C OLIN HALTED AND TURNED AT THE SHOUTS, Karen doing the same beside him, edging a little closer as the wagon they trailed continued on ahead. Neck craning, he saw horses tearing toward the wagons through the grasses of the plains. Something caught at his throat, made it hard to breathe, and he reached for Karen’s hand.
“He’s there,” Karen said, her voice strained as she entangled his fingers with her own. “They’re all there.”
Colin didn’t relax until his father charged past them, heading toward the front of the wagons, where Sam and Paul steered the wagon train east. Arten and the others sped by on their own horses a moment later, none of them sparing anyone in the wagon train a glance. They were followed by Aeren and Eraeth on foot.
All their expressions were grim.
Colin felt the pressure around his throat tighten. “They look worried,” he said, catching Karen’s gaze. Her eyes were slightly widened. She glanced back toward the west, where the riders had come from, and bit her lower lip.
“Whatever it is,” she said, turning back, “we’ll outrun it.”
Colin nodded, even though he heard the doubt in her voice beneath the forced conviction.
One of the Armory guardsmen, still on horseback, suddenly skidded his mount to a halt beside the still-moving wagon. “We have to pick up the pace,” he gasped. “We need to move!”
He made to turn away, but Colin halted him with a shout. “Why? What is it?”
“The dwarren,” the guard said, irritated. “Hundreds of them, headed this way. A war party. So get these wagons moving!”
Before Colin could respond, he kicked his horse, the animal leaping forward with a snort, head lowered as it charged toward the next wagon.
“Help me,” Karen said, and Colin turned to see her herding the children nearest to them toward the back of the wagon. “Get them up inside. We’ll want to push the wagons as fast as possible, and we don’t want the children to slow us down.”
Colin hefted a little boy up from beneath the armpits, the boy instantly bawling. He handed him off to the boy’s older sister, already inside the wagon.
“Where’s our mom?” the girl asked, voice trembling.
“I don’t know, Lissa,” Karen said. “I’ll try to find her. Just take care of your brother for the moment, please?”
Lissa nodded seriously, hugging her wailing brother closer, her eyes as wide as saucers.
As soon as Karen hoisted the last kid in, Colin slapped the wagon’s back and shouted toward the driver. The wagon lurched forward, trundling over the rough ground, bouncing and rattling. One of the kids cried out as they were thrown from their perch, but then all of them hunkered down beside the supplies. Colin and Karen broke into a trot at the wagon’s back. Colin could see Lissa’s terrified face over the back of the wagon, her eyes watching him, almost pleading. He swallowed against the bitterness in his own throat and looked away. He could think of nothing to say to her, nothing that would make things better.
They ran, the entire wagon train moving far too slowly across the open plains. The initial surge of adrenalin and fear pushed them through the evening hours, but then it began to wear off. Wagons began to lag, people to falter. The Armory rode back and forth along the train, urging everyone forward, but as darkness settled, clouds beginning to move overhead, obscuring the emerging moon and stars, even the Armory began to flag. Lightning flickered in the distance, the ethereal purple lightning of the plains, but they heard no thunder. The storm was moving toward them though. Colin could taste it on the wind, metallic and cold.
When one of the wagon wheels cracked, the driver plowing into a stone he couldn’t see in the darkness, Colin’s father reluctantly called a halt, and the wagons broke and made camp for the night. Tensions were high, men and women snapping at each other as food was prepared, as Paul and the others worked late into the night repairing the wagon wheel, cursing everything and everyone in sight. Colin and Karen settled down near one of the wagons on the grass, both ordered to try to sleep by Colin’s mother as she bustled from one end of the camp to the other. They stared up into the black, featureless sky, listening to activity on all sides-the cursing, the pounding of tools, the sharp cry of a child hushed harshly by a woman’s voice-until Colin heard Karen shift in the darkness, rolling onto her side, elbow propped on the ground.
“Are you scared?” she whispered.
Colin almost lied to her, the words instinctive. But then he thought of the gallows, of the horror of watching the wagon crash down the Bluff, of the terror of hearing the dwarren attacking, of fumbling with the ties on the wagons and smelling the smoke as the people inside cried out and scrabbled at the hides that trapped them.
“Yes,” he murmured and was shocked to hear exactly how scared he was in the roughness of his voice. His could feel his heart beating, faster than usual, and he couldn’t seem to make it slow down.
He jumped when he felt Karen’s hand come to rest on his chest, as if she could hear his heart as well. But then he realized she’d laid her hand over the pendant she’d given him, the vow.
His heart faltered.
“Colin,” she started to say, and Colin heard the question in her voice.
Before she continued, he said, without hesitation, “Yes.” He didn’t know when they’d have time to make the vow, but he knew he wanted it. They’d need Domonic to bind their blood together in the vial of the vow, to marry them in Diermani’s eyes. As a priest, he was the only one in the wagon train who could do it, the only one who had the power.
Karen was silent a long moment. He thought she was crying, but he wasn’t certain until she laid her head down on his chest and he felt the tears seeping through his shirt. He raised a hand tentatively to her head, and as he stroked her hair she nestled in closer. He could feel her trembling, could feel her silent sobs.
Eventually, he felt her grow still, heard her breathing slow. He began to drift off himself, but his mother’s and father’s voices drew him back.
“We’ll never be able to outrun them, Tom!” His mother’s voice was bitter, hard, but practical. “Not if they truly want to catch us. We’re being slowed down by the wagons, by those on foot. The dwarren have gaezels. And if what you say is true, they don’t have to worry about lugging around all of their supplies.”
“What do you expect me to do, Ana? We can’t just stop and hope to hold them off. Look at how many died when it was just a scouting party attacking us! Eleven men! Eleven! And this certainly isn’t a scouting party following us now.”
“What do the Alvritshai say? They seem rather calm about all of this.”
Colin’s father snorted. “They tried to warn us away, remember? They told us to head back west as soon as they found us. But no, we were too stubborn to listen to them.”
“Walter is.”
Colin tensed at the accusatory note in his mother’s voice, felt the same taint of hatred in his own chest. Karen stirred in her sleep as if troubled, then settled.
Colin’s father was silent a moment. Then: “It wasn’t Walter’s fault. And it wasn’t the Alvritshai’s fault either. None of us wanted to go back. We got ourselves into this mess because none of us has anything left to go back to in Portstown.”
Colin heard his mother sigh.
“What do they say now? Do they know what’s going on? Are the dwarren coming after us, as they did the previous wagon train? Gathering over a thousand men seems a little extreme to take out those of us that are left.” Bitterness had entered her voice again, and it made Colin shiver. He didn’t think they knew anyone could hear them. Their voices were soft, but unguarded. And he hadn’t moved since they’d arrived, hadn’t even opened his eyes.
