The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  He started, and his eyes blinked open. He found her face after a moment of confused searching in the dark, but his gaze was distant, unfocused. “You.” A wheezing cough; she could only discern scattered words through it. “…forgive… didn’t mean…”

  “I don’t care. Tell me what you and Castar found. How can I stop the purges against my people?”

  Josen’s eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids fluttered closed again. The sound of breathing ceased.

  “No.” She shook him by the shoulder. “You don’t get to die yet. Tell me what you found!” With the back of her hand, she struck him hard across the face.

  The prince drew in a sudden, rasping breath, and his eyes snapped open. He moaned, lifted a hand like he was trying to brush away an insect, but there was no strength behind it. “The boy.” And then he fell back again, unmoving.

  “What boy?” She shook him, slapped him again, but this time he didn’t stir. “Speak!” She slammed a fist against his chest, and then again. “I need to know what you saw! What boy?” Tears streamed down her cheeks; she could taste their salt in her mouth, mingled with the blood from her forehead. “Please!” I can’t be too late. Not again. She hated herself for crying over the man who’d killed her sister, but she knew somehow that this was important. That she could change everything, if she could just make him explain about this boy.

  She bent down, put her ear over his mouth. Was he breathing? She didn’t hear anything for a long time. Then, a low wheeze and a light warmth on her cheek. There’s still time.

  She rolled him onto his side, slung one arm over her neck, and heaved him onto her back. He wasn’t an overly large man, but he was heavy enough; it was a struggle to get to her feet. But she did. One staggering step after another, she carried him vaguely southwest, toward where she had last seen Verik. She didn’t know if he was still there; he could have gone anywhere by now. There could still be knights waiting to kill her. It didn’t matter. There was nothing else she could do.

  She tried different signals as she walked: croaking like a lure-eye toad, chittering like a boggard. Anything that might draw one of the Lighteyes to her, might help her find Verik. Her back ached from Josen’s weight, and her knees shook with each step. Finally, she gave up on subtlety and just started shouting. “Verik!” The sound might have attracted any of a thousand dangers, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t worry about her own safety, not with the hope of the Abandoned in her hands—or rather, dying on her back. “Verik! I need you!”

  It wasn’t Verik who found her, but Zerill knew the sinewy older woman with braided white hair who slid down a vine from the treetops a few steps later. One of Azlin’s trail-mothers, leader of her own band of Lighteyes.

  Grandmother Zerill, Jeva signed. That made Zerill wince—Azlin was supposed to be grandmother, not her. We have been looking for you. Her eyes moved uneasily over Josen. A highlander? Why does he live?

  “No time. Help me.” Zerill’s left leg buckled beneath her, and she fell to one knee in the mud. To her credit, Jeva didn’t protest, just knelt, draped one of the prince’s arms over her neck, and helped Zerill back to her feet.

  Now that she wasn’t supporting Josen’s full weight, Zerill had a hand free to sign, Is it over? Are we safe here?

  Safe enough, if we are quiet. The knights fell back when Castar called for aid. I was not there, but I was told that Azlin made that happen. There was sympathy in Jeva’s eyes. She… saved many lives.

  Zerill knew she should have an answer for that, but she wasn’t ready to talk about her sister yet. Instead, she signed, I need to find Verik.

  Jeva nodded. This way.

  With Josen hanging between them, Jeva led Zerill east. Verik was not far away; they found him searching the marshland with another Lighteye warrior—a burly man named Ralk, of Azlin’s band.

  Ralk, help, Jeva signed. Ralk rushed forward to take Josen’s weight, and they laid the prince out on the damp ground.

  Zerill, what happened? Verik gestured at Josen, confusion knitting his brow. I thought you meant to kill him. I was beginning to fear it had gone the other way.

  I need you to heal him. The looks they gave her at that would have been amusing, in any other situation. But Zerill didn’t have time for disbelief. Now, Verik. He is nearly gone.

  Ralk was the first to move; he drew his axe with one hand, signed with the other. Grandmother, this cannot be done. He is a highlander. Jeva nodded emphatically, and pointed her spear at Josen.

