Chapter 19
Only two guards stood posted at the gate, and they’d likely been on duty for most of the night. Neither of them was swift enough to react as we thundered past them, out of Brainne and into the misty no-man’s-land beyond; their shouts of alarm faded quickly behind us.
Already, the air was growing thick and acrid.
Close to the city walls, some last stubborn blades of grass had clawed their way from the blackened soil.
Deeper into the valley, there was no more grass, not even the hardiest patch of moss – just rot-coloured earth and the dead stalks of what had once been trees and crops, too polluted now for even the birds and rats to eat them.
Beyond that, a churning mist swallowed all of it, obscuring the slate-grey sky, the hills rising on either side of us, and any hope of a clear path forward.
It wasn’t Niflheim mist. It didn’t have that crystalline air to it, that icy whiteness too pristine for even the coldest earthly winters.
A shiver trailed down my spine at the sight all the same.
I’d never entered this particular scene of destruction; nightmarish tales from other birds were all I knew of it.
But I’d seen plenty of places like this over the years, the permanent scars fireborn magic had left on Seidrinn’s surface – hot springs turned poisonous, once-fertile meadows now barren wastelands.
I knew what that swirling veil might hide.
I knew the rotten-egg stench of decay that crawled into my nostrils with Pain’s every nervous step forward.
It turned into a greasy flavour on my tongue as we rode into the fog – clung like a damp, clammy shroud to my skin.
I almost gagged, holding my breath as I hurriedly tied Durlain’s scarf around the lower half of my face.
He’d already done the same, and he rode on without looking back – just a few steps ahead, and yet the shreds of steam were thick enough that he was little more than a tall, horned silhouette against that churning background.
Muffled shouting rose from the city behind us.
Perhaps we’d be lucky; perhaps the Brainne guards wouldn’t follow us in here … but with the birds on my trail, would I ever be rid of them? Of Kestrel?
Even surrounded by nothing but pungent nothingness, I couldn’t help stealing a glance over my shoulder.
Mist. Muddy earth. The skeleton of a single, withered tree.
When I turned back around, Durlain had come to a standstill on what an optimist might have called the path.
Before him, the mist thinned slightly. For the first time, I caught a glimpse of what lay beyond – the outlines of rocks and boulders, the ramshackle remains of what must once have been a simple wooden fence, a few more of those spindly, wraithlike trees. Most of all …
The swamp.
The fuming, boiling earth.
A creek must have run through the valley in better times – peaceful and idyllic, a steady trickle of clear water to feed the crops and cattle.
I couldn’t imagine anything further from peaceful now.
Gurgling, bubbling mires stretched out before us, the mud stained in shades of slimy yellow and rusty brown where algae had formed a thick, oily film on the soil; the surface roiled and rumbled wherever I looked, belching plumes of the same foul vapour that surrounded us on all sides.
There was no clear path forward. Nothing that betrayed which of those stewing pools were deeper than they seemed, which stretches of seemingly solid land may give way beneath feet and hooves.
At least a mile of treacherous swampland waiting for us, and I didn’t have a clue how we were going to get through alive.
Deep breaths, I tried to remind myself.
Through the scarf around my face, the putrid air smelled vaguely of soap and black roses.
Durlain turned slowly in the saddle, pale face all stark lines behind his mask and eyepatch.
He really didn’t have a right to be appalled by this vileness, with his proud advocacy for the fireborn crowns …
and yet his voice was tight to the point of curtness as he said, ‘Can your magic find us a safe path?’
I stared at him. ‘Please tell me that isn’t the entirety of your plan.’
‘It’s a plan.’ He swung one leg from the stirrups without waiting for my confirmation, high boots sinking two inches into the mud as he dismounted. ‘Not necessarily the plan. Can you?’
Could I?
I clambered from the saddle as well, hands fretfully checking my knives as I trudged through the muck towards him. Ing and uruz, maybe. Earth and strength. Then something like algiz to protect the soil from our weight, or maybe naudiz and laguz to drain the water from the earth, and—
Something whistled past my left ear.
My fraying nerves knew the sound even before the projectile burrowed with a sickening smack into the nearest rotting tree – an arrow.
The voices were suddenly closer behind us.
Shit. Never mind about the sophisticated spells.
