by David Adams
“Nor would I.”
A slow rain began to fall, large drops that splattered slowly at first but gave every indication of the deluge to come. “Well,” said Corson, “if a storm really breaks we won’t have to worry about soaking our feet by a misstep in this muck.”
Demetrius laughed as he pulled the hood of his cloak up. “You have a way of always seeing the good in everything.”
“Most things. I struggle when I look at you sometimes.”
“Perhaps it would help if you had more than half a brain left when you take away the part focused on Carolyn.”
Corson smiled at that, but the grin soon faded. “I hope she’s safe.”
“She’ll be fine. I’ve seen her handle a sword, which she does almost as well as she handles you.” Demetrius studied his friend for a moment. “I have to do this. It is all I have now. And now I have help. You should go to her, to watch over her and protect our home…”
“I can do more good here. Plus, once we’re done, someone will need to make sure you don’t exaggerate your exploits.”
“Me?” Demetrius asked with mock consternation. “I’ve heard you tell a few tales at the Dragon’s Tail Inn, the best ones when Carolyn is close enough to hear.”
“How else could a simple man like me hope to get such a fine woman to marry him?”
“Funny how you never use that ‘m’ word in her presence.”
“Saving it for when the time is right. If we get through this with our skins, I think that would qualify.”
Demetrius nodded his agreement.
“Do you ever wish you had married? Had a family?”
“At times, yes. I can picture a son or daughter on my knee, listening to me tell a tale before the fire, a wife in the corner smiling while she looks on, the smell of stew and fresh baked bread in the air.” He looked at Corson. “Is that a real possibility or just a dream, a painting one looks at and wishes to be in?”
“I think it can be real. Maybe not all the time…but for a moment, yes.”
“I hope it is for you, my friend. I gave myself over to service long ago, and I’ve been content to defend the king and his lands ever since. Now, I’m glad for the quest. It fills a void of purpose, now that the king…” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “I'm glad you came after me. I doubt I would have thrown myself on the first enemy sword I found, but still…”
Corson started to speak, but Demetrius held up a hand.
“I’m all right now. And at times like these I’m glad not to have a family to worry over. But I’ll fight for our people, our land, you, Carolyn, and your future children.”
“All twelve of them?”
Demetrius burst out laughing. “I would love to hear what Carolyn would have to say about that.”
“Then it’s good she’s not here.”
Demetrius clapped him on back, just as the rain became a steady downpour.
They slogged on until the sky started to darken further, the hidden sun slipping beneath the horizon. They shivered together through a cold, dispirited meal, not even bothering to try to light a fire. They talked a bit, about their homes and peoples, while tired muscles tried to loosen, then set the watch, adding Lucien to the rotation without question or comment. For good or ill, he was one of them now, and they would have him be a full member of the group. The ground was soft enough to make a comfortable bed, but the unrelenting rain and the chill kept good sleep at bay. By morning the rain had lessened to a drizzle, and tired though they were, they were all happy to break camp and get moving again.
The rain had abated by mid-morning, and the sky began to clear a bit, allowing the sun to peek out from time to time with its promise of warmth. The ground became less certain, their feet sinking noticeably deeper the further they went—except for Tala, who was lighter and had a lighter step as well. Any lingering doubt about whether they should have brought the horses was gone before they stopped for the noon meal.
They ate standing up, glad their clothes had finally begun to dry out. As they started out again, Corson took up a position next to Lucien. “I was thinking what we might do when we reach a town—after we’re done here in the swamp, I mean.”
“No understand,” Lucien said.
“Our travels will eventually lead us through one of our cities, where we’ll want to get a warm meal and a clean, dry bed, not to mention a bath.”
“How pleasant,” Lucien said in a voice that indicated indifference.
“But what I meant is I don’t want to see you left behind, hiding at the edge of town while we live it up. So I was considering how we might bring you along without causing too much of a stir.”
“How?” Lucien said in a low growl.
“We’ll just tell everyone you’re my older brother.”
Lucien glanced at Corson, whose face remained placid, but he saw a sparkle in the man’s eye. “Humans not bright, but they no believe that. We say you in accident, to explain why I handsome and you not.”
Corson laughed out loud and clapped Lucien on the back. “Demetrius and I managed to get in a few fights in our younger days with that claim. People thought we were playing them for fools.”
Lucien glanced back, as if to re-confirm that Demetrius’ skin was a dark brown, nothing at all like Corson’s white flesh. “Human colors easy to see—skin, eyes, hair. Otherwise look same.”
Corson laughed again. “I would say the same about goblins I suppose, but I—”
Lucien cut him off with a raised hand. He sniffed the air once, then again, then slowly turned to the right, his gaze going to a small copse of trees fifty yards off. “Hold,” he whispered.
The group silently drew weapons as Lucien moved toward the trees, his warblade ready. Demetrius started as if to go with him, but Lucien waved him back. At the edge of the thicket he hunched low, then continued forward until he vanished into the trees. There was a sudden thrashing sound and then silence again.
