The Crystal Legacy (Book 2) (17 page)

* * *

“Just when I think I’ve destroyed the queen, Memlatec’s meddling thwarts my plans again,” Earwig said to Magnosious, who ignored her outbursts. “That wizard is a positive nuisance. I don’t dare a direct challenge; his power is much too great. How can I get around this impasse? Magnosious, fly me around the hills above The Crypt for inspiration to think up something stupendous. You’re downright fat sitting around all day in your lair. We’ll have to find some villagers for you to run down and char.”

The dragon hit an air pocket en route to The Crypt and almost jolted Earwig off his back.

“Enough tricks beast! One more move like that and I’ll cut your ration of prisoners.”

Magnosious glided to the rocky ledges above The Crypt, where Earwig dismounted. She wandered around for a while, deep in thought, when she tripped over the vicious thorned stem of a scraggly rose. On inspection, it was growing on an outcrop in the foul mists rising from The Crypt’s cauldron.

“I don’t think much of flowers except as ingredients in potions, but roses shouldn’t grow on dry crags in foul mists, I know that. This rose is a positive treasure. Would you look at that small, single, blood red flower, the stench is unfortunate. Ouch! I can’t seem to touch the thing without pricking my finger on these wicked thorns.”

“Magnosious! Come here, my Precious.” Earwig’s sadistic smile forewarned the dragon. Though reluctant, he stamped over to the hag.

“Claw out the nice rose for mommy.”

The suspicious dragon used his longest, enormous claw to scratch the rose out of the rocky soil. He presented it to her, but she wouldn’t take it.

“Bring the nice rose with us.” Earwig’s tone was sickeningly sweet. Devoid of grace, she flung her leg over the dragon’s neck with her usual gut-wrenching groan when mounting the dragon. Without consideration, she kicked her boots into Magnosious’ neck, and they flew back to her baleful fortress.

Earwig stuck a long stick through the rose’s thorny tangle and flung it down at her terrified gardener’s cottage door.

“Get hold of it somehow and pot it up. Oh, and be sure you root any cuttings; I want them planted in my garden in front of the poison ivy growing on the walls.”

The poor gardener had to chop off most of the canes to get close enough to find and pot the roots. Earwig watched from the safety of her cobweb-draped reception hall.

“Any other plant would require loving care. This plant takes care of itself.”  

The witch grew the new cliffhanger rose in the container where, with special care, it thrived. She fed the rose blood and bone meal with a dash of sulfur. Earwig cast spells on it until the plant became almost carnivorous. Its canes were excessively thorny like wild rugosa roses, but this thing grew thorns a thumbnail long. Their black tips grew a fungus most poisonous. This was a truly lethal plant.

“I’ll present my new rose to the queen for her birthday,” Earwig confided to Magnosious. “It only has the one bloom on it, but its blood-red color is passable for intended beauty.”

“What about the rotting meat smell?” Magnosious asked.

“Never mind that. I’ll send the rose to the queen with instructions to give it to her in the garden where the breeze will disseminate the disgusting odor.”

Passing through the garden on his way to the queen’s audience chamber, Memlatec saw the queen’s gardener struggling with the rose and asked about the unusual plant.

“The thing is a gift from Duchess Irkin to the queen,” the gardener said, already looking sick from his thorn wounds.

“The duchess sent the queen the rose?”

The wizard saw the man’s lacerations festering as they stood talking. Unfortunately for Earwig, the rose was so lethal, the gardener died of his wounds before even presenting it. The wizard couldn’t save the gardener, but he tore out the rose with his staff and incinerated it with his wizard-fire. Memlatec ordered an assistant gardener to sweep up even the ashes and bury them deep in the earth.

* * *

Earwig was stamping around in a rage when she heard the rose ‘had died.’ Curses came regularly from the tower, not that anyone noticed anymore. The witch went out to the garden and kicked at a cutting growing beneath her poison ivy. She was in bed for a week from the scratches. When she recovered, she summoned Magnosious in the night.

