“Three more to the left,” Gregor screamed and his sword sliced another black fiend into two bloody chunks. The bat-like creature had swooped down, trying to devour his face. Even in death, their claws kept trying to grab him.
“One left,” cried Tanadon, as his blue and silver feathered arrow skewered two creatures in mid-flight. They fell at the edge of the rutted island path.
A warrior, whose name Gregor didn’t remember, screamed as the final one landed on the edge of his shield, then launched itself into his unprotected face. He screamed in agony as he fell backwards off his horse. The short black furred creature had three rings of razor-sharp teeth in its gaping maw, and all of them were ripping and chewing his face into bloody ribbons under his open-faced helmet.
Another of the foul creatures came into view on Gregor’s right. Its flight arrowed at the old priest he was protecting. Before Gregor could respond, the priest chanted three words that didn’t want to register in Gregor’s mind, and snapped his prayer beads at it. They hit, causing it to shrivel and disintegrate in midair.
Okston’s maul crushed the creature and what it had left of the screaming warrior’s face, ending his suffering and leaving the wagon track in silence. These things were the size of a small buckler, but half their body was a razor fanged mouth that ripped through leather and left scratches in steel. Gregor didn’t know what they were, but hoped there was no more waiting for them in the swamp. The stench of blood and death filled the silent clearing, overpowering the rotting smell of the swamp, which encircled their island pathway.
“Join the famous Silver Hawks, they said. Slay the evil sorcerer and win fame and wealth, they said. Yeah. Right,” Gregor muttered to himself as he used his broadsword to flick the still quivering pieces of the black terrors off the wagon. “I survive three of the Count’s wars, seven major battles, and I’ll die working as a teamster like my father.” When the Hawks discovered his skill with horses and wagons, they put him in charge of their wagon. So here he was again, staring at the ass end of a harnessed pair of horses. At least the bat-like things only attacked people. He didn’t know why they left the horses alone, but he was thankful they had.
The Silver Hawks were famed all right. Their clothing was rich and their weapons and armor were all enchanted, metaled, colored and jeweled with their affinities. But so far, his only pay had been in promises. The bickering between Rolf Redbeard, their short and stocky second-best fighter, and Tanadon Silver Hawk, their leader, who was by far the best archer he’d ever seen, openly annoyed him. Gregor was used to army discipline. While all soldiers complained and bitched about military life, they didn’t argue with their officers. At least not this much. “Maybe this is how ‘adventurers’ do things,” he thought.
The Hawks were an adventurer band of seven. Three fighters, two fighting healers, a magician, and a thief. The rest of the group included six warriors. Gregor counted as one of them. A wizard just out of apprenticeship. A young man who looked and acted like another thief, and the dirty and tattered, yellow robed priest who sat next to him, who was from a religion Gregor still hadn’t figured out. At least the Hawks had been honest with them. They said that many others had tried to kill the sorcerer before, and all of them had never come back from his lair in this swamp. It was lethally obvious why.
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Last evening they’d entered the village of Haveasmith, Haversmith, or something like that. Tanadon was already talking to a group of villagers when Gregor caught up to the main party. Pulling his wagon to the side of the crowd, he dismounted. Gregor left the priest, who’d been sitting beside him, doing something complicated with his long, triple looped string of beads. The beads looked like pieces of carved, polished bone that had gone brown and smooth with age and wear. Moving closer to Tanadon, he wanted to hear what was going on. With this many armed men, he wasn’t afraid someone would try to steal from his wagon. But he didn’t take chances. He’d told the two wagon guards to stay with the wagon. There were things in its cargo that shouldn’t be out in the open.
Reaching the edge of the group, Gregor was in time to hear Tanadon offer twenty silver Nardellian Dinars to anyone who would lead them through the swamp to the tower. There was laughter at that. Tanadon frowned as he looked around the crowed. He didn’t like being laughed at. A tall figure in a dark green jacket and pants, who was better dressed than most of the townsfolk slipped through the crowd to the front of the townspeople, and loudly told Tanadon, “Put your money away. No one in town will guide you through the swamp.”
“Why is that?” Tanadon demanded, scowling.
“We like to live and don’t want our village destroyed. The Black One himself said if we helped anyone go through the swamp, he’d do that. Again. Our grandsires learned his lessons the hard way eighty years ago, and we’ll not chance it happening again. Not even for a thousand times that much.”
“Eighty years ago, is a long time. He may be dead by now.”
“No. He’s very much alive. Every year he comes back to remind us of the fact he’s still with us, and to never forget the bargain we made. We think he’s more powerful now than he was in my grandsire’s day when he first arrived. Your coins just aren’t worth our town and family’s lives.”
Gregor could see Tanadon’s mouth moving, but heard nothing. He was likely swearing under his breath.
Areth, the younger of the Hawk’s two white robed healers, took a step forward and asked the tall man, “Good sir. Is there a way you can help us find and slay him?”
“Yes and no,” was his answer as he turned to face her. “Until you enter his swamp, the Black One doesn’t care if you’re here. We can tell you how to get to the swamp and meet someone who you can ask for help. You’re most welcome to stay the night in town, and get an early start in the morning. You’ll need it.”
“How can someone else help us if you can’t?” Areth asked.
“He must tell you that story himself. I can’t do that for him,” he answered with half a smile.
“How do we find this, someone?” Tanadon demanded to know.
“If you keep on the road through town and take the left fork, in another league you’ll find a track on the left marked by a black stone. That leads to the old knight and the swamp. He lives on its edge.”
Tanadon put the coins back in his pouch. “Thank you for that much. We’ll pay your old knight a visit.” Stopping for a moment’s thought, he continued, “If he’s a knight, why hasn’t he killed the sorcerer? I thought knights swore to fight evil?”
The tall man laughed again at him. “You must ask him. That, too, is his story, not mine.”
Tanadon made a harrumphing sound and turned his horse away.
“Thank you, good sir,” Areth replied after shooting a quick look at her leader. “You have helped us. We will free you from this evil in your lands,” she said with a smile and a nod of her head.
Making a brief bow in response, he replied, “You are welcome, milady. One warning. Do not spend the night in the swamp. You won’t survive. Start at first light and don’t delay.” With that dire warning, he turned, making his way back through the onlookers and into a nearby building.
Areth stared at his departing back. Her brow furrowed, considering his warning.