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Rheave
If there weren’t angry people waving daggers and swords in our direction, I’d probably enjoy the leap from the rooftop. Soaring through the air like I’m flying just for a moment. Hitting the water with a chilly splash.
The current of liquid consumes me, rushing against my skin and into my clothes and hair. The cold prickles through my nerves in an invigorating way.
Then my limbs push at the water, and my head breaks through the surface. A marshy smell fills my nose, with a slightly rancid note that suggests the river isn’t as clean as the streams we drank from during our many travels across the countryside.
Urgent shouts bombard my ears. I grip my bow against my side and blink the moisture from my eyes to see better.
Several figures in red shirts have charged to the edge of the riverbank, which is built up in a stone wall a few feet above our heads. In the water around me, my companions bob.
My gaze latches on to Ivy’s reddish-blond hair first, turned darker than usual by the wetness. She’s swimming with the flow of the water, her slim, pale limbs rising and falling a few arm-lengths ahead of me.
Just beyond her, Casimir and the robed man from the temple sway in the current, clutching the poor victim of the scourge sorcerers between them. Of course—a man with no arms can’t swim.
Petra’s dark head shows against the rippling gray surface near them. She’s rolled onto her side as she kicks at the water, her head tipped to focus on the boat that’s just a few paces farther down the river.
Our soldier stands at the side of the curved wooden structure, hunched so he’s ready to snatch Petra’s hand and haul her into the vessel when she reaches him. He’s meant to do the same for all of us, but with a flick of my gaze, I estimate that I can propel myself high enough to grasp the edge of the boat all on my own.
I haul my limbs through the flowing water—and an arrow humming with magical energy soars past me from the bank toward the boat.
The projectile slams into the boat’s hull. I know from my own practice that a normal arrow would simply dig its head into the wood and hang there without doing more damage than marring the surface.
But this is clearly not a normal arrow.
With whatever magic the scourge sorcerers have cast on it, the arrow splits right through the boards. A crack opens around the point where it’s penetrated, straight down to the surface of the water.
And the river gushes in.
The soldier gives a bark of alarm and turns toward the hole. Even in my limited knowledge of boats, I can see there’s no patching it.
Then another arrow whirs through the air and plunges into the soldier’s chest.
This time, it’s Petra who cries out. The soldier staggers and crumples backward in the already sinking watercraft.
A jolt of urgency races through my veins. Our escape plan has just been destroyed—and the scourge sorcerers are going to keep shooting at us.
I spare one worried glance Ivy’s way and then grope for my bow. Maybe I can push myself high enough in the water to launch an arrow of my own. If I can just get into the right position…
As I wrestle with the weapon against the current, I twist to face our attackers. They vanish from view for a moment as I sweep past the capsizing boat. I grope behind my shoulder toward my quiver?—
And my other arm slams into the stone wall along the river. My elbow shudders, and my fingers spasm apart.
The bow swirls away from me, caught in the gushing water. I spin around the bend I didn’t realize was coming.
The currents shift, whipping me faster along. I surge past Ivy so swiftly that I don’t have time to grasp at her.
Heaving myself to the side, I manage not to collide with Casimir’s trio. My hands scoop uselessly at the water.
Petra lifts her head all the way above the surface to gasp out an order. “We still have to get to the grate! We can leave the same way. Just swim!”
Just swim. Just swim.
But we can’t move through the water as effectively as the boat would have. We don’t have the shelter of its wood, as poor a shield as that turned out to be against the scourge sorcerers’ weapons.
A fresh volley of shouts rings out on either side of us. More red-shirted figures appear on both banks, having run ahead or caught word from their colleagues.
A woman on the farther bank draws back her bow. Is she aiming at Ivy?
