The Lost Swallow

by Jayne Castel

  Around them the leaguefort groaned and shuddered as if it were in agony.

  Asher barreled into the men who thundered up the stairs. The soldiers grasped for him, blades flashing, but Asher gathered the Light—drawing from the wall of fire that roared at his back—and knocked them aside.

  “Run,” he roared at the guards, his throat raw from smoke.

  He meant it too. This wasn’t a diversion. All of them, he and his two companions included, risked dying in here. They were all just moments away from the roof caving in on the lot of them. The fire had taken hold and nothing would stop it.

  The fire, borne of enchantment, wasn’t like any other he’d seen. It raced through the leaguefort with a devouring hunger. It was at their backs now, licking at their heels.

  The three of them hit the bottom level and raced into the hall where they’d met the commander earlier that day. Smoke billowed into the space after them, followed by a bolus of orange flame that set the doorframe alight. Behind him, the screams of men burning alive seared Asher’s ears.

  This wasn’t what he’d planned. He’d wanted to start a controlled fire and yell for help so that they could overpower the guards. What Ninia had unleashed on the wall wasn’t like anything he’d ever gathered himself.

  “We need to find an exit north,” Mira shouted, her voice rough from inhaling smoke.

  Asher glanced around, panic surging. He looked north, at where the fire was now consuming the wall, and the passage to the northern side of the fort. “No chance,” he rasped. “We just have to get out of here. The building is coming down.”

  Mira took one look at the wall of flame licking toward them and didn’t bother to argue. They fled across the wide space, kicking up sawdust behind them. The roof started to cave in. Huge iron girders and wooden beams groaned as they came free and crashed down. One fell, just a yard or two left of where Asher ran, towing the princess after him.

  Ninia screamed. Asher yanked her sideways, pulling her free of a beam that swung down like an executioner’s axe and hit the floor with a boom.

  They staggered out, hauling in gulps of the fresh night air, and ran straight into a crowd of panicked soldiers. Some were fleeing the inferno, while others carried sloshing pails of water toward the burning fort in a vain attempt to douse the flames. At first they didn’t notice the three figures that hurtled from the doorway and into their midst. But moments later some did. Asher gathered the Light from the fire that licked through the doorway behind him. He struck out at the first men who blocked their path, sending them staggering away, beating flames off their clothing.

  Then Asher ran, making for the line of the woods which were still a furlong distant.

  They’d made it halfway when Ninia gasped. She dug her heels into the ground, pulling Asher to a halt. “Mira … what’s she doing?”

  Asher turned to see the Swallow—who’d been running at his heels a moment earlier—veering away back toward the crowd of soldiers behind them.

  Asher spat out a curse. Then he realized whom she was running toward—a huge man with a scarred face, wearing a grey wolf-skin mantle. The garrison commander hadn’t seen Mira. Instead, he was bellowing orders at his men, directing those bearing buckets they’d filled from the well outside the fort to wet the perimeter fence to stop the fire from spreading.

  It was already too late. The edges of the high, wooden palisade to the east and west of the fort had already caught alight. Yet men were valiantly throwing water over the flames, trying to slow the fire’s path.

  Mira raced toward the commander. The pulsing, red glow of the fire, roaring like a great funeral pyre just yards away, outlined her lithe form. On the way, she drew a knife she’d taken from the guard earlier and used it to bring down a man who lumbered across her path. Then she relieved him of another knife and his sword and ran on.

  “Mira, no!” Asher shouted. However, she either didn’t hear, or ignored him.

  The garrison commander turned, his warrior’s instinct perhaps warning him that someone approached. His gaze widened when he saw Mira. Then a grin spread over his face. He drew his sword, steel flashing in the firelight. They both lunged.

  Asher watched, transfixed. He'd seen men fight many times before. King Nathan of Rithmar had a number of highly skilled soldiers within his King's Guard. But he'd never seen someone fight as if they were an extension of their weapon. Mira flew toward the commander—fearless, fey, and dangerous.

