“Greetings, Commander Lareth,” Hedrack responded. “Rise and report.”
Lareth straightened himself and began. “I will send raiding parties in three directions this evening, Hedrack.” Hedrack frowned at the clerics familiarity with him. “However, last night, our raid on Hommlet did not fare as well as expected.”
Ah, thought Hedrack, the small failure I will exploit to remind him of his place.
“Yes?” The high priest said, furrowing his brow in displeasure for emphasis.
“A number of capable travelers stopping for the night in that village came to the sorry peasants’ aid.” Lareth sighed. “I lost fully half a dozen bugbears in the raid.”
“You disappoint me,” Hedrack said, glowering.
Lareth’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was clearly not used to being so openly rebuked.
“I have charged you with recruiting fresh troops and with filling our coffers through your raids. I don’t remember anything about having my army shrink through your mismanagement.”
“My lord, I beg pardon, but this was an unexpected and unavoidable situation. I withdrew the moment—”
“Unexpected and unavoidable? It is clear to me that you are not giving your duties the attention they deserve. A competent field commander always gains reliable intelligence before engaging the enemy, and he always has not one but two contingency plans for unexpected”—Hedrack emphasized Lareth’s own words back at him—“situations so that nothing becomes an ‘unavoidable’ mistake.”
“Of course, my lord,” Lareth answered. “I beg your forgiveness in this, and I assure you that I will redouble my precautions.”
Hedrack wasn’t sure if Lareth’s look of contrition was genuine or not, but he was convinced that the man had received the intended message loudly and clearly: Do not presume too much. A thought occurred to Hedrack.
“I have received warnings from Iuz himself that enemies move against us. Even now, agents of Cuthbert come this way. Perhaps these meddlers you mentioned are the very same?”
“I have reason to believe they are,” Lareth replied, causing Hedrack to raise his eyebrow.
“Oh? And how is that?”
“My spies in Hommlet report that there is a company, led by an agent of the king himself, who is preparing to explore the outpost. I am setting up plans to deal with them.”
Hedrack leveled his gaze at the other man. “Good. See that you do. And report to me when you have.” He waved the issue away and changed the subject. “What of fresh sacrifices? When will I receive more?”
Lareth’s charming smile returned in an instant. “I managed to snare a few last night, despite the unexpected opposition. I have sent a fresh batch of them to you this very day. I think you will be very pleased.”
“Good, good,” Hedrack said, nodding. “I look forward to examining them. Anything else to report?”
Lareth nodded his head. “I shall have no less than fifty new troops for you by the end of the month. And, if my reports are correct, another two hundred and fifty by the end of next.”
“Excellent,” Hedrack said, genuinely pleased. “We are ahead of schedule, then. Keep it up. And no more mishaps.”
“I hear and obey, my lord.”
8
The remains of the ruined moathouse sat to the left of the path, surrounded by a fetid bog and connected to the main road by a narrow causeway that was banked high to stay clear of the wetland around it. Most of the walls were still standing, although in places the stonework was a tumbled ruin, and the whole thing seemed ready to fall over into the bog at any moment. Timbers from what must have once been a second story jutted up in places, but they were blackened from fire. The entire structure was overgrown with vines and creepers, yellowish and sickly looking. The front gates were smashed and hanging askew, but a sad excuse for a drawbridge still spanned the gap between the pathway and the gate’s threshold.
Melias studied the moathouse, as if considering. The rest of the company waited in the eerie quiet of the morning, the silence broken only by the deep croaking of frogs and an occasional fetid breeze blowing up from the direction of the marsh. Finally, Melias nodded, half to himself, and motioned for everyone to continue. Slowly, the company made its way down to the ruined moathouse.
Ahleage, sitting astride his horse next to Shanhaevel, coughed and held his nose. “Gah!” He groaned. “It stinks!”
“Shanhaevel,” Melias called. “Would you please ask your hawk to reconnoiter the area? I want to know if there’s anyone—or anything—about before we go inside.”
Shanhaevel nodded. Ormiel, he projected, feeling for his familiar.
I am here.
Fly over the big broken man-nest. Are there any bad things? Any people?
From the trees off to the group’s left, the hawk took flight, its powerful wings pumping as it rose into the air. It soared past the company, only a few feet over their heads, and winged its way toward the moathouse. Shanhaevel watched as Ormiel circled the place a couple of times and landed on a high parapet of a mostly intact tower near the front entrance. From there, Ormiel scanned the area, jerking his head this way and that.
No bad things. No people.
Shanhaevel shook his head. “Ormiel says nothing is around.”
“Thank you.” Melias turned in his saddle to face the rest of the group. “All right, stay sharp, everyone. Let’s move.”
With that, the warrior turned and spurred his horse forward, heading toward the side path that led to the front gate of the moathouse.
As he turned to follow, Shanhaevel thought, Ormiel. Good job. Hunt now. Ormiel took off from his perch atop the tower, searching for food.
The group reached the embanked path crossing over the swampy ground, where a slight breeze rustled the cattails. A bird of a type Shanhaevel had never heard before called from the trees. Shanhaevel studied the ruins, looking for any telltale signs that they were being watched.
Melias dismounted, signaling the rest of the company to do the same. He stood for a few moments, staring at the building. Finally, he turned to the rest of the group and said, “We leave the horses here. I want Ahleage to take the lead. Check that drawbridge to make sure it’ll hold us before we cross.”
“Got it,” Ahleage said, already advancing along the causeway. The rest of the companions followed a few paces behind.
Before they made it even a third of the way across, something bounded out of the marshy ground to the group’s right. Shanhaevel spun in time to see a huge frog, fully six feet long, land near him. As several more of the giant creatures plopped into the company’s midst, the one nearest Shanhaevel snaked its long, sticky tongue out, latching onto his arm and pulling, and he was jerked off his feet toward the beast’s gaping mouth.
Shanhaevel thrashed wildly with his staff, trying to beat the huge frog senseless. With one arm wrapped up by the beast’s tongue, however, he found it impossible to wield the weapon effectively, and worse, he was still being pulled closer and closer to the frog’s hungry mouth. In desperation, Shanhaevel used the staff to brace himself, digging into the ground with it and trying to resist the tug of the frog’s tongue. It helped only a little.
“It’s got me!” Shanhaevel shouted, barely keeping his voice from cracking in terror. “Somebody get it off me!” He flailed about, looking around, but the rest of the company was hard at work battling more of the frogs, although few of the creatures seemed as large as the one that had attacked him.