The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)

The shout was quickly taken up, and the ill-trained men scattered like roaches caught feasting at the dregs on a table.

Trynne and Fallon stood side by side, watching their assailants flee.

“Get the sheriff, get the hounds!” one of the men shouted as the group melted away into the woods.

Several hours passed as Trynne and Fallon groped their way through the tangle of the woods, tracking the sun through the snarled branches overhead and trying to bear eastward. Clouds of gnats and mosquitoes swarmed, drawn to their warmth, to their blood. It was a miserable slog that brought them up and down little hills, thick with mossy trees that clawed at them.

Then they heard the baying of hounds in the distance.

A sour expression twisted Fallon’s mouth. “They found the dogs,” he muttered. He sniffed the air. “They’ll be able to track us at night now.”

Trynne looked back, the direction the sound had come from.

“How far away do you think they are?”

He cocked his head. “Still a ways. Ah, there’s the hounds’ call again. Now that they’ve found our trail, they’ll converge.”

“Do you think they’ll catch up by darkfall?”

Fallon scratched the back of his neck. “The trees will slow them down, as they did us. But I don’t want to roam these woods for weeks. We don’t have time to get lost.”

“I thought all the soldiers were being gathered for the war,”

Trynne said. They kept walking, hiking through the dense thickets, not bothering to hide their tracks.

“They are likely deserters,” Fallon said. “They don’t want to fight for the king. I don’t blame them. They were pathetic.” He flashed her a knowing smile.

“They could hunt us for days,” Trynne said with growing frustration. “All the way to the city where Myrddin said the ships are.

How many will we have to fight off next time?”

Fallon shook his head. “Nary a one.”

“How can we avoid them if they have hounds?” she asked.

“I might not play Wizr as often as you do, Trynne, but these men rely on the dogs. What do dogs rely on?”

“Our smell,” she answered.

“Exactly. If they can’t smell us, they can’t find us. We’ve been skirting around ponds all day. The next large one we find, we’re going to cross through it. Stagnant water is smelly stuff. It’ll confuse them.”

“Not to mention soak us through,” Trynne answered archly. “I’m not sure I like your plan.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “I wear your father’s ring. You remember the story of how he jumped into the river by the sanctuary of Our Lady to save my sister’s life when she was a child?”

The memory surfaced in an instant. The river had parted down to the rocky floor, allowing Owen and Genny to climb back up, unharmed by the current. “The ring repels water,” she said, dipping her head to him. “Well done, Fallon.” She was used to being the one giving orders, coming up with strategies. It was a relief to have a partner in the adventure.

It didn’t take long to find a bog to cross.

The path ahead was soon interrupted by a huge expanse of filthy, muck-strewn water. The noise of bullfrogs became deafening as they approached it. Fallon tapped his nose and winked at her, motioning for her to join him where the chorus was the loudest.

Some gray reeds drooped ahead, providing almost a screen. The bog stretched out as far as they could see, interrupted occasionally by small hills that rose above the waters and were crowded with stunted oaks.

Fallon stood at the edge of the pond and cocked his head. The sounds from the hunters and dogs were still miles off, though drawing closer. The afternoon light was beginning to wane. He nodded and then motioned for her to wait at the edge while he stepped into the brackish water.

She felt the magic rush around them as his foot pushed into the water, repelling it away from him as if the waters were shivering in terror. Instead of becoming mired in the mud and muck, his boots stepped easily onto the surface of the ground beneath the water—as if it had suddenly hardened. He looked down at his boots as he was standing there, the magic splaying the water away from him. Then he motioned for her and reached up to help her join him. She thought he’d take her by the hand, but he surprised her by fixing his grip on her elbow instead. She joined him in the small dry patch and together they started making their way through the pond, the path opening ahead as they walked, and the waters closing in behind them. She smiled at the thought of the hounds and men reaching the shore, only to be baffled by the abrupt end to the trail.

They walked swiftly, getting accustomed to the influence of the magic as it cleared the way for them to pass. She glanced up at Fallon’s face, feeling grateful to him . . . but also confused. They were alone together in another world, traveling companions. She was married to a man who didn’t remember her—one who’d shunned her shortly after their marriage. But she was here with Fallon, whom she had loved and cared for since childhood. It was a dangerous thought and she found herself wanting to look away from his face. Except she noticed the tightness around his eyes, and his slight pained frown. Something was wrong.

“Fallon?” she asked worriedly.

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“The ring is . . . painful,” he said, his voice neutral, barely hinting at his discomfort. “It’s like a toothache, except on my finger. I can bear it.”

“Did it start when you invoked the magic?” she asked him.

He nodded firmly, saying little else. “I’ll be all right.”

Knowing that the ring was doing him harm, she hurried her pace, trying to force him to lengthen his stride. The pond was vast, and when they reached the other side, she was grateful to return to normal ground. Again, he was wincing, rubbing his hand surreptitiously.

“Let me see it,” she insisted.

“It’s all right, Trynne. I’ll be fine.”

“Please, Fallon.”

He showed her his hand and her eyes widened with surprise.

His ring finger was gray, the nail fringed with black. She took his hand in hers, gazing at it with concern.

“It feels better already,” he said dismissively and tried to tug it away.

She held on tightly and began whispering the words of healing magic. She felt her stores diminish, but only by a little. He sighed and nodded.



“Much better. Thank you.”

She patted his hand and they continued their walk. Shortly afterward, they heard a frantic series of barks and shouts of surprise coming from the direction of the brackish pond behind them. Several dogs were howling and baying in confusion, and loud shouts of anger from men, the words indistinguishable, joined the mix.

“Well done, sir.” Trynne complimented him, and again he shrugged as if it were of no importance. She eyed him furtively, struck again by how much he had altered. He had once been dependent on praise and kind words. Now he shunned them.

When nightfall caught them, they chose to hunker down on a hill in the middle of another secluded pond. They made a little camp beneath an oak. Neither thought it wise to risk a fire, so they hurriedly ate from their provisions before the sun was completely gone.

There was a fluttering sound above their heads and Trynne saw little gray shapes streaking in and out of sight, just barely visible in the deepening gloom.

“Bats,” Fallon said, wagging his eyebrows at her. “I hope they gorge themselves on these malevolent insects. You have six lumps on your face. They probably itch. How many do I have? I think a dozen.”

She had to smile at that, but she hadn’t bothered to notice—or count—so she just shrugged and ate a portion of her bread in silence.

When their scanty meal was finished, they packed up their gear and brought out the sleeping blankets.

“I’ll keep first watch, if that’s okay,” Fallon whispered. “I’ll wake you at midnight. Or whenever I guess it to be midnight. I don’t know the stars in this place. Or the moon. Do you think they will look different from ours?”