The Lost Swallow

by Jayne Castel

  Someone’s taken it.

  His gaze slid over the darkness, straining to catch sight of his boat. A moment later he loosed a relieved breath when he spotted the craft’s dark outline.

  Thank the shadows.

  He swam to the boat, untied it, and towed it back to where Mira and Ninia waited. He swam as silently as he could, yet on this still night noise seemed to travel. Every splash thundered in his ears, and he tensed, waiting for the sound of shouts, of heavy booted feet heading their way.

  None came.

  Getting Mira and Ninia onto the boat without making any noise proved difficult as well. Ninia lacked the upper-body strength to heave herself up, and so Asher had to help her. Mira did manage to pull herself in, but then fell into the bottom of the boat with a loud thud.

  Asher made a hissing sound between his clenched teeth, and all three of them froze. The thud had echoed like a drum in the mist.

  Long moments passed and still no sound of approaching soldiers reached them.

  Climbing in last, Asher positioned himself in the center of the row boat, picked up the oars, and gently pushed the craft away from the edge of the wharf. He dared not try to row, not yet, for the splash of the oars would carry.

  The sound of drunken laughter reached him then, followed by the heavy tread of someone approaching. Craning his neck up, Asher heard the rumble of a man’s voice, before the feminine lilt of his companion chimed in.

  Asher gripped hold of the oars and gently propelled the boat backwards once more. He could see the outline of two figures above him now, as the couple embraced.

  Don’t look down.

  They didn’t, for the pair were too engrossed in each other to notice the small craft that slid through the still water into the mist.

  Asher let out a long breath. Their luck had held.

  Time drew out, and eventually they rowed out into the lake, leaving the mist behind.

  Mira leaned forward, her eyes straining in the darkness. There was a full moon tonight. It broke through the swirling mist overhead, illuminating the surface of the lake, the boat, and her companions in silvery iridescence.

  “Do you know which way you’re heading?” she asked.

  “Aye, I'm using the moon to guide me,” Asher replied, “although I can’t guarantee where exactly we’ll land along the northern coast.”

  Mira fell silent. Her relief at leaving Thornmere was almost giddying. Finally after all these months she was moving again. Right now she didn’t care where they were headed, just as long as they weren’t traveling back to that town—as long as she was free.

  Free … not yet, but I will be soon.

  The enchanter had done as promised so far. He’d gotten them out of Thornmere—and if he managed to get them across the border as well, she might rethink her opinion of him.

  Her thoughts turned to the future then. What would she do with the remainder of the gold she carried? Even though she’d spent some it during the past few months there was still enough for her to build a new life.

  Where will I go?

  She hadn’t the faintest idea. All she cared about was severing her ties with her past. Soon she’d be able to make a fresh start, to rewrite the story of her life.

  The thought made her feel strangely tense. She wasn’t sure where to begin.

  The journey continued, the monotony broken only by the rasp of their breathing and the rhythmic splash of the oars. And the farther they edged north, the more Mira relaxed.

  Her gaze shifted to Asher’s outline as he rowed up ahead. She still didn’t trust him, but for the moment he was proving useful. Mira had been looking for an excuse to leave Ninia, and until now her conscience had prevented her.

  A conscience she hadn’t even known she had.

  But with Ninia left in Asher’s hands, Mira’s obligation to the girl would end.

  I’ll leave them as soon as we cross the border.

  Mira continued to study Asher’s silhouette, her gaze lingering upon the width of his shoulders, the smooth motion of his rowing. His hood had fallen back, and the moonlight glinted silver on his long pale hair.

  Mira watched the enchanter, entranced. Her strong physical reaction to Asher disturbed her. It was a distraction she didn’t need. Yet there was still something about him that made her instincts sharpen. He held himself back. That morning she’d caught him watching Ninia with a look in his eyes that made her wary.

  Keep focused, she warned herself. We’re not out of danger yet.

  She’d wait till they were over the border before she started making plans.

