D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch

by Robin Wayne Bailey

  Rudi shrugged. “He’s bandaged, but you know how fast he heals. Besides, all he’ll have to do is sit around your office and coordinate things. No one ever declared that a captain had to walk watch. You took that duty on yourself.” Garett ignored Rudi’s latter comments as he weighed his decision. “All right, then,” he agreed. “Blossom, you go to the stables and leave an order to have three horses ready at dawn. Rudi, you see that supplies are prepared. Pack light, but take what you think we’ll need. If everything goes well, though, we should be back tomorrow night.”

  “And what if things don’t go well?” Blossom interrupted.

  Garett chewed his lower lip as he thought about how to answer. “Well, if worse comes to worst,” he said finally, “none of us will probably ever have to make another report

  to Korbian.”

  Blossom slapped her thigh. “See? There’s a bright side to everything.”

  Rudi wasn’t laughing. “It might help me decide what to take,” he said reasonably, “if I had some idea what we’re after.”

  Garett glanced up at the overcast sky and wondered just how much he should explain to them. Should he tell them they were off to chase a dream? How much would they believe? Maybe on the journey he would tell them everything. It would pass the time. For now, though, he held back.

  “A sword,” was all he said. “A sword at the heart of a swamp.”

  “This have anything to do with what we saw tonight?” Rudi persisted.

  Garett saw no reason to hold back there, and he nodded. Both Rudi and Blossom had seen the giant bird’s attack on the wizards’ guildhall. “It might be the only weapon that can stop that creature.”

  Rudi clearly wanted to know more, not from any reluctance to go, but out of his own curiosity. Blossom, though, folded her arms across her chest and rubbed one hand over the lower part of her face. “Sounds like my idea of a picnic outing,” she said.

  “It would,” came Rudi’s sarcastic rejoinder. “Me, I hate swamps. Too many bugs, and they smell.”

  “I’m sure you’re much more at home in the sewers,” Blossom returned.

  Garett broke them up again. It was his usual role, after all. “Both of you go get a few hours’ sleep. Greyhawk can do without you tonight. We’ll meet at the stables just before dawn, then leave by way of the Duke’s Gate and ride southeast from there.”

  “You should grab a nap, too, Captain,” Rudi cautioned.

  “I will,” Garett lied.

  It shouldn’t have surprised Garett when, no more than a few minutes beyond the Duke’s Gate, a fourth rider rushed after them. Garett raised a hand, signaling for Blossom and Rudi to halt until the man caught up. Of course it was Burge.

  Garett didn’t even bother to argue. “Just tell me one thing,” he asked, dreading the answer. “Who did you arrange to put in charge, in case we don’t get back tonight?”

  “Don’t worry, Cap’n,” Burge answered, which immediately caused Garett to do so. “The entire night watch is in on it now. They’re all coverin’ for you. If Ellon or Korbian come looking for you, you’re taking care of something in the Slum Quarter. If anyone goes looking for you there, something else required your presence in the High Quarter. If anyone—I mean, anyone—wants to see you personally, sorry, but you’re the busiest man in Greyhawk tonight.” He put on a big grin, obviously pleased with himself and his scheme.

  “Of course, every watchman expects a night off soon if all goes well,” Blossom said wryly.

  Burge inclined his head. “Well, of course.”

  Garett groaned and tugged on his horse’s reins. If there was any chance of making it back by nightfall, they had to make tracks. He led the way, with Burge taking a position on his right side, Blossom and Rudi following. They kept close to Greyhawk’s eastern wall until they reached the southernmost point of the city.

  A broad, flat expanse of land, the Plain of Greyhawk, stretched before them. They turned away from the city and rode east by southeast along an old, deeply rutted wagon trail, passing farmsteads and fields, where a few men and women were already hard at work tending crops and caring for their animals. They paused in their labors to watch suspiciously as Garett’s group rode by, but none made any effort to communicate.

  The morning sun, no more than a whitish egg nestled in thick gray clouds, floated just above the distant Cairn Hills.

  Despite the clouds, the air was already turning warm, and Garett wondered if he would regret the short coat of chain mail and the quilted jerkin he had donned under his tunic.

