D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch

by Robin Wayne Bailey

  “I feel fine,” he assured Garett. Then he glanced at his captain and seemed to sense the true reason behind the question. “I’ve grown so used to the walls of Greyhawk,” he went on in a near whisper, “that I’d forgotten how stiflin’ they are.” He looked straight at Garett with that intense, violet-eyed gaze. “I’m glad I came.”

  Garett, too, had traveled the world in his younger days and seen much of the Flanaess, many of its wonders. He, too, knew the thrill of a journey’s beginning and the joy of new places. Sometimes, Greyhawk felt like a prison, where his soul had been shut up and all his life there had been only the work time of a sentenced prisoner. In those times, he missed the travels and dreamed of his days along the Azure Sea and the adventures he had known there.

  But for everyone, those times came to an end. He did not live long who lived by selling his sword. One king or master after another. Different nations, different lands. Despite all the odd customs and strange cultures, too soon they all blurred together. Eventually one had to find a place to make a bed and a hearth to light a fire each night, and honest work, too, to occupy the hands and the mind.

  “I’m glad I came,” Burge repeated, half under his breath.

  It was enough to snap Garett out of his brief reverie. Burge knew the dangers as well as he. It was too soon to wax romantic about the Mist Marsh.

  “Save that kind of remark ’til we’re home,” Garett warned.

  Cattail reeds and tall saw grass grew in thick clusters

  among the mangaroo roots. Brightly colored water

  lillies floated on the still water. Ivy streamed down, sometimes in slender vines, sometimes in curtains, from the high branches. Narrow beams of light speared through the leafy canopy overhead to create dazzling spots on broad, moisture-pimpled leaves, on the murky water, on the lichen-covered bark of old trees, and on the roots them-

  selves.

  An angry feline meow caused Garett, Blossom, and Burge to stop and glance overhead. High among the branches sat a common-looking house cat; its ears laid back, its eyes burning steadily as it watched them. An instant later, though, the air shimmered around it, and the small form became a far larger, more powerful, and far more deadly beast. Dark spots covered its tawny, muscled body. Fangs and claws gleamed. It roared, and the sound echoed through the swamp.

  “A change-cat!” Burge whispered, keeping his voice low

  and calm so as not to startle the creature.

  “I don’t think it’s going to attack,” Garett said, leading them quietly, cautiously forward, though his eyes remained on the change-cat. “It’s just warning us away from its territory.”

  “We better find this sword quick,” Blossom grumbled as she waved a small swarm of gnats away from her face. Her gaze constantly raked from side to side as she advanced. “I don’t want to be here when night falls.”

  A fat brown frog sat perched on a root, watching as they approached. Suddenly, it plopped into the water. Another sprang from hiding in a floating cluster of dead leaves, flopped under the surface, and disappeared with an awkward kick. A whole series of rapid plops followed, and for a moment, the marsh was quiet again.

  A snake rippled through the water not ten feet ahead of the watchmen, and they paused, motionless, until it disappeared under another cluster of mangaroo roots. Carefully, Garett followed it. They had to climb that root cluster to continue on. Garett made it out of the water and to the top first. He reached down to help Blossom out, and they both helped Burge.

  When they all were out of the water, and there was no sign of the snake, Garett glanced up and quickly cringed. Not more than a foot above his head, a large web glistened between two low-hanging limbs. Its hairy occupant, nearly the size of his fist, slept impassively at the center, lulled by the gentle breeze that rocked the web. Garett glared at it from a crouch, his heart hammering.

  In a few moments, they were over the root cluster and back in the water again, moving toward the next cluster. The mangaroos were beginning to thin, though. The tallest trunks and the most massive root clusters were farther and farther apart. They still dominated the marsh, but they were less dense. The party mounted a small rise of land, trampling a patch of tiny white flowers that had taken root in the brown mud, and rested.

  “Gods!” Blossom cried suddenly, dropping her staff and staring at the back of her right hand in horror. A black leech, as long as one of her fingers, clung to her skin. She snatched at its mottled body and flung it away in disgust. A red welt showed where it had been. Almost immediately, she shrieked again. “There’s one on my neck!”

