Every step Jarl took made him weaker, but the lionfeigor kept his discomfort to himself. He tirelessly plodded through the passages that wormed away from the slimy cistern. The underground tunnels were made by mountain storms which had flooded the caves in the spring and cut through stone. The rivers had made round channels with smooth bottoms in places where torrents had gouged-out granite.
In the darkness, Tharus took the lead and soon perceived a faint glow. A natural skylight illuminated the cavern ahead but after further inspection they decided the crack was so adversely positioned it was impossible to do anything more than just be thankful for its presence.
This area may have sheltered feigor once or was a stable for animals. There were stalls and the cave smelled like musty linens. Around a middle pillar they found a block wall in which there was an ancient wooden door. The planks were so dry they saw daylight through the cracks. The decrepit portal had a rusty chain and padlock on the other side.
Tharus gave the center plank a kick and it crumbled at his feet. Warm sunlight shone through the gap. He kicked again and made a bigger hole. Jarl moaned as he stepped forth and Clyde helped him through the threshold.
Outside they found an open mouth cave that was probably ancient mine head with stone ovens and rusty chain rubble on the ground. One side had been a kitchen. Broken pottery pieces and grimy black walls testified to centuries of cooking fires. At their feet were bits of burnt wood and animal bones, pottery shards and scorched stones.
Lon looked beyond the opening to discover what lay outside, and his heart sank. The life-sucking bog was all he could see in every direction.
The cave mouth opened directly onto the marsh. The cliffs beside the opening had steep sides with no footpaths. A pool of deep water lurked on the left which made it impossible to hug the shoreline without swimming. It was late afternoon, and instead of being exhilarated by the natural beauty before their eyes, Lon was depressed by the sight of so much wetland. It was no-land; the terrain was drowned in ankle deep water from the edge forward. An unnatural mist danced in little torrents around the bone white tree stumps. These woods had drowned decades ago and the trunks had lost their bark to become ghostly white spires that cast grotesque shadows in the soupy gauze.
"Out of the sewer and into the swamp," Jarl huffed. The grumpy lion was the first to embrace the leaches, snakes and bugs that waited in the wetland. He was the first to enter the marsh.
Lon shivered as the swamp swirled about his boots. They were not watertight.
"Should we not stay here and rest?" Clyde suggested, but the idea was met with frowns. Jarl couldn't lie down. He'd never rise again. They needed to find help urgently.
"You tried lad." The lion sighed. He was resigned to their wet reality and his miserable death. "It's unavoidable." The cave opening disappeared in the mist behind them.
"I likess swampss," Tharus shrugged. He shouldered the pole with their provisions and high-stepped through the bog in a style befitting a reptilian.
Lon marched ahead and warned the others to be cautious around him. The ground underfoot were slick with algae and the air had a faint sulfur smell. Jarl used his crutch and leaned on Clyde's shoulder and the four feigor trudged through ooze for some time.
Minutes became hours and the sun crept lower and Lon tried to find a solid shoreline but there was only more stumps and swirling mist. The fog billowed across the marsh and seemed alive with ghostly shapes that played about in macabre performances. He wondered if they were traveling in circles. The view never changed.
Jarl continued to weaken. His whiskers drooped and he took smaller steps and got slower as the afternoon wore on. Then he vomited.
This was it, Lon knew, soon the veteran from lambspetal would bravely tell them all to go on without him. Lon knew they needed to find dry land soon. Time was not on their side. Yet he could do nothing to help. He had nothing to offer except a stupid heavy stone that he carried around his neck for no good reason.
"Ssomething on the water ahead," Tharus motioned for them to stop. They watched him shift the food bag so he could crouch-down in the water and focus on the far-away channel.
Lon fixed his eyes on a blur of light. He smelled the air and detected the faint odour of death. Jarl also sniffed the air but didn't say anything.
"Do they look friendly?" Clyde asked. He wrinkled his nose.
"They're not Crolss," said Tharus. He tried to sound positive. "Sso, maybe..."
Torchlight poked through the dark fog and shrubs up ahead. Lon focused his eyesight and saw two drab shapes in a wooden flatboat. They were aged, yet loud and confident. They cackled in a foreign tongue as they poled their small craft through the moonlit swamp. The tall figure at the front of the boat held her torch high and used a short guide pole to steer the craft. The other shorter and pudgier hag stood at the rear and used a longer pole to push the vessel.
"Maybe they'll have a cure?" Jarl suggested weakly as he inspected his bandages and wound. These were the first words he'd spoken in some time and Lon heard the worry in his voice.
"Anyone who dwells in this place must know how to cure the poison." Clyde reasoned and Jarl smiled with hope.
"Perhaps just us two should meet them?" Lon looked at Clyde and reckoned they were the most presentable, despite their desperate appearance; "we don't want to scare them off."
"They're coming this way," Tharus noted. All eyes could see the flatboat now and how the figures cruised around bushes in a navigable channel. They could also see the ladies were not very pretty. They both had long grey hair that looked unwashed and matted with clay.
