Free Nevernight by Jay Kristoff Page A

suggest we start with those mountains to the north, then swing east. After that, we’ll probably have been drained lifeless by dustwraiths or eaten by sand kraken, so our bones won’t mind where they get shit out.”
    Mia cursed as Bastard gave a small buck. Her thighs ached from the saddle, her rump was preparing to wave the white flag. She pointed to a lonely digit of broken stone ten miles distant.
    “There.”
    “All respect, Pale Daughter, but I doubt the greatest enclave of assassins in the known world would set up headquarters within smelling distance of Last Hope’s pig farms.”
    “Agreed. But that’s where I think we should set camp. Looks to be a spring there. And we’ll have a good view of Last Hope from up top, and all the wastes around, I’d wager.”
    “… I thought we were following my nose?”
    “I only suggested that for the sake of whoever might be listening.”
    “Listening?”
    “We agree this is a trial, aye? That the Red Church is testing us?”
    “Aye,” the boy nodded slow. “But that shouldn’t come as any shock. Surely your Shahiid tested you in preparation for the trials we’ll face?”
    Mia jerked the reins as Bastard tried to turn back for the fifth time in as many minutes.
    “Old Mercurio loved his testings,” she nodded. “Never a moment that couldn’t be some trial in disguise. 4 Thing is, he never gave me a test I couldn’t beat. And the Church shouldn’t be any different. So what’s the one clue we’ve been given? What’s the only piece of this puzzle we have in common?”
    “… Last Hope.”
    “Exactly. I’m thinking the Church can’t be self-sustaining. Even if they grow their own food, they’d need other supplies. I was poking around the Beau’s hold and I saw goods the inbreds in Last Hope would have no use for. I’m thinking the Church has a disciple there. Maybe watching for novices, but more important, to trek those goods back to their stronghold. So all we need to do is watch for a laden caravan heading out into the wastes. Then we follow it.”
    Tric looked the girl up and down, smiling faintly. “Wisdom, Pale Daughter.”
    “Have no fear, Don Tric. I won’t let it go—”
    The boy held up a hand, pulled Flowers to a sudden stop. He squinted at the badlands around them, nose wrinkled, sniffing the whispering desert air.
    “What is it?” Mia’s hand drifted to her gravebone dagger.
    Tric shook his head, eyes closed as he inhaled.
    “Never smelled the like before. Reminds me of … old leather and dea—”
    Bastard snorted, rearing up. Mia clutched his saddle, cursing as the red sand exploded around them and a dozen tentacles burst from beneath the ground. Twenty feet long, studded with grasping, serrated hooks, they looked as dry as the innards of an inkfiend’s needle.
    Bastard whinnied in terror as one leathery appendage snaked around his foreleg, another cinching his throat in a hangman’s grip. The stallion fought, snotting and bucking like a wild thing. Mia found herself airborne again, bounced over Bastard’s head and tumbling toward the tentacles’ owner, now dragging itself from the earth and opening a hideous beaked maw. The air rang with a chittering, guttural hisssssssssssssssssss .
    “Sand kraken!” Tric roared, a little needlessly. 5
    Mia drew her gravebone dagger, lashing out at a tentacle whipping her way. Oily blood spurted, a chuddering roar shivering the earth as Mia tumbled between two more of the dreadful limbs, ducking a third and rolling up into a panting crouch. Mister Kindly unfurled from her shadow, peering at the horror and not-breathing a small, soft sigh.
    “… pretty …”
    Tric drew his scimitar, leaped from his stallion’s back, and hacked at the tentacle clutching Bastard’s leg. With the snapping whip of salted cord, the appendage split, another roar spilling from the beast, eyes wide as dinner plates, dusty gills flaring. Its severed limb flailed about, spraying Tric with reeking ichor. Bastard