The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  Azra! Zerill signed. What are you doing here? She closed the distance and pulled her niece into an embrace.

  I wanted to see you, Azra signed when Zerill let her go, and her eyes moved shyly to her mother. Both of you.

  Azlin stepped past Zerill, frowning. Azra, you know you can’t come with—

  I know, Mother, Azra signed. Father already told me. I will go back with the Heartspears. At fourteen, she actually was of age to go west, to hunt and fight if she insisted on it. But only if she insisted. The Abandoned did not lightly risk their young before they had borne children of their own—their numbers were too few for that. And Zerill knew that Azra would never challenge her mother’s judgement.

  Good. Azlin let herself relax, and clasped her daughter’s shoulder. It is good to see you. I’m surprised you convinced your father to let you come.

  This far east, I didn’t see the harm, Korv signed. He looked a little bit nervous, though, which made Zerill smile. A trail-father and great warrior whose voice could sway the course of Kinmeet, and still he was worried about what Azlin would say. Having been made to sit through more than one of her sister’s lectures on responsibility, Zerill could understand why he was anxious. He and Azlin had come together in a birth-pact when they were not far past the age Azra was now, but they were not life-mates—they had done their duty to their kins, and gone their separate ways. They still shared the responsibility of teaching their daughter, though, and Azlin could be… firm in her opinions.

  It’s fine, Azlin signed, and Zerill held back a laugh when she saw the tension leave Korv’s shoulders. She should see something of how these things go. But I’m afraid I have much to do and little time to talk.

  Azra nodded solemnly. I understand, Mother. Do what you have to. It wasn’t the first time the girl had heard something like that, nor would it be the last, but still Zerill’s heart ached for her. Azra worshiped her mother without reservation, but the duties of a grandmother left little time for family.

  What do we have, Korv? Azlin signed, returning to the work at hand.

  Three bands stuck between the inner mountains. More than seventy all together. Gurik left cairns along the way to lead us to them. There Korv gestured at an athletic young man—the Shadowfoot runner who had tracked the bands in question to inform them of the exodus. A large number to bring across the roads. It will be hard to avoid notice.

  Azlin turned her attention to the Shadowfoot, Gurik. What kins?

  A band of Shadowfoot gatherers, two of your Lighteye scouts, Gurik signed. The Lighteyes were expected—there were still bands that hadn’t been accounted for, sent before the exodus to spy on highlander roads—but the Shadowfeet were a surprise to Zerill. They sometimes went west to gather ingredients for their remedies, but rarely so far into the region between the central mountains that the highlanders called the inner duchies.

  Azlin thought for a moment, and then nodded. That is where you’ll be most useful, Korv. If the highlanders find these bands, they will need warriors. There will be too many of them to move together—we’ll have to split them up. You and I must discuss routes.

  We can speak while you resupply, Korv signed. We have food from the Kinhome. Enough for you and them. He pointed, and Zerill glanced over her shoulder.

  The Heartspears they’d led there were approaching from behind. From here, they would make their way back to the Kinhome and remain there unless Korv sent for them—only so many were needed to help with the exodus, and the fewer of the Abandoned left in the west, the better. As they gathered, Korv’s warriors began to hand over hide packs laden with supplies.

  We haven’t had time to hunt. Thank you, Korv. The look Azlin gave her daughter then was genuinely regretful. I’m sorry, Azra, but I have to see to this. Zerill, can you…

  Of course, Zerill signed. We’ll keep each other company. It wasn’t the first time for that, either—she probably spent more time with her niece than Azlin did, all told. Come with me, Azra. It’s been days since I’ve eaten anything more than mushrooms.

  Azra came along obediently, but she glanced back at Azlin more than once. Zerill stopped to retrieve a handful of smoked mire-goat from one of the supply packs, then sat cross-legged on the ground near the boulder that supported the cairn marker, and rested her back against it. She offered Azra a piece of smoked meat; Azra took it, and sat down beside her.

  So, Zerill signed as she chewed, the time must be coming for you to choose a kin. You seem to be a foot taller every time I see you. Have you thought much about it?

