Читать книгу The Exiled Queen - Cinda Williams Chima - Страница 10
ОглавлениеAfter the encounter with the renegade guards on the western slope, Raisa worried they’d have more trouble at Westgate. But when they arrived at the West Wall in the early morning, Mac Gillen was nowhere to be seen. The guards at the gate were mostly regular army, a mixture of gray- jacketed Highlanders and mercenaries with striped trim.
The sergeant in charge was a Queen’s Guardsman, though, named Barlow. When Amon told Barlow that they were cadets traveling to Oden’s Ford via Westgate, the sergeant greeted him with derision.
“So you don’t want to go through Arden, eh? You cadets wouldn’t want to get your uniforms dirty, would you?” he said, rolling his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to have to blood your shiny new weapons before you show ’em off at school.”
It was the typical disdain of the line soldier for the academy-bred. The members of the Wolfpack seethed, but Amon ignored it. He’d seemed preoccupied, having even less to say than usual since the incident with Sloat and the rescue by the Demonai warriors.
Disappointed that Amon didn’t rise to the bait, Barlow added, “Well, Corporal, if you think this way’s safer than travelin’ through Arden, you’ll soon find out different.”
“What do you mean?” Amon asked, finally granting Barlow his full attention.
The sergeant spat on the ground. “The new road is gone. The Waterwalkers done wrecked it. They heaved a mess of boulders into there.”
Amon stared at him. “What? I helped build that road. Why would they do that?”
“The Waterwalkers been raiding over the border, stealing livestock and food,” Barlow said. “We put a stop to it, so they busted up the road. Nowdays, if you want to get down to the Fens, you have to take the old road. An’ that means climbin’ down over the cliff and clinging to the icy rocks by your toenails. Them horses’ll never make it.”
“I still don’t see why they’d destroy the road,” Amon persisted. “It was built just a year and a half ago. It seems like they’d be hurting themselves.”
The sergeant shrugged, not meeting Amon’s eyes. “Guess we an’t welcome there no more. Anyways, if you do manage to climb down without breaking your necks, you’ll find out why they call it the Shiverin’ Fens. You’ll be shivering all right. You’ll wish you’d gone the other way. Them Waterwalkers’ll have you crying for your mommies.”
“I assume you’re speaking from experience, sir?” Raisa asked. This drew grins from the other Wolves and a warning look from Amon.
“I was there just a little more than a year ago,” Amon said to Barlow, “and had no trouble. I stayed at Rivertown and Hallowmere.”
“You did, did you?” The sergeant wet his lips and swallowed. “Well, there’s trouble now. Skirmishes all along the border. Bad blood all around.”
“Is it really as bad as that?” Raisa asked. “We’ve not heard anything about this in the capital.”
“You listen to me, cadet,” Barlow said, his jowly face pinking up with anger. “The Waterwalkers, they got special plans for such morsels as you. They’ll feed you to the watergators. That’s how they sacrifice to their gods.”
“There are no such things as watergators, sir,” Raisa said, rolling her eyes.
The sergeant snorted. “Aye, you say that now. We’ll see what you say later. If you’re alive to make the report. Them water -gators grow to be a hunnert feet long with teeth the size of broadswords and just as sharp. I spoke to a man saw one swallow a pole boat whole, with everybody on board.”
“We’ll be careful, sir,” Amon said. “Thank you for the warning. Now move along, Morley,” he said to Raisa. “Or you’ll be the one raising tents in the dark.”
Now what? Raisa wondered. Are we going to walk all the way to Oden’s Ford? If we can’t take the horses along, we won’t have a choice.
The sergeant raised his hand. “Just a minute,” he said. “You there. Lady cadets. What’s your names?”
“Why do you ask, sir?” Amon asked, edging his horse between the Wolves and the sergeant.
“Well . . .” The sergeant looked up at the garrison house, scowling. “There’s some wizardlings in there want to see every young lady what passes through here.”
“Why is that, sir?” Hallie drawled. “If you’re playing match-maker, I don’t go in for jinxflingers, just so you know.”
The Gray Wolves snickered, and Barlow’s color deepened. “Seems the princess heir has run off or been carried off or some such,” he said. “So they’re on the lookout for her to cross the border here. Even though, as I said, she’d be a fool to come this way.”
“Why are wizards out hunting for the princess?” Amon asked, trying to sound casual. “Isn’t that our job?”
“Well, that’s what I thought,” Barlow said. “You never know, these days. Wizards are sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
“Sir, I’m surprised wizards would come to a place as remote as this,” Raisa said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Being so used to servants and rich food and all that.”
“You got that right,” Sergeant Barlow said, eyeing Raisa with a little more approval. “There’s three of ’em, and they an’t any older ’n you. I hear one of ’em’s the son of the High Wizard himself.”
Micah! Raisa’s mouth went metallic, and a shiver ran through her. She glanced over at Amon, who was expressionless as any statue in the temple.
“Lieutenant Gillen said to give them whatever they want,” Barlow went on, “but they been eating and drinking up all the best we got, stayin’ up to all hours, then sleeping in, demanding this and that, and never happy with what we give ’em.
“At first they stayed down here at the gate, but there’s so little traffic I guess they didn’t think it was worth their time. So now they can’t be bothered to come down here theirselfs, but they want us to detain any ladies that come through and fetch ’em down here to look ’em over.” He hawked and spat on the ground. “We’re shorthanded as it is. Sent half a squadron up to Demonai Camp and they an’t returned.”
Raisa looked up at the garrison house, a huge stone structure with slitted windows that frowned over the road. She turned away quickly, resisting the urge to hide her face. The back of her neck prickled and her heart tremored. At that very moment, Micah Bayar might be gazing down on her.
The memory of his treachery still stung. Micah had bewitched her with his wizard kisses and the help of an illegal seduction amulet. I think we could be good together, he’d said. Once we get through this. This being a forced wedding between them.
