If a stone could be evil, the black marker stone, carved with strange glyphs, succeeded. Okston dismounted and placed his body between the party and the stone. Both his mauls were in his hands and ready to strike if something happened or someone moved too close. The whites of Gregor’s horses’ eyes showed their fear as they shied as far away from stone as he let them while they and the party filed past single file. Once beyond the black rock, he looked back and he saw a few of the riders were still struggling to keep their horses from bolting away from its foreboding blackness. “If the marker is this bad, how bad will the swamp be?” Gregor wondered aloud, but no one answered.
Once the stone was out of sight behind them, they moved easier and faster. The track showed wagon ruts and hoofprints. It looked seldom used, but it was far from being abandoned. They traveled south and west with the morning sun behind them. Gregor stood for a moment in the wagon seat and looked to the rear at the morning sunshine, then forward again where he could see the sky. The sky before them seemed to darken in their direction of travel. The further they traveled, the darker the sky ahead became.
It wasn’t long before the track cut through a stand of trees, moss hanging in long green, strands off their branches, and rounded a curve entering a clearing. Spreading out as they rode forward, the leading riders shifted into an arc in front of the wagon, with the Hawks leading from the center. Tanadon sat stiffly upright on his white stallion as he led them towards a small farmstead. Like the town, the house was half-timbered over a stone base with a dark shingled roof. It had a weathered timber and thatch barn resting on a stone foundation behind it. There were garden patches on both sides of the track that led past the house and into the trees beyond. A stone bordered well was visible along the track just beyond the house.
Everything seemed well maintained and normal, but not what he expected for a woodland farmstead. It looked too well off and maintained. This was not the home of a subsistence farmer. It was more like a country home for a minor lord and the lord was sitting outside on a bench next to his door. He was cleaning and polishing a long, shining sword. The two-handed blade was hilted in spotless white leather and appeared to have what looked like a large white diamond encased in gold for a pommel.
The old man didn’t raise his head until Tanadon halted his horse before him and inquired, “My Lord. Are you the knight the townsfolk told us could guide us to the sorcerer’s tower?”
The man’s short cropped hair and beard were pure white, as was the robe he wore over his armor. Only a red emblem of two wide spread vertical red bars, both crossed by a horizontal red bar a quarter of the way down from the top broke the white of everything else he wore. Gregor’s eyes widened as an old memory of that emblem returned to him. It had been on an effigy and shield of a knight guardian in an old church he’d seen many years before.
Only after Tanadon had spoken, did the man look up, his piercing green eyes taking the measure of everyone arrayed before him. Standing up straight, he held his diamond-hilted sword with his hands on the sword’s golden crossbar, its point down and resting on the ground.
“Aye, I can direct you there, but the swamp is a treacherous place I seldom enter by choice.”
“The town’s headman said you bring supplies to the sorcerer each month.”
“Aye, now that I do. There will be a message with what he requests and the coin to pay for it. I fetch it and aught else that sometimes awaits him in town.”
“Does he come here to get it or do you take it to him? When will you next do this?”
“There’s an island a fair distance into the swamp. I go there with what he requested and return with an empty wagon. Why do you wish to know? Are you more adventurers seeking to slay him?”
Tanadon looked back at the other Hawks for a moment, then obviously decided honesty was his best choice. The knight looked old, but he was well armed and armored. A horseman’s teardrop shield with the same red emblem on white lay against the wall next to where had been sitting, and a full helm plus gauntlets sat on the bench. “Yes, good knight. We are. We wish to rid our world of evil and those who oppress the people.”
One shaggy eyebrow rose in response to Tanadon’s declaration. Then the knight laughed. “And collect the treasure he has and such useful and sellable items you might fancy.”
Shrugging and with a blush rising to his cheeks, “It’s true. We do have expenses, after all.”
Once more, the knight laughed. This time a hearty one and, stepping forward, he clapped a hand on Tanadon’s thigh. “Don’t worry lad. Many others have come before you to do the same. At least you’re honest about it. Others will doubtlessly come after you. That’s part of why I’m here.”
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“You will fight all of us to protect him?”
“By the Gods, no lad. I’m here to give you one last chance to abandon your quest and live.”
Tanadon shrugged his shoulders and quirked one eyebrow at the old knight. “The Hawks have never failed any mission we have attempted. Why will we fail now?”
“You’ve never tried to reach and defeat Raytheda. He used to be an adventurer like you. Like me. He also never failed, and that is why he hides in the swamp. One piece of free advice. If you go seeking to free an imprisoned god, don’t free him.”
