She was about to make for a rock she’d seen some distance ahead when she caught a slight movement in the corner of her eye. A shadow, just at the edge of the curtain of vines.
Someone was there.
She held her breath and crept backward. There. In the half-light between lanterns, a grey-clad Storm Knight was using his saber to prod the vines she’d been hiding in moments before. Carefully choosing every step, Zerill circled quietly around until his back was to her. Over his shoulder, she could see the light swinging toward them again.
Quickly now. She shifted her grip so that her hand was just beneath the head of her spear, and leapt forward. If he heard her coming, he didn’t have time to react; in three swift strides she was covering his mouth with her hand. Pressing down hard, she slashed the blade of her spear along his throat, felt the warmth of blood on her hand. Before he was finished dying, she was already moving on toward her next hiding place.
It wasn’t ideal. The rock was half her size, and even when she crouched, it didn’t fully hide her. She couldn’t stay there long. Searching ahead for some place new to take cover, she watched a Shadowfoot man wrap a hide strap around a boggrove, dig his boot-spurs into the wood, and start climbing. He wasn’t halfway up when a lantern found him, and three highlander wingbow quarrels pinned him to the trunk. She ducked her head again as the knights who had killed him moved past, followed by a squire carrying an eagle’s-eye lantern that shed a focused circle of light out in front of them.
Even the trees weren’t safe anymore. Some of those who had already been hidden in the canopy before the Storm Knights came near had made it past the rear guard, but now it was dangerous to make the climb. Too exposed. Of those who tried, only a few reached the top, and even then they couldn’t always find their way clear. There were too many gaps in the canopy. In many places it didn’t offer a path to freedom, just a place to hide and hope the bolts the highlanders were shooting at random into the treetops flew wide.
Why now? We only needed a few more days. The exodus wasn’t finished—dozens of bands had been caught in the highlanders’ trap. It was hard to know how many of the Abandoned were at risk without knowing the numbers of every band, but it had to be hundreds, maybe near to a thousand. No one had expected the purge to come so soon.
Because I told them it would be later. She didn’t know if the misinformation was deliberate or if Cer Horte had simply been ignorant, but it hardly mattered. Her people were dying because of her mistake.
For the last several days, as the Storm Knights closed in, Azlin had coordinated a small number of Lighteye bands to draw attention so that the remaining Lighteyes and Shadowfeet could slip by before the highlanders’ circle closed too tight. Let themselves be seen, lead the knights into treacherous terrain, confuse and divide them before the Heartspears lying in wait attacked—that had been the plan. And it had worked, at first. They’d given some bands a chance to escape. But now those who were left had nowhere else to go. Too many knights were closing in from all sides. Herded together with no place to hide, Heartspears and Shadowfeet and Lighteyes alike had been forced to fight on the knights’ terms, and they were losing that fight badly.
Zerill didn’t know where Azlin was now, or Verik. They’d been with her at one point, but they’d fled in different directions when a lantern had revealed their position. Most of those nearest to her—those still fighting instead of trying to run—were Heartspears. But when she finally risked peeking her head up again, she saw a familiar face, not far away. Yana, one of Azlin’s band—a muscular woman as tall as most men. Wherever she’d been hiding, they’d flushed her out. She was fighting two Storm Knights, barely holding one man at bay while the other circled into flanking position. Zerill couldn’t let her face them alone. She readied spear in hand and moved out from behind her rock, keeping low.
She hadn’t gone more than two steps before a highlander sword chopped through Yana’s collar from behind and bit deep into her chest. The Lighteye woman jabbed weakly over her shoulder with her spear, but it was hardly more than a spasm. She was already dead. She dropped to her knees, and then fell face-down into the mud.
Neither of the knights had noticed Zerill yet. With fury pounding through her veins, she advanced on them, quick and quiet. She couldn’t save Yana now, but she could make the highlanders pay.
Before she could strike, a squire emerged from the trees and swept his eagle’s-eye lantern across the battlefield. The light passed over the two knights, heading toward Zerill; both men began to turn.
