Eroh cocked his head. So he was… like a king?
We have no kings, Zerill signed. Arvur brought us together because he saw that it needed to be done, and asked nothing in return. He did not seek to be named Grandfather at that first Kinmeet, when the three kins were formed, nor ever after. But all three honor him as their own for what he did. That is why we call him All-Kin. Ever since he united the first ancestors, we have survived by standing together and protecting our own. And you are one of us. That is why I do not think you will be turned away.
But I’m not the same as you, Eroh signed, his frown returning. My eyes are different.
It doesn’t matter. You come from the Swamp. You are one of us. That will mean something to the Kinmeet.
I heard you say that I remind you of someone. Eroh looked up at her with what might have been a hopeful expression, if not for those predator’s eyes. Maybe they will see it too. Who were you talking about?
Azra. My sister’s daughter. Zerill smiled. I used to tell her the stories of our people whenever I was at the Kinhome, when she was younger. I showed her how to hide, how to climb, how to read tracks. She was always very eager to learn. Like you. She is only— Zerill stopped herself there. She’d been about to tell him Azra was a few years older than him, but she didn’t actually know for certain. He was so slight and so guileless that she thought of him as younger, but he could have been near Azra’s age. How old are you, Eroh?
He thought about it for a moment, and then signed, I don’t remember. Am I supposed to know?
That was strange, and he’d said before that he didn’t know where he’d learned the sign-speech, either. How could he remember so little of his own life? Your grandfather never told you?
I didn’t know he was supposed to count the years, Eroh signed. I don’t think he cared very much about things like that.
What do you remember? Can you tell me anything about where you were before this?
Eroh furrowed his brow. All I remember is grandfather. I… have dreams sometimes, though. I don’t like them.
Why not? What do you dream about? She’d noticed him shaking in his sleep these last nights; he always slept close to her. She’d just drawn him closer to share warmth, assuming it was the chill of the Swamp. Apparently, she’d been wrong.
It’s dark, and… it hurts, and someone is screaming, and I want to help, but I… I can’t… Eroh trembled, and there was a faraway look in his eyes.
Zerill clasped his arm. We don’t have to do this now, she signed. I’m sorry. She wanted to know more—wanted to know what the old man had done to this poor boy—but it was clearly upsetting to him, and she couldn’t make him remember what he didn’t. There would be better times and places to delve into his past.
His eyes focused on her, and he blinked as he came back to himself. His hand was still shaking slightly as he signed, Was… was there somebody who counted how old you are?
Zerill nodded. My sister. Her name was Azlin. She is… gone, now. Her throat tightened; she was glad she was using the sign-speech and didn’t have to control her voice. She took care of me after we lost our parents. Taught me most of the things I’ve showed you. We weren’t always as close as we should have been, but… she cared, and so did I, even if we didn’t always say it. Maybe it is the same with your grandfather. She doubted that, but it seemed a harmless lie, if it made the boy feel better.
No. Eroh shook his head, but he didn’t look upset—more like he was simply explaining a fact he’d always known. He never said it, but he never did anything else either. He should have taught me things, and counted my age, and told me where I came from. If he had done that, then I would have known. He didn’t care. Not the way your sister did for you.
Tears stung Zerill’s eyes, and for a moment she missed Azlin so much it made her chest hurt. Impulsively, she pulled Eroh close and wrapped her arms around him. For a long time she held him tight, and when she finally pulled back, she kept one hand on his shoulder. I will look after you, then, she signed. The way she did for me. Everybody should have someone like that.
Eroh smiled. She didn’t know if she’d seen him do that before, but when he did, it softened the solemnity of his face so that he looked almost like the child he was. I would like that, he signed.
Zerill smiled back, and squeezed his shoulder. Come now, she signed, and stood from her crouch. We have work to do.
She strode to the northwest, and Eroh fell into step behind her, as quiet as any Shadowfoot Zerill had ever known. The boy wasn’t entirely confident in his sign-speech, but he moved like he’d been sneaking through the Swamp all his life.
