“He’s looking to all of us,” Bastan added. He scowled back to where the raft disappeared. “I don’t like it none, not at all. Especially a-hiring that rank lot.”
Nyx followed his gaze, finding it harder to breathe.
Gramblebuck turned their path slightly, aiming toward a wide hump of wet mud fringed by reeds and thistlegrass. Bastan turned his attention forward and tried to guide the old bullock back into the main channel. Gramblebuck wasn’t having any of it. He lowered his horns and continued on his course. He climbed out of the water and up the muck slope, his splayed hooves gouging deep.
“Hang tight,” Bastan said.
Both Nyx and Jace gripped the back of the bench. The front of the sledge lifted as its length was hauled out of the water by the bullock. Dragged forward, it slid atop its runners across the slick mud. The reason behind Gramblebuck’s determination appeared ahead. A spread of blushberry bushes crowned the weedy hillock. Clusters of rosy, ripe berries draped from its branches.
Gramblebuck hauled up to them and used his lips with surprising delicacy to pluck the bunches from each leafy branch. He let out a huffing, rattling sigh, and one long fart of contentment. With a tail swishing back and forth, he set about taking his fill of the ripe bounty, a treat the poor fella sorely needed after his hard day.
Bastan lowered the reins and slouched on the bench. He let the great beast graze. Nyx tried to settle, too, but screams and shouts still carried across the watery breadth of the swamps, keeping her on edge.
Jace stood up and stretched a kink from his back. “Maybe we should—”
A distant blaring of horns silenced him, sounding bright and urgent. Nyx drew to her feet, so did Bastan. They all stared toward the source. From the top of the hillock, the upper tiers of the Cloistery were visible through a break in the trees. Even from this distance, a silver river could be seen flowing down the school’s steps. It was armor reflecting the sunlight of the dying day.
The king’s legion.
With the sacrifice over and the battle ended, it appeared the knights and guards were abandoning the school’s heights, maybe even the entire battered town.
Bastan grumbled under his breath. “I don’t like it none,” he said, repeating his earlier admonishment. “Not at all.”
Nyx looked at him. He met her gaze.
“I’m going back,” he decided aloud.
She clutched a fist to her throat. “What?”
“Gramblebuck will mind you. And you know how to run a sledge right good. You git yourself and this big lad over to Fellfire Scour. I’m going to see what I can do to help Dah and Ablen.”
She understood why he had come to this decision.
He voiced it aloud. “I have a sour pit in my gut about all this.”
She did, too. But she stared from the distant town to the deep swamp. These drowned lands had always been her home. Only now they felt dark and dangerous. Especially on her own.
“You can do this, Nyxie,” Bastan said. He pointed to the tiny raft lashed near the rear. “I’ll take the pole-skiff and do my best to free Dah and Ablen. We’ll meet you at the winter barn.”
She forced her head to nod, recognizing he was going whether she objected to it or not. He climbed over the drover’s bench and left the reins hanging over its back. As he headed past her toward the skiff, she grabbed him and hugged him around the waist. He smelled of sweat and silage—of home.
“Be careful, Bastan.”
He squeezed her back. “Ock, our family … we’re all part bullock. You know that. Nothing can stop us once we get our shoulders into it.” He pulled out of her grip and leaned to her face. “And same goes for you, too, Nyx.”
She smiled, this time without any effort.
He gave her a final hug, then clapped Jace across the back, nearly knocking her friend over. “Ya watch over my sister, or ya’ll answer to me.”
Jace nodded and stammered, “I … I’ll do my best. I promise.”
Satisfied, Bastan freed the skiff, pushed it off the back, then leaped atop it. The skiff skidded down the mud-slick slope and slipped smoothly into the water. Bastan never lost his footing as he rode atop it. Once in the water, he saluted with his pole and set off toward Brayk.
As he disappeared from view, Nyx climbed into the drover’s seat and picked up the abandoned reins. Jace joined her. She gave him a shy smile, grateful for his presence, his friendship.
By now Gramblebuck had finished his feast. With a grunt and belch, he continued over the hummock and down the far side, wading back into the brine. In moments, they were gliding across flat black waters. The channel grew ever narrower. The trees pushed closer. Drapes of moss brushed the tops of their heads.
“How long till we reach the winter barn?” Jace asked.
“Another bell at least,” she whispered, fearful of disturbing the constant low drone and twittering birdsong of the swamplands. But that was not the main source of her anxiety.
She glanced over a shoulder. With Ablen taken and now Bastan vanished, both of her brothers were gone.
Still …
A dark pair of wings swept past overhead.
I do have one brother left.
She found odd comfort in the small bat’s presence, but it did little to stanch the rising dread inside her. She remembered Bastan’s words: I have a sour pit in my gut about all this.
She felt the same, only it grew worse with every league gained. It was as if she was being dragged farther and farther from all she knew, all she loved. Through breaks in the canopy, she caught glimpses of the pale moon low to the west, reminding her of the danger far above.
Moonfall …
She did not want this burden. She had already told the prioress of her dreams and visions. Wasn’t that enough? Surely it was up to leaders and scholars to determine if the threat was real or not. And if it was real, they were also the wisest and best prepared to do something about it.
Not me.
She shoved such lofty fears aside. Instead, she turned her gaze from the mysteries of the sky to the slow trudge of Gramblebuck through the dark waters. A larger and more immediate concern kept her breathing shallow and her heart pounding hard.
She cast one last look over her shoulder.
What is happening back there?
24
STANDING WITHIN THE circle of bonfires, Kanthe considered all the places he could hide. His options were few and growing scarcer. Knights in bloody armor and crimson-faced Vyrllians continued to flow out of Brayk and crowded into the king’s encampment at the edge of the swamp.
Bodies lay strewn all around, dragged or carried here by others. Many had limbs torn off, the stumps field-wrapped in bloody, seeping bandages. Others writhed in poisonous delirium, with skin blackening around deep bites. Even more simply lay on their backs with small strips of cloth over dead, glassy eyes.
Clouds of black flies swarmed thick in the air, drawn by the blood. A handful of knights waved torches, their flames burning with bitter incenses. They tried to smoke the buzzing masses off of the wounded. It was a losing battle as more injured were hauled into the camp.
All around, groans, sobs, and cries echoed—here and across the breadth of the town and school. The misery rose like smoke toward the darkness overhead, where the hordes of bats still massed, winging about in plain threat. Like the knights and guards, the bats were collecting their dead and wounded, carrying them away. Anyone who dared to thwart them were met with savage attacks.