Chapter 20 #3
“I’m sure if I tried to go from platform to platform for the most part–”
Thorian shakes his head before I've even finished speaking.
“The platforms are too far apart. There are stretches where you'll have to enter the water.
Maybe only for a few seconds, but after what we watched, that's enough.” He glances toward the stranded knights, who have made it to another platform.
“Cedric was a trained warrior. A big, powerful warrior. You're not.”
The words sting, though not because they're unfair but because they're true.
I look toward Willem and Beric. Both men remain huddled on a different tiny platform, still trapped between the shore behind them and the water ahead, even though they’re slowly making their way across. Neither looks capable of getting to the other side.
“Then what?” I ask quietly.
Thorian rubs a hand over his jaw. “I could probably make it through the water.”
That gets both mine and Fenric's attention.
“Probably?” Fenric asks.
“I mean, I can. I know I can. I'm a demi-god. Whatever magic is draining them would affect me differently than it would a mere mortal. Technically, I won’t die unless something specific kills me, unlike humans who age, get sick, weaken, and die.” His expression darkens. “I’m not immune, but I’d survive.”
Which is somehow less reassuring than I'd hoped.
“Except,” he continues, “we're not trying to get one person across. We're trying to get all three of us across.”
Fenric nods immediately.
“So that doesn’t help us that much.”
Silence settles between us again as all three of us stare out at the swamp. The answer feels close. Close enough that I can almost see it. Then I notice Thorian studying Fenric. It’s not casual. It’s like he’s evaluating him. It’s the same look he gets whenever he's working through a problem.
Fenric notices too. “I don’t think I like what you’re thinking.”
“You don't even know what I'm going to say.”
“I know enough.”
Thorian rubs his chin. “You're a berserker.”
Fenric groans.
I glance between them.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Thorian turns to me. “When berserkers transform, their bodies become significantly stronger and more durable. Harder to injure. Harder to kill.”
“And more resistant to magic,” Fenric adds reluctantly.
That catches my attention.
“Really?”
Fenric shrugs. “Most magical attacks don't affect us the same way while transformed. Not all of them. But enough.”
“Have you ever tested it against something like this?” Thorian asks.
“No.” Fenric's expression turns thoughtful. “But then again, when would I have had the opportunity? It's not as though my village had enchanted death swamps lying around.”
Despite everything, I snort.
The corner of Thorian's mouth twitches.
“So it's possible,” Thorian says. “Not guaranteed. But possible.”
Fenric nods slowly. “Possible.”
I finally understand where this conversation is heading.
“You want him to cross the water as a berserker.”
“I want him alive,” Thorian says. “The transformation gives him the best chance.”
“You’re right,” Fenric says flatly. “I don’t like it, but you’re right.”
“So we have a plan to get the two of us across.” His eyes shift to me. “The problem is you.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Then sigh. Because once again, he's right.
“You won't survive repeated exposure to that water,” he says. “Not after what we just watched. So the goal becomes keeping you out of it entirely.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Wonderful. I'm the weakest link.”
“I would never call you weak,” Thorian says.
The correction is immediate. Firm. And somehow worse for my pride.
Fenric thankfully rescues me before I can think of a response. “So what's the actual plan?”
Thorian looks back toward the swamp. “I carry Nyx across. We use platforms whenever possible. We enter the water only when necessary. Fenric will transform and take the crossings himself. We stay close enough to help each other if anything goes wrong.”
Fenric studies the swamp before nodding. “It's not a good plan.”
“No,” Thorian agrees. “It's just the least terrible one.”
“Exactly.”
“I guess,” I say, feeling unconvinced as I look out at the creepy water.
The berserker lets out a long breath. “Alright. Then let's do it.”
The hesitation in his voice makes me look at him more closely. He looks nervous.
“Fenric?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
He clears his throat, then looks directly at Thorian. “I have two problems.”
“What?”
“One, when I go berserk, I don’t think clearly.”
Thorian answers quickly. “I knew that. Don’t worry, I have ways of keeping your focus on me.”
Fenric shifts awkwardly. “I can't just decide to go berserk.”
Silence.
“What do you mean you can't… turn it on and off?” I ask.
Fenric looks absolutely miserable. “Nah, I’m more like a woman in bed. I need someone to put in a little effort.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
Thorian coughs, but the sound strangely sounds like a laugh.
Then Fenric points at Thorian. “I’m going to need your help.”
“Alright?” Thorian asks, an edge of suspicion in his voice.
Fenric takes a deep breath. “I need you to punch me in the face.”
Huh?