CHAPTER 21

No matter how far or how long one walks the

path of knowledge, the temptation of power

stalks them, seeking to leap out and devour

them when they least expect it.

—Sagarin Vonal, dwarven wizard king

Reigned 670 BV–500 BV

Cadrissa’s chest heaved. Cold sweat poured down her forehead as she hurriedly sought refuge. Fear chased her down the halls she’d been running through for what seemed like hours, hounding her every step. But it wasn’t just the fear nipping at her ankles . . . It was something else—someone else. She never dared look back, but she knew something was there and it was getting closer, and when it did . . .

She found an open door to her left and ducked inside. Slamming it shut, she did her best to latch it, then rested her back against it for added measure. Alone in the dark room, she tried recovering her strength. After so long a chase, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep standing. She prayed the door would hold and allow her some peace, even for just a little while.

She felt a chill seep in from the thick wood at her back and slide up her ankles. An icy mist passed through the door and seemed to melt right into her bones. Shivering, she backed away from the door. As the moments passed, an azure light manifested, tracing the door’s outline . . . and then the individual planks composing it. The light grew more intense, eating away at the wood. Cadrissa backed up further but knew it was no use. She was trapped.

As more of the doorway was dissolved by the azure light, a black mist poured into the room. It seemed alive, eagerly reaching out for her as she continued inching backward. Finally, the door faded away altogether, leaving her completely exposed. The bright light dimmed, separating into two small azure flames floating in the midst of the swirling dark mist. As the tongues of flame came closer, she realized they were flickering inside the empty sockets of an evil-looking skull.

“Cadrissa . . .”

Cadrissa woke with a start, bolting up from her makeshift bed like a freshly triggered trap. For a moment, something blazed in her memory like a white-hot iron yanked from the fire. It was important. She had to remember something. There was something she had to do. But what? In the ensuing heartbeats, that brilliant, urgent memory faded until she was left staring blankly around the camp with only the sounds of chirping crickets and the crackling fire rising over the swaying grass.

Once she’d gotten her bearings, she found herself staring at Dugan, who was eyeing her. “Just a bad dream,” she explained. Though why she thought he’d be interested, she had no idea. He was sitting exactly opposite her, the fire between them—the lone sentinel watching as they slept. To her right were Gilban and Alara. On her left lay Vinder and Rowan. All slumbered soundly in their trampled-grass beds.

The horses were resting just on the edge of the fire’s light, having taken their fill of grass before tomorrow’s journey into the Marshes of Gondad. The grasses had nearly been taller than horse and rider when they’d first set out but had become shorter as the ground grew more moist and the air more humid. The journey thus far had been a safe and easy one. Of course, they weren’t traveling in the marsh yet—which would have its own unique challenges. She was glad she wasn’t lugging any extra weight and was enjoying the benefits of having the horses for as long as she could.

“Must be boring keeping watch all the time.” She decided to strike up a conversation instead of letting the silence grow any more awkward.

“Boring can be good.”

“Still. It must be hard trying to stay awake.”

“Not really.” Dugan poked the fire with the same stick he’d been using for the last four nights. “I’ll get enough sleep once Vinder takes next watch.”

“I’ve noticed Alara doesn’t have Rowan joining you.” She took in the knight with a casual gaze. He was close enough to the fire for light and warmth but far enough from the rest to allow a sense of independence.

“Or you.” Dugan’s reply brought a flash of crimson to her cheeks.

“I-I’d do it if asked. It’s just—”

“You don’t trust him.” Dugan remained focused on the fire.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.” Cadrissa sought for the right amount of shade to cover over the naked truth. “I’m just not sure why he’s traveling with us. Frankly, I’m surprised he came along at all after the argument in the inn.” She found her gaze drifting over Dugan’s strong shoulders as she spoke, following them down the contours of his body. Though he was wearing his tunic it wasn’t hard seeing things through it. He’d shed his mail shirt in the evenings, claiming it helped with his sleep—and apparently in keeping watch too.

“So why don’t you trust him?”

