Audiobook
Listen to This Chapter
Chapter 21: The Minstrel in the Cage
Chapter 21 — The Minstrel in the Cage
By the third day, Zook had stopped trying to stay dry.
There were battles worth fighting.
That was not one of them.
Rain slipped through the canopy in heavy drops even when the storm weakened. Water ran down the trunks of enormous trees and collected in every hollow. Moss sagged under the weight of it. The ground shifted constantly between mud, shallow water, and patches of earth that looked solid until someone stepped on them.
Usually Jandar.
“Again?”
The human stood ankle-deep in black mud.
Zook looked back.
Jandar stared at the ground around his trapped boot.
His long coat was wet through. His dark hair had flattened beneath the hat he stubbornly refused to remove, and whatever elegance the pirate normally managed had been defeated sometime yesterday.
Zook liked him better this way.
“Lift straight up,” Zook said.
“I am lifting straight up.”
“You’re twisting.”
“I’m adapting.”
“You’re stuck.”
“I’m temporarily attached to the landscape.”
Deacon walked past him.
“Leave the boot.”
Jandar looked offended.
“I like these boots.”
“The swamp does too.”
Xil passed next.
The drow’s pale hair had gone silver-gray with rain. He had tied it back, but strands still clung to the dark skin along his face.
He looked down at Jandar.
“You could remove your foot.”
Jandar stared at him.
“From the boot.”
“That clarification arrived late.”
Vegon laughed.
Jandar pointed toward him.
“You’re next.”
Vegon stopped smiling.
His own cloak had become too wet to keep properly closed, revealing flashes of the fine clothing beneath that no longer looked particularly fine. The high elf had spent the first day trying to protect his notes from the weather.
By the second, he had surrendered several pages to the swamp.
He remained bitter about it.
Zook turned forward again.
Humans and elves made a great deal of noise when they traveled.
Even when they thought they did not.
Boots sucked at mud.
Armor shifted.
Weapons clicked against buckles.
Vegon occasionally walked directly into branches because he was thinking about something else.
Jandar talked.
Always.
Zook had learned to hear past them.
The swamp had its own language.
Water dripping into water.
Insects humming beneath broad leaves.
Bird calls from somewhere high overhead.
Small creatures moving through reeds.
The occasional splash of something larger sliding into a pool before they reached it.
And beneath all of that, changes.
Absences.
Places where the normal sounds stopped.
Those mattered.
Zook raised one hand.
Everyone halted.
Even Jandar, who had finally freed his boot.
Deacon moved up beside him.
“What?”
Zook listened.
Rain.
Water.
A distant bird.
Nothing ahead.
Too much nothing.
He pointed.
“There.”
Deacon followed the gesture.
He probably saw only trees.
Zook saw broken reeds.
A patch of mud pressed flat by something small.
A smear of green against the bark of a cypress.
He crouched.
Three toes.
Webbed.
Small.
Not bird.
“Tracks.”
Deacon lowered his voice.
“Gnolls?”
“No.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Jandar came closer.
“That sounded almost encouraging.”
“It isn’t.”
“Good. I was worried.”
Zook traced one print with a finger.
The foot was wider than his hand but shorter than a human’s.
Another print appeared two feet away.
Then another.
Lots of them.
Vegon leaned over him.
“What made those?”
Zook looked toward the trees.
“Something that walks like a person.”
Jandar considered the track.
“A very small person.”
Zook looked up.
Jandar raised both hands.
“Present company excluded.”
“You’re learning.”
“Slowly.”
Xil studied the green smear on the tree.
“Blood?”
Zook smelled it.
“No.”
Vegon reached toward it.
Xil caught his wrist.
Vegon sighed.
“I was not going to touch it.”
“You were.”
“I was going to examine it.”
“With your hand.”
Vegon looked toward Zook.
Zook shrugged.
“He has you there.”
The green substance smelled bitter.
Plantlike.
But underneath it was something else.
Animal.
Zook stood.
“Something passed through here recently.”