“Well, sir, it seems to me that Talbot, Abbott, and Morley are soldiers, not ladies,” Amon said calmly, though he clenched his reins so tight his knuckles whitened. “It’s bad enough that wizards are poking into places where they have no business. D’you think Lieutenant Gillen would want them interfering with cadets in the Queen’s Guard?”
Sergeant Barlow pondered that a moment. “You know, I don’t think he would.” He took in Hallie’s straw- colored braid, Talia’s lanky build, and Raisa’s ragged cap of hair. “None of you favor the princess anyways.”
He looked over his shoulder at the garrison house. “But mayhap you’d better move along before them wizardlings haul theirselfs out of bed.”
Wasting no time in taking the sergeant’s advice, they clattered over the stone pavers surrounding the garrison house and between two great statues of carved stone: Queen Hanalea and her daughter, Alyssa, founders of the new line of queens. The ancient queens faced each other across the road, their long shadows pointing the way. Raisa resisted the temptation to look back over her shoulder. They kept moving until they had rounded the shoulder of the mountain and were well out of sight.
“That was close,” Raisa said, reining in and speaking low in Amon’s ear. “If Micah had been down at the gate . . .” She didn’t finish.
Amon nodded. “Thank the Maker that Barlow has no love of wizards.”
“What about the Waterwalkers?” Raisa asked. “Was he just trying to scare us?”
Amon shook his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense, what he said.” He turned away from Raisa and called, “Hey, Garret, ride ahead and check out the road, see if what Sergeant Barlow says is true.”
“Aye, Corporal Byrne,” Garret said, touching his heels to his pony’s sides.
“When can a soldier disobey an order?” Raisa asked.
Amon drew his dark brows together and tilted his head back, looking down his nose at her. “Why do you want to know?”
“I want to know what to expect from my guard in the future.”
“Well, soldiers are taught two important rules. One is that you obey orders, even those you don’t like, even those you disagree with. If you don’t, it’s insubordination. The other is that following orders is no excuse for doing wrong or wasting soldiers’ lives needlessly. A good soldier is a thinking person.”
Raisa blinked at him. “But . . . isn’t that contradictory?”
Amon nodded. “It’s the soldier’s dilemma. Most of the time it’s simple enough. If your commander tells you to clean the latrine, you do it, even though you don’t want to. If your commander tells you and your salvo to lead the charge, you do it, even though you’re afraid. If she tells you to retreat, you leave the field, even if your blood’s up.”
Raisa nodded, nudging Switcher in close. “When can you say no?”
“If you disobey an order, you’d better have a good reason. Lots of times you have to make that decision in a heartbeat. That’s the problem with the guard these days. Too many soldiers don’t know the difference between right and wrong.”
Raisa put her hand on Amon’s knee. His leg was all muscle and bone under the camouflage twill, and she felt the usual current of energy between them. “Do you feel that you know right from wrong?” she asked.
“I do,” Amon said, looking down at her hand. “My da made sure of it.” He said this with such intensity that it stopped Raisa’s mouth and she waited. After a pause, he went on. “But it’s not enough to know right from wrong. You need the strength to do what’s right, even when what you want most in the world is the wrong thing.”
With that, he urged his horse forward, breaking contact with Raisa’s hand.
A mile or so farther on, Raisa became aware of a sound: a dull, sullen roar that grew louder as they traveled forward.
While they’d been talking, the others had gotten ahead of them. Mick rode back toward them. “It’s the Dyrnnewater Cascades, sir. Careful. We’re nearly on top of them.”
It wasn’t like you could come up on them unwarned. Ahead, a freezing white mist obscured the trail. As they rode into it, Raisa’s skin pebbled and her hair clumped down in wet strings. Water dripped from the end of her nose. Amon turned up the collar of his uniform jacket and raked wet black hair off his forehead.
Now that they were crowded in close to the river, Raisa could smell the faint but familiar stench of the city of her birth. She wrinkled her nose.
A low wall enclosed the road to either side. Ahead, the river split around several large rocky islands and foamed through a series of violent rapids as they neared the escarpment. Switcher became skittish, dancing nervously and tossing her head.
At that point, the new road veered off to the east, descending in a series of switchbacks toward the valley floor. The old road continued straight on, following the river. It was hardly more than a rocky path.
Garret waited at the split. “It’s true, sir. The new road’s impassable. Road’s smashed up less than a mile ahead.”
Now what? Raisa thought. Would they have to go back by way of Westgate, past Micah Bayar again? Maybe this time they wouldn’t be so lucky.
“Guess we’ll have to take the old road,” Amon said.
You mean the one where we have to hang on by our toe-nails? Raisa thought.
“Dismount!” Amon called, then said to Raisa, “Careful. The rocks are slippery, even for the ponies. And if they spook, they’ll go right over the edge.”
The Gray Wolves swung out of their saddles, clutching ner vously at their horses’ reins. They walked forward, boots crunching in the strange gray gravel of the path.
And suddenly they were at the edge of the world Raisa knew, overlooking a sea of mist. Hawks wheeled and pivoted over the cliff ’s edge, borne skyward by the updrafts.
“Lady of light,” she breathed. She took a step back, feeling dizzy, as if she might be swept away by the relentless movement of water. Amon gripped her arm to steady her.
The Dyrnnewater poured over the lip of a wide overhang and thundered into the valley below. The river was deep green as it furled over the edge, then exploded in foamy spray as it struck rock on the way down. Mist collected on their hair and clothing, then froze so that within minutes they resembled a collection of silver- headed elders.
