6

THE WATER RAT

The sea hit Drest like a blow, freezing her mind, her breath, her movement—but only for an instant. In the next, the cold had seeped throughout her body and she felt one with the ocean.

She opened her eyes, ignoring the sting that always came with seawater, and launched toward the surface. She had to swim up and think of nothing but her strokes and kicks.

With a gasp, Drest broke through the waves.

All around, bundles of smoked fish and jugs of ale were floating away. Slabs of the boat followed them. She saw no sign of the young knight.

“Blast,” muttered Drest, and gulped down a mouthful of seawater. She spat it out. “Emerick? Where are you?”

She saw him then, clinging helplessly to a loose plank. Pain and terror creased his face.

A wave sloshed against Drest’s head. She kicked to rise above it—and caught a glimpse of the shore: not close, but not too far.

It’s a good thing you’re a rat. It was Uwen’s voice. Because rats can swim.

“Help me,” murmured the wounded man, the sea swallowing his words.

Drest glanced back at him. The young knight was sinking on the plank he’d secured. In seconds, he’d be gone.

He’s told you where the castle is, whispered Gobin’s voice. And you have the talisman that will let you in. Wouldn’t it be easier to swim for shore now? Don’t forget: He’s our enemy.

Aye, that’s true, said Nutkin, but how’s she going to find us, lad? She’s going to have to take the woods, and she doesn’t know the path. Our enemy knows that way, not our wee Drest. I don’t think you can leave him yet, lass.

“Listen, Drest.” Emerick tried to pull himself higher on the plank, but it wobbled beneath his weight. He slid back into the water. “If you take me to the castle, you can have one of your brothers for me.”

A wave cut off his next words, choking him.

“Do you mean it?” called Drest. “How about two of them? Or all of them?”

The next wave swallowed him entirely.

Two good strokes took Drest to Emerick’s side. She grabbed on to the plank and tried to straighten it, but the motion made it tip.

Fetch the ropes and mast, said Nutkin’s voice. You’ve no choice but to pull him to shore.

The mast was drifting away on the waves. Drest swam for it, and soon was clutching its smooth, slippery wood. She kicked hard to get back to Emerick, the sail trailing behind her like a single white wing.

The water was up to his chin. Drest grabbed his good arm and slung it over the mast.

“Hold tight.”

With the rope looped around her arm and shoulder, giving herself enough slack for a distance between her and the wounded man, Drest began to swim.

Towing a man wasn’t easy, but Drest and Uwen had taken turns towing the fishing boat and she knew how to time her strokes with the waves. Borawyn glided alongside her, kept aloft in the water by the current, the sword-belt holding it securely.

Several times Drest glanced back to see Emerick hanging over the mast, his face hidden by the sail.

“Give a call if you’re slipping,” she shouted, and grimly swam on, the rope straining against her shoulder.

At last, Drest reached the dragons’ teeth by the shore and stood. The water was up to her chest. She hauled the mast close until Emerick was within reach, then pried loose his grip.

“We’ve made it,” Drest said. “And you’re alive, aren’t you?”

The wounded man’s eyes opened. “Barely.”

Drest slipped under his good arm and hoisted his weight onto her shoulder again. Clinging to his waist to steady him, she staggered through the last of the sea and up the shore.

On the pebbles and scraps of sand, Drest stopped. Her arms and legs were numb from her swim.

“I need to lie down,” whispered Emerick.

“We can’t rest here.”

“I cannot go farther. I need to breathe.”

“You’re not going to have a chance to breathe if we don’t go in. Look—the tide’s coming.”

Drest tightened her grip around him and together they hobbled up the bank, then over the bone-white roots sticking out of the soil until they were among a thick cluster of pines.

An unfamiliar forest hung before them. Drest remembered her father’s stories of what roamed the woods beyond the headland: bandits with brutal ways and no mercy to any man.

But she had no choice. Drest helped Emerick walk deeper among the trees. The damp scent of soil and wood rose around her, mingling with the eerie sense that someone was watching.