The dragon had left no tracks.
That was Fendor’s first objection.
He stood at the boundary of the ruined country and looked northeast, where the father had pointed. Mist filled the distance. Dead trees rose through it in crooked ranks, and black water reflected a sky that seemed unwilling to brighten.
“We are tracking something that flies.”
Isamu glanced at him.
“Yes.”
“With no tracks.”
“Yes.”
Fendor considered that.
“Excellent.”
Kaylor mounted the pegasus.
“We have a direction.”
“We have northeast.”
“It is a direction.”
“It is one of the better ones.”
Hexen ignored them.
The three farmers were safely on their way home. Marcus would receive his father, brother and uncle alive rather than three bodies. That should have felt like an ending.
Instead the druid stood with his Staff of the Woodlands in one hand and watched gray mist move between trees that had not existed weeks before.
Nothing about the land suggested the threat had ended.
The enormous plant was dead.
The shadow-creatures were dead.
The fog remained.
More important, the farmer had described the corruption arriving behind the flying thing, not before it.
Something had crossed the sky.
The land beneath its passage had changed.
And whatever it had become was still changing.
“We go northeast,” Hexen said.
Fendor sighed.
“I knew that was going to happen.”
They continued.
There was no road now.
The farther they traveled from the place where Marcus’s family had died, the less the country resembled anything natural. Trees stood too close together, their roots buried in stagnant water. Moss covered trunks in heavy sheets. Fallen timber lay across passages where no storm had passed.
Isamu stopped at one of the logs.
Fendor nearly walked into him.
“What?”
Isamu looked down.
“A log.”
“I had noticed.”
Isamu crouched.
It was enormous, thick enough that three men joining hands might not have surrounded it. Something had brought it down long before the surrounding growth looked old enough to explain its presence.
He examined the wood.
Nothing moved except a trail of ants disappearing through a split in the bark.
Fendor watched him.
“Well?”
“Ants.”
“Dangerous?”
Isamu considered.
Then ate one.
Fendor stared.
Hexen continued walking.
“I am going to assume that means no.”
Nethnarel raised the Staff of Power and searched the surrounding trees with magical sight.
The problem was immediately obvious.
They themselves were carrying so much enchantment that subtle magic became difficult to distinguish. Armor, weapons, rings, staves and artifacts made the five heroes shine against the world like a collection of badly concealed beacons.
“Anything?” Kaylor asked.
“Us.”
“That helpful?”
“No.”
Something black crossed between the trees.
Isamu turned.
Too late.
A sphere of darkness rushed through the forest without disturbing branch or fog. It was not a creature so much as a knot of malignant energy, a spinning distortion that struck Isamu, Hexen and Fendor almost simultaneously.
Cold death passed through them.
Fendor staggered.
Hexen’s elemental instincts reacted before thought.
Isamu simply turned toward where the attack had originated.
Nothing stood there.
Kaylor was already moving.
Divine power spread from him in a broad circle.
Not healing.
Defiance.
The Aura of Life expanded around the paladin, weakening the grasp of necrotic forces upon everyone close enough to stand within it.
“Stay near me.”
Fendor looked at the empty forest.
“That may be difficult if whatever is doing this refuses to stand near you.”
Hexen became wind.
His body dissolved into the rushing form of an Air Elemental, leaves and mist spiraling outward as he surged through the dead trees.
Fast enough to find what had fired the black sphere.
Perhaps.
He saw movement.
A figure stood farther within the forest.
Tall.
Feathered.
A hunched avian form clutching a staff.
Its head resembled that of a carrion bird, with a hooked beak and dark eyes too intelligent for an animal.
Hexen tried to mark it with Faerie Fire.
The creature slipped from the light.
Then it looked at him.
There were attacks that wounded flesh.
There were attacks that killed.
What reached Hexen did something more insulting.
It emptied him.
The druid felt a mind touch his own, find every carefully ordered thought, every word, every memory presently available to him—
and shove.
