Dawnbringer Page 8

  “Just this past night?” Arron asked.

  Jovas thought for a moment, face clouded with confusion, then shook his head slowly. “Nay. Hard to say since time moves queerly in this place, but was perhaps a fortnight past. We were camped in the woods when a bad lightning storm struck. Catrin and I were separated from the others, but we wandered through the woods until we came upon this shimmering ball of energy. Ah, gods, but I’m a damned fool!” He put his head in his hands and started wailing.

  “What happened next?” Idrimel asked softly.

  The man looked up at her, and his eyes widened. His face filled with that enraptured look Nera had seen upon many men around Idrimel. “A celestial! Are you here to guide me home to my eternal rest? Will I be with my beloved Catrin there for all eternity?” Tears began streaming down his cheeks.

  Idrimel shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid not, friend. I’m but a simple servant of Sol.”

  Jovas looked around nervously. “I think the Lord of Light has little sway here, lady,” he whispered.

  “How did you end up here? And what became of your wife?” she asked.

  The man shuddered, and his eyes took on a faraway look. “Methinks some evil wizards attempted to summon a fiend! There was some talk of that type of thing, but we never took it seriously—surely must’ve been the talk of those whose wits had been soaked with too much ale. But then we came to that ball of energy—it must’ve been a portal to the Abyss! We stood there looking at it in awe, having never seen such a sight before. Then lo and behold, the portal begins to collapse—but it didn’t just shut, no, it was like a maelstrom which sucked us right inside!”

  Idrimel offered Jovas her waterskin, and the man thanked her and took a long drink.

  After a moment, he continued. “As to my dearest wife—try as I might, I cannot find her anywhere! I’ve been from the whirlpool deep in the heart of the swamps, to the edges of nowhere and every place in between! I’ve been beset by these damned hellhounds at every turn. I manage to evade them for a day or so, then they are right back on my heels again.” He pulled his knees to his chest and wept, muttering something that sounded like “no escaping him.”

  Yosrick nudged Nera. “The tome mentions Cymrych has a great whirlpool spinning at its heart, which never empties of water. It hints that one can escape Cymrych by entering the whirlpool. Perhaps that is the way we shall reach Achronia, and this fella may be able to take us there.”

  She considered Jovas with one eyebrow raised. “Do you think we should trust him? I’m not sure if he has all his wits about him. What of your crow?”

  “I’m not an adept judge of character, Nera, but he hasn’t survived so long without some knowledge of the lands here. As for the crow, it has not returned, which is quite unusual. My spell has worn off, and I’m not certain I can reestablish contact with it. It could have been attacked and destroyed—who’s to say?” The gnome shrugged.

  “Try to regain contact with it. I’m hesitant to trust this one unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Nera patted Yosrick on the shoulder and walked a few paces away from the group, considering their best course of action. She stared across the marshy terrain as far as she could see, but saw no sign of the damnable swamps ending. After a few moments, Malek, Arron, and Wyat approached.

  “Are we lost?” Arron asked bluntly.

  She scowled at her brother. “Course we aren’t lost. We simply have yet to determine the best route to our destination. If one of you louts were leading, then we’d be lost.”

  Arron snickered, and the other two men smiled faintly.

  “I wouldn’t mind some counsel right now, however,” she admitted. “I don’t trust this Jovas… He seems like his wits are addled a bit. Yosrick has lost contact with his bird, and I don’t want to wait around much longer in the hopes that it reappears. There are bound to be more of those hellhounds, and likely much worse.”

  Wyat scratched at his beard nervously. “I hesitate to send any of the boyos out to scout with the gods know what might be out there…”

  “Nay, we stick together,” she replied emphatically then turned to Malek. “What about you? Any ideas?”

  “I can’t help but wonder how Jovas has survived for a fortnight as he claims. He carries no pack or provisions that I can see, unless he has a stash someplace around here. One wouldn’t last long without water and food, not to mention fending off whatever fiends might catch his scent.” He glanced over pointedly at the nearby corpse of a hellhound.