  Azra was of age now, and within the next few years, she would have to make that decision. Korv’s kin were hunters and warriors, protectors of the other kins when the purges came, but Zerill didn’t see his daughter as a Heartspear. She was too gentle, too thoughtful. A Lighteye, maybe—that would almost certainly be Azra’s choice, if only because Azlin was one—but scouting and spying on highlanders was dangerous work, and Lighteyes died in battle near as often as Heartspears. No, Zerill had always imagined Azra as a Shadowfoot: a healer, a keeper of memories, a walker of hidden paths. Of all the kins, they were the least likely to die young on a highlander’s sword.

  Azra blushed and ducked her head. I haven’t grown so much since you saw me last. I wish I had. I always lose when I spar someone with a longer reach.

  I was the same, Zerill signed. She put her arm around Azra’s shoulder and leaned her body in to hide her hand-signs, as if sharing a secret. Don’t tell her I said so, but so was Azlin. It drove her half-mad. Now she’s one of the best spears in the Lighteyes. We grow late in this family, but it will come.

  I… I hope so. I need to be able to fight if I’m going to be a Lighteye. Not the kin Zerill had hoped, but the one she’d expected. Azra glanced again toward her mother. If I could just go with her…

  She wishes she had more time as much as you do, Zerill signed. I hope you know that. But there are people relying on her. She has saved hundreds of lives just in these last ten days.

  I know. The admiration was plain on Azra’s face. She does so much. But if I was a Lighteye, maybe I could help her. She goes west so often, I just… I worry sometimes. That I won’t see her again. Or you.

  Oh, Azra. Zerill squeezed her tighter. Every one of us has the same fear. But… She reached behind her head to pluck some spiritmoss from the boulder. It was soft and damp between her fingers, and its pale green glow cast the worried furrows on Azra’s forehead into shadow. You know why we call this spiritmoss. The spirits of the ancestors give us light in the darkness. They are always watching over us. Even if someday one of us doesn’t come back, we will always be with you. Whenever you see the moss glowing, or the light of a lure-toad’s eyes, or a lightworm’s silk, you’ll know we are there. A comforting story, though Zerill didn’t know if she really believed it. But she couldn’t promise that they would always come back, and a story was better than a lie.

  Azra didn’t say anything, just moved closer and rested her head on Zerill’s shoulder. They sat there in silence for a long while, but it was a comfortable silence. Zerill found herself wishing they had more time. Neither of them had experienced much in the way of quiet moments with family in their lives.

  But there was work to do, and this had never been intended as a long stop. When the interruption came, Zerill was expecting it.

  At least it was Verik, and he did it with a sympathetic smile—both for Zerill and for Azra, who would have been family to him in another life. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, he signed, but the supplies are ready. It’s time to go. Azra, your mother wants to say goodbye.

  They stood, and Azra wrapped her arms around Zerill again and held on tight. I’m… not ready for you to meet the ancestors yet, she signed when she finally let go. I know it’s stupid, but… promise me you’ll both come back, just this once?

  And this time, Zerill couldn’t bring herself to do anything but lie. I promise.

  * * *

  Zerill crouched beside Azlin in the boughs of the boggr
ove trees above the highlander road, watching the knights march by below. The trees breached the bottom edge of the mist here, near a hundred feet above the ground, and fingers of dark grey fog swirled in the air in front of Zerill’s face—not enough to obscure her vision, but it would help to hide her and her sister from sight.

  It wasn’t a large force, just a patrol: ten men with a knight-captain at their center, and three squires burdened with heavy supply packs and bearing hooded lanterns to light the way along the Swamp’s twisting roads. In their armor, the knights all looked the same: uniform figures walking two by two, clad in grey surcoats emblazoned with blue lightning swords, with chainmail beneath and open-faced steel helms over their heads. Only the captain stood apart from the rest, due to the silver cord at his shoulder—and the squires, armored in no more than heavy leathers and plain grey surcoats. At the head of the line, two knights carried halberds with foot-long spikes above heavy axe-like blades, used to keep Deeplings at a safe distance. The first three feet of the six foot long-hafts were plated in steel, to better hold against a beetleback’s blades. Every man—even the squires—wore at his hip a broad saber with a bladed hook at the tip, made to hack through vines or flesh as needed.