"We'll all meet them," Jarl said. "Lon, hide that cursed murder stone for Kluth's sake."
Lon lifted the chain from around his head and carried the block over his shoulder. It was not at all comfortable like this, but he was excited by the prospect of meeting local guides who could lead them out of the swamp and he wasn't going to let a Death Stone scare them away. He decided to keep the gold etched symbol hidden against his side.
Jarl and Clyde cleaned their faces as they limped closer. The lad trudged a few paces ahead and waved his arms to signal the boat's occupants and he was perplexed by how long it took them to respond. They'd heard him shouts and now peered out into the murky depths. They must have very poor eyesight.
"Yaar whurkr stack quarkr?" The taller of the two hags called out in a strange voice. It was an unfamiliar language and didn't even sound feigorin; her croaked speech sounded more like a duck or a frog.
Regardless, Lon waved again and bravely sloshed a few steps closer. "Hello," he said.
The short hag pointed at Lon and the pair spoke to each other in their quack-tongue language. After the exchange, the short hag knelt and root about in a cloth bag at the back of the boat. Lon half-expected to see her rise again with a dagger, or a crossbow and he was surprised when she brought forth a golden harp. The musical instrument seemed a out of place. He noticed again their unpleasant smell and he was about to back away when the old biddy's fingers touched the strings, and everything changed.
The old hag played, and all Lon's apprehensions faded away in the fine melody. She played such sweet tones and struck the harp so perfectly that all four travelers soon forgot their terrible predicament and how they came to be in this place. Their hearts followed their ears in bliss, and they lost touch with reality. Mesmerized by the melody, they swayed their hips and clapped.
The hag's crooked fingers played her instrument with precision; she filled the swamp with music, a sublime ballad of celestial consonance. The low notes would rumble about the bog, while the high notes bristled above in a blessed harmony. The crisp refrain was so satisfying that each listener smiled with pleasure when it broke. As the short musician played, the tall female held forth her smoky torch and beckoned all four feigor to come closer to the boat.
The fugitives' eyes were hypnotized by the short hag's hands and her rhythmic patterns. They were beguiled and formed a line in the knee-deep water at the side of the boat where they became a very attentive audience.
Lon still had his burden strapped over his shoulder, the icon hidden at his side. Up to this point he'd completely forgotten about the deadly device. He was caught-up in the sudden pleasure of meeting two shapely females who were master-musicians with a sleek and fashionable barge. He felt giddy with pleasure as he laughed and counted time.
The tall dancer gracefully lowered the torch into a sconce at the front of their riverboat so she could use both of her own hands to weave wonderful gestures in the air and delight the males with her seductive beauty. She laughed gracefully and seemed to enjoy the dance as much as they did. Then she knelt close to Lon and looked into his eyes.
"Duma-fie-gor," the tall lady greeted the sea drover and her words blended into the song.
Lon saw the symbols from the Crolean flag appear in midair and float towards him. Why that flag? The golden geometry drifted closer. So these ladies were Crols? No. Lon saw and felt the mark enter his body and appear in his mind. He felt it too.
The lad heard the Varget words in his ears and it tickled the very core of his being. The symbol entered his brain and enveloped him like a warm blanket. He laughed aloud. It was the kindest and most pleasant hello he'd ever received.
The music and Lon's laughter made the others laugh as they continued to sway to the melody. One by one, the tall women greeted each guest directly and said "Duma-fie-gor" as she looked directly into their eyes.
Each time she spoke her words hissed and popped and each feigor smiled and grinned after the greeting. Lon felt a weight in his body sway like water in a wooden tank during a windstorm. He didn't see the flag symbol when she spoke to the others, but he felt each intonation ripple through him.
Lon looked-on with pleasure as Jarl, Tharus and Clyde were welcomed by the tall lady while the short minstrel played. Clyde was the last to be greeted and seemed impatient to get the blessing. Once struck by the words he was the most positively affected and rejoiced at being able to see and hear and feel the special music so intensely. He pointed and drew sheet music in the air and behaved like a court composer who directed the performance of a maestro.
The swampkin's green lips stretched from ear to ear in a wide grin that displayed all his razor-sharp teeth. He'd dropped his feedbag and pole and now held his empty hands over his head and swayed about in a circle like a small child might dance for his parents.
Jarl forgot he was poisoned and clutched his walking stick to march on the spot. The lionfeigor's feet splashed in the muddy water as he huffed and puffed with the exercise; he lifted his crude cane up and down and high-stepped like a military bandleader on parade.
While the others were drawn to the short harp player, Lon stared transfixed at the tall women closest to him in the boat. He was amazed at her great beauty. Why had he not seen how pretty she was before? And now she reached out to him. She reached for the heavy chain on his shoulder. Wait! He thought. She must not touch that. It will harm her, he believed.