  He glanced at Burge. The half-elf appeared well enough, unhampered by his wounds. Like Blossom and Rudi, he had opted for plain-colored traveling clothes. Under their tunics, though, they also wore mail. Garett alone stood out in his watchman’s scarlet, for he had taken the mail coat and jerkin from the barracks’ armory, and not gone back to his apartment to rest, instead preparing a stack of nuisance reports to leave piled on Korbian’s desk.

  The wagon trail soon ended, and Garett’s group rode across open countryside. The deep grass grew halfway up to their horses’ bellies. Only a few wretched trees dotted the landscape. Although the watchmen could see great distances ahead, they knew the plain was not truly flat. Rather, it was a gentle swell of low, rolling hills that gradually climbed away from the Selintan River.

  “I’d forgotten what fresh air smelled like,” Burge commented as they climbed to the top of a gentle ridge.

  Garett took a deep breath and savored it. He had almost forgotten how sweet air could taste when it was free of city stenches. The breeze that blew on his face bore no hint of cook-flres or forges, of tanners’ hides or potters’ clay, of gutters or sewers. It carried no whiff of muddy streets or dank, stuffy dwellings, nothing of slop barrels or scraps or human filth, none of the myriad odors generated by the thousands of souls crammed within the confines of Greyhawk’s high stone walls.

  As the sun neared its zenith, they ate a quick lunch of h’ard black biscuits and slices of cheese. They didn’t stop to rest. Rudi took these meager goodies from a bag of provisions tied to his saddle and passed them around while they continued to ride.

  On the horizon, a low gray cloud seemed to hug the ground, thicker and darker than those that filled the sky and overshadowed the sun. Garett steered their course toward that cloud, grimly mindful of the passage of time. Under that dense cloud lay the Mist Marsh.

  Again the doubts began to assail him. Staring toward that blanket of mist hanging so low under a steel-colored sky, his meeting with Mordenkainen seemed more dreamlike than ever. What if it had been only a dream? What if there was no sword called Guardian. And if the sword did exist, how realistic was it to ride into a place like Mist Marsh and expect to find it easily?

  The breeze carried a new smell, the cool odor of water. The land dipped suddenly, and they rode down a long, grassy incline to the northern bank of the Ery River, whose backwash was partially responsible for the existence of the Mist Marsh. The Ery was neither swift nor terribly deep, and Garett’s party crossed it without difficulty. They paused on the opposite bank just long enough to drink from the river’s fresh bounty and refill their water skins, then rode up a steep incline and continued on.

  The low, dark cloud was much closer now. Gradually, the ground began to slope downward again. To the north and the east, and to the far southeast, the Cairn Hills rose to ominous heights, creating the huge bowl-shaped depression that, with time, had become the Mist Marsh.

  Garett and his friends rode in silence now, aware that they were approaching the outer fringes of their destination. Unexpectedly, a covey of pheasants exploded out of the tall grass and flew off into the gray sky. Rudi’s horse started to bolt, but the young sergeant shouted a loud curse in the beast’s ear and slugged it with his fist along its sleek neck, and it behaved itself.

  The earth underfoot turned soft and muddy, and a squishy sound accompanied each rise and fall of a horse’s hoof. The grass, too, grew taller and stiffer, reaching a rider at midcalf. G
rasshoppers and butterflies hurried frantically out of the horses’ way. Overhead, the pale ball that was the sun still managed to hurl a sweltering heat down through the covering of slate-colored clouds.

  A pair of hawks gyred majestically in the sky off to their left. Mates, Garett thought, or soon-to-be mates. He watched them until the birds turned inward toward the heart of the marsh and disappeared.

  The ground was now covered by water that reached over their horses’ fetlocks. A grassy sea spread out all around them.

  “Watch out,” Blossom warned suddenly, keeping her voice calm as she pointed to an old log nearly hidden in the deep grass. Coiled upon the highest end, where it could best catch the sunlight, a deadly marsh adder, its green scales shimmering, eyed them as they rode by.

  Burge passed nearest to the log. His sword flashed out of the sheath and arced downward. The flat, serpentine head went flying, its fanged mouth still wide with the unuttered sound of its angry hiss. A sharp thunk followed instantly as the sword’s edge bit into the wood, then a plop as the rest of the serpent fell wriggling into the water.