“How recently?” Deacon asked.
“This morning.”
Deacon looked at the sky.
Impossible to tell morning from afternoon beneath the clouds.
“Same direction?”
“Northwest.”
“That’s not our route.”
Zook looked ahead.
“No.”
Jandar smiled.
“Wonderful. We continue northeast and never learn what strange little swamp people made those tracks.”
Then Zook saw the cord.
It was almost invisible against the wet leaves.
Thin vine stretched between two trees at shin height.
Jandar was standing six inches from it.
“Don’t move.”
Jandar froze.
“That phrase has become unpleasant.”
Zook approached.
The vine ran into the brush.
Trap.
Simple.
Effective.
He followed the line with his eyes.
A cluster of sharpened stakes had been tied high among the branches.
If Jandar stepped forward—
Zook looked at him.
“You’d have had a bad day.”
Jandar leaned sideways enough to see the stakes.
“My day was already bad.”
“Worse.”
“That does look worse.”
Deacon scanned the trees.
“We’re being watched.”
Zook had already reached the same conclusion.
The swamp had become silent for a reason.
He could feel eyes on them.
Not one set.
Many.
He stood slowly.
“Probably.”
Jandar drew his rapier.
Vegon began looking upward.
Xil raised his shield.
Zook almost told them not to.
Too late.
A clicking sound came from the trees.
Then another answered from farther left.
The first dart struck Deacon’s shoulder.
He grunted.
The second hit Jandar’s coat and stuck there.
Jandar stared at it.
“Oh.”
Then the forest moved.
They came from above.
Small figures launched from branches and broad leaves, their skin bright against the gray-green swamp.
Green.
Blue.
Yellow.
Frog faces.
Wide mouths.
Large dark eyes.
Some carried tiny bows.
Others held spears.
One landed directly in front of Zook.
They stared at each other.
The creature was only a little taller than he was.
Zook had just enough time to think that was refreshing before it tried to stab him.
He moved sideways.
The spear passed beneath his arm.
Zook struck the shaft with one blade and kicked the creature in the chest.
It hopped backward.
Actually hopped.
“That’s new.”
A second dart struck the tree beside his head.
Deacon shouted.
“Cover!”
There was no cover.
The enemies were everywhere.
Not dozens.
Maybe fifteen.
Enough.
And they used the swamp perfectly.
They leapt between branches.
Disappeared behind hanging moss.
Fired from angles Zook would have chosen himself.
That annoyed him.
Jandar swatted a dart out of the air with his rapier.
“Are these frogs?”
“Yes!” Vegon shouted.
“I wanted confirmation!”
A blue-skinned creature landed on a low branch above Vegon.
Its throat expanded.
Then it spat.
Vegon recoiled.
Whatever struck his sleeve began smoking.
“That is disgusting.”
Xil dragged him sideways before a spear hit where he had been standing.
“Focus.”
“I am focused.”
“You are complaining.”
“They are not mutually exclusive.”
Zook saw movement to the right.
Three of them.
One with darker markings.
Leader.
Maybe.
He started toward it.
Then his left leg went numb.
Zook stumbled.
He looked down.
A tiny dart protruded from his thigh.
“Oh.”
Deacon reached him.
“What?”
“My leg stopped working.”
Deacon stared.
“That seems bad.”
“I thought so.”
Zook pulled the dart free.
His fingers tingled immediately.
“Don’t touch the tips.”
Deacon looked at the dart.
“You just did.”
“Yes.”
“That seems worse.”
“It does.”
The world tilted.
Zook sat down abruptly.
Deacon caught him by the collar before he fell backward into a pool.
“Zook.”
“I’m fine.”
“You can’t stand.”
“I noticed.”
One of the frog-creatures lunged.
Deacon fired one-handed.
The bolt struck it in the chest and threw it backward.
Another came from the left.
Jandar intercepted.
“I leave you alone for ten seconds.”
Zook looked up at him.
“Didn’t need help.”
“You’re sitting in mud.”
“I like mud.”
