Authors: T. L. Shreffler
“Move,” Burn said. “Hurry!” They quickly packed away the food and climbed back up on the horses. For a moment the four hesitated, pacing about the small clearing, uncertain of which direction to travel. But suddenly Sora felt a nudge inside her—like a finger prodding her back.
That way.
She pointed to a deer path to their right. No need for words. Burn leapt onto the trail and Sora followed suit, her small pinto charging into the woods. Dorian and Crash brought up the rear. With hardly a backward glance, they raced through the forest, the horses leaping nimbly over ferns and rocks.
It worked,
Sora thought, amazed at herself, at the necklace, at the whole damned thing.
By Goddess, it worked!
A small, satisfied grin came to her lips. The necklace wasn't as hard to control as she had thought. Perhaps she wasn't useless after all.
* * *
As they rode, the ground became noticeably less and less firm. The morning stretched on, but the sky didn't grow lighter. Sora felt like it was late evening, as though night had never truly left. Heavy clouds the color of wet stone hung above them, close to the ground. The air was thick with moisture that saturated their clothes. Bursts of drizzle fell, but never full rain. The clouds withheld their downpour, content to sit heavily on top of the trees, watching the mad race below.
The four travelers stayed true to the deer trails and woodland paths. The land off the path was soft and muddy, and sucked heavily at the horses' hooves. Plants thrived in this part of the forest, growing thick and lush, bright emerald against dark wood. The foliage was clumped together, covered in moss and ivy. She saw more and more pools of stagnant water. Trickling streams wended through ditches, overgrown by tall ferns.
“Have we entered the swamp already?” she called out.
“No, but we are at its border. Mayville isn't far from the fringes of Fennbog,” Burn explained. “These lands are a giant river basin. The rain flows into the Crown's Rush.”
Sora nodded at that. The Crown's Rush was the longest river this side of the royal city. She had studied a bit of geography; if one followed the Rush, it would lead straight to the City of Crowns. She also knew that the Rush disappeared into the sludgy mire of Fennbog swamp, nigh impassible. It had never been traveled to the ocean. Boats had a way of vanishing into the bog.
Close to mid-morning, Burn finally eased up on his horse, bringing the small party to a stop. The barks and yelps of the hounds sounded occasionally, a reminder that they were still being hunted. Speed was of the essence. Only a fool would follow them into the swamp.
Only a fool would go there in the first place.
Burn brought them up short, raising his hand. Then he sat atop his horse, half-obscured by a ridge of thick blackberry bushes. Dorian trotted up to his side, nudging past Sora's horse. Crash followed him, treading carefully across the soft ground.
Sora could tell that their steeds didn't like the mud. They kept shifting their weight, lifting one hoof and then another, uncomfortable.
“Why have we stopped?” Crash called.
“An obstruction,” Dorian said sarcastically. “However minor.”
Sora frowned at this. Curious, she led her horse through the remaining bramble to Dorian's side. The trees fell behind them. She looked up, her view no longer obscured by leaves and branches. Her jaw dropped.
A river.
No, worse than a river. A slough. The land dipped down into a wide stretch of brackish water, interrupted by lumps of rust-brown wetland covered in cattails, weeds and Goddess-only-knew-what. Far, far away, on the very edges of her vision, she could see the smooth, towering eucalyptus trees of Fennbog swamp, partially shrouded in a veil of gray mist. Several birds flew back and forth across the open stretch of land, large creatures with long, wide beaks and dangling yellow legs.
“That's not so bad,” she said, looking across the flatland to the tall trees, several miles away. “At least there's no roughage. We should be able to cross in no time.” She shifted her hips and urged her horse down the hill, but Burn reached out and grabbed her reins, stopping her.
“That's not land,” he said, indicating the broad basin.
“No,” Dorian chimed in. “It's mud, the likes of which you have never seen. Enough to swallow our horses and everything else.” The silver-haired man turned to look at her, his brows drawn low. “Nice work, sweetness. That Cat's Eye is certainly useful. We've only reached a dead end.” Then he looked at Crash. “This was a brilliant idea....”