Colin’s father didn’t say anything for long enough that Colin thought his parents had drifted asleep. But then: “If I understand Aeren, there’s more than one group of dwarren. This group isn’t really after us. Apparently, the groups are at war, and we’ve accidentally stumbled into the middle of an upcoming battle. We’re trapped between three forces-the dwarren we saw to the west, another group coming up from the south, from across the underground river, and a third coming down from the northeast. From what Aeren says, the dwarren have been fighting each other-and the Alvritshai-for years.”
“There are more Alvritshai out there?”
“Apparently Aeren is leading a small scouting party of his own, some kind of trial. He’s sent the others back to warn the rest of the main group to the north.”
“Why didn’t he go himself? Why didn’t he just abandon us?”
“Eraeth’s been trying to convince him to do just that, but I think he feels responsible for us. He led us to the previous wagon train, right into the middle of the upcoming battle. He intended for us to see the burned out wagons and turn back west, but he didn’t know the dwarren were gathering, didn’t expect to run into their scouting party. He’s made some type of vow to get us out if he can.”
Before Colin’s mother could respond, a low grumbling roll of thunder came from the northeast. The grass rustled as both his parents shifted position, and then his father swore.
“The storm’s going to pass right over us,” he said. “It’s going to slow us down even more.”
“But if the dwarren are fighting their own people, or they’re gathering to fight the Alvritshai, they probably don’t care about us,” Colin’s mother said. “We should be able to escape them.”
“Not if we can’t get out of their way. And right now, according to Aeren, we’re caught neatly in the middle of them all. Our only chance is to head east, as fast as possible.”
As if in answer, lightning flared, bright enough and close enough that Colin could see it through his eyelids. Thunder followed, but not closely. The storm was still distant.
“We’ll have to move as soon as the wagon wheel is repaired,” Colin’s father said when the thunder had growled down into silence. “If we hope to have any chance of escaping, we’ll have to travel all night, storm or not.”
Colin heard his mother shift, knew she had stood by the sound of her voice. “I’ll spread the word. You go check on the repairs.”
He must have dozed after they moved off, because the next thing he knew, his mother was shaking him and Karen awake, and the storm was almost on top of them.
“Get as many of the kids into the wagon as possible and then head out!” she shouted over the wind. “Stay close to the wagon!” In a flash of lightning, he saw his mother’s face, the lines of age he’d never seen there before stark, the gray in her hair he’d never noticed glowing silver as the wind blew it into her eyes and she pulled it aside in annoyance. The resultant crack of thunder shuddered in Colin’s skin as he scrambled to his feet, Karen beside him. And then darkness descended, so complete he couldn’t see his mother anymore, could barely see Karen’s face though she was standing right beside him, her hand closed about his upper arm.
“What about the storm?” Karen yelled. “Shouldn’t we wait it out?”
“There’s no time! We’ll have to weather through it!” Ana replied. Her voice came out of the night, torn by the wind, but they both knew she’d moved on to the next wagon.
Without a word, they stumbled to the back of the wagon, where two others were throwing supplies and children into the back, the older kids already inside shoving the supplies out of the way as fast as possible, the middle kids trying to quiet the younger ones, all of their faces suffused with fear in each flare of light from the storm. Lightning sizzled and crackled around them on all sides, thunder shuddered through the ground at their feet, and the wind tore at the flaps of the wagons, at the hides, at loose clothing and hair. Colin began heaving boxes and crates and pots into the wagon, while Karen helped with the kids. The only illumination besides the lightning was a single lantern sheltered inside the wagon, held by a boy who couldn’t have been more than eight. At every crack of thunder, every flare of unnatural light, the lantern’s flame seemed to dim, almost guttering out twice. The boy held the lantern as far from his body as he could.
And then the last of the wagon was packed, and suddenly a guardsman was there, on horseback. Seeing everything was ready, he bellowed to the driver, “Go! Move out!” and then he turned to peer out into the storm, into the jagged purplish lightning as it pummeled the plains. Colin saw three other wagons, saw the fourth already headed out, but they were all instantly lost as soon as the lightning ended.
“How are we going to stay together?” he shouted toward the guardsman.
The man gave him a sidelong look as the wagon began to move. “We’re not even going to try. We’ll head east, or as close to east as possible in this storm, and regroup once it’s passed.” He turned his attention to everyone, raised his voice to a shout. “Stay close to the wagon! If you lose it in the darkness, you may never find any of us again!” Then he spun his horse and trotted toward the front of the wagon.
“Colin,” Karen said, her voice sharp with warning. She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to the wagon, already beginning to fade out of sight. The rest of the women and men in their group edged closer to the wagon as well, some of them linking arms and hands, a few keeping hold of the back of the wagon itself.
They’d only moved a short distance when, with a warning splatter of light mist in their faces, it began to rain.
“Oh, great,” Karen said, before she hunched her shoulders and bowed her head.
Colin was instantly drenched in the downpour, spluttering as the frigid water sluiced down his back. Holding Karen a little tighter, he plowed forward, keeping the wagon close to his left side.
They struggled through the storm, the lightning making the surrounding landscape harsh and ethereal, the grasses thrashing in the wind and rain, swirling like the ocean. During the first hour, Colin saw two of the wagons close by, but after that the worst of the lightning moved farther west, and any sign of the other groups in the wagon train vanished into the darkness. They were enfolded by torrential rain, by darkness, by the receding sound of thunder and the occasional crack of a strike nearby. Once he thought he saw the vibrant orange glow of a lantern’s light out in the grass, but the image was fleeting, lost in the sheets of rain before he could turn and focus on it. And once he thought he heard shouting, close, but the wind tore the sounds away.
He lost track of time, his feet stumbling over each other, over stones and ridges of land he couldn’t see, but he kept close to the wagon, reached out and brushed its side to make certain it was still there, even though he could hear the occasional creak of the wheels as they moved. At one point, the guardsman appeared out of nowhere, his horse snorting and stamping, and he shouted, “Have you seen Peg? Either of you?” When both Colin and Karen shouted no, he swore and rode past them. Colin heard him asking the rest of the group, catching only a word here and there, the rest torn away by the wind. He traded a grim look with Karen, and they trudged on. If Peg was lost, there was no hope of finding her until after the storm ended.
And they couldn’t stop. Not with the dwarren behind them. When the storm finally broke, the rain fading to a drizzle, then halting entirely, it was already midmorning, the light a pale, thin gray as clouds scudded by overhead. Colin glanced up into that sky, clothes soaked with chill water, hair plastered to his face, then turned toward Karen, shivering slightly at his side as she moved forward, but still holding tight to his arm. Her face was blank, her head bent, eyes on the grass that had been beaten flat by the rain.
