Sobbing weakly, she held on until her muscles burned and then gave out. Even had she been able to summon the will to support Versen’s weight any more, her limbs had already rebelled, giving up the struggle. Unable to move she watched Versen bob a few paces off before sinking beneath the waves.
Crying in earnest now, she inadvertently gulped a large mouthful of salty water and choked violently for several moments, coughing the fluid from her lungs between sobs. She struggled to fill her lungs and roll onto her back so she could float as long as possible before succumbing to the cold. She couldn’t feel her extremities any more. Her time was at hand; she hoped Versen was waiting for her on the long trail to the Northern Forest.
Above, the clear blue sky was interrupted by a few thin clouds scudding north towards Orindale. Floating on her back, Brexan inhaled as if to breathe in those clouds, to draw them down with her in hopes they might bring the sun’s warmth or better yet, might carry her away, carry her someplace dry. They must be warm; they are so close to the sun. Let them come. Come and take me. Just one of you, come down here.
Brexan choked as a wave passed over her face. Coughing and blinking to clear her vision, she drew a final hoarse breath, smiled up at the ghostly clouds stark against the brilliant blue sky, and gave up.
‘I’m coming, Ox,’ she mumbled and turned her gaze skywards. Unable to draw another breath, Brexan’s vision tunnelled, and the walls of her consciousness began to close down upon her. In an ironic last vision, she was faintly amused that one of the bone-white clouds appeared to be dropping from the sky.
Karn’s leg was bleeding badly from the wound the young woman had dealt him before she sprang from the quarterdeck of the Falkan schooner. Now, trailing a cloud of bloodstained water, he knew he would not survive the day. The cold had already slowed his progress, but he doggedly continued swimming, determined to get as far as he could before allowing the ocean to swallow his body. Karn understood swimming to shore was his only choice; that had become obvious the moment he realised the schooner’s crew could not retrieve his prisoners from the Ravenian Sea. To return to Malakasia without their prize would mean certain death for him. Karn preferred to drown here rather than return to face Prince Malagon empty-handed.
He had hoped the cold, coupled with the healing properties of salt water, would stop the bleeding, but although the pain had lessened dramatically, blood continued to flow unchecked from the wound. He wished he had had the forethought to stitch it himself before jumping overboard, but it was too late for that. Karn swam onwards, without hesitation or regrets.
Beside him swam his fellow Seron. Rala’s jaw was set, and a look of fierce determination passed across her face when she made eye contact with him. They would not wait, nor would they slow their pace to accommodate him. If he made it to shore, he would bind his injury and follow their trail until he could rejoin them.
Neither Haden nor Rala looked back as Karn began to lag behind. Soon they were ten, then twenty paces ahead of him. At fifty paces, he periodically lost sight of them behind the waves, and by the time the pair had moved a hundred paces more, Karn was already gone.
Rala swam steadily, but not even the consistent, repetitive motion or her single-minded intention to recapture the Ronan prisoners could mask the reality: her strength was waning. Beside her Haden continued, apparently unaffected by the cold or by the impossibly long distance they had yet to cover. There was something terrible about him, something powerful and evil. Rala understood Seron were stronger and more physically resilient than most men, but he was especially strong, especially brutal and coldly cruel, even for one of their race. Lahp was smart, a heavy-handed disciplinarian and a powerful leader among the Seron; Haden was quite as strong as Lahp, his equal physically, but he was far more ruthless, content to wait in the shadows, biding his time and awaiting opportunities to kill or maim.
Rala knew when they found the Ronans, Haden would most likely kill one of them right away. She would have to protect the second if they were to retrieve the stone, even if it meant a physical confrontation. It would be her responsibility to oversee the survivor’s interrogation, or they would lose critical intelligence to Haden’s inexhaustible appetite for pain, torture and dismemberment.
Struggling to remain afloat, Rala considered asking him to help her, but fearing his response, she decided instead to rededicate herself to maintaining her strokes and ignoring the cold as long as possible. But it didn’t work: fear began to creep into her mind, an emotion she knew little of. Slowly, she felt herself give way to panic. Her short, economic movements, designed to carry her rapidly through the water with minimal effort, became wild, jerky flailings that exhausted her physically and exacerbated her terror. Her head fell beneath the waves several times, and she cried out, choking, then hacking the briny seawater from her throat.
Finally she gave up and reached out. ‘Haden, help Rala,’ she pleaded in a high-pitched grunt.
‘Na,’ he replied, shoving her violently away, disgusted at her childish fear: she should be proud to die for their prince.
When she came at him again, Haden could see she had lost control. He placed the flat of one palm firmly against her chest, holding her at arm’s length as she thrashed and pleaded with him to save her life. Realising he could not afford to waste his energy battling Rala, the scarred Seron gripped her by the shoulders and forced her head beneath the waves. It wouldn’t take long, then he would continue swimming towards Rona. With Rala gone, he would be free to deal with the prisoners as he saw fit. Within an aven he would have the stone key, or know where it was, and the partisans would both be dead.
Rala surprised him: she was stronger than he had expected. She gripped his wrists and began pulling him down. His head submerged twice before he realised he had made a mistake. In the throes of fighting for her life, Rala discovered a store of adrenalin yet untapped, and she kicked and tugged like a wild woman until Haden released her. He decided to swim away; she was in no condition to keep up with him. He grinned as he watched her surface several paces off. He understood he might not make it to shore, but before he died, it would bring him great pleasure listening to Rala’s terrified, wailing cries for help, knowing none would come.
In a final act of desperation, she plunged forward, screaming, ‘Help Rala!’
Haden grimaced and spat a surprised curse as the woman managed to grab hold of his tunic. Screaming and scratching, Rala pulled wildly at his arms, his hair, and even his face as she struggled to find a solid purchase. Spinning onto his back, the scarred one raised his fists to pummel her beneath the waves, but before he had an opportunity to throw his first punch, Rala stopped struggling.
Her eyes wide in shock, the Seron woman choked out a final plea, then released her grip. Bobbing away like a tide-borne piece of driftwood, Rala’s body began to shrivel, to waste away until she was little more than an empty sack of sodden skin housing a jumbled array of pale yellow bones.
‘Almor,’ the remaining Seron grunted approvingly and turned to continue his journey. He had not gone far before he felt the almor’s touch, a faint prickling of primitive energy, as the demon creature came from below to envelop him in a warm and protective blanket that buoyed its passenger high in the water and heated his cold flesh. The milky-white fluid of the almor’s insubstantial form clouded the water around him, and he felt his hands and feet pass through the gelatinous substance as he made his way steadily towards the shore.