Songs & Swords 1 (13 page)

The dandy shook his head and sputtered in disbelief, “Surely you jest. The northern route? As in, troll country? I’ll have you know I detest trolls. Utterly.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll skirt the High Moors.”

“No trolls?”

“No trolls.” Danilo still looked distressed, so Arilyn elaborated. “It’s riskier than the southern trade route, but we’ll get to Waterdeep faster. Also, we pass through open country. If my guess is wrong and someone is still trying to track us, we’ll see them as soon as they see us.” She thought it best not to tell the nervous dandy that she would actually prefer such a confrontation, and she paused before dropping the other boot. “And another thing. We’ll save more time if we cut through the bottom lip of the marsh.”

Danilo caught his breath and held up both hands in a gesture of protest. “The marsh? We’re talking about the Marsh of Chelimber, I assume? We are. Well, no thank you. I think I’ll just take my horse and head south, if it’s all the same to you.”

Arilyn had anticipated this reaction. “I’m sorry,” she told him firmly, “but you’re going to come with me.”

He sighed with resignation, then smirked. “I do grow on people, don’t I?”

“Hardly. I need to reach Waterdeep and disappear without alerting the assassin. But,” she added pointedly, “if I let you loose along the merchant route, you would sing this song to anyone who would listen, and I’ll be back where I started.”

Danilo considered her argument for a brief moment, then nodded. “All right,” he said agreeably. He started to stuff his belongings back into his magic sack.

His ready compliance surprised Arilyn. “You agree? Just like that?”

Still packing, he arched an eyebrow at her. “Do I have much choice in the matter?”

“No.”

“Well then, no sense in whining about things you can’t change, is there?” he concluded cheerfully. He picked up the last item—a silver flask—and took a bracing pull at it before he slipped it into the sack. Thus fortified, he rose and faced Arilyn.

“There. Packing’s done. I say, do you think you could catch us something for breakfast? Anything at all? At this point I could eat a pickled wyvern. And while you hunt, I’ll just freshen up a tad. Not that we’re likely to meet anyone from polite society along the route you’ve chosen, but one can’t travel looking like leftovers from a gnoll’s feast, can one?”

Danilo’s gaze swept over Arilyn, who was clad for travel in boots and trousers, a simple blue tunic over her loose shirt, and her dark cloak. “By the way,” he added casually, with an obvious and exaggerated attempt at diplomacy, “that outfit is very … well, it’s certainly very practical. It looks comfortable, really! For whatever it’s worth, I vastly prefer the clothes you wore at the inn. Maybe all those veils would be a bit much for the road, but at least let me lend you a few pieces of jewelry to brighten up your ensemble?”

Arilyn stifled a sigh. It was going to be a very long trip to Waterdeep.

The sun was edging above the horizon when the half-elf finally nudged her well-fed and immaculately groomed hostage into his saddle. Worried by even a brief delay, Arilyn set as brisk a pace as she felt the horses could handle: it was important that they cross the Marsh of Chelimber before nightfall. As they left the rolling foothills of the Greycloak Mountains behind, the friendly, autumn-tinted woodlands gave way to a flat, grim valley littered with jagged boulders and scrubby brush. As the ground beneath their horses’ hooves became increasingly soggy, even those pitiful bushes disappeared, and the only vegetation in sight were the rushes and cattails that ringed small pools of tea-colored water. The happy twitter of the forest birds had long ago faded, to be replaced by the incurious stare of an occasional heron.

Arilyn was not unhappy to note that the repressive ugliness of the landscape had curbed the nobleman’s tongue, for his chatter had dwindled to an occasional question. He rode well, she was relieved to see, and as he rode he took in the sights like some slightly distressed pleasure-traveler.

“What’s that?” he demanded, pointing to a large square depression in the bog. Arilyn looked, and her heart sank.

“Someone’s been cutting peat,” she said tersely.

“Whatever for?”

“Fuel. It burns well.”

Danilo considered her words. “Why would someone want to come all the way into this flattened-out version of the Abyss for fuel? There are perfectly good woodlands between here and the nearest civilized area.” When Arilyn didn’t comment on his observation, Danilo puzzled it over. He finally snapped his fingers and smiled in triumph. “Wait a minute! I’ve got it! Our peat-cutting friends must be from one of the uncivilized races. Orcs, maybe? More likely goblins, given the terrain. Am I right?”