  “I hate snakes,” Burge muttered, grimacing in disgust as he put away his blade.

  “You’ll find plenty here to hate, then,” Blossom answered unenthusiastically.

  A low drone of uncertain origin grew gradually louder as the watchmen kept a straight course. Garett swatted at an insect on his neck, then swatted again as another took its place. Blossom swatted at her arm. Then Burge did the same. Rudi, too.

  Suddenly, a black cloud of gnats rose just above the top of the grass and hovered menacingly in the air, and the droning grew louder than ever. The four watchmen stopped their mounts and stared. Rudi waved away something that buzzed at his face.

  “I say we ride around it,” Blossom commented dryly.

  “That’s got my vote,” Burge agreed.

  A sharp slap was the only sound that Rudi made, then a short, satisfied sigh as he wiped his right palm on his sleeve.

  They rode south to avoid the swarm, then turned east again toward the heart of the marsh. The pale sun could no longer be seen, and they traveled in a strange twilight. Tendrils of steam and fog rose from the water and wafted over the tall grass. Little eddies of mist moved through the air on breezes too slight to be felt. Garett’s garments became damp, saturated with the moisture in the air and the sweat that ran down his body.

  Then came sight of the first huge mangaroo trees. “Thank the gods!” Rudi called. “Dry land!”

  Burge barked a short laugh. “Not so, youngin’,” he said. “Nothin’ so nice as that.”

  A grove of mangaroo trees had to be one of the most impressive sights on all of Oerth. Tall and stately, their twisted branches interlaced with each other overhead to weave a vast, leafy canopy while their massive root systems shot deep into the soft marsh or shallow water, sending tendrils ever outward and downward to lift the trees, forming a madly entangled forest on stilts.

  “Are you sure there’s a sword in there, Captain?” Blossom muttered, gazing upward uncertainly at the mighty trees, whose highest tops were obscured in the misty cloud that gave the marsh its name. “And is it worth going after?” Garett, who had not spoken for some time, drew a breath and gave a short sigh. It was time to tell them of the dream, if it was a dream. Time to tell of Mordenkainen and all that he had said to Garett. He related it as calmly, as matter-of-factly, as he could, beginning with the spinning circle of amethysts and ending with his waking.

  For a long moment, during which none of his friends looked him in the eye, no one spoke. Burge was the first. “An’ you believe this to be real, Cap’n?” he said, finally meeting Garett’s gaze.

  Garett pursed his lips and nodded.

  “If we wade in there, through all these bugs, and don’t find a sword,” Blossom said with a sigh, giving Garett a steely look as she fingered the long leather-wrapped braid that draped across her right shoulder, “I’m going to tie your neck in a knot. Captain, sir.” She slid down from her horse. A splash sounded as her feet disappeared, and the grass, which reached to her hips, gave a ripple.

  “What are you doing?” Rudi cried out with some alarm.

  “Get used to it, youngin’,” she answered over her shoulder, mocking the sergeant lightly. She unfastened her sword belt, refastened the buckle, and slung it over her shoulder so that the weapon rode between her shoulder blades, where the water couldn’t get at it. “We walk from here on in. Horses can’t get through that.”

  Rudi looked horrified and clung to his reins.

  “It’s all right,” Garett interceded, recognizing the genuine fear in Rudi’s eyes. The sergeant was still young, as Burge and Blossom insisted on reminding him at every turn. In fact, Garett realized Rudi probably had never been this far beyond the walls of Greyhawk in his life. “You’ll be staying here, Rudi. Someone’s got to mind the horses. We can’t risk them wandering off.”

  Rudi shot a look of hurt confusion at Garett, realizing with a red blush why he’d been singled out. “But, Captain!”

  “No buts, Sergeant,” Garett said sternly as he dismounted. The grass came up to his waist, the water almost to his knees. He addressed Rudi over the top of his saddle. “It’s not because I doubt your ability or your courage. But if all four of us went in, how would we find the horses at all on our way back, unless we leave someone behind to signal us?”