“That is the least convincing thing you’ve ever said.”
Jandar turned and parried another spear.
Zook tried to move his leg.
Nothing.
Poison.
Fast poison.
Interesting.
Terrible.
But interesting.
Vegon’s magic burst overhead.
Not fire.
Good.
A wave of force ripped through the branches and threw several of the creatures into the water.
One disappeared beneath the surface.
Another surfaced twenty feet away and immediately began climbing a tree.
“They swim too,” Jandar said.
Zook called back, “They’re frogs.”
“I know that now!”
Xil reached Zook.
The cleric dropped to one knee.
“Where?”
Zook showed him the dart wound.
Xil’s fingers pressed against the skin.
Warmth spread through Zook’s leg.
Divine magic felt different from Vegon’s.
Cleaner.
Usually.
Today, for one brief instant, Zook felt something snag.
Xil’s face tightened.
Then the warmth pushed through.
Sensation returned in a painful rush.
Zook gasped.
“Better?”
“My foot is on fire.”
“So yes.”
Zook stood.
His leg held.
“Thank you.”
Xil was already turning toward the next attacker.
“Do not get hit again.”
“That seems reasonable.”
The fight shifted.
Once they understood the darts, they became harder to surprise.
Deacon put his back against a thick tree and began picking targets.
Jandar stayed close enough to interfere with anything trying to reach him.
Vegon used smaller spells now, refusing to risk burning half the swamp.
Xil moved wherever the line weakened.
Zook disappeared into the brush.
That was where he belonged.
The small creatures were quick.
So was he.
One leapt between trees.
Zook followed below.
It landed.
He was already there.
His blade struck the spear from its hands.
The second stopped at its throat.
The creature froze.
Zook hesitated.
Up close, it looked less monstrous.
Frightened.
Young, maybe.
Hard to tell.
Its throat fluttered rapidly.
Zook lowered the blade slightly.
The creature shouted something.
Every frog-person nearby stopped.
Another voice answered.
Then another.
The fighting faltered.
Deacon kept his crossbow raised.
“Zook?”
“I think they’re talking.”
“I gathered that.”
Zook looked at the creature in front of him.
It looked back.
He slowly lowered his sword.
The frog-person backed away.
Nobody attacked.
For several strange seconds, both sides simply stared.
Then something screamed from deeper in the swamp.
Human.
Weak.
The frog-creatures reacted immediately.
Several turned toward the sound.
One clicked sharply.
Another pointed.
Zook looked at Deacon.
“That changes things.”
“Yes.”
Jandar wiped green fluid from his blade.
“I’m beginning to suspect we have found the locals.”
The frog-creatures did not speak Common.
At least none volunteered to.
That made negotiation difficult.
Zook tried pointing.
This worked badly.
Jandar tried speaking louder.
This worked not at all.
Vegon attempted several languages.
Elvish.
Dwarvish.
Draconic.
Something Deacon did not recognize.
The creatures stared.
Xil finally pointed toward the direction of the scream.
Then toward himself.
Then walked two steps.
The nearest frog-person raised its spear.
Xil stopped.
“Progress.”
Jandar nodded.
“Excellent diplomacy.”
A larger green creature emerged from the trees.
It wore a necklace of small bones and strips of dyed cloth.
Leader.
Definitely.
Zook relaxed slightly.
The creature looked over the dead and wounded.
Its throat expanded slowly.
Then it pointed at Zook.
Zook pointed at himself.
“Yes.”
The creature pointed toward the north.
Then made a gesture like bars closing.
Zook understood.
“Cages.”
Deacon looked toward him.
“You got that?”
“Probably.”
Jandar looked impressed.
“I understood none of that.”
“Also probably.”
The leader turned and moved into the trees.
After several steps it looked back.
Waiting.
Zook smiled.
“I think we’re invited.”
Deacon looked around at the armed frogfolk.
“That is one word for it.”
They followed.
The village was almost invisible until they entered it.
Platforms had been built among the trees.
Small huts rested on stilts above the water.