“He isn’t really part of this expedition.”

He lifted his eyes from the fire. “Gilban seems to think so.”

“Yes, but when I was hired, he wasn’t part of the equation. Now here he is.” She assumed Dugan’s silence was a less-than-favorable appraisal of her thoughts. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he’ll do fine—especially if Gilban thinks so. He seems a little different is all.”

“You told me about the gods on the boat.” There was a rather strong intensity to his stare as he spoke, making her all the more self-conscious. “What do you know about Saredhel?”

“Not a whole lot,” she said, seeking escape from his deep, probing eyes. “You’d probably do better talking with Gilban.”

“Still,” Dugan softly probed, “what do you know?”

“She’s a goddess of prophecy and helps people see the future.”

“Does she ever appear to people herself?”

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure how to take Dugan’s sudden theological inquiries. “I suppose she does.”

“Maybe like a collection of white light . . . or a swirling of black tentacles.”

Now she was really lost. “I-I wouldn’t know. I haven’t really given the topic much study. My focus has been in other areas of late.”

Dugan nodded and resumed his prodding of the fire. Cadrissa didn’t know what else to do or say and so simply watched and waited until finally his eyes found hers again.

“So no other gods can see the future?”

“Not that I’m aware of, no.”

“So you think Gilban knows more than he’s letting on?”

“Weren’t you the one just accusing me of not trusting people?”

“Yeah.” Dugan’s grin was as disarming as it was simple and went a long way in dispelling Cadrissa’s former unease.

“I never really know how to read Gilban,” she confessed, “but I trust Alara.”

Dugan nodded, looking heavenward for a moment.

“The Two Lovers,” Cadrissa mused aloud.

“What?”

“The Warrior contends with the Two Lovers,” she explained, pointing out the constellations. “See, that’s the Warrior,” she said, indicating a group of stars forming the outline of an armored man with shield and sword at the ready. “It’s rising now in keeping with the ending of Endaris and the start of Sharealia. And there are the Two Lovers.” Cadrissa pointed out the other constellation, a young couple locked in a passionate embrace. The Warrior had the appearance of moving toward them, as if seeking to pry one from the other. “You can’t have summer without them.”

“You really do keep your head in the clouds,” Dugan teased.

“I’m just eager to learn what I can while I can. You’d be surprised how knowing your constellations—and other astronomical information—can help when it comes to studying history and even magic.”

“Stars affect magic?”

“There isn’t a direct link, but they’re helpful in dating things and keeping records. Since magic is also woven into the fabric of history, it’s a good gauge to have. Sometimes the dates might not always match up. I’m sorry,” she said, feeling a fresh wave of crimson rise up her neck and face. “I don’t mean to bore you. Here you are trying to stay awake and I start rattling off all these—”

“You’re not boring me.”

“Oh . . . okay.”

“I overheard you and Vinder talking about wizard kings on the ship.” She braced herself with a small sigh as Dugan dug back into the encounter. “What was that all about?”

“He was just letting me know he doesn’t like them.”

“Why not?”

“When you start dominating the world and brag about being more powerful than the gods, it tends to ruffle some people’s feathers.”

“Were they more powerful than the gods?”

“Some came pretty close, if you can believe the texts. Of course that was right before the Divine Vindication—before they were wiped off the planet.”

“What about today? Are there any strong wizards out there?”

“As strong as the wizard kings?” Cadrissa half laughed. “No, not even close. We’ve only now just started to come back to a greater understanding of magic. To reach those heights you’d have to pray you were lucky enough to come across some lost texts or artifacts.

“Of course,” she added, “not a lot of mages are too faithful in their prayers.”

“Not many gladiators are either.” Dugan returned to his fire gazing. “Especially if they already know the answer.” She didn’t know how to take the comment so thought it best to let things rest for the night. She still needed some sleep, and she didn’t want to pester Dugan any more than she had already.