His intelligence collapsed.
Not memory.
Not identity.
The deeper shape of Hexen Brew remained. He knew danger. He knew the others were his people. He knew that the bird-creature was not.
But the mind that had once negotiated with gods, deceived demons, betrayed the Swarm Lord while serving another power and reasoned through impossible magical ruins abruptly became incapable of understanding why any of that was complicated.
The Air Elemental hovered among the trees.
Fendor saw him.
Something about the way Hexen moved had changed.
“Hex?”
Hexen turned.
“Friend.”
Fendor lowered the bow slightly.
“That is technically correct.”
The bird-sorcerer raised its staff.
Isamu had already found it.
He rushed through the trees and struck with the acidic flail. The creature twisted away, but Isamu followed, forcing it from concealment.
Fendor drew the Oathbow.
“There you are.”
Arrows tore through branches.
One struck.
Then another.
The creature screamed and spread its wings.
Nethnarel had remained farther back inside her own answer to the creature’s magic.
A translucent sphere surrounded her.
Globe of Invulnerability.
For perhaps the first time in years she found herself standing inside a magical defense designed specifically to let someone else’s spells fail before they reached her.
She approved immediately.
“You realize,” Fendor called, “the rest of us are outside that.”
“Yes.”
“Just checking.”
The bird-sorcerer answered with green vapor.
It billowed across the battlefield in a poisonous wave.
For an instant the forest disappeared inside it.
Then the vapor thinned.
The heroes remained standing.
Heroes’ Feast.
Hexen’s preparation had already saved them from poison once that day.
Now it did so again.
The bird-creature stared.
Fendor coughed theatrically.
“That seemed expensive.”
Nethnarel pointed through the fading green cloud.
Death magic crossed the distance.
The necrotic force struck the bird-sorcerer squarely and twisted its body backward. Feathers blackened. Its staff nearly fell from one clawed hand.
The creature survived.
Kaylor arrived on the pegasus.
The Hammer of Thunderbolts came down.
Once.
Again.
Divine power followed the second impact.
The bird-sorcerer struck the earth.
It did not rise.
Kaylor looked down at it.
“Not a fiend.”
Fendor lowered the Oathbow.
“You discovered that before or after hitting it with the hammer?”
“During.”
“Efficient.”
The swamp erupted.
A pale body burst from the mud beside Fendor.
It resembled a worm only in the broadest possible sense. Its body was thick enough to crush a horse, segmented beneath translucent slime, with too many eyes clustered around a mouth ringed in teeth.
It looked at Fendor.
Fendor felt something reach toward his thoughts.
A charm.
He felt the magic slide away.
Heroes’ Feast again.
“Hexen,” he called, “your food is having an excellent day.”
The Air Elemental turned.
“Food.”
“Never mind.”
Another worm exploded from the mire.
It struck Isamu and wrapped around him.
The monk disappeared inside coils of pale flesh.
Acid ran from the creature’s skin.
Isamu fought for leverage.
The creature tightened.
Kaylor swept toward him.
The hammer struck the worm.
The thing recoiled but did not release its prey.
Another emerged near Kaylor.
Then another.
Fendor stared across the ruined forest.
“We killed the plant.”
No one answered.
“We killed the shadow things.”
Still nothing.
“And now the ground has worms.”
Nethnarel called from inside the globe, “Would you prefer something else?”
“Yes.”
The newest worm slammed into Kaylor.
Its jaws failed to find him.
Its body did not.
Coils wrapped around dragonborn and armor, dragging him against the creature’s acid-slicked hide.
Kaylor braced.
His strength should have been absurd.
The Hammer of Thunderbolts had made it so.
Yet the creature caught him at the wrong angle and locked down.
Fendor laughed once.
Kaylor looked across the battlefield.
“Something amusing?”
“You can lift nearly anything.”
“Yes.”
“And the worm has you.”
“Yes.”