“Snort flames on the cuttings until they’re
all ash.
”

Earwig collapsed back onto her moldy bed. Her lovely green poison ivy wilted on the palace walls from the heat and smoke.
“I’ll remember not to play with roses. It’s a dangerous world for clumsy people.”

* * *

Saxthor led his troupe along the stream and out across the increasingly green hills above Lake Talok. Refreshed, the troupe quickly passed over the pastures above the lake’s north bank. When they came to the lake’s eastern end, the land became swampier. Two streams coming from the Talok Mountains merged, carrying a lot of silt. On the more level plain, the large stream broke up into numerous branches where the silt, laid down in spring floods, clogged the channels. Long before it reached the eastern end of Lake Talok, the numerous small streams fed a great swamp of rich black muck. Coming off the rich pasturelands, the troupe stopped one day when the delta’s dark forests came into clear view.

“What do you know about this area, Tournak?” Saxthor asked. He leaned on his walking staff and clutched Sorblade. “That forest looks ominous. We have to cross it to get to the old Talok-Lemnos border fortress, don’t we?”

“Saxthor relies on his map for the directions, but as much on Tournak and Hendrel to learn about the places we travel,” Bodrin said to Tonelia as they came up behind Saxthor and Tournak.

“At the lake’s far end, there’s a tower fortress that served as the Kingdom of Talok-Lemnos’ border stronghold,” Tournak said. “It should still be there, but long abandoned, its condition can’t be good. The tower’s garrison used to protect the lakes from a Graushdem invasion. Talok-Lemnos and Graushdem eventually settled on the mountains as the most practical border, and the tower fell into disuse in the peace that followed.”

“I hope it’s still standing,” Saxthor said.

Tournak continued, “Since Talok-Lemnos merged into Neuyokkasin, Graushdem’s armies ceased to threaten the much greater Neuyokkasinian kingdom. Your uncle withdrew the last garrison.”

“We must go there,” Saxthor said. “Going around the swamps would take too long. We must go through them to get to the tower expeditiously. Do you agree?”

“I agree,” Tournak said, “but reluctantly.”

The adventurers reached the swamp’s edge about midday and soon entered the dismal swampy forest. There was almost a line between the smooth, sunny pastures and the swamp’s dark, forbidding undergrowth. Ominous briars with gloomy, bloodish-purple leaves and long, black thorns rambled like broken fence wires through the thick underbrush. Great trees with twisted trunks and intertwined branches snatched most of the sun. The trees’ autumn reds almost seemed a warning.

Skirting along the swamp’s edge, Bodrin and Tonelia found an animal path. They met back with Saxthor and Tournak, and the troupe entered the swamp with the sun still high. By late afternoon, the animal path disappeared. Darkness crept in under the massive swamp trees, poised to catch every ray of sunlight. The water beneath everything fed extensive undergrowth. The deeper the travelers hiked in, the more thick masses of spindly scrub trees, smilax briars, poison ivy and oak permeated the swamp’s understory.

“We should make camp for the night and wait for morning to continue,” Saxthor said. The damp musty air clung to them like sheer wet cloth.

Tournak looked around. “We need to find high ground to make camp. The gases from this fetid swamp could be poisonous, even flammable.”

“Most of the wood is damp and rotting,” Bodrin said. “There’s no air movement in here to dry things.”

Eventually, they settled for a small spot and collected firewood while Bodrin got the fire going in the sun’s last rays. Total darkness settled on the encampment. Silent, the four huddled around the feeble fire.

“This is creepy,” Tonelia said.

“It’s eerie being exposed, though sealed, in the swamp,” Saxthor said. “There’s no cave for shelter or sanctuary.”

“At least the food is hot,” Bodrin said.

Early in the evening, they were chatting about how much they missed the elfin village when a limb snapped. That ended the conversation.

“What was that?” Tonelia asked.

“It wasn’t that far away,” Tournak said. “Of course, it could’ve been just a falling limb, but then…”

“Everything dead rots fast here. That was solid wood cracking.” Saxthor’s hand was on his sword hilt.

“Maybe it was a deer stepping on a limb,” Tonelia said.

Saxthor stood up. “Put out the fire.”

