“Then you understand why it is imperative we find the Onyx of Darkness before it falls into the wrong hands, especially now that war has broken out between the mainland kingdoms,” Orlla said. “My friends and I are unfamiliar with the sinking bogs and the Strylieht mountain range to the north. Any help you can give us to guide us on our journey would be very much appreciated.” She hesitated and motioned to his leg. “I can offer you something in return—a healing rune for your injury.”
Gaunt threw her a sharp look. “You are a rune weaver?”
Orlla nodded, waiting for him to press her for more information.
Instead, he got to his feet with a heavy grunt and reached for a pitcher of mead on a dusty shelf. “You would do well to conserve your power,” he said stiffly. “You will have need of it. My poultices will suffice to heal my injury.” He pulled the stopper out of the pitcher and took a long draught before carrying it across to the table. “Gather up your friends and I will do my best to answer your questions about your passage through the sinking bogs and beyond.”
Shortly thereafter, seated along a narrow oak bench inside the treehouse, Khor, Erdhan, and Akolom surveyed their new surroundings with equal measures of curiosity and wariness.
“How long have you lived here?” Erdhan asked.
Gaunt fixed a stoic gaze on him. “I left Macobin as soon as I could hunt well enough to feed myself.” He took another swig of mead and passed the pitcher around.
“What about your family?” Akolom inquired.
Gaunt’s eyes clouded over. For a heartbeat it appeared as if he had disregarded the question, lost in some unpleasant memory. Then he straightened up abruptly, “My own mother didn’t want me.” He gestured at his face. “The villagers thought I would bring a curse down on them.”
“I’m sorry,” Akolom said. “I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for you.”
Gaunt wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and shrugged. “I carry no ill will toward them. Their words and actions were borne out of ignorance and stoked by fear.”
Khor tapped his foot, growing impatient with the direction the conversation had taken. “Have you traveled to the Strylieht mountains before?” he inquired.
Gaunt nodded, his eyes suddenly alert. “Once, and I have no desire to repeat the experience, so don’t ask me to accompany you as your guide. Mercenaries serving the lost kingdoms patrol the passes through the mountains. Other than that, it’s mostly goat herders who’ve settled there. They make a living supplying the outposts, so the mercenaries don’t usually bother them.”
Akolom leaned forward. “What can you tell us of our path into the mountains?”
Gaunt leaned back and folded his short arms in front of him. “The trail you are on leads directly through the heart of the sinking bogs. It is the quickest route into the mountains, but hazardous for anyone not familiar with it.”
“Are you willing at least to lead us through the sinking bogs?” Khor asked. “I would offer to pay you for your trouble, but I suspect coin is of little interest to you.”
A haunted look crossed Gaunt’s face. He was quiet for a moment and then nodded. “I will help you. I, too, will benefit from your mission should you succeed. That will be payment enough for my services.”
Akolom bowed his head. “We are most grateful.”
“I will take you across the sinking bogs, but no farther,” Gaunt cautioned. “You must navigate the Strylieht mountains alone.”
“Time is of the essence,” Orlla said. “When can we leave?”
“Not tonight,” Gaunt responded. “The sinking bogs are unforgiving by day, but rapacious at night. Many bodies lie beneath them, their souls trapped between here and the second life.” He gestured to the treehouse floor. “You are welcome to sleep here. It will be warmer than the damp woodlands, if a little cramped.”
“We had no thought to impose on you,” Erdhan said.
“But we graciously accept your kind offer,” Orlla hurriedly added, images of the claw-like trees that stretched across the trail coming to mind. She didn’t relish spending a night outside in their macabre surroundings.
Khor got to his feet. “Erdhan and I will fetch our horses.”
Gaunt slapped a hand to his thigh. “I’ll put a pot on the stove.”
Before long, they were digging into a delicious meal of rabbit and parsnip stew flavored with fragrant herbs.
