“This is comfortable,” Santon said in amazement. “I had seen yours and thought it would be difficult to use.”
“It might not withstand the blow of a battle-axe such as yours, but it will turn aside a sword thrust — and resist the burning blood from the swamp creatures.”
“I hardly feel whole again,” Santon said, waving the shield about, “but I feel more secure. Let’s not allow Tahir to rally his noisome beasts. Let’s attack!”
“A noble sentiment,” said Vered. “But where do we go? What do we attack? We must find the wizard before we fight him.”
Vered fell silent when Alarice drew the glass rod on the gut string from her pouch. She closed her eyes. Lips moving in silent spell, she held the clear crystal far from her body. The swings became less random, and soon aligned with what Vered saw as due south.
“That path leads directly into the bowels of this foul-smelling swamp. Why are we cursed with the smell and texture of viscera all about us?” Even as he grumbled, Vered stood and brandished the glass short sword. He shrugged and smiled at Santon, then made a mocking bow and indicated that his friend should mount.
“How much distance can we make in this muck before sunset?” Santon asked of Alarice. The sorceress opened her eyes and stared up at the two mounted men.
“Enough,” she said. Alarice held out her hand, first to Vered and then to Santon, in silent thanks for their courage and faith in her.
The Glass Warrior swung into her saddle and pointed out the path through the swamp.
Hardly had they ridden a hundred yards when Vered protested loudly. He swatted at the insects buzzing over his head and caught one between thumb and forefinger. “See!” he called. “See the menace we fight? I can battle beasts that don’t belong in the miserable quagmire, but bugs? Never!” Vered’s fingers closed. The insect let out a screech that sounded almost human. It died amid a flow of sticky red blood. With some distaste, Vered wiped his fingers on his tunic. The new stain mingled with the old and vanished instantly, much to the fussy man’s disgust.
Riding alongside the Glass Warrior, Santon said, “Is it safe to camp when it gets dark? Should we ride directly for Tahir’s palace?”
Alarice shook her head, fine white hair flying in a halo around her. “We must rest soon. There is no way to tell how far off Tahir is. And I do not think he lives in any palace.”
“But he is a wizard,” protested Santon. “All wizards live like royalty.”
“I don’t,” she said. “I never have, but then I have little power when compared to the likes of Tahir.” She sighed deeply. “I remember him as a decent fellow. Odd, but all wizards are strange in some respect, or we would not be able to cast spells. I rather liked him before…” Her voice trailed off.
“There is no doubt he murdered King Lamost?”
“None. I have received this information from Freow.”
“Why didn’t the duke do something about it before now? He’s been searching for the heirs for over nineteen years.”
Alarice told Santon the story of Duke Freow’s perfidy — or that of the man posing for all these years as the duke.
“So,” said Santon, sucking on his teeth as he thought. “We have put up with two decades of civil war because of a man’s quest for power. It always seems this way.”
“Do you still want to find Lokenna and Lorens?”
“All the more!” he exclaimed. “The fake duke must be replaced quickly with true members of the royal family.”
“Santon, Alarice,” called Vered from the rear. “Something follows. I hear its heavy breathing. I swear by all the saints, I hear its belly rumbling in anticipation of a fine meal — of three fine meals!”
Alarice turned in the saddle. She wobbled as dizziness hit her like a solid blow. Only Santon’s good hand reaching out saved her from a tumble into the filthy swamp.
“What is it?”
“Magic,” the Glass Warrior said. “It swirls about us. Something is wrong. I feel so…disoriented.”
“You can feel dizzy later,” called Vered. “The thing comes up quickly!”
Santon scanned the area in front and to the sides. Too often an enemy launched a diversionary attack to mask the true thrust. And so it proved this time. From ahead came a huge man, one tall enough to stare Santon squarely in the eye when the adventurer sat upright in his saddle.
“Ahead! A warrior of immense size!” he cried. Beside him, he felt Alarice straighten. The way she wobbled told of continuing problems with balance. Santon hefted his axe and prodded his horse forward, being careful to remain on the solid portion of ground.
