Page 72 of On Broken Bonds

“That's the point,” Thorian replies. “The gods don't want a bridge. They want an obstacle course.”

We discuss the rocks for a minute. They're small, smooth, and wet. It would be easy to lose your footing and tumble into the swamp. To cross from one to another, all three of us will have to move carefully, choosing our route as we go. In this way, we could make it just on the platforms in certain areas, but definitely not across the whole thing.

No matter what, we’ll have to go in the water, and we have no idea what waits for us there.

I can't stop myself from glancing at the knights, waiting for any signs that the water might conceal hidden threats. Two of the knights, Sir Willem and Sir Beric, I think, have altered course and are heading toward the nearest platform. But the third, Sir Cedric, continues pushing straight through the swamp, stubbornly aiming for the opposite shore.

At first, I don't understand why they're changing direction. The platforms are smaller targets. More difficult to reach. Then I really look at the men in the water, and a sick feeling settles in my stomach. They entered the swamp a few minutes ago. They should be wet, muddy, and tired. Instead, they look as though they've spent months starving in a dungeon.

Willem staggers through the water, his armor hanging strangely from his body. His movements have lost all the confidence he'd displayed when he first marched into the swamp. Every step seems to require conscious effort. Beside him, Beric isn't faring much better. His cheeks have hollowed inward. The skin beneath his eyes has darkened. Even from this distance, I can see exhaustion weighing him down like chains.

"What’s happening to them?" I whisper.

Nobody answers.

Nobody can.

The swamp is draining them. It’s stripping away more than their strength. It reaches deeper than that, down to whatever makes them who they are.

As Willem reaches the nearest platform, he doesn't climb onto it so much as collapse across it. Beric follows moments later, dragging himself onto the stone with trembling arms. Both men lie there gasping for breath, their chests heaving violently.

Sunlight breaks through the clouds overhead and falls across them. The sight turns my stomach. Beric's hair is coming out. Entire clumps cling to his shoulders and armor. More remain tangled in his fingers where he's apparently been pulling at it without realizing. Beneath it, his scalp shines pale and mottled.

Willem looks older.

Noticeably older.

Wrinkles crease his face where none existed before. The skin around his neck hangs loose. His eyes have sunk deep into their sockets, making him look less like a knight and more like an old man nearing the end of his life.

"Oh gods," Fenric breathes.

His voice sounds hollow.

Around us, every team has gone silent. The vampires. The shifters. The warlocks. Everyone stands frozen along the shoreline. Watching. Imagining themselves in that water.

Meanwhile, Sir Cedric continues forward.

At first, I admire him for it. He keeps moving despite everything. His shoulders stay squared. His gaze remains fixed on the opposite shore. Every step looks agonizing, but he takes it anyway.

The farther he goes, the more terrifying the transformation becomes. His armor begins to sag against his frame. His movements grow slower and slower until every step looks like a battle against his own body.

Still, he keeps going.

The distance to the opposite shore shortens. The distance behind him grows. For one terrible moment, hope sparks inside me. Maybe he'll make it.

Maybe if he pushes hard enough…

Cedric suddenly tears his helmet from his head and hurls it into the swamp. The splash echoes across the water. The gesture isn't angry. It's desperate. The helmet has become too heavy.

A murmur spreads through the competitors gathered along the shore. Cedric bows forward, struggling beneath a weight nobody else can see. When he raises his head again, I nearly gag.

His hair is gone. What remains of his skin clings tightly to the shape of his skull. His neck looks impossibly thin. His eyes appear enormous inside their sockets, the flesh around them having wasted away.

He resembles a corpse.

A walking corpse still trying to finish a race.

"Help me!" he screams.