The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  Zerill looked down at him and signed something, and Eroh signed back, struggling over a few of the gestures. Over the past two days, Zerill had been teaching him a better mastery of the signs, among other things. She’d even let him scout the path with her a few times since they’d escaped Greenwall—he was the only one who could move as quietly as she could, or see as well in the dark. Shona assumed he’d gotten the permission he wanted this time as well, though she couldn’t understand the swampling hand language. He moved away a few steps and raised his forearm, and Goldeyes glided down from the canopy to land on it. When he went off into the Swamp with Zerill, Eroh always made sure to tell the little eagle to keep watch over the rest of them.

  “He’s certainly taken to your lessons, hasn’t he?” said Shona.

  “That’s an understatement,” said Josen. “He thinks the sun rises because Zerill makes it so.” He glanced down at the witchmoss in his hand. “Or makes the moss glow, or whatever makes sense down here.”

  Zerill watched Eroh fondly as he whispered to Goldeyes. “It is good for him to know where he came from.” The corner of her mouth turned up, just a bit; even that slight a smile looked out of place beneath those dark eyes, especially with one still swollen half-shut. “And I like to teach him. He… reminds me of someone.” Her jaw clenched there, as if she’d remembered something unpleasant, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the sound of toads croaking. “We are wasting time. I should go.” She signed something at Eroh, and then stalked into the trees. Eroh lofted Goldeyes into the air and hurried after her; the little eagle disappeared into the canopy once more.

  “We’d best get comfortable,” said Josen. “They might be a while.” He tossed his handful of witchmoss to the ground and sat down cross-legged beside it, as if it was some rough imitation of a campfire. “Care to join me?”

  It still surprised Shona that he could stay so calm about being left behind by the only two among them who could see, but she supposed he’d had a long time to get used to it. She wished she could say the same. To her, the darkness seemed that much darker now that the swamplings were gone. It had helped to know that someone could see through it, even if she couldn’t.

  “I’m going to do a circle of the area,” said Eian. “I’ll rest better when I’m sure there’s nothing coming up on us here. Stay together, and call if you need me. I won’t be far.” With one hand on his sword and the other holding his witchmoss in front of him, he strode in the direction opposite Zerill.

  Shona wanted to call after him, but if he wouldn’t listen to Josen, she didn’t know what there was for her to say. Any comfort she tried to give would have felt like a lie with Benedern’s blood still staining her clothes. He murdered a man. What can I possibly say to make that better? The high chastor might have deserved it, but he had still been the head of the faith Eian had given everything to. That couldn’t be an easy burden to bear. And death would make Benedern a martyr, which was something Castar could easily use against them. More problems I don’t know how to solve. Spirit of All, what have I gotten myself into?

  She sat down across the witchmoss from Josen. If he was as worried about Eian as she was, he didn’t show it, and maybe that made sense—she’d tried to explain, but he hadn’t been there to see the worst of it. Still, it irked her to see him mooning after Zerill instead. Even in the dim green light, the way he stared at the swampling woman was a few steps beyond obvious. He didn’t look away until she’d disappeared entirely into the darkness.

  “You’re as bad as Eroh.” Shona said, shaking her head. “But I suppose I can understand it. I’m half in love with her myself.”

  Josen looked back at her with a sheepish grin. “And you haven’t even seen the way she climbs these trees.”

  “Josen—”

  “I know what you think this is, Shona. It’s not that. Even if it was, I couldn’t…” He glanced down at his injured side with a frown, and weakly flexed the fingers of his left hand. “But it isn’t.”

  Shona didn’t know what had caused it, but something was very wrong with his arm. He couldn’t use it very well, and once when his sleeve had pushed up, she’d noticed that it looked too thin, like much of the muscle had somehow sloughed away. She’d tried to ask about it, but every time he found a way to evade the subject. This time, she didn’t bother.

  “Good,” she said. “Because that woman does not need a hero. I’ve seen her fight.”

  “But she does need me for something. And not only her. If I can make my father listen, maybe I can stop a lot of people on both sides from dying for nothing. That’s not just me playing hero. It’s… more important than that.” He didn’t sound entirely certain. “Isn’t it?”

  “It is,” she confirmed. “You know I would tell you if this wasn’t the right thing.” She shifted around the witchmoss to sit beside him, and put her hand over his. His right hand; he tended to flinch away when she came anywhere near his left side. “Josen… there’s something else you should know.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous. What is it?”

  “Your father.” There were a hundred other things they hadn’t talked about yet, and she would have preferred any one of them. She wanted to know what he’d seen, what had happened to him to put that white in his hair and cause those injuries he tried so hard to hide. The swamplings had saved him, he’d said, healed him somehow after Castar had put a knife in his side, but he didn’t look healed. He looked like he was in pain, just about all the time. The last thing she wanted to do was add to it. But he had to know, and this was the first chance she’d had to talk to him alone. Not telling him now would have felt like a lie. “He’s… he’s not well. He’s dying, Josen.”

  “What?” Josen rocked back as if struck. “What happened?”

  “He collapsed on Aryll’s Rest, during Rudol’s coronation. As far as I know, he hasn’t woken since.”

