“But still we are being on the wrong side of the lake,” Inko said.
“And we’ll all get leeches.” Sparrow squawked, as if his voice was finally changing.
Achan smirked. Maybe the boy would finally grow into his boots. “What? The herbalist has no use for leeches?”
Sparrow’s voice fell. “Bloodletting is not one of my skills.”
“We must be crossing the lake first.” Inko’s worry never ceased. “Tsaftown is being north.”
“Is it really? North, you say?” Sir Caleb’s tone brought a hush over the boat. “You think Gavin has forgotten where he grew up?”
“Of course that’s not what I’m—”
“Then have a little faith, Inko,” Sir Caleb said. “King Axel didn’t make Gavin commander for his handsome face.”
The silence lingered. Achan propped his elbows on his knees and set his forehead in his palms. He’d known Inko and Sir Caleb for two days. They never agreed. Inko risked nothing, trusted no one, and questioned everything. Sir Caleb, on the other hand, was game for pretty much anything. How in all Er’Rets had these men served together year after year?
His left cheek twinged. He fought the urge to scratch under the bandage Sparrow had wrapped around his head and chin. He must look like a man with a toothache. The memory of Esek drawing Ôwr’s sharp edge across his cheeks filled his mind’s eye, and he gritted his teeth.
“Did you really grow up in Tsaftown?” Sparrow asked.
“Aye.”
Perhaps Sir Gavin knew Lady Tara? Achan pushed the useless thought away. Sir Gavin had never been one to open up, as Sparrow would soon discover. Achan shivered. The Evenwall had left his clothing damp. What would they do come night? How would they even know when night arrived?
At least he had one change of clothes. The shirt and doublet Gren had made him were in Sir Caleb’s pack. No point changing now if they were going to wade. He clenched his teeth through another shiver and hugged himself.
“I feel as though my blood is freezing.” Sparrow echoed Achan’s thoughts. Had the boy read his mind? Achan still couldn’t tell when someone was in his head. He really wanted to learn that trick.
“Wait until we reach Ice Island,” Sir Caleb said. “It’s so cold your beard will frost.”
Achan laughed, and the wounds on his cheeks throbbed. “Hear that, Sparrow? You best get started on that beard or you’ll have nothing to warm that chubby face.”
“And your beard is so much better?”
Achan tried to sound wise despite the awkward lull his wounds gave his voice. “I’ve never tried for a beard, but I’m sure I could grow one if these men would stop shaving me. You, however, haven’t even the fuzz of a peach on your chin.”
“We’ll stop shaving you now,” Sir Caleb said. “We’ll all need beards for Tsaftown, for warmth and disguise.”
Inko exhaled a deep breath. “Gavin, be assuring me you’re having more of a plan than to be traipsing across Darkness.”
“We head for Mirrorstone. We need supplies.”
“Mirrorstone?” Achan spun toward Sir Gavin’s voice, his movement rocking the boat. “Is not Lord Eli loyal to Prince Gidon?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, Prince Esek?” He’d never get used to it. The man he’d always known to be Prince Gidon Hadar was actually Esek Nathak. And he—Achan—was the prince: Prince Gidon. So strange.
“Don’t call him ‘prince,’” Sir Caleb said. “He’s a fake and usurper who doesn’t deserve the respect.”
“Regardless,” Inko said, “Mirrorstone is lying on the south side of the lake. We need to be crossing Arok Lake, to be going north. The longer we’re lingering, the more time we’re allowing those Kingsguard soldiers to be—”
“Can we discuss this later?” Sir Caleb said. “I’d really like to get these leeches off me.”
Sir Gavin sighed. “Back into the water then, Caleb. The rest of you might as well ride ’til we get a bit closer.”
The boat rocked, leather scraped over wood, branches cracked, water splashed. Then the boat jerked forward. Sparrow fell backward off his bench into Achan’s lap and squeaked like a mouse. Achan laughed and groped for the boy’s arm to help pull him up, but Sparrow swatted him and scrambled away.
Achan ignored the boy’s antics. “How do they even know where they’re going?” He paused at the throb in his cheeks. “I can see as well as any of them, and I see nothing.”
“But Sir Gavin is not using only his eyes. He can be smelling the trail like a wolf,” Inko said. “Though I’m fearing he should be crossing the lake now.”
