The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  “Do you think they won’t suffer if you stay? They’ll be conscripted into the wrong side of a conflict with the Aryllias. Their fields and farms will be robbed to feed a traitor’s army. Where Greenwall needs you most is wherever you can best stop Lenoden Castar.”

  “I’m… not sure that’s true. Castar says he will be a better king than Rudol, and… I don’t know that he’s wrong.” Spirit of All, that is a hard thing to say.

  “A shrewder king, maybe,” said her mother. “But a more ruthless one too. He’s proven already that he’s willing to use whoever he needs to get his way, and there will always be someone he can exploit for his own gain.” Vera shook her head. “No one can say what kind of king he will be until it happens. But I know that I would never be able to rest easy while he sat the throne.”

  “I don’t trust him either.” Shona sighed and rubbed her palm against her forehead. “I know what I want to do. I just don’t know if fighting him is going to make things better or worse.”

  “But you can’t tell me you don’t already have some plan to do it. I know you.”

  “There is… something. Tonight, while Castar is away from the Stormhall at a dinner.”

  “A dinner you arranged, no doubt.”

  Shona gave her a demure smile. “Why Mother, I had nothing to do with it, and anyone you ask will tell you as much. I might have made an innocent remark here or there, but Greenwall’s counts and countesses were more than eager to thank their new benefactor. It all but organized itself.” She’d declined her invitation when it came—with great regret, of course—due to prior commitments. “Duke Castar never could resist a chance to court political favor. And while he is busy, I’ll have time to investigate a few things.” Time to talk to the swampling woman. To free her, if necessary—she knew how she’d do it if she had to. And what gets one woman out of Greenwall should work for another. She had thought about it, though she wasn’t about to admit that now. “But whatever I find, I only mean to see that the information gets to Rudol. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You know very well that Rudol Aryllia won’t hear it if it comes from anyone else. That boy has always been stubborn, but he listens to you. If you’re worried about what kind of king he will be, do something about it. Go to the Plateaus and give him the counsel he needs to hear. Make sure he is the ruler we need him to be. He may not be suited to lead, but you are. I believe that with all of my heart.”

  “I can’t just—”

  “Please, Shona. Do not make us watch Lenoden Castar force you to be his wife. You can’t let him make you his slave just to keep us safe—you must know that we couldn’t live with that. Do you think your father could bear to watch you die a long slow death at that man’s side? It would be half his nightmares made real.”

  Shona looked at her father, half-asleep on his bench, and then back to her mother, and she said nothing for a long moment. She felt like she should argue more, but she was surprised at how little she wanted to. She’d been a piece in someone else’s game longer than she liked, obeying orders and trying to keep everyone safe; what she really wanted was to start moving pieces herself.

  “I’ll go,” she said at last. “If the opportunity comes. And only if I think I can do more good by leaving than staying. Is that enough?”

  “It will do,” her mother said, with a sad smile. “I know you won’t give me any better.”

  “Mother… Someone will be coming for me soon, when the time is right. If I do what you ask… If I do leave, I won’t see you again until… I don’t know when.”

  Vera held up a hand. “Don’t tell me anything more. Better that I don’t know any details, if Castar asks. Let’s… just make the most of the time we have.” She bent down to pick up a spade that lay in the dirt at her feet. “I don’t have much of a green thumb. You’ll have to tell me what to do.”

  Shona swallowed and wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders, squeezing her tight. “Well, my sunberries look to have withered on the vine there. You can help me take up those ones…”

  They talked about everyday things as they worked, about which valet had walked out with which maid, about the quality of the harvest, about what festival they were looking forward to most. For a while it almost felt like a normal evening, like the ones before Josen had been lost in the Swamp and everything had changed. Almost like normal, but not quite. Shona could feel the effort it was taking from both of them, when the conversation treaded too closely to Duke Castar, or Josen, or the boy with eagle’s eyes.

  But even so, it was what she needed, and it was good enough.

