When the black mud became too plocky, Gull shucked his wooden clogs and hurled them toward shore. Cold mud oozed between his toes, but at least he could walk. He thrashed through saw grass that cut his legs. Dripping water and mud, hoisting his legs high-they'd ache soon-he heard splashing behind.
Chad followed with another torch. He carried a crossbow and short sword.
Beyond his flickering light, Gull glimpsed Greensleeves. 'Go back, damn it!'
Chad shouted, 'He's my friend and I'll rescue him! What the hell do you care about Kem anyway?'
'Not you!' Gull tried to turn, but was stuck fast. In fact, standing still, he began to sink. 'I meant my sister, damn it! And Kem might be a prick, but he doesn't deserve to wander in a swamp till he dies! No one does! Greenie, go back!'
His sister ignored him. She had enough sense to tuck up her tattered skirts and walk parallel to the men's footprints so she didn't sink. Her legs were black to the thigh. Gull gave up yelling. Short of tying her to a tree, he couldn't stop her. He'd just have to watch front and back.
He tried to recall the legends of will-o'-the-wisps. Back in White Ridge, they sometimes appeared in summer three years in a row, then disappeared for three years or more. No one knew what they looked like up close. Folk who watched too long became mesmerized, walking toward the lights. If restrained, they fought like wildcats to go on, had to be tied in a closed barn until dawn, then watched each night else they pursued anew. What the lights wanted, no one understood. It was whispered they lured victims to wander until they died, where their corpses would feed the swamp itself. But no one knew for certain.
Queerest of all, only people became entranced. Animals ignored the lights. What did that mean? Again, no one knew. It was just something to speculate on through long winter nights.
Perhaps tonight, thought Gull, he'd learn. Whether he'd survive was another matter…
Oddly, the woodcutter found the pools easy to traverse. The bottoms were solid but slick claypans. He welcomed the chance to walk more easily and wash off rotted-green mud.
Until he discovered his legs peppered with leeches.
He bit his tongue to keep from screaming, fought the urge to run ashore. He ripped at the slimy bumps, but they stuck fast, greedily sucking his blood. Gull gave up, shut them from his mind. Maybe they'd make his sister turn back. As for Chad, let him get eaten.
Slogging, lurching over treacherous ground, juggling the torch so it wouldn't fall-extinguish and leave him in blackness-he reached the first cypress. With his axe he slashed to part the tough vines and grab the bole, but the woody knees were slippery.
Nothing was easy in this godsforsaken swamp, he thought. No place for mortals. Further, he couldn't track Kem. He might have gone anywhere.
Which meant Gull could only steer for the dancing wisps. Tempting death.
Growling, swearing, he glanced quickly at the wisps, looked away, then turned that way. Chad came behind.
Greensleeves, he was astounded to learn, was ahead of him.
The girl had flipped her soggy skirts over her shoulders. Her bare bony behind glowed like a small moon. She, too, was dotted with leeches, but fewer than Gull bore. And when she scratched, they dropped off. More of her strange power, he thought. Even insects respected her link to nature, plagued her less than clear-headed folk.
Somehow she'd circled a hundred feet beyond, almost out of the torchlight.
Gull shouted for her to slow down. She cruised on, light as a deer. He was forced to steer after her now.
But who knew? Maybe she tracked Kem. Maybe with her otherworldly vision, she could see what he couldn't.
Checking that Chad followed, Gull cursed and hopped and floundered after her. Maybe idiocy was its own queer blessing -or maybe not.
Greensleeves shrilled like a rabbit caught in a trap.
Gull bellowed.
Green-slimy skinny man-shapes swarmed over his sister.
Some dropped from trees, some skipped across roots, and two erupted from the water like bass leaping after dragonflies. Three grabbed Greensleeves's arms, one her legs, and they pulled.
In different directions, squabbling the while like a catfight.
Gull had seen this before. The tiny goblins had argued like this. Maybe these creatures were cousins.
Howling, wishing for his longbow, Gull scrambled onto a root, slipped, jumped for another. But he raced like a snail after spiders, him plodding while the big goblins flitted across water and roots and vines.
For despite their haggling, they dashed off with their prize. The horde melted into the night, away from Gull and his wavering torch.
As Gull clutched at vines, Chad came level, raised his crossbow. It twanged and thunked. Gull batted his bow up. 'You'll hit my sister!'
'Ha! Not likely! Look!'
Indeed, one shrieking goblin was pinned through the guts to a cypress trunk. Splashing in water, slipping on roots, clawing aside vines, the men bulled up to it.
By torchlight, the thing was so ugly it hurt to look at it. Gray-green skin, pointed ears, lank black hair. So skinny its ribs and hipbones showed, it was naked, covered with warts and leech scars. The crossbow quarrel had pierced its hip, and it screeched as it tried to pull free, slimy hands slipping on the shaft.
'Sedge trolls,' Chad muttered. 'Halfway between goblins and orcs.'
Vaguely, Gull wondered if these trolls were in league with the will-o'-the-wisps. Or were actually the wisps, using some light trick. Or simply followed the wisps, waiting for a mesmerized victim. Then he pushed that aside.
'Where have they taken my sister?' he demanded of the monster.
Clutching a tree bole to keep his footing, Chad growled, 'You won't get answers. They're animals. No minds.'
And before Gull could act, the mercenary smashed the thing's head against the tree with the stock of his crossbow.
The troll was tough. One dirty ear dribbled blood, but it shook its head, only dazed. Chad hauled off and smashed again, crushing its skull. The troll slumped to hang on the bolt.
Shocked, Gull demanded, 'Why do that?'
'To save another arrow,' Chad tsked. 'Come on, we've got to find Kem.'
'And my sister.'
Together they waved torches and cast about. Gull pointed out a gap in grapevines. They shoved through, Gull in the lead, axe held close to bat at foliage, and make a quick strike.
Blundering through vines, duck walking on aching knees and ankles, slapping at insects, cursing as the torches fetched up, the men pressed on. At one point they heard a faint scream-a man's-quickly cut off.
Mincing around tree stumps into ever-thicker bracken, they touched solid ground. An island. Gull discovered a path no wider than a deer's, and they slid along it. Another scream split the air. Chad grunted when they smelled a cooking fire like burning garbage.
There were no troll guards, and soon whiskers of fire showed through the vine curtains. They extin-guished the torches in a puddle, crept over chaff and trampled bracken.
It was no village, just a clearing two arm spans' wide. The firepit was a circle of rocks. Bones and waste littered the ground along with heaps of rotted grass for beds.
Gull burst onto the scene first, Chad squeezing behind.
Greensleeves was mashed facedown in a pile of grass. On her back sat four trolls pinning her hands. Close by the fire, five more, male and female, sat on Kem's back. One gray-haired hag plied a rusty knife blade to saw through the bodyguard's elbow. Blood spurted as far as the fire, making it smoke with a brassy stink.
The two rescuers couldn't believe the trolls' surprise. Green faces turned up, crooked jaws dropped, eyes popped. Gull realized they were dumb as dumb dogs.
Then he swung his axe, and trolls died.
Yelling for Chad to keep clear, the woodcutter whipped the double-bitted axe behind, fetched up slightly in vines, then swung with a grunt and heave.