He shook her gently. She turned exhausted eyes on him, her face white.
“It’s over,” he said.
The words took a moment to sink in, and then her steady footsteps faltered and she halted. She looked up into the sky, where patches of blue sky had begun to peek through as the clouds began to tatter.
She smiled. It was a weary smile, haggard and torn from lack of sleep, but it was still beautiful.
The guardsman galloped up from where the wagon had drawn to a halt at the top of a knoll. “Look for the other wagons. We need to regroup as quickly as possible. And keep an eye out for Peg. She got separated from the wagon during the storm.”
Colin nodded as the guardsman moved on, then turned to scan the horizon. To the east, the plains sloped down from the ridge they stood on, the land rumpled, before hitting a flat area edged with darkness. In the vague light, it took Colin a moment to realize that the dark stain on the plains wasn’t a shadow but a forest of trees, what looked like pines, the dark green, needled branches blowing in the wind. The forest stretched into the distance, both to the east and curving around to the south where the plains broke into low hills.
Movement caught his attention, and he tore his gaze away from the trees. “I see one of the wagons,” he shouted.
“Where?” the Armory guardsman asked, and Colin pointed as he brought his horse up to Colin’s side.
“There. Between us and the forest. They just rose up out of that dip.”
The guardsman sighed with relief, a sound that didn’t carry far at all.
“There are two more to the north,” Karen said. “They’re already headed toward us.”
Colin turned away from the east and the darkness of the forest, caught sight of the two wagons Karen had spotted And then someone behind them muttered, “Holy Diermani protect us. Look!”
Everyone spun to where one of the women in the group pointed to the west. The storm still raged on the horizon, the black clouds lit from within by lightning above, rain and the cloud’s darker shadow completely obscuring the plains below.
But as Colin watched, as the storm receded, something emerged from that shadow.
The dwarren. Thousands of them. Headed straight for the wagons. Fast.
The guardsman swore, and Colin felt his stomach clench tight.
“Barte!” the guardsman spat. The driver of the wagon leaned out from the side. “Get the damn wagon moving! Head toward the two wagons to the north! The dwarren are right behind us!”
Barte’s pudgy face turned toward the west, his eyes going wide as he caught sight of the dwarren army, and then he vanished, the wagon shaking as he dropped back into his seat. Colin heard him shout at the horses, and the wagon rolled forward, but slowly. Far too slowly. The horses had been worked almost to their limit.
The guardsman watched the wagon begin ambling down the far side of the ridge, glanced toward the other two wagons, then back toward the dwarren, and he swore again, more vehemently.
“Someone’s riding hard toward us from the other two wagons,” Karen said. She frowned as she squinted into the distance. “I think it’s your father, Colin. And Walter. The Alvritshai are right behind them on foot. I don’t see Arten.”
The guardsman kneed his horse and took off toward the figures, surging out ahead of them, his horse’s hooves kicking up clods of dirt behind him. Frowning, Colin grabbed Karen’s hand and said, “Come on.”
They ran forward, slipping in the wet grass on the steep slope, but they outpaced the wagon and the rest of those walking beside it. Ahead, the guardsman and the others met. The guardsman shook his head, pointed back over the ridge. Everyone turned in that direction, including the Alvritshai, faces grim, and then Colin and Karen were close enough to catch the conversation.
“-we can’t,” his father was saying. “The reason we’re headed toward you is there’s another dwarren force to the north. They’re converging here.”
“What about the Alvritshai?” Walter spat, his face dark. But even though his words were harsh, there was a look of desperation around his eyes.
Tom frowned. “They’re farther to the north, out of the dwarren’s path.”
For the first time, Colin noticed that Aeren and Eraeth had been joined by two other Alvritshai, both with bows strung and ready, their focus on the plains.
Looking at Aeren, whose gaze held his, the skin around his eyes tight with concern, Colin said, “Maybe we should join them. Maybe they can protect us.”
But his father was already shaking his head. “We can’t. We’ll never make it in time; the dwarren are too close. We’ll have to go east, take refuge in the forest, hope that the dwarren are more concerned with their own fight than with us.”
Aeren suddenly stepped forward, his gaze flicking back and forth between Colin and his father. “No. No trees.”
“Why not?”
Aeren turned his full attention on Tom with an intensity Colin hadn’t seen there before, even during their formal first meeting, when they’d shared food and drink. “No trees. Sukrael there.”
At the word sukrael, the other Alvritshai shifted, unsettled.
“Sukrael?”
Aeren motioned with his hands. “Sukrael,” he said in frustration, in impatience, then pointed to the ground. “Sukrael!”
Everyone looked to where Aeren pointed in confusion.
“He’s pointing to your shadow,” Karen said, hesitantly.
“What the hell does that mean?” Walter asked. Behind him, the two wagons they’d been escorting topped the rise and trundled down toward them.
“It doesn’t matter,” Tom said, his back straightening as he saw his wife at the head of the wagons, her eyes wide with fear. “We’re out of time.”
He began to turn, but Aeren’s hand suddenly latched onto his arm, held him in place, even though he sat on a horse. The other Alvritshai sucked in a sharp, stunned breath, their faces openly shocked, and Colin suddenly realized that none of the Alvritshai had ever touched any of them, had never gotten close enough except to hand over food. Now, Eraeth and the others took an uncertain step away from Aeren.
“No trees.”
The words hung in the tense air. The guardsman’s hand had fallen to his sword’s hilt. The other Alvritshai-those with bows nocked-had shifted, their shock at Aeren’s action gone now, their focus on the guardsman. The tableau held, Tom staring down into Aeren’s face. Colin couldn’t see what his father saw, but he’d heard the warning in Aeren’s voice, could see the cold, rigid tension emanating from the Alvritshai’s body.
And then Ana barked, “Tom! They’re right behind us!”
Tom slid out of Aeren’s grasp, and in a harsh voice, tinged with apology, he said, “We have no choice.”
He broke his gaze with Aeren, spun toward the two wagons. “Sam! Paul! Head toward the forest! The dwarren are right behind Colin’s group as well! The forest is our only chance!”
The wagons turned instantly, Ana pivoting to wave everyone on foot in that direction. People moaned, all of them looking as exhausted as Colin felt, wet and weary, but edged with fear.
The guardsman yanked his horse’s reins hard. “Barte!” he shouted. “Head west, head toward the forest!” But Barte couldn’t hear him. With a muttered curse, he sped off, his horse leaping forward as he dug in his heels.
Eraeth snorted, said something obviously derisive to Aeren’s back. Aeren’s face darkened, and he called something heated in reply, not even turning, something that made Eraeth bow his head in shame.