This was a sacred place, full of history. During the War of the Wizard Conquest, Queen Regina, the last free queen of the old line, had been trapped with a small army of loyalists at the edge of the escarpment. She had thrown her daughters over the edge, then leaped after them to prevent their being captured. But the river had refused to swallow the queen and the princesses, had cushioned their landing and spat them out alive on the banks below. A miracle by the Maker’s hand.
After that, Regina had bowed her proud head, knowing that the line was meant to survive and that its redemption lay somewhere in the future. The queens had passed three hundred years in captivity before the Breaking freed them.
Creeping forward, Raisa peered over the edge. It was like looking down into a milky sea, its features hidden under a mantle of mist. The Shivering Fens were an ocean of grass and stubby trees, nothing tall enough to poke through the grounded clouds.
Raisa shuddered, chilled by the damp and the prospect of climbing down into that mist. The Fells claimed to rule the Shivering Fens, but Raisa had never been there, and as far as she knew, Queen Marianna had not, either. How could they claim allegiance to a place they knew so little about?
Etched into the side of the bluff, alongside the river, she saw the faint tracings of a rocky path, obviously little used. At the top of the cliff stood an abandoned garrison house, the walls in dis-repair, heaved and tumbled by repeated freezes and thaws, and next to it, a small shrine to Queen Regina. A marble statue centered the shrine, stained and worn by weather— the fearless queen cradling two babies. Raisa made the sign of the Maker and knelt in the weeds before the queen’s altar.
We need to better honor the old ways, she thought. This is my blood, my inheritance, overgrown and neglected. We once ruled the Seven Realms, and now we can barely manage one.
Her prayer finished, she turned to find that Amon had come up beside her. He stood, hands tucked under his arms to warm them, the wind stirring his hair, studying the cliff face, as if he really meant to climb down there.
“That’s a road?” she asked, pushing up to her feet. Surely not.
“That was the only road before we built the new one. The Waterwalkers don’t use horses, so they had no need of a road that horses and wagons could use.”
“And you helped build the new road?”
“Aye. My da offered up the sweat of my brow in trade for learning Waterwalker ways.” He paused, chewing his lower lip. “They have a debt and payment system they call gylden. They’re proud— they’d rather you were in debt to them than they to you.
“Lord Cadri is ruler of the Waterwalkers. Years ago, my father saved his life when he would have bled to death after a hunting accident. Ever since, he’s been trying to find a way to pay off the gylden, and my da’s trying to keep him beholden. Not because he expects repayment, but because it’s an advantage to the Fells. My da asked Lord Cadri to foster me for a summer. That should’ve offset some of the debt. But I helped design and build the road— so he still owes gylden to my father.”
“Does Queen Marianna know this is going on?” Raisa asked.
Amon shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. She’s never paid much attention to the Fens, given the war in Arden and troubles at home. Da tries to make sure she doesn’t need to. I don’t like hearing that there’s trouble along the border.”
Raisa couldn’t help remembering her mother warning her away from any dreams of a match with Amon. They’re soldiers, the queen had said, and that’s all they’ll ever be.
You have no idea what a treasure you have in the Byrnes, Mother, Raisa thought.
“How do we get down?” she asked, mopping freezing slush from her face.
Amon knelt at the edge of the precipice, examining a rusted metal apparatus bolted to the rock. “We use ropes as a fail- safe,” he said. “It’s too risky to go down unroped.” He turned and shouted orders to the other Wolves, who produced coils of rope from their saddlebags.
“What about the horses?” Raisa asked.
“They go down roped, too.” Amon shouldered open the rotting door to the garrison house. Raisa heard him rummaging around inside. He emerged several minutes later, smeared with dirt, cobwebs powdering his hair, but looking pleased with himself. He carried an armload of leather straps, iron fittings, and swivels.
Raisa eyed them distrustfully. How long had they been there? How badly were they damaged by rot and rodents? Switcher tossed her head and snorted, as if sensing Raisa’s dismay. Raisa stroked the mare’s nose to soothe her.
Amon deftly looped a rope around the large pulley attached to the rocky outcropping, secured it with an iron catch, and attached a swivel. Then he strapped a broad leather harness around his body and between his legs, clipping it to the rope.
“How do you know this will work?” Raisa asked, imagining flailing horses slamming against the cliff face, breaking their legs.
“I’ve done it before.” Amon turned to Mick and Hallie. “I’ll go down first, secure the other end, and scout the situation at the bottom. I’ll pull on the rope three times to let you know when to pull me up.”
Amon tugged on a pair of deerskin gloves. He grasped hold of the rope with both hands, backed to the edge of the cliff, pushed off, and dropped out of sight.
Stifling a cry of dismay, Raisa leaned over the cliff and looked down. The cliff jutted into a severe overhang, nothing but yawning space below. Amon was a hundred feet down already, running rope through the pulley, using his legs to kick off from the cliff face. A moment later, he was swallowed by the mist.
He’s done this before, Raisa told herself. How many other secrets was he hiding?
It took the better part of the day to lower the horses, soldiers, and all their supplies down the cliff face to the bottom. The Gray Wolves cut down several thick lodgepole pines and used them to build a hoist for the horses. Amon blindfolded the horses before they lowered them in great leather harnesses fashioned for the purpose. This arrangement kept the horses far from the rocky escarpment, so they couldn’t injure themselves, and kept pony panic and mayhem to a minimum. To Raisa’s relief, the leather strapping held.
Raisa descended halfway through, when there were equal numbers of guards on top and bottom. Aside from a nasty bruise on her elbow where she struck the cliff face once, some rope burns on her hands, and a raw place on her thigh where the strap chafed her, she arrived uninjured. She found the bounding descent exhilarating— like flying. It helped that she couldn’t see all the way to the bottom because of the fog.
Amon seemed vastly relieved when she made it down in one piece. “Just don’t ever mention this to the queen, all right?” he said, as if there weren’t already a whole list of things not to mention to Marianna. “And don’t tell my da you went down on your own.”
