The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  “I only ask that a scion of Aryllia, be it Gerod or his son, find the humility to seek forgiveness for the sins of the royal family and welcome the Convocation back into the governance of the Nine Peaks. I pray that these requests will be met, so that the king and his son may meet with Eroh and let his words guide them onto a better path. I pray that we might soon witness the rise of the true king foretold by the Word.” As instructed, Benedern made no overt suggestion as to who that king might be—subtlety would serve better here. It was enough for the people to see Lenoden standing by the boy, to know that he was the man who had discovered the last Windwalker. The rest would take care of itself.

  There. Lenoden hadn’t stopped looking for Shona, and finally his eyes landed on a woman as tall as the men beside her. She was hard to miss, even in a crowd. She stood between Eian Gryston and Duke Falloway, staring up at Eroh with all the rest.

  Benedern’s voice rang out in a final proclamation: “I pray that our king and his son will not ignore this miracle, because if they do, they doom not only themselves, but every soul in the Nine Peaks!”

  The sermon was intended to rouse fear, and it did just that. Men and women and children closed in around the dais like hungry animals, begging Eroh for benediction and the Sky God for mercy. But not Shona. She didn’t flinch as the crowd surged forward around her, just watched Eroh with a frown and a furrowed brow. And that look told Lenoden everything.

  She knows.

  Shona

  I need a better look at the boy. Shona pushed through the crowd, making her way toward the stairs that led down to the temple’s lower tiers. Few were moving in the same direction; Castar and Benedern had only just descended back into the eyrie, and the congregation was more interested in gossiping about what they’d just seen than leaving. Men and women gathered in the aisles between pews, blocking her path. Unsurprisingly, every conversation she overheard was about the boy with the eyes of an eagle—and the man who had found him. Castar has to know that standing up there beside the last Windwalker is as good as putting a crown on his own head. I didn’t think he would go so far so fast.

  She gave up trying to squeeze through the aisle, and started vaulting over the pews wherever she could find the space. Can’t give them time to hide him again. She hopped over the last of nine long benches, started toward the steps.

  A hand darted out and caught her arm.

  Eian Gryston held her tight and drew her to the edge of the nest, away from the suffocating press of the crowd.

  Shona tried to pull herself free. “Eian, what—”

  His grip tightened painfully, and he turned to face her. “It’s his eyes, isn’t it?”

  Shona nodded, taken aback by his intensity. “That, and they didn’t have him speak.” It wasn’t strange by itself that Benedern hadn’t let the boy say anything—the sight of him was enough, and children couldn’t always be relied upon to say what they were supposed to. But alongside those eyes, it started to suggest something deeper.

  Eian’s shoulders fell, and he released her arm. “I didn’t want to see it, but… if not for the gold, they could have been swampling eyes. Skin can be colored and hair can be dyed, but those eyes…”

  “I wasn’t sure that anyone else had noticed.” She wouldn’t have herself—wouldn’t have even considered that a boy with Windwalker eyes might come from the Swamp—except that she’d been thinking of Josen. Playing hero for a swampling was just the sort of thing he would have done.

  “If he comes from the Swamp, that means…” Eian’s voice was low and sad. “God Above, all those purges…”

  “It means that the story we’ve been told is a lie,” said Shona. “Josen saw this boy. I’m sure of it. And he wouldn’t go along with Castar’s plan. That’s why he’s dead. He wasn’t a traitor, Eian—that’s what it means.”

  Eian took a deep breath and pushed a hand through his white hair. “If only that was all it meant. But we’re only guessing at shapes in the clouds until we have some kind of proof.”

  “That is why I need to get a closer look at the boy. To talk to him, if possible. If he can speak.”

  “I’ll come with you, then.”

  “No.” Lord of Eagles knows I’d feel safer if you did, but that’s not what matters now. “You have to go. Someone has to make sure my mother and father get out safely, and you’ll be needed at the Stormhall soon. When Castar tries to bring the Knights of the Storm to his cause—and he will try—you are the only man who might oppose him.”

