Criminals, indigenous, nobleman—all huddled together under the same gray sky with bulging clouds that threatened to burst at any moment. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth, and the distant rumble of thunder, a promise of rain hung heavily in the air. The tension was palpable.
“Who’re you lot?” Chet stammered, his eyes darting back and forth.
Ehrwin couldn’t blame him for being on edge. Standing before them were three of the most wanted criminals in Sjethia, with Gaul being the most intimidating of them all with his towering stature. Danger seemed to emanate from their very pores.
“Good job, Chief.” Dolly clapped with a grin. “What did I tell you? negotiations ought to be a piece of cake for a noble. Runs in the blood.”
If only being able to use magic were in his blood as well.
“About the only useful thing I’ve done this whole journey,” he replied, trying to brush off Dolly’s compliment.
“Oh please, don’t sell yourself short,” Dolly retorted. “You did plenty to get us here, right, boys?”
Eagle-eyed Flint, his gaze flicking between the misty lake and Dolly, replied with a low “Aye.”
“I’m with Dolly on this one,” Gaul added. “You did your part, chief. Now let us take care of the rest.” With that, Gaul’s eyes locked onto Chet’s, causing the guide to step back.
Chet’s old man was wailing gibberish in the background, but the group paid him no mind.
“Bastard, I trusted you!” Chet glared at Ehrwin, his eyes were dark with anger and betrayal, his face twisted into a scowl.
The sudden change of tone caught Ehrwin off guard, but he quickly composed himself, slipping on the mask of calm and confusion, his expression carefully crafted to show just the right amount of surprise and innocence as he spoke. “What?” He shrugged “they haven’t done anything to you.”
“Not yet,” Dolly interjected with a knowing smirk.
“You told me you came alone!”
“I did come alone,” Ehrwin replied, throwing up his hands. “Were any of them there when I visited your home? I don’t think so.” He leaned in, whispering, “Please stay calm. They won’t do anything to you if you do as I say.”
“Fuck off, liar,” Chet shouted as he pushed Ehrwin aside and bolted, his feet pounding against the earth, beaded necklaces jangling around his neck.
Ehrwin’s legs gave out from under him, and he tumbled backwards, his body slamming hard against the soggy ground, sending a splatter of mud flying in all directions.
He watched Chet barely take a few strides before Dolly caught him by the balls and squeezed them tight, making him squeal like a hog that was about to be butchered.
“Don’t hurt him!” Ehrwin yelled, to which Dolly reluctantly complied, releasing her grip. Chet fell to the ground, clutched at his balls, and whimpered like a neutered dog.
Just as Ehrwin regained his footing, Chet’s old man barreled past him, brandishing a wooden oar like a spear, heading straight for Dolly. As he closed the distance, he struck out. Before the tip of the oar could reach her skull, however, Gaul extended his arm, catching the oar in an iron grip.
Peeking out from behind Gaul’s shoulder, Dolly watched on with an uninterested expression, arms folded, as Gaul mercilessly ripped the oar from the old man's hands and flung it away. It landed near Ehrwin's feet, spattering him with dirt. Oh, for fuck’s sake. He inwardly hoped that was the end of it. But it was not.
Gaul's hand tightened around the old man's throat, hoisting him up as the guide's legs kicked wildly in the air.
Ehrwin's heart raced as he watched the guide struggle for breath, knowing that they needed him to navigate the treacherous Murky Mire. "Let him go! We need him to get to the Mire."
Thankfully, Gaul's grip slowly loosened, and the old man fell to his knees, gasping for air.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"What the fuck’s wrong with you? Do you have any idea how close you just came to killing our guide?"
Gaul shrugged, "He attacked first, you saw it. I was just defending Dolly," he said, looking to Dolly and Flint for support. But Dolly just rolled her eyes and Flint ignored the situation, staring blankly at the old man's carapace like it was a toy.
Ehrwin sighed as he shook his head. That didn’t go as planned. He had not expected Chet to be so intimidated and try to run off.
Dolly had been right about the shell people being timid in nature. But something good had come out of the recent chain of events. He had learned that the old man was not as crazy as people thought. A true madman would not have rushed to defend his son like that.
He turned and approached Chet, who was still on one knee and groaning. “Dolly, let me have a word with our friend here. Can you go tend to the old man and make sure Gaul doesn’t do anything stupid?”
