by Dan McGirt
“I’ll make a note for next time.”
“We’d make better speed if you had removed this horse’s barding.”
“Also a good suggestion.”
“You didn’t plan this escape very carefully, did you?”
“I’m making it up as I go.”
“Obviously.” Merc glanced back. “Halogen himself is giving chase. Didn’t even stop to retrieve his pretty crown. I think you made him mad.”
“They’re going to catch us, aren’t they?”
“If they do, tell them your name. The fear factor could buy us some time.”
It was almost a mile to the river. Our lead shrank rapidly as we rode. When we reached the thick reeds on the south bank of the Longwash, Halogen and his knights were just a few horse lengths behind us. We plunged through the tall grass and onto the marshy ground at the water’s edge. Mud sucked at our mount’s hooves, slowing us considerably. Our plan was to leap from the saddle directly into the swift brown flood. Armored knights could not follow us into the water. By the time the foot soldiers arrived we would be too far downstream to be caught.
Assuming we didn’t drown.
We never took the plunge. From behind us came the sudden clamor of crashing armor, surprised shouts, and squealing horses. We turned to see the Orphalian knights borne to the ground by men in brown cloaks. The ambushers sprang from the reeds like panthers—panthers with spears, ropes, and nets in hand. Our mysterious rescuers made short work of the knights—all save Halogen. One of the attackers pulled him from the saddle and slammed him roughly to the ground. She planted her booted foot firmly on his chest and pressed the point of her saber to his throat.
The woman’s cloak flew open to reveal a lean, taut, female figure dressed in well-worn buckskins. Laughing, she threw back her hood. Her eyes were amber, her long, straight hair the color of a red fox.
“What a prize we have here, boys!” she said. “Our little river cruise has already proved fruitful!” She bore down with her foot, pressing the captive king deeper into the muck. “Bind him!” she ordered, sheathing her sword.
“You slatternly trollop!” sputtered Halogen, only to be silenced by a swift kick to the jaw.
“Give him one for me,” said Merc. The woman shrugged and kicked Halogen again.
“Gag him too,” she said, stepping away as her men seized the now senseless monarch. The woman nodded in our direction. “Lord Boltblaster—and you must be Master Cosmo. It was thoughtful of you to bring me this present.”
“We were in the neighborhood,” said Merc. “It seemed the polite thing to do.” He dismounted. “Cosmo, meet General Vixen Hotfur, Commander of the Raelnan Army of the Longwash. Known to friend and foe alike as the She-Fox.”
“An honor,” I said.
“Likewise.”
“What brings you here, General?” asked Merc. He gestured absently with one hand. I saw a fluttering object rise from the vicinity of the Orphalian camp and streak in our direction.
“We’re conducting a little raid to cut off the Orphalian supply lines,” said Hotfur. “They’ve set up a depot upstream. Everything comes across there, so we plan to burn it to the ground tonight and sink all the barges we can. Going without food for a couple of days—and knowing we’ve the capacity to strike at will behind their lines—ought to puncture the enemy morale a bit.” She kicked the bound king yet again. “But this is better! I put my base camp here so I could try to snatch this buzzard if the conditions looked right. I didn’t expect him to be delivered to me.”
“But you were expecting us,” said Merc, as his cloak arrived and wrapped itself around his shoulders.
Hotfur laughed. “I’ve got spies in Halogen’s camp and scouts all over the area. I knew they had you ten minutes before they did!” She laughed. “I figured I’d give you a chance to escape before I came in to save your hides. I knew with half a measure of sense you’d come right to me.”
“Shouldn’t you be leading your troops in battle or something?” I asked, troubled to find a general sneaking around behind enemy lines.
“Bollycockle!” she snorted. “Standard defensive situation, and we have the high ground. If my commanders can’t handle that on their own, they don’t deserve to be called soldiers! I came here to raise merry hell in the backfield!”
A scout appeared and whispered a report in her ear. Hotfur frowned. “The enemy is coming in force, so we’ll continue this discussion in the boats if you don’t mind. I’m scrubbing my torch party, but the day isn’t a total loss!”
