Page 20

W ith my assistance, Florentius moves the dying into healing baths, where he spells them to make them more comfortable while also pushing in the poxy herbs.

Their skin quickly grows rashy and forms boils and I have to look away.

Their last moments, and I’m the one insisting on disrespecting their bodies. ..

If there is such a thing as fairness, as true justice, I will be made to pay for this. But... this plan, if it works, will save not only Skeldars, but also Wyrds. It is better overall. It’s worth it.

As planned, I stir up panic. I drop a bucket of water near the lines outside the mess tents and hold up a hand forming boils.

Soldiers turn towards the commotion, to this servant woman suddenly shrieking.

When I have enough eyes on me, I cry, “Something’s wrong with the river water!”

While they back up, leaving a ring of space around me, Wyrd Quin snaps his way over and prods the bucket with his cane. Then makes a show of prodding my hand, lifting it with his cane again for all to see. “Everyone stand back. Someone warn the commander. I’ll get her to isolation.”

I sob my way out of their view until I’m safely behind some tents, where Quin takes the pouch I gave him and pulls out the antidote. I smear the oil over my hand and slip on gloves to cover the skin. It’ll take a fair few hours to fully recover, but the rest of my skin is spotless.

From the shadows, Quin and I watch as Wyrds stumble off in agitation. And perfectly on time, two healers and Florentius run towards the commander’s tent.

We follow, hiding ourselves, as more Wyrds—upon seeing the frantic approach of the healers—begin spiralling into chaos. The word poxies is being thrown from tent to tent, and with it whispers that the water is the source.

The healers bring news of deaths, and fear. “It must be quickly contained. All water collected from the river must be discarded.”

“We won’t last three days without water,” an officer barks.

“What about our homes? The river runs west.”

The commander is grim-faced as he tells his generals and officers to keep order, but there’s sufficient panic now that he has to respond with urgency. He orders half his generals to take their men and block the river. “Spread out along the border; no one with poxies enters our kingdom.”

“If this truly is an outbreak, we’ll need reinforcements.”

The commander grimaces and urges the men to action .

Quickly, the whole camp is in upheaval as the Wyrd army halves.

“Move,” I murmur, willing the commander to get far enough from his tent for Quin and me to get Akilah out. “Come on...”

Quin scans the area and speaks low. “I’ll lure him away. You get Akilah and reach the horses Florentius has ready for us at the river.”

In the chaos of the camp, I can do it.

He continues, “If I’m not there, don’t wait.”

Florentius will lead us towards the pass. He’ll use his magic to get up the cliffs.

Quin moves and I grab his arm, halting him. My gaze hits and holds his. Words are trapped behind the lump in my throat. He squeezes my hand and nods, then canes off.

Within a few minutes, new shouts hit my ears.

“The hound got out! The hound is loose!”

The commander rushes out of his tent. “Which way?”

Soldiers point and the commander gestures for two of his guards to help him catch his beloved dog.

Four guards and freeing Akilah to navigate without getting caught.

I rummage in the pouch, pull out two glass bottles, spill some vinegar in one and mix in a pinch of crushed phosmiris.

Setting it under the back of a tent far enough away, I grab the bottle of the commander’s tonic.

Swiftly, I move towards my goal. One of the guards halts me.

“You were here already.”

I bow. “There’s upheaval in the healing tents. I was instructed to make sure this is delivered to the commander before it gets lost in the disarray.”

The guard hesitates. “Come back when he’s returned.”

I speak softly. “The healers need all helping hands in the healing tents. I’ve seen the poxies up close. They’re spreading quickly.” I lift the tonic. “You can take it inside, if you like?”

The Wyrd, realising he’ll have to touch me to take it, hesitates. “Drop it on his table. Quick.”

As soon as the door flaps shut behind me, I rush to Akilah’s side. She jerks her head up, eyes wide. I press a finger to my mouth and she nods. Quickly, I unknot her binds.

She whispers, gesturing to the door, the guards.

“Wait for it,” I mouth and peek out a crack.

Within seconds there are startling popping sounds and someone yells, “Fire!”

Alchemy to the rescue!

The guards rush towards the smoke, and Akilah and I use the distraction to slip out of the tent and merge into the general chaos of the camp. I’m holding her hand tightly and I can’t bear to let her go until we reach the river, where horses and plant-collection baskets wait.

Quin isn’t here.

And Florentius—

Emerges from a nearby tent and strides toward us, his gaze locked onto Akilah, his tired creased expression melting into relief.

His gaze falls to our hands and he plunges his between us, pulling her from me.