Rope bridges connected some of them.
Others could only be reached by climbing.
Everything blended into the swamp.
Leaves covered roofs.
Vines concealed walkways.
The village could have been fifty feet from the path and they would never have seen it.
Zook liked that.
He also understood exactly why Deacon hated it.
The fighter’s eyes never stopped moving.
Dozens of frogfolk watched from platforms.
Children—or at least smaller ones—peered from behind adults.
Colors varied wildly.
Green.
Blue.
Red.
Orange.
Yellow.
Some wore leather straps.
Others carried bows.
Most carried some kind of weapon.
“Grung,” Vegon whispered.
Zook looked over.
“You know them?”
“I’ve read references.”
Jandar sighed.
“Of course you have.”
“Very little.”
“What kind of references?”
“Mostly accounts from travelers.”
“And?”
Vegon looked around.
“They generally advised avoiding them.”
Jandar glanced at the gathered grung.
“Useful.”
The leader guided them deeper into the settlement.
Then Zook saw the cages.
Metal.
That surprised him.
Everything else in the village came from wood, vine, bone, hide or stone.
The cages did not.
Small iron cages hung from chains beneath one of the largest platforms.
Three were empty.
One was not.
A man lay curled inside.
Jandar stopped.
“Oh.”
The serving woman from the Weary Foot had described Mills as young.
Jandar had probably imagined someone charming.
Zook had imagined someone loud.
The man in the cage looked neither.
Mud covered most of him.
His clothes hung torn and soaked against a thin frame.
Dark hair had plastered itself across his face.
One arm hung through the bars.
The hand was swollen.
Purple veins spread from several punctures in the skin.
Zook approached.
“Mills?”
The man did not move.
Jandar crouched beside the cage.
“Mills.”
One eye opened.
Barely.
The man stared at him.
Then smiled.
“Pretty.”
Jandar frowned.
“What?”
Mills closed his eye.
Jandar looked at Zook.
“I don’t know what that meant.”
Zook studied the prisoner.
“Poison.”
Xil was already moving.
The grung leader blocked him.
Xil stopped.
The leader clicked.
Pointed at Mills.
Then at several colored strips tied around the cage.
Vegon leaned closer.
“Those may indicate ownership.”
Deacon looked at him.
“Ownership.”
“It may be a prisoner system.”
Jandar’s expression hardened.
“I don’t particularly care.”
He reached toward the cage.
Six spears came up.
Deacon caught his arm.
“Not yet.”
“They poisoned him.”
“I can see that.”
“And put him in a cage.”
“I can see that too.”
“Then what exactly are we waiting for?”
“A way to get him out without fighting the whole village.”
Jandar looked around.
There were considerably more grung now.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
Zook approached the leader.
He pointed at Mills.
Then toward the south.
“Ilbus.”
Nothing.
He mimed rowing.
Jandar stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You look ridiculous.”
Zook kept rowing.
The leader watched.
Then another grung began making a movement with both hands.
Paddling.
“Yes!”
Zook pointed at it.
The creature pointed south.
Then at Mills.
Zook nodded rapidly.
The grung started clicking to the others.
Jandar leaned toward Deacon.
“This is somehow working.”
“Be quiet.”
Mills stirred.
His lips moved.
Zook crouched near him.
“What?”
“Song.”
Jandar leaned closer.
“What song?”
Mills opened both eyes.
Neither focused.
“Frogs.”
Then he laughed.
It turned into coughing.
Zook looked at Xil.
“He needs help now.”
Xil nodded.
The grung leader still blocked him.
Zook looked around.
Think.
The cages mattered.
Why capture Mills?
Food?
No.
They would have eaten him already.
Prisoner?
Maybe.
Trespass?
Likely.
Jandar had said Mills took a boat while drunk and went looking for something worth writing a song about.
Zook suddenly suspected he had found it.
He pointed at Mills.
Then mimed drinking.
Jandar stared at him.
Deacon looked away.
The grung leader tilted its head.
Zook staggered theatrically.