The place the highlanders called the Toadthroat was easy to find by the noise alone—that was why they used it as a meeting spot. It was little more than a stagnant pond where hundreds of marsh-toads laid their eggs, but the natural formation of stone ridges around the water amplified the sound so that it could be heard for quite some distance. A perfect beacon for highlanders. If they got lost in the dark, they could still follow the sound.
It didn’t take long to locate the knights by the noise they made, either: shuffling feet and clinking metal and the low murmur of loudspeech, easily audible even over the constant croaking. They probably think they’re being quiet. I almost feel sorry for them. There were perhaps a hundred of them; at their very stealthiest, even half that many highlanders would have betrayed their location from a half-mile away.
They’d been smart enough not to light any fires or lanterns to draw Castar’s men to them—assuming, of course, that this wasn’t a trap set by Castar. Some held clumps of spiritmoss, but otherwise they had no light. They’d congregated in a clearing a short distance from the pond, just outside the grip of the ridges that would have made a perfect ambush location. Zerill felt a pang of annoyance that they had thought of that. Even if it really was Morne, the advantage would have made her feel better.
Zerill’s eye was still swollen half-closed, and there were too many knights, all wearing black from neck to ankle. At some fifty yards away they all looked much the same—she couldn’t pick Morne out, and without a familiar face, she had no way to know that they weren’t Castar’s men. We have to get closer, she signed to Eroh, and drew her spear. She wished the knights hadn’t taken her boots—it would have been safer to approach from the canopy, but trying to climb a boggrove without spurs or strap would only waste time. Instead, she approached the clearing from the ground, darting quietly from tree to tree for cover.
Halfway there, a figure parted from one of the boggroves and blocked her way.
Zerill stepped in front of Eroh and raised her spear, blood pounding in her ears. She didn’t like her chances against an armored Storm Knight, not with one hand and an eye she could hardly see out of, but if it was one of Castar’s men, she wasn’t going to surrender without a fight. But the man held no weapon and wore no armor, and when she looked closer, she knew him.
Verik.
Her spear was in her good hand, so she couldn’t sign; instead she closed the distance in three short steps, and then she was hugging him, as relieved as she’d ever been. She winced when his arms squeezed her bruised ribs, but she didn’t want to let him go.
Verik noticed her flinch, though, and he stepped back. When he saw her face, his brow furrowed. What did they— His hand stopped, and he shook his head. Later. No time. He took her by the arm and pulled her into the shadow of the tree he’d emerged from; Zerill grabbed Eroh’s hand and drew him along with them.
Zerill shifted her spear into her left hand, and gripped it with two fingers and her thumb. What is it? she signed. What are we hiding from?
Korv and his hunters have been tracking the knights. Verik’s eyes darted upward as he signed, searching the treetops. They’re hidden all around here. I think he is waiting for you to show yourself so he can take you again. They might already have seen you.
If they had, we would already be surrounded, signed Zerill. You’ve kept out of sight?
If Korv kno
ws I’ve been following, he hasn’t done anything about it.
These knights, they’re led by a woman called Falyn Morne. Have you seen her? Were any of them taken by Castar?
I haven’t gotten close enough to know for certain about the woman, but I have heard her name. And they were never captured. I opened the wall for them, and I’ve been following since. Castar hasn’t laid any traps. But Korv has. We should get away before he sees us.
No. Even if I don’t show myself, Korv might attack. A Heartspear doesn’t easily ignore a chance to kill highlanders when they’re right in front of him. I have to stop that from happening. These are allies we need, and more bloodshed between our people and theirs helps no one.
But—
I have to, Verik. She crouched in front of Eroh. This is my friend Verik. I’ve told you about him. You can trust him as you would trust me. I need you to stay with him while I take care of this.
Eroh glanced at Verik and shook his head. I want to come with you.
Soon, she signed, and hoped it would prove to be true. But I need you to wait right now. You wanted to learn the ways of the Abandoned, and this is one of them—we know how to hide and wait for our moment.