Achan had never trusted his life to a man’s sense of smell. He’d always assumed Sir Gavin’s Great Whitewolf title came from his mismatched eyes and long white hair. But maybe the man had a wolf’s sense of smell too. Regardless, Achan would rather be with Sir Gavin than anyone else. Except maybe Prince Oren, his uncle. All his life Achan had been a stray: a slave without any family to claim him. Lower even than a slave. Now that he found he had an uncle and cousins, Achan wanted to know them. He fingered his uncle’s signet ring on his left middle finger.
A crown, however, Achan did not want.
The knights towed the boat inland. Branches scraped the sides and scratched Achan’s arms if he wasn’t careful to stay seated in the center. After hundreds of broken branches and dozens of mosquito bites, the boat grated to a stop.
“You all climb out now.” Sir Gavin’s voice came from Achan’s left. ’Tis quite swampy, so keep your feet moving.”
“This is insanity,” Sparrow said, seized with a bout of his bossy nature. “How can you even know where you are going? You could be wading in a circle.”
“Gavin is the best guide in Er’Rets,” Sir Caleb said. “Plus, I’ve tied a rope to Gavin and each of us will hold on. That should keep us together. If you don’t like it, you and Inko may take your chances in the boat. But, Your Majesty, you don’t get a choice. Come down next. Put your sword over your shoulder to keep it dry. And take care, the lake bed is quite mucky.”
Achan unbuckled his belt, wrapped the leather band over his head and one arm, and fastened it so his sword—Eagan’s Elk—hung down from his front right shoulder. He swung one leg over the side, the boat tipped, and he fell sideways into frigid water. In his panic, he took in a mouthful of putrid, slimy water before his boots sank into the sludge.
“You all right, Your Majesty?” Sir Caleb asked.
Achan spat, clearing the bitter taste from his mouth. “Aye.” He patted Eagan’s Elk to make sure it hadn’t fallen off his shoulder. So much for keeping it dry. The water rose to his chest. An icy chill clapped onto his body. His muscles ached from endless shivering. Were leeches already biting his flesh?
A cold hand gripped Achan’s shoulder and something stiff pressed against his chest. “Take the rope,” Sir Caleb said into Achan’s right ear. “There should be a knot.”
Achan felt the coarse rope until his fingers found the knot. He clutched it in his right hand and tried to remain calm, though the blackness made it difficult. This must be what a blind man experienced daily.
“Inko? Vrell? Made up your mind?” Sir Caleb asked.
“Of course we’ll be going with you.” Though Inko’s tone proclaimed displeasure.
“How deep is it?” Sparrow asked.
“Too deep,” Achan said. “Even if Sparrow managed to tiptoe in this muck, only the top of his head would break the surface. I’ll carry him on my back.”
“Your Majesty, everyone is knowing that’s no job for you,” Inko said.
Achan reached out until his hand hit the side of the boat, then turned his back to it and almost lost a boot in the sludge. “Get on, Sparrow, before I change my mind. And if I’m holding you up, you get the rope.”
After a long, ungraceful moment, in which Achan nearly dropped Sparrow in the lake, the boy sat on Achan’s back, clinging to his throat. He took the rope from Achan’s hand.
Achan hiked Sparrow up his back again and held him under hi
s knees. “Don’t choke me.”
Inko climbed out, and the companions left the boat behind. They waded along, tethered by Sir Caleb’s rope, trusting nothing but Sir Gavin’s nose to lead them. Achan hoped Sir Gavin’s nose wouldn’t start running from the cold. At least Achan had Sparrow’s hot breath to warm his neck.
He trudged on, each step a battle between the muck gripping his boots and the branches snagging his clothes, as if walking in a lightless void weren’t awkward enough. Sparrow had better hold on, because he made no guarantee he could keep this up for long. Slowly, the water level dropped away. When it lapped around Achan’s thighs, he set Sparrow on his feet.
Achan waded, rope tugging him along, body lurching through the sludge under his boots. Sound, smell, the cold…it all seemed to magnify without light. The water gurgled and splashed from the party’s movement. But there were other sounds—a hiss, a rattle, a pecking—from overhead. The land smelled sour, like turned pudding.
