The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1) by Ben S. Dobson

Author:Ben S. Dobson [Dobson, Ben S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2017-02-23T07:00:00+00:00

Josen

Josen waited where Verik had left him, trying to breathe through his pain and panic.

They’d managed to slip away while Zerill had the knights distracted, and a short while later Verik had found a place to hide—a small hollow under the roots of an old dead boggrove, barely large enough to fit one person. He’d all but shoved Josen in and used his power to meld and shape the surrounding earth until no entry was left unsealed. Josen assumed there were holes for air—he hadn’t suffocated yet, anyway—but he couldn’t find them in the dark. And it was dark in the cramped little hole, true dark, so black that it looked solid. He had to move his hand every few moments just to test that he still could, that the darkness hadn’t crystallized, trapping him there forever.

After sealing Josen in, Verik had left without saying where he was going. It was hard to know how long ago that had been, but it was long enough that Josen was starting to worry. He has to be coming back. Just… just scouting, or something. Zerill wanted him to keep me safe—he always does what she says. He can’t leave me in here. Whatever he told himself, though, it became less convincing with every moment that passed. He had even tried to dig at the side of the hollow, but he could barely move his left arm after the fall he’d taken, and the dirt was packed solid. He hadn’t gotten very far.

God Above, it’s been too long. Even if he meant to come back, he might have been taken by Castar’s men, or those swamplings. I have to get out of here. Taking shallow breaths to spare his injured lung—and to conserve air, if it was limited—he wrestled himself to his knees and yanked the strange wood-and-stone saber Zerill had given him from his belt. Using the hooked end as a pick, he scraped at the packed earth. To his surprise, a large chunk fell away. He prodded at the dirt again, and another huge sheet sloughed off. When he reached out again, his blade met empty air.

Something grabbed his wrist and pulled.

Fighting the scream that rose in his throat, Josen tried to pull his hand back, but the muscles in his left side seized painfully, and his strength failed him. A pained half-groan escaped his lungs before he could stop it. He swiveled his captured hand weakly, hoping his saber might strike something, but whatever had grabbed him just squeezed tighter and plucked the sword from his grip.

“Let me go!” Panic made the demand more shrill than forceful.

“Only me.”

After all the nightmares he’d had about Verik, he hadn’t thought he’d ever be so relieved to hear the man’s voice. Josen stopped struggling and stammered in a low voice, “I… I didn’t know if you were coming back.”

Verik didn’t answer, just waited for Josen to crawl out between the thick roots of the tree, then pulled him to his feet. Or helped him pull himself up, at least—neither one of them was exactly at the height of their strength.

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