He pretended to drink again.
Then walked in a crooked circle.
Several grung began clicking.
One made a strange chirping noise.
Laughter.
Definitely laughter.
Jandar covered his mouth.
“You are very good at this.”
Zook pointed to Mills.
Then mimed falling.
The grung leader looked at the cage.
Then at Mills.
More clicking.
One of the smaller grung hopped forward and imitated Zook’s drunken walk.
The village erupted in chirps.
Even Xil smiled.
Zook pointed at himself.
Then Mills.
Then south.
Home.
The leader watched him.
Finally, it held up three fingers.
Zook looked at Vegon.
“Three what?”
Vegon shook his head.
Jandar whispered, “Gold?”
Zook tried holding up a coin.
The leader slapped it out of his hand.
“Not gold.”
Xil studied the three fingers.
Then the colored strips.
“Three prisoners?”
Deacon looked around.
“There aren’t three.”
The leader pointed toward their packs.
Three.
Then its mouth.
“Oh,” Zook said.
“Food.”
He opened his pack.
The leader immediately pointed.
Zook pulled out dried meat.
The grung recoiled.
Wrong.
Bread?
No.
Fruit?
The reaction changed.
Several watched closely.
Zook held up an apple.
The leader pointed at it.
Then held up three fingers.
Jandar stared.
“We are buying a minstrel for three apples.”
Zook looked at him.
“You have a better plan?”
“I absolutely do not.”
Three apples changed hands.
The cage opened.
Jandar looked almost disappointed.
“That was easier than expected.”
Deacon and Xil pulled Mills free.
The man's legs failed immediately.
They caught him.
Xil lowered him to the platform.
“Zook.”
Zook moved closer.
“What?”
“Look.”
Mills’s skin had become pale beneath the dirt.
Too pale.
His breathing came shallow.
The punctures on his arm were not the only wounds.
Several tiny darts remained embedded in his back.
Different colors stained the skin around each.
Zook’s stomach tightened.
“How many times did they poison him?”
Xil looked at the grung.
“Enough.”
Jandar’s humor vanished.
“Can you fix it?”
Xil did not answer.
He pressed one hand over Mills’s chest.
Light gathered.
Mills arched.
For a second the purple lines along his arm faded.
Then returned.
Xil frowned.
“Again.”
More power.
The magic entered Mills.
Something resisted.
Xil’s jaw clenched.
Zook recognized the look.
The same one Vegon got when magic turned against him.
Xil pulled his hand away.
“No.”
Deacon crouched.
“No what?”
“It is too much.”
Jandar looked at Mills.
“He’s alive.”
“Yes.”
“So fix him.”
“I am trying.”
The sharpness in Xil’s voice stopped everyone.
He closed his eyes.
When he spoke again, the anger had disappeared.
“The poison is not one poison.”
Zook understood.
Different grung.
Different colors.
Different toxins.
“What happens?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Mills opened his eyes.
He looked at Xil.
Then through him.
“Nice moon.”
Xil glanced toward the gray daylight.
“There is no moon.”
“Big one.”
Mills smiled weakly.
Then his eyes closed again.
Jandar looked worried now.
Truly worried.
Zook had not seen that often.
“Can we move him?”
Xil hesitated.
“We may have to.”
The grung let them remain.
For a price.
More fruit.
Some salt.
One small mirror Jandar had been carrying.
He objected strongly to that.
“This is extortion.”
The grung leader admired its reflection.
Zook looked at Jandar.
“You were a pirate.”
“I understand extortion. That’s why I recognize it.”
They made camp on a raised patch of ground just beyond the village.
Not comfortable.
Dry enough.
That was all anyone asked anymore.
Mills drifted in and out.
Sometimes he spoke clearly.
Usually he did not.
Zook sat beside him while Xil rested.
The minstrel opened his eyes.
“You’re small.”
Zook smiled.
“You’re observant.”
“Am I dead?”
“No.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Why?”
“I had a better song for that.”
Zook looked over toward Jandar.