Tom turned, brow furrowed. Then he nodded in Aeren’s direction, ignoring the cold look Eraeth cast him. “Thank you. For everything.”
Aeren nodded in return.
Colin felt his father’s gaze fall on him, and something stabbed deep down into his gut at the despair he saw there. He’d never seen a look like that on his father’s face before. Not even in Portstown.
“Colin,” he said, his horse shifting closer, sensing its rider’s tension. “Stay with the others. Help them as best you can.”
It seemed he would say something more, but he shook his head instead. Then he and Walter spun their horses and rejoined the wagons. Overhead, the clouds began to clear completely, the gray sunlight strengthening to a late summer yellow, vibrant on the rain-washed grass all around. Colin felt it against his skin, felt it touch his hair, but he discovered it didn’t warm him. It should have, but it didn’t. Coldness had seeped into him-from the rain, the storm, the nightlong trek through the darkness-a coldness that penetrated deep, to his very bones. A coldness he’d seen in his father’s eyes.
Aeren looked toward him, stepped close and grabbed his shoulders, locked eyes with him. “No trees,” he said, adamantly, his hands tightening. And then, softly, sadly, “No trees.”
“No trees,” Colin repeated.
Aeren let his hands drop from Colin’s shoulders, reluctantly.
At his side, Karen shifted. “Colin.” One word. But Colin heard the terror in it, the need to move, to run.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing Karen’s hand, but refusing to look in her eyes. He didn’t want her to see what he’d seen in his father’s eyes, didn’t want her to feel as cold as he did.
They ran, back toward Barte and the wagon, now angled toward the dark line of the forest to their left, still shuddering down the slope of the ridge, the others scattered around it, all of them running, sprinting toward the safety of the forest. Colin glanced back over his shoulder, saw the Alvritshai standing alone on the plains, Eraeth trying to get Aeren to move, Aeren watching them retreat stoically, his expression troubled.
And then more movement caught his eye. Farther out on the plains, farther east, he saw the fifth wagon as it crested another ridge, silhouetted against the cloud-driven sky a moment before it plunged down the side of the slope toward them. Colin’s heart leaped, and he skidded to a halt and cried out. A wordless shout, cut off as Karen’s hand was wrenched from his own and they both stumbled to the grass.
“Colin!” Karen gasped, her breath harsh from running.
Colin ignored her, cupped his hands around his mouth as he bellowed, “The other wagon!” Ahead of them, the guardsman pulled his mount to a halt, frowning back at him, and Colin shouted, “It’s the other wagon!” as he turned and pointed.
The Alvritshai had vanished.
The sudden elation over seeing the other wagon died on Colin’s lips.
“Diermani’s balls,” he whispered to himself.
To the north, on the ridge to the right of the fifth wagon, the dwarren were spilling down the slope, riding their gaezels hard. A sudden cacophony of noise erupted from the dwarren as they spotted the wagon, a battle cry ripped from a thousand throats, threaded through with a sudden frenzy of drums, with the thunder of a thousand gaezel hooves and hundreds of dwarren feet pounding into the grassland as they charged. Colin couldn’t see any difference between this group of dwarren and the ones they’d run into near the underground river, not at this distance, but it didn’t matter. The group of dwarren that had attacked them appeared on the ridge to the southeast, raising their own battle cry and they charged down into the dip, the wagon trapped between them.
At his side, Karen gasped and scrambled to her feet. She tugged on his shoulder. “Colin, we have to go.” But Colin didn’t move, rooted to the spot in horror. He watched as the driver of the wagon realized the dwarren were close, watched as he lashed the horses, trying to get them to run faster. Those on foot were scattered to the sides and behind, running as fast as they possibly could, a few of the men out in front of the wagon itself. One of the women stumbled and fell, her shout faint with distance, almost lost in the thundering charge of the dwarren armies And then, like an ocean wave, the dwarren army to the north struck, the charging gaezels overrunning the wagon, smothering them, the people on foot lost instantly, trampled beneath a thousand hooves. The wagon remained in sight for another breath, but then the driver was pulled from his seat, the horses themselves cut down and dragged beneath the horrendous tide of dwarren. The hides that covered the wagon shuddered and jerked as the dwarren surged around it, and then gave way, the faint screams of children piercing the general roar on the plains.
Colin gasped, clutched at his chest as a searing ache exploded there. He almost fell to his knees, but Karen’s hand suddenly latched onto his upper arm, fingers digging into flesh.
In a voice that allowed no argument, she said, “Time to go, Colin.”
Colin stumbled as they began to run, staggered, but caught himself, Karen ending up a few steps ahead of him. Pain shot through his legs at the sudden exertion, but he forced more speed from them as the battle cries of both groups of dwarren escalated, gathering force and momentum, then breaking as behind him the two forces of charging gaezels met. The earth seemed to tremble beneath his feet, the very air to shudder, but he couldn’t tell for certain. He was moving too fast, the chill air rushing against his face, blotting out most of the sounds of the battle behind, his feet thudding into the earth, legs lashed by the grass. Karen began to outdistance him, and he saw the guardsman and the rest of those from the wagon charging toward the forest ahead, his father, Walter, and the other two wagons already close to the trees. The fourth wagon, closer to the forest, had halted and turned, lurching toward them from the right. He felt a pressure against his back, felt certain that the dwarren themselves were riding hard behind him, were close enough that any second he’d be overrun, smothered by their sheer numbers, like those who’d been with the fifth wagon. Tears streamed from his eyes, and air burned in his lungs. A sharp stitch began to burrow its way into his side And suddenly he realized the wagons ahead had halted, had turned so their sides faced outward protectively, the sharp line of the forest at their backs. Men were scrambling to get weapons, women yanking the children out of the wagon beds and ushering them behind the incomplete circle, near the forest. Colin saw Karen slow, come to a gasping halt, leaning against one of the wagons. He tried to slow down himself, his heart thundering in his chest… and tripped.
He spilled to the ground, hitting hard with one shoulder, his face smashing into the grass. He tasted damp stalks and dirt, spat them out as he rolled, coming to a stop near one of the wagon’s wheels.
He lay for a moment in the wet grass, felt the sun beating down on his back, then rolled to one side.
“Colin! Are you all right?”
Colin blinked up into Karen’s terrified face and nodded. “I’m fine,” he coughed, out of breath, his throat raw. He lurched into a sitting position, the stitch in his side flaring. “I need my sling.”
“Maybe not.” Karen motioned toward the plains. “The dwarren started to follow us, but they’ve halted.”
A twinge of shame made Colin wince. He’d thought the dwarren were right at his back, thought he’d felt their breath against his neck.