  Their blades clashed, and Asher watched them struggled for dominance. It looked hopeless; this man was easily twice Mira’s size and looked impossible to beat. Yet Mira was faster and lighter on her feet than her opponent. Their blades swung about, and she danced around him. Asher watched her slice and cut, her blade flashing orange in the firelight, until the commander’s fine cloak lay in tatters at his feet.

  The garrison commander roared, incensed to be toyed with. He lunged at the Swallow, his broadsword slicing through the smoky air, his face a rictus of rage.

  Ninia tugged at Asher’s arm. “We can’t leave her.”

  Asher tore his gaze from the duel and took in the situation around them. He and Ninia now stood exposed on the bare stretch of land between the border and the woods, illuminated by the burning fort. More soldiers had spied them. Their shouts echoed above the roar of the fire, and they raced toward the escaped prisoners.

  Asher growled another curse. Damn, Mira and her need for reckoning. We don’t have time for this.

  He gathered the Light once more and drew a burning line of flame across the path of the approaching soldiers. It was an effort, for fatigue now dragged at him. He’d have asked Ninia for help, but after what he’d just witnessed he was afraid to. The girl had a wild power that cowed him. If she gathered the Light again, especially when filled with fear as she now was, Ninia risked incinerating them all.

  The perimeter of flame was enough to keep the soldiers at bay for now. It wouldn’t hold the men back for long, but it would hopefully give Mira enough time to join them.

  “Mira!” Asher bellowed, his throat burning from smoke and exhaustion. “We have to go!”

  She didn’t acknowledge him. As he watched, Mira ducked under the big man’s guard and sliced him across the back of the legs. The commander crumpled with a roar, and then she was on him. Mira dropped her sword, whipped out a dagger, and stabbed the man repeatedly in the chest.

  The commander fought her, twisting and bucking under her, but Mira continued stabbing him until he lay still.

  Asher and Ninia watched. “Shadows,” the princess rasped. “She’s vicious.”

  Asher didn’t reply, although he too was quietly horrified by the depth of fury he’d just seen Mira unleash.

  “Mira!” he shouted again.

  She appeared to hear him then, leaping to her feet and sheathing her bloodied knife. She stooped, retrieved her fallen sword, and took off toward Asher and Ninia—the commander’s men just a few yards behind her.

  Mira’s face, splattered with blood, was harder than Asher had seen it. Her eyes were pitiless.

  “Idiots,” she yelled as she approached them. “Why are you standing there? Run!”

  They tore across the last stretch of ground toward the woods. Asher’s barrier of fire crumbled behind them, letting through the crowds of soldiers.

  Plunging into the trees, his hand still fastened on Ninia’s arm, Asher heard the men calling to each other. The chase was on.

  The glow of the inferno behind them penetrated a few yards into the woods, and then darkness descended. Branches caught Asher across the face and shoulders, and brambles clawed at his legs and cloak, but he sprinted on, raising his free arm to protect his face. He could hear Mira running next to him, and her muffled curses as she collided with the trees. Yet they ran on blindly, a group of pursuing soldiers just yards behind.

  After a short distance, Asher’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he spied the radiance of the moon filtering down from a gap in the trees overhead. Forcing back t
he fatigue that pulled at him, Asher gathered the Light once more and brought a glowing sphere of moonlight down onto his outstretched palm. Suddenly, they were no longer running blind, for the light illuminated a yard or two in every direction.

  It helped, for they were able to run faster now. The sounds of pursuit, which had been so close earlier, gradually drew back and grew faint. They broke from the tree line and ran onto the open stretch of bare hills that lay between the woods and the lake’s edge.

  “We need to get back to the boat,” Asher gasped. His lungs felt as if they were on fire. He hated the thought of retracing his steps, but it was the only way he could think to escape the men still chasing them.

  Neither of his companions argued with him.

  19

  Healing

  MIRA WAS STAGGERING by the time they reached the rowboat Asher had left under the weeping willows. She was close to collapse. Likewise, the enchanter was gasping for breath; he’d had to carry Ninia for the last stretch on his back. The princess had crumpled to the ground a few furlongs out from the woods.

