouted, “Ochre, back! Here, girl!”
He grabbed a stick from the ground, raced across the hillock just as a sleek black mass crested the waves, its huge maw open wide.
Ochre lifted her head away from the beast’s snapping teeth and shuffled backward up the hill as well as she could in her hobble strap.
Kian smashed the stick across the large furry back. The wood split, useless. Kian threw the piece still in his hand. It struck on the side of its head. He grabbed another large stick. With a haunting screech, the beast disappeared into the water.
With a rope, Kian created a corral for the horses to keep them away from the dark water. He took one of Seweryn’s oiled tarps and dipped it into the water and tied it between the small threes hoping to make some sort of trough. The trees creaked as they bent inward but held.
With the hope the party would return soon, he collected as many stout sticks that he could without touching the water.
*
Chapter 15
Province of Eryedeir in the Realm of Fairhdel
Disembarking the ship, Alana breathed in the air of home. The smell of the sea. The call of gulls and eagles as they soared on the wind. The gleaming six white towers growing out of the granite cliffs -- the westernmost one held her comfortable apartment -- though she rarely stayed there.
They moved down the long wooden docks, commoners bowed and tried to kiss their hands, their horses. As they reached the shore, more commoners surrounded them.
Behind Alana, Caraine cried, “Mama!” and slid to the ground.
The girl tried to push her way through the crowd but was pressed back by the mass of people.
“Caraine!” the wisewoman cried. “My child.”
“Byronia, if you please.”
Byronia dismounted and shouted, “Move aside by order of the Martlet of House Silba.”
Everyone stopped moving, including Ylsabet. As if she strode into battle with all the confidence of a hardened warrior, Byronia took the girl’s hand and led her to the wisewoman who had sunk to her knees. The woman stretched out but remained in place.
Tears streamed down the woman’s face. She kissed Byronia’s hands. Confidence faltering, the Lady of House Silba tried to back away.
“One of my lost children has been returned.” Ylsabet kissed Caraine’s cheeks and pressed her to her chest and rocked her. “Caraine! You found her as you claimed you would, Lady Alana. Lady of House Silba.”
Alana touched the woman’s shoulder. “Your daughter has three more mornings and nights of medicine. Lady Byronia and I must go to the Great House. Can you keep Fol Baker until I return his sons to him?”
*
Whispers of their arrival flew towards the castle. The party slowly made their way through town and continued up the limestone road, which spiraled over the curvature of the hillside until they came to three arching oak and iron gates. The sentries gave them wide smiles.
Inside the walls, the garden was ablaze with vivid red and yellow flowers of the season. Stablekeepers hurried to take the horses.
“Let’s speak to Laraena and Ylynn.”
“Do you think your sister will return the hospitality my sister gave you?”
“Probably not. She’s not fool enough to believe she could hold a Martlet. We should write to Corwin. If Roark could use our help, we should go, if not, we’ll wait.”
“You’re willing to wait?”
“Corwin’s right. It’s time for Roark to be tested and we might get better descriptions from the parents when it’s time to find the others to help you in your continued travels.”
Byronia smiled softly.
“What is it?”
“Corwin won’t believe you said he was right.”
*
Chapter 16
Province of Josael in the Realm of Daouail
Eohan couldn’t tell which smelled worse, the rotting swamp or their bodies. Thoug
h the air was cool and the water frigid, a sheen of sweat covered each of their foreheads and dripped from their noses and chins as they slowly moved through the muck. They crawled over and under the slimy bark and twisted, exposed roots. Their woolens were soon covered in brackish water and mud. Turtles lazily swam away from their movements. Eohan’s boots grew heavy with mud, his pants and tunic were coated with it. What he wouldn’t give for a fresh stream.
Kajsa slid into the muck. It burped as it swallowed her.
“Ka—!” Doriel cried. By the time his voice hit the second syllable, Kajsa swam back to the surface, her tunic sparkling with blood.
“Tree hollow. Careful,” she said.
Ignoring her warning, Seweryn splashed over to her. He lifted her tunic and rinsed her wound with fresh water and covered it with a bandage. He took another step, sliced himself on the same hidden tree root.