But then he noticed the group of dwarren. They’d stopped over a thousand paces away, the main group milling about behind the leaders in the front, as if reluctant to come any farther forward. The leaders stared at the wagons for a long moment, discussed something among themselves And then they motioned to the dwarren in their group, spun their mounts, and charged back toward the battle raging on the plains behind them.
Colin frowned. He saw his father, Walter, Jackson, and Arten standing off to one side, their faces creased with worry, with confusion. The rest of the men and guardsmen stood in front of the wagons with weapons ready. They were all tense, all grim.
The dwarren retreat didn’t make any sense. Those from the wagons had no hope of holding them off. The dwarren could overrun the wagons in a matter of moments.
Unless No trees.
Colin’s eyes widened in realization.
He spun toward Karen. “They’re not approaching the forest.” Karen’s brow creased, still confused. “They’re not coming close to the forest. There must be something in the forest! In the trees!”
And as Colin saw comprehension dawn on Karen’s face, someone screamed.
Colin’s first thought was of his mother.
He scrambled to his feet, but before he could take a single step toward the side of the wagons facing the woods, the piercing scream broke, cut cleanly from the air, followed immediately by the panicked cries of children and more screams.
“The forest!” Arten barked, his sword waving toward the backs of the wagons.
Colin grabbed Karen’s hand and lurched toward the space between the two nearest wagons.
They stumbled into chaos. Children were screaming, fleeing the edge of the forest, tears coursing down their faces. One of the youngest boys collided with Colin before slipping around him, the rest banking away as Colin’s father and the others emerged between the other wagons. Colin couldn’t see what had spooked them But then one of the guardsmen shouted, “Look!”
His eyes snapped toward where the guard pointed, saw the terrified women herding the children away from a crumpled body on the ground. The woman lay facedown in the grass. Someone had thrown a black blanket over her shoulders, although where they’d found a black blanket in the mad rush to escape the dwarren Colin couldn’t fathom.
At his side, Karen gasped, and Colin suddenly realized it wasn’t a blanket.
The black form rose from the woman’s body, moving fluidly, like water, like silken cloth, an intangible swath of darkness that reared upward with insidious grace. Before Colin could react, could even suck in a shocked breath, it leaped from the crumpled form on the ground toward the retreating women, lashed out And one of the women dropped, collapsed like a sack of grain. The shadow fell on her with a visceral shriek, like a predator onto prey.
“Holy Diermani,” one of the guardsmen whispered. “What is that thing?”
The children had seen it, and fresh screams broke out, those retreating breaking apart, all semblance of order lost. Arten began barking orders, men surging forward, hustling the women and children behind them, until someone shouted, “There’s more than one of them!”
Karen’s hand clamped down hard on Colin’s shoulder, spun him slightly. He tore his gaze away from the blackness feeding off of the fallen woman, centered it on the forest.
Beneath the trees, the forest was dark with shadow. And those shadows were moving.
The horses-still tethered to their wagons-whickered nervously and danced back, one rearing, hooves kicking the air, eyes white as it shrieked, a hideous sound that Colin felt in his bones. As the last of the women and children passed the line of men, one of the shadows slipped free of the confines of the forest, slid out into the vibrant sunlight. It flowed outward toward one of the tethered horses, moving fast, the men closest gasping and skittering back, the entire group shifting as children whimpered and someone sobbed. The shadow hesitated a moment as the horse yanked hard at the reins that held it in place, so hard the wood of the tongue of the wagon creaked Then the Shadow flowed forward, covered the horse from neck to shoulder, latching itself onto the horse’s form, sinking deeper into the horse’s flesh as if it were insubstantial. The horse shuddered and stilled. Its eyes rolled and its lips pulled back, baring teeth. It snorted once, then collapsed to its knees and rolled to the ground, dead, its head twisting as the reins held it upright, its neck contorting to an unnatural angle.
The Shadow rose up from its body, a malevolent shroud, glistening and throbbing.
Then it turned. Colin sensed it focus on those closest, on Colin and everyone huddled on this side of the wagon, and he felt a cold dread sink into his chest.
Paul charged. Everyone gasped. Colin’s father shouted, “No!” The smith swung his ax, grunting with the effort, his face suffused with a mixture of rage and fear.
It should have cleaved the Shadow in two. Instead, the ax passed through the Shadow as if it weren’t there.
The swing pulled Paul off-balance. He stumbled, cried out in surprise And then the Shadow lashed out, a tendril passing through Paul’s outstretched arm.
Paul screamed, the ax dropping from his grip. He jerked the arm toward his chest, cradled it as if it had been broken, his breath sucked in sharply. Sam bellowed, “Watch out!” and rushed forward, caught by Tom before he could take two steps. Paul looked up in time to see the Shadow rear above him, and Colin saw utter fear register on his face And then the Shadow descended, falling like a shroud, smothering him. In less than a heartbeat, Paul’s body crumpled to the ground.
Colin found he couldn’t breathe, that his arms and legs had gone numb. He could hear his heartbeat, could taste something sour on his tongue, could smell his own rank sweat, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
Everything was happening too fast. Far, far too fast.
Fresh screams broke out, and Colin tore his gaze away from Paul’s body as more Shadows emerged from the forest, surging forward toward the line of men and the women and children huddled at the base of the wagon. The nearest guardsman swung his blade, more reflex than thought, but like Paul he staggered as his sword passed cleanly through the Shadow in the lead. In the next instant the black creature had swept through his arm and leg. He cried out and fell to the ground, his sword slipping free of his grip as he rolled to escape the next slash of the Shadow. But it ignored him, heading toward the women and children near the wagons, heading toward the group closest to Colin.
It sprang, and the children scattered, screaming as it lashed out in all directions in a strangely graceful, violent dance. Two bodies fell to the ground, skin blanched white. A boy struggled away on his elbows, his legs dragging behind him, tears streaming down his contorted face. And still more Shadows emerged from the forest, gliding out into the sunlight and striking at the sudden chaos that raged on all sides. Colin stood rigid, Karen’s hand clutched tight, unable to move. He heard names being called out, orders barked, heard someone bellow desperately, “Nothing stops them!” while before him more bodies fell to the ground. Colin could barely breathe, the sound of his heart pulsing in his ears, overwhelming the screams, drowning them out. The sour taste in his mouth turned bitter and dry, as if his tongue were coated with ash. He watched in silence as Lyda ran past, shrieking, her hair streaming out behind her, her hand on her swollen belly, a slew of the black Shadows trailing her. He watched as she stumbled, watched her roll onto her back, still shrieking, her face twisted into pure terror, watched as the Shadows converged on her like carrion birds to dead flesh. She rolled to her side and clawed at the ground, dragging herself away, but the Shadows were too swift, pouncing on her, feeding off of her, off of the unborn child inside her, their actions far more frenzied than they were with the others, far more greedy, more gluttonous. Her fingers dug at the earth as her screams broke down into tortuous sobs, as tears streaked her face, and then a Shadow lashed out, almost impatiently, its form passing through her neck, and with a gasp her head fell to the ground and her struggles ceased.
