The next two days were silent and uneventful If not for the family of rabbits Tasca shot for dinner the second night, the rest of the journey to the base of Mt. Fear would have been completely forgettable. As it turned out, the elf knew a thing or two about finding wild herbs and roasting fresh game. Dinner that night was delicious.
Late morning of the third day brought the party to the wooded area marked on Jozan's map. The looming, jagged top of Mt. Fear towered above the plain. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the circle of clouds lingering around its peak slowly dissipated, showing off the deep chasm between the two wicked points that distinguished this mountain from all others in the land.
At its base, a dense growth of trees formed a ring around the mountain. Unlike other forests, this one grew up out of a fetid, rotting swamp. Tangled brambles intermingled with algae and pools of rotting vegetation. The tree roots didn't plunge into rich, fertile soil to pucker the ground in long, oval mounds. Instead, they reached out like hungry fingers, groping into the graying filth of the swamp, looking like thick, chaotic spiderwebs as they crisscrossed each other in search of food.
Regdar stopped the men at the edge of this sloppy ring.
"Jozan said we'd find the slavers inside this, the Marsh of Haelor." He put his hands on his hips and looked at the dense growth. "If I were evil, I'd definitely find this place homey."
Tasca stepped up beside the fighter. "Listen, Regdar, I know what you say your cleric pal told you, but something doesn't make sense here."
Regdar turned to the elf. "Yeah, Naull's in there-" He pointed to the swamp-"and we're out here."
Tasca nodded while biting his lower hp. "That too." The edges of his lips curled up into an amused smile. "But I meant that if the guys we're looking for are slavers, why would they set up camp in a swamp?" The elf wrinkled his brow. "Not exactly a prime location to do business."
"He's right." Whitman ran his fingers through his long beard. "I've seen slaver caravans. They travel the same routes as the carnivals, and they're not the type to set up camp anywhere for more than a night, maybe two at the most. They're constantly on the go-not real popular in areas where they capture their slaves. But they need people to kidnap and people to sell to. Why would they hole up in forsaken spot like this?"
Regdar nodded. "Remote as it is, this region is still under the protection of Duke Ramas. He's not a man who tolerates slavers. Maybe they're just taking a rest in a place they consider secure."
"Could the cleric have made a mistake?" asked Tasca.
Regdar remained grim. "It wouldn't be the first time. Still, he said he'd been given signs from Pelor." He shrugged. "The god of the sun works in strange ways. It's possible Jozan misunderstood the details but not the intent. Where Pelor's concerned, Jozan knows what he's talking about." The big fighter turned away from his friends and continued walking. "Whatever the case, I'm not going back until I find Naull or I'm convinced she's not here."
The others fell in behind him, skirting the edge of the wooded area, looking for a passable entrance into the tangled swamp.
Whitman sniffed the air. "It reeks."
"That's your upper lip," quipped Tasca.
"Swamp gas," corrected Regdar. He stopped again, peering into the interior. "How do you suppose they got in? The four of us could step tree root to tree root I suppose, but a larger group, especially one with an unwilling hostage, would want a more stable path."
"Maybe Naull went willingly," said Clemf.
Regdar turned and grabbed Clemf by his chestplate, shaking the man.
"Hey now," complained Clemf. "I'm just saying… Let's consider all the possibilities."
Regdar glared for a moment longer, then let him go. "It's not a possibility." His frustration was near the boiling point. The woman he loved might still be alive and captive. He wanted to smash something, kill those who held her hostage, punish whoever kept her from him.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't do anything except look for a needle in a haystack.
But Clemf was right. Regdar wasn't certain of anything, least of all whether Naull was even alive, and his frustration was starting to wear at the edges.
Tasca broke the silence, interrupting the tense moment. "There, just under those hanging vines." The elf pointed to a solid-looking dirt path in the dark interior of the forest, just beyond a large, murky field of water.
Clemf turned away, and Regdar looked to where Tasca pointed.
"I see it," replied the big fighter. "But they'd have to cross the water. Do you think it's shallow enough?"
"There's only one way to find out," replied the elf.
"Yes," interjected Whitman, "but what do you think lives in water like that?"
"Eels," replied Clemf. "Big ones."
Regdar turned to the tattooed human. "Why would you say that?"
Clemf pointed to the water near the far edge.
Regdar turned back. Sure enough, he saw a giant ripple move through the water, pushing away the scum in an S shape.
Whitman was already pulling a coil of rope from his pack. "I'll go first," he said matter-of-factly. "You boys tie off. If one of us falls in, the others can pull him out."
"What if a giant eel gets one of us?" asked Tasca.
"Don't worry," said Whitman with a smile. "If elf flesh tastes as bad as it smells, the eel will spit you back out again." He chuckled as he finished tying the end of the rope around his waist. "Or it'll gag you back up."