With reflexes born of pure instinct—always, always hide from the light—Zerill spun behind a boggrove and pressed her back against the trunk. She could take two highlanders by surprise in relative darkness. In the light, she stood no chance.
Not far away, a voice shouted “Got one!” She didn’t know if it was her they’d seen, but either way, she wouldn’t be able to stay where she was for long. She peeked in the direction the two knights had been. She couldn’t see them, but a circle of brightness was still moving across the ground not far away. It was just a short dash to the next boggrove; she could beat the light there, if she was swift.
“Got you, dark-eye bitch!” A man’s voice, as Zerill darted out of hiding. A saber swung at her throat.
It should have killed her. Would have, except that the highlander swinging it had stepped outside the light to sneak up on her, and he stumbled on a root in the dark. His arm jerked upward, and the blow that would have parted her head from her shoulders instead tore a gouge across her forehead.
Her head snapped to the side from the force of it; pain flared across her brow. But she didn’t cry out, didn’t fall back. Instead, she darted forward before the knight could recover his footing, ducked low, and thrust her spear up at his groin beneath the skirt of his chain shirt, aiming for the gap at the groin of his mail leggings. She felt her spear-blade bite flesh, shoved it deeper.
The knight let out a strangled yowl of agony and fell to his knees; his sword dropped from his grip. He grabbed at the wound between his legs with both hands, and dark red blood flowed between his fingers. With bulging eyes, he looked up at Zerill.
She ended his suffering with a spear through the throat.
The other knight was nowhere to be seen, but he couldn’t have gone far, and she was exposed here. Keeping low, she dashed across open ground and ducked into hiding behind the next tree just as a wave of light washed over it from the other side, submerging her into shadow. With two fingers, she probed the wound on her forehead. Long and deep, just above her right eye. It would scar, but she had many scars—a scar was a death avoided, a reminder that she was still alive. A half-inch lower and the blow would have taken her eye; if not for that fortunately placed boggrove root, it would have taken more than that. I should be dead. Sometimes, all the advantages in the world paled in the face of sheer luck.
She looked ahead. The ring of lanterns that marked the rear-guard was still moving, getting ever closer—it wouldn’t be long before it reached her, or she reached it. But there were gaps there. She was certain of that now. Not large ones, just a series of dim spaces, as if the squires were far enough apart in one section of the circle that their lantern-light didn’t quite overlap fully. Not much room for her to skirt by, but a slim chance was better than none.
Just then, a silhouette flitted between boggroves in front of her. A woman, and not a highlander; Zerill could tell that just by the way she moved. Too quiet and too graceful for chainmail. Someone else must have seen what she had.
Zerill checked left, then right. Some thirty yards back and to her right, inside the yellow-orange glow of a squire’s lantern, five Storm Knights had surrounded and disarmed two Heartspear warriors. Five sabers rose; she looked away before they fell. But there was no one else. She had a clear path forward, as far as she could tell. She moved toward the place she’d seen the other woman hide, hoping she hadn’t imagined the familiarity of that stride.
She hadn’t.
Azlin,
she signed with relief, moving into hiding behind the boggrove. Is Verik with you?
If her sister was at all surprised to see her, she didn’t show it. Near, Azlin signed. And most of our band. The Heartspears have… kept attention away from us. At no small cost. Her jaw tightened there, but no more than that—she’d always kept her anger inside. You saw the gaps? I hoped you would.
So I wasn’t imagining them after all.
No. The marsh is flooded there. I think they’re trying to stay out of it. Highlanders hate the wet more than they love following orders. The water is shallow, but if we reach it before they reach us, we might be able to hide under the surface while they pass.
Zerill nodded. Then we can’t waste any—
“This way. I saw her go this way.” A highlander’s loudspeech, from behind. Zerill repositioned herself to put the tree between her and the sound; Azlin did the same. A dozen Storm Knights were approaching, lit from behind by two eagle’s-eye lanterns. That much light was going to ruin any chance at escape. If they were seen going into the water, it wouldn’t matter very much that there were gaps in the highlanders’ circle.