I flexed my fingers and signed a rapid sequence of sowilo, ing, othala, wunjo – vision, earth, containing, good luck.
Not foolproof, but before us, a stretch of land between two grimy pools gave a single dim flicker …
and with hell knew how many armed guards on our trail, that was enough for me.
It seemed to be enough for Durlain too, because he grabbed Smudge’s reins without further questions and began squelching through the mud.
The horses had followed us loyally through dead forests and crowded midnight streets, yet now they balked, snorting and tossing their heads as we led them forward.
I couldn’t blame them. Even through the mask of Durlain’s scarf, the thick air felt caustic in my throat and nostrils; every step forward was like treading on creaking ice.
In the mist, it was hard to tell where the voices of our pursuers were coming from.
No matter how hurriedly I signed my runes, no matter how fast we pulled the horses along, they only seemed to be growing louder – curses and hushed commands, the sounds mingling with the gurgling bubbles and hisses of steam escaping from the marshes around us.
Within minutes, I’d lost all sense of direction.
Before me, Durlain still didn’t show a sign of any plans at all.
If not for the guards – and potentially worse – behind us, I’d have asked.
But last time we’d spoken, an arrow had missed me by a foot and a half …
so I plodded quietly through the oozing mud until it came seeping through my new boots, throat growing raw, eyes watering against the fog.
Around us, the earth grew more restless as we progressed deeper into the swamp.
Algae in unsettling colours covered the bottom of the steaming pools, ochre and an almost luminescent green; faint rumbles vibrated through the earth at irregular intervals.
Between shreds of swirling mist, Durlain’s silhouette seemed barely there.
I tried not to imagine being left on my own in this scalding hell, and managed poorly.
Why he finally stopped, some ten minutes in, I had no clue.
Our surroundings did not seem any safer than they had before, boiling pools in bright green and rusty orange stretching into the misty distances.
Yet Durlain snapped around with an air of definitive command to him – every inch the fireborn prince turning even this deadly place into a kingdom to claim.
‘Leave the horses here.’ He was already tying Smudge’s reins to the brittle branches of a black, withered tree. ‘I don’t want them caught up in any fights.’
That did admittedly sound like a plan.
Not like a plan I liked, though.
‘We don’t have any idea how many of them there are!’ I hissed, not daring to raise my voice over the bubbling of the water. ‘If it’s half a garrison with hell knows how many birds, we don’t stand a chance to—’
‘The more the merrier,’ he vaguely cut in, snatching the reins from my hand before I could do the work myself.
Pain seemed relieved to join Smudge by the tree, as far away from the edges of the nearby pools as possible.
Durlain tested the knots with quick yanks, then turned back to me and added, ‘Get moving. We don’t have much time. ’
‘Time for what? You can’t just—’
He was already strolling back the way we’d come, long coat snapping around his ankles, the gold-stitched hems soaked with mud.
Fucker.
I hurried after him before the fumes could swallow him whole.
The voices of our pursuers grew louder at alarming speed as we approached them, shreds of conversation melting rapidly into sentences. Tracks lead around the bend here … fucking fog … tell the others we’re moving east …
A silhouette moved in that wall of churning whiteness, and then another.
Something flickered in the corner of my eye.
It was my only warning – an explosive, lightning-quick warning – before fire flared in Durlain’s palm, so blindingly white I winced. Shocked howls rose from the mist. A bowstring twanged, and another arrow shot in a blurry line towards the light—
Towards Durlain.
My hands shot up to shape hagalaz.
He was faster. A single, irritated flick of his wrist and the fire twisted from his palm and lashed upward like a whip.
There was a crackle. A sizzle, and then nothing but ashes fluttering down onto the soggy earth as the flame settled back into his palm – burning darker now, a deep burnished orange mirroring the acid pools around us.
More voices were yelling. Ten, maybe fifteen of them, none familiar.
Durlain didn’t look at me as he let his fire curl around his fingers – elegantly, almost tenderly, like a lock of freshly combed hair. ‘You can handle half of them, I presume?’
‘Wouldn’t it be nice if you asked me beforehand for once?’ I snapped, hand on Uruz’s hilt as I frantically scanned the mist. ‘You might even—’
There was another twang to my left.