Arilyn cast him a sour look. “You needn’t look so pleased about it. Listen, that peat was recently cut. Whatever did it is probably nearby.”

“You jest,” Danilo said, a hopeful note in his voice.

“Not very often. We’re nearing the marsh. Hold your tongue until we’re through it.”

The dandy subsided. Soon the spongy texture of the peat bog gave way to open wetlands, and the air took on a repressive, swampy tang. Before highsun they had reached the edge of Chelimber Marsh.

“I say, this is a dismal place,” Danilo noted with dismay.

Arilyn silently agreed. In her opinion, the Marsh of Chelimber could easily be mistaken for one of the lower levels of the Nine Hells.

There was no sign of animal life, yet an eerie, insectlike chirruping came from everywhere and nowhere. Bare, rock-covered ground alternated with soggy patches of waist-high marsh grasses, which swayed and beckoned despite an utter lack of wind. Many of the small pools that dotted the ground bubbled and seethed, sending up gushes of sulphur-scented steam. Even the air seemed heavy and oppressive beneath a slate-colored sky.

“Let’s get it over with,” Arilyn whispered, resolutely guiding her horse forward. Danilo followed, looking none too happy.

Despite the known and rumored dangers of the marsh, their ride was uneventful. Arilyn did not relax her guard, but listened alertly to the strange sounds of the marsh. From no discernable source, Chelimber emitted a continuous spate of chirps, pops, groans, and belches. The noise was unnerving, and Arilyn noted the toll it took on the high-strung mares. Yet there was no sign of danger, and by late afternoon it began to appear that the trip would pass without incident. Even Danilo managed to hold his tongue until, by Arilyn’s reckoning, they neared the western border of the marsh. The mist-shrouded sun hung just above the marsh grass. Tension began to drain from Arilyn’s taut body as the horses picked their way toward relative safety. They would escape Chelimber before nightfall, despite the morning’s delay.

That hope was premature. Almost lost in the swamp’s music was a new note, a faint, grating sound that brought to Arilyn’s mind the image of a dragon with hiccoughs. She hoped that the bizarre noise was just another of the marsh’s aural tricks, but just to check she held up a hand to halt Danilo’s progress. “Did you hear that?” she mouthed at him.

The nobleman’s attention was elsewhere. Arilyn followed the direction of his gaze, and her throat tightened in foreboding: at her side, the moonblade glowed with an ominous blue light.

“What’s that all about?” he asked, pointing to her sword.

“Lower your voice.”

“Why is your sword blue?” he asked softly.

“Magic,” she explained tersely, looking about for whatever the moonblade sensed. “A danger warning.”

“Quaint. Very quaint,” he drawled, regarding the pale blue light of the sword with casual interest. “A glowing sword. Tell me, does it come in green? If so, where can I get one?”

The lack of concern in his voice infuriated Arilyn. She glared at him, incredulous. “Goblins,” she stressed in a quiet voice. “Remember your peat-cutting goblins? Surely not even you could find such creatures amusing.”

Danilo pursed his lips and considered this. “Actually, there was this little fellow down in Cormyr …”

“Oh, be still,” Arilyn hissed. Her fingers curved around the moonblade’s grip, and she dismissed Danilo and his foolishness to concentrate on the battle that was sure to come. She eased her horse westward and gestured for the dandy to follow her. The ground was less flat here, and a small hill some hundred yards away bore the ruins of what appeared to be an ancient keep. The setting sun would be at their back, providing a disadvantage to any attackers. There they could take a stand.

No, there I can take a stand, Arilyn corrected silently, casting a derisive glance at the man beside her. Even if Danilo Thann were capable of holding his own in a fight—which she doubted—he would never risk getting blood on his big-city finery.

For the hundredth time since sunrise Arilyn cursed herself over her unfortunate choice of a hostage. She had fought goblinkind many times, and she knew better than to be too confident about the outcome of such a battle. Even the horses, pampered fancy mounts that they were, sensed that danger lay before them; their ears lay back against their heads and they whickered uneasily. Granted, Danilo Thann was not traveling with her of his own choice, therefore she was honor-bound to give him what protection she could. But by all the gods, she would much rather turn him over to the goblins. Perhaps they could wipe that complacent look off his foolish face!