“If it’s a bear, the fire will be the only deterrent keeping it away,” Bodrin said. “Quick, bury any food scraps. Put the food back in satchels and tie them high up in the tree branches.”

“If it’s a bear, we’ll need to be up in the trees, too,” Tournak said.

They put out the fire, secured the food, and climbed the gnarled and twisted branches beyond reach of bears.

“No one will sleep well,” Saxthor said. “Those comfortable elfin tree houses spoiled us.” He looked at Twit, who just fluffed his feathers against the chill and kept a close eye on his companions invading his territory.

Just as they started to doze off, there was another crashing sound much closer.

Bodrin jerked awake, looked around for the sound’s source, then reached over, putting his hand on Tonelia’s shoulder. “Stay still, and be quiet no matter what,” he whispered.

All awake in the trees, they focused on the noise’s source. None moved or made a sound. In a few moments, a foul smell drifted up their way, swamp gas released by footsteps in the mud. Moments later, large feet plunged into the muck and withdrew to the guttural sound of suction. Saxthor held his breath, fearful the source would hear his heart pounding..

Delia whimpered. He firmly but gently clutched her muzzle. A cloud rolled past the moon, and for a moment, he saw a dark, longhaired figure, larger than a man, lumber through the swamp not twenty feet from their camp. It walked upright. Saxthor held Delia close, hand still over her muzzle. Though there was little moonlight filtering through the tree canopy, Saxthor could see the creature’s yellow eyes when it scanned their way.

Uncomfortable in the tree, Delia shuffled.

“Hold still girl,” Saxthor whispered.

“We’re lucky the campsite is downwind of that thing. It hasn’t picked up our scent,” Bodrin said.

Saxthor tucked Sorblade’s sheath under his arm and withdrew the blade, while still holding onto Delia. She lost her footing. Her hind leg scratched off a chunk of bark. Saxthor tucked her in tighter. When he looked, he saw Sorblade’s telltale green glow.

The thing isn’t a bear or pure bear, he thought. Someone evil created it, and it’s likely looking for us.

Through the night, they stayed in the trees. By morning’s light, such as it was, the trekkers climbed down and prepared the last fresh elfin food, while deciding how best to proceed.

“We can’t have another fire,” Tournak said. “If not the flames, the smoke will draw the animal if it’s still looking for us.”

“As if the putrid swamp smell isn’t bad enough, these deerflies and mosquitoes are driving me crazy,” Tonelia said, swatting something hard enough to pulverize it. She removed her hand slowly, as if it could have survived the blow. “That was a big one; one of us had to die.”

“We must head south to get through this swamp faster,” Bodrin said, seeing the squashed insect on Tonelia’s arm. “If we’re caught here, there’s no place to hide, and we can’t move fast through this tangled mass of briars and twisted tree roots.”

Tonelia nodded her head in agreement.

“Perhaps we should move to the southeast,” Tournak said. “It might take a bit longer, but we’ll be less exposed than out on the open plain. By moving higher up the swamp, there should be fewer streams to cross.”

“Yes, but the streams will be larger and harder to cross further up,” Bodrin countered.

“We’ll move to the southeast; it’s a more direct path to the tower,” Saxthor said. “Our path will be dictated more by the lay of the land than our wishes. Pack up and let’s make as much headway as possible before dark traps us again.”

Delia stayed closer than usual to Saxthor that day. The experience in the tree left her skittish. Twit watched from the trees, trying to anticipate trouble.

Within an hour, the firm ground disappeared turning mostly to black swamp sludge. Progress slowed to a crawl.

“The muck is forcing us to tiptoe on scattered mossy patches, clinging to gnarled roots and stunted tree trunks. A missed step and the foot disappears into the goo,” Bodrin said.

When fallen logs provided paths, the four could pick up the pace, traveling on the soft moss mantle. They were less concerned with the direction and more with finding any way through at all. If conditions weren’t bad enough, a stream feeding the swamp stopped them. They searched along the cold, dark water, looking for a fallen tree to cross it. They crossed two streams and went around numerous small pools, where decaying leaf gases bubbled up through the black water. By late afternoon, the four were exhausted, hungry, and depressed in the dying light.