Lucien emerged wearing a grin and holding a small deer. He was greeted by the sight of his tense companions, standing as if ready to spring into battle, Tala’s bow nocked and the arrow aimed right at him. As one they exhaled, weapons dropping and faces slackening with relief.
Lucien misunderstood the looks. “Not friend like horse,” he said, hoping it was true.
“No,” said Demetrius. “And we are happy to know we will eat well for a while. I commend you on your hunting skills. We simply feared it might be something more threatening.”
“Goblins proud, not fools. Dark One’s helpers come, I will ask help, not go to fight alone.”
They dressed the deer quickly and in silence, the mention of the Dark One reminding them all of what they soon might face. The shard would be protected, and whatever form that protection took, they understood it could not be dealt with lightly.
That night they all struggled to sleep, each alone with thoughts and questions that would not still. If tomorrow was to be the day, they knew there was a chance that for one or more of them—perhaps for all of them—it might also be their last.
* * *
As they readied themselves the next morning, Tala asked Demetrius for the shard. “I will need to keep it near at hand.”
“We’re getting close,” he stated.
She nodded affirmation. “It may still be a time yet, but it is not far.”
They made slow progress, hampered by the worsening ground and their own apprehensions. Occasionally they leapt over ever-widening pools and stagnant canals of water, their boots staying soaked even when they were successful, their pants drenched to the knee when they were not. Rowan touched the rope that had held Lucien to the tree, thinking they might need it and thanking the Savior for it. As much as the swamp tried to force them apart, they fought to close ranks, to make sure help was at hand for each misstep, and to be ready to face whatever awaited them as a group.
Tala paused from time to time, closing her eyes while she held the shard delicately in her open palm, making course corrections a
s needed. The others always froze in place and waited in absolute silence while she did this. There was no doubt that the time needed for her to get her bearings was growing shorter. They were indeed closing in on their target.
They found a reasonably dry patch of ground upon which to pause for lunch. They ate but little and took their time doing so.
“Can you see what we might face?” Demetrius asked Tala.
“Not clearly. The spell gives direction well, but the images are only as flashes in the mind—water, mud, vines, and long, wet grass.
“Is it possible the shard rests somewhere at the bottom of this swamp?” asked Corson.
“If so, I could probably pull it up with a spell once we are close to it. But legend says the Dark One had his minions hide and guard the shards. If they have been left unattended it would be too simple a thing to retrieve them by magic. I do not think Solek is that careless or we that lucky.”
“Why Solek not keep pieces?” Lucien asked.
“The last thing he wants is for the pieces to come together,” said Rowan. “As long as they are scattered, the Dark One cannot be contained. What he didn’t know was that a piece was taken or missing, that it ended up in the possession of King Rodaan, and that that piece could lead someone to the others. Lacking that knowledge, he must feel invincible.”
“Solek is still only a man, regardless of what possesses him,” Corson stated.
“True,” Demetrius said. “But if Solek is killed, the Dark One will simply move to a new host. That is why we need the Sphere to truly defeat him. His weakness, for now, is that he does not know a piece is missing, that we have it, and that we quest to find the other shards.”
“Why do you say ‘for now’?” asked Corson.
“The Dark One bonds to many of his servants, and most likely has done so with the guardians of the Sphere shards. If we find and take the piece for which we now search, he is likely to know—not necessarily of us, but at least that it has been taken.”
Tala smiled. “You are well versed in the lore Demetrius.”
“King Rodaan shared many things with me.” He glanced at Corson, who wore a somewhat pained look. “He asked me to keep such talk between us and the prince, unless the time arrived that it was necessary to speak of it openly. Now seems like that time.”
“If we fail to take this piece,” said Rowan, “we must be certain one of us escapes with our own shard. It cannot fall into the Dark One’s hands.”
The group looked as one to Tala. “You are the logical choice,” said Demetrius. “Your magic—”
“Others have the same ability, some far greater than mine.”
“None here,” said Rowan. “And we do not know how the war goes elsewhere.”
“Besides,” added Demetrius, “you fight with a bow, and perhaps with magic. The rest of us use swords and warblades. We need to be in the front to be more effective.”
“Corson has a bow,” Tala pointed out.
“And a sword,” Corson replied.
“My life is no more important than any other,” Tala said, looking each of them in the eye in turn. “But you are right about the need to protect the shard. I will direct from the rear, if that is what the group desires. Under protest.”
This new arrangement slowed them even more, particularly as the marshy ground became less prevalent than the knee-deep water. An hour before sunset, Tala suggested they stop. “It will not be long now, and I would rather arrive with the light of day to aid us.”
They ate and set a watch, thankful for clear skies and the pale light of a half-moon that chased away some of the darkness. Most of the night two or three kept watch, as sleep came hard.
Morning broke gray and chill, a stiff northerly wind whipping their cloaks about them. Tala was anxious to get started, edging away as if to take the lead. Rowan reminded her of what they had agreed to the day before and she gave in with a reluctant nod and a finger pointing northeast.
They spent more time in water now than on land. They kept their eyes moving as much as their feet, and their hands remained close to their weapons at all times.
