Ballorn snorted, “You?” he scoffed. “Do you seriously believe that you could kill us as easily as a dragon would?”
Barden held out his hand. Sparks arced between his fingers as he looked into Ballorn’s eyes. “Very easily, Ballorn,” he said, quietly. “Have you ever seen lightning strike water?” he asked. “At any time whilst you were tending your forge. The moment you drove any piece of metal into the trough to cool it, well, you see my point.” He held up his other hand, flames licking around the palm, “What if your bellows had developed a fault?” The flame in his hand leapt higher. “A simple accident causing your entire forge to explode, and you along with it.” He rubbed his hands together and the spells disappeared. “But, as I said, I was there to protect you, not to do you harm.”
***
They were now approaching the marshes and Stitch was becoming nervous, “I think I’ll ride in the cart for a while,” he called to Ballorn. “My ankle is aching something terrible, might have twisted it a bit. Best rest it before we get too far out, I don’t want to slow us down.”
Not turning around, Ballorn smiled, “Yeah, you do that, Stitch,” he replied. “Best not take any chances.”
The ground was much softer now, and Hunter pointed out that the tracks from the cart were far deeper than they had been previously, “Three or four miles at most,” he called, “Then I think we’ll have to abandon it and just take the pony.”
“W-what!” cried Stitch. “We’re going to leave the cart! But that means we’ll have to walk, and what with my twisted ankle…”
“You can ride the pony,” interrupted Ballorn. “We’ll offload the stuff into that bag thing you made me, and I’ll carry it.” He turned around and pointed at Stitch, “Because I’m not carrying you,” he sniggered.
Although the ground was soft, the track they were on was easy enough to follow and it was not long before Ballorn was sifting through their supplies and filling his backbag. “You’ve done a cracking job with this thing,” he said, hoping that complimenting Stitch would help to distract the tailor and calm his nerves. Stitch said nothing.
“Don’t put too much in that thing,” warned Barden. “Put a foot wrong here and the bog will suck you in quicker than you can blink with all that added weight.”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not worried about you!” exclaimed Barden. “I’m worried that you’re carrying all the food on your back! If you go, it goes. If we’re deep into the marshes and that happens, the rest of us could starve to death!”
“Well it’s not going to happen, so stop fretting,” said Hunter. “Anyway, Ballorn, why are we here? I mean here, specifically. Do you know something we don’t?”
“No, not really,” replied Ballorn, not taking much notice. But after a brief pause, he added, “But then again, yes.”
“Go on then,” urged Barden, “don’t keep us in the dark. What is it?”
“I see things,” Ballorn mumbled. “At first it happened when I was sleeping, but more recently, I see them when I’m wide awake. They’re not visions, as such, it’s more like I’m seeing through someone else’s eyes. Or should I say… some... thing.”
Stitch was pacing nervously, “What kind of something?” he asked.
Ballorn shrugged his shoulders and resumed his packing, “I’m not sure really,” he said. “But in one of my, well I suppose you’d call them visions, there was a lot of steam in the air. To make steam you obviously need water. Now, where, other than an ocean would you find more water than here?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” exclaimed Barden, “Let me think, HOW ABOUT ONE OF A THOUSAND RIVERS?”
Ballorn shook his head, “No, I thought about that, Mr Shouty. The water I saw was shallow.” He turned and peered at the wizard, “Really shallow. More like surface water than a pool or lake. Trust me, we’re headed in the right direction.”
Stitch gulped, “The right direction for what?” he almost whispered.
Ballorn gave him a confused look, “To find the dragon, of course. Have you forgotten what it is we’re supposed to be doing here?”
“So, you actually believe that you’re seeing what the dragon’s seeing?” asked Hunter.
“Absolutely!” replied Ballorn. “It must have something to do with the gifts that Keldenar gave us.”
“So why aren’t I getting these same visions?”
“Because, Hunter,” replied Ballorn, “you’re not the Nibrilsiem.”