“Bitch killed Ames, used some witchcraft to trip him up.” That had to be the second highlander from before, the one who’d disappeared. “Probably wanted me to follow her into one of their ambushes. There might be more.”
They’re looking for me, Zerill signed to Azlin. I can lead them—
Azlin clasped Zerill’s hand to stop it moving, and moved her own instead. As soon as you see a chance, get to the water. She turned away before Zerill could sign back, looked toward the approaching Storm Knights.
“Azlin, don’t!” Zerill whispered desperately.
Even the loudspeech did no good; it was already too late. Azlin was already running.
Straight toward the highlanders.
As Azlin entered the lantern-light, the same voice as before shouted, “That’s her!” Zerill and Azlin looked similar enough; highlanders didn’t look for fine details in the faces of the Abandoned.
Azlin changed direction mid-stride, veered to her right; the lanterns followed. And where the light went, so did the highlanders.
Zerill gripped the vines wrapped around the boggrove trunk, physically restraining herself from going after her sister. It should have been me. I led them here. But she couldn’t stop Azlin now, and the Abandoned did not spend their lives needlessly. They were too few for that. There was only one thing she could do, as much as she hated it.
Turning her back, Zerill made for the water.
11. Carrion Beasts
Zerill
Zerill dropped to her stomach when one of the squire’s lanterns swung in her direction. Cold marshwater enveloped her up to the neck. She breathed a sigh of relief when the boy kept turning.
Blood flowed from the wound on her forehead, running down her cheek and threatening to drip into her eyes. She wiped it away, and the back of her hand came back dark with the mud she’d rubbed on her face. The water bubbled to her right, and she held her breath and veered left as a sudden belch of foul-smelling gas broke the surface. Pushing herself up into a low crouch, she crept onward through the shallow water with her spear in hand, keeping to the shadows outside the lantern-light.
She couldn’t have been the only one to escape after Azlin’s distraction, but she didn’t know who else had, or how many, or where they were. All she knew was that she’d seen others making the same rush for the marsh. She’d lost track of them when she went under the water, and she’d stayed below the surface for as long as her lungs could bear. When she’d come up again behind the highlander line, she’d been alone. Calling out with the loudspeech would give her position away, and she hadn’t escaped the purge only to be caught by some cowardly knight-captain hiding behind the rear guard.
Behind her, she could still hear the sounds of the battle she’d just barely escaped. Could still hear her people fighting and dying. Could probably still see it, at least the shadows of it, if she looked back.
She didn’t look back.
As hard as it was, she had to keep moving. If she didn’t, Azlin had risked—and maybe given—her life for nothing. Zerill’s spear would make no difference against so many highlanders, even if she turned back. She hoped her sister had made it out, and Verik, and Korv and Uvik and Sava and the rest, but that was all she could do for them now: hope. Hope that enough would make it to the Kinhome to join those already there, enough to keep the kins strong. Until the next purge. And what then? If every purge is like this, soon there won’t be enough of us left.
“Damn it, Castar, I really shouldn’t be here.”
I know that voice. She’d scarcely heard it the night they met, three or four sentences at most, but she recognized it instantly. Crouching behind a nearby rock that jutted halfway out of the water, she peeked toward the speaker. And there he was, at the edge of the marsh, clutching a sword in one hand and surrounded by a dozen knights. His face was difficult to make out at such a distance, little more than a dark-skinned blur, but the slender frame and black curls were just as she remembered.
What is he doing with Lenoden Castar? She felt betrayed, and knew that was absurd. He was a highlander—she should never have let herself believe he was different.
“We will retreat before you are put in any danger, Prince Josen,” Castar answered. “Try to be calm.”
A hand touched Zerill’s shoulder and she whirled, heart pounding, spear at the ready.
Azlin ignored the spear and squatted down beside her. Her eyes were on the knights. Did he say Prince Josen? she signed. That is the heir to the highlander throne. The king’s son and Duke Castar together, and hardly protected. They can’t have more than a dozen men. Verik ducked into hiding behind Azlin; when he saw Zerill, relief bloomed beneath the black mud smeared on his face.