  16

  The Leaguefort

  ASHER ROWED UNTIL his shoulders, back, and arms burned. Only then did he stop and pass the oars to Mira. It was difficult shifting positions in the cramped boat, and they risked capsizing, but they managed it. Mira fumbled at first, for rowing wasn’t as easy as it looked. After a spell she got into the rhythm of it and managed to row without digging the oars too deep into the water.

  Half way across the lake, while Asher was taking his second shift at rowing, Ninia started to sniff.

  Asher peered across at her. It was too dark for him to make out the princess’s face. Was she weeping?

  “Ninia …” Mira spoke up. “What’s wrong?”

  “I feel strange,” the girl replied, her voice oddly nasal. “I think I might have caught a chill.”

  They were still in the midst of winter, and Ninia had been sitting in wet clothes for hours. Unlike Asher and Mira, she hadn’t been able to warm herself up through rowing.

  “Here.” Mira took off her damp cloak and handed it to Ninia. “Wrap yourself up in this.”

  The princess sniffed. “Thanks.”

  Watching them, a wry smile tugged at the edge of Asher’s mouth. Most of the time Mira acted as if she barely tolerated the girl, yet she was as protective of her as a broody hen.

  Tearing his gaze away, he turned his focus inward. It was better he cut himself off from his companions. He couldn’t start seeing them as people. He needed to steel himself for what was to come.

  Finally, just as the first blush of dawn stained the eastern sky, Asher glimpsed the northern shore of the lake. Unlike the southern coast, which was much more heavily populated, the northern shores of Thornmere were edged with reeds, weeping willows, and brambles. There was also an enormous expanse of marshes farther east, which they had managed to avoid.

  Asher angled the boat toward a growth of willows. As it was winter, the skeleton branches drooped against the lightening sky. In the spring these trees would burst into life with bright green foliage, but for now they lay dormant.

  Jumping overboard into the freezing water, Asher hauled the boat with him toward the bank. He climbed up under the curtain of willow branches and waited while the women disembarked. Ninia’s face was flushed, and she clung to the hand Mira offered her as she climbed out.

  Asher pulled the boat up under the willows. He doubted he’d ever need it again, but it still made sense to lift it out of the water—just in case another traveler should require passage across the lake. A few feet away his companions seated themselves on the water’s edge and helped themselves to some of the food he’d bought for the journey.

  Asher didn’t join them.

  Instead, he walked away, stopping around four yards distant with his back to Mira and Ninia.

  It’s time.

  He couldn’t put this off any longer. He had to do it now, before they reached the border.

  Inhaling deeply, Asher flexed his right hand. Heat built in his palm, and he glanced up at the pale morning sky, calling the power of the sun to his command.

  Don’t think about it. Just act.

  His palm burned now, urgent and fierce. Asher clenched his jaw. He’d reached a turning point in his life—there would be no coming back from this.

  He was about to swing round and attack when a small hand closed over his left forearm.

  “Asher …” Ninia had approached silently fro
m behind. “Do you want some bread?”

  The warmth and aliveness of that hand burned through his sleeve like a brand. It was an effort not to jerk away. A moment later she thrust a bread roll up at him. “Here.”

  Asher gritted his teeth and took another deep steadying breath. Keeping his right hand by his side, he turned to her. “I’m not hungry.”

  She gazed up at him. “You’ve been rowing all night … you should eat something.”

  “Stop fussing over him, Ninia,” Mira called from the lake’s edge. “If he wants some bread, he’ll get it himself.”

  Ninia ignored her guardian. Instead, she continued to stare up at Asher, her expression solemn, her hazel eyes watchful. “You’re pale … are you unwell?”

  “I’m fine … just tired.”

  He didn’t like the intelligence in her gaze. For a moment he wondered if she suspected him, yet he sensed no fear in her. She didn’t know that he’d been about to end her life.

  Do it now.

  But he couldn’t. Not with her staring up at him—not while the imprint of her hand still burned upon his skin.