“You have done more than simply sate our appetites,” Orlla exclaimed. “This is the best food I’ve eaten since arriving on the mainland.”
Gaunt flushed with pride as he swatted dismissively. “I’ve had more than my fair share of time to practice, but I don’t entertain many travelers.”
“Does anyone else live nearby?” Akolom enquired.
Gaunt’s face assumed a neutral mask. “I don’t discuss business other than my own. Folks here are hostile to strangers and wary of neighbors. It would be fair to say that anyone who moves to the sinking bogs wants to be left to their own devices.”
“Indeed,” Akolom remarked, sounding somewhat miffed. “Although it is good for the soul to have company from time to time.”
“Mercenaries and mad mortals?” Gaunt got to his feet and reached for the soup urn. “Their actions never match their words. Can’t trust either one of them.”
After tidying up and securing the window, the travelers settled down for the night in the treehouse, stretching out on the rush-covered floor and making themselves as comfortable as they could. Gaunt offered Orlla the cot, but she declined, unwilling to put him out any more than they already had. She picked a spot as far away from Erdhan as possible and curled up beneath her cloak. A part of her longed to put her arms around him and comfort him in his harrowing loss, which must surely plague his thoughts by night. But she still wasn’t sure if his outburst at the house had been designed to push her away to protect her while he went after Brufus, or if he really did blame her for the brutal slaying of his family. Either way, his jovial spirit had been sorely dampened, and his grief eked through his pores despite his sporadic attempts at levity. He needed more time to grieve, and when he was ready she would be here for him.
Morning broke with the pleasant chirping of the yellow-bellied warbler. Orlla sat up on one elbow and rubbed her hip which had been digging into a rough spot on the floor all night. Her lips tugged into a smile when she saw Gaunt feeding his pet bird at the window and talking quietly to it. Small wonder he had no need of the company of his elusive and disreputable neighbors. He had befriended the forest inhabitants he could trust.
After a breakfast of dried fruit and goat milk, the group made their way down the rope ladder and watched as Gaunt pulled it back up and closed the trapdoor behind them using a pulley system concealed behind a curtain of vines.
“I take it you have no mount,” Khor commented, as they saddled up their horses.
Gaunt beamed proudly at him. “You are mistaken.” He limped behind the treehouse and disappeared into the brush, returning a few minutes later with a mule on a lead rope. “He’s the third stray I’ve picked up over the years. I reckon they have more sense than their wooden-headed owners and bolt when they get their first whiff of the sinking bogs.” He stood on a tree stump and eased his short body onto the mule’s bare back.
“Do you think we’ll encounter trouble?” Orlla asked.
“Mercenaries won’t bother us this side of the mountains,” Gaunt said. “And any fugitives in these parts are loners and keep their own company. As for mad mortals, you’ll hear them coming a long way off so they’re no real threat to anyone but themselves.”
The group soon settled into a comfortable pace, riding when the trees allowed it, and leading their horses when the tangled tapestry overhead became too low to navigate other than on foot. With Gaunt at the helm, seemingly nonplussed about encountering any of the other mysterious inhabitants of the sinking bogs, Orlla began to relax and eventually stopped darting her eyes left and right to scan the brush on either s
ide of the trail as they walked.
The patchworked sky that poked through the tops of the trees was a hazy shade of slate. The sun that had been restored to the mainland was struggling to compete with the rising power of the Onyx of Darkness—a power that would only grow stronger as the snowmelt continued.
“We’re not far off from the heart of the sinking bogs now,” Gaunt hollered back to them. “Soon, we’ll need to look for somewhere to tie up the horses. They are too heavy to traverse the next section safely. And you cannot take them up into the Strylieht mountains on your quest. The paths are too steep for any creature save goats. I am happy to tend to your steeds until you return.”
Orlla turned to Akolom. “How will we carry the dark dragon stone back down from the mountains without a pack animal?”
“We have no reason to believe the Onyx of Darkness is any bigger than the Opal of Light,” he replied. “If necessary, we’ll use a weightlessness rune.”