  It was a few hours before they were interrupted, and by that time, the garden just about looked like someone tended to it now and again. It was near to full dark, but the lamps hanging all around the manor’s yard were enough to see by, and Shona loved the way her flowers looked in the warm yellow light—the sight made her feel at home. She actually preferred to work in the evening, when the sun was low and the air was cool; she would have been happy to keep at it for hours longer still.

  She’d nearly managed to forget she was waiting for anything at all when a footman rounded the corner of the house and loudly announced Falyn Morne’s presence. The duke awoke with a start at the sound, and Vera dropped her spade and hurried over to him.

  Morne stepped past the footman and stood straight with her arms behind her back. “Lady Shona, the lord general requests the honor of your presence.”

  Shona leaned her shears up against a stone bird bath entirely wrapped in stray grapevines she’d yet to cut back. “It’s time, then?”

  Cer Falyn nodded. “Duke Castar left the Stormhall at the same time I did. We shouldn’t delay.”

  Shona hesitated, looked to her parents; her mother had seated herself beside her father on the bench, and clasped his hand in hers. Shona felt her throat tighten. I might not see him again. His health was failing, and if she left for the Plateaus, it might be a long time before she could come back.

  She crossed the garden in a near-run and threw her arms around him. “I know I said I wouldn’t, but… I have to go somewhere, Father. For a while. I’ll be safe there, I promise.”

  “Well that’s good. Very good.” He didn’t quite sound like he understood, but he put his arm around her shoulders. “As long as you’re with Gerod. He will look after you, my dear. It’s only when you… when you left his side…” He trailed off and looked up at her in confusion, lost between the past and present. “You won’t let them take you away again, will you?”

  “I won’t.” She didn’t correct him—the details didn’t matter just then, only that he wasn’t afraid for her. “I’m done letting people make me do anything I don’t want to.”

  “Now you sound like my Shona.” Her father’s smile was weak, but she thought she saw a flash of clarity in his eyes. “I fear that I… that I might forget you said that. Promise me that you won’t.”

  “I promise, Father.” She pressed her lips against his cheek to hide her tears. “I love you. Whatever happens, just remember that.” Wiping her eyes, she stepped back and looked at her mother. “Maybe I shouldn’t—”

  “Go,” Vera said firmly, though Shona saw her lip quiver. “Do what needs to be done. I will look after your garden for you.”

  And for some absurd reason, that was exactly what she needed to hear. Her mother always knew, somehow.

  “Well then,” Shona said, taking a deep breath and turning to face Cer Falyn, “I suppose I’m ready.”

  Zerill

  Zerill’s mouth tasted like blood.

  She spat, but the taste didn’t go away. It had been hours since Castar had hit her last, but the taste never went away anymore. Not after three days of abuse. Castar asked her questions, and when she didn’t answer, he hurt her. Her left eye was swollen half-closed, so that she could barely see through it, and there was a distant ringing in her left ear that wouldn’t fade. The last two fingers of her left hand were crooked, broken at awkward angles and left unsplinted.
Tender blotches of dark color ran all down her ribs on both sides, reminders of the beatings she’d taken. It hurt to move, to breathe, even to blink.

  But she’d given him nothing.

  She’d given Castar nothing, and she never would. Which meant she wouldn’t live much longer. He was a stubborn man, but not a stupid one. When he was fully satisfied that she was never going to be of use to him, he would have her killed.

  She wished that day would come sooner, if it was coming. If there was no way to escape, no way to make Lenoden Castar suffer as he’d made her suffer—if the days she had left were going to be the same as this one and the one before it—she would just as soon have done with it.

  He’d left her unbound, but there would have been little purpose in moving even if she could have done it without pain. The cell was perhaps five steps across, and completely empty except for her. The only light was what filtered in around the edge of the door at the dungeon’s far end—plenty for her eyes to see by, but it illuminated absolutely nothing of interest. There was nothing to do but sit in the corner curled into whatever position was least painful at the moment, and wait for someone to come hurt her some more.