  Mira had hated going back, running from the Rithmar border when freedom had been so close. She knew they’d had no choice though—even with the leaguefort in flames, there was no way they’d get through that hive of angry sentries. They’d had to flee.

  Rage had kept Mira going for most of that flight. The fury she’d been nursing ever since the commander had hurt her, humiliated her, had found an outlet the moment she’d seen him outside the fort. Mira’s left breast still ached dully as a constant reminder of what he’d done.

  She felt oddly detached in the aftermath, as if someone else had brought that man down and stabbed the life out of him. Still, she’d seen the horror on her companions’ faces as she’d run toward them afterward. They thought her savage, bloodthirsty.

  Let them, she thought, bitterness overtaking her. Neither of them have lived my life.

  Out on the lake, Asher turned the boat east. “We can’t go back to Thornmere,” he grunted. “I’ll take us into the marshes. They’re our best chance of escape for now.”

  “Very well,” Mira rasped. She felt as if she’d swallowed a mouthful of sand. Her lungs ached, and she was bathed in sweat. She was grateful Asher had taken the lead. She didn’t know this land at all. She’d seen the outline of a large tract of swamps, which took up much of the north-eastern edge of Lake Thornmere, upon the map she carried, but hadn’t studied it. She had never imagined things would go so badly that they’d be forced to take refuge there.

  Asher rowed them east, before leaving the open water and entering the marshes. Mira screwed up her face as she inhaled the sulfurous odor of decay. The land outside Veldoras had the same smell. The marshes here were treacherous and impossible to navigate without a boat, for some of the pools would suck you down to your death.

  In the midst of the swamps they found an island; a dank, lonely place with a single dead tree outlined against the night sky. It looked like a small willow that had once tried to take root in this lifeless place and given up after a year or two. A thick mattress of moss covered the knoll.

  It was a good enough hiding place for now.

  “They’ll be able to track us to the edge of the lake in daylight,” Asher said. Once Mira and Ninia had climbed out of the boat, he dragged it up onto the mossy bank. “But for tonight we’ll be safe.”

  “Good,” Mira croaked. She collapsed upon the damp bed of moss and gazed up at the star-strewn heavens. She felt utterly drained.

  “Are you well, Mira?” Asher turned to her, his features all angles and shadows in the moonlight.

  “I’m fine,” Mira lied. Truthfully, her injured breast was growing increasingly painful. It hurt with each inhale.

  “What about me?” A weak voice, edged with irritation interrupted. “Mira’s not the only one here … I feel awful.”

  Mira didn’t doubt her word. Ninia’s breathing was labored; her chest now making a strange rattling noise. Asher shifted round, his mouth quirking at her imperiousness. “Aye, princess … let’s take a look at you then.”

  He leaned toward Ninia and placed a hand on her brow. A moment later he grunted. “That fever is getting dangerous.”

  Mira watched as Asher gathered the Light once more. His resilience impressed her; the enchanter had used his abilities numerous times during their escape and hadn’t flagged once. She could see the strain on his face now, the grooves that formed either side of his mouth as he swept a glowing palm over Ninia’s forehead. He gathered the Light yet again, this time cupping his hand over the base of the princess’s throat.

  Mira heard the rattle in Ninia’s chest cease and her breathing lighten.

  Asher placed a hand once more on her brow, frowning. Then he reached into his pack and withdrew a clay, stoppered bottle. When he opened it, the scent of Eld wafted toward Mira. It was a strong odor, like pine resin but much more pungent.

  Mira screwed her face up. “I hate that smell,” she muttered.

  Asher glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression questioning.

  “It reminds me of my parents,” she said after a moment. “On their deathbeds.”

  Asher watched her for a heartbeat, before he turned to Ninia and dabbed Eld onto the princess’s temples and under her throat.

  “How old were you when they died?” Asher asked as he worked.

  “Six.”

  Asher sat back on his heels and re-stoppered the bottle. “I lost my father too during that plague,” he replied. “It halved the population of The Royal City.”

