Catching sight of his back, I stopped. A black mark stained his skin. Dirt? I moved closer. When I reached his bedside, the mark was horrifyingly clear—a two-inch-long tattoo of a skeleton wearing a crown of bones.

Clamping down on my growing panic, I kept my voice even as I asked, “Danny, can you fetch Odd?”

“Sure.” Danny rushed away.

“Wash your hands first,” I yelled after him.

He returned and scrubbed.

“What happened to you before you got sick?” I handed the sergeant the drink.

He swept a hand out. “You mean before my whole squad started puking?”

“Yes, Sergeant...”

“Gylon.” He gulped the drink then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing happened. We were out on patrol and didn’t encounter the enemy.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“We helped that guy out, remember, Sarge?” another man lying nearby asked.

“Oh, yeah. The man’s wagon wheel had broken and we helped fix it. No biggie,” Gylon said.

“Are you sure we fixed it?” A private pushed up on her elbow. “I don’t recall that.”

“That’s ’cause you took rear guard, Tyra, watching our backs,” yet another soldier added.

She frowned. “And I thought I saw...something before getting stung by a bee.”

A few of the others piped up. “I was stung.”

“Me, too.”

“Must have disturbed a nest.”

“Stung? Are you sure?” I asked Tyra.

Tyra pointed to her neck. I examined the area. A tiny red puncture marked her skin. Not a bee sting, but evidence that she’d been hit by a dart. I checked the others. All had puncture wounds. The squad had been ambushed and didn’t even know it.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“South,” Sergeant Gylon said. “Prince Ryne wanted us to sweep the area to ensure no one tried to get in behind Grzebien.”

My panic boiled up my throat. “How far?”

“Two days, but with everyone so sick, it took us twice as long to get here.”

The Skeleton King had been two days south of us four days ago. Bad, very bad.

Even worse, he had a powerful weapon. The new plague.

KERRICK

On his knees, Kerrick leaned against the back of the jailhouse. He held the hem of his shirt over his nose and mouth, taking deep breaths. The image of the cook butchering two men seared into his mind while the acid from his stomach burned up his throat. His body shook as he fought the desire to retch. The Skeleton King and his army ate their victims. Horror mixed with revulsion, and he lost the battle and dry heaved over the grass.

More howling pierced the air, along with a set of rapid drumbeats. The bonfire sizzled and Kerrick wondered if the two bowls of blood the king had collected from the victims had been tossed into the flames. Kerrick sank back onto his heels and covered his mouth again, blocking the foul odor of burned flesh.

When he’d regained his composure, he peered around the corner of the building. He eyed the spits of meat over the coals. How many people had they killed? Was Belen one of them? Not going there.

He locked his emotions away. At this point, second-guessing would be a waste of time. Kerrick reviewed the facts. The victims had been taken from the jailhouse, so there must be more locked inside. And he had to rescue them. Tonight.

He crept around the side, searching for the window they’d used to rescue Avry a little over a year ago. Almost at ground level, it had been boarded up, which meant the iron bars hadn’t been replaced. First thing to go right all night.

Now the hard part. Should he wait until the army settled down for the night or do it now while they were preoccupied? The prison cells had been built belowground. The prisoners would need help climbing out the window. Kerrick scanned the area. Ivy grew on the pasture fence and jailhouse walls. Another chant started. Would the Skeleton King return for more victims? He couldn’t bear for anyone else to die.

A plan formed. Kerrick pressed his palm to the ground. He concentrated on Flea and Huxley. They remained where he’d left them. Closing his eyes, Kerrick envisioned his location and his need, hoping one or both of them would pick up on his silent message.

Huxley pawed the ground and then started in Kerrick’s direction. Soon after, Flea followed. Good.

While he waited for them, Kerrick worked on the boards, prying them loose with his dagger every time the chanting and howling grew loud enough to cover the noise. He’d gotten a couple free when he sensed Huxley nearby. They had reached the edge of the forest behind the jailhouse. Kerrick joined them, turning back to normal.

“This is beyond creepy,” Flea said when he appeared. “What’s with the noise, the awful smell, and that howling?” he asked in an urgent whisper.

“Later. First we need to rescue—”

“Belen? Is he in there?” Flea pointed to the jailhouse.

“I hope. Do you remember how we rescued Avry last year?”

“Yes, but Loren—”

“I’ve a substitute for your leg holders.”

Flea glanced at Huxley. “Won’t he be too noticeable?”

“He’s staying here. Don’t worry. I’ve a plan.”

“And the distraction?”

“With all that noise, I’m hoping we don’t need one.”

“Lots of hoping going on here, Kerrick.”

“We’ve had flimsier plans.”