  When she first heard the voices, she paid them little mind. There were two guards outside the dungeon’s entrance at all times—they checked on her every few hours, brought her cold mash and water and a bucket for her to squat over once a day. Sometimes she could hear them talking to one another through the door. It was nothing new.

  And then she heard a third voice, and that was enough to make her listen. Castar coming back to question me, or something else? “…boy is gone again. Any sign of him?” A man, but not Castar.

  “Hasn’t been down here, Lord General, Sir.” That was one of the guards; Zerill knew his voice. Lord general. The newcomer had to be Eian Gryston, then. The only man who had killed more of her people than Lenoden Castar. She’d never been so close to him, but she knew him by reputation.

  “With me, then.” Gryston’s voice was firm, commanding. “We need every man for the search.” A pause, and then, “What are you waiting for? Do you think this post is so important you can’t be spared? You could stand here for a full wind-cycle and not see a soul. Move!” And then the sound of footsteps, fading as they climbed the stairs.

  There’s no one out there. The thought made her heart beat faster. There was nothing she could do with the knowledge while she was locked up in her cell, but at least she felt closer to freedom than she had for some time.

  A moment later, she heard footsteps again, coming down the stairs this time. Not the guards returning; not heavy enough. A key turned in the lock, and the door swung open, letting a wash of light into her cell. She blinked her eyes against it, wincing at the pain in her sore eyelid.

  A tall figure entered, carrying a lit candle. Someone else followed, small and slight as a child. Even as little more than silhouettes, they were familiar to her—the last two people she’d seen in the Swamp had been a tall woman and a child. When they drew closer, she saw that she’d identified them correctly. A tall, sharp-featured highlander woman dressed in a plain tunic and trousers, and a boy in a brown robe with dyed skin and hair, identifiable as one of the Abandoned only by the size of his golden eyes. It could only be Shona Falloway, and the child Josen had called Eroh.

  Zerill stood, despite the soreness in every part of her body, and moved stiffly toward the bars of her cell. By the candle-light, Shona’s highlander features looked strange and frightening—her already dark skin was darker still in the orange glow, and shadows nestled in the hollows around her unnaturally small eyes. But when Zerill stepped closer, it was Shona who let out an involuntary gasp. So much fear, even with the bars of a cage between us. Or perhaps she’s only shocked by my wounds. It would have been nice to believe that; Zerill wished that she could.

  Eroh looked her up and down, and frowned. “Why did they do this to you? They shouldn’t have hurt you.”

  Zerill didn’t answer, just stared at the boy’s eyes. His skin was colored dark like a highlander’s, but those golden eyes weren’t a lie or a trick. They were just as Josen had described them—almost hard to look at, a predator’s eyes staring out of a child’s face. His black pupils were wide in the dark, and he peered at her with a gaze as keen as talons.

  “I… I need to know why you came here,” Shona said, swallowing nervously. “I saw you with someone, before the knights took you. I know you can speak—I heard you talking to him. Can you tell me who he was?”

  Zerill ignored her. She didn’t know if she could trust this woman, and she wasn’t about to let Castar trick her into talking. Instead, she nodded her head at Eroh, and signed, Why are you here?

  His eyes widened, and then he scrunched his face in concentration and haltingly signed, I wanted to talk to you. I saw you fight those knights. You were so fast. If I am of the Abandoned, does that mean I can be like that someday?

  Maybe, Zerill signed. If you try at it as much as I have. It wasn’t magic, just practice.

  “What is that, Eroh?” Shona was watching the boy’s hand with a mix of interest and confusion. “Hand signs? Are you talking to her?”

  Eroh nodded. “I didn’t know I could, until I saw her do it.”

  How is that possible? Zerill signed, narrowing her eyes. You must have learned it somewhere.

  I don’t… Eroh frowned. I don’t remember.

  You come from the Swamp, like I do. You must have been raised by others like us, taught these signs.

