a bog.”
“Buck up, Garret,” Hallie said, cheerful as usual. “You’ll feel better once we’ve a fire going and you got something in your belly.”
“If we can even build a fire in this wet,” Mick grumbled.
Raisa didn’t like the idea of passing the night in this freezing swamp any more than the rest of them, but she did look forward to a fire. She increased her pace a bit.
They walked single file, leading their horses, the mist so thick they could scarcely see the person in front of them, when a shout from the rear brought the column to a halt.
“Hallie! Where are you?” Long pause. “Don’t you fool around now. Hallie!”
Nothing.
“What is it, Mick?” Amon called from his position in the lead.
“It . . . it’s Hallie, sir. She’s gone.” Hallie had been bringing up the rear.
“Gone? Since when?” Amon asked.
“Within five minutes, I’d guess, sir. I just looked back and she wasn’t there.”
Amon swore. “I told you to stick together.”
“We did,” Mick insisted. “She was right behind me, I swear it.”
“Form up!” Amon shouted, and the Gray Wolves bunched in close, clutching their horses’ reins, faces pale and anxious. “All right. We’ll find her. She can’t be far away.
“Garret, Talia, Morley, and I will build a fire and set up camp. The rest of you, form two teams of three and scout the back trail. Check back here in fifteen minutes. And be careful. Rope yourselves together if you need to. I don’t want to have to explain to my da how I lost my triple in the Fens.”
Ordinarily, there would have been some jibes and catcalls in response to this, but no one seemed to be in a joking mood. The other six cadets disappeared into the mist, walking back the way they’d come.
Raisa methodically laid a fire, pulling dry tinder out of the weatherized pouch at her belt and digging the clan- made fire kindler out of her saddlebags. Amon and Garret raised the tents while Talia stood guard. They set their weapons in easy reach.
Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty, then twenty- five, and none of the other Wolves returned. Raisa soon had a fire going, shielded from prying eyes by a wall of icy reeds and mud. She strung cording up to dry their wet clothing. Digging out the travel bread and smoked meat and dried fruit that would be their supper, she put water on to boil for tea. She forced herself to pretend that everything would be all right.
As the deadline came and went, Amon transitioned from impatient and irritated to tense and uncommunicative. He jumped at every sound, and there were lots of sounds in the surrounding marsh— frozen twigs creaking, and icy marsh grasses hissing as if stroked by unseen hands. The mist eddied and swirled about them, forming monstrous shapes in the firelight.
Amon stood staring down into the flames. The firelight glazed the hard planes of his face. He’s only seventeen, Raisa thought. He’s only a year older than me, yet he’s been given this huge responsibility. If anything happens to the rest of us, he’ll blame himself, since he’s in charge. How is that fair?
Off in the mist, a horse whickered a greeting. Amon sprinted to where the ponies were tethered, his sword in hand. He disappeared into the fog, leading with his blade. “Hallie!” His shout came back to Raisa, muffled by the thick air.
Moments later, he reappeared, leading a riderless pony. “Hallie’s,” he said shortly, tethering it alongside the others.
Talia and Garret scouted the area around the camp, gathering any burnables they could find while being careful to remain within sight. Amon saw to the horses, but did not remove all of their tack, as if anticipating that they might need to leave in a hurry.
Where would we go? Raisa thought. There was nothing to recommend one spot in this trackless maze over another. Nothing to say that one place was safer than another. They might as well stay here, where there was a chance the others might find their way back. She crawled into the tents and began laying out the bedrolls, telling herself that the others would be exhausted and ready to make an early night of it when they returned.
She was finishing up in the third tent when she heard a shout, suddenly cut off. Then running feet and someone crashing through the underbrush, and Amon shouting, “Garret! Talia?”
Raisa froze in place, holding her breath. A moment later she jumped as Amon shoved aside the tent flap and crouched next to her, speaking into her ear. “They’re gone,” he said. “It’s the Waterwalkers, it has to be. I don’t know how many there are, but I think we have to assume we’re outnumbered.”
“Should we make a run for it?” Raisa whispered.
“If we run, we’ll be taken, too. I’m going to try to get them to come to me so we can find out what’s going on. It’s not like them to attack unprovoked.”
“Maybe things have changed since you were here,” Raisa said, then instantly regretted it when she saw the pain and guilt on Amon’s face.
He thrust a saddlebag into her arms. “There’s some food and supplies in here. I’ll go out and ask for a meeting. You stay in here and listen. If things go wrong, slide out the back and run for it. Maybe you’ll be able to avoid them, one person alone.”
What would it be like, to hear Amon murdered, and then go fleeing through this awful swamp on her own with his killers on her heels?
“No. I will not,” Raisa said. “We’ll stay together, no matter what. We’ll die together, if need be.”
“Please, Raisa,” he said, gripping her hands painfully hard. “This is my fault. We shouldn’t have come this way. I thought I knew what we were getting into, but I should have listened to Barlow. Give me a chance to save you, even if I’ve lost the others.”
“We all thought this was our best chance to cross the border,” Raisa said. “Your father included. I’m not going to second-guess it now. No matter what happens, I think we’re safer together.” Raisa crawled to the front of the tent. “Now, let’s go out. I think it’s better to go out to them than to have them come in after us.”
“All right.” Sliding forward, Amon put his hand on her shoulder. “But stay back, will you? I don’t want them to know who you really are. I’m going to call for a parley.”
They emerged into the eerie vacancy of the campsite. Amon fetched his fighting staff from his horse. Resting it on his upturned palms, he lifted it horizontally in front of him, then laid it down on the grass in the middle of the clearing. He stepped back from it, three long paces, then called out something in what Raisa assumed must be the Waterwalker language.
One more language she didn’t know. Why had she never studied it?
The answer was this: her tutors and advisers in Fellsmarch considered the Waterwalkers scarcely more than savages. They did not use metal weapons or tools, they did not ride horses, and they lived simply, in dwellings they moved from place to place.
Amon waited for a response, and when none came, he repeated the call. On the third repetition, shapes materialized out of the mist and came toward them.
There were three of them— a young man, a boy, really, two or three years younger than Raisa, and a man and woman of middle age. They shared the same thick black eyebrows and strong straight noses. They wore pale robelike garments that made them difficult to see in the freezing mist. All carried fighting staffs like Amon’s.
The young man stood facing Amon. In contrast to Amon’s plain weapon, his staff was intricately carved with fish, serpents, and other fantastical creatures. It was small enough to suit his stature and slight build. His attire was more elaborately decorated than that worn by the others, embroidered with pale, silvery thread in a design that mimicked sunlight on wavelets and fish scales.
“Good