by Amber Argyle
Really, a few fingers didn’t seem so bad.
She grabbed his sword with her bound hands and gestured to the ground. “Lay your hand flat.”
West recoiled.
“If I don’t cut out the poison, you’ll be—” Her voice choked, unable to say “mulgar.” “Dead by morning.”
West watched her, his face bloodless. “The forest take me, they’re giving you to that thing?”
The poison passed his second finger joint. There wasn’t time for this. “Do it!” Larkin barked.
Sweating, West laid his hand flat on the ground, his index and thumb curled in tight. He closed his eyes and turned away. She lined up the sword and chopped. West’s eyes rolled up, and he collapsed in a jumbled heap.
A pair of guards burst into the tent, took one look at her standing over West with a bloody sword, and charged.
Larkin dropped the sword. “No. You don’t—”
The first one bowled into her, knocking the wind from her. Garrot stepped back into the tent. “You are not drugged.”
“West needs a healer.” Had she cut away all the poison?”
Garrot didn’t even glance the man’s way. “Force her to drink all of it.” He turned to leave.
“Send Nesha back to the Idelmarch.”
He turned toward her, outrage sparking in his eyes. “Don’t dare tell me what to do.”
“She doesn’t understand the monsters you’ve made an alliance with. I do. Send her to safety.”
“She is perfectly safe.”
“Now you’re lying to yourself.”
He stepped closer. “The only reason you’re still alive at all is because I know what the wraiths will do to you.”
She bared her teeth at him. “Make me a wraith, and I’ll come for you.”
He smiled a wicked smile. “Become a wraith, and you’ll do exactly as I say.”
He turned on his heel and left. The two guards shoved the tip of the waterskin into her mouth and plugged her nose. She could swallow or she could drown. She considered it. But there was still time, still hope. She chose to swallow.
Larkin came to on the back of a horse. She groaned, her head pounding in rhythm with her heartbeat. Her torso had been rubbed raw from the saddle. Wonderful, she thought. They’ll match my wrists.
Steeling herself, she lifted her head, her amulet dangling and the wind blowing her loose hair over her face. She peered through the strands. Two guards had replaced West—if he was lucky, he was headed back to Landra. If not, he was holed up in a wagon somewhere. Either way, he couldn’t help her now.
Nesha was her last hope.
One guard led the horse, the other trotted to catch up from behind.
“Where are we?” she croaked.
Both guards jumped at her voice. Casting terrified looks into the woods, the guard from behind, the bald one, lifted her head by her hair and peered into her eyes, which cranked her neck painfully. “Can you sit in the saddle?”
A fair question. She wriggled her legs. “I think so.”
He untied her knots. The other guard, the one with the small nose, held her waist as she slithered down. Her legs buckled at her weight. The man held her until she could straighten them, then the two men helped her onto the saddle.
“Who are you two?”
“Bins,” the bald one said.
“I’m Nedrid,” the one with the small nose said.
She pulled her shirt away to look at her sore torso, which was thankfully just red. She looked around at the army snaking in all directions around her. Horses and donkeys wore bulging packsaddles. The soldiers watched the forest like it was a snake about to bite them. She snorted a laugh. They had no idea the horrors the night would bring. Still fighting the sleeping draft, she dozed, coming awake with a jerk whenever she tipped or the wind blew dust into her face.
At midday, they stopped for a meal. The forest shook and trembled above her. Bins and Nedrid huddled in the hollows of the tree, jumping at every sound. Maybe it was time to plant some seeds of fear—terrified soldiers were more likely to run than fight.
“There are worse things than beasts in these woods,” she said.
Shifting nervously, they eyed her. “Like what?”
She met their gazes, hers unwavering. “Wait until nightfall and find out.” She eyed the beans and water that had been set beside her. “I’d rather be hungry than drugged.”
“He said you might say that,” Bins said. He took a bite of her beans and bread, and a hearty swallow of her water. “All safe.”