By the time everyone was settled at the bottom, the daylight was fading. They pitched their tents in the shadow of the rock wall and struggled to kindle fires in the misty damp. After feeding and watering the horses, they stuffed down a quick cold meal. Nobody said much. The freezing fog seemed to press in on them from all sides.
“I’m surprised nobody is here to greet us,” Amon said. “The Waterwalkers usually keep a close watch on the Cascades. I’d think they’d come meet anyone crazy enough to use the old road. Rivertown’s just a little ways south, right on the river. Tomorrow we’ll stop there and pay our respects and ask permission to pass through.”
The wind picked up as dusk fell, and the mist stirred and eddied like restless spirits. Several times, Raisa thought she saw pale faces gazing at them through the trees, their eyes like dark holes torn in linen corpse wrappers. It was a relief to crawl inside her tent with Talia and Hallie and close the flap, shutting out the weird landscape.
What would it be like to live here full- time, walled in by mist?
The Gray Wolves rose early the next morning and struck camp without prompting. Everyone seemed eager to mount up and ride on.
The Dyrnnewater was like a river transformed. Rough and rowdy above the falls, it became a sluggish, placid, wide river that leaked listlessly into tributaries on all sides.
It was an alien landscape— tall grasses quilted with waterways and no way to tell where the solid ground was. Fallen trees lay everywhere, like a giant’s game of pitch sticks, rotting and covered in a white, leathery fungus. The mist had frozen overnight, and the ground crackled under their boots. Ice glazed the still pools and every blade of grass, twig, and branch, transforming the marsh into a surreal, colorless world.
“It used to be drier here,” Amon said. “They’ve dammed the Tamron River downstream, and water’s backed up into these wetlands. That’s what killed the trees.”
The murk closing around them was oppressive. An enemy could be lurking a few feet away and there’d be no way to know. Plus, the moisture seemed to dampen and distort sound, so Raisa couldn’t tell what direction it came from or how close the source.
Raisa’s teeth chattered, and not just from the cold. It was like walking through a nightmare when at any moment a demon might reach out with cold fingers and grab you, claiming you for the Breaker. The cadets peered about, straining their eyes; their hands never far from their swords. Their usual cheer dissolved in the frigid damp.
After a half hour of walking, they rounded a curve in the river, and Rivertown loomed out of the mist. What was left of it, anyway.
“Blood of the Demon,” Amon whispered. “Who could’ve done this?”
There hadn’t been much to begin with— just a collection of frail stick- built dwellings centered around a small temple at the river’s edge. Now it lay in ruins— most structures knocked down or burnt to the ground. A few boats lay foundered at the edge of the river like empty crab shells, their hulls pierced through or crushed. A series of pilings marched out from the shoreline, the remains of what had been several small docks.
The Gray Wolves dismounted to search the site, looking for traces of those who had once dwelt there. They found no corpses, at least, but perhaps they’d been dumped in the river or the survivors had carried them off.
Amon bent and picked up a rotting fish basket woven of twine and reeds. He turned it in his hands and poked at it gently with his forefinger. “Well, this was Rivertown,” he said grimly. “Looks like nobody’s been here for a couple of months at least.”
“Do you think they were attacked, or did they destroy it themselves before abandoning it?” Raisa asked.
Amon shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’d guess they were attacked or driven off. These people didn’t have much to start with. They’d have taken everything with them, if they could.” Blinking away raindrops, he looked downriver. “Could’ve been freelancers, come up from the south. But it’d be bloody hard to get to for what they got.”
“I wonder where they went,” Raisa said. “The Water walkers, I mean.”
“Who knows?” Amon whistled to recall the other Wolves, who had spread out over the village. “Guess all we can do is go on,” he said, when they had regathered. “Have your weapons to hand and stick close together. Morley, you’re with me.”
They rode on— for miles, it seemed— following the river until, as Amon had predicted, it fragmented into a web of streams in a trackless maze. Raisa had hoped the murk would clear, but it seemed only to thicken. It was impossible to get her bearings by looking at the sky. Up, down, all around— everything was a milky white blank.
The damp cold began at Raisa’s fingers and toes, gradually penetrating her very core until shivers rolled through her. It was possible she would never be warm again.
Amon pulled out his compass and pointed them south. Now that they weren’t following the river, the going got even rougher. They splashed through freezing pools and thickets of sharp-bladed grass that tore at the horses’ legs and the cadets’ heavy canvas trousers. They dismounted and led their horses, worried their mounts would step into hidden holes and end up lamed. The light changed as the sun went down, but there was no other evidence of time passing, save Raisa’s growing weariness and the cavity in her middle that said she hadn’t eaten for hours.
She soldiered on grimly, taking three steps for every one of Amon’s. Several times he caught her when she stumbled, as if he knew she was about to falter.
Finally, the ground rose a bit. The footing became more solid as they passed through a grove of scrubby bushes with thick, leathery leaves lacquered in ice.
Amon grunted in satisfaction. “This is what I was aiming for. This is the highest ground for miles around. It should be as dry as anywhere in the Fens, and if the mist clears, we can take a look around. A little ways on, we can stop for the night.”
Mick groaned. “We have to stay here in this . . . muck another night, sir?”
“Can’t we just keep going?” Garret flexed his gloved hands and slapped them against his thighs, trying to thaw them out. “I’d rather walk than sit and freeze.”
“The headwaters of the river are still a long ways off,” Amon said. “We won’t get clear of this for a few days, not this time of year. Besides, we can’t walk in the dark. We’ll break our necks or end up waist-deep in a bog.”
“Buck up, Garret,” Hallie said, cheerful as usual. “You’ll feel better once we’ve a fire going and you got something in your belly.”
“If we can even build a fire in this wet,” Mick grumbled.