Hotfur’s men uncovered five canoes. We piled in, four raiders to a craft. Halogen was tossed in one boat, Merc eased into another, and I rode with Hotfur. We left the dead knights lying in the muck and let their horses roam free. It would give the Orphalians something to think about.
“So where are you boys headed?” asked Hotfur as we paddled.
“The Incredibly Dark Forest.”
“Nasty stretch of woods, that. My father led eight thousand men in there once, chasing ogres. Came out four days later with less than half.”
“Your father?”
“Field Marshal Vulpinus Hotfur of the Third Royal Legion of Ganth. They called him the Grey Fox. Taught me everything I know.”
“He’s dead?”
“He was loyal to the crown. When the other generals overthrew the king and formed their military council, my father refused to join them. Myrm Ironglove had him executed.”
“And you joined the Raelnan army?”
“I’ve fought for just about everyone, including Orphalia back when old King Lanthanide was still around. Never cared for Prince Smarmy.” She spat toward the boat carrying Halogen. “Thinks himself irresistible, that one does. I resisted to the tune of blackening his royal eye. Which might have landed me in irons or worse, had I not removed myself posthaste from Orphalian employ and signed on with good Queen Raella. She’s a truer monarch than that popinjay will ever be. I understand he revenged himself on my reputation, if not my person, by spreading slanderous lies about me in the Orphalian court. I’ve half a mind to dump him overboard right now.
“Fine by me,” said Merc.
“But he is worth more to us alive than dead. With His Mucky Majesty in hand I can whistle the tune to which the Orphalian army will march. Might even threaten to give him back!”
***
We took the better part of an hour to reach the river settlement of Lowpoint. Soldiers and citizens worked side by side on the docks, unloading supply boats bringing food and equipment from downriver. The boats traveled in convoys, escorted by ack cutters. A stone keep on a small island in the middle of the river also bristled with the giant repeating crossbows.
“You can see why Halogen didn’t try to cross here,” said Hotfur. “This is a garrison town, our main base for hunting river pirates.”
We landed at the military docks. Ashore were troop barracks, officer quarters, an armory, and stables, all built of stone. The soldiers took Halogen to the stockade under heavy guard. Merc and I followed Hotfur to her plain office.
“I can spare you heroes a cutter to take you up the Crownbolt and even the Arbenflow itself if you wish,” she said, dropping into a chair. She propped her muddy feet on the desk.
“That would be helpful,” said Mercury. “But I only want volunteers for the crew. Preferably unwed. I hate to create more widows and orphans than necessary.”
“I’ll have a crew for you.”
“How soon will the boat be ready?”
“This afternoon, if you like.”
“The sooner the better,” said Merc. He turned to me. “Brace yourself, Cosmo. From here on, it gets dangerous.”
*****
Chapter 17
The Incredibly Dark Forest rose from the river plain like a pulsating green wall. Ancient trees towered hundreds of feet above us, their massive trunks robed in concealing tangles of vines and foliage. No birds called and no insects buzzed, but those trembling leaves murmured ceaseless lethal whispers
that might drive a man mad.
Eight bloody days on the river had brought our twenty-foot river cutter to the southernmost bounds of the Incredibly Dark Forest. The line of colossal trees stretched more than ninety leagues east and west of the river. The forest proper was fringed by countless acres of spiky brambles, thick brush, and hidden pits. Entering the forest by land would require hacking our way through that wasteland, a task that might take weeks in itself, even assuming the hell gophers and warp wasps left us alone.
Which they wouldn’t.
The river offered another way in. We were at the sneering green Mouth of the Forest, where the cold, murky water of the River Arbenflow slithered out from a maw-like opening in the trees like a long black tongue questing for prey.
“Are those piles of sun-bleached skulls on the river banks?” I asked. “Or just disturbingly shaped white stones?”
“Bones,” said Merc. “Not stones.”