Vered whipped out the glass sword and wheeled about to face the challenge from behind.
But even as he prepared for the fight, all sounds stopped. He no longer heard the sucking of feet pulling free of the swamp muck. The snuffling and snorts faded away. And all wildlife ceased to howl and buzz and sing. It was as if he had been struck deaf.
Panicked, Vered fought his horse to turn around and join Santon. But his friend sat astride his steed, the man’s confusion obvious.
“Where’s this giant foe?” called Vered. He got his horse under control and joined Birtle Santon.
“I…he’s gone. As surely as I sit here, though, Vered, I saw a gargantuan man. His arms were thicker than my thighs. He — ”
“Wait, a moment, please,” gasped out Alarice. Vered and Santon turned to her. She wobbled but maintained her seat. “Something has happened. A spell was cast — or we entered a spell.”
“What do you mean ‘we entered a spell’?”
“Powerful magic held a bubble around this portion of the swamp. We somehow penetrated it.”
“Tahir!”
“I fear this is so,” she said. “We blundered into a ward spell.”
“But the giant. Whatever it was Vered heard. What of them? Where did they go?” Santon’s head swivelled back and forth so fast, Vered feared it might come unscrewed.
“We are not in the swamp. Not the one we entered,” said Alarice. “Stop, wait. Extend your senses and tell me what lies around us now.”
“No insects,” said Vered. “No sound. No bugs buzzing or biting. The wind still blows, though. I hear its soft sighing through the banyan limbs.”
“The time of day has not changed,” said Santon. “The sun remains just over the treetops. But the odour of the swamp is…different. The decay is subtly changed from what it was.”
“How can you tell?” demanded Vered. “Rot and decay are all the same.”
“This is not the same. Alarice is right. Superficially, it looks the same but other things have changed.”
“The ground!” Vered urged his horse forward. “Look! Solid.” The horse pranced on dry dirt. “The pathway is clear.”
He considered the implications of this discovery. He looked from Alarice to Santon.
“It leads to Tahir’s ‘palace’,” the Glass Warrior said. “We have entered another realm — and this is the road to the one we seek.”
“What of the giant?” Santon continued to crane his head about looking for the monster.
“A magical manifestation. A warning, perhaps, or a sentry placed to keep out unwanted visitors,” she said. “We will find out for certain at the end of this path.” Alarice put the spurs to her horse. It reluctantly obeyed, tossing its head and shying away repeatedly.
They rode in the eerie silence until Vered said, “I liked the bugs better. They gave something more than Santon’s curses to listen to.”
Then Vered cursed. The swamp opened into a lake. In the centre of the lake rose a pitiful mound of black dirt that beggared the glorious title of “island.” Built in the centre of the lump rising from the lake sat a rude hut with thatched roof and no windows.
“Who lives in that?” Santon wondered.
“You spoke of immense castles and palatial estates where we wizards live,” said Alarice. “That is Tahir’s domain.”
“That?” Santon and Vered spoke simultaneo
usly, amazed and bemused.
“Tahir is a powerful wizard, but I begin to think that the spell we penetrated is not of his casting. Another, more powerful sorcerer might have bound Tahir to this swamp.”
“But why? For killing Lamost?”
“Ah,” said Vered. “Consider a more devious plot to ruin Porotane. What if Tahir only carried out the orders of another wizard? What if he were a mercenary and failed in his mission?”
“But he didn’t,” said Santon. “Until meeting Alarice, we both thought King Lamost died of natural causes. The kidnapping of the heirs, of course, might have been a failure. No claims for ransom were made — or none I heard about.”
“None was made,” confirmed Alarice. “That always seemed suspect to me. It made me believe the two had been killed, either by design or accident.”
“If our thinking turns even more devious,” said Vered, “it is not stretching possibility to say that Tahir might have succeeded in snatching away the twins and that he killed them. Accidentally or otherwise would not matter to a more powerful wizard.”