Raisa didn’t like the idea of passing the night in this freezing swamp any more than the rest of them, but she did look forward to a fire. She increased her pace a bit.
They walked single file, leading their horses, the mist so thick they could scarcely see the person in front of them, when a shout from the rear brought the column to a halt.
“Hallie! Where are you?” Long pause. “Don’t you fool around now. Hallie!”
Nothing.
“What is it, Mick?” Amon called from his position in the lead.
“It . . . it’s Hallie, sir. She’s gone.” Hallie had been bringing up the rear.
“Gone? Since when?” Amon asked.
“Within five minutes, I’d guess, sir. I just looked back and she wasn’t there.”
Amon swore. “I told you to stick together.”
“We did,” Mick insisted. “She was right behind me, I swear it.”
“Form up!” Amon shouted, and the Gray Wolves bunched in close, clutching their horses’ reins, faces pale and anxious. “All right. We’ll find her. She can’t be far away.
“Garret, Talia, Morley, and I will build a fire and set up camp. The rest of you, form two teams of three and scout the back trail. Check back here in fifteen minutes. And be careful. Rope yourselves together if you need to. I don’t want to have to explain to my da how I lost my triple in the Fens.”
Ordinarily, there would have been some jibes and catcalls in response to this, but no one seemed to be in a joking mood. The other six cadets disappeared into the mist, walking back the way they’d come.
Raisa methodically laid a fire, pulling dry tinder out of the weatherized pouch at her belt and digging the clan- made fire kindler out of her saddlebags. Amon and Garret raised the tents while Talia stood guard. They set their weapons in easy reach.
Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty, then twenty- five, and none of the other Wolves returned. Raisa soon had a fire going, shielded from prying eyes by a wall of icy reeds and mud. She strung cording up to dry their wet clothing. Digging out the travel bread and smoked meat and dried fruit that would be their supper, she put water on to boil for tea. She forced herself to pretend that everything would be all right.
As the deadline came and went, Amon transitioned from impatient and irritated to tense and uncommunicative. He jumped at every sound, and there were lots of sounds in the surrounding marsh— frozen twigs creaking, and icy marsh grasses hissing as if stroked by unseen hands. The mist eddied and swirled about them, forming monstrous shapes in the firelight.
Amon stood staring down into the flames. The firelight glazed the hard planes of his face. He’s only seventeen, Raisa thought. He’s only a year older than me, yet he’s been given this huge responsibility. If anything happens to the rest of us, he’ll blame himself, since he’s in charge. How is that fair?
Off in the mist, a horse whickered a greeting. Amon sprinted to where the ponies were tethered, his sword in hand. He disappeared into the fog, leading with his blade. “Hallie!” His shout came back to Raisa, muffled by the thick air.
Moments later, he reappeared, leading a riderless pony. “Hallie’s,” he said shortly, tethering it alongside the others.
Talia and Garret scouted the area around the camp, gathering any burnables they could find while being careful to remain within sight. Amon saw to the horses, but did not remove all of their tack, as if anticipating that they might need to leave in a hurry.
Where would we go? Raisa thought. There was nothing to recommend one spot in this trackless maze over another. Nothing to say that one place was safer than another. They might as well stay here, where there was a chance the others might find their way back. She crawled into the tents and began laying out the bedrolls, telling herself that the others would be exhausted and ready to make an early night of it when they returned.
She was finishing up in the third tent when she heard a shout, suddenly cut off. Then running feet and someone crashing through the underbrush, and Amon shouting, “Garret! Talia?”
Raisa froze in place, holding her breath. A moment later she jumped as Amon shoved aside the tent flap and crouched next to her, speaking into her ear. “They’re gone,” he said. “It’s the Waterwalkers, it has to be. I don’t know how many there are, but I think we have to assume we’re outnumbered.”
“Should we make a run for it?” Raisa whispered.
“If we run, we’ll be taken, too. I’m going to try to get them to come to me so we can find out what’s going on. It’s not like them to attack unprovoked.”
“Maybe things have changed since you were here,” Raisa said, then instantly regretted it when she saw the pain and guilt on Amon’s face.
He thrust a saddlebag into her arms. “There’s some food and supplies in here. I’ll go out and ask for a meeting. You stay in here and listen. If things go wrong, slide out the back and run for it. Maybe you’ll be able to avoid them, one person alone.”
What would it be like, to hear Amon murdered, and then go fleeing through this awful swamp on her own with his killers on her heels?
“No. I will not,” Raisa said. “We’ll stay together, no matter what. We’ll die together, if need be.”
“Please, Raisa,” he said, gripping her hands painfully hard. “This is my fault. We shouldn’t have come this way. I thought I knew what we were getting into, but I should have listened to Barlow. Give me a chance to save you, even if I’ve lost the others.”
“We all thought this was our best chance to cross the border,” Raisa said. “Your father included. I’m not going to second-guess it now. No matter what happens, I think we’re safer together.” Raisa crawled to the front of the tent. “Now, let’s go out. I think it’s better to go out to them than to have them come in after us.”
“All right.” Sliding forward, Amon put his hand on her shoulder. “But stay back, will you? I don’t want them to know who you really are. I’m going to call for a parley.”
They emerged into the eerie vacancy of the campsite. Amon fetched his fighting staff from his horse. Resting it on his upturned palms, he lifted it horizontally in front of him, then laid it down on the grass in the middle of the clearing. He stepped back from it, three long paces, then called out something in what Raisa assumed must be the Waterwalker language.
One more language she didn’t know. Why had she never studied it?
The answer was this: her tutors and advisers in Fellsmarch considered the Waterwalkers scarcely more than savages. They did not use metal weapons or tools, they did not ride horses, and they lived simply, in dwellings they moved from place to place.
Amon waited for a response, and when none came, he repeated the call. On the third repetition, shapes materialized out of the mist and came toward them.