  “I can’t just—”

  “Please, Eian. There is every chance we are both overestimating the danger. With any luck, I will join you soon. But if I don’t, take my parents and go wherever the next basket out of here is going—don’t wait for me.”

  “They won’t want to go without you. I can’t say I like it either.”

  “I hope you won’t have to,” said Shona. “But if Castar catches me sneaking around… I don’t think he’ll do anything too bold, not yet, but I didn’t think he’d make so clear a play at the throne either. If he catches me, I need to know someone is free to refute any… claims he might make.”

  “Claims…” Understanding dawned on Eian’s face. “You mean that he might force you into marriage. To take Greenwall for himself.”

  “He might do any number of things. I don’t have time to argue about this—the longer I wait, the longer they have to hide the boy.”

  Eian looked at her for a long moment before he spoke. “Shona… You must know that Josen would not have wanted you to risk yourself for his sake.”

  No fear. He won’t let me go if I waver now. “It is my decision to make, not his. And I’ve already made it.”

  “I suppose you have.” Eian sighed and nodded his head. “Wind of Grace guide you, then. We will wait at the baskets as long as we can.”

  “Thank you, Eian.” No time for anything but that; she left him there and rushed toward the stairway down the eyrie’s south side.

  There was no sign of Castar or Benedern on the stairs. Damn it to the Deep. She’d hoped she might catch them moving the boy. Where would they go? They had to be lower in the temple by now—there was nothing else on the ninth tier but the vigil chamber, and they wouldn’t linger there. I don’t think they’d risk leaving him in someone else’s care. In or near Benedern’s quarters, most likely. The eighth tier always housed an eyrie’s most senior and highly ranked chastors—in the High Eyrie, the high chastor’s personal offices and chambers occupied much of that space. That seemed as good a place as any to start looking.

  Racing down the steps was almost like falling. The Sky God’s Sword dropped steeply away from the base of the temple, and the sharp crags felt like they were moving toward her far too quickly, but she couldn’t afford to slow down. On the eighth tier landing, she turned left and hurried around the circle toward the nearest doorway, trying to ignore the sheer drop down the mountain on her right. Wind of Grace, let me get out of this and back to somewhere flat.

  Just inside the doorway, the hall forked in two directions: to the left, a passage led to several doors before bending out of sight; the hall to the right ended in a single door with a Knight of the Storm standing guard before it. She’d never had any reason to visit the high chastor in his chambers before, but it wasn’t hard to guess that she wanted the door with the guard.

  No, the hard part was going to be getting past him. But he’d already seen her, and even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t as if she could have crept by like some swampling assassin. Head on it is, then.

  As she strode down the hall toward the man, she realized she knew his face—young and thin, with straight black hair and a hooked nose. The son of a Greenwall farming count, sponsored for knighthood by Duke Castar. They’d exchanged pleasantries at one banquet or another, she was sure. I don’t know if that’s good luck or bad. Hiding her identity would be impossible now—Castar would know she’d been there—but a Greenwall man was much more likely to do as she asked. What was his name again? Joff
et is the family, but…

  Too late; she was already there. “Cer Roben!” she greeted him, and prayed it was somewhere close to right. “So good to see you again.”

  “I… thank you, Lady Shona, it is… always a pleasure,” the young man stammered. “Er, it’s actually Roden, though.” He sounded almost apologetic.

  “Of course. My apologies, Cer Roden.” At least I wasn’t too far off. “I wish we had time to reacquaint ourselves, but I’m afraid I can’t linger. I’m to meet Duke Castar inside.”

  “The duke is not here just now. I was told not to let anyone pass.” Roden looked at the floor, clearly uncomfortable denying Duke Falloway’s daughter.

  If Castar isn’t here, where is he? That made her uneasy, but he must have left the guard for a reason—something lay beyond that door. “Yes, he did say he had affairs to take care of first. He asked me to wait inside until he returns. Are you really going to make me stand about in this hallway, Cer Roden?”