  Asher brushed past her. “We should go,” he said, his voice harsher than he’d intended. He picked up his pack, shouldered it, and turned north. “Come on … we need to reach the leaguefort by noon.”

  Without even glancing over his shoulder to see if they were following, Asher strode up the slope away from the lake.

  They struck out north, over gently rising land and bare hills. It was a still morning with a clear sky, and a sparkling frost covered the ground. The frozen earth crunched underfoot as they walked.

  Mira broke into a jog, drawing up alongside Asher. “How far is it to the border?” she panted.

  “Around two leagues,” the enchanter replied, his tone curt. Mira observed him with interest. Asher was in a bleak mood this morning; she wondered what his problem was.

  Above, a hawk’s screech echoed over the hillside. Looking up, Mira caught sight of Grim circling overhead. She hadn’t seen the hawk since leaving Thornmere, but he’d followed them nonetheless.

  The sun rose into the sky, warming their faces as they reached the woods—a copse of ash and hazel with an undergrowth of bramble. There had been no sign of soldiers on the way, and the three travelers hurried for the tree line.

  Asher led them through the woods, eventually stopping at the northern edge. There he crouched down, pushing aside the undergrowth so he could see beyond. Then he motioned to his companions to join him.

  “There it is,” he whispered.

  Mira knelt next to him and leaned forward to peer through the gap. A heartbeat later she swore under her breath. Beside her, Ninia gasped.

  Before them rose a vast wooden tower, with a twenty-foot wooden palisade stretching out east and west for as far as the eye could see. At the top of the structure, Mira spied the outlines of men and spears silhouetted against the sky.

  “How did they manage to build this so soon?” Ninia breathed. “Veldoras only fell a few months ago.”

  “I don’t know,” Asher replied. “It seems Anthor has more resources than we realized. The wall stretches from coast to coast, with a fort like this every league.”

  Mira shook her head. “But the men you’d need to build it … how?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  Despite Asher’s terse answer, Mira heard the wariness in his voice. This feat of engineering bothered him as much as it did her.

  The sun rose high into a cerulean sky, illuminating the world below in sharp detail; the way only winter sunlight can. Upon the fort, a lonely horn let out a wail and the soldiers defending the southern entrance moved to unbolt the gates.

  No one noticed the long shadow that slid out from the northern edge of the woodland and glided over the grass. No one heard the whisper of booted feet.

  Asher walked toward the gates. This wasn’t going to be easy. With Ninia behind him and Mira in front, his stride was hindered. If he tried to run, he risked tripping them all up and bringing the three of them down in a tangled heap. Ninia had looped her arms around his waist and pressed up against his back. The princess kept stepping on his heels, but that wasn’t what was bothering him.

  The fact that these two women were still alive was.

  Fury raged through him—at himself. He was incompetent, useless. He’d failed. All it had taken was for Ninia to touch him, to look him in the eye, and he’d been unable to go through with it.

  Irana had chosen the wrong assassin.

  He stepped on Mira’s heel then, only to receive a warning hiss. They were pressed close. He’d wrapped his left arm around her torso, pulling her hard against him, while he used his right to gather the Light and cloak them all in sunlight.

  Mira was distracting him. The feel of her—the warmth, softness, and strength of her lithe body—made it difficult to think. He could also smell the warm musk of her skin and the faint scent of jasmine in her hair. An overwhelming desire to lean forward and bury his face in those dark waves overcame him. Angrily, he shoved the sensation away.

  Concentrate.

  Asher called on his training then, the techniques he’d been taught to clear the mind and settle the nerves. He needed to focus, or the cloak he had shrouded them in would falter.

  They drew nearer to the leaguefort. Up close the structure was even more imposing. Huge beams of ash and beech interspersed with iron girders formed a solid, square building with a watch tower at its summit. And there, hanging limply in the still morning, was the red and black flag of Anthor.