There were three of them— a young man, a boy, really, two or three years younger than Raisa, and a man and woman of middle age. They shared the same thick black eyebrows and strong straight noses. They wore pale robelike garments that made them difficult to see in the freezing mist. All carried fighting staffs like Amon’s.
The young man stood facing Amon. In contrast to Amon’s plain weapon, his staff was intricately carved with fish, serpents, and other fantastical creatures. It was small enough to suit his stature and slight build. His attire was more elaborately decorated than that worn by the others, embroidered with pale, silvery thread in a design that mimicked sunlight on wavelets and fish scales.
“Good day, Dimitri,” Amon said in Common, extending his hands toward the young man.
“Corporal.” Dimitri made no move to reciprocate the gesture, but stood, gripping his staff, his face impassive. Amon tilted his head, studying Dimitri’s face, and pulled back his hands, dropping them to his sides.
“Good day, Adoni and Leili,” Amon said, turning to the older man and woman. They stood stiff and expressionless, their staffs angled across their bodies.
After an uncomfortable pause, Dimitri bent and laid his staff on the ground next to Amon’s. He straightened and took a step back.
Amon settled back on his heels, looking relieved.
The older man and woman followed Dimitri’s example, though neither looked happy about it. They flanked Dimitri, standing to either side and a little behind him.
“Shall we speak Common so that we all can understand?” Amon said, extending a hand toward Raisa.
Dimitri looked at his companions, and they shrugged.
“Will you share my fire?” Amon asked, gesturing toward Raisa’s small blaze.
The Waterwalkers scowled, as if reluctant to share even this small token of hospitality from them.
Bones, Raisa thought, shivering. They’re going to kill us for sure.
Finally, Dimitri ripped free his cloak, threw it down on the ground, and sat on it. The others did the same, arranging themselves cross- legged around the fire.
Amon sat down also, and Raisa sat next to him.
“This is Rebecca Morley,” Amon said, touching Raisa’s shoulder.
“Are you two espoused?” Leili asked bluntly. Ironically, Common always sounded more formal than the other languages used in the Seven Realms.
“No.” Amon shook his head, color staining his cheeks. “She’s a cadet. A first year.”
“Another soldier, then,” Dimitri said.
“Not a soldier,” Amon said. “A student only.”
“Still a soldier,” Dimitri said, looking at Adoni and Leili, who nodded. Raisa’s prickling unease intensified. They are his counselors, she thought. He looks to them for guidance. And they hate us.
“You are lord now?” Amon asked Dimitri.
“I am,” Dimitri said, self- consciously fingering the intricately embroidered hems of his sleeves.
“What about your father?” Amon asked in his direct fashion. “Where is he?”
“My father died at Rivertown,” Dimitri said.
“I’m sorry to hear about Lord Cadri,” Amon said. “How did it happen?”
“Why have you come here with soldiers?” Dimitri burst out.
“We’re traveling through,” Amon said, “on our way to the academy at Oden’s Ford. I stopped at Rivertown to ask a traveler’s blessing, and found it gone.”
“Yes,” Dimitri said. “Rivertown is gone. Destroyed by Fellsian soldiers at midsummer.”
Sweet Hanalea! Raisa opened her mouth, then closed it again without speaking.
“They told me at the West Wall that there’s been trouble along the border,” Amon said. “What is going on?”
The older man spoke in the marsh language, his hands slicing the air. Dimitri glanced at Raisa, then translated quickly. “The Queen of the Fells sends us a Dyrnnewater full of poisons. It grows worse by the day. Fish cannot live in it. It kills the plants we gather for food. Our children sicken and die. Yet when we complain, she does nothing. It’s been a problem for a long time, but now it’s worse than it’s ever been.”
Amon nodded. “I know. Refugees from the Ardenine Wars have crowded into Fellsmarch. They camp along the banks and empty their slop jars into the river. It’s made a bad situation worse.”
The river had been bad as long as Raisa could remember. The sewer systems in Fellsmarch had been built hundreds of years ago, during some prosperous and public- spirited season in the past. Now, with the cost of maintaining a mercenary army and dwindling taxes due to the wartime drop- off in trade, there never seemed to be enough money to pay for repairs.
The clans complained that they sent a clean river out of the high eastern Spirits only to have the Vale dwellers use it as a repository for filth.
“If we can no longer feed our families,” Dimitri went on, “we have no choice but to take from others, especially those who caused this problem. So we’ve sent raiders across the border, and taken foodstuffs from Tamron and the Fells.”
“And the guard destroyed Rivertown in retaliation,” Amon said.
Dimitri nodded. “Yes. I was away at the time. They came down from the fortress at the top of the escarpment, using the road that you and I built. They burned or knocked down all the houses, pierced our boats, destroyed the docks, took all of our nets, our tools, the dried fish and grain we had stored for the winter. They killed everyone who didn’t run away, from the oldest crone to the youngest baby. They bound the children hand and foot, and threw them living into the river to drown.”
Raisa recalled what Barlow had said. The Waterwalkers been raiding over the border, stealing livestock and food. We put a stop to it.
“Blood and bones,” she whispered. “I am so sorry.”
Dimitri glanced at Raisa, frowned in disapproval, then turned back to Amon. “My mother is dead, and my sisters. Most of the men of the village were killed, my father and his father, my brothers, all of my uncles except Adoni. Those who escaped are all crowded into Hallowmere, by the sea.”
Dimitri gestured helplessly. “Those that remain alive will likely starve this winter. We take some fish from the sea, but our boats are not built for the winter storms on Leewater. And our food stores for the winter have been destroyed.”
“Dimitri, Adoni, Leili, this cannot stand,” Amon said, his gray eyes dark with anger. “I will not let it stand. Do you know who commanded those that attacked you?”
