The Greensward--Pitch & Sickle Book Four by D K Girl

Author:D K Girl
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lucas Publishing

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SILAS KICKED to the surface once more, spluttering, frantic with fear. His throat was raw from coughing, his chest aching and set to burst. And his coat, damn it all, it may as well be a slab of lead, determined to pull him to the bottom.

His coat?

Silas winced, his eyes stinging with the harsh rub of murky water. There was a wrongness to the scenario he could not fathom. An oddness to his attire.

He kicked out at the bottomless darkness, and something kicked back. It struck him in the middle and grabbed at his hips, wrapped about his chest, and tried to squeeze the air from him. It sought to pull him under.

‘No! Don’t!’ The words flew mangled and wrecked from his mouth.

He must not go under again. Christ almighty, do not go under again.

Silas shook his head, blinking. The landscape was made shimmering and hazy by the liquid in his eyes, but he was quite sure of what he saw. Far ahead of him, its silhouette was unmistakable. A castle. A flag flapped at the top of the single turret, which dominated the building, the material a hue of royal blue, the wind making light work of the expanse of fabric. He felt that wind here, toying with the surface of the lake he flailed in, urging the water to swell.

Spray flew at him, and he spread his arms, trying to swim about so he’d not be blinded. A jetty lay nearby. Barely a dozen strokes and he might reach it. A rowboat was tied at its end, and the boat drifted and swayed, straining at its rope, throwing its broad end towards him, enticingly close. A few strokes, nothing more. If he were not so laden down by his coat, he might make it.

This was not right. This did not feel the way of other visions. The coat bothered him, almost as much so as drowning.

The wind coaxed up a fresh swell, charging waves that ran along the surface like the charge of a liquid horseman.

Horseman. The word jolted something within him, a rock to flint. But the flame did not ignite.

‘Help me!’ he spluttered. ‘Help!’

Someone stood upon the jetty, a length of wood in their left hand. An oar. They stood it against the ground like a shepherd’s staff. Silas’s stomach clenched, but his thoughts were scrambled by desperation.

Why were they just standing there? Could they not hear his cries?

The pressure about his ribs, the sense of being wrapped all about, frightened him. This person could help him. Save him. They need only get into the boat and they could reach him.

The water dashed against Silas’s face, cutting a raw path up his nostrils.

‘Please, help me,’ he called.

But they would not. This person would not help him. They never did. The odd thoughts struck him as another blow came from beneath the surface. Straight into his gut.

‘I told you to stay away from him,’ the stranger cried. ‘You brought this on yourself.’ A lantern dangled from

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