  Josen stared blankly at the witchmoss in front of him for a long time, and then he let out a sudden, sharp laugh. “Well that’s just perfect, isn’t it? So predictable. He’s never been there when I’ve needed him before. Why would he start now?” It wasn’t exactly what she’d expected, but it wasn’t a surprise either—Josen had spent his whole life running away from his father. Tears had never been very likely.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say.

  “For what? This is everything I’ve ever wanted, isn’t it? He’ll die, and his crown will go to someone besides me.” Again, he looked down at his injured side, and this time a smirk played across his lips. “Somehow it seemed better when I dreamed it.” Another silence, and then he pursed his lips and looked back at her. “So it’s Rudol I have to convince, then.”

  “Unless the king wakes, yes.”

  “I don’t know if that’s better or worse,” said Josen. “Father might have believed me, but he probably wouldn’t have cared. Rudol cares far too much to ever believe in me again.”

  “However he felt about the swamplings, your father would have at least believed that Castar is a threat,” Shona said. “Rudol won’t want to hear that. He idolizes the man. And if he won’t listen to reason…” She took a deep breath. Josen wasn’t going to like this, but she was tired of other people making decisions for her. It was time to take the lead. “I want to help, but I need to know that you’ll listen to me. That you’re ready to do what needs to be done. I left my people and my parents in Castar’s hands for this.” Make sure he is the ruler we need him to be, her mother had said. She’d been talking about Rudol, but the spirit of the advice stood. “I need to know I can give them someone better. If that isn’t Rudol, it has to be you.”

  After all he’d clearly been through in the Swamp, it was strange to see how scared Josen looked at that. “Rudol will listen,” he said, too emphatically. “When he sees that Castar lied about Eroh, about me, he’ll…” He trailed off unconvincingly. “He’s still my brother, Shona. I don’t know what I did to make him so angry at me, but I pr
obably deserve it. I don’t want to make it worse. I don’t want to have to fight him. We have to make him listen.”

  “I hope we can. But… he left you in the Swamp to die.” Shona was still getting used to that. Until Josen had told her the truth, she’d never even considered that Rudol might have been guilty of anything but being fooled by Castar. “The man who would do that… I don’t know him anymore. I can’t guess what he’ll do. And we don’t have all the time in the world to change his mind. Castar will move quickly now. He’ll have no choice.”

  “We don’t even know if he saw me. He might not know I’m alive.”

  “We have to assume he does. If he didn’t see you, others did. The basket-keepers, Cer Falyn, maybe more. Any one of them might have been captured, made to talk. And even if he doesn’t know about you, he knows we have Eroh. When we reveal that he lied about the last Windwalker, he could lose the Convocation, and he doesn’t have Benedern to protect him anymore. His influence across the Peaks would crumble. He won’t let that happen. He’s been trying to avoid a war, but I have no doubt that he’ll start one if it’s between that and surrender. We need to be ready if that happens. You need to be ready.”

  “To take a crown I don’t want from a brother who hates me.” Josen snorted. “How do you suggest I get ready for that?”

  “All you have to do is be who you already are,” she said. “Your father’s eldest son. You have a claim, even if Gerod cast you aside. And you don’t lack for support in the Plateaus. There have already been riots in your name, since you disappeared.”

  Josen’s eyes widened. “What? Was… was anyone hurt?”

  Shona sighed. A part of her had hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions, even though she’d known he would. “Rudol was attacked. He escaped with minor wounds, but… some of the Swords protecting him were killed.”

  “Lord of Eagles… I didn’t know.” Josen’s shoulders slumped, and he pushed his fingers through his white-streaked hair. “Why? They can’t have thought that I… that I would want that, can they?”

  “I don’t know what they thought, just what they did,” said Shona. “I don’t like it either, Josen, but it means that the Plateaus are ready to rise behind you. All you have to do is ask. I hope it doesn’t come to that, and I will do everything I can to make Rudol see reason, but if he doesn’t… Just be ready to ask.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to be. I can’t imagine he’ll want to listen after… that.” Josen was quiet a moment, and then, “Zerill told me that the swamplings—the Abandoned, I mean… They choose their leaders. Everyone has a voice. And if you don’t want to lead, or you aren’t suited to it, you aren’t chosen. Doesn’t that sound better than this?”

  “That really depends on who they choose,” said Shona. “From what you’ve told me, this would all have been simpler if Zerill had inherited whatever title she needs to make her people listen.”

  “I suppose,” Josen said reluctantly. “But even if it doesn’t always work, wouldn’t it be better than relying on some chance of birth to choose a king? You wouldn’t need to lead through me, then. You could just… lead.”

  “I wish that were true as much as you do. But it doesn’t matter right now, does it? That isn’t our world, and anything good in it came at a steeper price than you or I would care to pay. What matters is the world we do live in, and the sacrifices we are willing to make. Wishing won’t do any good. If you want to be the hero this time, there’s going to be a cost.”

  “Don’t do that,” Josen snapped. “Don’t lecture me on sacrifice.” His voice went quiet, and he stared into the light of the witchmoss. “You don’t know what this has cost me already.”