“There’s a cluster of trees here,” Sir Gavin called from the front of the line. “Careful not to hurt yourselves.”
The water sloshed around Achan’s boots now. He held a hand out in front to feel for the trees. Pulled along by Sir Gavin’s tether, Achan’s hand smacked against slimy bark, and his body slid between several tree trunks, feet stumbling over the gnarled roots. He didn’t want to know what made the trees slimy, especially considering the putrid smell.
Finally they stepped onto dry ground. Achan took his belt and sword off his neck and hooked it around his waist where it belonged. A chill snaked over him. His wet clothes clung to his body; his toes squished in his boots.
“I’m going to light a small torch,” Sir Gavin sniffed in a strong breath, “just ’til we find a place to camp. I won’t burn it long. Any light is a beacon to every living thing.”
Achan bumped into Sir Caleb’s back. Sparrow ran into his. Apparently they were stopping. Achan focused on the sounds of Sir Gavin digging through his pack but pecking distracted him. Could it be a woodpecker? Some kind of cricket?
A torch hissed into a green flame. Achan’s eyes widened at the brightness. Spots flooded his vision until he blinked them away. In the green glow, Sir Gavin’s wrinkled face resembled a dried pear. His hair and frizzy braided beard looked like freshly shorn wool that needed washing. And his eyes—one blue, one brown—shone like emerald and bronze. Achan scanned the charcoal surroundings. Spindly trees rose around them, a forest of gnarled branches that appeared burned, like the dead side of the memorial tree in Allowntown.
“How is it your torch is dry?” Sparrow asked.
“It’s not,” Sir Gavin said. “I’ve a few torchlights made from sulfur and lime. Bought them from a Jaelportian vendor at the market in Mahanaim. They burn even when doused in water. Different colors too.” He pointed left. “In the forest will be best.”
The knight moved away, and the rope pulled the group along single file. Achan followed Sir Caleb, eyes fixed on the allown tree painted on the shield draped over Sir Caleb’s back.
Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb were the only two who carried shields. Achan’s sword, Eagan’s Elk, was long enough to be wielded two-handed, like the longsword Inko carried. Inko also had a bow. Sparrow had a dinky little arming sword. More like a long dagger.
An occasional black shadow scurried up the twisted trunks. What kind of creatures lived in such a place? Achan used to believe nothing could live here until, at the recent tournament, he’d met people who’d come from cities in Darkness.
A prickle on his torso reminded him of Sir Caleb’s leeches. Heat flashed over him. He pressed his fingers to his side and felt a hard lump beneath his clothing. His limbs twitched. Heart stampeding, he released the rope and pulled up his jerkin and shirt. The rope slid past his thigh. Sparrow knocked into his back and yelped.
Achan scratched off the slug-like attachment and flung it away. Squirming, he drew his fingers across his stomach and found another hard lump.
Pig snout.
“What are you doing?” Sparrow asked.
“Leeches. There are leeches all over me.” Achan plucked the second one off and found another on his chest. “Ahh!”
Sparrow cried out. Achan turned to find the boy patting his legs through his trousers. His eyes widened in the green light as they met Achan’s chest.
“You see another?” Achan asked.
Sparrow pointed a shaking finger at Achan’s armpit. Achan lifted his arm, but a hand on his back stopped him.
“Leave them for now, Achan,” Sir Caleb said, his voice commanding. “Don’t pull them off like a madman, lest they leave their teeth in you.”
Achan froze, hands above his head, and took a deep breath. His clothing shifted, then dropped back into place. He swallowed and faced Sir Caleb. “Leave them?”
“They’ll do no harm. We’ll get them off when we stop, if any are still there.”
Sir Gavin’s moustache arched into a frown. “Just a few more moments, I promise you.”
Achan nodded, still panicked at the idea of the creatures sucking his blood, even more alarmed that those he’d removed might have left their teeth in his skin.
“They do not leave teeth in you.” Sparrow’s shaky voice came soft behind him. “But if you pull them too fast, they tend to retch. It’s the excess saliva under your skin that leaves a rash or swells—” Sparrow squealed and plowed into Achan’s back again.