“Do we continue, milord?” asked Lufkin Starke, the captain of our vessel.
“Would you rather wait for nightfall?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then no time like the present,” said Merc.
Starke ordered the lanterns lit. Eight oarsmen rowed in silence. The gunner and his mate stood ready behind the ack bolted to the forward deck.
We entered the Mouth of the Forest. Cold, damp air oozed over us like the foul breath of a corpse. As we left the morning sunlight behind, I felt my Rae-given strength fade.
“It’s incredibly dark in here,” I observed, feeling the need to speak softly.
“Hence the name,” whispered Merc.
The only sounds were the splash of our oars, the creak of the planks, and the quickened beating of our hearts. Lanterns at bow and stern barely penetrated the gloom, illuminating only a small patch of water directly around the boat. We could distinguish no features of the shadowy river banks looming over us like the hulking shoulders of a giant. I looked back longingly at the sunlit doorway to the outside world. Then we rounded a bend and the darkness was complete.
“How will we find the Hidden River? We can’t even see the one we’re on.”
“The Gods will guide us somehow,” said Mercury.
“That’s your plan?”
“So far.”
“Look!” said Starke. “All around us!”
Eyes. Hundreds of eyes. Pairs of feral red pinpricks on both banks and high above in the canopy, glaring at us with palpable hatred. Goosebumps marched across my skin. My nape hairs stood stiff. I clutched tightly the haft of my new battle axe.
“What do you think they are?” I asked.
“We’ll find out when they attack,” said Merc.
No attack came during the first hour, nor the second. But the silent watchers grew ever more numerous, until the blackness around us resembled a hellish skyscape full of demon stars.
“What are they waiting for?”
“They’re trying to frighten us, keep us on edge,” said Merc.
“It’s working.” I tested my blade for the eighty-seventh time.
The boat ground to a sudden, scraping halt, pitching me forward against the rail.
“Sandbar,” said Captain Starke.
The crew reversed the oars, trying to back the boat free. But we were stuck fast. At Starke’s command, the crew took up their weapons.
“Can you move the boat with your magic?”
“I’m trying,” said Merc. “Something is resisting me.” He shook his head. “No good. Get ready.”
“I’ve been ready.”
The first attack came from the water. Three tall and scaly humanoids with long knobby arms, thick chests, and cavernous, fang-filled mouths rose up beside the boat and reached for the rails.
“River trolls!” shouted one of the crew.
I leapt at the nearest troll and severed a great, grasping hand with a single blow. Thick grey ichor oozed from the stump of its wrist, but the seemingly grievous wound did not slow the monster. The troll continued to pull itself aboard with its remaining hand. I chopped that arm off at the elbow. The troll fell back into the water. Its severed limb still clutched the railing.
The ack crew pumped bolts into the chest of the second troll. Despite the flurry of steel shafts protruding from its body, the monster reached the deck. With iron-hard talons it ripped open a soldier’s torso. An archer loosed an arrow into the troll’s open maw. The monster staggered back. Two more men knocked it off balance, back into the water.
Mercury pelted the third troll with levitated sand, beating it back into the water, while also loosening the grip of the sandbar on our hull.
The trolls disappeared beneath the surface. There was a sudden pop of splitting wood. Then another, and another. The trolls were snapping the oars. They wrenched the rudder away with a resounding crack, fully crippling the boat. Next they pounded on the hull, every blow reverberating through the vessel.
“They’ll sink us!” I shouted.
“The least of our worries!” said Merc.
Unseen attackers in the forest canopy above rained rocks, tree limbs, and other heavy objects down upon us. A log bristling with thorny spikes crushed Captain Starke. A great chorus of gibbering cries rose up from the river banks, followed by massive volleys of tiny wooden arrows.
Tiny wooden arrows dipped in poison.
Mercury raised a protective umbrella of mystic energy to ward off the missiles, but it was too late for the crew. They became grotesque bloody pin cushions, twitching and jerking and foaming at the mouth before falling dead to the deck.
