The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

  Only one way to find out, Mercer told himself, and that was to brave the mountains.

  Chapter Forty

  The next morning, after a hurried breakfast of dried fruit and cheese, they struggled up a long steep rise before the ground levelled out. The rest of that day was easy riding across open land. They passed a few hamlets in their journey. Allison wanted to know who lived in those picturesque cottages with their chicken coops and tomato gardens.

  “Settlers,” Mercer had said. “They pay taxes to Redgate in exchange for protection from bandits, but they’re mostly on their own, and that’s the way they like it.”

  Mercer more or less stuck to the main roads. No sense forging a path through the wilderness and making their tail suspicious, he told the group. Let Narsul’s thugs think they were still following in secret, lull them into a false sense of security. It would be easy to lure them into an ambush if it came down to it, but Mercer was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

  He pushed hard, trying to keep a safe distance from the rogues riding their back trail without killing the animals. A horse with a broken leg would slow them down, and Mercer wanted to brave the mountains sooner rather than later. The third day out from Thunderside brought them to the outskirts of a vast swamp—a fog shrouded bog full of crumbling ruins. A long-forgotten road ran through the swamp, crumbling and overgrown, completely lost in places. Sound carried on the green-tinged mist rising up from the brackish waters. Cicada buzzed and frogs croaked, but stranger noises came to Allison from the thick pea soup; noises that made a shiver crawl up her back.

  “Are there hodags here?” she asked when they stopped to rest.

  Mercer smiled. “No, but there are plenty of snakes.”

  “And they’re all deadly,” Trix added.

  The idea of poisonous snakes slithering through the spongy tussocks didn’t make her feel any better. Given the choice, she would prefer hodags. At least they were big enough they couldn’t sneak up on you, not in this marsh anyway.

  Trix had a knack for finding dry ground when the road disappeared, and Mercer let her lead. He dropped back and guarded their flank, one work-calloused hand on the haft of his notched axe and his head on a swivel.

  The sun had sunk in the west and the last of the light shrank from the sky when Allison spotted a dancing green light in the distance. Or she thought. She caught the flicker of green out of the corner of one eye, but when she turned to look, it was gone. They rode on his silence for a while, listening to the drone of the cicadas, when Allison spotted another flicker, and this time she was sure of it. A green flame, like a fairy light, pulsed in the fog on her right.

  “There’s something out there,” she whispered.

  “Ignore it,” Drake told her.

  “You see it too?”

  He nodded. “You’ll see more the deeper we get into the Ghostwater.”

  “What are they?” Two more dancing tongues of green fire sprang up on her left and then faded.

  “Will-o-the-wisps,” Drake said. “Ghosts lights. Rotting vegetation under the water releases gases that bubble up to the surface. It happens where the water is deepest. If you follow the lights, you’ll sink into the bog and drown. Ignore them.”

  “It’s creepy,” Allison remarked.

  Soon, the dancing green fairy lights were all around them, winking in the dense gray fog. The going was slow as the water got deeper and the ground softer. Several times they had to backtrack when the boggy pools flooded the road and they were forced to find another way.

  “Shouldn’t we stop to rest?” Allison said after what felt like hours. She had no idea if it was day or night. There was only the pressing gloom of the marsh lit by the ghostly flames. “I’m falling out of the saddle.”

  Trix reined in and turned to the others. Mercer still rode tall and straight, but Drake was bent nearly double, with a pinched face and that ragged scar of a mouth turning down at the corners. He looked done in.

  “I could use a breather,” he croaked.

  Mercer scowled. “This is no place to stop for rest.”

  “Why?” Allison wanted to know.

  “The less you know the better.”

  That ominous warning only made Allison more nervous. She glanced around at the soggy pools with apprehension written on her face, like the ground might open up beneath the hooves of her horse, swallowing horse and rider whole. “Thanks, I feel much better now.”

  Mercer turned to Drake and an unspoken question passed between them. Drake nodded. “We’ll risk it.”

  He lifted his gnarled staff and muttered a spell. There was a brief tingle in the air, like a breath of cold, and the fog parted like a stage curtain, rolling back to reveal a landscape of scattered green tussocks amid oily black pools of water for miles in every direction. The moon was a bloated red disk partially obscured by roiling black clouds.

  “Wow,” Allison said. “That’s incredible. Why didn’t you do that earlier?”

  But no one was paying her any attention. They were twisting in their saddles, looking this way and that, taking in the geography of the marsh. Trix pointed. “There!”

  Away on Allison’s left was a large patch of mostly solid ground with a few trees and a crumbling ruin. No sooner had she spotted it, the fog came rolling back in.

  They turned their horses and picked their way across the quagmire in a mostly straight line to the hump of dry ground. The trees were swamp ash, bearded with moss and growing up from the loamy ground like twisted old men with arthritic fingers, and the ruin looked like an old church or tomb, long forgotten. The long structure lay half submerged in the sinking ground with moss and creeper vines crawling up the sides of cyclopean masonry. Strange hieroglyphs were etched upon the stone door frame.

