Their two sailboats took them into an island of swamp and mist. Right away he saw why it'd never been tamed; there was no obvious harbor and normally anyone trying to row in would get tangled up in mud and roots. Mangrove trees lined the shore, spreading their wide, exposed roots across the shallow water.

Arlen had been told the general area where what passed for their harbor was, but finding it took a tedious extra hour of sailing. Even then he saw only a gap in the wall of roots and mud and sandbars. The layout was so confusing that the boats ran aground twice even with Meadow trying to push with wind and a guard using a water current spell.

"We'll do this the direct way," Arlen announced, and let them stay beached. He began yanking the shallow water up to make a narrow road directly to the island proper.

They all climbed ashore and found awful muddy ground. The Mirefolk probably knew the best stepping stones by heart. Arlen brute-forced his way. He'd become fast enough to do it at a walking pace, reflexively making it a few inches thick and elevated with a lengthwise arch pattern.

A guard said, "They might not appreciate that." The footpath of tan stone gouged through the island's edge. The sun shined dimmer beneath fog and tall trees.

"It'll impress them. If they prefer bare swamp I can undo it." He told the story of a man named Caesar, who'd built an elaborate bridge in view of a hostile tribe just so he could go kick their asses, then dismantled it on the way out.

Deeper inland, the noise drew attention. Snarling, splashing noises drew near. Arlen began raising a barrier.

"Mirefolk," said a keen-eyed guard. Two hunched-over figures with spears appeared in the gloom. The guards had their swords and spears out, but for two men with bows.

A voice called out from near the snarling Mirefolk. "Who goes there? What are you doing?"

Arlen thumped his armored chest. "I am Arlen, war-chief of the isles! I come to tell you of the war's end and the new high chief."

There was muffled talk in the distance. The spearmen came close enough to be seen clearly. Arlen had looked at them in battle and thought of them as berserkers, weirdly hairy and sharp-toothed. These two weren't fighting at the moment, but they had the same feral look. They sniffed and glared at him like attack dogs.

Behind them came a more normal man with only a little of the mutated look. In a raspy voice he said, "Come, then. A feast is starting soon. You will not be harmed, by my word."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Meadow whispered to a guard, "Do they eat people?"

The archer whispered back, "I don't know."

Arlen abandoned his unfinished bunker and continued to sculpt a sturdy road from nothing. The Mirefolk scout said, "A powerful mage. I won't tell you to stop."

"I can do more for you if your people wish it."

They traveled a winding path that made Arlen wonder if he was being made to create a complete highway system. They passed along awful muck, fallen logs, the side of a ravine, and stagnant ponds. The scent of greenery all around competed with a sulfur stink.

More Mirefolk appeared, shadowing them. These mutants splashed along or hid in the branches so that Arlen feared a pounce from above. The guide led everyone along in peace to a kind of rice paddy where rows and rows of cattail-like plants grew. Drums pounded somewhere ahead.

"No road here," the guide said. "You'll ruin the crops."

Reluctantly, Arlen made his street ramp down into nothing and lowered himself into the water. It had the look of tea. Tiny fish swam in it and he made a note to check for leeches.

He and the rest waded through the field, feeling the ground squish underfoot. Finally there was a boardwalk to climb up on. And there, the drums still beat and something was roaring.

The Mirefolk had a village raised on boards, and a sturdy ring where a beast was being tormented. Fire occupied the center. The animal looked like a boar or a small bear. It crashed into the walls, unable to escape, and remaining just a few steps from getting burned. The swamp dwellers jeered. Suddenly a man jumped down into the pit with a club. Arlen watched aghast as it turned toward him and lowered the long horn on its forehead to charge and stab him. The fighter leaped over the fire, drawing a gasp from his audience, then whacked the monster's side with his club. A second later he was skittering along the wall to haul himself up and barely out of the way of being stabbed or trampled.

A council of elders were drinking together, wrapped in blankets. Arlen's guide went over to explain this group of outsiders and warn of Arlen's magic.

The council argued quietly. Then an old lady said, "Show us who you are, war-chief. Take a turn with the beast. No magic."

A younger man said, "He looks too scrawny."

The one who'd just counted coup offered Arlen his club and grinned. "Well? I want to see."

Arlen tried to show no reaction but his new tail was twitchy. He put down his sword and shield, and took the club. Only had to land one hit, and he could heal. The boar-thing thrashed and tried to climb out but couldn't get traction. Arlen circled to the ring's opposite side, then hopped down and landed in a crouch.

It squealed and turned to get at him. He fled around the ring. It feinted. Smoke blew in Arlen's eyes. The pit concentrated the fire's heat. In the moment he'd looked away the creature charged. Arlen threw himself against the wall and got slammed aside, dropping his club. He yelped and fumbled to pick the thing up but tripped over a hot coal. The boar was coming around again. He grabbed the club and yelled as the horn aimed straight for him. He tried to grab it. Push it aside. He got shoved back instead but at least went un-stabbed. He flailed with his other hand and smacked it on the rump for a weak hit. Good enough! Arlen grabbed the ring's edge and hauled. The boar was coming around again. He got highly motivated. Up and over! He sprawled on the platform, breathing hard.

The Mirefolk laughed. Somebody said, "You dropped the club!"

Arlen made a rude gesture.