She waited a good ten minutes, just to be sure. The food was cold by then, but she was too hungry to care. She napped the rest of the grogginess off until the men were ready to move out. After two days of sitting, she was glad to walk, glad for every step that brought her closer to Denan. That’s what she focused on. Not the wraiths. Not the coming trickery. Denan.
He would come for her. He’d promised. If anyone could find a way to free her, it would be him.
Larkin sat placidly in the center of the large tent the two guards had erected around her. She heard footsteps and murmured voices outside. The tent flap pushed open. At the sight of Garrot, she closed her eyes.
She had the strength of her sword and her shield. She had her wits and friends to fight by her side. She could not lose. And if she did, well, no one lived forever.
She opened her eyes and smiled at Garrot, a smile that was all teeth. “Did you ever stop to think why the wraiths want me so badly?”
He grabbed the back of her collar and hauled her out of the tent. Bound and gagged, Tam waited for her. She let out a breath in relief. He was still alive. And if he was still alive, there had to be a way out of this. Garrot pushed her through his army, who turned to watch her, their eyes wide. Time to plant more seeds. She might not be able to fight Garrot with her sword and shield, but she could rot his army from the inside out.
“When the wraiths turn on you,” she said loudly, “I want you to remember this moment. Remember I warned you and you did not listen.”
“And when you’re a filthy mulgar,” Garrot said, “I’ll happily never listen to you again.”
She spat in his face.
He slapped her, sending her sprawling. She smiled up at him through the blood and the dizziness. “I’m used to men hitting me, Garrot. You don’t frighten me.”
He huffed in disgust and pointed to Nedrid. “Gag her.”
Tam shouted muffled threats through his gag. His meaning was clear, even if his words weren’t.
Not if I kill him first, Larkin thought.
Her guards hauled her up.
“My name is Larkin. I am the daughter of Pennice and the wife of Denan. I will not be taken by the shadow.” Then the gag was in her mouth, and she could say no more.
To punish her, Garrot slapped Tam twice.
Oh yes, she would kill Garrot. Wraith or no.
Nedrid and Bins half marched, half dragged her between them through the army of onlookers who cheered and jeered and cursed her. She gripped the amulet, the branch sliding into her skin. She relived the vision for the hundredth time—every motion, every word, seared in her memory. She came to in Nedrid’s arms. He noticed her awake and set her down.
Why doesn’t the tree tell me what I need to do? Why isn’t she helping me?
They had left the Idelmarchians behind to enter the eerily quiet forest. They stepped past a ring of trees, their branches arching and tangling above them. An arbor ring, and not just any arbor ring, but the one Larkin had found her sister in all those weeks ago. The wind didn’t touch inside the ring. The sudden lack of wind left her noting her chapped cheeks.
At their head, Garrot stopped before the massive center tree. He paced back and forth, searching the high branches. “Well, piper, I have brought her, as I promised.”
Head still spinning, Larkin struggled to understand.
A flash of movement. Three men dropped from the tree. They hit the ground, stood, and pulled back their hoods. Demr
y and Gendrin. And in their center, Denan, his gaze locked on hers. His eyes traveled up and down, pausing on the blood soaking the gag and the bruises, faded and new, on her swollen face.
He drew his ax and shield. Instantly, Nedrid had a knife at her throat. Tam’s guards had a knife at his. Gendrin wrapped a hand around Denan’s arm, holding him back.
“Another step and they both die,” Garrot said.
“I will kill you for this,” Denan said.
“What do you want?” Gendrin asked.
“Tomorrow night,” Garrot said. “You choose the battlefield. Defeat me, and she’s yours. Fail …” Garrot shrugged. “Well, you’ll be dead, so I suppose it doesn’t much matter what happens to her.”
She was just one woman. Not a curse breaker. Just his wife. She would not have more men die for her—men with wives of their own, men needed in the battle against the wraiths.
Denan’s gaze met hers. She mouthed, “No.”