“Another wizard who imprisoned Tahir in this wretched swamp for his misdeed,” finished Alarice. “Aye, that is possible. Tahir loved his comforts. He would never stay here without good reason.”
“I do not like the idea that our quest has ended, that Lokenna and Lorens perished nineteen years ago.” Santon coughed and spat. The gobbet went into the water. Ripples appeared, then raced in concentric circles to infinity.
“Creatures too dangerous for description reside in the water. There’ll be no wading across for us,” said Vered, relieved. He had not liked the idea of getting wet. The lake water on his grimy clothing would produce a stench that would gag the very saints.
“A boat.” Santon rode to the small craft. Oars rested within the frail shell. “Looks sturdy enough for the three of us.”
“Mayhap we should consider leaving someone behind to guard the horses,” suggested Vered. He eyed the boat with growing scepticism. “It doesn’t appear strong enough for three, but for two…”
“All or none,” said Alarice. “The horses will not be harmed. The land seems scoured clean of life.”
“But not the water.” Vered dismounted and tossed a stone into the lake. Again came the racing ripples indicating beasts just below the surface.
They tethered the horses and entered the boat. Santon pushed off, then jumped aboard before his feet entered the water. Grunting and straining, Vered rowed while Alarice sat in the prow studying the island and Santon crouched in the stern, his withered arm restlessly moving the glass shield as if readying it for combat.
Vered hazarded a glance over the side of the rowboat. He felt faint at the sight of human faces peering back at him — but attached to those all-too-human faces were piscine bodies. He jerked back and bent to the task of rowing. The sudden surge in speed almost tumbled Alarice from the boat’s bow.
She laid a gentling hand on his shoulder and said, “They are those who have entered the water and were magically transformed. We do not want to join their ranks. Magic beyond my imagining plays around this island.”
“And it is not of Tahir’s doing?” asked Santon.
“Another. There are only a few wizards living able to cast such spells and Tahir is not one.” She shook her head, white hair going in all directions. “Tahir was always too careless. Did I not learn his name many years ago?” She peered over the side at the swimming creatures and shuddered. “I do not relish the thought of meeting any of them, should they have control of the heirs.”
“But you will,” said Vered.
“I must. My word has been given to restore one of the royal blood to the throne.” Both men heard the pain in Alarice’s words. She wished to recant her promise but couldn’t. Once given, honour demanded that her promise be fulfilled.
For the first time, Vered found himself wishing that the twins both lay dead. He cast a glance over the side of the boat again and caught sight of a leering face. He gulped. “If only they have not become fish,” he prayed.
He stroked powerfully, putting his back into the effort. A sudden crunch and pressure told him that the rowboat had beached on the island. Vered reluctantly climbed out. As frightening as the journey had been, the boat provided a safety that wasn’t likely to be found on the island. Even the crumbling black dirt beneath his boots felt odd.
Vered walked a few paces behind the others, trying to decide how this soil differed from that in the rest of the swamp. It occurred to him that he felt lighter, more nimble. Every step was into a spring that gently pushed back at him.
“It’s as if the souls of the dead and buried try to rise up,” said Santon. Vered almost bolted at this thought. But fear seized him and held the man firmly in place. His knuckles closed around the hilt of his glass sword until they turned white with strain.
“I shouldn’t have doubted you, Santon,” he choked out. “He is a giant!”
An immense man, easily twice as tall as Santon, came from the pitiful hut. The giant peered at them, as if not believing its eyes. Then it bellowed and charged.
All three readied for a fight that could end only in their deaths.
CHAPTER XI
Vered bellowed and whined and protested — except during battle. He fell into a deadly silence. His nerves calmed. His heart rate picked up and blood rushed through his body, heightening his senses, putting an edge to his reflexes. His keen eyes studied the charging giant for weaknesses. Through his mind flashed the chances of using the glass short sword, of pounding at the giant with his acid-blunted dagger, of a dozen different attacks.
When he moved, Vered didn’t even realize he had reached a decision. Three steps forward, a quick drop, and his legs entangled those of the lumbering Gargantua.
