One of the scrid riders approached Tilia and whispered something into her ear. “Absolutely not!” she answered without letting go of the Draeden. “If his injuries are minimal like you say then he can heal in whatever location I choose.” The Voice of War then took Ansund’s hand and led him through the speechless Cynmeren towards her tent. Wiping a tear away with her free hand, Tilia turned to address the group once more. “All of you can stop gaping at us now and get back to work. Those supplies are desperately needed within this camp, as you well know.”
Slowly and uncertainly the Cynmeren began distributing the provisions carried by the other two scrid. Eyrie hadn’t moved since she first saw the Draeden, but Ryna hoped perhaps she could answer at least one question. “What just happened?” Ryna demanded.
Before Eyrie could attempt to respond, the same scrid rider walked over to them and removed his helmet. “I can answer that, Ryna.”
Ryna recognized that voice instantly. “Haemlan!” she exclaimed. “I thought you would still be healing from your last journey!”
“Ah, that was weeks ago,” the Stormbrother said dismissively. “Besides, Cynmere needs as many trained riders as it can get right now. So, here I am delivering supplies…among other things, as you both seem to have noticed.” He raised an eyebrow at Eyrie, who still had not acknowledged that Haemlan was standing right beside her. “Here. Help me sort through these bags and I’ll explain the significance of what you just witnessed.”
Ryna followed him to one of the other transport cages and unwrapped one bundle after another, putting aside any items that she knew the sick and injured could use. “You already know that Ansund is her son, yes?” Haemlan asked. Ryna nodded. “Then you also know Tilia’s been trying to rescue him for as long as he’s been alive. This is the most important day of her life, without question.”
“But how? After all this time and his habit of evading capture, how did you finally trap him?” Ryna asked.
Haemlan grinned as he passed her a stack of bandages. “I wish I could claim some epic battle in which I triumphed over the Smokedwellers’ finest, but it was nothing as impressive as that,” he replied. “We found him half a day east of here—he was going in the right direction to reach this camp eventually, but judging by the state in which we found him, I suspect he would’ve never made it.”
“He seemed fine,” Ryna said doubtfully, then she noticed that Eyrie had rejoined them.
Haemlan shrugged. “Somehow, he always conveys that image, but I assure you he was very near death when I first saw him. He’d been wandering the Eastern Hills for quite some time—days, perhaps even a week—he had no water, no food, and no idea what was happening to him. To have memories flood into your thoughts without the cofa is confusing, but to add Visions on top of that…it’s amazing that he didn’t go mad.”
“So, he is Guided?” Eyrie asked in disbelief.
“No question,” Haemlan said with a nod. “That’s what brought him as close to your camp as he was. Oh, and it’s good to see you too, sister.” The Stormbrother scowled at Eyrie playfully before she was forced to lift her hands in apology.
“Forgive me, Haemlan. It’s just…the shock of seeing that man here, during all this…” Eyrie trailed off as she once again looked in the direction of Tilia’s tent and shook her head.
“It’s a sign of major change, that’s certain,” Haemlan agreed.
Something suddenly occurred to Ryna. “You said you found him a half day east of here?”
“That’s right.”
“Does that mean the route to Cynmere’s been compromised?”
“There’s no reason to think that. If an old agitator like me can make it here, I’d say the way east is safe. From the few times I was able to speak with Ansund during the journey, it seemed like the Penitent Faithful have only sent a handful of warriors well beyond the battle front. Still, he talked of a fight in the mountains that involved a small group of Cynmeren, and he mentioned that he heard the name ‘Laersi’. She was travelling with Tilia’s main force, wasn’t she?”
I knew I should have gone with them, Ryna thought as her fists suddenly clinched by her sides. “She was, until she left with Wyand and a few others. They planned to use the Thoughtcaster to convince the Distant Watch camps to join this fight.”
Haemlan’s expression changed to one of surprise. “Wyand was with them? And the Thoughtcaster? That wasn’t the plan at all.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Ryna agreed. “Although none of the original plans seem to be working at this point.” She glanced worriedly at the ever-present layer of smoke in the western distance. When Wyand hadn’t returned on the scheduled day, it was easy to be hopeful at first. Now, with him more than five days overdue, it was impossible to feel anything but sickening doubt. “Did the Draeden see what happened to Wyand’s group after the battle?” she asked quietly, fearing the answer Haemlan might give.