  It was always strange, watching highlanders in the Swamp. At mid-afternoon, it was as dark below the mist as moonlit night above, and most of the time nothing lit that darkness but scattered patches of pale green spiritmoss, glowing like faint, distant stars. The knights, though, shone like the sun. The squires’ lanterns were hooded so that they cast their radiance mostly downward—even highlanders knew that light drew eyes in the dark—but it wasn’t enough. Even dimmed, the lanterns were a hundred times brighter than anything else for miles. Zerill couldn’t fathom needing such brightness to see by, brightness that could never go unnoticed in the Swamp, but it made the knights difficult to miss when the Lighteyes needed to watch them.

  Zerill tapped Azlin on the shoulder. Only eleven fighters, she signed. Azlin’s band was twenty strong—they would have the advantage of numbers, if it came to that.

  Azlin nodded, but her eyes kept flickering back to the patrol below as she signed, More than enough to be a problem, if they are bound for the Plateaus. Korv’s Heartspears would soon be escorting three bands across the road at three different points to the northwest, all making for the Kinhome. A simple enough task if the knights turned southwest to Goldstone, but if they took the northwest fork toward the Plateaus, something would have to be done.

  Azlin had prepared for that possibility, of course—the Heartspears were there to fight if the bands were seen, and Verik and the rest of Azlin’s band lay in wait along the northern road to prevent the highlanders from getting that far. But even from ambush, engaging the patrol would be a risk. The Knights of the Storm had weapons and armor of forged steel, far superior to anything the Makers could fashion from hide and wood and stone. Unless the Lighteyes were very lucky, some would fall to highlander swords, surprise or no. Zerill hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but her kin always ran that risk, treading as closely to the highlanders as they did.

  She could tell that her sister was anxious. Both of them shared their mother’s features, or so Zerill had been told—the same sharp chin and cheekbones, the same wide forehead that creased into the same deep furrows when they were troubled. They had both smeared mud on their faces and in their hair to blend into the dark, but even so Zerill could see those furrows on Azlin’s forehead now, canyons of shadow cast by the spiritmoss growing amid the branches. And it was not hard to guess what troubled her: she had been the one to call for the exodus.

  It is not your fault if something goes wrong, Zerill signed. I was the one who warned you about the purge.

  I am Grandmother of the Lighteyes, not you. That was Azlin’s favorite statement, Zerill sometimes thought, save perhaps for the one about being cautious. But today it seemed more resigned than self-important. The decision was mine. The consequences are mine.

  It was the only choice you could have made, signed Zerill.

  Azlin didn’t respond, and she looked no less worried. An exodus carried perils of its own; perils that Zerill knew weighed heavily on her sister’s mind. Anyone the highlanders saw would be killed—or worse, followed to the Kinhome. Azlin had sent Lighteye bands all throughout the Swamp to guide the other kins, but no amount of preparation would see all of them home alive.

  Zerill gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder, and signed, You’ve done everything you could, Azlin. Everyone who comes west knows the risk. But hundreds will survive this purge because of you.

  Azlin gave her a wry look. Such concern. Where was that when you climbed the Queensmount? I tell you to use more caution than you need, and instead you use far less. If you do not want me to worry, don’t go above the mist when I tell you not to.

  If a purge is coming, wasn’t it worth it? It isn’t as though I haven’t gone before. Zerill was immediately on the defensive—not unusual when she argued with her sister.

  This time you were lucky, yes. But we need to be more careful right now. The Deepling attack on their mountain is fresh in their memory, and if they had caught one of us among them so soon after… Azlin didn’t say more, but Zerill knew the rest. Her sister believed the Lighteyes could do their duty without risking the mountains; that it was enough to shadow highlanders in the Swamp and learn what they could. Zerill felt differently. It was not the first time they had argued over it.