“Well, I probably should get some more rest,” she said, lying again on her simple bed. “We’ll have a fun day in the marshes tomorrow, I’m sure.” Dugan remained silent, keeping his eyes and thoughts locked on the crackling flames. As she closed her eyes, slumber quickly enfolded her in its embrace.

“Walking can’t be much slower than this,” Alara heard Dugan say as he pulled on the reins of his cordovan steed, preventing it from stepping into one of the many pools of sucking mud covering the Marshes of Gondad. On top of the difficult terrain, the rotten stench permeating everything was only getting worse, increasingly souring her stomach. The animals were constantly sinking into the muck, their slender legs forced into the mire by their heavy bodies and the weight of the group’s supplies. And then there were the mosquitoes vexing both horses and riders morning and night.

“We can hold out a little longer.” Alara rode about five paces ahead of the Telborian. She, like him, had shed her cloak. The current terrain and climate had made it more burden than boon.

Gilban’s hands rested around her waist as he rode behind her. His robes had changed to a dismal brown over their journey, and his head sprouted some white stubble, but otherwise he didn’t seem any the worse for wear. Nor did any of the others, who were taking it all in stride. She prayed it would be the same throughout the rest of their journey. “When we get to more challenging terrain you’ll see what a blessing these horses will be.”

“More challenging terrain?” Vinder joined the conversation. “These beasts won’t last a few more feet at their current rate.” Most dwarves didn’t ride horses—she wasn’t sure he even knew how to ride one—but Vinder had done well in the grasslands and now in the marshes. Of course this might have something to do with him having to share his horse with Dugan, who was actually controlling the animal. Vinder was just along for the ride. Surprisingly, he didn’t make much of an issue of it when she first presented him with the news, nor had he since. He was probably too busy trying to hang on as they rode.

They’d been in the marsh for two days following their four-day journey from Elandor. This gallop through the grasslands between Elandor and the Marshes of Gondad had been uneventful but trying for many of the mercenaries, who grew impatient with the apparently endless prairie leading up to the marshes. To gain as much time as they could, they’d pushed their mounts hard, allowing them limited rest until the marshes came into view on the end of the fourth day. Only then did they allow the beasts to walk; galloping through the soupy mess would have proven disastrous for both horse and rider. Since then, the marshes had become more wild, expansive, and fetid by the hour.

“How are you holding up?” Dugan called back to Vinder. Alara could clearly see both were uncomfortable with the extra layers their armor provided, but neither would discard it.

“Don’t worry about me,” Vinder gruffly returned. “I can handle myself.” The dwarf grunted, catching himself on the horse’s haunches as it slipped into yet another pool of muck.

“I want to apologize,” Alara said over her shoulder, keeping her voice loud enough for Gilban’s ears alone.

“For what?”

“I’ve been going over what happened back at the Mangy Griffin—with those men—these last few days. I shouldn’t have been so quick to act. If I had stopped and thought things through I would have seen the odds weren’t really in my favor and—”

“You did nothing wrong.” There was no judgment, just his normal measured response.

“But I could have ended up causing some serious trouble—to everyone. And you were just sitting there on that bench and if—”

“You did what you were supposed to do,” he continued. “You got Rowan’s attention.”

“And those guards too,” she added.

“Who were dealt with, remember. No, everything is working out well. And you did well. Those men chose their own fate and were responsible for their own actions. As we all are.”

“So they were fated to die?” She didn’t know if she liked that idea, or even speaking it aloud. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying you did what was in your nature to do—you acted from your heart, and that’s good. You were true to who you are. And truly good leaders have to lead with both their hearts and heads, the two complementing each other. If one dominates the other, things quickly go askew.”

“So all that was just for Rowan’s sake?” she asked, carefully swimming through the logic.

“And was it much different when finding Dugan?”

“It’s just—I don’t know. I just didn’t envision all of this being so chaotic.”

“Free will can do that to the best of plans.” She could hear the smile in Gilban’s voice.

