“Yeah, Rig wants us to stay here,” Jasper whispered. The dwarf nodded his head in understanding. Then he held his hands in front of his chest, as if he were holding the reins of a horse, pantomiming. “Who put Rig in charge anyway?” the dwarf said. “I want to go see.”
Groller shrugged, picked up Fiona’s sack, and followed the dwarf. The wolf growled softly, padding after them.
Rig, Fiona, and Feril were ahead, crouched behind a thick patch of spike rushes. Beyond them, wending their way through a stand of moss-draped dahoons, were four lizard creatures leading a sorry-looking group of elves.
“Scaly men,” Feril whispered. “Spawn? No. Something different.”
The four creatures were green and covered with thick, raised scales. They were stoop shouldered and had thick chests covered with lighter green leathery plates. Their heads looked like alligators, perched upon short necks. Three of them carried spears festooned with orange and yellow feathers, and they chatted among themselves in a lost tongue. The fourth held a long vine attached to the band of prisoners.
“The elves are Silvanesti,” Fiona whispered. “I count a dozen.” Feril nodded.
The fair-haired elves were tied together with ropelike vine. Thorny vines that cut into their skin were wrapped about their wrists and ankles. They were gaunt, and the few clothes they wore were tattered and filthy.
Without a word, Jasper reached into his sack and pulled out the Fist of E’li. The scepter felt good in his hand. Rig caught his eye, and he, too, rose from behind the rushes, brandishing his sword. They dashed toward the creatures. Fury streaked past them, a red blur.
Fiona was quick on their heels. Groller dropped the canvas sack, reached for his belaying pin, and barreled through the rushes. Behind them, still hidden in the spike rushes, Feril had closed her eyes. Her fingers played across the rush blades as a musician might stroke harp strings. She let her mind drift to the swamp and began singing.
The wolf barreled into the first lizard creature, knocking it down into the saw grass.
Rig struck the one directly behind, dropping beneath the jab of the thing’s spear and thrusting forward with his cutlass. The weapon bit into the creature’s thigh, spilling black blood. The lizard thing made no sound, didn’t flinch, and Rig maneuvered a step to find a better opening.
Fiona effortlessly parried a jab by a third lizard creature and slashed at its plated abdomen. The creature was swift, despite its size, and easily dodged her blow.
Rig narrowly sidestepped a well-aimed jab. His sword knocked aside the next stab, while the fingers of his free hand reached into his waistband and retrieved three daggers. He hurled these at Fiona’s target. “Yes!” he shouted. The first two daggers lodged in the creature’s chest. The third missed its intended mark.
“Thanks, but I can fight my own battles!” the young Solamnic called.
“Just trying to help!” Rig returned as he feinted to the right, then drove his blade into his foe’s side. The creature hissed, slimy spittle flying at the mariner’s face. The butt of the lizard man’s spear slammed into Rig’s stomach. The mariner fell back, dazed, and drew three more daggers.
Fiona’s lizard creature struggled to stay on its feet, as black blood poured from its wounds. “Surrender!” she shouted, hoping it could understand her language.
The creature shook its head, but she began to wear it down, shifting from side to side, making repeated jabs and thrusts.
Meanwhile, Groller wrestled with the lizard creature that had been leading the captive elves. The half-ogre was wielding his belaying pin while trying to avoid his enemy’s long, curved dagger. Jasper was busy, too, the Fist in his right hand, distracting the creature with his shouting and whirling.
The creature was no match for the two of them. The half-ogre hammered the belaying pin into the side of the creature’s head. Jasper grinned at the crunch of bone.
The lizard creature sank to its knees, then pitched forward as Jasper and Groller jumped out of the way.
In the rushes, more than a dozen yards away, Feril’s fingers continued to play on the blades of tall grass. “Let this one live, Fury,” she whispered. Her senses raced past the spike rushes and floated above the saw grass toward the wolf.
Fury’s jaws were black with the thing’s blood; he’d been nipping at the lizard man’s stomach, biting through its tough skin plates, keeping the thing on its back. Again and again, the wolf darted beneath its claws, snapping.
“Let this one live.” Feril’s song became louder, her senses touching the tips of the tall saw grass. The blades near the wolf and lizard creature began writhing, randomly at first, and then with a purpose. They twisted about the creature’s legs and arms, throat, pinning it to the soddened ground. Yet, the blades did not touch the wolf.
“Fury!” she called as she distanced her senses.
The wolf looked up, muzzle dripping, then loped toward Rig’s lizard man. The mariner had a dagger between his teeth and two more in his left hand, in his right he held his sword. Taking a few steps back, he tossed the left-hand two daggers at the creature in front of him. Only one found its mark, though, sinking into the lizard man’s stomach. “Losing my touch,” the mariner cursed, as he took the dagger from between his teeth.
Fury leapt at the creature. His jaws clamped tight on the lizard man’s wrist, preventing him from throwing the spear. Rig took advantage of the opening and swung his sword at the creature. Spattered with black blood, the mariner retreated to watch the thing flop onto its back, twitching horribly. Fury vaulted onto the creature’s chest and tore at its throat.
Rig whirled to see Fiona slashing at the remaining lizard man. She dropped below a feeble spear thrust, her long sword slicing into the creature’s waist. The creature emitted the first howl of pain any of them had surrendered. Fiona tugged her sword free, then thrust it up and forward, finishing the thing quickly.
“See? I didn’t need any help,” the knight said, as she tugged her sword free and rubbed it in the grass to wipe off the blood.
Rig touched Fiona on the shoulder, pointing at Feril and Groller. The Kagonesti and half-ogre were working quickly to untie the vines that held the prisoners together. The mariner and knight headed toward them.
“We cannot find the words to thank you,” an emaciated elven woman said. She gazed into Rig’s eyes. “We had no hope left.”
Rig and Fiona carefully set about the task of removing the thorny vines that had hobbled the prisoners. Jasper replaced the Fist in his sack, padded over to study the elves’ wounds, and shook his head.
“The thorns, this place,” he said sadly. “These people need tending. Most of their wounds are infected. This will take me quite some time, if I can do anything at all.”
“I will help,” Feril offered. “No matter how much time it takes.”
“Time isn’t something we have a lot of,” the mariner cut in. “We’ve got to hurry to find Brukt. And Dhamon.”
“These people need rest and tending,” the dwarf persisted. “I’m not going to abandon them in this condition.”
The Kagonesti’s eyes bore into the mariner’s. “None of us will leave them like this.”
“We know where Brukt is,” the thin woman offered. “We could guide you there. We owe you our lives.”
“Then lead us after we’ve healed you,” Feril said.
“How long is this going to take?” Rig softly asked the Kagonesti. He pointed toward the east. “We’ve got a few hours of light left and—”
Fury’s barking cut him off. The wolf was chasing the sole surviving lizard creature, the one Feril had trapped with the help of the grass. Her concentration interrupted, the plants had released their scaly prisoner.
“We need that one alive!” Feril called to Rig, whose legs were churning over the damp ground toward the fleeing creature. “We need some questions answered.”