  Zerill kept her eyes on Verik. I am Grandmother of the Lighteyes now, and I say that this man will be judged in Kinmeet. Save him.

  Verik’s face was gentle, sad. Zerill, you know that I can’t. My oaths…

  “Save him!” The loudspeech tore out of her, savage as a longmouth’s roar. “You let Azlin die already! Do not fail me again!” She was barely aware she’d drawn it, but her spear was in her hand, and the blade was aimed at her closest friend. Azlin had died to protect her people, and now Zerill was threatening a life her sister had saved for the sake of the man who’d killed her. But she couldn’t stop. Not now.

  Verik held up his hands, and Zerill could see the fear and confusion in his eyes. Her heart constricted in her chest, but she held her spear steady. He knelt beside the prince, pressed one hand against Josen’s chest and the other against the wound. His lips drew tight. I don’t think he’s breathing, he signed. This may not work. And if it does, he will wish it hadn’t.

  Zerill set her jaw. It has to.

  Verik’s hand moved again, but something in her face must have given him pause, because he stopped the motion before it became a sign. His shoulders slumped, and he dropped his gaze. Digging his fingers into the torn flesh beneath Josen’s left arm, he closed his eyes. A shudder of effort passed through him, and his entire body tensed.

  Nothing happened.

  Zerill squeezed the haft of her spear, and the tightness in her chest grew. It felt as if she was clenching her own heart in her fist. She took a step toward Verik, not sure what she intended to do. All she knew was that she couldn’t let him fail.

  And then Josen started to scream.

  14. The Windsmouth

  Shona

  Shona waited in the receiving hall before the Windsmouth, trying not to watch Duke Castar pace back and forth. It had become tiresome almost immediately, but there was little else to look at. Aside from the cushioned benches that ran along the grey stone walls on either side, the hall was as unadorned as the rest of the Aryllian Keep. She’d distracted herself for a time, counting the gas-lamps spaced evenly along the upper walls until her neck was sore, and then it was back to Castar and his incessant pacing.

  On the far side of the room, past the duke, Rudol and his wife were talking in hushed tones. It was hard to tell, but Shona could have sworn she saw a hint of excitement in Carissa’s eyes. Barely a turn gone by and she’s already thinking about what to wear when she’s crowned queen. It might have been her imagination; Shona was fully aware that she was looking for faults in the other woman. Carissa had been helping Rudol avoid her since he’d come back from the Swamp, and it was becoming frustrating. It isn’t entirely her doing, she reminded herself. If he wanted to talk to me, he would. Still, there was something about the woman’s manner, ever since she’d heard of Josen’s death…

  Josen. Whenever she thought about him dying out there in the Swamp, it pushed all other thoughts out of her head. The day Rudol had returned from the purge, it had taken him three tries just to tell her how it had happened; the first two, she’d only stared at him, barely comprehending, while Eian broke down in her arms. Even now, she still couldn’t believe it. That Josen was gone, or that he was a traitor. There has to be more to it. There has to be. But it wasn’t only Castar’s word—Rudol claimed he’d witnessed Josen’s treachery himself, even if he wasn’t willing to say much about it.

  Not to her, at least.

  He’ll have to say more soon. That was why they were there, waiting. So that Rud
ol could stand before the Throne of Air and explain to his father what had happened. A falcon had already been sent, of course—they’d had to wait two days for the right wind to carry a basket from Greenwall to the Plateaus, and the news had been too urgent to wait with them. But no scrap of paper tied to a bird’s leg would be enough. To tell King Gerod that his firstborn son was dead, to tell him how Josen had died, only a first-hand account would do. Only Rudol and Castar. Strictly speaking, Shona didn’t need to be there at all, but she had to know the truth, and it hadn’t been hard to justify her presence. The king’s heir was dead, after all, and respects had to be paid.

  Castar ceased his pacing and turned to Rudol. “How long must we wait?” He gestured toward the doors, where two blue-clad Royal Swords stood guard. “Whatever they are discussing in there cannot be more important than Prince Josen’s passing.” It was unlike him to be so impatient, but his armor of composure had come back from the Swamp dented. He tried to hide it—succeeded, most of the time—but on occasion a weak spot would show through the chinks.

