The reeds closed behind the last man, and solid ground disappeared beneath the party's boots.
Cold water reached past Batu's ankles within the first three steps. The mud beneath him refused to offer anything dependable, and he was forced to adjust almost immediately.
Each step had to be tested before he trusted it, placing his foot lightly until the ground revealed whether it would hold. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it sank another finger's width before stopping, forcing him to balance in the darkness until he knew he could shift his weight.
Above them, thin starlight barely pierced the night. There was no moon to reflect from wet leather or exposed steel. Kozelsk's ramparts stood against the sky as little more than a darker shadow within the darkness, visible only because he already knew where to look.
Ahead, Suuqai followed the trail of bent reeds he had marked that afternoon. His footing never faltered, guided by knowledge none of the thirty men behind him yet possessed.