Arilyn’s angry thoughts were interrupted by an unearthly screech. The sound split the air and hung, reverberating, over the marsh. That was the final straw for her temperamental horse, who feared up violently and unexpectedly. Arilyn grabbed at the pommel of her saddle with both hands to keep from being thrown. Before she could reclaim the reins, the horse bolted.

“Hang on,” Danilo yelled, urging his own horse close to Arilyn’s panicked mount. What was he trying to do? she wondered. His horse looked no calmer than hers. It careened along with teeth bared, its ears flat back against its mane and the whites of its terrified eyes gleaming. Danilo seized Arilyn’s reins, struggling to control his own mount with one hand.

That’s it, Arilyn thought with a flash of resignation. We’re both down. Before their spooked mounts had gone a dozen paces, by sheer strength of arm and will Danilo brought both horses to a halt.

Arilyn gaped at the noble in disbelief, earning one of his charming, infuriating smiles. He tossed her reins back to her. “Nice trick, eh? Luck is with you. You abducted the captain of Waterdeep’s champion polo team. Next time, my dear, do try to steal battle-seasoned horses, hmmm?”

Before she could respond to his gibe, a second roar rolled across the marsh. Arilyn drew the moonblade and readied herself for the attack. One of the dangers of the marsh lay in the weird way in which it warped sound. The taunts of their unseen enemy seemed to come from everywhere at once. Where, then, could she and Danilo run?

From behind the ridge of a nearby hillock rose half a score of enormous, scale-covered nightmares. Arilyn had heard tales of the lizard men of Chelimber Marsh, but the reality brought a quick lump of horror to her throat.

Tall as men, the scaly gray-green creatures lurched toward them through the mist and the marsh grass on heavily muscled legs, shrieking and roaring with bloodlust as they brandished blades and battlehammers in their massive, taloned hands.

“Wait a minute! You said there’d be goblins. Those don’t look like goblins to me,” Danilo protested. “I could be wrong, of course.”

“Lizard men,” Arilyn snapped, struggling to control her terrified horse as she formulated a battle plan. Outnumbered as they were, five-to-one, flight seemed the best course. As she flashed a look over her shoulder, she saw a small band of goblins—a hunting party, most likely—rising from the marsh grass, effectively cutting off the chance of a southward retreat.

“So. Do we fight or run?” Danilo asked.

The half-elf spun back around. The lizard men had fanned out into a line, blocking escape to the north or east. “I’ll fight. You run,” she shouted, pointing with the moonblade toward the ruined keep.

Danilo extended his hand. “My sword?”

Arilyn had forgotten. She reached behind her saddle, snatched his blade from its scabbard, and tossed it to him. Danilo deftly caught the weapon, then squinted toward the setting sun. “Now those,” he remarked, “are goblins.”

The half-elf groaned. Three more of the creatures had sprung from behind the piles of stone and rubble, their weapons drawn. Gibbering and snarling, they rushed forward, and Arilyn caught a whiff of the stench that rose from their dark orange skin and filthy leather armor. All three goblins waved rusted swords, and their snarls bared rows of short, sharp fangs. Lemon-colored eyes gleamed with eagerness for battle.

“I’ll take those little ones,” the dandy volunteered.

“Go, you half-witted troll,” she shouted.

Danilo saluted her and wheeled his horse around, galloping toward the ruins and the onrushing goblins. On horseback, Arilyn reasoned, even Danilo should be able to handle three unmounted goblins. To her surprise, he slashed at the western-most lizard man as he rushed past it, as if daring the creatures to follow him.

Good tactics, she acknowledged briefly. If we divide them, they can’t surround us as easily. Then there was no more time for thought. The lizard men were almost upon her.

All of the lizard men.

A moment’s surprise, and then Arilyn understood. The creatures might hunt in a band, but they had little intelligence. Their instincts were for survival, not strategy. Thus, each individual lizard man chose to attack the smaller, seemingly weaker member of the pair. Their mistake, she thought with a thin smile. Raising the glowing moonblade aloft, she forced her horse into a charge.

The first of the lizard men lumbered into range, swinging a curved scimitar in a wicked arc. With a lightning combination, Arilyn parried its first blow and then ran the creature through. The next lizard she disarmed by lopping off its taloned hand. Its shrieks of rage and pain set the rest of the pack rocking back a step, buying Arilyn an instant’s respite. She struggled to control her horse as she flashed a glance in Danilo’s direction.