A creature fluttered past Achan’s ear, brushing his hair with its wing. Achan ducked, pulse racing. A moth the size of a pigeon flapped wildly in the green glow.
“That is disgusting.” Sparrow’s voice cracked. “I hate this place. I hate it!”
Achan had to agree. He gripped the rope and straightened, keeping his eyes on the overgrown insect. The rope inched forward. So did Achan. They approached a grove of trees. The crooked branches above twisted together, forming a tunnel and forcing the moth to fly above the briary canopy.
Good riddance.
The trees grew thick and tangled, like a gnarled cage. Achan squinted at the smooth clay beneath his feet. They seemed to be on a game trail. As long as no one was hunting them now…
Sir Gavin ducked under low branches and crept on, tugging the rope along. Achan squeezed between slippery branches. His hair snagged on stiff twigs, ripping out wisps and leaving drips of slime running down his forehead. He wiped the gunk away with his free hand and found it sticky, like pitch.
Sir Gavin stopped suddenly and drove the torchlight into the ground. They were in a clearing the size of two small cottages. The ground was carpeted in soppy, grey moss. The tree branches were tight overhead, almost like a thatched roof.
Sir Gavin shrugged off his pack and shield, catching them before they hit the ground. “I sense humans to the west, which is in the direction of Mirrorstone. We must get there as soon as possible, but it’s still a two-day journey on foot.”
He propped his pack and shield in the branches of a tree on the perimeter. “We’ve only four bedrolls, so we’ll take turns on watch using our ears, noses, and minds.” He pointed behind Sparrow. “Privy is on that end, dinner and sleep is down here by me. Put your packs in the trees to let them dry. Be quick about it. The sooner this torch is out, the better.”
Achan had no pack, only Eagan’s Elk. His change of clothes was in Sir Caleb’s pack. “Do you think the water damaged my sword?”
“Not in that short time,” Sir Caleb said. “When did you last oil the blade?”
Achan’s mouth hung open a moment, his vision flicking to Sir Gavin. “I’ve never done so.”
Sir Caleb stared at Sir Gavin’s back. “Were you not taught?”
Achan swallowed. “I—”
Sir Gavin sighed and answered while rummaging through his pack. “There was no time, Caleb. Nathak banished me the day I gave Achan the blade. Besides, you know I’m no teacher. I’ve done the best I could. But now that he has you, I freely relinquish the honor of his weapons training.”
Achan was thankfu
l for Sir Gavin’s instruction. But could Sir Caleb teach him more? Teach him better?
Sir Caleb glared long and hard at Sir Gavin, as if the crime of not oiling a blade deserved years in Ice Island. Finally he turned to Achan. “I have oil in my pack, Your Highness. For now, remove the blade from the scabbard to give both time to dry. A wet scabbard can rust steel.”
Achan lifted the hem of his shirt to dry Eagan’s Elk. A black mark on his side caught his eye and it all came rushing back. “Can we get these leeches off now?”
“Yes.” Sir Caleb unfastened his jerkin and shrugged it off. “Best take off all your clothes to make sure we don’t miss any.”
Achan set Eagan’s Elk in a nearby tree and stripped down to his undershorts. He stacked his clothing carefully on the branch to avoid having it touch too much slime.
At least a dozen leeches spotted Sir Caleb’s pale and wiry torso. “And that’s why you don’t rip them off. See how much you’re bleeding?”
Achan looked down. Tiny streams of blood ran down his chest like water after a bath.
“Slide your fingernails under to wedge them off.”
Achan mirrored Sir Caleb, plucking the parasites away.
“Be tossing them aside after.” Inko draped his cape in a tree, his grey skin and pockmarked face like a potato full of eyes. “I’m not wanting them crawling on me in my sleep.”
The men paired up to check each other’s backs, Achan with Sir Caleb and Inko with Sir Gavin. Then they checked their own undershorts.
“I’m clean.” Achan pitched the last leech into the trees.
A voice in the woods cried out.
Achan froze. “What was that?”
Sir Caleb wrenched his sword from the branches and advanced on the trees, weapon raised. “In the name of Câan, come out. We mean you no harm.”
3
Vrell clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle another sob and wiped tears from her cheeks.
“Come out, now, or I’ll come in after you,” Sir Caleb said.
To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2) Page 2