  “Don’t!” Burge ordered, catching her hand before she could grab at the repulsive creature. “I see it. It’s not in too deep, though. Let me.” He reached into his belt and extracted his coin purse. Opening it, he extracted another, smaller pouch and opened that. A white powder glittered within. Burge pinched some between his fingers and sprinkled it generously upon the leech’s body.

  Her head tilted to let him work, Blossom still tried to watch from the corner of her eye. “Is that a magic powder?” she asked nervously.

  “It is if you eat at The Tomb very often,” Burge answered with a grin as he sprinkled another pinch upon the bloodsucker. “I swear that old ore never salts anything.”

  Garett searched his own body as Burge removed the slimy parasite from Blossom’s neck. He found three of them climbing his left boot and quickly brushed them away, suppressing a chill of revulsion as his skin made contact with them. Together, he and Blossom checked Burge, but the half-elf was clean, relatively speaking.

  “I guess they can recognize a case of indigestion when they see it,” Blossom commented to Burge. She patted his backside lightly, trying to conceal her earlier display of fear with a veneer of humor.

  “My lady, you are welcome to their fullest attention,” Burge answered in his most genteel manner as he put away his pouch of salt. “And I suspect we’ll find more of their brethren dogging our tracks as we go.”

  Blossom didn’t say anything, but she rubbed a hand tentatively over the welt on her neck, and the look on her face said she wished she’d stayed with Rudi, or better yet, not come at all. “I am not having a good time,” she muttered, picking up her staff and starting bravely down into the water again.

  Burge leaned close to Garett as they followed. “Do you have any idea where in the marsh this sword might be?” he asked. “Or are we just supposed to wander around looking for it?”

  Garett had been asking himself a similar question for some time now. “Mordenkainen said it was at the heart of the swamp. That’s all I know.” Garett shrugged.

  “The elves have a saying, you know,” Burge told him conspiratorially. “ ‘Beware of wizards bearing gifts.’

  “Humans have another,” Garett said in a low voice. “ ‘Beware of elvish sayings.’

  A loud slap interrupted them. Blossom frowned in disgust at the huge dead mosquito on her palm before she wiped it on her tunic.

  They pushed on in silence, .limbing knots of mangaroo roots, wading water and mud, ducking vines and dangling webs, on constant alert for snakes. Overhead, colorfully feathered birds darted back and forth among the rich foliage, filling the air with their calls and chitterings.

  Garett stopped suddenly, motioning for his companions to do the same. A thick patch of cattail reeds grew directly in their path, and among the stalks a pair of large eyes gleamed redly, watching them. A sharp warning hiss from the unseen creature caused the two men to reach for their swords. Blossom brought her staff into both hands and balanced it in a defensive grip. For a tense moment, the standoff continued. Then an immense brown-furred rat swam out of the reeds, waddled up onto a knot of roots, and climbed the trunk of a mangaroo, where it perched on the lowest branch and hissed at them again.

  Garett let go a small sigh of relief. He and Blossom started on again, but Burge stood his ground. “Do you hear that?” he asked, when, only a few paces on, they stopped and waited for him.

  Ga
rett knew how sharp Burge’s hearing was. The half-elf stood stock-still, listening, an odd, puzzled expression on his face. Garett listened, too. All he heard were the birds and the hissing of the rat and the rustling of the leaves in the breeze. “Hear what?” he asked quietly.

  Burge frowned. “I don’t know,” he answered curiously, tilting his head. “It’s gone now.” He shrugged his shoulders and waved them on. “Maybe I imagined it. This place is getting to me.”

  But Garett knew Burge better than that. The half-elf advanced through the clump of cattails, his senses more alert than ever. Every little sound made him stop and listen. The smallest motion, even the trembling of a leaf, caught his gaze. His left hand never strayed far from the dagger on his belt.

  When they were through the cattails, another knot of mangaroo roots lay in their path. Garett scanned the water quickly for serpents that might be nesting under the roots, then climbed out first and helped the others up.

  “It’s back,” Burge announced as he wiped sweat and moisture from his face with the back of his sleeve. Crouched on a particularly large root, he stared around, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound’s origin.