  That, more than anything else, had raised Shona’s suspicions. There is more to what happened than they’ve said.

  “I don’t know.” Rudol scowled and ran a hand over his bald head. “I don’t know any more than you do.”

  “It will take as long as it takes,” said Shona. Three faces turned toward her, looking exactly as if they’d forgotten she was there. “The king’s responsibilities don’t come to a halt, not even for this.” In truth, though, she suspected King Gerod was delaying on purpose. She’d seen her father do the same—a good way to remind petitioners where the real power lay. As if anyone could forget, kneeling in the Windsmouth before the Throne of Air. But Gerod would use every tool at his disposal, as he always did. He wanted Castar and Rudol off balance when they told their story, more likely to stumble over any lies or half-truths. That one of them was his own son would not give Gerod Aryllia much pause.

  “You don’t have to wait, Shona.” Rudol’s eyes dodged away when she looked at him. “Only the duke and I need to be here.”

  “Yes, why don’t you go back to your room?” Carissa smiled, sickly-sweet as overripe fruit. “There will be more than enough time to offer condolences later, I’m sure. With everyone else.”

  Shona glared at her. “I will leave when I’m ready to leave.”

  “Well!” Carissa sniffed haughtily. “It was only a suggestion. There’s no need to be rude.”

  “I’m so sorry, Carissa,” Shona said. “Am I ruining this for you? How insensitive of me, when you’ve just become the next queen of the Nine Peaks.”

  Carissa glanced toward the two Swords guarding the door, and she kept her voice low. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

  “I am saying that you are most certainly your father’s daughter.” Shona tried her best to recreate Carissa’s nauseating smile.

  The barb struck true; Carissa’s pretty face twisted with anger. “My father is a loyal servant of the king!”

  Shona knew she should stop, but she couldn’t help herself. “As loyal as he was to Jeneth Berial, I’m sure.” That Felbard Theo had betrayed the duchess of Wolfshead to take the duchy for King Gerod was no secret; it had been a turning point in the Outer Duchy Rebellion. Nor was it very secret to anyone who knew Theo that he’d done it more out of ambition than loyalty to the throne, or that the duchess had been disposed of through somewhat less than honorable means. “You’ve clearly learned well from him.”

  Rudol closed his fists; even across the room, she could hear his knuckles crack. “Damn it Shona, stop! What will it take—”

  “To make me leave? You know what I want, Rudol.” She stood, took a step toward him. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. What don’t you want to tell me?”

  “I’ve already explained what happened!” Rudol surged to his feet.

  Shona was as tall as most men, taller than some, but when Rudol stood to his full height, she barely reached his chin. His sheer size was more than a little bit intimidating, but she didn’t let herself show it as she marched across the hall to meet him.

  Castar intercepted her halfway there, placing a hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t necessary, Shona. Prince Josen’s death has been difficult on all of us—you more than most, I’m sure. You are looking for answers that aren’t there.”

  She wrenched her shoulder from his grasp. “Aren’t they? Or do you just want me to stop looking?” The moment she heard the words leave her mouth, she wanted to slap herself. Idiot. No good comes of accusing him here. She’d chastised Josen for the same behavior, barely a turn past. God Above, he would laugh if he could see me now. Laugh, and grin that grin of his… Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away.

  Castar’s eyes narrowed. “You’re upset. For that reason alone I will forget whatever suggestion you’re making. Perhaps you should return to your chambers before you say anything else you will regret later.”

  “I…” She lowered her head, made herself say the words. “I apologize, Duke Castar. You’re right, I am upset.” When she looked up again, she caught Rudol watching her over Castar’s shoulder, and stubbornly met his eyes. “I just cannot believe the man I knew… we knew… was a traitor. Josen wouldn’t do this.”

  “Wouldn’t he?” Rudol’s voice was surprisingly soft. He pushed past Castar, and for once he didn’t flinch away from Shona’s gaze. “Isn’t this all he’s ever done?”