The pirate sat nearby cleaning mud from his boots.
He was listening.
“What were you doing out here?” Zook asked.
Mills frowned.
“Looking.”
“For what?”
“Story.”
Jandar laughed once.
“I understand him.”
Deacon, sharpening a blade nearby, said, “That explains a great deal.”
Mills turned his head toward the sound.
“You're the serious one.”
Deacon stopped sharpening.
Jandar smiled.
“He knows you already.”
Mills looked at Jandar.
“And you're…”
His brow furrowed.
Then he smiled.
“Pretty.”
Jandar stared.
Zook started laughing.
Deacon followed.
Even Xil, eyes closed on the other side of the small fire, made a sound that might have been amusement.
Jandar looked betrayed.
“He is poisoned.”
Mills nodded slowly.
“Very.”
Then he passed out.
Zook laughed harder.
Jandar pointed at him.
“I saved you from frogs.”
“You saved everybody from frogs?”
“I helped.”
“You got hit too.”
“That is irrelevant.”
The laughter faded eventually.
The rain did not.
Zook watched Mills breathe.
Uneven.
But breathing.
He understood injured animals.
Sometimes they survived terrible wounds.
Sometimes they died from something that looked small.
People were not so different.
Xil opened his eyes.
“How is he?”
“Still here.”
The cleric moved closer.
He placed two fingers against Mills’s throat.
“Good.”
“You said the poisons are different.”
“Yes.”
“Can you remove them one at a time?”
“Perhaps.”
“Why haven’t you?”
Xil glanced at the sleeping man.
“Because I do not know what happens if I remove the wrong one first.”
Zook frowned.
“Poisons fight each other?”
“Possibly.”
That seemed unfair.
Xil continued.
“One slows his breathing. Another appears to affect his mind. Another his muscles.”
“And the fourth?”
“I do not know.”
Zook looked at Mills.
“So they might be keeping each other from killing him?”
“They may.”
“And fixing him could kill him.”
“Yes.”
Zook hated magic less when it behaved like magic.
This sounded more like tracking.
Too many signs.
Not enough certainty.
“What do we do?”
Xil looked toward the dark trees.
“We keep him alive until I understand more.”
Zook nodded.
That was enough.
For now.
Mills disappeared just before dawn.
Zook woke because the rain had stopped.
The sudden quiet pulled him from sleep.
He sat up.
Something was wrong.
Deacon was already standing.
“Where’s Mills?”
The blanket beside Xil was empty.
Jandar came awake instantly.
“What?”
Xil stared at the empty ground.
“He was here.”
Zook found the tracks.
Bare feet.
Unsteady.
Leading into the swamp.
“How long?”
Deacon asked.
“Not long.”
Jandar was already pulling on his coat.
“Why would he leave?”
Xil’s expression hardened.
“He may not know he did.”
Zook followed the trail.
It wandered.
Twice it circled back on itself.
Then it straightened.
North.
Not northeast.
Not toward the temple.
North.
Zook stopped.
“What?”
Deacon asked.
“He changed.”
“Changed how?”
“He stopped wandering.”
Zook pointed at the footprints.
“Here.”
The first tracks were uneven.
Dragging.
After this point the stride became longer.
Regular.
Purposeful.
Jandar looked into the trees.
“Maybe he woke up.”
“No.”
Zook crouched.
Mills’s bare foot had landed in sharp gravel.
No hesitation.
No shift in weight.
“He didn’t feel that.”
Xil joined him.
“The poison.”
“Maybe.”
Zook looked north.
Something had changed.
A sound came from the swamp.
Singing.
Faint.
Male.
Jandar went still.
“That’s him.”
They followed.
They found Mills standing waist-deep in black water.
He faced north.
His back was to them.
Rainwater dripped from his hair.
He was singing softly.
Zook could not understand the words.
Perhaps there were none.
“Mills,” Jandar called.
The minstrel continued.
Xil moved forward.
“Do not touch the water.”
Jandar stopped.
“Why?”
Zook saw it.