  Garett stood up straight. He could still see the black water down between his feet through a gap in the roots. The footing was slick. He steadied himself by positioning the tip of his staff carefully and leaning on it. He strained to hear over the familiar sounds of the swamp. Just over the calls of the birds, the drone of gnats and mosquitoes, the croaking of frogs, he thought he heard something.

  Thump.

  It was faint, just loud enough to catch his attention. It came again. Thump. Twice more, then it stopped.

  “I heard it, too,” Blossom affirmed, pointing with her staff. “Straight ahead.”

  “An animal noise?” Burge questioned doubtfully.

  Garett shook his head. “Not like any animal I’ve ever heard.”

  “Lizard men,” Blossom whispered tensely.

  Garett didn’t think so. “If the stories are even partially true, you wouldn’t hear them until their kill-wires were around your throat.”

  They traversed the wide knot and slipped carefully back into the water again. It was shallower here, reaching only to their knees, but the muddy bottom sucked stubbornly at their boots. The shadows were growing darker all around them, and the spears of sunlight that penetrated the leafy canopy came in now at smaller angles.

  Thump, thump.

  They stopped in their tracks and stared at each other. “That was a lot nearer,” Burge muttered nervously. Blossom didn’t say anything. Instead she drew her large knife from its sheath and swiftly shaved one end of her staff to a sharp point.

  When the sound stopped, they waded forward again. A tangled blanket of green leaves and tiny white flowers floated on the water before them. Bees hummed and buzzed happily around the sweet petals, and the trio, deciding wisely not to disturb the insects, detoured around. The silty bottom began to rise abruptly. Soon they found themselves on a muddy bar where only a few bushes and a pair of mangaroo saplings grew.

  Then something moved among the bushes. The branches shook, and the leaves rattled. A fat crocodile, its toothy jaws gaping, eyes gleaming with hunger, charged them. With a shout, Garett leaped back, but his boot stuck in the soft, sucking mud, and he fell awkwardly sideways, his arm sinking halfway to the elbow as he tried to catch himself.

  He felt the hot rush of the massive predator’s breath on his face. Then, with an angry, desperate cry, Burge drove the steel point of his sword down into the beast’s thick neck. The toughness of its hide, though, stopped the thrust before the creature was seriously hurt. Turning toward its attacker, it snapped its jaws savagely. Burge jumped clear, but the monster’s clawed feet dug into the mud, and it scrambled with agile swiftness after him. Again Burge moved, but the slimy muck played him false, just as it had Garett, and the half-elf fell backward.

  Blossom put herself instantly between her comrade and the crocodile. The huge reptile opened its jaws wide. There was nothing womanly or beautiful about the watchman’s face as she drew back with her makeshift spear and slammed the sharpened point down through the beast’s exposed lower palate. Startlingly, the beast emitted a sharp, hissing growl of pain, the first sound it had made. Its scratching claws hurled mud into the air, and its tail clubbed wildly back and forth. Blossom gave a savage growl of her own. With all her might, she leaned on the spear, pinning the crocodile.

  Then its jaws snapped shut, and wood splintered. But Blossom and Burge were up and out of its way. Hissing, the beast turned, blood spraying from its mouth with every exhalation.

  Garett drew himself up out of the mud and charged again. He barely had time to get his sword out of the sheath. He leaped sideways, more respectful of his footing this time. With all his bodily strength, he swung his sword downward, not at the crocodile’s armored head, but at a more vulnerable foreleg, catching it just above the clawed foot, chopping completely through it.

  Again the monster screamed its pain, and the mud roiled as it thrashed around. Burge rushed forward, his sword raised to strike, but in the thrashing, the crocodile’s unpredictable tail clubbed him across the shins, sending him tumbling. He rolled awkwardly in the mud, but found his footing and came up with his blade ready.

  The crocodile, though, had had enough. With a massive sweep of its tail, it glided over the slick muck and disappeared into the water. A faint trail of red lingered on the black water, then diluted away.

  Blossom came forward with the shattered end of her staff, bent down, and picked up the creature’s severed foot. She eyed it with smug satisfaction before she offered it to Garett. “The claws will make a fine adornment,” she told him.

