“But it doesn’t kill them?” Sir Eldrick asked.
“Eventually it will, but it is meant to preserve the prey until the snake is hungry. Up to a month, or so say the elders. There has not been one of these spotted in Fire Swamp in fifty years.”
“Is there an antidote?” Murland asked.
“Of course, but I am no witch doctor.”
“If he is cured,” said Murland, hesitantly, “will he be himself?”
Willow shrugged. “The sooner the better. I have heard tales of those resurrected weeks after, and they…well, let’s just say they are not themselves. Many times, it is better to put them down.”
“By the gods,” said Brannon breathlessly. He stroked Gibrig’s pale skin and sniffled. “He didn’t deserve this.”
“He’s not dead yet,” said Sir Eldrick, studying the elf.
Brannon self-consciously pulled his hand back.
“He really gave the snake a fight,” said Murland, pulling Gibrig’s dagger from the beast’s eye and wiping it off on the bottom of his robes. “You hang on to that tooth, Willow. Gib’ll want it when he wakes up.” His voice cracked, and he fought down the rising sorrow and worry.
“He is stronger than any of us ever imagined,” said Sir Eldrick. “If anyone can survive this, it’s Gib. Come on. We’re not doing him any good staring and fretting. We need to make a litter for him and get moving.”
Chapter 18
The Horny Hag
Sir Eldrick tightened the last thin vine and gave the litter a good shake, testing its constitution. It seemed firm enough, and so Willow gently laid Gibrig down on it. They strapped him in with more vine and propped up his head on a bedroll so that he wouldn’t choke on the bile oozing from his mouth. Sir Eldrick had made sure his windpipe was clear, and that he was indeed breathing steadily. Gibrig’s breath rattled in his chest, and his pulse was weak, but it was there.
For now, he was alive.
Willow led them through the swamp, pulling Gibrig behind her easily. She had an uncanny ability to sniff out the shallows, and she led them carefully along the root islands and high ground. Soon the terrain became drier, and the murky bogs and ponds gave way to more stable ground.
The swamp was teeming with life by noon, and Willow tried to take the group’s minds off their worries by pointing out the animals that they saw and the tracks and scat they came across. The creatures watched the companions as they passed through, some more intently than others, but they all let them be.
Murland took to the sky as the afternoon gave way to evening. These parts were far less foggy, and the dragonflies were not as prominent here. He searched for high ground that would provide a good view of the surrounding swampland where they might make camp. He was careful to check the trees and look for burrows and other lurking places that Willow had warned him about.
After an hour of gliding overhead and scouring the land, he still hadn’t found a suitable spot. He was about to turn back, when a thin white line of smoke caught his eye. The smoke, gray and pure, snaked upward and settled, hanging like a cloud in the shallow mist. Below it was a small clearing with a cone-shaped hut at the center. Had it not been for the smoke, Murland’s eyes might have passed right over the well-camouflaged abode.
He turned back and landed a few feet from Willow and pointed to the northwest. “There is a hut over that way among the twisted cypress. Smoke is coming out of the chimney.”
“A hut, you say?” said Sir Eldrick, looking in that direction.
“Is it of ogre make?” Willow asked excitedly. She put down the litter poles to drink from her water skin.
“I’m not sure, I’ve never seen an ogre hut but in books. It looks to be covered in moss, that is all I could tell from on high.”
“Egg shaped?”
“Yes.”
“It must be ogre,” said Willow. “Come on, let’s find out.”
“Wait,” said Sir Eldrick, grabbing her arm. “We have no idea who or what lives in that hut. Ogres live together in villages. You are social creatures.”
“There are loners found in every race,” said Willow, pulling her arm free, but not unkindly. “What is there to lose? Besides, Gibrig needs healing, and whoever lives out here by themselves is likely to know what to do.”
She took up the poles and set off once more. Murland and Sir Eldrick took the lead, moving cautiously through the maze of twisted trees and hanging vines. Murland found a game trail and began down it, but Sir Eldrick grabbed him by the shoulder, halting him firmly.
