I try out the sniffing routine, but all I can scent is the sulfur and the burning flesh, as if it’s stained my sinuses.
“There.” He pulls his horse to the right and points. “Through the trees. Hear it?”
Leaning forward over Lavante’s pale mane, yes, I do see it… a river that’s flowing with a brisk current. The horses pick up on the stream, too, nickering and trotting faster through the low-hanging branches.
The trees by the rushing current are green, leafy, and packed in close together, and as we break through the congestion, the sight of the river is a huge relief. And it’s big, the shore seeming to be overrun, no doubt because it’s swollen with runoff from the Badlands’ storm.
“Hold up,” Merc orders as he hauls back on the reins. “Look.”
Sure enough, there are a variety of footprints along the edge—as well as one big disturbance that’s marked with a bloody trail that leads off into the trees. My fear immediately labels it as a demon attack, and I search downstream for a bloated animal corpse that has its stomach open and the meat ripped from its bones.
As Merc continues to scan the area, neither horse appreciates the delay, but I would rather wait, too. Thirst is not an issue if you’re eaten alive.
“Hold him here,” he says as he dismounts. “I’ll test out the water.”
I take Merc’s reins, and he goes over and kneels down. He keeps his broadsword in his right hand, and makes a cup out of the left one. Though I need to stay aware of my surroundings, I focus on the dried gray blood on the blade and remember the fury on his face as he thundered by me and stabbed that ogre in the head.
To make sure I lived.
“It’s clean,” he announces.
As if the horses understand him, his breaks free and goes over to drink, andLavante impatiently stomps forward. I barely have a chance to dismount before my stallion wades in up to his armpits.
Merc captures the reins of both horses and nods at me to follow their example. Lowering myself down, I wash my hands first to get the red dirt off, and then I rinse off my hot face. The water tastes different than what was in the stream that led into the Outpost. It has a bite to it, no doubt due to the mineral deposits it’s flowed through to get here—
“Sorrel.”
Anxiety prickles and I glance around frantically. “Yes?”
Merc’s scanning the trees behind me, his sword at the ready—and I realize I’ll never get tired of staring at him. There’s always something else to notice, whether it’s the gleaming waves of his hair, or the strength of his hand on that hilt, or the way his thighs bunch up… he’s a vista all to himself.
“Don’t lose that compass.”
It takes me a moment to decipher his words, even though they’re well and clearly spoken. And then I have to look down and resume drinking, my eyes stinging.
There’s a lot I don’t want to lose.
“Never,” I say roughly.
SeventyWhereupon It Is All My Fault.
“Stop here. While we’re still in the trees.”
As Merc mutters the words, we both pull up our horses. It’s about an hour after we all had our fill by the stream, and though our trajectory has remained south, we’ve piloted a course through the forest with an easterly angle in an attempt to stay away from the stream—and whatever’s taking meals at its shores. Overhead, the sun has begun its tilt into the horizon, and because of the density of trees, it’s remained cool.
“What’s wrong?” I say softly.
“There’s something up ahead.”
“Like what—”
“The trees end in about seven lengths. But I don’t hear the ocean. I don’t know what we’re going into.”
And that’s when I see it as well. Up ahead, there’s just sky through the trunks and branches… almost as if we’ve reached the end of this part of Anathos. But that can’t be. Unless the Kingdom of the South has broken off the continent and been swallowed by the sea.
“Again, I don’t hear waves,” he mutters. “So it’s not the ocean.”
When we restart, I notice that the wind increases as we press forward, and the closer we get to the forest edge, the more my instincts prickle. Something is very different, and all I can see is the horizon—