“He didn’t say much—evidently he fled for his life soon after the fight began. There was some sort of surprise attack by a group of Cynmeren from the north who took several captives, but Ansund only saw glimpses.”
“Then we need to go north. Now,” Eyrie declared. Her earlier daze had lifted, leaving in its place a sharp mixture of focus, concern, and determination. Ryna agreed, though she knew Tilia would never approve such a venture given the current situation with the Smokedwellers.
“Patience, sister,” Haemlan said soothingly. “For now, we must wait. Our opportunity is coming soon, though.”
Eyrie scowled. “What does that mean?”
Haemlan leaned in close so the crowd couldn’t hear him. “The Council Guide is preparing to advance on Dism Slyde in full force. It’s a complete shift from his earlier stance: he’s going to leave Cynmere nearly defenseless, claiming that the threat there is already gone, and he’s ordering most of our remaining fighters to join the camps along the front line within the next day. So, be patient—change is coming.”
Ryna finished sorting through the rest of the supplies, then she and Eyrie hauled as much as they could carry to the sick tent. When they returned to the scrid for the next load, Haemlan was already back in place on the creature’s back. “Where are you going?” Ryna asked as she and Eyrie shared confused frowns.
“To retrieve the provisions I had to leave behind,” Haemlan explained. “Bringing Ansund here was an incredible victory for Tilia and for Cynmere as a whole, but it required me to empty the transport cage first and leave everything where I found him. I’ll return in a day—don’t do anything foolish without me.” With a smile, he slipped on the Watch helmet and joined the other two riders as they led their scrid east and out of the camp.
44
The small boat rocked beneath Wyand’s feet as he carefully scanned the cliffs to the south for any sign of a gap—a break in the landscape that Aemetta and Keltin both swore had to be there. A gust of wind swirled through his Sreathan plate, but its touch was pleasantly warm compared to the chilling air they had encountered after first leaving Crolun Raigh. The floating ice had disappeared beyond the horizon earlier that morning, and the horrific creatures from the Frozen Lands hadn’t been seen since shortly after sunrise. Now, after most of another day spent traveling west without thought, the rhythm of Wyand’s rowing had been suddenly interrupted by Aemetta’s urgent request to stop.
Aemetta claimed she had heard something in the distance only moments earlier, so everyone on board had ceased rowing to investigate. She held up her hand for silence once more and pointed west suddenly. This time, Wyand heard the sound that had captured her attention—the unmistakable and chilling notes of the Calling chimes echoing from somewhere in the distance. “That’s Third Calling,” Aemetta said quietly.
Hirst grinned. “Perfect. Onward!” Wyand returned to his seat and resumed rowing with the rest of the crew, but his thoughts were no longer calm and empty as they had been. The reality of being so close to Dism Slyde was terrifying, especially considering it was only a few hours until sun
set. Then it would be time to strike, and to pray that their work could be completed without bloodshed.
With the edge of the sun brushing the eastern horizon behind him, Carnan brought the boat to a halt and gazed west with a look of awe. “There it is,” the Stonebrother declared, and Wyand turned in his seat to see their destination for himself. A layer of dense fog spilled over the cliffs to the south, but it dipped sharply to hang above an enormous river that flowed in a thousand interwoven pathways through the land it divided. Such an unfamiliar landscape inspired Wyand with feelings of wonder when he first beheld its mysterious beauty, but his heart sank at the sight of the grey spire that soared high above the fog.
“Back to the oars and ready all!” Carnan hissed a moment later.
Wyand hurried to his seat, perplexed by the Stonebrother’s sudden anxiety. “What is it, Carnan?” he asked quietly.
Carnan pointed to the spire. “If we can see that, then they can see us. We need to get to shore and stay out of sight until nightfall.” It was a chilling revelation to imagine eyes peering out at the ocean from the high tower, so the journey to shore was propelled by their fastest rowing since the encounter with the creatures in the Frozen Lands. Even as the waves began to roll beneath the boat with increasing height, Wyand was relieved once the top of the spire was at last concealed by the cliffs ahead.