  “I’m sorry, but I—”

  “Oh, I don’t require an apology, but Lenoden might. He does tend toward gallantry, you know—I’m certain he will be upset that his betrothed was made to stand and wait.” She almost choked on the word ‘betrothed’. I’m going to have to clean my mouth with lye after this. “But I understand you must do your duty. I will try to explain on your behalf.”

  “Betrothed? I didn’t know.” Roden chewed his lip nervously.

  “Oh, yes. We’ll be married by cycle’s end. A stronger bond between duchies is just what is needed in times like this, don’t you think?” It was no secret that Castar had been pursuing her; an annoyance most of the time, but right now it made her lie plausible.

  “Yes, I… I agree, Lady Shona. Perhaps… I’m sure I can make an exception for you.” He stepped aside and pushed the door open for her. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I will let Duke Castar know that you are waiting when he arrives.”

  “Thank you, Cer Roden.” But if I’m still here when he arrives, something has gone very wrong. She smiled at the young knight and moved quickly through the door.

  A comfortable receiving room waited for her on the other side, lit by gold-tinted sunlight passing through a round pane of glass overhead, stained to look like an eagle’s eye. A low table surrounded in high-backed chairs occupied the chamber’s center; nearby was a long cabinet arrayed with fine dishes, a polished silver tea-set, and a half-dozen decanters of fine spirits. A fireplace sat cold and empty to the north, and to her left and right paintings of scenes from the Word flanked closed doors, leading, she guessed, to the high chastor’s study and bedroom.

  She could hear voices coming from the left-hand room, low and muffled—Benedern was speaking to someone, though she didn’t know who if not Castar. She allowed herself a moment of relief. I didn’t blunder right into him; that’s something gone right, at least.

  Something moved in the corner of her eye, and she swiveled toward the fireplace.

  The little eagle from the ceremony perched atop the mantle, staring at her with its head cocked to one side.

  She froze.

  Lord of Eagles, don’t give me away now. But the bird made no sound.

  It made no sound, but something did. She was suddenly aware of a rustling coming from beneath the table.

  “I found it, Goldeyes.” A child’s voice. A hand emerged from beneath the table at the room’s center, a carved wooden eagle gripped in its fingers. The boy crawled out, climbed to his feet; his golden eyes met Shona’s. “Oh.”

  So he can speak. Which means he can yell for help. Her heart pounding, Shona did the only thing she could think of: she raised a finger to her lips and offered the boy her hand.

  He took it without hesitation.

  He’s so small. Standing at his full height, he didn’t reach her chest, and he was terribly slender. He didn’t resist as she led him to a nearby chair.

  “We don’t want to interrupt the high chastor,” she whispered. He just nodded solemnly.

  Still holding his hand, she sat down so she was level with his eyes. They seemed to have no white to them, just gold all the way from his eyelids to the large, dark pupil at the center. He cocked his head as she looked, and the effect was predatory and childlike at once. God Above, they’re even more impressive up close. But that wasn’t enough. They were large eyes, and his features were strange, but she couldn’t be certain he came from the Swamp. She’d never even seen a swampling. And why shouldn’t they be large? For all I know, every Windwalker could have had giant eyes.

  “Your name is Eroh, isn’t it?” She glanced toward the sound of Benedern’s voice, and hoped she was speaking softly enough.

  “Yes.” The boy followed her lead, speaking in a whisper. “Who are you?” As he spoke, the bird he’d called Goldeyes alighted silently upon his shoulder.

  “Shona.” It was hard to speak with two pairs of eagle’s eyes staring at her; she felt nervous, like she always had talking to chastors when she was younger. But I have to be sure. Ignoring the fluttering in her stomach, she licked her thumb and rubbed gently at the boy’s cheek. He didn’t flinch.

  It was good work; the color didn’t smudge. But her thumb came back just brown enough to confirm her suspicions. Dye. It’s true, then. It didn’t seem possible, but nothing else made sense. The last Windwalker is a swampling.