  “Aye, good thinking.” Nera eyed the stranger, who seemed to be opening up to Idrimel.

  “I’ll assign a couple of my men to keep an eye on him,” Wyat said. “If we have to make camp for the night, we’ll triple the watch.”

  “I don’t think we are in any immediate danger, at least from what I could see,” Malek said, likely meaning his second sight. “I was thinking of going up and trying to get a better view of our surroundings.”

  Nera thought back to their night under the stars and the way they had levitated back to camp. “I’ll join you, for lack of better ideas.”

  Idrimel approached them. “I was able to get Jovas to talk some more. He changed his story and now says his wife was captured and is being held by a demon named Xavulak, which rules these parts. He also claims he can lead us to the portal to Achronia, provided we help free his wife.”

  “Free his wife?” Arron asked incredulously. “From the clutches of some powerful demon lord? This is madness.”

  “Do we have a better idea?” the priestess asked coolly.

  The group exchanged uneasy glances.

  “I say we send him on his way and continue on our own,” Arron replied. “Any battle to free this woman will be costly if we can even pull it off. You said yourself, the longer we tarry, the more fiends will be drawn to us.”

  “That is true, but is it wise to rush off without knowing the way?” Idrimel countered.

  “Perhaps we can reconnoiter the situation,” Wyat suggested diplomatically. “If we follow Jovas’s directions, once we get close to this demon’s lair, then I’ll take a couple men and try to get a look at what we’re up against. If it looks feasible, then we can make plans. If not, then we give our new friend the boot.”

  “Arron and I can try to sneak in and free her if it comes down to it,” Nera said, not thrilled by the idea. “Idrimel, try to get more information from him about the way out of Cymrych, particularly what he knows about the whirlpool.”

  Before anyone could reply, a cry from Yosrick drew their attention. “I reestablished contact! Ill news though—the bird has been grounded, likely attacked and damaged. It doesn’t seem to be far from here. Perhaps it can be repaired and returned to service.”

  Nera realized her friends were all waiting on her to make a decision. She muttered a curse under her breath. “Very well, let’s put Wyat’s idea to Jovas, making it clear if the situation is bad, we leave. On the way, we swing by and pick up the bird in the hopes Yosrick can repair it.”

  She expected resistance, but everyone seemed to accept her decision. Wyat pulled a couple of his men aside and gave them instructions to watch Jovas for any signs of treachery.

  A hand on her arm made her whirl in surprise.

  Jovas was clutching at her forearm, face filled with elation. “Thank you, lady, for your aid in rescuing my beloved Catrin! I’ll tell you everything I can about the swamps—aye, that I will.”

  Nera stepped back, pulling away from the man’s grasp. She was unnerved by how easily he had snuck up on her. I’ve got too much on my mind with this damn decision making—let my guard down like that again, and next time I could be dead!

  “Don’t get too thankful yet,” she told him. “I said we’d study the situation before we commit to any type of rescue.”

  “Aye, verily! Once we rescue Catrin, I’ll lead you to the portal anon.”

  “And that’s got something to do with a whirlpool?”

  Jovas looked around as though searching for escape.
He started to shuffle away, muttering something under his breath, but Nera grabbed a handful of his filthy tunic and glared at him. She peeled her lips back to reveal her sharp canine teeth.

  “Look here!” she snapped. “If we’re going to risk our hides to help you, then I want some information in return.”

  His eyes went wide in dismay. “Y-yes, of course! The whirlpool—it’s the portal! I’ve seen fiends entering it before.”

  “And where’s it lead to?”

  Jovas hung his head. “I know not, lady. Only that the passage is one-way.”

  Nera released the cowering man. “Right. I suppose we won’t find out until after we go through it. Which way to this lair where your woman is being held?” She cursed when Jovas pointed back nearly the same direction they had come from. “Looks like we’ll be backtracking. Yosrick, where’s the bird?”

  The gnome indicated a bearing leading down the valley, perpendicular to the way they’d come.

  “Lead the way. Once we find the bird, we’ll circle back and follow Jovas.” She waved for them to follow, and the group began moving, Yosrick in the lead.