Ripples.
Not around Mills.
Beyond him.
Something moved beneath the surface.
Large.
Deacon raised his crossbow.
“Mills.”
Still nothing.
Zook circled left along the bank.
The water moved again.
Closer.
Jandar drew his rapier.
“I am going in.”
“No,” Deacon said.
“He’s standing in there.”
“And something else is swimming.”
“That seems like a problem for the thing swimming.”
Deacon stared at him.
Jandar sighed.
“Fine.”
Xil knelt at the water’s edge.
“Mills.”
The song stopped.
Mills slowly turned.
His eyes were open.
Black.
Not dark.
Black.
Zook froze.
Jandar whispered, “That’s new.”
Mills smiled.
Then collapsed.
The water exploded.
A long shape surged upward behind him.
Teeth.
Scales.
A mouth large enough to take a man whole.
Deacon fired.
The bolt struck its jaw.
The creature twisted.
Jandar was already moving.
Of course he was.
He jumped into the water.
Zook swore and followed.
The mud dropped sharply beneath his feet.
Water rose to his chest.
The creature lunged toward Mills.
Jandar reached him first.
He caught the unconscious minstrel beneath one arm.
“Little help!”
Zook grabbed Mills’s coat.
Together they pulled.
The creature came again.
Xil stepped into the water.
Divine light erupted from his hand.
For one heartbeat the swamp became daylight.
The creature recoiled.
Vegon shouted something.
Magic struck the water.
Not lightning.
Thank every god for that.
Force lifted a sheet of black water and slammed it sideways.
The creature disappeared beneath it.
Deacon fired again.
“Move!”
They did.
Jandar and Zook dragged Mills toward shore.
Xil backed with them.
The creature surfaced once more.
Closer.
Too close.
Its jaw opened.
Then stopped.
The water around it became still.
Not naturally.
Completely still.
The creature thrashed.
Could not move forward.
Vegon stood on the bank, both hands raised.
Blood ran from his nose.
“NOW!”
They pulled Mills free.
Xil stumbled onto land.
Vegon released the spell.
The water erupted.
The creature vanished into the swamp.
No one suggested following it.
For several seconds they all lay or sat in the mud.
Jandar breathed heavily.
Zook looked at him.
“Still pretty.”
Jandar stared.
Then laughed.
He laughed until Deacon told him to shut up.
That made it worse.
Mills survived.
Barely.
Xil worked over him as dawn finally reached the swamp.
This time the cleric did something different.
He did not try to remove the poison.
He stabilized what it was doing.
One toxin slowed.
Another strengthened.
A balance.
Fragile.
Ugly.
But Mills’s breathing evened.
The black faded from his eyes.
Zook watched closely.
“That wasn’t the poison making him walk.”
Xil shook his head.
“No.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
Vegon sat nearby holding a cloth beneath his nose.
“That phrase is becoming extremely common.”
Deacon looked north.
“Something called him.”
Jandar stopped laughing.
Zook remembered the footprints.
The moment Mills’s stride changed.
The singing.
The black eyes.
He looked toward the swamp.
“From there.”
“Yes,” Xil said.
Vegon lowered the cloth.
“The temple?”
No one answered.
They did not know.
But all of them thought it.
Zook looked back toward the grung village.
Several small figures watched from the trees.
They had not followed.
Perhaps they knew what lived in the water.
Perhaps they knew what had called Mills.
Perhaps that was why they had kept him in a metal cage.
Zook stood.
“I think the cage was protecting him.”
Jandar looked at him.
The humor left his face.
“That would have been useful to know yesterday.”
Zook nodded.
“Yes.”
Deacon stared toward the village.
“They couldn’t tell us.”
Xil looked at Mills.
“Or they tried.”
That was worse.
Zook thought about the leader pointing.
Three fingers.
The colored strips around the cage.
The poisons.
Perhaps the grung had not simply poisoned Mills because he wandered into their territory.
Perhaps they had been trying to stop something.
He looked at the marks on Mills’s arm again.