  Rudi hesitated as he thought that over. Plainly, the thought that he had shown fear and that because of it his captain didn’t want him along still rankled. “How am I supposed to give a signal that you can hear in there?” he answered with a rough pout. “Sing a song every fifteen minutes?”

  “Please, don’t,” Blossom said wearily, rolling her eyes as she led her horse by its bridle toward the nearest mangaroo root, where she tied its reins. “If you care nothing for us,

  then consider the wildlife.”

  “According to the barracks gossip,” Rudi snapped back, fed up with her comments, “you are the wildlife!”

  “You’ll give a signal like this,” Burge interrupted quickly, breaking off a piece of grass. He place it on the tip of his tongue, then pressed that to the roof of his mouth and gave a surprisingly sharp, long whistle with a strange, characteristic trill provided by the vibration of the bit of grass. “It’s easy,” he added, breaking off another piece and handing it up to Rudi. “Go on, try it.”

  Rudi mastered the technique after a few tries.

  “An’ when your bit of grass wears thin, just pinch off another,” Burge continued encouragingly. “Blow it every few minutes, an’, sooner or later, I’ll hear it.”

  Garett tied his horse beside Blossom’s, took Burge’s reins from the half-elf, and tied his horse while the lieutenant taught Rudi the grass trick. “You won’t need to worry about it for a while, though,” he called over his shoulder. “It’ll take us some time to get farther in. Don’t relax too much. There are plenty of threats to watch out for even out here.”

  “Yeah,” Blossom muttered as she climbed up onto a network formed by the knotted mangaroo roots and levered herself out of the water. “Like lizard men.”

  Garett saw Rudi start at that and silently cursed Blossom. Sometimes, she took her teasing too damned far. The last remains of that ancient and feared reptilian race had for centuries maintained its last known lair in the Mist Marsh. At one time, the entire swamp had been their preserve, and they had guarded it zealously with sword and shield and javelin. Slowly, though, they had retreated deeper and deeper into the marsh. Most people thought they had died out altogether.

  “Nobody’s seen lizard men in these parts for years,” he said tartly. “Anyway, their lair was much deeper in the southern part of the marsh.” He turned back to Rudi. “I meant threats from dangerous animals,” he explained.

  “Predators. Crocodiles, change-cats, giant rats. The marsh is full of them. You keep an eye out.”

  Rudi made an unpleasant face, but at last he swung down off his horse and waded the sh
ort stretch to the mangaroo roots. He tied his own horse next to the others, then chose the closest thing to a dry spot, high among the roots, climbed up, and settled himself. He unfastened his sword and rested the sheathed blade upon his lap. “All right,” he grumbled, glancing nervously at his surroundings, brushing away a huge ant with a quick back-sweeping motion of his hand, “but don’t take too long. If it starts getting dark, I’m going to be peeved.”

  “Build a fire if you want, if you can find dry wood,” Garett told his sergeant as he passed two water skins up to Blossom and slung his own across his shoulders. Then he, too, repositioned his sword so that it hung upon his back, where it would stay reasonably dry.

  “In this place?” Rudi said doubtfully, looking around. “He meant it as a joke,” Burge explained as he climbed up onto the root network beside Blossom and extended a hand down to his captain.

  Blossom had taken a large knife from her belt and busied herself by hacking at three of the lowest, stoutest limbs within her reach. By the time Garett was out of the water and at her side, she had cut three lengths and stripped them of subsidiary branches and leaves to make three slender staves. She gave one each to Burge and Garett and kept one for herself. They were not stout enough for fighting, but that was not their purpose. They were to probe the water, to test the footing before them. Quicksand was just one of the dangers ahead.

  Garett looked at each of his comrades in turn. Rudi sat sullenly on top of a knot of roots. Blossom waited, outwardly impassive, but, obviously to Garett, impatient to get on with what she regarded as an unpleasant journey. He turned to Burge. His half-elven friend was almost quiet, not his usual quick-tongued self. In fact, most of the smart remarks today had come from Blossom. “How are the wounds?” he asked Burge.

  Burge leaned on his fresh-cut staff and peered toward the gloomy heart of the marsh. The mangaroos grew as far as any of them could see, even Burge with his elven eyesight. And as the mist thickened and the branches and leaves wove together overhead, so did the eerie twilight grow into darkness.