  Nera was relieved when Jovas fell back to walk with Idrimel, chattering about some adventure he had been on when he met his wife. Pathetic though the man might be, something about him made her uneasy. Malek was right to question how he had managed to survive on his own for so long. She shook her head and focused on her surroundings, vowing not to be surprised again.

  They traveled down the valley, keeping to the higher ground as much as possible. After about a mile, they veered back into the dense swampland again.

  “Not much farther now,” Yosrick reassured Nera, noting her unease as the twisted trees became denser, the mist thicker in the air.

  Not a sound could be heard, save for their footsteps squelching in the muck, an occasional harsh breath, and the jingle of armor.

  “Hold there!” Jovas suddenly cried.

  Nera flinched at his shrill voice piercing the silence. Malek started beside her, and Wyat had his sword halfway from its scabbard.

  “ʼWare the vapors. They are thick ahead. Circle around on the island to your right,” Jovas said in a stage whisper after suffering their glares of annoyance.

  They moved in the direction he advised, Rand in the lead to ensure they weren’t walking into any sinkholes as Jannik had the prior night. After about a dozen paces, Nera could see Jovas was right—the mist hung thick over the expanse of water to their left. The air burned her throat and nose even from taking shallow breaths. The frothy red water churned and looked as if it were boiling, unleashing the poisonous vapors steadily into the air.

  “It’s near now. Keep an eye out for it,” Yosrick whispered.

  After another twenty or so paces, Nera spotted the broken form of the bird lying on the stony ground. It had apparently been attacked, knocked from the sky and dashed on the rocks below. One of its wings had been torn free, and it was missing several tail feathers.

  “Ah, poor thing.” Yosrick knelt down and gently scooped up the crow. Its remaining wing twitched and made a sickly metallic grinding sound while its eye watched them. Its beak opened and closed, and Nera could’ve sworn it was in pain.

  She found the broken wing in a clump of prickly weeds a short distance away. Endira and Rand were able to recover a couple of the thin metal shards of its tail feathers. Offering them to Yosrick, she noted the sadness on the gnome’s face.

  Almost like losing a faithful companion. She knew it was silly to mourn a construct, but the sight of the mangled bird saddened her. I wonder if someone will be picking up my broken body before this is through, she thought morbidly.

  After trying to manipulate the bird’s broken form for a few minutes, Yosrick shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t repair it—at least not right here. Perhaps if I had some tools…”

  Nera placed her hand on the gnome’s arm sympathetically. “Bring it with us. If we get time, we’ll try to fix it up again.”

  “Aye. It doesn’t look good, though.” He gently wrapped the bird and its pieces in a handkerchief and prepared to tuck it into his pack. As he rummaged around in his pack, a twisting yellow horn that looked like the antler of some bizarre goat-like creature tumbled out.

  Nera picked it up curiously. Runes were carved along the horn in a spiraling pattern. A metal mouthpiece was attached to its base.

  “What’s this do?” she asked.

  Yosrick grinned briefly before taking it and stuffing it back inside his pack. “I’ve been wanting to try that out for a long time, but it will draw a lot of unwanted attention, unfortunately. Makes quite the clamor but could prove useful at some point in our journey.”

  Nera smiled and turned back to the group. Jovas, who had been sitting on the ground, sprang to his feet. He gestured impatiently for them to follow.

  “Come, come! Night will fall soon, and we must find a safer place to bed down.”

  Nera didn’t like the thought of having to camp in the swamp again after the disaster the previous night. “Is there some drier ground nearby?”

  “Yes, yes. Come. Jovas will show you. We aren’t far from Catrin now.”

  They set off with the strange man leading the way. He was remarkably sure-footed, able to pick out a fairly solid pathway through the swamps with relative ease.

  After about an hour, darkness fell rapidly once again. Jovas led them to a large island. “We make camp here, no? It is defensible. We can rest, and then I take you to look at the lair where they hold Catrin.”