Rowan glanced back, his eye catching Alara’s before snapping his attention elsewhere. He’d been acting skittish around her since joining the group. He couldn’t still be holding a grudge about taking the trip through the marshes, could he? He might not have been the most open and trusting when they first met, but now he was withdrawn, growing more distant and cold by the day. He’d yet to speak to her since they’d left the inn, and it troubled her. “Often it’s the silent traveler who poses the greatest threat,” an old Patrician saying went, and Alara couldn’t agree more, especially since she’d begun noticing him staring at her almost constantly over the last few days. Staring but never saying anything.

“I’m also worried about Rowan,” she confided in Gilban. “He’s starting to act a little odd.”

“It’s the least expected place where the greatest of surprises arise,” came his reply.

“What sort of surprises, though?”

“What kind do you expect?”

“If I had a choice, only good ones.”

“Then keep your focus there. People have a tendency to rise to your level of expectation.” A brief moment of silence followed before Gilban asked, “Is there something else troubling you?”

“It’s nice to have another sword for our cause, but what do we really know about him and his knighthood?”

“I understand your fears, but the only way to solve your dilemma is to ask him. Otherwise your worry will eat away at your judgment, making you mistrust all those around you.”

“Why can’t you ask him?” She fought for balance as the horse uprooted itself from a particularly muddy spot. “You’re the leader of this group.”

“Am I?”

She twisted fully around, making sure she stared him right in the face—though what good it did she had no idea. “You’re the one who got us all together and who had this vision in the first place. It’s your lead I’m following.”

“But you are the one who leads them. And remember—I’m a priest of another god from a different race. He’s also been taught that humans are his chief concern. No, it’s far better if you converse with him.”

“But I’m not human, either.”

“But you’re more pleasing on the eye.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She gripped the reins as the horse plodded through another rough patch.

“Nothing.” Gilban quickly hid his smile. “Unless you wish it to mean something.”

She hated not getting a clear answer when she needed it . . . which was just about all the time now since finding the others. Sometimes she wondered if he was doing this on purpose—as if it was some sort of game he enjoyed playing.

“If it will help, I can tell you how you and he have a destiny together—a future that will be made evident soon enough. The choice is still yours—but know what you do now will affect the outcome. Nothing in this world is free.”

“We have a destiny together?” Swinging back around again, she asked, “Beyond this journey or just now?”

“That, again, is up to you.” Gilban stared blankly ahead, making her ponder anew what good there was in facing him.

“Why even bring something up if you aren’t willing to clarify it further?” She turned away with a huff.

“Faith and patience. Stay patient and keep your faith. It will all be made clear soon enough.”

Knowing that was all she was going to get, Alara focused back on the marshes, noticing the muddy waters now reached her horse’s knees. It was about time to dismount. As if on cue, Cadrissa’s voice called from the back of the group as the mage splashed about in the water. The second to last in their number, she’d dismounted to help her horse out of the muck in which it’d become mired.

“It looks like horse and rider part here,” Alara said, addressing the others as she dismounted and stretched out her hand to aid Gilban’s descent. “Take it slow. We don’t want to waste time fishing you out of a sinkhole.”

Dugan offered Vinder a hand, who scowled at the gesture. “I can take care of myself.”

“All right.” Dugan waded to the front of the horse, his feet sinking into the mud just short of his knees. He picked up the reins and gave the horse a pull, urging the beast onward. The jolt rocked Vinder, who’d been climbing down from the horse, causing him to fall into the mud with a loud splash. Dugan rushed to Vinder’s half-submerged body. He barely suppressed his laughter at the sight of the mud-caked warrior rising from the muck. “Need any help?”

“No.” Vinder brushed away Dugan’s offer with a muddy hand and attempted to pry himself out of the miry sea by placing his hands on the amorphous ground in front of him. Using them for leverage, he began pulling himself free, but instead found himself sinking face first into the brackish water—the marshy soil pulling his hands deeper the more he tugged in the opposite direction.

“Wo—” was all he could say before his head was swallowed in a covering of brown bubbles. Dugan reached down and retrieved the sodden dwarf with ease.

Vinder spat out a mouthful of mud followed by a series of coughs.