Seweryn rinsed and bound his calf as well as he could on one leg. A shrieking howl echoed all around them. It sounded from the east to the west. In front and behind.
They tried to move to higher ground, but the swamp halted their progress. The howl sounded again, and this time it seemed right to be behind the nearest tree.
A sleek furry beast, at least seventeen hands, leapt out of the water and landed on Roark, pulling him under. Eohan reached for his friend but missed before he disappeared from view.
The beast crested again. Roark was still alive, splashing and gulping for air.
Kajsa, Doriel, and Seweryn all had their knives in hand and flung them before Eohan could even see. The beast screamed as at least one hit its mark. It dove again, and Eohan chased until he found Roark on his knees coughing and choking up mud. Though he wanted to go after the creature, he helped his friend to his feet and brought him back to the party. He saw one bloody knife in the mud. He picked it up, unsure whose it was.
Doriel saw it. “I missed eh?”
“There’s blood on it, but it didn’t stick.”
“I should’ve practiced with Kian then,” Doriel replied.
While Seweryn looked over Roark, Kajsa suggested opening the map again, but they couldn’t find the suns behind the mists. She opened her Realm compass -- a gift from Alana -- to discover the direction.
Yet it mattered little. The mists were so thick there was no time. He had no idea how far Kian and the horses were from him. How long the boy had been left alone. Time was elusive in the mists.
He fell into the hole which captured Kajsa and Seweryn.
Staggering out, Eohan yelled, “We’re moving in circles.”
“Or the swamp’s changing,” Doriel said and held out a hand to him.
“This place is maddening.” Eohan felt the tremble in his arms as he tried to scrape the muck from his clothing. He clenched his fists.
Suddenly Kajsa had his muddy shirt front. She pulled him to his knees so she could look him in the eye.
“I might not be your master, but you listen good: a War Ender can never lose their temper,” Kajsa said. “Alana’s right, you have it in you, but you lose your temper, and you might as well go home and be a butcher or baker or whatever in the lowest Realm that you did before this.” She flicked his ear for good measure then turned around, trying to find some light in the trees.
Heat rose to Eohan’s cheeks as Roark came up beside him. “Thanks for saving me. We ought to tell Alana that her vision was correct.”
Eohan swallowed his fury and shivered, this time from the cold wetness all around him. Once his anger faded, he thought: A War Ender examines all assets. “I have an idea! Roark, have you ever been able to read minds with those you can’t see? Maybe you could sense her presence?”
Roark’s brows knitted together. “I’ve never tried it, but I’ll try.” He closed his eyes. His corpse fell back into the water. Eohan hauled him out. He was dead weight. His neck and arms flopped backward. “He’s not breathing!”
Seweryn pressed Roark’s neck with his fingers. He ripped open the muddy tunic and listened to his heart.
“Shit, Alana will kill us all,” Doriel said.
“Come back, come back, Roark.” Kajsa took his limp hand in hers.
As quickly as the life left him, it returned. Roark gasped out. “Oh, sard, no. Not like we thought.” He started coughing, tried to stand and vomited into the water. “No. Sarding.” He gulped in air and clasped onto Seweryn as he was closest. “I went away. But I found her. I’ll never take my body for granted again.”
“Where is she?” Kajsa asked.
“Not far, To the east.” Roark pointed, outspread his hands trembled. “She doesn’t know we’re here. Lots of spells though. Fairy fire. I saw Kian. He’s been collecting wood. Got a good pile of sticks.”
“He’s a good boy,” Kajsa pulled out her journal. “There’s a common enough counterspell for fairy fire.”
In the seconds that followed, chaos again impeded the party.
Two swamp hags, wet black braids whipping wildly, brown mud covering their darker flesh, lunged at Roark and howled. Another two rose to the surface of the muck grabbed Eohan, and another two grabbed Seweryn.
“Don’t look into their eyes!” Roark screamed.
“What brings you to our domain, guild lords?”
Eohan took a step back from the ancient Daosithian women but found his feet were stuck in the thick mud.