Around him, his generals conversed. He didn’t seem to hear them. Larkin knew Denan, knew how he thought. She could practically see his mind running through different scenarios. Risks versus rewards. Expected casualties. Expected gains. “Never start a battle unless you know you can win,” he had told her. “And always, always choose your terrain.”
Garrot had the numbers. Denan had knowledge of the terrain, more battle-hardened soldiers, and a chance to rid himself forever of the druids. He thought he had enough advantages.
He’d already decided, his expression hardening with his decision as the generals finished their whispering.
She loved him. So much. She couldn’t let him do this. She had to find a way to warn him. Because what none of them could ever guess was that Garrot had an army of wraiths and mulgars on his side. The blade divoted her neck, a threat not to move.
She shook her head anyway. “It’s a trap!” she cried through her gag, but it came out garbled and meaningless. The blade parted her skin, blood slipping down her neck. Nedrid wrapped his hand over her mouth.
The pain was a distant, meaningless thing. She was so tired of being threatened, so tired of being cowed. She threw her elbow. The knife dipped deeper, Nedrid’s hold tightening.
“Larkin!” Denan snapped.
His voice stilled her. She met his gaze across the distance—so short and yet so vast. “Stop,” he begged, his throat bobbing.
She stopped.
Denan’s gaze shifted to Garrot. “I swear that every injury she suffers, you will suffer tenfold.”
“Is that a yes?” Garrot asked.
“What assurance do I have that you won’t harm her further?”
“None,” Garrot said. “But take comfort in the fact that I haven’t yet.”
“Tomorrow,” Denan said. “Ten miles to the east, along the banks of the river Weiss.”
“Tomorrow.” Garrot motioned to his men, who dragged her and Tam back the way they’d come. Denan didn’t move, simply watched as she was pulled back into the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.
The army marched through the next day, setting up her tent on a rise overlooking the piper encampment that evening. Denan had chosen his battlefield well. His army was entrenched on the high ground beside the river that curved around his back and flank. Down the hill from him, Idelmarchian tents formed vast rows.
By all appearances, the pipers had every advantage. What Denan didn’t know—what he couldn’t know—was that while the druids came from the north, the wraiths and their mulgar horde would attack from the south. If the mulgars managed to cross the river—and Larkin had no doubt they would find a way—they would trap the pipers in a vise.
Her throat freshly stitched, Larkin slept little that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she was assaulted by nightmares of shadows and death. The tent shuddered and shook , the snapping of the canvas driving her mad.
The next morning, the army marched out to attack before dawn. Not long after, the tent flap shifted aside, and Nesha stepped in with a pale West beside her, his right hand heavily bandaged. His normally tidy mustache was in bad need of combing, and his sideburns were bushier than usual.
Nesha wore a heavy cloak, her hair tied back in a tight braid.
“Miss, you aren’t allowed to be here,” Bins said.
Nesha looked him and Nedrid up and down. “I have questions for my sister.”
Bins pursed his lips in disapproval.
“Garrot is gone,” Nesha said. “As are the rest of the druids. No one knows I’m here.”
“Ah, come on,” Nedrid said softly. “Don’t you have questions too?”
“Why are you here?” Bins asked West.
“I’ve been left behind to guard Nesha,” West said.
West should be in bed, not guarding anyone.
Bins considered Nesha. “I suppose a few questions wouldn’t hurt.”
Nesha turned back to Larkin. “Nearly a week ago, Garrot came to our rooms covered in blood. He wouldn’t tell me why.”
Larkin had been covered in blood too—only she hadn’t been allowed to wash it off for days. “He slaughtered our grandfather—Fenwick—and the councilors so that he could become Master Druid.”
“Why would the other druids accept this?” Nesha asked.
Larkin had seen their eyes—full of lust and fear. “He used wraith blades to do it. He promised them the same power.”
She wasn’t surprised that her mouth didn’t trip over the word wraith. Nesha was obviously in Garrot’s inner circle. She had to have figured much of this out.