“I think it’d be safer if you rode the horse until we reached drier ground.” Dugan began directing the muck-covered warrior in the animal’s direction.

“I’ll do no such thing!” Vinder huffed, crossing his muddied arms in defiance.

“Vinder, you’d be much safer if you stayed on the horse,” Alara added with as much decorum as she could muster.

“She’s right.” Cadrissa spoke from behind the company. She held her golden robe above her pale knees, revealing the tall black boots just below them. “It’ll be better for everyone.”

“Not for me it won’t,” Vinder grumbled.

“We’ll need someone fresh should anything come our way,” Rowan said, advancing on the dwarf, his own horse in tow. “And from horseback you’ll be able to provide a lookout.”

“Well, that makes sense.” Vinder wiped more of the mud off his embroidered patch and beard. “You go on ahead then, and I’ll bail you out if you need it.”

“All right. Let’s move on.” Alara smiled her thanks at the young Nordican. Rowan seemed startled by the action, as if he was unsure of how to respond, and instead grabbed his reins and continued trudging through the muck.

As the rest of the group moved on, Cadrissa tried keeping up with the pace. She pressed slowly through the thick brown water with the soiled hem of her golden robe draped over her right arm, thankful her legs weren’t completely naked. Suddenly she found herself tugging on the reins of her mare, which had stopped short without any apparent cause. No matter how hard she pulled, the horse wouldn’t budge. It began neighing and became agitated, growing more defiant as she tugged.

“Come on, you stupid beast!”

“What’s wrong?” Dugan asked, bringing his own horse to a halt beside her.

“This nag doesn’t want to cooperate.” Cadrissa wiped a tangle of sweaty locks from her forehead in frustration.

“Tug on its reins. Show it who’s boss.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Besides, it’s easy for you to say. You’re as strong as a giant!”

Cadrissa continued pulling vainly on the reins, dropping her robes into the murky waters in the process. “I’m pulling, so I’m the boss,” she informed the horse, who whinnied in response and leaned against Cadrissa’s struggling attempts at gaining control. She watched the others wade onward and pretended to be winning the struggle, hoping maybe if she acted like she was, the horse would believe her.

“Look,” she said sternly and stared the horse in the eye. “I’m the one in charge here, and I say we move forward!” The horse responded by giving a powerful yank of its own, causing Cadrissa to lose her footing and fall into the watery mud. She spat and spattered while glaring up at the troublesome animal.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but we can do this the hard way or the easy way. The choice is up to you. I am a mage, you know.” The horse paid her little heed as she pushed up her sleeves, preparing to cast a spell. As she did, she took a step back and tripped, falling once more into the muddy soup.

Something broke her fall. It felt like a slightly rotten log that kept her from sinking too far in the miry mess. Then she felt it move and shoot up after her as she struggled to stand. Suddenly, a pale, outstretched hand emerged from the mud, its decomposing fingers revealing the sharp bone underneath like some horrid claw.

Cadrissa screamed.

Still in fright’s grip, she only barely registered Dugan rapidly wading her way, the others fast on his heels. Only Vinder and Gilban remained behind.

“What is it?” asked Dugan.

She said nothing, only pointed at the hand attached to a floating corpse, which was joined by two more bodies that had bobbed to the surface.

Dugan stepped closer for an examination.

“They’re elves!” Rowan declared in disbelief.

“Elves?” Vinder was equally surprised and dismounted before carefully sloshing through the thigh-high water.

“They died in fear.” Dugan prodded the bodies with his sword. “Look at their faces.”

Cadrissa gave in to the suggestion and then quickly wished she hadn’t. The flesh that remained was discolored and full of rot, worms, and insects—all of which had taken their grisly toll. She quickly sought something more pleasant lest she lose the meager meal she’d taken that morning.

“They look like soldiers,” said Rowan.

“They are,” Dugan added. “I’ve seen enough to know.”

“Elven soldiers?” Cadrissa intently considered the others, avoiding the corpses between them. “If they’ve made it this far then they’ve probably beaten us to the ruins.”