  He scrunched his face again, and then shook his head. Just grandfather, and he only taught me to talk out loud.

  Your grandfather is the man with no eyes?

  Eroh just nodded.

  If he is your grandfather, who were your parents?

  I only remember… grandfather, and… and Duke Castar finding us… He furrowed his brow and shook his head again, frustration clear on his face. I should remember more, shouldn’t I? I never even thought about it before.

  Zerill had no answer for him. She’d assumed he was raised by a Delver, away from the kins, but it didn’t make any sense that he wouldn’t remember that.

  “What is she saying to you?” Shona asked, somewhat impatiently. “Will you tell her that she can trust me?”

  “She asked me about grandfather, and where I learned signs. But I don’t remember.” His frustration seemed to have passed swiftly; now he sounded strangely matter-of-fact. You can trust Shona, he signed to Zerill. She wants to help you.

  I can understand her, Zerill signed. Is she making you tell me that? Did she threaten you before you came?

  Eroh shook his head. She’s nice.

  “Did you tell her?” Shona interrupted again. “What is she saying?”

  “She said she understands you.”

  “Good.” Shona took a step closer, and reached out her hand. “Please, I’m not your enemy. I just need to know the name of the man you were with.”

  Zerill swayed on her feet, and without thinking she gripped a bar with her left hand to hold herself steady. She let go again just as quickly; it felt like there were shards of glass grinding in the joints of her broken fingers. What do I do here? She was tired, and sore, and her thoughts felt too sluggish to decide something this important. She didn’t quite trust Shona, but Eroh did, and Josen had too, and she wanted to believe that there was some hope still left to her. Maybe it’s worth telling her what really happened. I can’t know for certain that Josen and Verik will find someone else to listen.

  Finally, she looked at Shona and said, “Why are you with Castar?” Her throat was dry, and the words came out hoarse and weak.

  “I had no choice,” said Shona. “He threatened my people, my family. I am trying to keep them safe.” She stepped closer to the bars and gripped them in her hands. “I don’t know what you want, but if it’s to stop him, I promise you that I will do whatever it takes to help.”

  Whatever it takes. That was something Zerill understood all too well. It could have bee
n a lie, but if it was, it was well told. Ancestors, I hope this is the right choice.

  “Josen,” she said. “It was Prince Josen you saw.”

  “He’s… he’s alive, then?” Shona’s eyes glistened with what looked like tears, and she seemed to be struggling not to smile.

  “Yes.”

  “Lord of Eagles, I should have known.” Shona laughed, and then looked surprised at herself for it. She glanced guiltily toward the door. “Why were you helping him? You were bringing him here, weren’t you? Why?”

  “He saw Eroh’s eyes,” Zerill said. “He wanted to use the boy to stop the fighting. Castar showed his disagreement with his knife, and then told Prince Rudol that one of the Abandoned had done it. But Josen wasn’t dead, when they left him. I had him… healed, so he could tell someone that the boy comes from the Swamp, and stop your people from killing mine. We came here because he told me that you would help us.”

  “That… sounds very much like Josen.” Shona was still smiling; she didn’t seem able to stop herself. “Where is he now?”

  “How could I know? I have not seen him since we parted. I told him to find someone else to help, after I saw you with Castar.”

  That erased Shona’s smile. “Then he’ll go straight to Rudol. And Rudol won’t listen. He’d have to wipe the dye off Eroh’s face himself to believe it, coming from Josen.”

  “You have to get the boy to him.” Zerill grabbed the bars of her cell just under Shona’s hands and leaned in close, ignoring the pain in her broken fingers. “Josen promised me you would help us. Was he wrong?”

  Shona flinched away when Zerill’s face neared hers, but after a moment she said, “I’ll help. I’ll make sure that Eroh gets to the Plateaus.”

  Zerill turned her gaze on Eroh, and tried to show him a smile, though she didn’t imagine it helped much, given the state of her face. Will you do that, Eroh? she signed. Will you go with her, to help our people?