“But his sword is still locked up in the dungeon, Master,” Vrell said. She did not want Khai to be too prepared. Let the weasel think it was no contest.
Worry crept over her hope as she imagined how the scene might play out. Khai likely had more experience with a sword. He’d massacred all those ebens in a breath. What if he hurt Achan?
Nonsense! Achan had the Great Whitewolf on his side.
Plus, Arman would not let Vrell get this far only to perish, would He?
The boat glided nearer, parting the layer of slime like film on pea soup that had sat out too long. Achan looked well. He wore the same clothing he had been wearing when he had been taken from the dungeon: the doeskin vest and brown shirt from his girl.
The men stared, waiting. Vrell prayed fervently. Finally Achan’s boat scraped against the dock right behind Master Hadar’s boat. Jax stepped forward to help him out.
How was this a good plan? Where was Sir Gavin?
Master Hadar wrapped his cloak tightly around him and said to Achan, “As soon as you’re bound, we’ll lower the boy into the boat.”
Bound? Achan was trading himself for her? Even if Achan did have some kind of trick planned, why would he be willing to give himself up for her? Didn’t he hate her for reading his letter?
“No,” Achan said. “Sparrow gets into the boat now, then you can bind me.”
Khai drew his massive sword. “You’ll follow the master’s rules, lad.”
“Whoa.” Achan stepped back and raised his hands.
Why hadn’t he brought a sword? What was he thinking?
Vrell caught sight of a grey-skinned man on a roof across the canal. He was gathering a rope, which slowly lifted out of the water, dripping with slime. As he pulled the rope, Achan’s boat tugged away from the dock. No one else noticed. Something creaked overhead. Vrell looked up to see another rope being lowered over the side of the building, right above her head.
A ping thronged in Vrell’s temples. Sir Gavin Lukos.
She opened to him.
Sir Gavin’s voice boomed, Grab on.
The knotted end of the rope fell into her lap. She carefully tucked the knot between her legs so she could sit on it like a rope swing. Achan and Khai were still arguing when Vrell’s body lifted silently off the dock. She twisted slightly and planted her feet to keep herself steady as long as possible. It was hard to hold on with her wrists bound.
Are you secure? Sir Gavin asked.
Yes, sir.
The rope suddenly jerked up two feet, then another two. Vrell’s feet left the dock and she twisted, banging against the stone wall of the building. She tried to keep herself from spinning, but only managed to swing from side to side — over the dock, over the canal, over the dock, over the canal.
“Master!” Khai yelled, turning. “The boy!”
Vrell prayed Sir Gavin would pull quicker. She was no higher than Achan’s head. Khai’s boots thudded across the dock. Achan ran at his heels.
A flaming arrow shot out of the darkness and thunked into Master Hadar’s boat. On the roof of the building diagonally across the intersecting canals, the grey-skinned man ran down a flight of stairs, a bow looped over one arm.
Master Hadar yelled, “Put out the fire!”
Jax crouched over the side of the dock and splashed water onto the boat, but the flame only increased. Khai threaded his way around Jax and drew his sword, narrow eyes on Vrell above him.
Achan kicked him in the rear. Khai spun around, sword ready, and Achan hit the dock on his belly. The weasel turned back and swung at Vrell instead.
The sword cut the rope and Vrell fell.
Her hip scraped on the dock, and she splashed into the canal. She writhed in the tepid water, but with her wrists and ankles bound, she could not swim. Mother!
Vrell?
Mother! Mother, I’m drowning!
A hand gripped her arm and pulled.
Averella! What’s happening?
Khai’s voice boomed in her consciousness. Averella? That’s a woman’s name!
No! She drew her mind closed and jerked back, but it was too late. Khai’s grip on her arm remained firm. He groped along her undergarment for confirmation. She thrashed, kicked, and tried to bang her head into his, but he was too strong. She needed air. If she could push off the bottom, perhaps she could surface for a breath.
Something crashed against her back. A hand clawed and pounded at Khai until his hold vanished. A strong arm closed around Vrell’s waist and she was hoisted up. She choked, sucking in a gulp of thick, tepid, water that tasted like mud.
Her head burst through the surface. She gasped and sputtered until her throat stung.
Everything was in shadow. She and her rescuer were under the dock. She looked at who held her. It was Achan. He held the back of her tunic in one hand, swimming silently. His hair was matted to his scalp like black syrup. A glob of green slime clung to his cheek. He put one finger to his lips.
“Khai!” she heard Master Hadar call from the planks above. “Khai!”
“He’s there,” Jax said.
Vrell turned in the water until she spotted Khai surface in the middle of the canal. Had he already bloodvoiced her gender to Jax and Master Hadar? How had he heard her words to Mother?
Achan reached up and grabbed onto a wooden beam. “Sparrow,” he whispered. “Loop your arms over my neck.”
Vrell nodded and lifted her bound wrists out of the water. A thick glob of scum dripped off her right elbow with a loud plop. She shuddered and, through an open knot in the wooden dock, met Jax’s eyes.
She tensed, a wave of fire shooting through every nerve. Her ears tingled and she let him in.
Be safe, Vrell, Jax bloodvoiced.
She shuddered a sigh. Thank you, Jax.
Vrell looped her wrists over Achan’s neck, and he twisted around until she hung off him like a backpack. One arm at a time, Achan pulled them along the beam under the dock, down the narrow canal, and away from Master Hadar and Jax and Khai.
A boat waited around the corner of the next intersecting canals. Sir Gavin Whitewolf and the grey-skinned man sat inside it. Sir Gavin’s hair and beard were long and white. Inko’s grey skin marked him as being of Otherling descent. The men pulled Vrell into the boat and sat her in the center.
Was she truly free? Free of Master Hadar and Lord Nathak and cruel Khai? She felt like weeping for joy.
Sir Gavin and the grey-skinned man hoisted Achan aboard next. Achan sat beside Vrell. Water ran off their clothing and pooled at their feet.
“Thank you, Inko,” Achan said.
The grey-skinned man nodded from the back of the boat. He picked up the oar and rowed away with more precision and speed than Jax ever had.
Achan wiped the gunk from his face and spit into the canal. “That water’s vile.”
Vrell smiled and thanked Arman for her rescue. Achan untied her wrists. Her wet clothing clung to her and she shivered.
Sir Gavin sat in the bow. He turned to look at Vrell. “We need to get Achan’s sword, Vrell. We will not have time later. Can you help us?”
Go back? Vrell had no desire to set foot in the Mahanaim stronghold again, especially now that Khai knew her identity. But she could not very well tell her rescuers no. “Um, there are two guards at the dungeon gate. One holds the key to the strongbox.”
Inko steered the boat through the canals. Vrell untied her ankles, glad to have the use of her limbs again. The craft sailed toward a decaying yellowstone building too fast for Vrell’s comfort. They were aimed for a hole in the stone wall that didn’t quite look big enough to fit though.