Stitch suddenly seemed far happier, “Well, that’s a good thing isn’t it?” he asked, rhetorically. “If you can see what the dragon can see, it won’t be able to sneak up on us!”
“Yes, because dragons do that all the time, don’t they, sneak up on people,” laughed Hunter.
“It could also be a very bad thing,” warned Barden. “What if it works both ways and the dragon can get glimpses of what you see? Surely, that would take away any opportunity that we may have of sneaking up on it. It may be listening to our conversation at this very moment.”
Ballorn leaned against the cart and stared at the ground. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times, a clear sign of his frustration. “Are you done?” he asked quietly as he looked at them in turn. “This is something I have, for whatever reason, been tasked with. The rest of you, however, are free to do whatever you want. The pony is there, the cart is there, and the road back to the village is right behind you. You owe me no loyalty nor allegiance, you’re free to leave whenever you wish. But hear me now. Should you decide to join me in this quest, this pessimistic attitude ends now! No more guessing, no more whining, and no concerns over what may happen to me!” he growled. “I’m heading into that swamp in one hour and anyone who decides to follow me had better do so quietly.” He glanced at the tailor, “And Stitch,” he said winking at him, “I suggest you feed that pony before we leave. We don’t want him getting stroppy and dumping you in the water.”
***
They were now deep into the gloomy swamp, trying their best to pass through it as quietly as possible. Unfortunately, what with the sploshing of the water and the sound of the pony’s hooves clopping on exposed rocks and pebbles occasionally, they weren’t having much success. Hunter was finding it quite amusing, watching as the others stumbled and cursed the uneven ground. It was something he himself was not having to contend with, as he was travelling above them through the lower branches of the trees. Every now and then he would call out encouragement, or a warning if he saw anything that may block their path. He knew that the nemilar and the wizard would have no problems, but he would have hated to see the poor pony get hurt.
“Oh wow,” Stitch suddenly cried, sliding down from the pony, “Isn’t it absolutely adorable?”
At first, no-one could see what he was referring to. Hunter dashed as quickly as he could to get ahead of the tailor… but was not quick enough.
Stitch stooped down and reached out his hand, “Come on, little one,” he cooed, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Right in front of him, sat on, what looked like a small lily pad, was a small, blue, fluffy animal with soft yellow eyes. It was no bigger than his hand and looked totally unafraid. “Would you like me to take you with me away from this nasty damp swamp?” Stitch continued, “Somewhere nice and warm, and dry.” He never noticed the ripples from the edges of the pad as it moved closer toward him, until it was too late.
There was a sudden eruption of water as a giant toad-like creature emerged from beneath the surface. Its tongue shot out and stuck to Stitch’s forehead as if it had been glued there and the beast immediately started to retreat into the water, dragging the shrieking tailor along with it. Hunter released two arrows that both pierced the monster’s tongue, but it still did not release its prey.
Ballorn raised his hammer and was about to throw it full force, but what if his aim was off and he hit Stitch. He was sure that the tailor would never survive such an impact.
Barden too, was at a loss
. The creature was already too low in the water for a fire spell to have any effect, and he couldn’t risk a lightning spell as that would be as fatal to the prey as it would the predator.
Suddenly, there was a bellowing cry. A stranger came charging toward the chaotic scene, “Get off him you, slimy old toad,” he roared, and threw a strange powder into the air above the beast. It immediately began to screech, and its skin started bubbling as if it were being boiled, but Stitch seemed unharmed by it as the toad released its grip and plunged back into the water. The stranger grabbed Stitch by the back of his collar and hoisted him to his feet. He rubbed his wet sleeve roughly across Stitch’s face to remove the slime that had been left there by his attacker. “No harm done,” he said, reassuring the tailor that he would be fine. “That stuff won’t hurt you, just doesn’t feel very nice, that’s all.” He panted a few times, he was not the youngest person they had ever met, “Damned woodles!” he exclaimed. “I wish the council would listen to me just this once and let me wipe the damn things out, nobody’s safe from ‘em. Slimy, sly little shi...”