“No.” Gilban’s voice arose from behind them. “Not yet.”

Alara neared the bodies, falchion in hand. “But if they’re ahead of us we have some catching up to do.”

“Not if this is what’s left of most of their force.” She yielded to her curiosity once more just in time to see Dugan move one of the corpses with the tip of his gladius. The whole bottom portion of the elf had been ripped away like parchment. Jagged edges of flesh and broken bone were covered in slime and maggots busying themselves inside the torn flesh. She snapped away from the sight before her stomach could fully turn over.

“Are those bite marks?” Rowan leaned in for a closer look.

“Looks like it, and big ones too.” Vinder stroked some more half-dried mud from his beard as he joined them.

“My reading did speak of drakes that lived here,” Cadrissa meekly offered.

“Drakes . . .” the dwarf pondered. “They’re almost as bad as dragons.” While Cadrissa had never seen an actual drake in person, nor a dragon for that matter, she didn’t really think there was any comparison between the two. Drakes and dragons were both large and reptilian, yes, and might have shared some aspects in their build, but drakes were more bestial in a way—more a common animal. Dragons, however, were quite another thing altogether, with stories having some of them even capable of not only understanding speech but able to speak themselves.

“Do you think it is from a lizard?” Alara sloshed closer to Dugan.

“If it was, then he carried a club.” Cadrissa peeked just enough to see Dugan point with his sword at a partially decayed skull on one of the bodies. Its bone structure looked normal enough except for a large indentation in the back where it had shattered inward at the force of some impact.

“I’ll get Gilban.” Alara started his way, but her arm was caught in Dugan’s strong grip.

“A blind man can’t help us here.”

“He can help us by divining their fate.” She pulled free from his grip.

“So they were beaten and bitten to death?” Cadrissa glanced nervously about, being sure her eyes never again fell on the bodies. Now open to the air, their rising stench added a whole new dimension to the marsh’s putridity.

“Sort of looks familiar.” Dugan’s attention remained focused on the corpses.

“Familiar how?” asked Vinder.

“There were these big ugly things we fought in the arena that looked like a cross between a lizard and a man. Everyone just called them lizardmen.”

“That’s original,” said the dwarf.

Rowan drew his sword. “How often do they attack?”

“Don’t know. Whenever they’re hungry, I guess. In the arena they often ate whatever—or whoever—they killed. But these elves are only half eaten.”

“So what are you implying?” Cadrissa didn’t like the conclusions being drawn. “That they didn’t finish their meal and are letting these marinate or some such thing for later?”

“Maybe.”

“Either that, or they didn’t like the taste of elf.” Rowan swept the surrounding terrain with cautious eyes.

“You think they’re coming back?” Cadrissa started slowly making her way away from the bodies and the dark picture taking shape in her mind.

“Don’t know.” Dugan joined Rowan in his survey. “But they fight like men possessed.”

“Dugan’s correct in his assessment,” Gilban informed them as Alara guided him to the bodies. His eyes were closed and his face was a wrinkled mask of concentration as his voice dropped to a monotone rhythm. “They were here several weeks ago. Lizardmen hid in the mud, laying traps for their victims. They designed a sinkhole . . . It captured these elves . . . The elves were not aware of the attack . . . They were set upon by the beasts and torn asunder . . .

“Blessed Saredhel!” Gilban suddenly exclaimed. “They used these dead bodies as a lure! They’re here and waiting for us! We’ve stepped into a trap!”

Cadrissa cringed while the others readied their weapons and wills.

“I don’t see anything.” Rowan kept scanning the marsh.

“They’re out there,” Alara replied grimly. “I’d stake my life on it.”

“You just might do that!” Vinder idly smacked the butt of his axe in the palm of his hand.

“I should have just the spell—ouch!” Cadrissa felt a pinch on her neck, not unlike the mosquitoes that had been plaguing her throughout the trip. This time, however, there was a burning tingling to the bite.

She felt dizzy . . .