Colin choked, his stomach seizing, his chest tightening, bile rising up sharp and acrid in the back of his throat. He struggled to draw air into his lungs, but he couldn’t, struggled to swallow the bitterness and nausea and horror Until a hand clamped onto his shoulder, the grip so hard he winced, the paralysis shuddering in his chest beneath the wave of pain. He sucked in air, felt something tear in his throat, and deeper, in his lungs, and coughed as he staggered and turned.
“Colin! Karen!” his father barked, his voice rougher than usual, higher in pitch. He shook him, shook Karen as well, her eyes wide and shocked. “You have to get out of here. We can’t stop them. We can’t even hurt them. You have to run! Both of you! Back to the plains!”
“But what about-”
Before he could finish, his father’s grip tightened. Leaning forward, his voice black, he growled, “Run, goddamn you!” And then he shoved them both, hard, shoved them back toward the space between the wagons, back toward the plains and the dwarren’s battle. Colin tripped, landed hard on his ass, Karen’s hand tearing free from his, but his father had already turned. He scanned the chaos before him, face tight, then shouted, “Ana!” and dashed off to the left.
Colin lurched to his feet, took off after his father, but within two steps he was brought up short by Karen as she grabbed his arm, spun him around. “Where are you going? You heard your father. We have to get out of here!”
“I have to help him. I have to find my mother.”
“But he told you to get out!”
“The dwarren are out there! There’s nowhere to go.” Karen bit her lower lip, wavering, so he drew in a sharp breath and added, “What about your father?”
Her eyes darkened, angry and concerned at the same time. “You bastard,” she whispered. Then she spun, searching those nearest, trying to see past them. “Over here.”
They stumbled away, one of the Armory guardsmen staggering in front of them, a Shadow reaching for the man’s chest. Colin dodged, slipped to his knees in the grass, Karen keeping him upright, shot a glance left and right, searching for his mother, for a glimpse of either of their fathers And caught sight of Walter instead.
The Proprietor of Haven stood with his back to one of the wagons, his sword leveled before him, the blade twitching back and forth among three different Shadows. A fourth Shadow writhed on the ground, feeding off Jackson, the Company’s representative staring up into the sunlight, eyes glazed with death, skin white, yet still beaded with sweat. Walter hissed as one of the Shadows feinted with a tendril of darkness, his sword jerking toward the black shape. He wiped sweat from his face with the back of one arm, the gesture short and rough and desperate, then barked as another Shadow slid closer, this one from the opposite side. His sword swung toward the second Shadow, hovered point first, trembling there, while his gaze followed the movements of the third.
Colin frowned. The Shadows were playing with him, like cats who’d trapped a mouse in a dusty corner of an alley. They didn’t seem as frenzied as when they’d first attacked, and the ones surrounding Walter glistened with a fluid gold color.
And then Walter noticed them, his eyes settling on Colin with a flare of hope. “Colin!” His voice was tight and thick and shook with fear. “Colin, help me!”
One of the Shadows slipped closer, and Walter growled a warning, his sword swinging toward the new threat as another Shadow edged forward, almost imperceptibly. The fourth one-the one feeding on Jackson-began to rise, shimmering with a patina of gold in the light. It moved sluggishly, but with more intent, as if it had been sated.
Colin didn’t move. He could feel Karen at his side, slightly behind.
“Colin!” Walter yelled, and Colin jerked. No fear this time in Walter’s voice. It was threaded with demand, with arrogance. The voice of a Proprietor.
Colin thought about the alley, about the beatings, about the day Walter had kicked him hard enough that he’d pissed his own pants. He thought about the arrest, the gallows, the day spent in the pillory, unable to move, unable to even scratch an itch, thirsty and hungry, covered in blood from his own struggles and the spit of the other townspeople. He thought about the look on Walter’s face as he left him in the alley, about the satisfied smirk he’d given him on the gallows, and he heard Walter’s laughter as he pissed on him from the darkness while he was in the penance locks.
A cold rage settled over Colin, the same rage he’d felt as his mother cleaned his wounds after the locks, as she cleaned the piss from his body. A rage Colin had shoved deep down inside himself, that had simmered next to his heart since he’d been released from the pillory, seething as they crossed the plains, as they climbed the Bluff, as they hunted and camped and struggled to survive.
Colin let that hate out now, let it course down his arms, tingling with heat, prickling his skin. He let it show in his eyes, his back straightening.
Walter stilled, his eyes widening slightly, his sword dropping a few inches toward the ground.
With a surge of satisfaction, Colin spat to one side and turned his back, turned toward Karen. He caught a flicker of motion as one of the Shadows leaped, heard Walter curse, saw the so-called Proprietor duck down and roll beneath the underside of the wagon out of the corner of his eye, the Shadows a flicker of black movement behind him, and then he dismissed Walter completely from his mind.
Karen eyed him with a faint frown. “We need to find our parents. Now.”
The space between the wagons and the trees was littered with bodies, with Shadows and shrieking forms. He saw Sam swinging wildly with a whip, two women at his back, saw another group of men make a break for the open plains behind, saw three children huddling in the grass beneath one of the wagons and recognized Lissa’s face as she raised her head and stared out at the chaos, her younger brother’s body held protectively to her chest, his face buried in her arms so he wouldn’t be able to see. Colin headed toward the kids, had made it halfway to them, dodging feeding Shadows as he went, when Karen pulled him up short with a frantic, “Dad!”
Colin spun around. Karen’s father stood protectively over three others, a mother and her two children, their backs to the last wagon, a sword held uselessly before him. His face was lined in fury, with pure and unadulterated rage, the most alive and intense Colin had seen the man since he’d met Karen and her father in Lean-to. All the sorrow, all the grief over losing his wife and two children on the passage across the Arduon Ocean, had been transformed into one goal, one purpose: keep the Shadows at bay.
And the Shadows were playing with him, as they’d played with Walter. Nearly all of them were now, their initial frenzy gone. They moved with purpose, with intent, with a cold intelligence.
Karen’s shout distracted her father. He turned, yelled, “Karen!”
And the Shadows struck.
Karen’s hand wrenched from Colin’s. He cried out, tried to catch her, to hold her back. He heard her scream, “Dad!” again as she charged forward, her hair streaming out behind her, her dress flapping around her feet.