He nodded. Then… I’ll wait.
Take care of him for me, Verik. She was already sprinting toward the knights before he could answer. It wouldn’t take long for one of Korv’s hunters to see her, and once she’d been seen, she had to reach the highlanders before someone stopped her.
She spoke between breaths as she ran. “Falyn Morne. It’s Zerill. I am coming out to meet you. Tell your men not to harm me.”
Startled loudspeech from ahead, and then, “Take her, don’t hurt her.” Zerill recognized Falyn Morne’s voice.
She also recognized a short chittering from behind and above that she was sure didn’t come from any boggard. One of Korv’s men, signalling for them to move.
She emerged from the boggroves into the clearing with her arms up, holding her spear overhead. A dozen knights surrounded her instantly. One man took her spear, and another wrenched her arms behind her back to hold her still. Zerill didn’t fight them.
Cer Falyn approached, holding a handful of spiritmoss, and leaned close to peer at Zerill’s face. “It’s her,” she said. “Where are the others?”
“Near,” said Zerill. “Safe.” From all sides, highlander knights stared at her with wide eyes—most of them had never heard one of the Abandoned speak before. “But my people are not going to let you leave here with me. I need you to keep your men from hurting anyone. I can—”
“What are you talking about?” Morne narrowed her eyes, and swept her gaze over the surrounding darkness. “What have you done? Tell me where Eian is, right now.”
There wasn’t time to explain; if Morne wasn’t going to listen, maybe Korv would. Zerill looked into the treetops at the edge of the clearing. “Listen to me, Korv,” she called. “No one needs to die here. I will give myself up.” He just might listen, if he thought he needed her to find Josen. A highlander who had seen the Kinhome could be a terrible threat to the Abandoned—it had to be his first priority.
Morne stepped closer and grabbed her shoulder in a grip as strong as highlander steel. “What are you—”
Vines unfurled from above, and then Korv’s men were descending from the treetops all around the clearing. The highlanders were surrounded in an instant.
“Ambush!” Morne’s bellow cut cleanly through the sounds of croaking toads and startled men. “At arms!” She cleared her own blade from its scabbard, and pointed it at two of the men holding Zerill. “Don’t let her go. This is some swampling trick. I knew we couldn’t trust her.”
The highlanders formed a hasty circle around Zerill and Morne, shoulder to shoulder, ready to defend themselves; the hunters made a circle of their own a few steps back, spears pointing inward. The darkness was on the Heartspear’s side, and they had the superior position, but they were three dozen against near a hundred knights with superior arms and armor. Even if Korv had left some hiding in the trees—and he almost certainly had—it would be a costly fight.
But Korv’s men didn’t attack. Both sides stood ready for a long moment, each waiting for the other to move, to reveal some opening.
And then Zerill heard something she hadn’t expected: Korv’s voice. She’d hoped he might listen, but never that he would speak. “Highlanders. We only want Zerill.”
He stood at the north edge of the circle, his club balanced on his shoulder. The Maker Skala stood behind him; Zerill was relieved to see that she hadn’t killed the woman. If it did come to a fight, the deepcraft was an advantage Korv and his hunters would badly need.
Korv’s words drew uneasy murmurs from the knights. They’d been surprised to hear Zerill speak aloud; a second voice from the Abandoned pushed surprise into fear. From somewhere to her left, Zerill heard one man whisper to another, “They can talk? If they’ve been listening to us all this time… they might have heard anything.” And he was far from the only one to share a similar sentiment. Zerill didn’t know what to make of it herself. For Korv to speak in front of highlanders might mean that he could be reasoned with—or that he meant to kill them all before they could spread the tale. But he told me once that he’d seen too many of his men die fighting highlanders already. Ancestors, I hope he meant it.
“Spirit of All, suddenly they’re all orators,” Morne muttered under her breath. Then, louder, “If you mean to make us lower our guard, it won’t happen, swampling. I don’t know what trick this is, but you should have surprised us when you had the chance.”