He whisks her behind the cover of the nearest tree and engulfs her, dirtied clothes and all, into a hug.

His hands glow with a spell that sinks into her and Akilah presses her forehead against his neck and sobs.

I look away with a hard swallow, and spy two Wyrds headed our way. I grab the baskets. “Akilah, catch!”

She pulls back and grabs the basket in time, and Florentius urges her onto his horse. I leap onto a second one.

“Where are you off to?” a Wyrd demands.

“It’s a poxy outbreak. I need to collect the necessary plants.”

“Send the women.”

“The faster I start consuming, the more I’ll save.”

The Wyrds grunt. “Hurry.”

When they walk away, I let out the breath I’d been holding. Florentius doesn’t linger; he leaps behind Akilah and urges his horse towards the bridge in the distance.

He glances at me scanning the camp. “There’s a horse there for him.”

I follow behind, lagging as I keep looking over my shoulder.

Two skittish guards at the bridge see Florentius and our baskets and let us through. They must be familiar with him. They must want him to hurry with a cure.

Barely a half-dozen hoof-steps onto the bridge, shouts slam into us from behind. “Stop them!”

Two dozen Wyrds are running in formation towards the bridge. Another six come on horseback. Fast. “Commander’s prisoner is gone.”

The guards whirl around, drawing swords.

We’ve come so far—we’re so close. Half a bridge, then the cliffs where Florentius can use magic to help us scale the pass.

These soldiers are too fast. Florentius and Akilah are too heavy to outrace them. They’ll be caught by the end of the bridge. Unless...

I yell to Florentius, who’s hesitating between fight and flight. “Tell Commander Kjartan I sent you. Go!”

He hears something in my voice that makes him listen. With a last clash of his gaze on mine, he digs his heels in and urges his horse into a sprint. My pulse thrums as I watch them disappear over the bow of the bridge, and with a frightened gulp, I pull my horse around, facing the oncoming force.

Riders and neat walls of soldiers advance, glinting with blades, shields, and armour. Their footsteps pound in unison and shake the bridge. Will I be able to hold them back, even for a moment?

I rear my horse, slowing them slightly. No one touches my friends.

The saddled Wyrds grunt and swing their weapons. More are rushing towards the bridge behind those already swarming onto it. In their eyes, I’m merely one defenceless woman on horseback.

I yank off my gloves and slice my hand as they charge.

I throw blood out in a large arc between us .

“I have poxies!”

The riders come to a skidding halt.

I slice and throw more blood towards them.

“A single drop and you’ll be infected.”

I lift my boil-covered hand high.

Hisses. Curses. Someone orders for archers to be brought.

Fear riddles through me, and I pray Florentius and Akilah have made it to the other side. That they’ll make it to safety.

A Wyrd spears a short sword towards me and I dodge it, deeply grateful for all my drakopagon experience.

“Archers!” comes a booming call, and the riders part. The footsoldiers kneel, holding shields above their heads until all I see is a metallic path leading to nocked arrows.

My hands shake around my reins. Do I try to outrun them, or plunge in hoping they’ll scurry back afraid of my blood?

An icy shiver slinks through my middle.

Too late.

Glinting arrows hurtle in a large arc into the sky.

For a moment, everything becomes still: the Wyrds’ shouts disappear; the breezes cease; even the sunlight dulls. And then—

A savage gust slams into me, so sharp it stings in my lungs and the hairs on my nape prickle. The arrows flying overhead are thrown far behind me.

On the same gust is a magnificent sight. The world fills with life again: men gasping; winds impossibly strong; sunlight beaming brightly with a dark shape leaping before it, soaring high, soaring fast. Quin, on his horse, flying over the Wyrd army.

The wind fades with the clop of hooves hitting the bridge.

I’ve forgotten how to breathe. An entire Wyrd army stretches threateningly before us, and my eyes are caught on Quin as he roars. “Mine!”

The bridge is made smaller. There is hope in my heart. For a few seconds, the Wyrd stare, mouths gaping in disbelief. They shuffle uneasily.

But they hold strong.

A volley of arrows flies into the air, and a blinding light flares as Quin’s shield erupts. The arrows clang against the shimmery dome around us and fall, but their force ripples through Quin’s body.

My pulse jumps.

A horn blows.

The Wyrd army parts for the commander, his armour glinting under the sun. He lifts an arm and lets it fall.

Wyrds charge towards our dome and Quin buckles at each assault. His stance is unsteady, and the Wyrd are relentless. He grits his teeth.