Zerill lowered her spear and threw her arms around her sister. Azlin returned the embrace. It was the most affection either one of them had shown in as long as Zerill could remember. Finally, she drew back, feeling mildly guilty for being so happy; it felt wrong, with hundreds dead behind them.
I thought for certain they’d catch you, she signed.
Almost. I drew them past Verik, and he managed a distraction with his deepcraft. I lost them while they were wiping the mud from their eyes.
Zerill smiled gratefully at Verik. Add that to the tally of things I’ll never be able to repay. How many others escaped, do you think?
I don’t know, Azlin signed. We’re too scattered. There won’t be a count until we are back at the Kinhome. But more didn’t than did, and the Heartspears are still fighting. We’ll have lost near a thousand by the end, if not more. A spasm of anger passed over Azlin’s face. The highlanders will pay for this.
Zerill touched her sister’s arm, a weak attempt at comfort. Did anyone else make the water in time? Are there more with you?
It was Verik who answered. Eight that we’ve found. Azlin sent them to search for others. To search for you.
Zerill felt an urge to embrace her sister again, but the moment had passed, and she didn’t want to alert the knights with too much movement. She settled for squeezing Azlin’s arm. We should make for the Kinhome. The knights are moving in the other direction—we won’t be followed.
Azlin shook her head. No, we have to… Her hand stilled when her eyes landed on the wound across Zerill’s forehead, and her brow furrowed. They hurt you.
Zerill tilted her head away, to hide the gash. They didn’t kill me. It doesn’t matter. We need to go.
It matters. Azlin’s lips drew tight, and she looked back toward Prince Josen. We will leave when Castar and the king’s son are dead.
Azlin, no. Zerill knew the look on her sister’s face, the tight mouth and lined brow. Azlin kept a quiet fury sealed deep inside, and sometimes it leaked out around the edges. But it was always constrained by caution; she didn’t just set it loose. This wasn’t like her. You have eight, they have a dozen and hundreds more nearby. Even if y
ou kill Castar and the prince first, you won’t escape alive.
But they will retreat when their leader falls. I can end this purge, save those who are still trapped.
They might leave, but they will come back. Highlanders always come back. And they will bring an army, looking for vengeance. Zerill tightened her grip on Azlin’s arm, though she knew it wouldn’t stop her. You always want me to be more cautious. Follow your own advice now. Please.
My own advice? Azlin’s fist clenched around her spear haft. I led us to this slaughter.
Zerill shook her head. No. It was my information that misled you. They came too early.
You brought us enough warning to save as many as we have. But if I had sent more spies, watched them more closely… You were right, Zerill. This is what trying to hide has brought.
I only meant we should try to understand the highlanders better, not that you should throw your life away! Zerill met Azlin’s eyes, held them with her own. I don’t want to lose you to teach them a lesson. What will I tell your daughter? She needs you. I need you.
When have you ever needed me, Zerill? You do what you wish. You always have. And Azra has her father, and a kin of her own soon. They will be her family. We are the Abandoned. We learn to live with loss.
Zerill shook her head. That isn’t fair. Just because I don’t always listen doesn’t mean I care less about you than you do about me. You told me that you wanted me safe, that you wouldn’t let the highlanders take me away. Do you think I don’t feel the same? Don’t do this, Azlin. Please.
Azlin bowed her head, unwilling or unable to meet Zerill’s gaze. Go, while you still can. Verik, make sure she gets away from here safely. Try to find any others who made it out. I have to gather my warriors. This chance will not come again. And then she was gone, darting silently through the marsh.
Zerill signed pointlessly at Azlin’s back, fighting the desire to shout. The loudspeech could get them both killed, and her sister would never listen. Chasing her would be useless, too; Azlin had always been faster and quieter. There was no point in following her when she didn’t want to be followed. Instead, Zerill turned to Verik, and set her jaw stubbornly.
The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1) Page 16