“Porflax!” Barden suddenly exclaimed, “Is that you?”
Porflax stopped talking and peered at Barden, “Oldman!” he suddenly cried, “What are you doing out here? I was hoping I wouldn’t see you again, you horrible little snot! And it’s Master Porflax to you, boy.”
Ballorn smiled at Barden, “Friend of yours?”
Barden gave him a scathing glance and muttered under his breath before turning his attention to Porflax again, “My apologies, Master Porflax,” he said, insincerely, “but what reason could possibly bring you into the middle of Slymeer swamp?”
Porflax studied him for a moment as questions of his own began to form, “I could ask you the same thing, Barden,” he said. “Especially as you seem to have acquired some new acquaintances.” He looked from Ballorn to the others, “Nemilar, if I’m not mistaken.”
Ballorn stepped forward, “No, you’re not mistaken,” he said. “Why, do you have something against our people?”
Porflax shook his head briefly, “None whatsoever,” he said, his voice getting higher as he spoke. “What I do have something against though,” he began, looking at Barden, “is wizards who interfere with things they should leave well alone.”
“And how do you know that young Barden should stay out of our affairs if you have no idea why we’re out here?” asked Hunter.
“Because of who he is,” scoffed Porflax. “He’s always up to no good, poking around in other people’s business and causing problems.”
Hunter smiled, “I’d put that down to his age,” he said, “I got myself into a few scrapes when I was younger, but my intentions were always good.”
“That’s as may be,” replied Porflax, wagging his finger, “but if you make a mistake you don’t end up blowing half a building to smithereens.”
“That was an accident!” protested Barden. “And, it was years ago!”
“You see, there’s the proof!” exclaimed Porflax. “He doesn’t even have the decency to take responsibility for his own actions!”
“I apologised! It took two days to put right, but I did it, didn’t I?”
Porflax began to move toward Barden, but Ballorn moved between them, “Look, I don’t really care what went on in the past,” he sighed. “What I do care about is that this young lad might be of some use to me. So far, now that we know who he truly is of course, he has done nothing to arouse our suspicions and as long as that remains the case, we’re…” Ballorn chose his next word carefully, “… erm, satisfied, that he’ll aid us should the need arise.”
Porflax raised his eyebrows, “Oh, dear,” he breathed. “You don’t know him at all then, do you?”
“If you’re that worried about him,” said Hunter, “why don’t you tag along with us? That way, you can keep an eye on him.”
Ballorn gave him a questioning look and received a wink as a response.
Porflax pondered over the offer before answering, “Well, I have no real destination,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose my search can continue in whatever direction you’re headed. But if the journey takes us toward an area I’ve already been, we’ll part ways and you’ll have to keep watch over this…” his voice tailed off as he gestured at Barden.
Stitch, a little wary of Porflax, at last found the courage to speak, “What is it that you’re looking for?” he asked.
Porflax was surprised that it had taken them so long to ask the question and smiled at Stitch, “Not what,” he said, “Who.”
“Alright then, who are you looking for?” asked Stitch.
His name is Zendran. He’s been missing for weeks and we have no idea where he’s gone. It’s not in his nature to wander off by himself, he’s a very timid fellow you see, and we’re getting quite worried about him.”
“We?” asked Hunter.
“My fellow wizards at the council of Reiggan,” replied Porflax. “But I am not allowed to discuss that, I’m afraid.”
“But you’re all friends?” suggested Stitch.
“Well, not friends exactly,” replied Porflax, “but we do share the same views on most things, so we make decisions jointly, unlike stupid here.” He nodded at Barden.
“Insult me all you want,” sneered Barden. “It’s about time things changed at Reiggan, why shouldn’t I be the one who tries to change them?”
“You!” laughed Porflax. “You couldn’t change your own socks without one of us giving you instructions, and even if you had some original ideas, nobody trusts you enough to try anything you would ever suggest. As for insulting you, I’ll keep doing that whether I have your permission or not.”