“Quiet, Wolfy,” Crash said darkly. He didn't seem disturbed by the stretch of wetland, but watched coolly from atop his steed, gazing into the distance. The calls of the hounds were growing closer, lighting up the air with eager yelps. Sora felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. They didn't have long to make a decision.
Finally, Crash turned to look at her. “Girl,” he said, “you take the lead.” Then he withdrew a dagger from his belt. He cut the rope connecting her horse to Burn's.
“What?” Sora demanded. She felt as though she had swallowed a handful of dirt.
“You heard me,” he said, sheathing the dagger. “Quickly, use the necklace to get us across this bog. There is no time for doubt.” He watched her with that same cold look, as though she was already disappointing him. Strangely, it reminded her of her father. And even stranger, it lit a small fire inside of her, one of radiant defiance.
“Fine,” Sora snapped, and touched her necklace, hoping it could read her intentions. When she looked out across the wetland, she only felt numb. “Follow me!”
She kicked her steed a little harder than intended. The horse leapt into action, skidding down the hill with a frightened whinny. On its first step into the slough, it plunged knee-deep into the mud. Sora let out a short scream, barely staying in the saddle. She could see the truth of the swamp now. Everything that she had thought was grass—solid ground—was really a soupy, putrid substance that sucked down like quicksand.
“Hyyah!” she shouted, and urged her horse forward. It maneuvered sideways, away from the deep mud. She touched her necklace again. Perhaps it was her adrenaline or the sudden urgency of the situation, but the Cat's Eye responded immediately, nudged by her thoughts.
Sora directed her horse to the right, where the ground was more solid, clumped together by grassroots and shrubbery. Her steed regained its footing, and then they were off, charging across the slough, weaving along a route of long grass, reeds and rotted logs, her Cat's Eye their only guide. Crash and the Wolfies stayed close behind, following her step for step, turn for turn. Countless times she almost lost her footing, but Sora was a keen rider, well-studied, and was able to right her horse.
Perhaps a half-hour into the wetlands, the hounds burst from the forest, howling and yapping in victory, their prey finally in sight. They were big dogs, wolfhounds or larger. Some might have been mutts, mixed with shaggy herding dogs, almost the size of ponies. Sora glanced over her shoulder in horror. The fleeting gray shapes flew down the hill and entered the mire. She hoped that the dogs would plunge straight into the bog.
The pack leader did just that, falling into a well-disguised sinkhole. But a new leader took its place, snapping and snarling, and the hounds quickly regrouped. They followed Sora's trail perfectly. They weren't faster than the horses, but they could certainly keep pace, and the terrain was unpredictable. Her heart sank. She urged her horse faster, praying they didn't plunge into the mud.
Then a hollow, moaning sound floated eerily across the marsh, blending with the mist. A horn. More riders appeared at the hilltop, red uniforms starkly visible against the low, gray clouds. They paused, their horses dancing back and forth, and Sora could imagine their conversation. Doubtless they were looking at the muck, wondering how to cross.
“Follow the hounds!” she heard. The voice was distant and muffled, carried by the empty wind. “Step only where they step! Careful now! Cautious!” A team broke off to follow, albeit at a slower pace. A small group stayed on top of the hill.
Sora smirked at that. Cowards. Their captains had kept to the woods, scared of getting their boots wet. She wondered if Lord Seabourne was among them.
“Watch your backs!” Crash yelled, shaking her from her thoughts. He was several dozen yards behind her, farthest in the rear. “Lean down! Close to your horses!”
“What?” Sora exclaimed, confused. But she saw Dorian and Burn obey. She bent across the saddle, pressing herself to her horse's neck, not a moment too soon. With a quick
ffftttp!
, a black arrow flew past her head, quicker than a bolting sparrow. A shriek escaped her lips despite the warning.
“Blast!” Dorian cried. “They have archers!”
“Run!” Crash's voice reached them. “Faster!”