“No trick,” said Korv. “We hunt Zerill, not you. If she had not spoiled it we would have ambushed, yes. But now… too much blood on both sides. Give her to us and we go.”
Morne narrowed her eyes at that, and peered at Zerill again. “You really aren’t with them, are you?” she asked quietly. “Which means… is Eian alive? Was that the truth?”
Zerill just dipped her head slightly.
Morne sighed. “Then I can’t hand you over.”
“You can,” said Zerill. “Give me up and no one dies. My part is done. Find your lord general and protect Josen and Eroh. They are what matters.”
“If it was up to me, I would do exactly that. I don’t care in the least whether you live or die.” Morne gave her a sour smile. “But Eian would never let them take you.” She raised her voice once more. “They don’t lay a hand on her. Lord general’s orders. We fight!” Holding her sword high, she shouted, “We are the Storm!”
The knights advanced. The Abandoned moved in to meet them.
“Stop!” Zerill shouted, nearly a scream.
“Stop!” A man’s voice echoed just after, from the south. Zerill turned to see Eian Gryston sprinting out of the boggroves behind Korv’s hunters. Josen and Shona followed close behind. “Falyn, stop this!” A Heartspear had her spear at his throat before he finished speaking; Gryston made no move to fight.
Morne responded instantly. “Hold!” The knights came to a confused halt. In a few spots around the circle swords met spear-blades; stone grated roughly on steel. If anyone on either side struck back, a fight would be inevitable.
“Korv, you have to listen!” Zerill pulled against the men holding her. “The Abandoned are in danger. Listen, and then I will come with you.”
Korv signaled with one hand. All around the clearing, his hunters took a half-step back, though they kept their spears ready. The woman who had stopped Eian took his sword and tossed it aside, and then pressed her spear to his neck, pulling him with her; he didn’t resist. Two Heartspears moved to take Josen and Shona hostage as well, gripping their arms and dragging them back.
“Speak,” Korv said, and nothing more.
“You know what I am trying to do,” said Zerill. “It is more important than ever now. The boy I told you about is real. His name is Eroh, and he is one of us. He is here, nearby.” She pointed at Josen. “This man must reach the Plateaus, and show Eroh to the hi
ghlanders. Lenoden Castar means to take the crown for himself, and this is the best way to stop him. We do not have much time. He may be marching on the Plateaus already.”
Korv was silent for a moment, and then he said, “You called highlanders to us with your voice, before. I need more than words to believe you now. Where is the boy?”
“Verik!” Zerill called his name, and a moment later Verik emerged from the boggroves behind Josen and the others, leading Eroh by the hand. Two Heartspear men fell into step on either side, and escorted them around the circle to meet Korv.
Korv leaned down to peer at Eroh’s face and eyes. “So,” he said, “the boy is real.” He was silent a moment, looking into those golden eyes, and then he stood straight again. “Still, why does it matter to us what highlander rules? Castar is an enemy, yes. But this man has killed as many.” He pointed his spear across the circle at Gryston. “They are all the same. Whoever is king, we suffer.”
Zerill shook her head. “They are what they are, but some are worse. Do you truly believe we will not suffer more if Castar is king? We will see more purges than we have in a hundred years.”
“She’s right.” Shona said, and Zerill could hear the quaver of fear in her voice as the Heartspear holding her arms tightened his grip in response. “He means to redouble the purges. I heard it from his own lips. He believes the Peaks would fall apart without a common enemy, and if he wins the throne, he’ll need to point attention away from the way he did it. Your people will be his distraction.”
Another long silence, and then Korv asked, “What would you have me do?”
“Take me to the Kinhome,” said Zerill. “I will try to make them see that we must do all we can to stop Castar, and I will accept my judgement if I cannot. But let the others go.” It was the best thing she could think of. Josen didn’t need her anymore—Morne’s knights would make sure he reached the Plateaus.
“I made an oath in Kinmeet,” said Korv. “If I bring only you and Verik—”
The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1) Page 63