A narrow strip of mud extended along the base of the cliff beside the mouth of the river—it was only a few strides across, but it was long enough and wide enough to land the boat once they had weathered the crashing waves. With a final surge forward amid a spray of salty water, Wyand heard the blessed sound of the hull sliding across the mud flat. Carnan climbed out carefully and dragged the boat farther ashore, then he pulled on his Watch helmet and motioned for the others to join him.
“These will allow us to see what we’re doing once the sun is gone, but their glow will reveal our presence instantly,” the Stonebrother explained. “That’s why we’re going to use one of the Distant Watch’s favorite tactics. Here.” He passed each person a thin cloth sack as they stepped off the boat. “Secure this over your head once the helmet is in place.” Wyand did as instructed, then stood in tense silence with the others. Everyone knew what was coming, but no one wanted to discuss it as they waited for the sun to sink out of sight.
As darkness fell beneath the oppressive fog, the Calling chimes rang out once again, this time signaling the end of work for the day. Peering cautiously around the edge of the cliff, Wyand watched droves of people walking to the grey tower—the “Holy Spire,” as Keltin had called it—before disappearing inside. He thought back to Last Calling in Aldhagen and the feeling of pride he had shared with Keltin and Edan after a grueling day of work, then he wondered if these people felt the same thing. It was all a lie, he reminded himself, and so is this.
Keltin touched Wyand’s arm. “Carnan wants to go through the plan one more time before we begin,” Keltin said. It was still strange for Wyand to hear his friend’s distorted voice coming from a Watch helmet, but he followed quickly. Hirst and Carnan stood together as Wyand and Keltin approached, but Wyand suddenly noticed that Aemetta was nowhere to be seen. Moments later, she emerged from the layer of fog that now clung tightly to the river, holding something long and rope-like that dripped onto the mud below.
“This is it—this is the cofa,” Aemetta said, lifting the plant so they could all see it. Overall, it was a bland-looking stalk no more than a stride in length, and from what Wyand could guess through the yellow haze of his helmet, the plant was pale white in color. It had no leaves or spines, but it was covered in small orbs that appeared to be filled with some sort of liquid that sloshed each time Aemetta moved. “Thankfully, it’s easy to pull free. There’s a lot of it out there, though, just beneath the water’s surface.” There was a note of worry in her voice as she glanced back at the enormous marsh.
“Have faith,” Hirst said encouragingly. “We’ve made it this far. Surely we can harvest a few plants.”
Carnan took the stalk of cofa. “We know our task, and we will complete it—the Visions have assured us of that. As soon as the chimes signal the end of Last Calling, we will move to the southern end of the marsh and rip out every stalk of cofa growing there. This will be the most dangerous part of our efforts here, as we will be deep within the confines of Dism Slyde with no easy escape. If we can work quickly and quietly, though, we will withdraw steadily north throughout the night and thus be far from the Smokedwellers by dawn.”
“I tested the current of the water that flows through the marsh—it’s weak, but it’s enough to carry the cofa out into the ocean. Once a stalk is pulled, just throw it into the river and ensure it doesn’t get tangled on anything,” Aemetta instructed. As she spoke, Carnan flung the cofa plant and they all watched it spin through the air before disappearing into the dark water many strides away.
“That’s one,” the Stonebrother said proudly. Wyand smiled faintly, but anxiety gripped him far too tightly to be able to laugh. “Once we are nearly done with the cofa, Aemetta will sneak into the women’s quarters and contact Cailla, who will be responsible for destroying Dism Slyde’s stores of tainted food. With all of that complete, the liberation of the Penitent Faithful can truly begin. Are there any questions?” There was silence, and then the chimes announcing the end of Last Calling drifted through the fog. “Let’s begin.”
Inside the fog, it was difficult for Wyand to distinguish solid ground from water at times, but he was not the only one forced to stop mid-stride because of a misplaced step. Though their pace was slow and their steps were careful, any time someone made a faint splash it sounded like a waterfall to Wyand’s nervous ears. Even Keltin seemed to be struggling with the terrain, despite his training with the Shroud Legion. Only Aemetta and Hirst made it to the other end of the marsh without a sound, and Wyand never understood how that was possible.