  We learn too little listening to merchants and gas-trappers, Zerill protested. If I hadn’t gone, we would have had no warning.

  Perhaps I… I might have sent someone. Azlin’s fingers faltered just once, but enough that Zerill noticed. There was no such sign of self-consciousness in her next words, though; her face was stern and her hand certain. But not you. You have already taken that risk too many times.

  Who knows the loudspeech like I do? Who would be a better choice?

  Someone who is not my little sister! Azlin punctuated the sentence with a clenched fist, and her lips drew tight, the way they did when she was angry. Which was almost always, since their father had died. She controlled it well, but it was always there.

  Zerill didn’t know what to say. She loved her sister, and assumed her sister loved her, but the two of them rarely spoke except to plan or argue. Zerill spent her time with Verik whenever she could, and Azlin put her duties as Grandmother of the Lighteyes above even her own daughter. It meant something that Azlin was trying to protect her, though, even if Zerill didn’t want to be protected. It was annoying, but it did mean something. She struggled for an answer, her fingers half-forming one sign, then another, but nothing seemed to fit.

  Watching her struggle for a reply, Azlin’s expression softened, and she signed, I know you think I scold you too much, Zerill. It is only because I want you safe. She ducked her head and fixed her eyes on the knights below, but her hand kept moving. The highlanders took Mother and Father from me already; I will not let them take you. You cannot be so reckless. Then, before Zerill could reply, Azlin stabbed a finger toward the patrol. They are going north. Come. She bounded swiftly and silently across the web of vines and branches without waiting for any sign of acknowledgement, and Zerill followed behind.

  The boggroves were mostly bare-trunked farther down, but this high into the mist their branches spread wide into a natural ceiling of broad, flat leaves. The only plantlife in the Swamp lived here, skyseeker vines whose roots wound their way up from the ground, around trunks and over boughs, climbing ever upward in search of the sun. This was the only place that the vines could find the nourishment they needed, yearning toward the slightly brighter dusk-light that only existed above the canopy.

  Moving amid the tangle of branches and vines required great care; a single misstep or poorly judged leap would send Zerill plummeting to the ground below. She picked her way toward a gap in the trees a short distance up the northern fork, and caught up with her sister at the edge of the intertwined boughs. Together, they huddled
in the crook of a boggrove branch, watching the knights emerge from the shadow of the trees into a patch of twilight.

  There was still one last chance for the patrol to turn back. Perhaps a hundred yards ahead, Zerill knew, the road was flooded with murky water from the nearby marshes. Hardly a rare thing in the Swamp, especially as spring dawned and frozen waters began to thaw, but this time it was no accident—though Verik had tried very hard to make it look like one.

  Zerill held her breath, her gaze fastened on the glow of the lanterns. The light was nearing the point where the water swallowed the road; what happened when it got there would determine whether or not the day ended in bloodshed.

  The light came to a halt.

  The knight-captain’s voice cut through the silence in the Swamp. “Damn it to the Deep, it’s washed out again.”

  Another man spoke. “Should we turn back, send a bridge crew in? If it’s like this all the way, we’ll be an extra turn reaching the Plateaus.” If there had been any god who answered the prayers of the Abandoned, Zerill would have prayed for the knights to turn back. But she was below the mist; no gods were listening.

  A long pause, then: “No.” Zerill’s chest tightened. “No, we will ford it if we can, see how deep it is. These floods stop too many patrols. We can take a bit of mud on our boots, and the outpost is only a few hours from here.”

  The lanterns started forward again, followed shortly by the sloshing sound of legs through knee-high water.

  Zerill turned to Azlin at the same time as Azlin looked toward her. Her sister’s hands moved. The hard way, then. I will follow them; we cannot let them wander somewhere beyond our eyes. You run ahead, tell Verik and the others to be prepared.

  You’ll be alone and outnumbered, Zerill signed. If they see you… A grandmother shouldn’t take such risks. You warn the others, I will follow the highlanders.