chapter FIFTY-EIGHT
HEAD START
Pale blood was dripping from the Waterman’s fingers as he cut Nerron’s ties. He’d scraped the scales off his arms to free himself. Some of his olive-green flesh was probably still stuck to the carriage wheel, yet he never even flinched.
They had, of course, taken all their weapons.
Tricked by a prince dumber than any horse you’ve ever ridden, Nerron.
They saw the palace already from afar. So the Dwarf had brought Guismond’s body with him. Nerron was sick with rage as he pointed his spyglass at the watchtower where the exchange was supposed to have taken place. A pile of stones that looked suspiciously like the grave of a Giantling, and a few dead bodies in front of it. He couldn’t make out who they were, but the Giantling crouching over them was hard to miss. He was quite a hefty specimen. What, by Crookback’s hangman, had happened there?
‘Can you see Louis?’
Nerron was glad the hatred in the Waterman’s voice was not aimed at him. He shook his head.
‘I want to hear his princely neck snap,’ Eaumbre whispered. ‘Or crush his throat until his stupid face turns as blue as the sky.’
Some Watermen spent years hunting down a man who’d insulted or cheated them. Eaumbre had been very patient with Louis. But Nerron didn’t care whether the prince was still alive. All he cared about was whether Reckless was among the dead. But not even that information was worth tussling with a Giantling for.
He pushed the spyglass back into his belt.
Eaumbre eyed the ruins and the palace that was built around the mountain like a crown. ‘The Witch Slayer had more treasure than just the crossbow, right?’
‘Probably.’
Eaumbre rubbed his raw arms. ‘If Louis is there, he’s mine,’ he whispered.
‘And if not?’
The Waterman bared his teeth. ‘Then hopefully I’ll find enough gold to compensate me.’