“The marks? On his skin?” Larkin nodded. “What are they?”
The wind howled, causing the canvas to snap. “Sigils from the Black Tree.” Larkin hesitated before asking her next question. “How long have those markings been there?”
“As long as I’ve known him.” Nesha shivered.
Ancestors, Garrot had been allied with the wraiths from the start.
“What will happen?” Nesha asked.
In the distance came the war cries of the druids over the rushing of the wind.
“Garrot will attack from the north, the wraiths from the south.” Denan was surrounded, and he didn’t even know it. “The pipers have the advantage and experience. They also have the high ground. But Garrot and his druids have dark magic. And a numerous army of mulgars.” Now it was Larkin’s turn to clench her fists.
“Who will win?” Nesha asked.
Larkin huffed. “Win? There is no winning. If the druids overcome the pipers, they’ll lay siege to the Alamant.” She’d had visions of this—of the wraiths sweeping into the city of trees, their dark stain destroying all they touched. “If the pipers win, the Idelmarch will be lost. Either way, humankind will be weaker than we’ve ever been.”
“And will the Alamant hold against a siege?” Nesha asked.
The wraiths couldn’t cross the water. But Garrot could. And with his dark magic … “I don’t know.”
“Why is this city so important to the wraiths?”
“If the Alamant falls, the last of the sacred trees will turn dark. The wraiths will be so powerful that nothing left on earth could stop them. Nothing will stand between mankind and the end.”
Nesha was silent a long time. She blinked hard, twin tears plunging down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Larkin. I’m so sorry. But I mean to make it right.” Her robes parted, and she lifted a crossbow, aiming it at Bins and Nedrid.
“I can’t kill both of you before you take me down,” Nesha said. “But the first to move will die.”
Bins and Nedrid gaped at her. Keeping clear of Nesha’s line of sight, West advanced on the guards with ropes. He was helping them now?
“Nesha,” Larkin whispered in despair. Her sister was now in every bit as much danger as Larkin. Perhaps more, for she had no magic and was cumbersome with child.
“Toss Larkin your knife and set your weapons down slowly,” Nesha said.
“If she escapes, Garrot will kill us both,” Nedrid murmured.
Bins’s mo
uth tightened. As if on cue, both men lunged. Nesha shot Bins through the center of his chest. He dropped wordlessly. West ran Nedrid through. The man gasped and started to yell. West whipped around him, one hand going over the man’s mouth, the second drawing his sword across his neck. West held his hand over Nedrid’s mouth as he kicked and struggled before going limp.
Larkin gaped at the bodies, shocked at how quickly men could go from living, breathing, thinking beings to lumps of cooling meat. Aside from threatening her life the one time, both men had been respectful toward her. They didn’t deserve to die. Larkin turned away.
West’s fingers were bleeding, and a fine sheet of sweat covered his brow. “Hold out your hands.”
She did as he asked. He sawed though her bonds.
“You’re helping me now?” she asked.
“You were right—about the wraiths,” West said without looking at her. “Anyone who thinks they can make an alliance with something that evil is delusional. And besides, instead of trying to run, you saved my life when Garrot couldn’t so much as bother with me. I figure I owe you.”
She’d been surrounded by an army. If running would have done her any good, she would have done it. No point in telling West that.
She turned to Nesha. “What changed your mind?”
Nesha stared at the bodies on the ground, her expression lost. “I followed him two nights ago. And again this evening. I saw the wraith. I saw … I saw Garrot hit you. I interrogated West. His story matched what you told me.” A sob escaped. “Larkin, I’m sorry.”
Pity welled in Larkin. Nesha’s entire world was built on a foundation of lies, and those lies were crumbling around her.
West peered out the tent flap. His gaze went to Nesha. “The tent is watched. You can’t both leave.”
She sighed. “I know.”
Larkin gaped at her. “What do you mean, you know?”
Nesha set down the crossbow and removed her dark green velvet cloak. “You have to go, before night falls and the wraiths find you.”