“Bring the sack containing the decoy stone from your saddlebag to hide it in,” Orlla said.
Akolom nodded. “We’ll need to put the protection runes in place first. The scrolls in the vault warn that the dark stone is deceptive.” He frowned in concentration as though trying to recall the exact words. “It punishes some who approach it, but flatters others. We must be prepared for every eventuality. The protective runes we wield must be mental as well as physical.” He smoothed his fingers over his long beard. “You are not well versed in the mental runes to protect against evil. I will retrieve the stone once we locate it and you can help weave the protection runes on my behalf. If anything happens to me when I lay hands on it, flee at once with Khor and Erdhan. We cannot risk inadvertently invoking the wrath of the black dragons.”
Before Orlla could protest, Gaunt called back to them. “This is a good place to tether the horses.” He pointed to a nearby dell. “They can graze here until I come back.”
The group dismounted and led the horses into the sheltered hollow Gaunt had indicated. Akolom rummaged around in his saddlebag and pulled out the sack with the granite rock inside it. A foreboding chill snaked across Orlla’s spine as she watched his withered hands secure the sack to his belt. He was growing more frail with every passing day as the effects of eternal youth weakened. And now he was about to lay his life on the line to recover the dark dragon stone. The thought of something happening to him in the Strylieht mountains weighed heavy on her. No matter what he said, she wouldn’t leave him behind if anything went amiss.
Erdhan came up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know now is probably not the best time or place to talk, but we may not have another chance if this does not go well.”
She spun to face him, something sparking in his eyes when she held his gaze. Her heart raced as the captivating blueness of his eyes washed over her.
He took a shallow breath and continued, his voice rasping. “I owe you an apology. I should never have taken you to task like I did. What happened to my family was not of your doing, and it was wrong of me to lay that burden of guilt on you. Brufus’s actions stemmed from the greed and tyranny of his own heart. Can you forgive me?”
Orlla swallowed hard. “I never held it against you. I understand the pain of your loss, more than most. Brufus took my mother from me, too.”
Erdhan reached for her hand and wordlessly interlaced his fingers with hers.
Orlla’s skin tingled beneath the warmth of his touch. The look of remorse on his face pulled at her heartstrings. She rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him, and he crushed his mouth to hers with a molten desire that sent ripples down her spine.
“While we are young!” Khor gestured to them to tether their horses.
Orlla hurriedly snatched her hand from Erdhan’s grasp and led her horse over to where Gaunt and the others were waiting. Her skin felt flushed and her heart was pounding an unfamiliar rhythm. What had Erdhan meant by the intimate gesture? Was it merely to solidify his apology, or had he intended to convey something more? As for her own intentions, she had wanted to comfort him and let him know she forgave him, but in her heart, she knew it was so much more than that.
When they were done attending to their steeds, Gaunt briefed them on what lay ahead, his thatched beard bobbing up and down as he talked. “Follow my every step and travel single file. You must memorize the route for the return trip. Don’t attempt to pass each other, and don’t hurry needlessly in case you trip. You may doubt the ground I take you across at times as it grows wetter, but believe me when I say that appearances are very deceptive in the sinking bogs.”
Akolom frowned. “How so?”
Gaunt directed a meaningful look at him. “Sometimes, the surface floats like a meadow—appearing firm and unyielding on the surface, but beneath it lies a thick layer of squelching mud waiting to suck you down to its soundless depths. At other times, the surface looks wet and sodden but the ground under it is firm to the foot. I have voyaged across these bogs many times and tested my route with long poles.” He paused and grinned around at them, his bulbous forehead shiny with sweat. “You have nothing to fear as I will be leading the way and the first to disappear if I am mistaken about my path.”
“You are a lightweight compared to me,” Khor growled. “How can you be sure I won’t sink?”
