Chapter Twenty
I t felt like hours Jem was slung over a stallion’s back on his belly. He braced for dear life, his stomach bruised from the merciless jolting. A rider sat behind him and suddenly reined in the horse at the sound of a distant shout.
Jem crashed to the wet ground. He’d been given a hard shove, and at least his captors hadn’t bothered to bind his hands so he could break his fall at the last moment.
His fingers were numb with cold and shock as he struggled with the knot on the sack over his head. The rough material touched his mouth with every ragged inhalation, and he tore at the binding.
The rest of him was freezing—the sun had apparently only made a brief appearance before a return of the relentless rain—but his face was hot with his muffled breath and the rush of blood from hanging over the horse.
Nostrils flaring, his mouth open as he gasped, Jem yanked at the sack. He tried to tear the fabric with his fingers, giving up on the knot in the twine that secured it around his neck. He kicked uselessly, a high whine escaping.
Off! Get it off!
He was suffocating, and no one seemed to care. There were low voices nearby, and he almost cried for help. Forcing a slow inhalation and exhalation, he stopped himself. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
In the mud, he curled into a ball and counted his breaths, reminding himself that the twine was just loose enough and the fabric porous enough that he could breathe. He’d have been long dead otherwise.
Sinking into the mud that had likely saved him broken bones, Jem breathed and listened. He balled his icy fingers into fists and rubbed them against his filthy tunic for a shred of warmth. Now that he was calmer, he noticed the air was briny. Above the rain, the voices moved closer.
“They should fucking be here by now.” This bark was undoubtedly Bryok’s. No surprise, but Jem still shuddered.
A woman said, “Be patient, my dear.” Hmm. Given the affection in her words, Bryok’s wife? Jem searched his memory for her name. Creeda.
He listened as a few others spoke of a ship. Was someone sailing to meet them? These kidnappers? Were they from the mainland? With the great distance, plans would have to be made long in advance and wouldn’t be flexible.
Had the kidnapping always been scheduled for today? Was that why Cador had sought Delen’s help? Because time was running out and he’d had second thoughts at the last minute?
Jem pressed his palms together, threading his fingers. The thought of losing one of his hands was unbearable. Which would it be? He only needed a moment to answer as the question entered his mind.
With his thumb, he traced the tusks branded into his right palm.
He hadn’t married Cador with any illusions of love.
They were strangers forced together. But to think Cador had known Jem was to be hurt so grievously, even if now he’d sworn to Delen that he wouldn’t allow it…
And for what? A war? Involving Jem’s mother? He couldn’t make sense of it.
He waited to hear Cador’s voice. Dreading it, knowing his heart would crumble to dust. Yet if Cador was amongst the group, he was silent. Jem imagined Cador’s gaze on him—his pitiful collapse in the mud, curled helplessly. Would he just stand there and watch?
Had there only been a single dawn since Cador and Jem had rutted in mud like this? They’d undoubtedly given each other pleasure—Cador hadn’t faked filling Jem with his seed. He’d cradled him after, his lips gentle. There had been true affection between them.
Hadn’t there?
Jem didn’t want to delude himself, but he clung to a stubborn thread of hope with numb fingers.
After a time, he set those fingers to work again on the twine. Controlling his panic now, he picked and tugged with small movements while Bryok and the others complained about a late ship. They seemed to pay him no mind at all. They underestimated him.
Jem would use that mistake. He’d only have one chance.
“And where the fuck is Hedra?” Bryok shouted. “We can’t preserve it without her skills.”
Again, Creeda tried to soothe him. “She will come. She has prepared for the ceremony for weeks.”
Jem’s fingers stilled on the impossibly knotted twine. Did they mean Austol’s Hedra? Ceremony? Preserve it? Preserve what ? His hand? The cold lump of dread in his gut grew heavier, and he willed his fingers not to tremble as he dug a blunt nail under the knotted twine. He had to escape.
Panic flapped its wings, and he bit his tongue to stop from crying out. His legs twitched. He tasted blood. But again, Jem forced slow breaths, and he worked on the damn knot while Bryok ranted about unreliable conspirators.
Finally! Jem wanted to weep with joy as he wedged his nail in deep enough and patiently pulled at the knot. His throat felt bruised from the twine digging in around his neck, and it took all his control to ease the knot free and keep the rough fabric in place instead of tearing it off his head.
His hot breath was cloying in the sweaty sack, and he yearned to gulp fresh air. Instead, he slowly, slowly worked the material up over his nose. For a few moments, he inhaled gratefully and waited, still curled in the mud. No one raised the alarm.
Holding his breath, he eased the sack above his eyes.
The day was fading now, so it had been hours.
Only gray light remained. Bryok and the others—five in total, including a woman who was indeed Creeda—loomed tall, but they were some distance away.
Certainly close enough to see him if they looked down, but it would take perhaps five of Bryok’s long strides to reach him.
That Cador was not among them released at least one knot of tension from Jem’s spine.
What of Austol? Had they hurt him? Although it was pointless, Jem said a quick, silent prayer to the gods or whatever forces might be listening.
It was the only thing he could do, and it felt better than nothing at all.
Though the rain had finally ceased completely, the briny air was damp. Jem realized the shaking of the muddy ground wasn’t his panicked heartbeat but approaching hooves. Was this Hedra? Whoever it was and whatever they might do, he couldn’t wait to find out.
A horse nosed the ground near him, and as the approaching hoof beats grew to thunder, Jem sprang up, ignoring the wobble of his knees and stiffness in his bruised body.
The pale horse was tall, but Jem didn’t hesitate, taking a running jump and tangling his fingers in its mane. It snorted and sidestepped as he heaved across its back.
A shout rose. “Grab him!”
With all his might, Jem spurred the horse with his heels, not looking behind as they leapt forward. A violent yank on his boot almost toppled him, but he kicked hard and was released, the figure crashing to the ground.
There were more shouts over the rush of wind and his heart. Still, Jem didn’t look back. Bent low over the horse’s back, fingers clutching its mane, he held on and kicked with his heels. “Faster!” he shouted.
He had no idea where they were aside from near the ocean. His captors pursued, so the only direction was onward over a ridge. Then he rode along a cliff, the Askorn Sea churning to his right.
Yet he also rode straight toward more cliffs and the sea.
It was only at the last moment, the horse rearing up on its hind legs in the failing gray light that Jem realized where they were. He tumbled, hitting the wet ground on his back with a mighty whomp , the air rushing from his lungs.
As the horse whinnied and retreated, Jem heaved to his belly and found himself at the land’s edge. The others were too close, and he crawled, sinking his battered hands into the mud. He kept crawling, then pushed to his feet and ran.
Jem ran onto one of the narrow fingers of the Cliffs of Glaw.
The spit of land was only wide enough for three horses flanked. It felt like no room at all with a deadly drop to both sides. The tip narrowed even more before him. He stumbled to a stop, remembering staring up at these fingers of Ergh’s fist, the southern-most edges of the land.
Hadn’t Cador mentioned a watch here on the coast? Jem saw no towers or patrols, but he’d have scarcely noticed as he galloped. If he shouted, would anyone rush to his aid? Would they go against Bryok, the chieftain’s son? Jem thought not, but he shouted for help anyway.
He faced his pursuers as they reined in their horses, still on solid ground. Bryok laughed and mimicked his cries. Night was descending swiftly, the days so short on Ergh even in this supposed spring. An icy wind from the sea whipped Jem’s curls as he stood at the precipice.
There was nowhere left to run.