Kajsa barreled into their midst without heed of their long black claws with two arms out, each holding a short blade. One hit squarely, and blood sprayed into the dark water. The second was a glancing blow, but that was more than enough to drive the second hag away.
“Move,” she shouted.
“I can’t!” Eohan was sinking. They were all sinking. The water rose to his knees, to his thighs, the cold burned up his waist. Kajsa and Doriel disappeared under water. Roark was up to his chin, gasping for air. Eohan reached for the branch above him. It broke way in his hands. He thrashed.
Kajsa gripped Eohan’s forearm. He was where he had been.
Another howl echoed through the swamp as Doriel brought down his battleax on the shoulder of the hag who held Roark. He hit another square in the ribcage. He followed Kajsa to Seweryn who had one on his back and fighting off another. “Mother forgive me … I don’t want to be a War Ender,” Seweryn muttered as if in a daze, staring at a reflection in the water.
Kajsa knocked the one off his back. Seweryn shook his head and drew his sword. A turn and he sliced through the middle of the swamp hag in front of him. The bodies sank into the muck and water.
Eohan could not see them, but he could barely see his feet. “Will Kian be alright?”
“I think Roark’s astral projection brought her. As long as Kian doesn’t use any of the mystic’s tools, he should be safe.” Seweryn said.
“Her? But there were six,” Eohan said. “And where did they go!”
“No, there was one. Always only one and even she is just a shade set to make us turn back,” Seweryn said. “That’s why there was six and not ten. She didn’t sense the dwarves at all. Just us three.”
The party moved forward until they came to a flashing white light. Roark approached it first; it grew larger and hotter until he backed away.
Seweryn raised his hands at the level of the flame and carefully spoke the most common counterspell for fairy fire.
The wind lifted, and the air became icy, but the fairy fire remained constant.
Seweryn sliced open his forearm. He flicked blood on the flames and spoke the magic words. The wind grew even wilder; still, the white flames sparkled and burned.
“This is not the right way.”
“But your blood gave me an idea,” Doriel said. He wet his cloak into the muck and held it away from his body. As he drew closer, the flames grew. He dropped his cloak onto the flames.
For a moment it sputtered.
“Now!” Doriel shouted.
Eohan dashed through the opening. Then the fire grew sparked and grew. It swallowed Doriel but opened up a gap.
>
“Go, Go!” the dwarf screamed, trying to smother the fire with wet mud. Roark passed in the gap.
“Go, go. I’ll help Doriel,” Seweryn screamed. “Go, go. Kajsa go.”
Kajsa followed them. Seweryn smothered the flames on his arm. The flames rose again, cutting them off from their two companions.
“This better be worth it, or I’ll kill you both,” Kajsa growled at them.
*
Kian lifted his head towards the splashing of water and grumbling. It sounded like Doriel, but he couldn’t be sure. The silhouettes of two people -- a lanky elf and a stout dwarf broke through the mists.
Towards them, he saw the outline of black fur break the water’s surface.
“Look out! There’s a monster in the water,” Kian screamed.
The sleek creature moved quicker this time as it set its course towards the two men who seemed to be moving in slow motion. Grabbing another large stick, Kian jumped into the water and barreled towards them. “My lords! There’s something in the water!” he screamed again.
Seweryn’s saber flashed in the dim light as he left Doriel leaning against a tree. The elf disappeared somewhere in the mists.
The black furry mass dove back below the surface and veered towards the dwarf.
With speed Kian didn’t expect, Doriel leapt, his braids flying about his face and a deadly-looking knife in his right hand.
The beast bounded out of the water towards him, and the dwarf plunged a knife into its head. The beast howled a cry worthy of a banshee, fell back, shaking its head trying to dislodge the blade. Seweryn stabbed it, drew back his sword, and stabbed it again.
It howled and sank below the surface.
Doriel leaned down and pulled out his knife which he wiped on the hem of his muddy tunic.
“See, my friend, nothing to worry about. I still have my right hand.” Doriel kept his voice jovial, his skin was the color of flour paste and coated in perspiration. “Are you alright, lad?”
The Morality of A Necromancer Page 10