Dolly raised a brow, “A word like the one you had a while ago, where he pushed your ass to the mud?”
Ehrwin smiled. “Don’t worry, he’ll behave. You’ll behave, won’t you Chet?” He better.
“Please, I’ll do anything, please don’t kill me,” Chet stammered, a pained look on his face.
He had to hand it to Dolly. She knew how to tame a wild dog. All it took was a squeeze to the right spot.
“You fucking shoved him first!” Dolly snapped. “Don’t play victim when you started it.” She spat on the ground before walking off.
Ehrwin cast a glance at Dolly and then at Chet, before saying, "She's right, you know." He lowered himself onto one knee, bringing his eyes level with Chet's. "Now, listen carefully," he spoke in a tone reminiscent of a teacher disciplining a student, placing a hand on Chet's shoulder. "You're a good fellow and I don't want to see you get hurt. If you just do as I say, I promise everything will be all right."
Chet stared at him in silence, his face a mask of fear and uncertainty. Ehrwin wondered whether he should have included the possibility of harm to Hasiba and the rest of the tribe in his threat. One glance at the tribal man's trembling fingers, and it was clear that he had made the right decision in not doing so.
“I’ll do as you say," Chet said, nodding.
“Good.” Ehrwin drew a dagger and wrapped an arm around Chet’s neck, holding the knife to his throat. “Play along,” he whispered.
The old man tried to stand, but Gaul kept him on his knees, hand digging into his shoulder. He wrapped his hands around Gaul’s heavy arm and tried to push it away, but to no avail.
Ehrwin locked eyes with the old man, who looked terrified. “If you want your son to live, you’ll take us to the Mire,” he said, pointing the dagger towards the other side of the lake.
Silence hung heavy as they stared at each other, neither willing to break eye contact. Come on, now. He wanted this to end without any bloodshed. In the worst case scenario, they could take the canoe and paddle themselves to the other side.
Finally, the old man responded with a string of unintelligible words. “He says he’ll do it,” Chet translated, his voice tight with tension.
Gaul loosened his grip and the old man got to his feet, picked up his oar and headed towards the canoe, with Gaul following behind.
Ehrwin let go of Chet and sheathed his dagger. “I won’t hurt your father, don’t worry,” he said, though he couldn’t guarantee how the Mire would treat him. Ehrwin pulled a pouch from his pocket and threw it at Chet, which clinked with gold coins. “For your troubles,” he said, turning to walk away.
A bit of guilt nagged at the edge of his conscience, but it was just a bit. Six months ago, it would have been much worse. Traveling with a group of hardened criminals considerably lessened the guilt he felt over time.
Gaul and the old man pushed the canoe into the lake, and Ehrwin climbed aboard with the rest of the group.
As the last to climb aboard, Gaul’s weight caused the canoe to tip precariously. Ehrwin and the others quickly shifted to the opposite side to redistribute the weight and steady the vessel.
Gradually, the canoe began to move as the old man paddled with that oar of his. No turning back now. The Murky Mire lay on the other side, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was making a big mistake.
As the canoe entered the thick mist, visibility dropped to just a few feet in front of them. The air grew heavy with moisture, clinging to their skin and clothes. The sound of the canoe slicing through the water was muffled by the dense fog, making it feel like they were moving in silence.
The only thing that could be heard was the gentle lapping of water against the canoe’s sides and the old man’s steady breathing. The mist was so thick that they couldn’t see the shoreline anymore and the feeling of isolation and uncertainty began to settle in.
The group could sense the eerie stillness around them, as if the mist was alive and watching their every move. The chill in the air seemed to seep into their bones as they ventured deeper into the unknown.
Before long, they emerged on the other side. Ehrwin gaped as they got closer to the Murky Mire, the once tranquil lake transformed into an eerie and foreboding landscape. The water became dark and murky, and the air thick with the pungent smell of rotting vegetation.
The mist that had enveloped them earlier now seemed to be emanating from the Mire itself, shrouding it in an eerie, otherworldly fog. The trees that lined the shoreline were twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers, as if trying to grasp at the canoe as they passed. The ground beneath the water was obscured by a thick blanket of moss and algae, making it impossible to tell how deep the water was.
The only sounds now were the muffled oars and the eerie croaking of frogs and other creatures that called the Mire home.
And as they got closer, it became apparent that the Mire was not just a swamp but a vast ecosystem on its own. And it was clear that they were not welcomed here.