“Why don’t you just sod off!” bellowed Barden. “You’re not needed here so…”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy,” Ballorn warned him. “I’ll say who is welcome here and who is not, so shut it!”
Porflax did not seem the least bit rattled by Barden’s outburst as he addressed Ballorn, “May I ask what it is that has brought you to the marshes?” he asked. “I’m sure it was not simply to feed your friend to the woodles.”
“No,” smiled Ballorn, “And we owe you our thanks for coming to our aid,” he added. “Tell me, what was that strange powder that you used to drive it away?”
“Oh that,” said Porflax, chuckling. “You’ll have some with you, I’ve no doubt of that. It’s just been ground down into a powder.” Ballorn gave him a blank look. “Salt, my dear fellow, nothing but salt, these things don’t like it at all! Well, you saw the way it burns them. Always make sure you have some salt with you when you have no alternative but to enter the marshes.”
Stitch immediately began to rifle through their supplies, “Blasted things won’t try sucking me under the water again,” he chuntered.
“Forgive me,” said Porflax, “but you never answered my question.”
Ballorn looked deep into his eyes. Somehow, as eccentric as the old wizard appeared, it seemed that he could trust him, “We’re searching for a dragon,” he sighed.
“Oh,” said Porflax, jerking his head back slightly, “What sort?”
Ballorn gave him a quizzical, yet amused look, “Sorry?”
“Well I’ve come into contact with a few over the years and I thought I might be able to head you… well, us, in the right direction.”
“You’ve come face-to-face with dragons?” asked Hunter, dubiously.
“Not face-to-face exactly, but I have seen them,” Porflax replied enthusiastically. “Mind you, it’s been some time since I last saw one. Centuries now I come to think of it. But you never know, they may still be around.”
“And you’ve not seen or heard anything that might make you suspect that there could be one here in the swamp, or nearby?”
Porflax frowned as he stared at Hunter, “What would a dragon be doing in a swamp?” he asked. “They don’t like water for a start and it’s far too cramped for them in here.” He placed his hands on his hips, “You do
realise how big they are don’t you?”
Ballorn began to laugh, “Well I know how big the one that tried to get me was!”
Porflax’s eyes widened, “You’ve survived a dragon attack?”
“Only through pure luck, the protection of a tree and a passing hunter who helped heal my broken leg,” replied Ballorn.
“I have to disagree with you there, Ballorn,” said Hunter. “I only gave you the pollum leaves to ease the pain. It was the dragon who fixed your broken leg.”
Porflax was even more intrigued and, placing his arm around the Nibrilsiem’s shoulder, whispered in his ear, “It seems you and I need to discuss a few things,” he said, “And we mustn’t forget to find Zendran whilst searching for your dragon, he may have some ideas if you’re looking for a little vengeance.”
Ballorn had no reason to distrust Porflax, after all they had only just met, and he had saved Stitch from a very grisly end. Despite this, something did not ring true with him. Why would the old wizard be willing to help them so readily? he thought. He shook his head slowly, “There was a time,” he admitted, “when I was driven by revenge. But my views are somewhat different now. You see, I no longer want to kill the dragon, despite what it is guilty of.” He paused, thinking over what Porflax had said a few moments before, “What made you think I was looking for revenge?” he asked, slowly.
“Would anyone be searching for a dragon for any other reason?” laughed Porflax. “I’m sure you’re not searching for it to make friends. Then, there’s the look in your eye. That dragon has caused you great pain, and I do not mean the physical kind alone.”
“Can you two talk about this later?” pleaded Stitch. “Let’s get out of here before any of those nasty woodles come back and try to eat me again!”
“He’s right, you know. They aren’t the most intelligent of beasts out here. Doubtless, they will return before long.”
Porflax scowled. He was making no secret of his abhorrence of Barden.
“Let’s get moving then,” Hunter said quickly. “Stitch, make sure you’re holding tight, we don’t want that pony getting startled and throwing you back in the water.”
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 17