  Asher could see a number of men in the watch tower, black figures against the bright noon sky. He could feel the weight of their gazes sweeping the stretch of open land between the fort and the woodland to the south.

  Before them the guards had drawn open the great gates. Beyond, Asher spied a shadowy tunnel lit by rows of torches. Their path to freedom. Only a few short yards, and yet it seemed so far.

  A company of foot soldiers was moving through the tunnel from the northern entrance. The men advanced—the creak of leather, clang of iron, stomp of heavy booted feet, and rattling of shields echoing through the tunnel.

  Asher brought Mira and Ninia to a halt just before the entrance and pulled them back to allow the company to pass. The princess stepped on his heel, but Asher ignored it. They needed to move now. The gates never remained open for long. He gently pushed Mira forward, and they moved off once more.

  They were two paces away from the gate when Ninia sneezed.

  The sound carried in the tranquil morning air, and time slowed. Like deer caught in the sights of a hunter with a crossbow, the three of them froze.

  “Who goes there?” A man’s voice echoed through the stillness.

  Asher’s heart started to thunder in his chest. When he’d imagined all the things that might go wrong, he hadn’t come up with this scenario. He’d worried the cloak might slip, or someone might see the shadow they cast—but never this.

  “Run,” he hissed.

  Still clinging together, they dove into the tunnel and fled up the column between the rows of torches. Their boots crunched on gravel, but there was little point in stealth now. Asher gritted his teeth and swept his right arm in an arc before them, gathering the Light from the torches. Only from sheer force of will did he manage to keep the cloak intact.

  “There’s someone in there.” A shout echoed up the tunnel behind them. “Close the gates!”

  They fled toward the northern exit, toward the halo of bright sunlight waiting for them. But just a yard from freedom, a heavy, iron portcullis slammed down, its iron teeth bedding deep into the damp earth.

  They crashed against it. Mira choked out an oath. Asher released her, the cloak of light around them shimmering as it faltered. He looked over his shoulder and spied the outlines of men advancing toward them from the southern entrance. Asher heard Ninia’s soft whimper of fear. The walls closed in on him.

  Asher swept his right hand before him, struggling to gath
er the Light. However, keeping the cloak aloft had drained his reserves. The weak rays of sunlight, filtering into the tunnel, refused to respond.

  It was over.

  17

  Poor Liars

  MIRA STEPPED INTO the hall and glanced across at Asher, their gazes fusing for a heartbeat.

  Say nothing. The message in his eyes was clear, and Mira would heed it.

  They walked across a wide space, their boots sinking into thick sawdust. The hall smelled of freshly milled timber, iron, and male sweat. It was an austere space with no adornment on the walls. A huge hearth dominated the center of the hall, with long tables either side, and there was a raised platform up one end. This was a man’s domain; there were no feminine touches here, no herbs sprinkled amongst the sawdust, no smells of cooking.

  Dark-haired men with tanned skin and aquiline features surrounded them. The looks on their faces were hungry, expectant. They knew they’d caught a prize.

  Like her companions, Mira walked with her hands bound before her. The soldiers who’d captured them had fastened the rope so tightly she was fast losing sensation in her hands.

  A huge man clad in boiled leather, a grey wolf-skin cloak hanging from his shoulders, awaited them at the end of the hall. His greying dark hair was cropped short against his scalp, and he had a long puckered scar on his right cheek. His dark gaze tracked the newcomers across the floor.

  “What do we have here?” he asked the men flanking the prisoners. “Is this the girl they're looking for?”

  “She could be.” One of the men behind them shoved Ninia forward. He pushed her so roughly that the girl tripped and fell to her knees in the sawdust. Although the princess’s round face was drawn with fear, she remained composed. She cast a look of venom over her shoulder at the man who had shoved her. “Don’t touch me.”

  This caused a rumble of laughter from the surrounding soldiers.

  “She’s certainly got the manner of a princess,” one of them noted. “What do you think, Commander?”