“I enjoyed that.”
Then another worm grabbed Fendor.
The laughter stopped.
“All right. I withdraw the observation.”
The creature’s coils closed around him.
Acid burned through clothing and along the edges of armor.
Fendor tried to wrench himself free.
Nothing.
Isamu was in worse condition.
The worm crushing him tightened until the world narrowed to pressure and pain. Acid hissed against his body.
His breath left him.
For an instant, Isamu went limp.
Kaylor felt it through the aura.
The divine power surrounding him answered.
Life returned.
Barely.
Isamu’s eyes opened.
The worm had brought him to the edge and discovered that Kaylor had made the edge unusually difficult to cross.
Isamu pulled one arm free.
Then the other.
He twisted through a space that should not have existed and escaped the coils.
He landed in mud on his feet.
Fendor, still trapped, stared at him.
“I hate monks.”
Isamu ran.
Not away from the battle.
Just away from that particular worm.
Nethnarel watched the battlefield deteriorate.
Three enormous worms were thrashing among her friends.
Acid sprayed through dead trees.
Kaylor was trapped.
Fendor was trapped.
Isamu had nearly died.
Hexen was an Air Elemental with the reasoning ability of a confused farm animal.
Nethnarel made a decision.
“Fire.”
Fendor turned his head as much as the coils allowed.
“Where?”
“Everywhere useful.”
She cast Fireball.
Then another.
Then a third.
The magic erupted among the trees in overlapping detonations.
Careful shaping bent flame away from the heroes while allowing it to wash over the worms.
Dead branches became silhouettes against orange-white fire.
One worm collapsed immediately.
The remaining creatures shrieked.
Fendor blinked soot from his eyes.
“You could have mentioned the careful part first.”
“You are alive.”
“Yes.”
“Then it worked.”
Kaylor found leverage.
He forced one arm between himself and the worm.
Then pushed.
The creature’s coils separated.
He dropped to the ground, turned, and hit it with the Hammer of Thunderbolts.
The worm folded around the impact.
The second strike killed it.
Fendor was still trapped.
The creature around him continued chewing.
He could not bring the Vorpal Longsword into a useful arc.
So he stopped trying.
He drew on his own reserves and forced life back into battered flesh while waiting for an opening.
“You know,” he said through clenched teeth, “I preferred the bird.”
Nethnarel was already preparing something else.
Inside the Globe of Invulnerability, she selected one of the surviving worms.
“Let us simplify.”
Polymorph.
The enormous acid-slathered monstrosity vanished.
A slug landed in the mud.
Fendor looked down.
The slug began moving toward his boot.
He stared.
“That seems better.”
Hexen saw the slug.
His damaged mind processed the situation.
Enemy.
Small.
Attack.
The Air Elemental swept forward and struck it.
The slug disappeared.
The gigantic worm returned.
Fendor closed his eyes.
“Hexen.”
The Air Elemental turned happily.
“Friend.”
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
The worm attacked again.
Nethnarel stared at Hexen.
“I am going to remember that after we fix him.”
The last part of the battle became ugly.
No strategy remained elegant once enormous acid worms were wrapped around half the party.
Kaylor smashed into one.
Isamu struck and withdrew, the acidic flail almost perversely appropriate against something already dripping corrosive slime.
Fendor eventually found enough space to bring the Vorpal blade into play.
Nethnarel abandoned the safety of her globe when it ceased being useful and sent Scorching Rays and eldritch force into the melee.
And Hexen—
Hexen attacked whatever he understood to be hostile.
It was not sophisticated.
It was, however, still Hexen Brew wearing the body of an Air Elemental.
Eventually one of those attacks landed hard enough to finish the final worm.
The forest became quiet.
Acid dripped from ruined branches.
Smoke hung beneath the gray fog.
Three enormous bodies lay half-submerged in mud.
Kaylor went directly to Hexen.
The Air Elemental looked at him.