Gaunt looked him up and down with an appraising eye, then rumbled a laugh. “You my friend, might be a difficult case.” He winked before walking over to the trees and retrieving a long, firm stick with a hooked branch at the end.
Orlla raised her brows questioningly when he walked back over to them.
“I always take a crook along with me,” he explained. “You never know when you might come across some poor creature floundering in the bog.”
He retrieved a rope from his saddlebag and rubbed his mule’s head affectionately before limping toward the trail. “Let’s be off. We still have a way to go before we’re in the thick of it.”
They traveled along the progressively spongy trail for another hour or so before Gaunt alerted them that they were approaching the heart of the sinking bogs.
The putrid smell hit them shortly thereafter. Orlla almost gagged and quickly pinched her nose. “You didn’t warn us the stench worsens, the deeper we travel into the bogs.”
“Why does it reek so?” Erdhan asked.
“The smell of death and decay,” Gaunt called back cheerfully. “Everything in the bogs rots to a leathery brown, so keep your head about you and don’t stomp too hard or you’ll end up a part of the landscape. Just follow in my footsteps and you’ll be perfectly safe.”
Khor’s blanched expression indicated he was unconvinced of Gaunt’s breezy reassurances regarding their safety. Orlla couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. His strength and size had always been his greatest asset, but now it was working against him.
Up ahead, the wide flatlands of the central sinking bogs came into view—a ghostly landscape with tendrils of fog hovering over the surface like the exhaled breath of a swamp creature. The atmosphere became increasingly strained as the travelers peered anxiously at the terrain they were about to traverse. Water pooled sporadically among the tufted reeds. Orlla eyed the firmer-looking parts of the bog, remembering Gaunt’s warning. The springy grass looked deceptively dryer than the waterlogged sections, but it could be a giant sponge that would cave beneath them and suck them down if they took their chances and stood on it. They had no choice but to trust their curious guide and stick to his designated path through the treacherous landscape.
Erdhan followed immediately behind Gaunt, and Orlla found herself sandwiched between Erdhan and Akolom, with Khor taking up the rear.
“My footprints are twice the size of everyone else’s,” Khor yelled. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gaunt yelled, a trace of mirth in his voice. “Just keep moving. And the rest of you do not turn around to look at him, lest you stumble. The ground here is pliable and gives easily beneath your feet.”
&nb
sp; Akolom narrowed his eyes at Orlla and Erdhan peering over their shoulders at Khor. “Keep your eyes forward. Didn’t you hear what Gaunt said?”
Orlla whipped her head back around in time to see Erdhan plant a boot a tad too far to the right of Gaunt’s footprint. He let out a muffled yelp, hands flailing as he sought to regain his balance. A sucking sound ensued, and Orlla watched in horror as his leg began to slip below the surface.
Chapter 8
“Gaunt!” she screamed. “Your crook! Make haste!”
He cast a steely look over his shoulder and grimaced before carefully turning and positioning himself to face Erdhan. “I need everyone to take a couple of steps backward and give us some space. Erdhan, stop writhing at once, you are agitating the ground around you and only asking the bog to take you down to its depths.”
Orlla’s breath came in hard gasps as she watched Erdhan flounder about in an effort to free himself from the grip of the mud. Gaunt’s voice was disturbingly calm as he relayed directions. She desperately wanted to reach around Erdhan and snatch the stick from Gaunt’s hand, but she willed herself to be patient and have faith in his ability to manage the situation. Tentatively, she retreated a step, as requested, and then another.
Erdhan loosed a rough breath, his face contorted with fear. “Is somebody going to come to my aid or what?”
“Gaunt is working on it,” Orlla assured him. “Cease your striving! You are only disturbing the mud and sinking faster.”
“Lay back on the ground and spread your weight out,” Gaunt ordered, pulling out his rope.
“That won’t help me,” Erdhan protested.
“It will ensure you don’t sink any further before I can pull you out,” Gaunt retorted.
Onyx of Darkness_An epic dragon fantasy Page 6