“Never approach an unknown abode by way of the trail leading to it. There are likely to be traps, especially in a place like this. Here, poke around before you step,” said Sir Eldrick, handing him a long stick.
Murland did as instructed, tapping the stick out in front of him and keeping to the knee-high grass to the right of the path.
Sir Eldrick silently pointed a finger at the shack, pointed to himself, and then indicated that he was going around.
Murland nodded.
Behind him, Brannon clutched his sword in one hand, and a handful of seeds in the other.
“Stay with Gibrig,” Willow told him, putting down the litter and taking her large club from the strap on her back. She patted it against her hand and offered the others a tusky grin. “I’ll be right back.”
With that, she trudged through the low-lying fog, scattering grasshoppers as she went, and walked right up to the door. She banged on it loudly as Sir Eldrick came around the other side, fae blade ready in hand and eyes that begged Willow to be more cautious.
“Hello in there! I am Willow Muckmuck of Fire Swamp. I come in peace.”
She waited and banged on the door again when no one answered.
“Hello in there!”
A small slat opened in the door at stomach level, and a wide eye traveled up her bulbous form, regarding her dartingly. “What do you want?” came the raspy, elderly voice of a woman.
“My friend is sick. He needs help.”
“Many people are sick. Including myself. So what?”
“Please, he has been bitten by a dream weaver, can you help? We can pay.”
“Pay? Does it look like I need money?”
“Trade then. We have many items from faraway lands.”
“We?” said the woman, eyeball searching. “Got any men folk?”
“Well…yes,” said Willow, glancing over at Sir Eldrick and nodding her head.
He cautiously moved to the door and stood tall.
“Oohh, well then, why didn’t you say so?” came the voice, and the door clicked thrice before opening. An old hunch-backed hag walked out and moved right into Sir Eldrick’s space, stroking his armor. Aside from her wrinkly skin, milky blue eyes, and crooked nose, she had two blunt horns sticking out of her forehead above her temples.
He took a step back, though he did not raise his blade.
“Oh, my. The gods smile down on me today. A knight,” she said, reaching for him dreamily.
“Can you help our friend?” said Sir Eldrick, tolerating her groping stoically.
“Perhaps,” she said with a sly grin that showed one good tooth and a searching tongue.
Sir Eldrick grimaced.
The hag cackled and turned with a flourish of tattered rags. “Come, good knight, come into my abode and bring your friends.”
Sir Eldrick glanced at Willow, who shrugged. He turned to Brannon and Murland, who were already dragging the litter toward the door.
“Stay alert,” he hissed to Willow, before following the hag inside.
Murland and Brannon pulled Gibrig to the door, and the hag told them to leave it there, and carry him inside. Willow took up Gibrig in her strong arms, his head lolling lifelessly, and carried him into the hut, ducking to clear the low doorway.
When Murland saw the inside of the hut, he was surprised and impressed by how cozy it was. The circular hut was twenty feet wide and appeared to be well built. A frame of bent tree limbs supported a canopy of thick lea
ves and vines that crisscrossed each other, held up by a large pole at the center. A fire burned in a stone fireplace in the northern curve, its smoke rising into a stone chimney. The southern wall held hundreds of clay jars labeled with herbs, spices, tinctures, and other apothecary supplies. The west wall seemed to be the living area, for it was covered with blankets and animal furs and pillows. On the east side was the cooking and work area. Near the center of the room was a table, and the hag told Willow to lay Gibrig down upon it.
The hag tore her eyes off Sir Eldrick and glanced at Gibrig. “You said he was bitten by a dream weaver?”
“Yes,” said Willow.
“How long ago?”
Willow looked to Sir Eldrick.
“Three hours ago,” he said.
The hag nodded. “I can help.”
“You can?” said Brannon, and the hag took interest in him and Murland for the first time.
“For a price.”
“Whatever the price, we will pay it,” said Murland.
“Maybe we should hear the price before we commit,” said Sir Eldrick.
“What is your name, good woman?” Willow asked.
The hag turned back to Willow and Sir Eldrick and grinned at the knight. She pointed at the protrusions on her head. “I am as I appear to be. In these parts I am known as the Horny Hag.”