Tasca shrugged his shoulders. "He might seem offensive if he weren't short enough to fit inside my boot."
"I'm not short," hollered the dwarf, wading into the grimy water.
Tasca tied off behind Clemf, third in line. "Gets him every time." He laughed and followed the tattooed man into the swamp.
Regdar put his hand on Clemf's shoulder.
"I'm-" started Regdar.
Clemf cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry," he said. "I'd be the same way if my lady were in trouble." He gripped his friend's arm, then waded into the swamp.
Regdar took up the rear, his left hand firmly on the rope around his waist, his right gripping the hilt of his greatsword.
The water was cold, and the muck floating on top smelled like rotten goblin flesh. The bottom of the swamp was squishy, and it made forward movement quite hard. Still, despite the difficulties, the water came up only to the top of Regdar's thigh (right below Whitman's chest), and it seemed the swamp was passable after all.
Whitman made it out the other side and onto dry land without a problem. Clemf followed, then Tasca.
Regdar could feel the bottom sloping upward under his feet when something brushed the back of his leg.
Tasca opened his mouth. Regdar listened to hear what his friend had to say. It sounded like water rushing past his ears. Then Tasca's face disappeared. What was going on? he thought. Fetid swamp water rushed inside his armor, bringing with it the cold and the realization that his feet had been pulled forward from under him.
Landing on his back on the squishy bottom, Regdar looked up into blurry blackness. He reflexively tried to breathe, but the thick water quickly cut off that urge. He had swallowed some through his nose on the way down, and a burning sensation now ran down his nostrils and along the back of his throat. He managed to keep hold of his sword, but it wasn't doing him any good down here.
The creature, presumably an eel, was wrapped around his legs. It continually tightened and loosened its grip. The sensation of being squeezed then released then squeezed again was unsettling, and Regdar struggled against it.
Something squeezed him around his waist. This one was skinnier than whatever trapped his legs, but it pulled with such insistent strength that it lifted him off the bottom. The eel around his legs pulled to his right, and Regdar spun sideways.
Great, he thought, they're fighting over me.
Maneuvering his greatsword as best he could, Regdar twisted the blade and drew it across the eel's flesh. The creature's rubbery hide was tough, however, and the blade's edge slipped right off. The attack apparently angered the beast.
Regdar was yanked through the water. His head breached the surface, and his chest came up into the air. He coughed out a mouthful of foul water as he toppled over. The serpent at his feet pulled him back toward deeper water while the one around his waist pulled him forward.
Shaking the water from his face, Regdar opened his eyes in time to watch the muddy ground come up to greet him. He landed on his chest with a dull thud and a grunt. Immediately, the serpent around his legs strained to pull him back into the water.
"Pull," yelled Clemf.
Regdar looked up.
The human, the elf, and the dwarf leaned back hard on the rope attached to their waists.
Regdar looked down.
The serpent around his middle wasn't a serpent at all but a rope, now with a huge gash where he'd attacked it.
Rolling over, Regdar saw the shiny, black hide of a giant eel wrapped firmly around his legs just above his ankles. He pulled his knees to his chest and swung his sword at his feet. The magical weapon connected with serpent scales and bit deep. A gush of purplish blue blood ran onto the muddy bank.
The pulling at his waist stopped, and Clemf's huge arms wrapped around Regdar's shoulders. To his right, Whitman tumbled into view, coming up on his feet and landing a hammer blow to the back of the serpent. Tasca appeared to the left, cutting into the wound Regdar had inflicted and slicing almost all the way through the creature's body.
The eel recoiled at the assault and loosened its grip on Regdar's legs. Uncoiling, the creature's body slithered over the prone fighter, spinning around and around in a circle like the chains unwinding from a drawbridge. Finally, a pointed tail flashed through the air, and the giant eel swam off into the murky water.
Regdar relaxed his shoulders and dropped back into the mud.
"Are you all right?" Whitman stared him first in one eye, then the other.
Regdar coughed up a bit of thick, black water that dribbled from his hps. "Never better," he said with a burp. Then he rolled over and vomited.
After he finished emptying his stomach, Clemf lifted him to his feet.
"Someone's approaching," murmured Tasca in a loud whisper.
Whitman tumbled into the heavy brush beside the path.
Clemf grabbed Regdar by the back of the arm and shoved him behind a large tree.
Tasca crouched down into a squat, then jumped into the air. He caught a branch nearly three times his height off the ground. Then, swinging his feet, he lifted himself into the canopy of the tree, out of sight.
Not more than a heartbeat later, three black-clad soldiers, all wearing the same spiked scale mail as the men who attacked Duke Ramas's keep, entered the swamp from the plain, following the same path Regdar and his companions had used. Though it had been difficult for Regdar, these men made it look easy, as if they had done it many times before and had no fear of the giant eels.