Different poisons.
One slowing his body.
One clouding his mind.
One weakening his muscles.
Keeping him alive.
Keeping him still.
Keeping him from hearing whatever called from the north.
Zook felt suddenly cold despite the warm swamp air.
“We need to take him back.”
Deacon shook his head.
“Ilbus is behind us.”
“He’ll die if we carry him into the swamp.”
“He might die if we turn around.”
Xil looked between them.
“He cannot continue with us.”
Jandar stood.
“Then I take him back.”
The answer came too quickly.
Deacon looked at him.
“So you cross the swamp alone?”
“I’ve done worse.”
“That is not an argument.”
“It usually is.”
Zook studied Jandar.
The pirate was soaked.
Covered in mud.
Bleeding from one arm.
His hat was gone.
Probably somewhere in the swamp.
He had not noticed yet.
And he was completely serious.
Xil spoke.
“We do not split.”
Jandar looked toward him.
“We’re not dragging him to a dead warlock’s temple.”
“No.”
“Then?”
Xil looked toward the grung village.
“They kept him alive before.”
Zook understood.
“We leave him with them.”
Jandar’s expression hardened.
“In the cage?”
“If necessary.”
“No.”
Zook stepped closer.
“Jandar.”
“They poisoned him.”
“They stopped him from walking into that water.”
Jandar said nothing.
Zook continued.
“They might have saved his life.”
“That doesn’t mean they knew what they were doing.”
“Neither do we.”
That landed.
Jandar looked toward Mills.
Deacon folded his arms.
“We can pay them to keep him.”
“With what?”
Zook smiled.
“Apples.”
Jandar stared at him.
Then, finally, laughed.
“Fine.”
The grung accepted Mills back.
For six apples.
Jandar accused them of raising prices during emergencies.
The leader seemed pleased.
Xil spent nearly an hour showing one of the grung healers what he had done.
Communication remained difficult.
But poison required fewer words.
The healer understood more than Xil expected.
Perhaps more than he did.
That bothered Xil.
Which Zook enjoyed.
Before they left, the grung leader approached Zook.
It held out a small wooden token.
A frog had been carved into one side.
Three lines marked the other.
Zook took it.
The leader touched the token.
Then pointed toward the village.
“Friend?”
Zook guessed.
The grung clicked.
Maybe.
Good enough.
He tied the token to his pack.
Jandar looked at it.
“Did you just become a swamp prince?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
“Bow.”
“No.”
They left Mills sleeping in the cage.
This time the door remained unlocked.
Xil had insisted.
The grung had allowed it.
Zook looked back once.
Mills lay beneath a dry blanket.
One small blue grung sat beside the cage watching him.
Not guarding.
Watching.
That mattered.
Zook turned north.
The rain started again.
Of course it did.
Deacon pulled up his hood.
Vegon sighed.
Xil said nothing.
Jandar walked three more steps before reaching for his hat.
His hand found empty air.
He stopped.
Zook kept walking.
“No.”
Jandar looked around wildly.
“My hat.”
“No.”
“I lost my hat.”
“Yes.”
“In the water.”
“Probably.”
Jandar turned back.
Deacon caught his shoulder.
“No.”
“That hat has sentimental value.”
“You bought it in Windmarch.”
“That does not prevent sentiment.”
Xil passed them.
“Leave the hat.”
Jandar stared after him.
“This group has no respect for personal property.”
Zook grinned.
For the first time all morning, the swamp felt slightly less oppressive.
Only slightly.
They continued north.
Behind them, a poisoned minstrel slept in an iron cage because a village of frogfolk understood something about his condition that they did not.
Ahead waited the Temple of Orozon.
And somewhere deeper in the Great Swamp, something had called a dying man out of his sleep and made him walk barefoot into black water.
Zook touched the wooden frog tied to his pack.
He had spent his life learning to notice when the forest changed.
When birds stopped calling.
When animals fled.
When tracks turned suddenly in one direction.
The swamp was doing all three.
And every sign pointed north.