As usual, thoughts of Gerwyth summoned images of his raven-haired companion, and the half-elf felt a different kind of warmth spread through her limbs. It wasn’t just the fighter’s handsome face and muscled body—though she’d be lying if she denied her physical attraction to the man. Nor was it simply the promise of mystery that surrounded him. At least not anymore. Over the course of their journey, Majandra had watched Kaerion change. The volatile anger and self-loathing that lurked so close to the surface was softened, burned away perhaps by the man’s mysterious illness, or the steadily growing companionship between him and the rest of the Nyrondese expedition.
Not that the man had healed completely, or cast off the anger and grief that worried at him like the jaws of a blood-raged mastiff. Such quick transformations only occurred in the lines of the poorest sagas. But beneath his healing wounds, the half-elf felt as if she had glimpsed a spark of the man’s true soul, and that spark held such purity that she was drawn to it like a glowbeetle to Lima’s crystalline light.
A soft voice interrupted her thoughts. Majandra turned and saw one of the guards conferring with Vaxor. After a moment, the guard nodded once and moved farther back down the line. The half-elf fixed the cleric with an inquisitive gaze.
“Gerwyth has called a halt,” the Heironean priest responded. “Apparently, there is a defensible rise about a quarter of mile farther south where we will make camp for the night.”
Majandra sighed softly in relief and rubbed the sweat from her face. “Gods, but I’m tired,” she said after a moment. “I could use a meal and a few hours of sleep.”
“As could we all,” Vaxor said, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think I’ll take advantage of this respite and check on Phathas. No doubt the old fool has gone and ignored my advice.” He smiled briefly and then took his leave.
Majandra uncorked the wineskin at her belt and took a few deep draughts of its contents. Despite its sun-warmed temperature, the tart liquid washed away the acrid sweat and metallic tang of her heat-seared mouth. Another swig and the skin was corked and placed back on her belt. With a sigh, she wiped her mouth and stared idly into the evening sky. The sun hung like a thick orange ball near the horizon, its steadily weakening rays creating pools of shadow among the gnarled, twisted trees and thick vegetation of the swamp.
To her left, the bent trunks and angled branches formed a spiny wall as thick and forbidding as any fortress, and beyond that, she could see the broad expanse of the stagnant lake whose edge they had been following throughout the day. In the fading light, its still surface burned with bronzed incandescence, like the glowing embers of an unbelievably large hearth fire. Even from this distance, she could smell the stench of its dank waters, redolent with the musky odor of decay.
The others had complained incessantly throughout the day about the unpleasant aroma, but Majandra hadn’t really minded it at all. Beneath the acrid tang of rot, her refined elven senses detected the heady bouquet of life. What was occurring in and around the standing water was a continuation of a cycle so ingenious and complex, so delicate and yet so relentless that it pulled at her heart. What was, to humans, an awful assault on their senses, was to one of her blood a doorway into a communion with something far deeper and mysterious than words would allow her to express.
Out here, even in the deadly embrace of one of the world’s most dangerous places, she felt free. What would life be like once they completed their quest and she returned to the cold, dead walls of Rel Mord? The answer did not come to her. She only knew she no longer hoped for a speedy end to their expedition.
A faint rustle in the undergrowth off to her left drew her attention back to the moment at hand. The sound repeated itself as the bard scanned the dense expanse of vegetation. Majandra caught her breath. For a split second, beneath the wizened height of a tangle of manga trees, she could have sworn she’d seen the burnished gleam of two large, round eyes reflecting the dying light of the sun. She peered intently at the spot again.
Nothing.
Cursing herself for a nervous child, the half-elf lifted her traveling pack and made her way toward the front of the line. A few moments later, Gerwyth gave the order to move out. Thoughts of food and a chance to sleep beneath the stars filled her mind as the expedition trudged relentlessly forward. Beneath the steady tread of the caravan, Majandra soon forgot the memory of those cold eyes peering out from the underbrush.
Above her, the stars flickered to life, shedding their cold fire upon the earth.
Durgoth Shem looked in disgust at the creature huddled before the small fire. The beasts mottled yellow skin shimmered and pulsed sickeningly in the firelight. Thankfully, rotting leather armor covered most of its humanoid form—though he could still make out the layer of mucous that covered arms, legs, and the creatures froglike face. Occasionally, gobs of the stuff rolled off the bullywug’s body and hit the muddy ground with a stomach-heaving splorch.
“What ish it you want from ush?” the creature asked, its bulbous eyes regarding the cleric gravely. “Why have you not deshtroyed ush?”
The dark priest stared in sickening fascination at the bloated length of the creature’s tongue as it lolled about in its wide, thin-lipped mouth. Even with the power of his spell allowing him to understand the frothing consonants, clicks, and squeals that the bullywug used for its language, his human ears had a difficult time comprehending the beasts thick-tongued words.
Finally able to tear his eyes away from its disgusting features, Durgoth looked around at the pile of broken, amphibious bodies that surrounded the fire. Around him in a circle stood Eltanel, Sydra, Jhagren, and Adrys—along with the fear-filled cultists who remained alive. The cleric cast another glance to the left of the firepot, where the golem stood, still holding the cracked and bloodied spine of a bullywug between its meaty hands.
The attack had come swiftly, without warning. At first, Durgoth thought it simply the predations of a hungry beast, for that was what had crashed into their lines. It had only taken a few moments for the defenders to react to this attack, and the furred creature was already put down when humanoid figures had erupted violently from the surrounding trees. More furred beasts had appeared in the fray, and Durgoth watched as these beasts had turned on the bullywugs, killing almost as many of them as he and his cultists. It hadn’t been very long until the battle was over and several creatures, including the one that huddled before his fire, had been captured.
“I did not destroy you,” the cleric replied at last, “because I believe that you and your companions can be of some use to me.”
The creature nodded. “Yesh. Jusht tell Braggsh what it ish that you wish,” it said. “Braggsh will make sure that Braggsh’sh pondmates obey.”
Durgoth’s lip curled at the bullywugs pathetic mewling. Disgusting creatures, he thought, half-considering whether he should just kill the ones who remained and be done with it. “That is good, Braggsh. I see we understand each other. Very well. There are other intruders to your lands, about a day’s march to the east. See to it that not a single one of them leaves this swamp alive.”
Braggsh’s eyes blinked slowly beneath the flickering light of the fire. “Yesh. Braggsh knows the intruders you shpeak of. They are led by a pointy earsh. It ish very shkilled. Pond deshide to let them passh. Too much trouble to kill.”
“I want them dead,” the cleric said again, nearly shouting at the vile humanoid. “Is that clear?”
The bullywug nodded once more, but Durgoth could hear the wet smack of Braggsh’s throat as the creature swallowed hard. “But the pond—”