Colin leaped after her, his heart thundering in his chest, his skin flushed with sudden prickling heat. Not enough to smother the coldness, but it burned in his arms, his legs, his lungs. Nothing mattered but Karen and her father, nothing but the Shadows that had drawn back, their glistening darkness-so like cloth-shuddering outward as they readied to attack. All sound dampened except for his breath and the pulse of blood in his ears. Everything faded except for the brilliant patch of sunlight before the wagon.
Karen’s father drew himself up, back straight, as the Shadows streamed forward, smooth and deadly. He didn’t even use the sword. He tried to block the Shadows with his own body, his own life. The Shadows slid through his chest and pulled themselves up over his torso even as Colin saw the life in his eyes dim, as his body began to fall.
“No!” Karen screamed, and stumbled, reaching for her father, ignoring the Shadow that had bypassed him and those he protected, that was converging on her. Colin felt his heart shudder in his chest, felt the metal and glass of the vow burning against the skin beneath his shirt, felt a spurt of adrenaline shove him the last short space between them as a roar built in his throat.
He threw himself at Karen, the roar escaping. A roar of denial, of hatred, of anger and fury and determination.
A moment before he struck her, before his arms wrapped around her and pulled her down, he saw a tendril from one of the Shadows lash out, saw it connect, felt its bitter coldness as it passed over his shoulder.
Then he and Karen were rolling, his roar choked off as they struck the ground. Pain tore through his shoulder and he gasped, but he held Karen tight, tried to protect her as they tumbled, arms flailing wildly. They struck the wheel of the wagon. Wood cracked, and Colin’s shoulder twisted even more, pain shooting down his back, his entire arm going numb, tingling viciously, but he ignored it all, not even crying out. He struggled with Karen’s body, with the limp arms tangled with his own, with the folds of her dress. Rolling onto his back, his shoulders propped against the broken wheel, legs straight before him, her body over his, he shifted her toward him, fumbled for her face.
“Karen,” he gasped, and tasted blood on his lips, felt where he’d bitten the inside of his mouth. “Karen! It’s all right. It’s all right. I couldn’t save your father, but-”
His hands found her face, touched the skin there. Skin still slick with sweat but cold, so very cold. Like ice.
His breath caught, and something squeezed his chest hard, tightened like iron, like the slats of the penance locks. Tightened and wouldn’t let go. Beneath, something hard and bitter and fluid began to build, began to press outward, constrained by the locks.
He tried to swallow and couldn’t. His mouth was suddenly full of saliva, the back of his throat thick with phlegm, with the taste of blood, and still he couldn’t swallow, his throat working, a strange heat seething up his neck and into his face, burning in the skin beneath his eyes, prickling in his hair. He shoved the sensations away, shoved down hard on the pressure in his chest. His hand brushed Karen’s hair away from her brow, and he moved, so that her face rolled toward him, the motions careful, gentle.
“Karen?” he choked out, the name barely audible, almost lost in the pounding of blood in his ears, in his head. He reached for Karen’s cheek, his hand trembling, reached to touch her forehead above her dusky dead eyes, reached for the freckles that brushed her skin, even though he could feel the Shadows closing in around him, around them both. He traced the contours of her nose, touched the corner of her mouth, her too pale lips.
And then the pressure inside became too much. The penance locks broke.
He screamed and clutched her body close, felt the vow’s pendant crushed between them, felt its heat burning into his skin. He screamed into the blackness of the Shadows that loomed before him, the sunlight bright around them-a sunlight far, far too bright for the death taking place all around him, far, far too golden. He screamed into the face of the sukrael as the pain inside him surged outward, as it coursed along his arms and through his body, as it shuddered through his chest in waves. He shoved the hatred and grief away, toward the closest Shadow, the one reaching toward him with a tendril of darkest night, glistening with flecks of gold. A tendril that bled cold, that bled death.
And the Shadow hesitated.
Colin’s scream grew ragged and then broke.
He stared up at the Shadow before him-at the sukrael-stared up into its cold, considering darkness And then he pulled Karen’s limp body even closer, leaned forward over it, his head bowed down over hers, her face hidden in his shoulder. He could smell her hair, like freshly cut hay, like sunlight, like a breeze from the sea.
“I should have run faster,” he whispered into Karen’s ear, her hair tickling his face, catching in his mouth. “I should never have let go.” His face twisted into a soundless sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears slick against his skin, tasting of salt.
The Shadows hesitated, then closed in. But not in a frenzy. He felt the first tendril slide through his arm, touching, tasting, testing. For what, he didn’t know, but they did not swarm over him as they had the others. They’d already fed. They needed him for something else. He shuddered, the ice of its touch sinking deep, the entire limb tingling, frigid, then going mercifully numb. He pulled Karen closer still with his other arm, buried his face in her shoulder, and felt one of the tendrils slide smoothly into his twisted shoulder, flicker deeper into his chest, sampling him. He gasped as the cold touched his lungs, as air froze deep inside him, and he felt the Shadows respond with an ecstatic shiver. They savored his grief, savored his pain, reveled in his soul, in his life, in his warmth. The gold against their black forms shifted in patterns, as if they were speaking to each other, arguing, coming to a decision.
Without looking, he felt them rear above him, felt them tense to smother him, their ethereal forms blocking out the sun.
But the Shadows halted. Another shiver passed through them. Gold glistened in hatred and contempt and rage.
And then they withdrew.
Colin lifted his head from Karen’s shoulder, his face smeared with tears, with snot. It required more effort than he thought it would, because where the Shadows had tasted him, the coldness had sunk in deep. But in the space between the forest and the circled wagons, all of the Shadows were fleeing, slipping back into the forest, back beneath the trees, leaving dozens of bodies behind in the grass. He could see where Sam had fallen, could see Lissa’s crumpled form beside that of her brother beneath one of the wagons, could see the bodies of the horses, still trapped in their harnesses.
None of the bodies were moving. Except for the faint roar of battle from the dwarren somewhere farther out on the plains, there was no sound. Here, near the wagons, it was unnaturally silent, unnaturally still.
The last of the Shadows vanished beneath the trees. A wisp of darkness in the sunlight, and then nothing.
Colin sat, quiet and motionless. The pressure in his chest was gone, leaving behind a vast, empty hollowness, as if he were a shell, scoured clean. Tears streamed down his face, and his chest burned with cold, part of it numbed by the Shadow’s touch, that numbness seeping inward, spreading. He couldn’t feel his arm or shoulder at all.
He stared out over the bodies, over the trampled grass, a few upright stalks shuddering in a breeze he couldn’t feel. He stared at the trembling stalks, tears dripping from his chin. He breathed in the scent of hay, of upturned earth, and the acridness of pine.
