“Not if it means abandoning my duty.” She might not always read his expressions easily or correctly, but she clearly heard the surrender in his voice.
He tried one last tactic. “Don't you think Brishen would find your observations regarding Haradis more valuable than you acting as a Kai ambassador to a group of heretic monks?”
“Considering it was probably Megiddo's eidolon who saved us in Haradis less than a half hour ago, getting his body safely to the monastery is of utmost value. Besides, I can draft a message which one of the others can deliver.”
One long-suffering sigh that tempted a grin from her, and he tightened the pack on his back “Let's get on with it then. We'll have daylight soon enough, and I wouldn't put it past the captain to leave us behind if we're late.”
Chapter Seven A hymn of the broken.
To Serovek's surprise, Anhuset wasn't the only one to resist his plan of splitting their party. They'd hiked to the agreed-upon meeting place and reboarded the towboat where it and the barge had docked for the remainder of the night. Except for the nightwatch, the crew was asleep. Serovek's men, however, were awake, their lamps held high as they called greetings to the margrave and the Kai sha. The boat was crowded, dirty, and loaded with the bare minimum of necessities to keep passengers comfortable, especially overnight. After the foray into Haradis, he was happy to see it floating on the Absu, waiting for them.
He fielded the rain of questions, held back a yawn, and glanced at Anhuset. She looked haggard. She'd slept little over the past few days, and while resilient, even she wasn't immune to exhaustion. “We'll tell you everything in the morning,” he promised the others. “For now, I'm off to bed and you should be as well.” He stepped closer to Anhuset. “That includes you. The towboat has a nightwatch as does the barge, and the crew knows this river better than any of us. I need you alert and refreshed if you plan to finish this journey with me.”
She didn't argue, only gave a quick nod, fished her cloak out of her stash of gear left on the boat and stretched out on the deck away from the walkways. Wrapped in her cloak, she was a still silhouette under the stars. Serovek wished he could join her.
Before he found his own bed, he checked on Magas and the other horses. The stallion whickered to him and nuzzled Serovek's hair while demanding more scratches along his neck. Serovek breathed deeply of the scent of horse and river. Despite their pungency, they were pleasant smells, a mark of the natural that traveled along paths adjacent to the unnatural.
He gave Magas a few more affectionate pats before returning to the part of the boat his comrades had taken for sleeping. Someone had reserved a spot for him not far from Anhuset, using his gear as a marker. Serovek would much rather have shared her space or have her share his, but such preferences would have to remain wishes. For now.
The captain approached him as he laid out his bedroll. “Haradis still surrounded by the canals?”
Serovek didn't miss the worried note in the man's inquiry. He sat down to remove his boots and dug through his main satchel for a pair of stockings to warm his still frozen feet. He was tired, not so much from the trek back to the boat, but from the aftereffects of terror and the scrape with death in Haradis. “Still surrounded,” he said. “You weren't dressing it in frills when you said the landscape had changed. Who dug those canals? The squire who took out the bridges? Because that isn't the work of the Kai.”
The captain shrugged. “Every Beladine within walking, riding or swimming distance gathered to dig them.” He shivered. “I hear tell from those who live closest or ride the river that on some nights you can hear the ghosts of the Kai who died there screaming.” He eyed Serovek who didn't comment. “Could be fanciful storyteller's tripe to scare everyone, but I'm glad the water's there.”
He paled when Serovek said, “So am I.”
The two bid each other good night, and Serovek lay on his back, contemplating the heavens while he waited for sleep to claim him. One galla. Only one lurking in Haradis, trapped by water and eager to devour anything or anyone unfortunate to cross its path. We thought we got them all. The idea that they missed one sickened him. The possibility that they hadn't and somehow one had escaped its prison again lodged his heart in his throat.
The rough canals offered a small measure of fortification against another—gods forbid—hul-galla escaping the city, but he feared it wasn't enough. Not now and definitely not in the long-term. He understood Anhuset's insistence she accompany him and the others to the monastery. The dazzling bolt of cerulean light which speared then enveloped the shrieking galla before disappearing with it was Megiddo. Even had Serovek not heard or recognized the voice that commanded them to run, he knew the bright arrow's source, had felt the essence of the man's existence in his very bones. Somehow, the monk's eidolon had crossed ethereal barriers to capture a galla and drag it back to its pit.
Serovek suspected Megiddo's ability to do so was directly tied to the existence of his still-breathing body in this world—a lifeline that allowed the eidolon access to the reality in which his physical form abided. Keeping his body safe had become more than a mission of respect for a fallen hero: it was now an absolute necessity. If another galla swarm somehow broke free again, every breathing being would depend on a circle of water and the imprisoned soul of a monk to save them. Had he been standing at the moment, the weight of such an awful scenario would have brought him