  “He wasn’t perfect, I know that. But remember the boy we grew up with, Rudol. How good he could be. He was better than this.”

  “I remember what he did. Do you think he saved you? Made the other children leave you alone, made you feel like you were something special?” Rudol laughed bitterly. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “What do you—”

  But Rudol wasn’t done. “He didn’t notice you first, you know. I did. I watched you when your family came to the Keep, when Father brought us to Greenwall. I saw the way the other children teased you, the tall skinny girl who liked to play in the dirt. You were stronger than them. You never gave in, never let them see you cry. All Josen did was fool you into thinking you needed him to save you.” His jaw was clenched, trembling; anger burned in his eyes.

  Impulsively, Shona reached for his hand. “Rudol, I know as well as anyone how much damage Josen could do without trying. I understand. But he had a better side, you know that. He saw things in people—in me and in you—that everyone else ignored. There must have been more to what happened. There had to be something. He wouldn’t just betray us without reason.”

  Rudol jerked away. “Don’t tell me about my brother. I know my brother. Josen the hero, the savior. So wonderful he makes you forget that you were fine without him. Makes you think you need him, makes you think you’re nothing without him, and then he gets bored! He finds someone else!” He opened and closed his fists, and took a long, shuddering breath. “That’s what Josen does. He leaves. Leaves you behind for whatever new thing catches his fancy. And that’s what he did in the Swamp. Same as always. He found someone new to play hero for, and it got him killed.”

  “He wouldn’t…” But the denial died in her throat. Would he? It was frighteningly plausible. He’d known how she felt about him, that night in a Cliffside inn six years ago. He’d known, but he’d needed to feel like the person she’d believed he was for a moment, and he’d never thought about what it would mean to her when he left. When he’d seen a way to escape for a moment from being his father’s son, Josen had never much considered the consequences. And a swampling girl might have looked like the ultimate escape.

  No. She shook her head. There was still one thing that Rudol hadn’t explained. One thing, but it was enough.

  “Maybe you’re right about… about most of that,” she said. “But there is one thing I know for certain: not in a thousand years would Josen have attacked the most reknowned swordsman in the Nine Peaks. Your brother was many things, but he was no warrior.”
>
  Rudol had no answer for her. His brow creased, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. Exhaling through his nose, he glanced back at Castar for aid.

  Before Duke Castar could speak, the doors to the Windsmouth opened with a great creak. Warm sunlight washed in from the courtyard, drowning the glow of the gas-lamps. One of the Swords on guard announced, “The king awaits.”

  Rudol visibly shook off his confusion and squared his shoulders. “I saw him do it, Shona. He’s gone. Accept it.” He turned from her and strode toward the doors, not waiting for Castar.

  “Sound advice, Lady Shona,” Castar said. “I would heed it, were I you.”

  Rudol glanced over his shoulder, once, and Shona had a sudden impulse to chase after him, but she stayed where she was. King Gerod wouldn’t welcome her intrusion, and Rudol wasn’t going to talk to her, not now. He might have once, a long time ago, but not anymore. All she could do was watch him go, through the open doors and up the stairs to the base of the Godspire, where his father sat waiting upon the Throne of Air. Nicely done, Shona. A true political triumph.

  She was surprised when she felt the hand on her arm. Carissa’s delicate fingers closed tight; her mouth was drawn into a thin line. Shona tried to pull away, but the woman’s grip was unexpectedly strong.

  “It’s time for you to go back to Greenwall,” Carissa said quietly, and the threat in her voice matched the one in her eyes. “Don’t bother my husband again. He is done with you.” And then that overripe smile came back, stronger than ever, and she raised her voice for the benefit of the guardsmen. “Please excuse me, Shona. I’m sure I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Shona stared at Carissa until the other woman disappeared down the stairs at the far end of the hall. When she finally looked back, the doors were closed, and Rudol was gone.

  Rudol

  The Windsmouth sat at the heart of the Aryllian Keep, uncovered and open to the wind and sky. Only there, at the very base of the Godspire, could the king hear the Lord of Eagles passing down guidance from on high.