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Merk ran through the wood, stumbling down the dirt slope, weaving between trees, the leaves of Whitewood crunching beneath him as he ran for all he had. He looked ahead and kept in his sights the distant plumes of smoke filling the horizon, blocking out the blood-red sunset, and he felt a rising sense of urgency. He knew the girl was down there somewhere, possibly being murdered even at this moment, and he could not make his legs run fast enough.
The Pandesians would never expect an attack, since word of Duncan’s revolt could not have spread this far south so soon—not if Duncan reached them in time. And they would certainly never expect an attack at nighttime, much less in the snow. They would know the risks of riding at night, of horses breaking legs, and of a myriad other problems. Wars, Duncan knew, were often won more by surprise and speed than by force.
Yet she also felt that sometimes, it was the detours on a journey that ended up mattering most. She felt as if she were being tested. How many times had her father told her that the ultimate quest in life was to leave no man behind? No matter how far you went, how high you climbed, how far your renown spread, at the end of the day, all that mattered, he had said, all that man could be judged by, was not how far he had went, but how much he had looked back. How many he had taken with him.
Merk sighed and looked out at the horizon, at the breaking dawn, and wondered if there was any end to death in this world. Some people died pleasantly while others died violently—yet no matter how they died, they all seemed to end up in the same place. What was the point of it all? What was the point of a peaceful death, or a violent one, if they all led to the same place? Did it even make any difference? And if death was inevitable, what was even the point of life?
Yet as Kyra looked up she saw shadows, saw the outline of her raft, and she remembered Leo and Dierdre. If she let herself die here, those two would be left alone, floating away into danger themselves—and she could not allow that to happen. She had to live, if not for herself, then for them. And for her father, and for Aidan. For all those who cared about her. Regret was a terrible thing, but life had to go on. She could simply not allow herself to be swallowed by guilt and remorse. It was selfish. Other people needed her.
Kyra plummeted through the air so fast she could barely catch her breath, the icy mist of the waterfall engulfing her as she tumbled end over end, her screams drowned out by the roaring waters. Down below she could faintly make out Leo and Dierdre, landing somewhere in the huge clouds of white foam, could see their bodies tumbling as they went gushing down the rapids of the River Tanis. She had no idea if they had survived the fall—but it did not look good.