Brannon snickered, and the hag regarded him dryly.
“But you can call me Elzabeth,” she said, extending her hand toward Sir Eldrick and looking away as a lass might when expecting to have her hand kissed.
Sir Eldrick shook her fingers, and to his surprise, and slight disgust, she shuddered with apparent passion.
“Sir Eldrick, at your service. This is Willow, as you know. They are Brannon and Murland. Our sick friend is Gibrig.”
“Gibrig you say. That is a dwarven name, is it not? Its root word, Gib, means servant of the gods.”
“You are correct, Elzabeth,” said Willow. “But Gibrig is a dwarf.”
Elzabeth looked to Gibrig curiously.
“He has humanism,” said Willow.
“It’s a long story,” said Sir Eldrick. “One that can be told later. You said that you can help…”
“Yes, I did,” said Elzabeth in her croaking voice. “And I mentioned payment.”
“What is it that you want?”
She smiled at him. “One night with you.”
Brannon, who had not been himself since seeing Gibrig tangled with the snake, laughed musically.
Sir Eldrick glanced around at them all, brow furled. “One night?” he said slowly.
“You know what I mean,” said the hag, licking her cracked lips with a long pink tongue.
“Oh,” Sir Eldrick said, frowning.
“Hah!” Brannon erupted.
“Shut up,” said Murland, elbowing him in the ribs.
“There must be something else that you desire,” said Sir Eldrick with a forced chuckle.
“No, there is not.”
“Look,” he said, holding up his sword in an offering. “It is fairy make, I—”
“Those are my terms. Bed me and I save the dwarf man, do not, and I will not.”
Sir Eldrick looked to Willow desperately, and she managed to keep a straight face as she shrugged.
He gave out a long, shuddering sigh and rubbed the nape of his neck, considering Gibrig. “Surely you—”
“Tick tock, tick tock. Time is of the essence when dealing with the venom of dream weavers, and you are wasting your friend’s.”
Sir Eldrick looked her up and down and visually shuddered. “Give me a moment to confer with my friends.”
“Tick tock, tick tock,” repeated the hag.
Sir Eldrick jerked his head to the door, and Willow, Brannon, and Murland followed him out. He closed it behind him and pointed a finger at Brannon. “You laugh and you’ll lose teeth.”
Brannon’s eyes went wide as he stifled a laugh and clapped his hands over his mouth.
“You kind of have to, er…do it, Sir Eldrick,” said Murland.
Sir Eldrick scowled at him. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “We will just force her to make the antidote. She is just an old hag.”
“An old hag who has survived how many years, decades…centuries alone in the swamp?” said Willow.
“I’m not afraid of an old lady.”
Brannon tried to speak, but his laughter erupted through his nose and he turned away, shoulders jumping spastically.
“Tick tock, tick tock,” came the croaking, sing-song voice of the hag from inside.
Sir Eldrick leaned in conspiratorially. “Listen to me, we can take her. Murland, you—”
He stopped, for behind Brannon, a giant crocodile suddenly emerged from the tall grass. Screeching monkeys swung to the tops of the trees around the hut, and as the companions took notice of the creatures, others moved into the clearing. There were black bears, panthers, giant spiders, snakes, and bats as big as dragon whelps.
“Know this while you make your decision,” said the hag from inside the hut. “I protect the animals of this swamp, and they protect me.”
Sir Eldrick gulped, and he sized up the opposition.
Brannon, who had suddenly sobered, saw this and scowled at him. “You can’t be serious. We cannot fight our way through them all. We cannot force her. You are just going to have to man up and do what you’ve got to do.”
“I have to agree with Brannon,” said Murland, watching the animals wearily.
“A vote then?” said Brannon with an arched brow thick with irony. “Who votes for Sir Eldrick to…pay the hag, so that Gibrig might be saved?”
Brannon raised his hand, and Murland and Willow soon followed.