By mid-morning they were soaked to the waist and beyond, each step accompanied by the sucking sound of their boots pulling free of mud and their legs splashing through the water. Lucien, Demetrius, and Corson had fanned out in the lead, Rowan between them and Tala so he could react in any direction. “Call out for the rope if you feel the swamp bed pulling at you,” he reminded them.
Corson called out toward Lucien. “Did you scare all your relatives away?”
“What mean?”
“The snakes, frogs, alligators we saw earlier seem to be missing today.”
Lucien laughed. “You funny, little man. Your smell scare them off.”
“Considering the way the swamp smells, you might be right. My delicate aroma is different from the normal stench. As a matter of fact—”
His words ceased as he plunged headfirst into the water. After a tense pause, he righted himself. “Stupid root,” he muttered while shaking the water and mud off.
Lucien roared with laughter, joined by Rowan and Tala and eventually by Corson himself. Only Demetrius remained stone-faced. He studied the area with unconcealed intensity.
“What is it?” Tala asked. The others quieted at the concern in her voice.
“There is no life here. And it is far too silent.”
Tala quickly consulted the shard using her magic. “Our target is moving.”
“Away?” asked Rowan.
“No, closer.”
They each took a few steps backwards while they drew weapons. There was no sound or motion about them in any direction.
“My foot!” shouted Corson.
“The root again?” Demetrius asked while moving toward him.
Corson struggled for a moment, then winced in pain. “Something is tightening around my ankle.” He hacked at the water a few times, his sword losing momentum as it plunged beneath the surface, unable to find or damage what held him.
Suddenly he was down again, this time falling backward as something pulled him under. Before his companions could manage a half-dozen steps in his direction the swamp seemed to explode upward, covering them in water and slick mud. Wiping the grime from their eyes, they sized-up their foe.
It towered some twenty feet tall, an ever-changing thing made of filth and slime, a hill just born that sprouted muddy appendages that formed and then disappeared back into the main body again, roots and vines writhing out of it like vipers. By one of these it held Corson aloft.
For an instant a rudimentary face was there, a gaping, hungry maw and two black eyes that glared at them with bottomless hate. The mouth was gone before they heard the words, a rumble like thunder that said, “All die who come here!”
Lucien was the first to strike, his warblade flashing, cutting wicked grooves in the beast that were gone almost before he finished each stroke. The creature swung Corson at him like a flail, forcing the big goblin to retreat a few paces even as Demetrius and Rowan moved in on its flanks, both slashing away at it with no apparent effect.
Tala loosed two arrows, then lowered the bow slightly as she saw them melt into the creature's body. She nocked another, took careful aim and let fly.
The arrow found its mark, slicing the vine that held Corson, sending him headfirst into the swamp. He came up sputtering, grasping blindly for his sword in the murky water around him.
The creature struck at them with the vines, using them like whips, forcing its attackers to flinch but doing little real damage. It was simply a momentary diversion, but it was effective. Behind the three standing enemies now closest at hand, it had snaked other vines, which probed upward, searching for the necks of its prey.
Lucien wore no cloak, and felt the vine moving up his back in time to whirl about and hack it to pieces with his warblade. Demetrius and Rowan were not as fortunate, both grabbed in a vise-like, strangling grip and then pulled under water for good measure.
Cor
son, his muddy sword now in his hand, joined Lucien in racing to the aid of their fallen comrades. Tala looked for a good target for her bow, but found none.
The beast added a new assault, beating at Lucien with fists of mud, which protruded from its body in lightning-quick jabs, then withdrew, only to come again from a different angle. The sheer weight and speed of the blows bruised the goblin and sent him sprawling backward.
Demetrius managed to right himself and find purchase on the vine that held him. He hacked once, futilely, then freed himself with a second slash of his sword. He fell back, pulling the end of the severed vine off his neck and gasping for air.
Corson veered away from Demetrius upon seeing this and headed for where Rowan had been pulled under. He spotted a leg kicking above the swamp’s surface, then charged forward. He dodged three mud punches, his agility of more advantage than the goblin’s strength had been. He got an arm under Rowan and managed to lift his head out of the water, but before he could attack the vine that held Rowan a blow from the creature caught him on the side, an audible crack from a breaking rib punctuating the force of the blow.
Rowan reached feebly for the vine that held him, the world starting to go black. His hands went slack, his sword falling from one while the other gave up searching for the vine. He started to topple forward.
Tala finally had her target, her arrow flying true and severing the cord that bound Rowan to the beast. It was not enough to keep him from dropping face first into the water.
Demetrius, recovering now, grabbed him by the waist and hauled him up and back. He yanked the restrictive remains of the vine from Rowan’s throat, and thought he felt a faint breath leave Rowan’s mouth. Then the beast, literally, was upon them.
It had charged forward, covering ground faster than its enemies could retreat here in its swampy home. Tala’s position was far enough in the rear that she remained clear, and Lucien had been driven in another direction by the muddy punches, but Demetrius, Rowan, and Corson were swallowed up inside the thing’s ever-changing, boggy torso. The monster distorted here and there, keeping its flailing victims completely enclosed.
