Page 94 of The Queen and the Half-blood
The advance guard—a force of four hundred wulvers—had already disappeared into the mists ahead. The rest of thewulvers traveled with the rear guard, protecting their supply wagons, healers, slaves, and servants. For most of the day, they’d wended their way through woodland interspersed by swamps. Fortunately, the road between Duncrag and Dulross was a proper one, and this section had long ago been raised up with deep ditches on either side.
Lara’s brow furrowed as she gazed around her. They wouldn’t be stopping just yet. Watery marshes—interspersed with rushes—stretched on either side of the highway.
She glanced Alar’s way once more, marking the groove between his eyebrows as he looked right, to where rain stippled the water. His horse snorted then and bucked. Alar kept his seat and leaned forward, placing a steadying hand on the beast’s slick neck. “Easy,” he soothed.
Likewise, Lara’s mount startled. Bracken, usually unflappable, side-stepped, threw up her head, and gave a high-pitched squeal. Stroking the mare’s neck, Lara looked around her. “What’s spooked them?”
Alar didn’t answer. He was too busy staring out across the marshes.
“Can you hear that?” Bree’s voice cut through the rain.
Lara twisted in her saddle. “Hear what?”
“Gurgling.”
Alar’s hands lifted to his blades. “I hear it too.”
Lara held her breath, listening. There—a wet, rhythmic burbling that almost sounded like words drowning in water.
Her stomach dropped.Beware of voices in the rain near dusk or dawn.Her nursemaid’s warnings echoed in her mind as the bog began to bubble. Mist rose from its surface like steam from a cauldron.
Cailean’s curse split the air. An instant later, Skaal gave a loud growl, her hackles rising.
Emaciated figures crawled from the marsh.
Lara’s pulse went wild.The Fuath.
The Slew weren’t the only malevolent spirits in Albia that attacked in packs—bog wights did too. The Fuath were the corrupted spirits of those who’d drowned. Ragged, water-logged clothing still clung to their bodies, but their mottled blue-green skin, slick and slightly transparent, wasn’t Marav. Nor were the webbed hands and feet, tipped with curving claws, they used to pull themselves free of the bog.
Long, tangled hair flowed over their shoulders, their large fishlike eyes fixed upon the column of riders and warriors before them.
“Draw iron!” Cailean roared.
Skaal lunged forward.
Metal sang in the rain. Lara’s dagger was in her hand before she’d thought to draw it.
The Fuath swarmed the road.
Alar dropped to the ground, and Lara hastily followed his lead. Horses screamed, rearing back from the onslaught. Warriors formed a tight circle around the High Queen.
A warrior went down shrieking as a female Fuath buried her fangs in his leg. Her companions dragged him into the bog. His cries cut off with a wet gurgle.
Iron hissed through waterlogged flesh. The bog wights’ bodies burst like punctured aleskins, flooding the road. The sharp scent of pine and ash followed as the enforcers drew upon their strength. The strident notes of singing rose above the fracas. Ren and her bards were trying to weaken their attackers. Some of the Fuath shrank from the sound, and from Cailean as he strode into their midst, iron broadsword swinging.
One slipped past the guards, lunging for Bree. Her blade opened its throat in a spray of brackish water.
Skaal’s growls punctuated the shouts and grunts of battle. Lara couldn’t see the fae hound, but she was nearby. Protecting them.
“Keep close!” Bree shouted. “Protect the High Queen!”
It was too late—they’d already gotten through.
Lara’s world shrank to slick skin and gaping mouths. Fear pounded in her chest like a war drum. She swiped at an attacker, her dagger blade scoring a line down a bare arm. Translucent skin burst open, and the wraith retreated with a screech. Iron left a nasty cut, but it wasn’t enough to keep them at bay.
“Lara!” Alar shouted. She couldn’t see him now either.
“I’m here!” she screamed back.