  “Who do you think built this?” Allison asked.

  “No one,” Mercer told her. “It was here from the beginning. The game designers left a lot of old ruins around to give the world a bit of authenticity, make it seem lived in. This looks like a crypt of some kind. Might be some Lore inside. Want to have a look, Drake?”

  He shook his head. “I want you to leave it alone. There’s a foul feeling in the air. Let’s eat, have a rest, and press on.”

  “Fine by me.” Mercer swung down out of the saddle and built a small fire while Trix set up booby traps around the island.

  Drake climbed down from his animal, stretched his back, and groaned.

  “I don’t understand,” Allison said. “If you can push back the fog, why not keep doing that until we are out of the swamp?”

  “First,” said Drake as he lowered himself down on a fallen log with a sigh, “it takes a lot of effort. Second, I just announced my presence to every unfriendly thing for miles. I might as well have hung a bright neon sign that says Here We Are.”

  A tight knot formed in the pit of Allison’s belly. She sank down on the log next to him, glanced around at the pressing fog, and said, “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he croaked.

  “Get some rest,” Mercer told them. “I’ll sit watch.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  In her dreams, Allison was slowly and inexorably sinking into the mud. She kept calling for help, but Mercer and Trix were busy turning dead hodags into jerky and Drake would only tell her to ignore the swamp lights. The greasy black water rose to her chin and the harder she struggled, the faster she sank. She craned her head back, gasping for air, but her mouth went under and the brackish bile poured over her lips. When the slime covered her nose, Allison snapped awake and sat halfway up with a scream dying on her lips.

  She looked around. Mercer was stretched out on his bedroll, his feet facing away from the fire and his head propped on his arm. His eyelids drooped and snapped open again. Drake lay on his side, wheezing in his sleep, and Trix had her back to a tree, her chin on her chest and her eyes closed. Her arms were folded across her breasts and her brow twitched like she was having an argument in a dream.

  Allison levered herself up and realized that
she had in fact been sinking. Her back and bottom were a quarter inch in the mire and her clothes peeled away from the mud with a wet sucking sound as she sat up. She made a disgusted noise. She could only hope the next town they happened through had a laundry. How did people wash clothes without electricity anyway? She had seen old photographs of tubs and metal washboards, but had no idea how that worked.

  She wiped grime from her fingers and then rubbed sleep from her eyes. Their small fire had burned down to embers and a thick white plume of smoke wafted up from charred swamp ash. Allison dug through her saddlebags for something to eat. Her stomach was making loud grumbling sounds and there was a pounding in her skull that was probably the result of dehydration. She slogged across the soft ground to her horse and took the waterskin from the pommel. The mare threw back her head and snorted. Allison gave her a pat on the neck before pulling the cork and taking a long swig.

  She took two more long drafts from the waterskin. It was more than half empty now, and Allison didn’t know when they would find another source of drinking water. The swamp water wasn’t safe to drink, she was sure of that.

  With her thirst satisfied, she corked the skin and noticed, for the first time, the absence of noise. The cicadas had stopped buzzing and the croak of the bullfrogs had quieted. The soft squelching sounds of Allison’s boots in the muddy earth seemed impossibly loud to her own ears. She hung the waterskin around the saddle pommel and cast a nervous glance over her shoulder.

  The ever-present fog seemed thicker and closer than before, a misty mantle of white swallowing the twisted stumps of trees and crowding the forgotten tomb. Creeping tendrils snaked over the soil toward the remains of the campfire, like searching fingers. The small hairs at the back of Allison’s neck stood on end and gooseflesh raced up her arms.

  “Pssst!” she hissed. “Mercer!”

  “Hmmm?” He frowned and peeled open one eye. “Whassat?”

  “I think something’s wrong,” Allison whispered.

  “S’ your magination,” he muttered.

  Allison’s horse gave a loud whinny, stamped at the earth, and pulled at her tether. Allison turned back and patted the beast’s neck, making soft shushing noises. The other horses snorted and flicked their tails. Their dark eyes rolled in their sockets.

  “Mercer!” Allison hissed.

  “What?” he moaned.

  “Mercer, wake up. I think—” But Allison never got to finish.

  She spotted two points of yellow light hovering in the mist just beyond her horse, which she almost mistook for more swamp fire, but a second glance revealed a pair of glowing eyes in an incorporeal body.

  The words died in Allison’s throat and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She staggered backwards, too scared for words. The ghostly apparition drew closer, eyes flashing from the depths of a shadowy body that looked like a ragged cloak floating on an unfelt breeze. Two arms stretched out.

  The horse screamed and reared back, yanking at her tether and tossing her mane. The terrified beast rose up on her hind legs and kicked at the air, but her hooves passed through the apparition. Allison was still stumbling backwards, trying to get her throat working. No words could describe her horror. Her logical brain insisted this could not be real, she had fallen into some macabre nightmare of phantoms, but her emotional brain screamed in panic. Gone was the knowledge that this was all a game, a virtual reality simulation, and the floating poltergeist could no more hurt her physical body than a ghost on a movie screen.