The monster man shrieked and threw out his arms to catch himself. Even as Vered had executed the perfect attack, so did Birtle Santon launch one of his own. He stepped to one side and let the giant topple past. He turned, batted away a huge hand with the glass shield, then used the same motion to power the up-and-down arc of his battle-axe. Santon aimed well. The axe drove directly into the base of the giant’s skull.
Such a horrendous blow should have severed any beast’s head from its torso. Santon staggered away as the shock of the blow vibrated all the way up his left arm and into his body. He stared stupidly at the cutting edge of his axe. It had skittered off the giant’s neck as if flesh had turned to steel.
“The edge,” Santon muttered. “The acid blood dulled my axe!”
Vered untangled his legs and scrambled to his feet. The giant kicked about and almost sent Vered flying. The man twisted and drew the tip of his glass sword across the giant’s hamstrings, trying to disable him. A screeching of metal on metal sounded.
Both glass sword and giant’s flesh remained untouched.
“I should have cut his leg in half with that slash,” protested Vered. He danced back and fell into en garde. As the giant rose to a sitting position, Vered lunged. The tip snaked in past a clumsy hand and struck the giant’s left cheek. Vered jerked upward and guided his blade directly for the creature’s eye.
Again he failed. The blade refused to thrust home into the giant’s brain.
“What manner of creature is this?” Vered cried. “I refuse to be thwarted. How dare you deny me your death!” Vered launched a flurry of thrusts, none intended to do harm. He distracted the slow-witted giant while Santon sneaked into position behind the sitting monster.
Santon put all his strength behind the blow. The muscles along his left arm rippled with the power of the stroke aimed at the giant’s spine. Again Santon staggered back, his killing blow turned away harmlessly.
The giant moaned and bent forward to rise to his feet. Vered kicked a supporting hand out from under the giant and sent him tumbling back to the ground, but again this diversion did not help Santon get in a killing stroke with his axe. When the monster stood, he towered over either man. Santon and Vered parted to keep the gia
nt distracted, then attacked. Santon came in with his glass shield raised high to protect his head; his axe swung at waist level, aimed at the giant’s thigh. Simultaneously, Vered attacked the tendons behind the giant’s vulnerable right ankle.
The giant roared and grabbed. Both men were lifted into the air and hung, feet kicking. They might have been rats caught by a terrier for all the good their strength did them.
The giant cast them away, as if he considered them nothing more than debris. Vered hit the ground and rolled easily to his feet. Birtle Santon had the wind knocked from his lungs and lay gasping for breath.
Before Vered could renew his attack, Alarice held up a hand. Her grey eyes never left the giant. “Hold, Vered. Your efforts will only fail.”
“If he’s of flesh and blood, he is vulnerable. No spell can protect him indefinitely.”
“He might not be human,” Alarice said. She circled to place her body between that of the giant and the fallen Santon. “Tend to Santon. I would have words with Tahir d’mar.”
Vered frowned. A huge tear formed at the corner of the giant’s eye. It rolled like an ocean’s wave down a grimy cheek and dripped to the ground. Where it landed a small plant sprouted and grew with astonishing speed. The giant knelt and gently plucked the plant from the ground, roots and all.
“It will die soon,” the giant said, his voice rumbling deep in his barrel chest. The action and words struck Vered and Santon as incongruous, but Alarice accepted them easily. The Glass Warrior waved back both men.
“So will all things, Tahir,” she said. Vered and Santon exchanged glances. It hardly seemed likely that this mountain of impervious gristle and bulk was the wizard they sought. But Alarice had addressed him as such.
“You recognize me, woman of glass. After all these years, you still remember poor Tahir d’mar.” The giant dropped the withered plant. It fell to dust within seconds.
“So, Tahir, you remember me, too.”
“Of those remaining, I always thought you would be the one sent to find me.” The giant collapsed to a cross-legged sitting position, hands resting on his knees. Even so, he almost looked them squarely in the eye.
The Glass Warrior (Demon Crown Book 1) Page 11