He decided he’d sit there until the numbness claimed him completely.
Lights appeared in the forest. They flickered between the trees, pale at first, hidden within the shadows. But then they burst out into the sunlight, burning a harsh white, a dozen of them, perhaps more. He couldn’t keep track of them. They flared out over the bodies, spun above them, circled the wagons and the dead horses, paused over Lyda and her swollen belly, over the children. They ducked between the wagons, beneath them, found Lissa and her brother and the other boy that had hidden with them. They checked inside the wagons as well.
And they spoke. Like the rustle of leaves in a gust of wind. Soft and ephemeral, yet tense with indignation, with horror, with despair.
… too late, too late…
… sooner, should have come sooner…
… we didn’t know, didn’t know…
… all dead, all dead…
Colin let his head fall back against the wagon wheel with a thump. He couldn’t hold it up any longer, didn’t want to. The coldness from the Shadows had penetrated deeper into his chest, into the muscles on one side of his neck. He could feel it touching his heart, could feel it seeping into his other lung, reaching for his throat. His breath became shallow. He struggled to draw in air as he stared up into the pale blue sky, at the wisps of clouds that drifted by.
One of the white lights flared into view above him, its light so harsh he squinted.
… one still lives!…
The light was joined by another, and another. They dove closer, and he turned his head away, closed his eyes.
… barely, barely… he’s been touched by the others, but not killed… why?… why was he touched, not killed?…
… they plan something…
… touched too deep, too deep… he won’t survive…
… no… we can save him…
… how?…
… the Lifeblood… the Well…
Through squinted eyes, Colin saw the lights retreat slightly. Their voices receded, but their light flared, brighter and brighter. Others gathered as the lights argued, until one of the lights flared so brightly that Colin winced, even with his eyes mostly closed.
… enough!… there is no time to argue… he will die. ..
… we can’t… he is the one who will pay, not us…
… he is our responsibility… we allowed this to happen.. .
… we must save him if we can…
The lights returned to hover above him.
… it won’t matter… he’ll never make it to the Well…
One of the lights flared in irritation, in warning, and the rest backed off slightly.
The light that remained drifted closer.
… stand… you must stand and walk…
Colin sighed, felt the weight of Karen’s body against him, so heavy, heavier than he thought possible, holding him down. He felt the vow cutting painfully into his skin. His throat closed shut, and he shook his head in denial, tried to say, “No,” but no sound came out.
… you must…
“No,” he managed, his voice rough. He looked down at Karen’s body, her face still hidden in his shoulder.
The light flared brighter in annoyance.
… you’ll die…
He shot a glare at the light. “Let me die!”
The light considered this in silence. Then it dipped lower, so close that Colin could feel its light against his face, tingling in his skin, the fine hairs on his arms standing on end. A shiver coursed through him, and he drew in an involuntary gasp of air. He smelled earth, damp and moist. And leaves.
… would she have wanted you to die?…
Colin stilled, the indrawn breath caught in his throat, lodged there. He stared past the light, past the bodies, into the distance.
He heard his father screaming into his face, Run, goddamn you!
A fresh wave of grief sliced through him, and he swallowed it down, biting back a sob with a choked gasp. He glanced down at Karen’s body, squeezed it tight again as he fought back more tears, and then let her roll away, so he could see her face.
It hurt more than he thought he could bear. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, tasted her dried sweat, ignored the unnatural chill of her skin. He struggled for something to say, but nothing came, and so he whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”
And then he struggled out from beneath her body, the arm touched by the Shadows completely dead and useless, a limp weight at his side. Fresh tears started, refused to be held back, and he cried out as circulation returned to his legs. With a broken sob, he managed to shove Karen’s body off of him completely, something in his chest tearing as he crawled away on his knees. He collapsed into the grass, uncertain he’d be able to move any farther, but the light grew insistent, a whisper of sound in the background, urging him forward, and so he shoved himself up with his good arm, pulled himself upright, staggered to his feet.
He didn’t look back. Tears blurred his eyes as the lights led him beneath the cover of the trees, into the shadow of the forest, into its cool heart. He stumbled along behind them, listened to their encouragement, and the farther he walked-brushing against the bark of tree trunks, catching in limbs, tripping over fallen branches, his dead arm a hindrance-the deeper the Shadow’s coldness seeped into his chest. His breath grew ragged and sharp as that coldness crept into his throat and down across his breastbone. Fingers of ice dug deep into his other lung, began to close about his heart. It became harder and harder to breathe, and he panicked. He’d thought the coldness would seep over him completely, as if he were going to sleep, but the deeper it clawed, the more he realized that he’d suffocate first, and so he lurched forward, moved faster, the lights themselves becoming frenzied, speeding ahead and then dancing impatiently.
… not far now, not far…
Colin began to wheeze, his breaths coming in strained whistles, and his heart began to stutter, to shudder, as the ice sank deeper. He gasped, collapsed to his knees, and saw the light that had spoken to him earlier flare before him, saw that the trees had given way to the amorphous shapes of white buildings, hidden in the gloom, that the ground beneath was patched with stone, like cobblestones. But all of that was peripheral.
… get up!… almost there!…
He clawed at his throat, sucked in another thin breath of air, and flung himself forward, tripping at the top of a set of stairs, then falling and rolling down their length before coming up hard against a lip of stone. Not white stone, like the buildings, but rough stone, rounded like river stone, with all the colors of the earth.
… drink!… drink now or the Shadows will take you!…
Colin reached for the edge of the stone, pulled himself up, his breath lost completely, his lungs no longer working, his entire chest a pit of numbness, of bitter cold, all except for his heart. He could no longer feel the base of his throat. He dragged himself up the stone wall, hung over its edge and realized that it held a wide pool of utterly clear water; but he didn’t pause to reflect on its clarity, on its stillness. He dipped his good hand into it and cupped it to his mouth, swallowed it greedily, felt it spilling down his neck, staining his shirt, burning against the harshness of the vow. He drank as much of it as he could before the frigid claw at his heart squeezed tight, before the struggle to breathe sapped his strength, and then he sank onto his back on the edge of the well.
He stared up into the sunlight above, into the blue sky that seemed so distant. He strained for another breath, but his chest would not work.
The claw around his chest squeezed hard, and he felt his heart stop.
Darkness closed in at the edges of his vision, crept in slowly. He gazed into the deep sky as it began to recede, growing brighter, the gold deeper, its edges fine and brittle. As the darkness closed in tighter, as the muscles in his good arm and his legs relaxed and he sagged down against the river stone beneath him, two of the lights drifted into his sight.
… were we in time?… will he live?…
And then the sky, the lights, and the golden sun went black.