  Maybe it was just the hoarseness in his throat that she was still getting used to, but she’d rarely known him to sound so defeated. The man she remembered had rarely let his veneer crack like that in front of her—only once, really, and even now she didn’t know if he was aware of what she’d seen in his eyes that night. Most of the time, he’d managed to hide whatever damage lay beneath with a grin and some glib jest. She’d always envied him that ability, in a way. But he was different now. The white in his hair, the terrible injuries she’d felt under his clothes, they were just the surface of it.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Hesitantly, she touched his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I’d like to.”

  He didn’t look at her, but after a short silence, he said, “I need to know something. Have you seen any sign that Eroh has… any of the powers the Windwalkers did?”

  “He has a knack for slipping by whoever is meant to be watching him, but I haven’t seen him do anything more.”

  Beneath her hand, Josen’s shoulders slumped. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Why?” Shona asked. “What do you need from him? If I knew, maybe I could help. Please, just… just tell me what happened to you.”

  “I already did,” he said, and his voice was almost a whisper. “They healed me.”

  “What does that—”

  “Nothing. It’s… nothing.” Josen shrugged her hand away and looked up at her. “I’ll do what I have to, if Rudol doesn’t want to believe us. I’ll march at the head of a parade in a crown and robe if that’s what you think it will take. But sitting on a throne isn’t going to make me a good king. You’re going to have to be right there behind me, whispering in my ear. I can’t do this alone.”

  “You won’t have to,” Shona said. “I promise you that.”

  “Well, that’s our revolution planned, then.” Josen ran his fingers through his hair again and shook his head. “Wind of Grace, I hope Rudol listens.”

  It was only then that she realized he’d managed to do it again: to change the subject, to move away from whatever had been done to him. But Shona wasn’t ready to let it go so easily, this time. “Josen… I want you to know that you can tell me—”

  A woman’s voice shattered the quiet of the Swamp, from the direction Zerill had gone. “Ambush! At arms!”

  Shona leapt to her feet and looked toward the sound. She could hear other voices from the same direction now, distant and muffled; she hadn’t noticed the sound right away behind the constant croaking from the Toadthroat. But that first voice, she’d recognized.

  “I think that was—”

  “Falyn.” Eian appeared out of the darkness so suddenly that Shona had to suppress a yelp of surprise. His sword was in his hand. “Something’s wrong.”

  37. Amends

  Zerill

  Kneeling at the edge of a small pool, Zerill brought up a handful of dark mud and rubbed it over Eroh’s cheeks with her good hand. Her splinted fingers made signing impossible with her left, and loudspeech was out of the question, so she was mute while she worked—which only served to make her more impatient.

  She was eager to find Morne and her knights. There was a chance that Verik was with the highlanders, or following them; not knowing where he was or what had happened to him kept Zerill awake at night, as weary as she was.

  She was eager, but she wouldn’t be careless.

  Azlin had always told her to be as cautious as she thought was necessary, and then more still. She’d found those lectures tiresome at the time, but just then it seemed very good advice. She couldn’t risk Eroh being taken away, and besides that, proper camouflage was a good lesson for the boy to learn. When she was done, she rinsed her hand and signed, There. This is how we hide when we need to stay unseen. White skin is too visible in the dark.

  As he always did, Eroh concentrated solemnly on the movement of her hand; it took him a beat longer to take her meaning than it would have for anyone who had grown up among the Abandoned. When he had it, he frowned. But how do I know when it is good to hide my skin? he signed, pausing sometimes when he needed to recall a gesture. It was bad when Castar did it, wasn’t it?

  Zerill didn’t answer right away; she wanted to make sure her explanation made sense to him. And to her. Finally, she signed, It is not the sam
e. We hide to survive. For ourselves, when we know we have to. He wanted to hide your face for his own benefit. For him, not for you. He would have used you to hurt the Abandoned.

  Eroh nodded slowly. I think I understand. Then, after a moment of thought, Thank you. For explaining. Grandfather never did. Everybody tells me what I am, but nobody ever tells me how to be it, or why.

  You don’t need to thank me, Zerill signed. I am only teaching you what all of the Abandoned have a right to know.

  A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. Grandfather says the Abandoned didn’t want him. Do you… think they will want me?

  She wanted to reassure the boy, but she wasn’t going to lie to him. I don’t know, Eroh. I am not in a position to tell you what the kins will do right now. The last decision they made was… disappointing to me. But whatever your grandfather did to earn his exile, his crimes should not be held against you. I believe the Kinmeet will accept you.

  Eroh’s frown only deepened. Why?

  We know what it is to be abandoned, and we know that we are stronger together. We do not easily turn aside our own. Did your grandfather never tell you the story of Arvur All-Kin?

  He only shook his head, and waited raptly.

  Hundreds of years ago, the Windwalkers raised their mountains and left the first ancestors beneath the mist. For a long time after that, the Abandoned were scattered, isolated. Some wandered the Swamp in small bands, others alone. Easy prey for the highlanders, who feared us enough to hunt and kill all they could. It was Arvur who united us. He found the place we call the Kinhome, where we could gather away from highlander eyes, and he brought as many as he could together in the first Kinmeet.