"What's he got?" Gord asked, peering over the crouching barbarian's shoulders.
"A fat purse and a gold brooch, I think," Chert called back. "Just a second, and we'll see!"
It turned out that the "gold" was only washed brass, and the purse was a leather pouch filled with the various packets and stuffs of dweomercraefting. So much for that. The now-enlarged band of questers set out for the bandits' encampment, which, as luck would have it, was on the same route the dweomer compelled the quartet to tread. Along the way the group encountered the grazing steed of Lord Maheal, and nearby was that worthy's prone form, asleep in a patch of warm sunlight.
"Boo!" Pinkus barked in the nobleman's ear, and grinned to show his huge teeth as the startled fellow's eyes popped open.
"Yeow!" Maheal shrieked, trying to jump up and run away at the same time. This resulted in a comical heap, with the ogreling and Maheal in a tangle, for all the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe had managed to do was to bound upright and then flop upon the ogre-magus. Pinkus attempted to throw the offending form from his person, and Maheal struggled desperately to get free. The problem was that these efforts seemed to make the two more inextricably entangled than ever. Screams, growls, and other less identifiable sounds emerged from the pile. The captive bandits sniggered and jeered, until Gord ordered them into the frey to assist. Although he was enjoying the spectacle, he feared that the fainthearted Maheal would suffer bodily harm soon unless the pair was untangled.
When they finally managed to straighten things out, Maheal's plum-colored doublet was shredded, and his particolored hose of citrine and puce were ruined. Calling down terrible curses upon everyone in general and Pinkus in particular, the nobleman trudged off with the group. Gord had determined that Lord Maheal would go afoot hereafter, for when horsed, he was always riding away.
There was nothing of value at the outlaw hideout, although they found a fair amount of cold game to eat and enough horses to provide mounts for all of the prisoners. Gord located the slim tomes that contained the writings of the now-deceased spell-user. These books he had tucked away without informing anyone, for he knew that such works had considerable value to certain persons. They didn't linger at the camp, because the effects of the enthrallment made the quartet restless and irritable.
To assure the cooperation of the outlaws, Gord made the twelve of them swear a blood-curdling oath of fealty to their captors as Pinkus looked on with a leering expression of awful sort on his ugly visage. Having Chert nearby with his huge axe was definitely a big plus, and it didn't hurt when the young rogue proclaimed that all of the loot taken from the group would be divided among the survivors who were faithful to their new leaders until the end of their quest.
The former bandits eagerly vowed to serve as men-at-arms for their new masters, casting doubtful looks at both the ogre-magus and Lord Maheal as they did so. Gord made it clear that these new henchmen were to seek direction principally from either Chert or himself. That done, they were again on the trail, Maheal now seated atop his steed once more but this time neatly surrounded by the pack of newly created soldiery.
The Gnatmarsh came all too soon, but despite the swarms of hungry insects and the hazards of trekking through the mire, the party pressed ever deeper into the morass. The former bandits complained less than either Lord Maheal or the ogrish Pinkus. Gord suspected that the bestowing of all the loot taken from them and their former associates was only a part of the reason for this behavior. This suspicion was confirmed shortly.
"Not makin' much speed." a bandit named Zimp said to the young thief.
"Considering this miserable mud." Gord replied, "I think a league a day is exceptional time."
Zimp scratched his beard with dirty fingers — at this point everyone was mud-encrusted, even the meticulous Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. Although Zimp was acknowledged by the others as their noncommissioned officer, more or less, the outlaw wasn't quite sure of his relationship to Gord yet The young adventurer wanted him to understand that he could speak up without fear. "It's right amazin', sir, the way you and Master Chert is makln’ a beeline, as they say, straight toward Grimalkinsham. Ain't none o' us ever seen the likes before!"
"Grimalkinsham? Beeline? Are you telling me you and your men know where we're headed?"
Zimp peered hard at Gord to see if he was angry. When it was clear that he was only surprised. Zimp said. "Me an' the boys have been in an' out o’ this here marsh a few times, and Grimalkinsham ain't a bad place a'tall to spend time in — specialty when things roundabout get hot, so to speak."
"Tell me more, sergeant." Gord said with a grim expression on his face.
Beaming back in relief, Zimp nodded enthusiastically. "First, cap'n, we got to get outta this mess and foller the causeway. ... I mean I’ll be a-gittin’ a sergeant's share o' treasure?"
"Yes indeed! Show me the causeway."
A little later the party was wending its way along a relatively dry track that snaked here and there through the marsh. They avoided the bottomless pools, willow thickets, and who knew what else, covering ground at a far more rapid rate and without the mud. Only the swarms of insects reminded them of their presence in the dreaded morass of Gnatmarsh.
"Beware goin' beyond this here hummock 'til nighttime," Zimp told Gord. "That there catoblepas will get us sure otherwise," he added laconically.
"Catoblepas? Here?"
"Yep," Zimp confirmed with determination and then asked, "Ever see un?"
Gord shook his head back and forth and signaled for those following behind to halt.
"Me neither." said Zimp, "and I don't rightly care to, either, sir. It basks in the sun all day, I’m told, then snoozes the dark away. When twilight comes we got t' hurry quick as Tifly Tumbleskln, as they say. That'll get us inta Grimalkinsham afore full dark."
"You mean we have to travel several miles in a mere hour?" Gord asked the outlaw doubtfully.
"Yessir! Who'd want to be on this here track at night? Lessen he was partial to green hags, spooks, and that lot, o'course." Zimp replied, casting an unbelieving glance at his commander.
"Right you are, Sergeant Zimp. Glad we agree there!" Gord said quickly, dismounting and signaling the others to do the same. "Now, as there's a bit of a wait before the sun starts to set. tell me all you know about Grimalkinsham. I hear the place is crawling with witches."
Zimp waved off that observation. "Grimalkinsham is a tad on the tough side, that's sartin," the former bandit said sagely, "but there be no more witches there than in most places."
"How can you be sure of that?" Gord asked, securing his horse to one tree and then sitting down under another a few feet away.
Zimp followed suit before answering the young rogue. "That's an easy un. cap'n," Zimp said with a smile. "I been to the village four, mebee five times. Ain't once seen a lass over thirty, nor a wench that wasn't a looker"
Just then Lord Maheal, who had refused to dismount, interrupted them. "Come along, you fellows! This is no time to be discussing such rude matters — we have a quest to complete!" The narcissistic nobleman managed to add the last few words with sneering accusation, despite the fact that it was he who had been continually trying to dodge the whole affair. Gord gave Maheal a look that failed to convey just how much disgust the young thief was feeling toward the troublesome Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. The cad, who had managed to outfit himself in reasonably fresh clothing he had taken from his seemingly endless store of garments, was a nauseating spectacle. He was decked out in a belted paisley smock of watered silk, high buskins of fawn color, and a deep brown, feathered velvet cap, which complemented the cummerbund that cinched the smock to his waist.