“Are you safe to be around?” Mirza finally managed.
“Safe enough. I decide who needs to die to appease the essences. Here in Granadia, there are more than enough enemies. I will not be driven to madness and harm you.”
Mirza and Danvir’s worried expressions smoothed. Danvir went off to get the three wooden paddles as Ancel, Mirza and Kachien eased the rowboat into the river. Kachien held a tether in one hand.
“Ancel,” Danvir began when he returned, and they climbed in one by one. “I know he’s strong, but can Charra swim against this current?”
“Make sure he stays close,” Kachien said before Ancel offered a reply. “If he does, he should be fine.”
They all looked at each other but said nothing. Kachien leaped into the boat last. From the riverbank, Charra growled.
“Follow,” Ancel commanded.
Charra whined and leaped after them as they pushed off from the shore. He landed with a splash and paddled beside the craft.
They kept as close to the bulwark as they dared. Danvir sat in the middle as the counterweight to Ancel and Mirza at the ends. Kachien took up a position near Mirza, her eyes focused ahead. The first few hundred feet went smoothly. When they reached the sewer exit, they worked hard to stay as close to the city’s walls as they dared. The sewage roared out as they passed, and the swirling currents from its collision with the river careened the boat, sending the bow high in the air before the vessel crashed back down, and the stern lifted from the water.
Ancel frantically switched his paddle from side to side in order to help prevent the craft from capsizing. He considered shouting to help them work in concert, but not only would that prove fruitless with the water roaring around them, there was the risk of alerting a guard. He struggled on, the pain in his arms and legs a dull throb. When at last they passed the danger, he blew out a deep breath. Allowing his shoulders to sag never felt so good.
His relaxation was short lived as the speed at which they traveled increased. They were pitched to and from the stone edifice without mercy. Keeping the boat on course became more difficult than he could have imagined, and he resorted to shorter strokes as the waters conspired to slam them into the stone. Luckily, the city’s bulwarks shielded them from the wind that howled as if possessed by some wraithlike creature, venting its rage at the fact they didn’t have to deal with its swirling eddies and the treacherous waters at the same time.
Occasional spray and the rain tempted Ancel to wipe his eyes. He resisted. Instead, he focused on the task at hand and his friends in front. The muscles on Danvir’s back and arms threatened to burst through his dirty silk shirt. Ancel’s shoulders, back, and legs burned even more than before. Mirza’s red head bobbed this way and that as he worked. Kachien simply watched.
Foot by foot, their speed grew until they hurtled by stone and debris alike. Charra somehow managed to keep up with them. At any moment, Ancel expected the river’s fury to smash and break them against the wall. But as if by Ilumni’s good grace, they avoided their demise, often only by inches. Ancel managed a glimpse of Kachien. Her forehead was furrowed in concentration and her eyes narrowed. He was certain whatever she did had to do with Materforging.
His arms feeling as if they would fall off at any moment, Ancel battled on. Legs wooden, breathing ragged, back aching, and hands raw from the constant fight with the paddle, he lost track of time. The only things that existed was their craft tipping toward the wall, his strokes to push it away, then his work on the opposite side so they wouldn’t be swept out into the middle of the river.
Without warning, they passed the bulwark. Moments later, the river flung them around a sharp bend. Icy wind whipped into them like frozen daggers. The front of the boat turned and it keeled to one side. At the dizzying speed they traveled, the craft twisted the opposite direction, toward the foaming violence at the river’s center, yawing listlessly. There was no way to stop the movement. They were going to flip over.
We’re going to die here.
Just as abruptly as the wind began, it stopped. The boat lurched upright.
“You no longer…need to…paddle,” Kachien said, an edge to her voice as if she’d fought a great battle.
Ancel hissed at the sight of her haggard, pale face. He wanted to reach out to her and stroke away the wild strands of hair from her cheeks, but his arms were too heavy to lift and his legs too numb to move.
Then, the impossible happened.
The craft veered out into the river. And was not swept away. It sped along as if the day was a calm, sunny one, and they were out on a leisurely boat ride. The oncoming water never struck them with more than a gentle lap. They cut across the river’s heart like a sharp blade through silk.
Ancel stared, his mouth open. Danvir plopped down into a sitting position. Mirza cackled, his head thrown to the sky.
And somehow, next to them swam Charra, his golden eyes focused on Kachien.
Ancel looked back behind them. A fog had risen along the riverbank they just left. The gray, cloying mist spread down the entire length of the city and up, obscuring the wall and its many towers. Faded orange light marked where torches dotted Randane’s fortifications. Ancel almost whooped.
A ragged gasp came from Kachien. Her face had grown even paler. Her chest heaved the same as when a farmer stuck a pig and allowed its blood to drain until the animal died. Spittle bubbling at her lips, sweat pouring down her face at such a rate not even the constant deluge of rain could hide it, she stared straight ahead, her body rigid. Her breaths came harder and faster.
Ancel pined to go to her, but if he moved, he would upset the boat’s current balance. He forced himself to hold his position and watched, his hands clenched, his eyes moist, and his heart feeling as if someone stabbed him.
The boat struck the far bank. Kachien flopped to one knee in a boneless heap.
Ancel tried to yell, but the words he uttered were a dull croak. “Help her.”
CHAPTER 33
Early the next morning, Ryne and Sakari emerged from the Sang Reaches and entered Astoca. They crossed the wide Tantua River, which meandered through the Mondros Forest miles to the east, before it split into several smaller tributaries forming the Sinking Swamps and the Great Rainbow Lakes to their immediate south. Skiffs, fishing boats, sleek river dancers, bulky ferries, and the occasional warsailer traversed the Tantua’s murky waters. Most headed in the direction of Castere. Ryne skirted the swamps, and they soon arrived at the citadel built between the Rainbow Lakes.
The rising sun sparkled in dizzying colors off the glassy stones littering the lakes’ floor. The sight took Ryne’s breath away. Boats by the hundreds dotted the expanses of water. Twin gigantic statues, one of Hyzenki and the other of Aeoli, both holding massive swords raised to the heavens, adorned each lake.
Perched on the islands between Lake Benica and Venica sat Castere. The city’s Outer Ring to its Inner Ring rose in a mountain of structures which began with wooden shacks followed by stone edifices in blue and violet shades and culminated with the spires and towers of the King’s castle at the city’s peak. Tiles or shingles covered roofs that sloped down or peaked up. Even this early, people streamed like foraging ants across the white bridges spanning the many tributaries, streams, and canals that carved paths through the city’s Outer and Mid Ring.
The Mid Ring began where the Outer Ring ended a mile into Castere at the first of the city’s two encircling ramparts. The hundred-foot edifice marked the Mid Ring’s border, and although considered one wall, it was two, separated by huge gates in each cardinal direction. Once, what was now the Mid Ring had been the poor slums of the Outer Ring until Castere rose to prominence and the hovels spilled outside the first wall. Stone structures had replaced the shanties, and the slums had shifted until the Outer Ring lay outside the fortification. Ryne could see the process may well repeat itself again.