  The phantasm reached out with skeletal fingers and a rattling groan issued from the depths of the hood. Allison’s life was saved by the horse. The poor animal was caught between her and the apparition. Those grasping fingers found the mare first. The malevolent eyes flashed, and the nightmare drew in a long rasping breath. Allison felt a chill in her bones, like the phantom was sucking all the warmth from the air. The light of the campfire dimmed and the night turned dark.

  The others were awake by now, roused by the shrieks of the horses and that terrible rattling groan. Allison finally got her throat working again and a high-pitched scream escaped.

  Mercer leapt to his feet, axe in hand, and shouted, “Inside the tomb.”

  “We don’t know what’s in there,” Drake said.

  “No time to find out,” Mercer said. “Get inside.”

  Panic clawed at the edges of Allison’s mind. All she could do was back away. The apparition latched onto her mare and bent over the animal’s neck. Allison thought she saw the specter’s mouth open and that hideous sound threatened to drive her mad. The mare lashed out with her front legs, kicking at air, even as the life drained from her limbs. The horse bucked in a pointless attempt to escape, but it was already too late. The mare’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and her hind legs gave way. She slumped down on her haunches as her coat turned from a healthy shine to dull and stringy. Her body shrank in on itself, her ribcage protruded from paper like skin, and the veins around her face showed. Her lips peeled back from her teeth in a rictus grin. The beast let out a pitiful whimper before slumping over onto her side. The phantom followed her down, draining the last of the creature’s life.

  Mercer threw his shoulder against the door of the tomb. His leg muscles bunched and the veins stood out in his neck. His face turned red. The stone slab scraped open several inches.

  “Trix, get the horses,” Mercer shouted through his efforts. “Trix! The horses!”

  She sprang over the dying fire, pushed past Allison, and wrestled at the tethers. All three animals were bucking and clashing their hooves together in terrified excitement.

  Drake grabbed up his staff in both hands and backed toward the door of the tomb.

  The dying horse lay on her side, struggling for breath. Her coat had turned to grey and milky cataracts blinded her dark eyes. Yellow teeth looked like crooked tombstones in rotting gums. Her legs twitched as the last of her strength faded.

  Trix couldn’t free the horses with them yanking at their tethers. Twice she was nearly pulled right off her feet. She turned to Allison. Her eyes were flashing daggers. Her lips peeled back from clenched teeth and she growled, “Help me!”

  Allison cast one frightened glance at the ghostly apparition. It had sucked the horse nearly dry. The poor beast looked like an emaciated corpse with patches of fur missing and a dry tongue lolling from its mouth. But there was still some life left in her.

  It took every ounce of courage Allison had, but she leapt for the low branch where the remaining animals were lashed. At this distance, Allison could feel the chill in the air rolling off the specter in icy waves. Her trembling fingers fumbled at the knots. Trix grabbed all three reins in both hands and strained all her might against the thrashing horses. She managed to give Allison enough slack that she loosed the knots and together they hauled the beasts toward the tomb.

  Mercer had shoved aside the stone slab. Drake was already inside, and Mercer waved for them to hurry. Allison’s dying horse gave one last convulsion, then lay still. It only vaguely resembled the horse it had been moments ago. Now it was a lifeless cadaver of gaunt skin, open sores, and sunken eyes. The ghost rose up from the corpse, eyes flashing in the mists, and the ripped hem of its cloak floating a few inches off the ground.

  Allison let out a curse and gave the reins a savage jerk. The horses came thrashing and snorting, trampling Drake’s sleeping roll and scattering the remains of the fire under their stamping hooves. Mercer caught the first beast by the mane and steered it through the door. The animal had to duck to clear the frame but, once it was inside, the rest of the horses followed willingly.

  Allison and Trix crowded through the opening and Mercer followed them inside. The specter had reached the scattered fire and the last of the glowing embers winked out. A wave of cold rolled off the apparition. Allison felt the breath freeze in her lungs.

  “Close the door,” she cried. “Hurry!”

  “I’m trying,” Mercer growled through clenched teeth. His hands were bra
ced against the stone slab and the muscles in his arms stood out like thick cords. The door scraped across the floor, the gap narrowing, but not nearly fast enough.

  “Move,” shouted Drake. “Get clear.”

  Mercer jumped aside. Drake thrust his staff against the door and muttered a word of command. The door swung closed and would have shut but the apparition lifted a hand and croaked out words in that rattling voice. It sounded like the voice of the grave, and the door started back the other direction. Drake threw his weight against the slab. Sweat sprang out on his forehead. He uttered another incantation, and then another. For a moment, the contest was in serious doubt. The heavy stone started to grind slowly open, but Drake raised his voice and shouted. “Mortis Kai!”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The door slammed shut with a resounding boom which shook dust from the ceiling and echoed around the cavernous tomb, shutting out the light and leaving them in gloomy darkness. Cold penetrated the stone slab in waves as the poltergeist sought entry to the tomb.