Page 73 of On Broken Bonds

The sound cuts through the swamp. Every conversation dies. Every head turns.

"Help me!"

The second scream is worse. Raw. Terrified. Human.

I take an involuntary step forward before I can stop myself. As though I could help him. As though any of us could.

"Please!"

The word breaks apart in his throat. His voice is changing. Aging.

The youthful strength disappears from it. The sound grows weaker. Older. More fragile. Every cry seems to scrape against whatever remains of him.

Then he stumbles. One knee plunges into the water.

The entire shoreline tenses.

He remains there. Half submerged. Shaking. Then somehow he forces himself upright again. The sight hurts more than if he'd given up. Because he's still trying. Still fighting. Still clawing toward the opposite shore despite knowing exactly what the swamp is doing to him.

The water steals another piece of him.

And another.

And another.

Soon his screams become long, mournful moans that drift across the water like funeral bells. The sound settles over the swamp and wraps itself around everyone gathered there. I don't think I'll ever forget it as long as I’ll live, and I know I’m going to try to forget it. To forget this moment.

Meanwhile, the platform beneath Willem and Beric begins to sink.

At first, neither man notices. Then Willem looks down and lets out a panicked shout. Both knights scramble to their feet. The stone descends steadily beneath them, forcing them to leap for the next platform.

They barely make it.

The first stone vanishes beneath the water moments later with a wet gurgling sound. The message is clear. Keep moving. Or die.

The gods haven't given them a safe path. They've given them a choice between different kinds of suffering. Beside me, Thorian's jaw tightens. Fenric has gone pale. As for me, I can barely breathe. Because sooner or later, we're going into that swamp too. And when we do, it won't care who we are. Not Thorian. Not Fenric. Not me.

Silently, all the teams watch as Sir Cedric's body finally slips beneath the black water.

He’d almost reached the other side. Almost.

Nobody moves. The swamp ripples where he vanished, disturbed only briefly before becoming still once more. It's that stillness that unnerves me most. No blood rises to the surface. No remains. No final sign that a man just died there. The swamp simply swallows him and carries on existing, indifferent to the life it consumed.

A low curse drifts from somewhere among the gathered competitors. Nobody laughs. Nobody boasts. The spectacle the gods wanted has achieved its purpose. We're all imagining ourselves in his place. We’re all… afraid.

My attention shifts back to Willem and Beric. They've made it to another platform, though neither looks much better than before. The men collapse onto the stone, breathing hard enough that I can see their chests rising and falling from here. Whatever energy they spent reaching it doesn't seem to be returning.

If anything, they look worse.

Willem's hands shake violently as he braces them against the rock. Beric sits hunched forward, staring down at the water between his boots. Neither man speaks. Neither makes any move toward the next platform.

"They're staying put," Fenric says quietly.

I nod. Because what else can they do until it starts to sink again? The next platform is farther away than the last. It’s not impossibly far. It’s just far enough to require another stretch through the water. Another payment demanded by the swamp.

I watch Beric glance toward it. Then toward the distant shoreline. Then back down at the black water. The calculation on his face is obvious even from here. How much life will it cost me to reach the next stone? And if I spend it, will I have enough left to reach the one after that?

"They're waiting," I murmur.