They passed the hidden comrades without any indication of noticing them.
An arrow sailed out of the treetops and nailed one of the soldiers in the neck, dropping him to his knees.
Whitman somersaulted from the brush, back-flipping to a stop before the stunned soldiers. His hammer barred their path.
Clemf stepped from behind the tree, longsword leveled, blocking their escape back through the swamp.
Regdar stepped into clear view, his ornate longbow pulled taught, an arrow nocked and pointed at the trapped men.
"We can do this the easy way," Regdar chuckled, "or you can make it hard on yourselves."
The black-clad soldiers stood completely still.
"We've come looking for a woman," said Regdar, moving a bit closer. "A wizard named Naull."
The two soldiers still on their feet turned to glare at Regdar with malice in their eyes.
The man on his knees pulled his helm from his head. Tasca's arrow was lodged in the side of his neck, and the wound bled freely. Regdar could see that he would bleed to death before long without aid. The wounded man threw his helmet at Whitman and drew his sword, still on his knees.
"I thought so," said Regdar through gritted teeth. He let his arrow fly. It connected with the kneeling man's ear, knocking him stiffly sideways and pinning his head to the ground.
The other two men drew their swords, then both lunged forward at Whitman. The dwarf bashed away one attack but suffered a cut to the shoulder from the other. Reversing the head of his hammer, he used the momentum from his swing to wind up for another attack. The head of his dwarven-forged weapon collided with a bone-splitting crack against one man's shins. The soldier dropped to a crouch, clutching his obviously broken leg.
Clemf rammed his longsword into the back of the other man's ribcage. The scale mail separated before the sharp point, and the man gasped, arching his spine. The man stumbled away from Clemf's blade on his toes. He ran blindly into Whitman, who refused to give ground.
With a half step forward, Clemf held the man pinned on the end of his blade like a giant bug.
"Drop your sword," he growled, "or I'll saw this blade right down through your guts."
Regdar nocked another arrow. "You've heard of the woman Naull?"
The two black-clad soldiers remained still.
Regdar stepped up and kicked the soldier's broken shin.
The man collapsed to his side, whimpering. His face wrinkled up, and the ridges faded into white as he clinched against the pain.
Clemf twisted his sword, the tip still lodged in the other soldier's back. The man moaned and gripped the hilt of his own sword tighter. Whitman nudged him with his shoulder, pushing him farther onto Clemf's blade.
Regdar kicked the downed man again. "I'm going to keep asking you until you tell me," he said, exaggerating each word and pausing after each one to land another kick.
The standing soldier inhaled deeply, with much pain. Then he lurched forward and slashed with his sword toward Whitman. It was a stroke of defiance-he hadn't the strength remaining to be truly dangerous.
In a blink, however, four men moved.
An arrow launched down from the treetop, slicing into the back of the man’s neck, missing the helm entirely and sinking into the soft flesh below the head.
Clemf lunged forward, twisting his blade with all of his considerable strength.
Whitman jammed his shoulder deeper into the pinned man's gut, shoving him hard onto the sword in his back. The tip of Clemf's blade burst from the man's chest, just above Whitman's head.
A second arrow, fired from ground level at point blank range, slipped through the eye slit in the man’s helm to penetrate midshaft into his eye.
The soldier's sword slipped from his hand and hit the wet ground with a light splash. His limp body followed a moment after.
Regdar dropped his bow and grabbed the remaining soldier by the neckline of his breastplate. Lifting him to his feet, the big fighter shook the man.
"Tell me what you know about Naull."
The man cringed, trying to hold his broken shin. Beads of sweat dribbled down his forehead, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Holding the man up with only one hand, Regdar knocked off his helm with the other.
"Talk to me, you slavemonger."
"Regdar-" started Whitman.
Regdar ignored the dwarf. Bending slightly at the knees, he lifted the captive into the air by his neck.
"I said talk!" He shook the man.
The soldier gurgled. He let go of his leg to claw at Regdar's hands.
"Regdar," shouted Whitman, "he couldn't talk now if he wanted to."
"Oh no?" shouted Regdar, still looking at the man he held more than a foot off the ground. He felt the dwarf's hand on his shoulder.
"You're killing him," insisted Whitman.
The soldier's clawing hands slowed, then dropped limply to his sides.
Regdar shook him one more time, then with a tremendous grunt, hurled the man into the air. The soldier flew backward and landed with a clatter a few feet from his fallen comrades. Regdar doubled over, breathing hard from the exertion. He looked at the tangled mess of a man lying still on the muddy ground.
Clemf bent down and put his fingers to the man's neck, then announced, "He's dead."