  It was getting late, or early, depending on which way you looked at it. The moon, which had reached the last day of its cycle, was now descending toward the horizon. Yet they still had a few hours of darkness left before dawn.

  Mira gave a jaw-cracking yawn. She was beyond tired. She wasn't even sure she would be able to sleep; she was still too on edge. “We should get some rest,” she murmured.

  A few yards away, Ninia had stretched out on the mossy ground. Asher had covered her with her cloak. The princess breathed steadily, and although Mira could hear a slight rasp there, it was much better than earlier. The girl appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep.

  Good for her. Mira stretched out and rolled onto her left side. She let out a hiss of pain as a shaft of agony arrowed through her left breast.

  Asher shifted next to her. “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Mira lied. “I'm just a bit sore after that fight.”

  A beat of silence passed before Asher spoke once more. “He hurt you … don’t pretend he didn’t.”

  Mira tensed. “It’s just bruised.”

  “Can I take a look?” he asked after a moment.

  “No.”

  Asher sighed. “I'm a healer, Mira. The breast is delicate tissue.”

  Mira ground her jaw, feeling her cheeks warm. This conversation was paining her. She didn't want his help, and yet his words made sense. The pain throbbed like toothache now.

  With a huff of defeat, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Very well,” she growled. “But if you try anything I'll snap all your fingers.”

  Asher gave a soft laugh. “To damage these healing hands would be a crime.”

  Mira sneered, knowing that he couldn't see her expression anyway in the darkness.

  Reluctantly, she shrugged off her cloak. Now that they had stopped running, the night’s chill bit into her. She shivered, unlacing the leathers that she wore on her top half. She cast them aside, revealing a linen shirt underneath laced down the front. She unlaced the shirt, just enough to reveal the top of her breasts while preserving her modesty.

  Asher moved around so that he knelt facing her.

  “I hope your hands aren’t cold,” she growled.

  “I promise they aren’t,” he replied with a smile in his voice. He leaned forward and unlaced her shirt further, before peeling back the left side so he could see her breast. Mira looked away, her body going taut. Her hands
fell to her sides, clasping into fists.

  This really isn’t a good idea. She felt exposed here, in every sense.

  Asher’s indrawn breath drew her attention back. She glanced down at the pale disc of her breast, her own breathing catching. Despite the darkness, she could see a massive, livid bruise that had formed, stretching from just below her armpit down to the underside of her breast. She could see the dark imprints of the commander’s thick fingers against her pale skin.

  “I’m glad I killed him,” she bit out the words.

  Asher huffed. “I certainly wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.”

  A beat of silence. “Let that be a warning to you then.”

  Asher didn’t reply. Instead, he sat back on his heels and drew his right hand in an arc, gathering the Light. “I’ll see if I can begin the healing process.”

  Mira watched his face, saw the lines of fatigue deepen, as moonlight pooled in the palm of his hand. Unexpectedly, she felt a pang of remorse for being so aggressive toward him. “You’re exhausted,” she observed.

  “To the bone,” he replied, his voice flat. Holding the glowing moonlight in his palm, he cupped Mira’s injured breast.

  He hadn’t been lying—his hands were warm, or maybe it was just the light he held. Mira sucked in a breath, shocked by the sensation. She'd been expecting pain, but there was none, just a strange heat that spread out over her breast. She felt the dull ache there draw back.

  Asher gathered the Light once more and repeated the action. When he removed his hand the second time, Mira glanced down to see the bruise had faded to a faint smudge on her skin. The pain had gone.

  Asher shifted back, regarding her. “It’s done.”

  Mira’s gaze widened as she continued to stare down at her breast. “You’ve healed me?”

  “Aye, although it'll be a bit tender to touch for a couple of days.”

  Their gazes locked, and Mira was suddenly aware of just how close they were. She was also aware that she was sitting half-naked before him, bathed in the moonlight, with one of her breasts bared. She hastily drew her shirt closed and began to re-lace it.