“Friend.”
“Yes.”
Kaylor placed both hands against the swirling form.
“Hold still.”
Hexen attempted to hold still.
For an Air Elemental, this proved conceptually difficult.
Kaylor used Cleansing Touch.
The effect broke.
Thought returned to Hexen with brutal speed.
Language.
Memory.
Reason.
Embarrassment.
He stared at Kaylor.
Then at the dead worms.
Then at Nethnarel.
Nethnarel folded her arms.
“You broke my Polymorph.”
Hexen considered.
“I did?”
“You attacked a slug.”
There was a pause.
Fendor sheathed the Vorpal blade.
“It was a threatening slug.”
Hexen looked at him.
“Thank you.”
“I am helping.”
Kaylor left them and went to Isamu.
The monk looked worse than he behaved.
That was normal.
Kaylor placed a hand against him and poured healing power through the contact until the damage from acid and crushing coils began closing.
Isamu flexed one shoulder.
“Better.”
“You nearly died.”
“Yes.”
“You have more to say about ants than nearly dying.”
“The ants were unusual.”
Fendor looked at Kaylor.
“Do not encourage him.”
They remained in the ruined forest long enough to understand something they had not wanted to understand.
None of the creatures belonged together.
The giant buried plant.
Shadow things that copied themselves.
A carrion-bird sorcerer capable of attacking thought.
Massive many-eyed worms filled with acid.
There was no ecology connecting them.
No shared anatomy.
No single nest.
No army.
The only thing connecting them was where they had appeared.
Beneath the fog.
Behind the dragon.
Kaylor looked northeast.
“How far do we keep doing this?”
Hexen had recovered enough of himself to understand the question.
“As far as it goes.”
Fendor looked at the wounds across his clothing.
“Today?”
No one answered immediately.
They had entered the corrupted land after already fighting through one major battle. Hexen had resurrected three dead men. They had fought the shadow-creatures. Then they had followed the dragon’s direction and encountered another collection of things strong enough to nearly kill Isamu and temporarily destroy Hexen’s mind.
They were powerful.
They were not inexhaustible.
Nethnarel let the Globe of Invulnerability disappear.
“We rest.”
Kaylor did not like it.
That was visible.
But he did not argue.
Fendor’s Helm of Teleportation gave them the simple answer.
The ruined forest vanished.
The Manticore’s Tail returned around them.
Warm wood.
Familiar walls.
A floor that was not trying to dissolve anyone.
Fendor looked around.
“I remain convinced this is the superior environment.”
Hexen sat.
Kaylor removed the Hammer of Thunderbolts and leaned it within reach.
Nethnarel disappeared upstairs.
Isamu found food.
The heroes rested.
By morning they had confirmation that Marcus’s family had returned safely to Oxland.
The story had traveled faster than the men themselves.
Three missing farmers had come home alive after everyone had assumed them dead.
The boy who had gone looking for Hexen Brew had gotten exactly what he asked for.
That should have been good news.
It was.
For perhaps thirty seconds.
Then came the other report.
The fog had grown.
Hexen stopped eating.
“How much?”
The messenger could not say precisely.
Enough that people had noticed.
Enough that land outside the area the heroes had entered yesterday was now beginning to disappear beneath the same gray bank.
Fendor looked around the table.
“I thought we took care of it.”
“We took care of what attacked us,” Nethnarel said.
“That felt extensive.”
“It was not the same thing.”
Hexen was already standing.
The corruption had continued while they slept.
The plant had not created it.
The shadow-creatures had not created it.
The vulture sorcerer had not created it.
The worms had not created it.
All of them were effects.
Things appearing inside the wake of something larger.
Kaylor looked at the Hammer of Thunderbolts.
Then toward the door.
They had been treating the fog like the aftermath of the dragon’s passage.
That was wrong.
Aftermath stayed behind.
This was moving.
The dragon’s shadow was still crossing the land.
And the rot was following it.