The marsh itself seemed infinite as Wyand slogged closer and closer towards the heart of Dism Slyde. Now he understood Aemetta’s worried tone when she spoke of the quantity of cofa—there were thousands of stalks swaying just beneath the surface, and if even one was left then the effort would be for nothing. At last, Aemetta lifted her arm and signaled that they had reached the end of the marsh. After witnessing the magnitude of the task ahead, everyone rushed into motion immediately.
The pattern was easy for Wyand to fall into once the rhythm of the task was established: beginning at the base of the eastern cliff, the five people in his small group would stand no more than a stride apart and walk slowly west as they sought out every stalk of cofa. Then, when the western cliff was reached, they would shift north a few strides and return east in the same manner. There was no discussion as they worked, but that was from focus as much as fear of being detected. Wyand welcomed the silence as it allowed him to concentrate on the task with the intense level of scrutiny required to eradicate an entire species.
His concentration was broken for an instant when a series of soft tones echoed from the Holy Spire, but then Wyand realized it was only the end of Reflection. Thankfully, Keltin had explained days earlier that Reflection in Dism Slyde wasn’t spent in the same way as it was in Aldhagen—no one would be outside of their quarters talking with friends or planning out the tasks of the following day. Instead, Reflection in Dism Slyde was a time of solitary confession during which the Penitent Faithful prayed to the Venerates for forgiveness before surrendering to sleep. It only made Wyand work faster when he envisioned those same people free to spend their time however they pleased.
The hours of night passed steadily as Wyand pulled free one dripping stalk after another and watched them all float north. His hands ached, but he refused to acknowledge the pain. Everyone else’s hands hurt too, he reminded himself, and if they weren’t willing to quit, then neither was he. During one of the passes west, Wyand noticed a faint glow through the fog. At first, he was confused, but then he realized it was the light of the approaching sun shining on the cloud
s overhead and reflecting onto the ocean which was now tantalizingly nearby.
When Aemetta noticed the grey light growing brighter, she nodded to Carnan and sped towards the women’s quarters in silence. Wyand and the others worked feverishly in her absence—the edge of the marsh was only a few passes away, but so was the arrival of dawn. After several tense minutes, Wyand was relieved to hear footsteps hurrying towards him from the direction of the women’s quarters. He glanced up as a billow of fog rolled past, and suddenly found himself staring at a woman carrying a large basket—a woman who clearly was not Aemetta. She stopped when Wyand came into view, startled by his presence as much as he was by hers, then her basket fell into the water with a splash. Before Wyand could comprehend what was happening, she was gone, vanished into the fog in a full sprint towards Dism Slyde.
“We have a problem!” Wyand hissed.
“We saw her,” Carnan replied angrily. “There’s nothing to be done about it now. Work faster.” Wyand’s heart pounded as his hands ripped out one stalk after another, but no matter how much cofa he destroyed there always seemed to be more. Then a sound in the distance brought his efforts to a halt: a long, wavering tone erupted from the Holy Spire, and though Wyand had never heard it before, he could guess its message.
“They know we’re here,” Keltin said somberly, then to everyone’s surprise he ripped off the Watch helmet before unsheathing his isen and the dark knife. “I’ll keep the Penitent Faithful occupied at the southern end of the marsh until Aemetta makes it back to us. Finish the task and be ready to run.”
Hirst’s hand darted up and caught Keltin’s shoulder. “Use the blades only when you must. Remember that we are here to free these people, not harm them.” He passed Keltin the pouch of barbed cords that the Cult of the Guided used to immobilize threats, then Keltin nodded and turned away once more.
“Keltin, wait!” Wyand exclaimed, suddenly overcome by the real possibility of losing his friend for a second time. Keltin looked back as the alarm continued blaring from the Spire, his face grim with resolve. Wyand sighed, reluctantly forced to admit that Keltin was the only hope they had of finishing the elimination of the cofa. “Don’t do anything foolish, all right?”
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