Free Messenger’s Legacy by Peter V. Brett Page B

deeply from the back of her hand. ‘I was even jealous, sometimes, when you talked of cities and sights.’
    ‘It’s the glamour that makes the Jongleur’s songs,’ Ragen said. ‘They never add a verse for mosquitoes.’
    ‘Or slogging through muck until your boots are soaked through,’ Elissa agreed. ‘Feels like I’m walking on two blocks of ice.’
    ‘Head back to the horses and dry off,’ Ragen said. ‘I’ll be along soon.’
    ‘Come with me,’ Elissa said. ‘We can look more in the morning. No reason to cut it close to dark. If that was Briar, he’s got a safe place to hide for the night, or he wouldn’t have lasted this long.’
    A fat mosquito landed on Ragen’s nose. He struck it instinctively, effectively punching himself in the face. Elissa put a hand over her mouth, hiding a smirk. As the pain subsided, Ragen blew out a long breath. ‘Ay, maybe you’re right. We’ll head back, though I’m not convinced the bog demons are likely to be any worse than these corespawned mosquitoes.’
    Elissa looked around, amusement fading from her face. ‘You
do
know which way is back in all this fog?’
    Ragen smirked, pointing. ‘I may be fat and grey, but the first thing you learn as a Messenger is to point north even if you’re piss drunk and spun in a circle.’
    ‘Charming,’ Elissa said.
    Ragen started back to their camp, but stumbled as his boot slipped into a sinkhole. He pitched forwards as pain blossomed in his ankle.
    ‘Corespawned ripping demonshit!’ Ragen screamed.
    Elissa was by his side in an instant. ‘Keep calm.’ She dug in the mud to free his ankle, but suction held the boot fast. Ragen screamed again as she pulled his foot free of it, hauling him onto a solid mass of relatively dry peat.
    Ragen took a deep breath, flexing the foot experimentally. The dull, throbbing pain flared again with the movement, but everything moved as it was supposed to. ‘I don’t think it’s broken. Find something to bind it, and I should be able to limp back to camp.’
    The words had more confidence than he felt, but Elissa took them at face value, taking the riding scarf from her shoulders and wrapping the ankle tight before it could swell. She dug Ragen’s boot out of the muck and he bit down hard on a stick as he pulled it back on. She took the night satchel and his shield, leaving the spear for him to lean on.
    He limped on for some distance, but they were deeper in the bog than he realized, and the pain grew with every step. At last he could stand it no more.
    ‘I need a moment to rest,’ he said, collapsing onto a rotted stump.
    Elissa had given him space for pride, but now she moved in quickly. ‘You’re bathed in sweat. We need to get rid of that armour.’
    Ragen shook his head. ‘This was my father’s …’
    ‘I know,’ Elissa put a hand at the nape of his neck, stroking his sweat-slicked hair. ‘But he wouldn’t want us to die for it.’
    Ragen gritted his teeth, but he let her help with the fastenings.
    ‘We can send the men for it in the morning,’ Elissa said.
    ‘It’ll be rusted by morning,’ Ragen said as he dropped the heavy linked shirt into the muck. ‘And I won’t ask any of the men to risk themselves looking for it with an army on the way.’
    Ragen took a deep breath and leaned on his spear to stand. Admittedly, it was easier without forty pounds of metal on his back. He began to hope they would make it back to camp with time to spare.
    But his ankle howled with every step, the pain worsening as it swelled inside the tough leather of his boot. They would have to cut it off.
    First my armour, now my favourite boots,
Ragen thought. Then he took another step and his ankle gave out completely, pitching him back onto the ground.
    Suddenly the boots were the least of his problems. He looked to Elissa, wondering if they would die here, alone in this Creator-forsaken bog, for a boy who might not exist.
    He expected to see fear in her eyes, but Elissa only huffed and