Sora pressed her horse again, though it was already at its limit. A rain of arrows followed them. Their only hope was to outdistance the archers, but with the ground growing ever softer, it was difficult to maintain her pace. The Cat's Eye's directions came in short bursts and prompts, and she could barely lead her horse, first one way, then the other. Twice she almost plunged into the mire, barely correcting her steed in time. They needed to slow down, step more carefully—but that was far too great a risk.
Then, suddenly, there was no more ground. Sora's horse came to a skidding halt, snorting and whuffing, digging its hooves into the soft earth. She leaned backward, struggling to control her mount. When they finally stopped, she could only stare at the sight before her, mouth slightly open, helpless.
The slough dissolved into an outright river—the Crown's Rush, she assumed. It moved at a sluggish pace, perhaps a half-mile across. Sora had the feeling that this river wasn't normally so wide, but it was the rainy season. The slough was swollen with water from the recently melted snow.
And there, slightly to their left, was a rotted, broken bridge. The water had risen so much that the bridge floated on the river's surface, pieces of it completely submerged. Large stakes protruded from the river every couple of paces, but to Sora's eyes, they looked half-rotted and the ropes well-worn. She doubted any maintenance had been done in the last few years. It was a wonder that thing still stood.
It also appeared to be the only way to cross the river. A coincidence? Or had the Cat's Eye led her straight to it?
If the necklace led me here, then it must be passable,
she thought, gripping the stone. But that was a long shot. She didn't know if that was true; she wasn't experienced enough.
But it was too late to turn back and search for a better route. She could hear the baying of the hounds on their trail, frantic wails and vicious snarls. And the soldiers hadn't given up yet. She leapt from her steed just as another series of arrows rained down upon them, speckling the ground, narrowly missing their horses. Luckily, the arrows were losing their accuracy because of the distance.
Dorian and Burn arrived next to her, immediately fanning out, jumping from their horses and ducking low to the brush. They were both breathing hard, full of adrenaline. The howling had grown to a fever pitch; the dogs could sense they were close to their prey. The horses pawed the ground, panicked, the whites of their eyes showing. Sora knew her mare was one second from bolting. She held on firmly to its reins, staying to one side so she wouldn't get kicked.
She wasn't normally afraid of dogs, but hearing the primitive, brutal snarls struck terror in her heart. These animals weren't just dogs anymore. No, they were hunters fully consumed by the chase. Who knew what a frenzied pack would do?
Crash arrived a second later, leaping from his horse while still in canter. He landed smoothly, running toward them, his sword drawn.
“Should we cross the bridge?” Sora asked, wincing. It sounded more like,
Can I go home now?
“Yes,” Burn said. The response was grim and immediate. “I'll go first. I'm the heaviest. If the supports give, then it'll be under my weight.”
Sora's mouth gaped. “But you'll fall into the river!”
“Sweetness, he's a warrior,” Dorian cut her off. “And a Wolfy at that. Do you really think mud will swallow him?”
Sora pushed Dorian away from her, shaking her head. “You'll need the Cat's Eye,” she tried again.
“I doubt I'll get lost on a bridge,” Burn said, humor in his eyes. “I've crossed more treacherous rivers than this.” He turned back to the sludgy water, feet planted on firm earth, tall and strong. Sora gazed at his muscular back, as wide as a bear, the greatsword reaching almost down to his knees. She raised an eyebrow.
Dorian spoke up, his tone sharp and urgent. “Hurry, Burn, I feel a dog gnawing at my ankle....”
As though summoned by his words, a giant, black wolfhound jumped from the bushes to their right, its coat matted with mud and reeds. Sora gasped, stumbling backwards. The hound turned and snapped at her, its vicious fangs glinting with saliva. It lunged, mouth wide open, flying at her throat.
The
shing!
of steel pierced the air, the glint of a blade. The assassin dodged in front of her, an unexpectedly valiant move, and his blade caught the hound's jaw. It cleaved halfway through its muzzle before lodging into the bone. Crash pulled the hound toward him and rammed a knife into its throat, then tossed the body to one side, dumping it into the slough.