“Raytheda! I know that name,” the Hawkes wizard interrupted. “My Master spoke of him and said he traveled with him for a time.”
“Who was your Master, lad?”
“Andolf, sir.”
“Andolf, Andolf. I should know that name. Tall, thin, had a mustache down to here?” His hand marked a point just below his chin.” “Dyed it black, as I recall. He wore yellow, copper and turquoise? That yellow stood out and made a great target to draw fire away from the rest of us. I see you take after his affinity for copper. At least your light green, copper and rubies aren’t as distracting, young whatever your name is.”
“Walthor, sir,” his smile lit his face. “He still dyed it when he taught me.”
“Well, I hope you have more sense than he did. We had to haul him out of more trouble than I remember. More than he was worth, which is why he didn’t last long. At least he survived a while longer. Will you?”
“We think we will and we’ll be the first to defeat the sorcerer. If it is Raytheda, from the tales he told me, it won’t be easy. Thank you for that information,” he said with a slight bow.
“Tanadon.” Walthor said, “I also recall Andolf saying that Raytheda’s disaffinities were white, iron, and diamond. Black, obsidian, and lead were his affinities. This Ebon swamp is perfect for him. It’s also a place of power. I can feel the draw from here.”
“Well done Walthor. Your memory has helped save us many times, and this is another one.”
“Now, Sir knight, I think we have an edge. Did anyone before us recognize the name, or are we the first to receive it?”
“Not the first. Raytheda is vain enough to want those who seek to kill him to know at whose hands they died. Anyone could ask in town and they could tell you the sorcerer’s name. Most don’t think to ask. I ensure that all who come this far know.”
“You’re certain we’ll all die. Are you going to help him?”
“I’m certain he will need no help, but no, unless you attack me, I will not kill you. Nor will I help defend you, or help defeat him. If you wish, I’ll take you to the place where I turn the wagon around. The black tower is close to there.”
“I don’t remember Andolf ever mentioning a knight as part of Raytheda’s group. How do you know him?” Walthor asked.
“I wasn’t a knight then.” Patting the emblem on his tabard, he continued. “This came after we disbanded. If you survive, I might tell you that tale.”
“We will survive,” Walthor smiled as he assured the old knight of that fact. “Don’t worry, we’ll protect you from whatever is out there, so you won’t have to fight.”
The old knight just smiled a knowing smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and nodded.
“Walthor, make ready,” Tanadon interrupted. “Sir Knight, do you have a horse or shall we make room for you in the wagon?”
“What good is a knight without a horse?” he asked with a short laugh. Turning to the open window beside him, “Stefanos. Bring my horse around. These adventurers seem insistent to meet up with Raytheda, so we are off to see the sorcerer.”
“From inside the house came the sound of something heavy being set down and a, “Right away My Lord,” followed by footsteps receding as they made their way through the house.
“My squire will bring my horse from the barn. I saddled him when I knew you were on your way so it won’t be long.” His sigh was audible even to Gregor as he slung his great sword in its scabbard on his back. He also slung his shield over the sword and donned the gauntlets which had been sitting next to him. His left hand on his broadsword, scabbarded at his side.
Gregor guessed he was moving slower than he could to stretch out the time until his horse arrived. Turning, he noticed the old priest was spinning his beads with eyes fixed on the knight as he peered at him through the beads. Tanadon looked at the priest and shrugged his shoulders as if asking a question. The beads slowed, and the priest shook his head to answer no to an unspoken question. Tanadon looked puzzled, then turned back as a middle-aged man dressed in dark brown cloth and brown leather armor, held together with large copper rivets, led a white horse around the house. Gregor judged it past its prime, like its owner, but still sound and a knight’s warhorse. He respected good horses when he saw them, and this was one of the better ones he’d seen.
Stefanos held the horse’s bridle as the old knight mounted. His mounting was smooth, if not swift. The knight held still while Stefanos lifted his helm to him. Then, except for the raised visor, the knight sat his horse, fully encased in the silvery metal. “I’m ready,” he stated, then pointed. “The track continues on the way you are heading. If you want to live, do not leave the path. There are many things in the swamp which will kill you. Not all of them were put there by Raytheda.”
The rest of the party turned their mounts and left the clearing for the path between more moss-covered trees that marked the entrance to the Ebon Swamp. Wagon tracks and hoofprints marked their way. The light dimmed, and the day became dank and cold as they passed from the warm sun to what awaited them under the moss laden trees of the swamp.