The Lost Hero: Chapter 17

The so-called ‘bottomless swamp’ had a bottom. It was just a sinking, sticky mass of putrid mud. Stepping unwarily off the path, Juen sank to her knee. Sorrint, following close behind, tugged her up by her armpit.

“Thanks,” she grumbled. Fatigue was making her clumsy and she berated herself for it.

They had marched from well before dawn into the twilight every night this past week. The marshland had started two days previous and devolved into a winding trail that waded through still pools and half-solid ground.

Karn and Vernin, convicted of smuggling goods across this very stretch of land, consulted a map. Bought off a local for an exorbitant sum, Juen wondered if they should trust it. It felt like they were walking in circles.

She looked to the southeast, wanting to sprout wings and fly there as fast as possible. Had he felt this same drive? The delay was driving her mad.

“This way,” Vernin decided, folding the map and tucking it away. “The Crouth should be fordable this late in the year.”

Juen followed wearily along. At least the horses carried her kit. But even the lightened armor was heavy and her boots long since saturated.

The River Crouth was little more than a flood plain, fed by seasonal streams. They worked their way across, tugging the hesitant horses. Athusan cattle were bred for mountains; they liked sloshing through mud as little as she did.

Juen’s mount fell behind, fretting and mincing. She soothed it, murmuring the clumsy Athusan she knew.

Someone is following!

Juen froze an instant, then kept up her strokes. The horse shook its head, blowing. Juen worked the animal around until she could peer over the saddle.

Nothing. Just the flat, sparkling delta, flashing orange from the sun.

She stayed still, letting her eyes unfocus, reading the subtle dips and curves.

There!

A shadow, moving some way behind.

Juen urged her mount on. The others waited by the shore of a raised island, mercifully free of water.

“We’re being followed.”