Chapter 19: The Weir

The council had meant to sentence him at the weir, and so every pack on the moor was already riding toward it.

We reached the river road with Stonefell's whole strength at our backs and the elders' carriages crowding in behind.

The old timber weir was burning from end to end.

Tar-black smoke rolled off the water.

Fire ran along the reed beds on both banks, and the heat hit my face from fifty yards away.

Behind it, on the far side, the stone shell of the Aldane hall stood against the sky.

I had not seen it in seven years.

The roof was gone and the walls were charred, and there was still a child's swing hanging from the bough of the great ash.

"Hesper," said Bram.

"I see it."

"Torin is somewhere in that. He wants us to stand here and watch."

"The water gate is under the weir," I said. "It's where I hid."

"The weir is on fire."

"Not underneath."

He understood a moment later, and his face went white.

"No."

"The nail is in the stone, Bram. I can swim it. I know the way in the dark."

"And he'll be waiting."

"Yes." I pulled off my cloak. "I want him to be."

He caught my arm.

I thought he would order me to stay.

Instead he put his forehead against mine for the space of one breath.

"I'm coming to the bank. When you go under, I'm coming round with the wolves to the far side."

"If you're not out in the time it takes me to count a hundred, I am coming in."

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