Sir Eldrick gave them each a withering scowl. He looked to be about to speak, but then just ground his teeth and shook his head. “Son of a bitch!” he finally bellowed, startling them all. He paced back and forth in front of the hut, uncaring of the dangerous reptiles and fanged animals watching him from the edge of the clearing.
He gave a deep sigh and faced the hut finally. “Fine!” he said, and marched to the door.
It swung open before he reached the knob, and the hag was there in a flash. Sir Eldrick reeled back and held up a defensive hand to block his vision. The hag stood there in a sheer silk nightgown that exposed more than anyone wanted to see.
Brannon gagged and turned away, and Murland gave out an impulsive “ugh” as he too hid his eyes.
“Come on, big boy. Time is short, but you better not be,” said the hag, hooking a finger toward Sir Eldrick.
As he was being led by the hand toward the sleeping area, Sir Eldrick bent to whisper in Gibrig’s ear. “You owe me big time for this one, you little shit!”
Chapter 19
The Mountain in the Clouds
Murland, Willow, and Brannon spent a sleepless night outside with the many creatures of the swamp. The sounds of the swamp after dark were as loud as ever, but they were not loud enough. The old hag’s cries of passion filled the sleepless hours, and her screams, growls, grunts, moans, and laughter penetrated the thin walls of the hut easily. The companions all pretended to sleep, not wanting to meet each other’s eyes during such an awkward moment. They lay there miserably, trying to stuff their ears from the sounds, but to no avail.
At some point in the long night, Murland did find sleep. In his dreams, the moans of the hag changed from that of an old woman to a younger, fair-sounding woman.
He awoke as the sun was lighting the hazy horizon with orange and gold and rubbed his eyes as he listened. Willow was sitting up, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her green face.
“Are they…done?” Murland asked.
“By the gods, I hope so,” said Brannon, stirring and tugging at the wads of moss he had stuffed in his pointed ears.
“Did you two hear…I don’t know, another woman?” Murland asked, but just then the door opened, and a golden-haired young woman emerged, looking rosy-chee
ked and happy.
The three of them just stared, dumbfounded, as the woman giggled and tossed her hair, batting her eyes bashfully. “Good morning,” she said in a musical voice.
“Are you…” Murland began, but he faltered when her big green eyes turned his way.
Sir Eldrick staggered out and stopped by the woman’s side, grinning at them all. “She’s a princess,” he said, winking at Brannon and kissing the maiden’s neck.
She giggled and grabbed him in a place that made him straighten smartly.
“It’s a long…story,” she said. “Please, come in. I have prepared food for you all, and I will now begin the tincture that will help poor Gibrig.”
Murland, Brannon, and Willow all exchanged dumbfounded stares and followed the two into the hut.
“Please, have a seat at the table,” said the woman as she playfully pushed off Sir Eldrick’s advances. “I am not used to company, so I do not have enough chairs. But those chests should do.”
Silently stupefied, the three companions sat at the table. Gibrig had been moved to the bed, and he looked as pale as ever. Sir Eldrick joined then, grinning and scratching his beard.
“What in the hells is going on?” Brannon asked. “Where is the hag?”
The woman giggled and spun away from the fireplace with four steaming bowls and plopped them on the table in front of the companions.
“I am the hag, and I am not,” she said, smiling at Sir Eldrick. “You see, I was once the princess of Magestra. Well, two hundred years ago.”
Murland’s mind raced as he thought back through his learned history. He gasped. “You’re Princess Chastity Roddington!”
“Very good, my young friend. I am indeed Princess Chastity.”
“Who?” said Willow, spooning porridge into her mouth and watching intently.
“Where to begin,” said the princess. “My father, King Harold, had an advisor. She was a witch, really, and a real bitch. She liked to meddle with the dark arts. Well, I told him that I didn’t trust her. My mother said the same thing. But my father would not listen, for the witch gave him great power and success. She was jealous of my beauty, you see, and she knew that I conspired against her. One night, she whisked me away here, and she changed me to look like her. The spell she laid on me was powerful, and could only be broken if I could convince a knight to willingly…well, you know.” She looked to Sir Eldrick coyly, and he raised his clay cup to her.
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