  Garett shook his head. “"You keep it, then,” he told her. “I’ve never been one for jewelry.” He wiped the blade of his sword on his mud-splattered tunic and returned it to the sheath on his back. That done, he bent down by the water and rinsed his hands and face.

  Blossom crouched down beside him. With her knife out again, she proceeded to whittle another point on her shortened staff. Her face was streaked with dirt and sweat, and the leather-wrapped braid that hung over her right shoulder was half undone. Wisps of blond hair gleamed about her forehead in a stray sunbeam.

  “We go back now, Captain.” It was not a question, but a statement.

  Garett shook his head as he rose. He lifted his sword belt over his head and set the weapon down, then stripped off his tunic. The short coat of chain mail was too heavy and too hot. He shrugged it off and cast it aside. To hell with the expense of replacing it, he thought. The quilted jerkin underneath also was too hot, but at least its thickness offered some protection from the mosquitoes and flies. He slipped it off long enough to wring a heavy stream of sweat and water from it, then put it back on. His tunic was utterly ruined anyway, so he crumpled and tossed it beside the mail coat.

  “You can’t mean to go on,” Blossom protested, slamming her knife back in its sheath. She glared at him, no matter that he was her captain, and she didn’t bother to disguise or temper her anger. “Where there’s one croc, there’s always more; you know that. Look at us! We’re not prepared for this! I mean, you’re in mail, for pity’s sake, and we don’t have a lantern between us! It’ll be dark soon. What are we supposed to do then?”

  “She’s right about that,” Burge commented as he, too, stripped down to his jerkin and cast his armor aside.

  Blossom fell silent and slunk off to the side to remove her own garments and add her own coat of mail to the pile. She gave a low groan of despair when she found two more leeches on her stomach and called for Burge to remove them with his salt.

  Garett crouched down again and drank water from a cupped hand. Indeed, he wasn’t prepared properly for this kind of journey. The whole idea had begun with a dream, and he had followed it with a dreamlike certainty of success. In doing so, he had put his friends in danger. Blossom had every right to be mad. He was mad at himself.

&nb
sp; “All right, we’re going back,” he announced, standing up and turning toward his comrades.

  But Burge held up a finger to hush him. “I don’t think so,” the half-elf said in an alert whisper that immediately put Garett on his guard. “Something’s up.” Beside Burge, Blossom also stood tensely alert, listening.

  Garett noticed it at once. The silence. He glanced up at the trees. The birds sat there, on the limbs, in the leaves, but unmoving, nervous.

  Thump, thump.

  As if reacting to a signal, the birds scattered across the swamp, shut off from the safety of the open sky by the dense canopy of vines and ivy and mangaroo limbs that covered the highest treetops. Like colorful streaks, the birds darted off, vanishing into the deepest shadows and recesses. For an instant, the air was aflutter. Then silence again. Not a croak from the frogs, not even the buzz of an insect.

  Thump.

  Somewhere close by, a thick branch gave a loud crack. The sharpness of the sound lingered in the air before the echoing crash and splash that told of its fall.

  “Oh, damn,” Burge muttered under his breath. He drew his sword and gripped the hilt in both hands. “It’s big.”

  There was still nothing to see in the marsh gloom, at least nothing that Garett could see with his human eyes. But the tension crawled on his skin like the power from a lightning flash. He drew his own sword and jerked free one of the throwing stars from the band around his right biceps.

  It rose up out of the brackish water on the far side of a clump of mangaroo roots, a gray, amorphous shape that continued to rise until it brushed the branches of the trees. Then it fell, sinking below the water until it emerged again and slithered over the knot of roots. It came toward them, sensing them somehow, staring toward them with glowing green eyes, a great, horrible wormlike thing, or a leech of enormous size, with gill-iike appendages on either side of its gaping maw.

  Thump. The immense gills expanded, like thin, membranous wings that glistened translucently as the late sunbeams touched them. Thump. They flattened again, folding against the monster’s smooth body as it fell upon the shallow water and glided swiftly toward the mud bar.