What I do next can be considered treachery, turning on my superior. But I am the one following an order from a prince of hell, and Salzar is not.
The company bell stands in the middle of the sleeping quarters, and it rings throughout the makeshift village. Tired bodies pitch out of their tents to see what the emergency is.
I summarize quickly, then give my commands. "We leave now. Pack only what is necessary to make it to Stonehill safely. Leave everything else. We have no time."
Not all follow. Some are still more loyal to greed and rage than fairness and justice. But many—most—do. I release a long held breath. For all I knew, every soldier could have decided to stay with Salzar, decided to continue raiding village after village. It was easy work. Full of reward. I had gone on two raids myself, and though at first I was driven with thoughts of vengeance for Daison, they soon turned to thoughts of shame. These weren’t soldiers we were fighting, but innocent men, women and children who could barely hold a sword. I argued with Salzar to turn our attention to military strongholds. He said we didn’t have a force big enough. I think he grew too fond of the slaughter and spoils.
But now, with an official message from a prince, I have most of the troops traveling back with me. Hopefully, my good luck continues. By the Spirits, I'm going to need it before this is all said and done.
I'm faster than most, and I'm ready with bedroll and minimal provisions in hand, mounted and wearing light armor. I set the pace for the day's march, and we make good progress come early night. But it's not enough. So I push us more.
I push past the recommendations of my advisors.
I push past my own whispered reservations.
I push past what is safe, as night falls in darkness. As a new moon keeps us shadowed. As we are blocked by a lake that we must cross.
"We must trail back and go around," my advisors say. "It's the only way. The Druids will punish us if we enter the water."
The map lies between us on the rough earth, firelight casting shadows over the parchment. I lay a rock on the narrowest part of the river. "We cross there. We shave off days of travel." I look at each of them pointedly. Daring them to contradict me. To challenge me. To tell me we should abandon my brother and friend to a false hanging.
None do.
But I alone bear the burden.
Of the thing that happens.
When we cross.
When the wind lashes at us, and the waters rage in violent waves. I see a horse pulled under before me.
And then I follow.
Drowning. Feeling the water fill my lungs. It burns. It incites the most animalistic instincts we have. That of survival. Breathe. I must breathe.
I am dying.
They are dying.
We are all dying.
The water turns colder. The pain turns numb. It all turns numb. My mind flicks in and out.
I am a breath away from breathlessness.
From the great beyond.
From nothing.
From death.
I muster a last bit of fight. I lift my arm and pound against the ice freezing between me and air. Me and sky.
Pain shoots through my wrist. The ice doesn't move. It is unbreakable. It surrounds me.
Warmth.
Like a small ball of fire at the pit of my stomach. But it spreads, reaches out for my extremities, filling me with delicious heat. I look up, into the ice, and I lift my hands. They glow a silver light, and they send their heat outwards—breaking through the ice and bringing me to air.
Breathe.
In. Out.
***
Breathe!
Choking.
Gagging.
Lungs burn. Throat burns.
Someone is holding my head. A voice, deep and strong, is telling me to breathe. To live. To stay.
I vomit all the water that ever was out of my mouth.
And then I can breathe. And his face is over mine, a wry smile on his lips. His green eyes crinkled in humor. "Good girl, Princess. Can't have you dying on me yet."
***
I don't know how much time has passed, but I awaken in a dark space. My body shudders, ice still penetrating my nerves, despite the fire that blazes beside me.
***
There is an animal here with me. But I don't feel scared. He is big. Fierce. A white tiger with black stripes. I think he even purrs.
***
The tiger is gone and the man with the secret eyes is back. He always smiles when I open my eyes, and his voice always soothes me. Warm. Caressing. Safe.
***
"Where the hell am I?" I push myself up from the hard ground and nearly knock myself silly on a stone protruding from the wall of a cave.
I could swear I saw the tiger, but when I blink it is the man, sitting with a stick beside the fire, watching over me. "Who are you?" I demand, trying not to get too lost in his green eyes. Dear gods those eyes. Where do you even get eyes like that? Is it some sort of spell? Where can I learn it?
Doesn’t matter. I need answers. I need to find my troop. If anyone else survived.