“It didn’t take long for us to be the only ones left,” said Merc.
“What now?”
“We head for shore.”
Animated by Merc’s magic, the boat limped toward the west bank, but the trolls had done their work well. We were taking on water fast. Twenty feet from the shore, Merc and I were perched on the very tip of the bow, our feet dragging in the water. The remaining lantern swung crazily above us, dripping hot oil on our heads. One of the trolls pursued us. I discouraged it by lopping off its head when it got too close. Thrown off balance, I nearly tumbled into the water. Merc steadied me with his arm.
“Can you swim from here?”
“I think so.”
“Go. But don’t lose the axe.”
I swam for the bank while Merc produced a white sphere from beneath his soggy cloak. He tossed it high into the air. The sphere burst into brilliant white light, revealing our surroundings for the first time.
The river itself was a black, polished mirror. The banks were cliffs of clay pocked with holes and gouged through by huge gnarled roots. Ashore were great trees too thick for twenty men linking arms to encircle. The gigantic trunks were devoid of branches at the lower levels, being instead encrusted with a variety of vile lichens, vines, and fungi. The forest floor was carpeted with mushrooms, some taller than a man, and with weird grey mosses. A great canopy of intertwined branches formed a black net high above us.
Our attackers, screeching as they fled the light, were revealed as goblins. These are shaggy nocturnal folk, with pointed ears and saucer eyes, standing knee-high to a tall man. They delight to dine in their damp and musty dens on fried potatoes. But if that delicacy be not available they will settle for the flesh of men. Hundreds of them now scampered away through the mushrooms. The dark leaves rustled above us as our overhead attackers also withdrew.
We scrambled up the embankment to crouch warily amid the mushrooms. Merc dispelled the protective umbrella.
“We’re in a bit of fix,” he said.
“You don’t say.”
“The flare spooked the goblins, but they’ll be back when it fades—along with every other unfriendly forest dweller for ten miles around.”
“They’re all unfriendly, right?”
“You learn fast. I have a few more flares, but that trick won’t get us far.”
Already the light was fading. “Just how far do we need to get?”
“Hard t
o say when we don’t know where we’re going. Maybe seventy leagues.”
“Through this? We need an army!”
Mercury shook his head. “This forest swallows armies. Here one man or a thousand have the same odds of survival—next to none.”
“Not encouraging.”
“One spot is as deadly as the next in the Incredibly Dark Forest.”
“So we’re as likely to reach Greenleaf as we are to get out alive if we turn back?”
“Precisely. But look on the bright side.”
“There is a bright side?”
“At least you’re safe from bounty hunters here.”
“Nice. But what about safe from—them?”
A troop of ogres dressed in animal skins was coming our way. I counted seven of them by the dwindling light of the flare. Each was at least fifteen feet tall. Their skin had a sickly yellow-grey cast. Armed with huge spiked cudgels, they snorted and drooled as they came, squashing mushrooms and kicking up clouds of deadly spores with every step. I held my axe at ready.
“Remember Yezgar?” asked Merc.
“Vividly.” I shuddered at the memory.
“He was only half ogre.”
I lowered the axe and joined Merc in sprinting away.
“Know any anti-ogre spells?”
“Twelve. But any of them would be like a beacon to the Society.”
“Is that our biggest problem just now?”
We whisked through the parasitic undergrowth beside the river. Figuring ogres didn’t swim too well, I considered diving into the water. Then I saw the river sharks and giant eels fighting the trolls for the bodies of our companions.
The flare winked out. Running blindly, we heard the pounding of our own feet and the ever closer snorts of the ogres as they lumbered after us.
Then we heard a heavy thunk.
Six more thunks followed in rapid succession.
We heard no more lumbering or snorting.
“Did they go stealth?”
“Ogres don’t even have a word for stealth,” said Merc, stopping. “Something happened to them.”
“If something just killed seven ogres, shouldn’t we keep running?”
Merc sent up a flare. We saw the seven ogres sprawled on the ground. A single black arrow protruded from each body.