  Eroh saw the spot on her thumb and smiled. “They painted us, me and Grandfather.”

  “Who… who is your grandfather?” They said he was an orphan.

  He pointed to the door where she’d heard voices speaking. “He’s in there.”

  So that’s who Benedern is talking to. And they could be done at any moment. There were a hundred more questions she wanted to ask, but she had to get out before she was caught.

  But there was one question that couldn’t wait. “Eroh, I think… you might have met my friend.” Her voice trembled. “His name was—is—Josen.”

  Eroh frowned. “He wanted to show me to the knights, but Duke Castar said they would hurt me. He’s dead now.”

  Oh Josen. Shona swallowed back her tears. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Of course he’d thought he could singlehandedly save the swamplings. And of course he hadn’t considered for a moment that Castar might have a different use for the boy. That was the man she’d known. Not a traitor, just a naïve fool who could never resist the chance to rescue someone.

  And I knew he was going to do something stupid. I saw it in his eyes. Spirit of All, why didn’t I try harder to warn him? Whatever mistakes he’d made, whatever hurt he’d caused, it didn’t matter to her now. It didn’t matter that he’d cared more about being her hero than her friend; that he hadn’t known what to do when she didn’t need a hero anymore. All that mattered were those few times when she’d needed someone most, and he’d been there. Castar will answer for what he did to you. I promise you that.

  “Thank you for telling me, Eroh,” she said. “It is… better to know.”

  The boy looked at her with wide golden eyes, and cocked his head just like the little eagle on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want him to die.”

  On impulse, Shona ruffled the boy’s dark hair. I wonder what color it is without the dye. Goldeyes turned his head to follow her hand, but the bird didn’t seem agitated that she’d come so near; in fact, it was almost preternaturally calm.

  “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. I don’t think you even understand what you’re a part of. “But I have to go now.”

  “Will you come back? They always leave me alone.”

  “I… I don’t know. Maybe I will.” If they catch me before I get on a basket. For a moment, she was seized by the urge to take him away with her. He just seemed so innocent—he would be utterly helpless against Castar’s manipulations. But I’ll never get him by Cer Roden, and I can’t help anyone if I’m caught. “Goodbye, Eroh.” I’m sorry. She stood from her chair and started back the way she’d come.

  A raised voice stopped her, fro
m the room to the west. Benedern. “His eyes were enough today, but we’ll need him to speak soon. You must get him to memorize his part! All he wants to do is play with that bird!”

  A calm voice answered. “We all expected more time to prepare. Next time he will be ready.”

  Shona knew she should leave, but curiosity took command of her feet. Who is this “Grandfather”? It had to be the other guest Dasson had mentioned. The blind man. The door was just slightly ajar—she could risk a peek. She moved toward the small crack and peered through.

  Benedern stood facing another someone she didn’t know; the high chastor’s back was to her, but she could see the stranger’s face, an older man with grey hair.

  He had no eyes.

  God Above. Dasson said he was blind, but… It had to have been done to him—he couldn’t have been born that way. His eyes had been dug out of their sockets; on either side of his nose there were only deep, scarred recesses.

  And yet, somehow, at that moment, his head twisted in her direction, and suddenly those empty hollows were staring right at her.

  He sees me. She couldn’t explain it—it seemed impossible—but she could feel it. He knew she was there.

  Shona ran.

  She pushed through the door she’d entered by and past Cer Roden, ignoring whatever words the young knight shouted at her back as she sprinted into the open air. Descending the eyrie’s steps had felt like falling before—now she was all but plummeting, rushing toward the sharp crags below faster than she could control. There were people around her, groups of men and women making their way down from the nest; she felt their eyes on her, but she didn’t stop. She had to get to the baskets, had to get out of there and tell the Nine Peaks what she’d learned. Had to get away before the man with the empty eye sockets found her.

  She careened off the final stair, stumbled onto the path below, felt herself skid toward the edge. She couldn’t stop.