“What does it matter?” Leili said with quiet bitterness. “Soldiers are all the same.” She extended her empty arms. “My babies are dead.”
“I am lord now, replacing my father,” Dimitri said. “Uncle Adoni and cousin Leili are my counselors. We’ve continued to cross the border and take what we can from the uplanders. We’ve destroyed the new road, which will make it difficult to move men, horses, and weapons in. But eventually the up -landers will slide down the escarpment and attack Hallowmere, and we expect to be pushed into the sea. We are in a fight to the death. So you understand why we do not welcome soldiers here.”
“We’re not here for fighting. You know that,” Amon said.
“Do we?” Adoni replied, his face hard and impassive.
“Where are the other cadets?” Amon asked, meeting Dimitri’s eyes. “Are they still alive?”
“They are still alive,” Dimitri said. Raisa’s heart rose, until he said, “But not for long.”
“You know me, and you know my father,” Amon said. He sat very straight, his hands on his knees. “My father saved your father’s life. We’ve never lied to you. All we want is to go on to Tamron, and leave you in peace.”
“There is no peace,” Dimitri said. “Not anymore.”
Adoni leaned toward Dimitri and said something in the marsh language.
“My uncle says my debt has been paid with the lives of my father and uncles. The Fells owes us gylden for hundreds of lives. Your deaths will help repay that debt.”
“My father had nothing to do with the destruction of Rivertown,” Amon replied. “He would never drown a child. He probably doesn’t even know about it.”
“He is the captain of the Queen’s Guard,” Leili said in Common. “He is responsible, along with the queen and the army. Perhaps the loss of his son will help him recognize the pain he’s caused.”
“You and your companions will die honorably,” Adoni conceded, “because your father is an honorable man.”
“You know I am not your enemy,” Amon said, looking at each of the Waterwalkers in turn. “Nor are my cadets. My father has a voice at court. If you let us go, I’ll make sure he speaks on your behalf. Killing us won’t help anything, and you’ll turn him against you. You’ll create a debt of honor you can never repay.”
Raisa knew what else he was thinking: If you kill the princess heir, there would be no chance of reconciliation. Ever.
“I’m sorry,” Dimitri said. “You were my friend. Maybe we can be friends again in the afterlife. But not on this earth. Too many deaths divide us now.”
He’s given up, Raisa thought. He thinks it’s over. He’s like a dead person, walking around, waiting to stop breathing. And his people will pay the price.
Raisa stared out into the mist, blinking away icy raindrops and tears of frustration. The fog swirled and coalesced, and a giant gray- white she- wolf sat facing her, its tongue lolling over razor- sharp teeth. Its green eyes gleamed in the firelight, and a rime of glittering ice silvered its fur.
The Gray Wolf— totem of Raisa’s line. Meaning risk. Op -por tunity. A turning point.
I refuse to die here, Raisa said to the wolf. I’m just sixteen. I have too much to do.
The wolf shook itself, flinging bits of ice into the fire. The flames sputtered and popped, sending sparks skyward. It bared its teeth, growling, followed by three sharp yips.
Was it some kind of sign? A pathway to follow?
Raisa came up on her knees, leaning forward, hands clenched. “If you intended to kill us all along,” she said to Dimitri, “why did you even agree to a meeting?”
They all three stared at her, her fury taking them by surprise.
“You call yourself the leader of your people. If you are, you need to save them.”
Dimitri blinked at her. “You don’t understand,” he began.
“I think I do,” Raisa said. “Rivertown was destroyed. Your family was killed. It’s an awful thing. You’re overwhelmed with sorrow. You feel paralyzed. Anyone would, in your place. But you are not allowed the luxury of wallowing in grief.”
Amon gripped Raisa’s knee. “Morley, shut up,” he growled.
“He needs to hear this,” Raisa said. “He’s going to kill us anyway, so what does it matter if he doesn’t like it?” She stood and strode back and forth, pounding her fist into her palm in emphasis. “You know we’re not your enemies. You know we’re no danger to you. And you know that killing us won’t keep the Fellsian army out of your territory. The only reason to kill us is for revenge, to balance the debt you feel is owed you by the queen of the Fells.”
She swung around, facing Adoni and Leili. “It’s so easy. Your counselors are encouraging you to do it. They’re grieving also, and it’ll feel good in the short run. You’ll feel like you’re doing something, when right now you feel helpless.
“But you’re responsible for your people, and killing us will do your people harm. Rulers don’t get to do the easy thing. You don’t get to do what you want to do.”
Amon sat frozen, hands resting on his thighs, as if by moving he might set off an explosion. Adoni and Leili stared at her with a mixture of astonishment and annoyance.
“Be quiet, girl,” Adoni growled. “We don’t need a fledgling upland soldier to lecture us about what we can and cannot do.”
But Dimitri raised his hand to quiet his uncle without taking his eyes off Raisa. “I don’t get to take revenge, you say. What do I get to do?” he asked dryly.
“You get to make the decision that’s best for the Fens, regardless of your own desires. Regardless of tradition. You get to do the smart thing. If you let us go, Corporal Byrne will take your grievance to his father and to the queen. He’ll be an advocate for you, and I will too.”
Raisa realized that promise might be difficult to keep, given her self- imposed exile status. She’d find a way. Somehow. If she survived the day.
She returned to the fire and squatted in front of Dimitri. “What’s most likely to benefit your people— murdering us or letting us go?”
“This girl is a witch- talker,” Leili said to Dimitri. “Why should we believe her?”
Dimitri laced his hands and tapped his forefingers against his chin, thinking.
Perhaps suspecting that his nephew was wavering, Adoni spoke up. “Lord Dimitri, we could let Corporal Byrne go. That would make Captain Byrne beholden to you. Then kill the rest,” he said. He glared at Raisa, as if she might be first on the list.