  Nera couldn’t argue with the fact that the island looked like an ideal spot to make camp. She felt dead tired, a fact she knew she wasn’t alone in. Fatigue was evident on everyone’s faces, even the stout warriors like Wyat. Only Waresh, with his prodigious dwarven stamina, seemed relatively unfazed. He didn’t waste any time plopping down on the ground and breaking out his rations, however.

  She didn’t relish the thought of stumbling around in the darkness with more of those tentacled monsters out there and realized trying to continue on would do no one any good, weary as they were.

  “Jovas is right,” she said. “Let’s make camp here. Set triple guards.”

  The weary group needed no further urging. Lumley efficiently set up the guard rotation. Arron, Tomlin, and the sergeant himself took positions at the perimeter of camp. Everyone else laid out their bedrolls and ate from their rations.

  After a brief discussion with her friends, they decided to send out a scouting party after about three hours of rest. Nera, Jovas, Arron, Malek, and Wyat would go, it was decided.

  Nera didn’t bother to stifle a yawn as she lay down, washing down a couple pieces of salted meat with some water. Her fears about what lurked in the night were swiftly forgotten as she fell into a deep sleep within moments.

  Chapter 9

  Nera was gripped in the throes of a nightmare. Half-glimpsed shapes loomed in the caustic mist of the swamps, surrounding her and her friends. She knew at any time they would be attacked by the fiends in the mist—tortured and likely eaten.

  “Lin lriiv negi nyii etv ezegit ta’n.”

  The words slithered in her ears like some slimy worm crawling up from the decaying ground. She was distantly aware of something happening, something bad that demanded her attention, but she couldn’t wake up.

  Who spoke those words? They came from nearby—in the camp!

  She looked around but was alone, the mist rolling in thick waves, concealing everything beyond a few paces. She heard the grunts and snorts of the fiends as they sought to take her unawares.

  Who spoke the words? I must waken! Nera tried to rise up out of the nightmare, yet try as she might, she couldn’t wake up. She shuddered with terror, clenching her bedroll tight around her.

  “Waken now! It is vital, child, lest your journey come to an untimely end.”

  The clear voice cut through Nera’s nightmare like a strong gust of wind, sweeping away the mist. She started awake, instinct taking over as she took
stock of the situation.

  She was lying in her bedroll, the camp quiet around her. Rather than sitting up and looking around, she forced herself to remain still, for she knew danger was nearby.

  Peering from beneath half-closed eyelids, she sought to make sense of the menacing shadowy figures crowding around in the gloom. Her heart raced until she realized the shapes in the darkness were the knot of withered trees they were camped amongst. It was still nighttime, their camp dark save for the faint greenish glow emitted by the mist. She could’ve reached out and touched the nearby hump of someone in a bedroll—Idrimel, she remembered.

  Nera fought to keep her breathing steady and focused on her hearing. Loud snores ripped off like a rough-toothed wood saw tearing into a log. She knew they came from the dwarf, most likely. Other, softer snores sounded around the camp. She heard nothing out of the ordinary.

  Then, however, a soft sound came from nearby—a footstep on the spongy ground as someone stealthily moved about the camp. The sound came a few paces behind Nera’s back, for she lay on her side. She stiffened but concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and steady.

  Then the footsteps came again, a soft crunch next to her head, and she felt someone step over her. She instinctively shut her eyelids again as a muddy boot and ragged cuff of someone’s mud-stained breeches filled her vision. She heard heavy breathing and, cracking one eyelid slightly, could see a dark figure leaning over the sleeping form of Idrimel.

  “So beautiful… Such a pity.” The voice was barely a whisper.

  A hand stroked a lock of Idrimel’s platinum hair for a moment. Then came a soft smacking sound as the figure slapped the priestess on the cheek, but she didn’t stir.

  “Good. One last one to check then,” the person muttered.

  The figure pivoted, boot crunching on the ground, and Nera squeezed her eyes shut. She fought to remain still as a cold hand touched her face. The rough-callused hand caressed her cheek and then gave her a stinging slap. Nera could barely resist the urge to leap up and fight, but she forced herself to not react, somehow knowing if she “woke,” that would be the death of her and her companions.