“That’s not acceptable,” Amon said. “I’m responsible for my triple. I won’t ride away and leave them to die. Do you think my da would welcome back a coward?”
“That’s your choice,” Leili said, shrugging. “Stay and die with them if you insist.”
Dimitri kept staring at Raisa, as if studying her face for clues. Raisa looked past him to where the gray wolf waited in the forest. Dimitri stiffened, blinked, and rubbed his eyes.
The wolf stood, shook itself, and trotted into the mist, its brushlike tail the last thing to disappear.
Dimitri rose abruptly, his face pale and set. “Leili, Adoni, let us talk in private.” They walked a little distance away. There ensued an intense discussion.
“Just go,” Amon said to Raisa. “I’ll distract them so you can get away.”
“No,” Raisa said. “I’m staying. He needs the chance to make the right decision. If I run, it will look like a trick, and they’ll kill you and everyone else.”
“Gaah. We’re probably surrounded anyway,” Amon muttered, squinting into the mist. “You’re crazy, you know that, don’t you?” he added, without looking at her.
No, not crazy, Raisa thought. I’m angry. I’m sick and appalled by what’s been done in the name of the Gray Wolf line.
The three Waterwalkers returned to the fire. Adoni and Leili looked grievously unhappy, which gave Raisa hope.
“I have come to a decision,” Dimitri announced. “We will allow you and your cadets to live, Corporal, so you can take our grievance back to your father and he can use his influence with the queen. You both give your word that you will do that?” He looked from Amon to Raisa. “The witch- talker included?”
“I will do everything in my power to see your grievances addressed,” Raisa said, then bit her lip, realizing that she didn’t sound much like a soldier.
“Where do you find cadets like this, Corporal Byrne?” Dimitri raised an eyebrow. He turned to Adoni and Leili. “Go and bring the other soldiers,” he said. “I’ll wait with the up -landers.” When they hesitated, he added, “As I said. These are not our enemies.”
Dimitri’s counselors left the campsite, looking back over their shoulders.
Dimitri waited until they were well out of earshot, then said, “One of our raiding parties brought back news from the uplands. They said that the princess heir of the Fells has run off.” He looked directly at Raisa as he said it.
Amon shifted slightly forward, putting himself between Raisa and Dimitri.
“Why do you think she left?” Dimitri said, still looking at Raisa.
“Maybe she wanted to find out what was really going on in the world, so she could be a better ruler,” Raisa said, shrugging, feeling the heat of Amon’s disapproval.
“They say she already goes her own way,” Dimitri said. “They say she founded a program to educate and feed poor people in your capital, called the Briar Rose Ministry.”
“She does what she can, Lord Dimitri,” Raisa said. “Briar Rose is the princess heir’s clan name and emblem. Here, I’ll show you.” Crossing the campsite to where the ponies were tethered, she reached into her saddlebag, careful to move slowly and deliberately. She pulled out a length of silk embroidered with her rose-and- thorn motif. Returning to Dimitri, she handed it to him.
“This scarf bears the emblem of the princess heir. Once the princess returns to Fellsmarch, you can use it as a token. If you ever need her help, or need to get a message to her, send this scarf along with the messenger, and I guarantee you will be heard.”
Dimitri stood immobile for a long moment, the fabric draped over his hands. Then he carefully tucked the scarf away, inside his tunic, and inclined his head. “One day, my lady, the princess heir will be queen. And she will owe gylden to me.” He smiled.
Raisa smiled at Dimitri. “Aye, she will,” she said. “And one day, perhaps you’ll teach Princess Raisa sticking.”
“I’ll look forward to it. For now, I’ll send my own token to her as a reminder of me.” Dimitri picked up his staff, laid it across his two palms, and extended it toward Raisa. “For the future queen of the Fells. I’ve nearly outgrown it anyway,” he added, stretching himself as tall as he could.
Raisa accepted the staff gravely, feeling the balanced weight of it in her hands. “I’ll see she gets it. It looks to be just the right size.”
Lord Dimitri turned to Amon. “I’m going to give back your soldiers’ weapons. But I need your promise that they won’t use them on us.”
A dozen Waterwalkers emerged from the mist, led by Adoni and Leili, and shepherding Mick, Talia, Hallie, and the other missing Gray Wolves. The cadets collected into a group, looking from Amon and Raisa to their captors, saying nothing.
Garret and Hallie appeared bruised and battered, as if they’d put up a stiff fight. The rest seemed shaken, but otherwise not the worse for wear.
“Return their weapons,” Dimitri said. The Waterwalkers passed back swords, daggers, belt knives, bows, and quivers. The marsh dwellers handled the metal pieces with obvious distaste. Raisa slid her new staff into her baldric alongside her sword.
Dimitri drew a rough map in the dirt to show them the way. “The mist should clear as you head south. You’ll find the head-waters of the Tamron two days’ walk away.” He offered them waybread for the journey, but Amon politely declined, no doubt thinking of the Waterwalkers starving at Hallowmere.
They mounted up and turned their ponies south once again, relying on Amon’s clan- made pointer stone and Dimitri’s directions. None of the Wolves looked back, as if by doing so they might break whatever spell had overcome their captors.
Hallie waited until they were well away before she heeled her horse up alongside Amon’s. “What happened back there? I thought you were both dead and we were soon to be, when all of a sudden they untie us and lead us back to camp and treat us like it was all some kind of mistake.”
“Morley here explained to Lord Dimitri all about the responsibilities of a ruler,” Amon said. His gray eyes studied Raisa with a fierce curiosity, as if he might somehow figure out what kind of magic she’d done.
“Huh?” Hallie looked from Raisa to Amon. “I don’t get it.”
“It seems Morley’s a witch- talker,” Amon said, and despite Hallie’s questions, wouldn’t explain further.