The beautiful female reached out for the artifact. No. This is too dangerous. He stepped back. She must see it. He flipped the tablet and showed her the symbol and then he decided to wear the object to demonstrate how strong he was and to show her he was special. The tall lady motioned to receive the tablet but instead of relinquishing the dangerous relic, Lon looped the chain over his own neck.
And everything changed.
All Lon's senses were presented with reality and the truth was horrible and hard to accept. The lad suddenly saw how these musical beings were not attractive minstrels, or even old hags, but ghastly mutants. The vile witch who faced him had dark eyes and a horrible pig-like snout. The harp music he heard, and which lingered in his ears was not a complicated liturgy, but a crude lullaby, out of tune and terribly performed. He was no longer warm and comfortable but stood in cold water and ached all over and his nose suffocated in the stench of death. Lon grasped at the awful reality laid out before him and his brain reeled because he knew it was the truth.
The tall creature had a butcher's cleaver that glinted in the moonlit. She would use it to cut all their throats and chop their bodies.
The lad reached for his own saber that was sheathed on his belt. He pulled it forth.
"Duma fei gor" the creature spoke at Lon, and the flag of Crol came as a golden symbol at the youth again. A circle, inside a diamond, inside a square glowed as it floated towards him.
The icon bounced off his body. That was interesting. Last time it'd entered him and appeared in his mind.
Lon saw how this development wasn't what the creature had expected either; he felt how the stone tablet had shielded him and how it'd made him impervious and this infuriated the hag. She raised her knife and he countered with his blade.
It was life in slow motion, but Lon knew he had the upper hand; his sword was three times longer than the witch's cleaver. All he had to do was extend his arm and straighten the blade. But the hag or the music or some ghastly thing made him slower than molasses.
A shrill female voice sounded in the distance.
From the corner of his eye, Lon saw a young person, a girl in green clothes with long blond hair. She stepped out from behind bushes and splashed towards them. He had to ignore the curious guest to concentrate on skewering the hag. To his relief the appearance of someone new distracted the marsh-mutant too and it left her prone. He straightened his arm and stabbed her side with his sword.
"Arrrgh" The witch groaned.
The blond girl splashed onto the scene in real time; she moved fast and had quick reflexes. The girl was just twenty paces away when she shouted a word which echoed unnaturally in Lon's ears and he saw and felt its effects.
"Geibor!" The two-syllable word snapped and popped like a thunderclap. A loaf of bread shaped blue light appeared on her wrist. It looked like a tight cluster of glowing gnats and to Lon's surprise it sped towards him. He watched in terror as the blue light ball approached.
Lon had never seen anything like this before in his life, but he'd read about it many times. He knew this was Kluth's Joy, the real Varget from the deepcombers' sheets and right then he worried it'd be the last thing he'd ever see.
But instead of striking Lon, the glowing bolt flattened the ugly mutant at the front of the boat. The blast tore open its chest right above where he'd had poked it with his blade.
"Arrgggh," the mutant hag screamed in horror and collapsed to its knees to hold its wounded belly. It tried to warn its companion and the lad watched it happen all over again.
Another female voice, slightly older, shouted "Geibor!" The sound was sharp, and the words split the air and hurt his ears. Lon felt a ripple in his body and he saw a second blue light appear in the distance. The mutant creature that'd faced him had no way to avoid the ordinance that approached. He saw how the blast had come from a second young female, equally attractive, with long dark hair. The second girl was dressed entirely in tight-fitting black leather gear with silver buckles which the caught the light. From her outstretched palm, her blue bolt scorched away to hit the hideous hag square in the head.
The creature's stringy hair blazed in a static fuzz that looked like hundreds of blue and white houseflies. He could see the beast's ugly face melt away and the outline of its skull appear. The creature issued chortled cries that added to the anguish of its agonized death.
Alert to the danger, the shorter mutant hag at the back of the craft lowered her harp. The music stopped. The creature smelled the air and knew something was wrong. It peered out over the hostile shoreline. The surviving beast was quite blind; its harp was its only defense. The crone plucked strings to make soft notes which kept the sound alive.
Lon still held his bloody saber but was otherwise paralyzed. He was frozen with supreme indecision and could only watch events unfold around him in real time. He could see the tall creature was still alive and he saw how it suffered; its stomach had spilled open and its head was consumed by glowing moths which were not really bugs at all but the stuff that makes lighting during storms and inhabits wool sweaters. He'd felt these sparks before when he'd donned fur slippers and walked-on dry wooden floors. The furry footwear made your fingers zap metal and you felt the jolt all through your body. He was sure that's what this mutant experienced now, but a thousand times worse. He marveled at how its body twitched uncontrollably in the tempest.
But all Lon could do was stand and watch. He pointed open-mouthed but no words came out. When he managed to look over at his friends, he was unable to issue any warnings.
It didn't matter. Jarl, Tharus and Clyde didn't even notice the tall creature's demise because they were still entranced by the short harpist. Their eyes were fixed on the pig-faced mutant who remained, and whom they still believed was a beautiful minstrel. All three looked hungry to hear more of her transcending melodies. None of the others had seen or heard the sizzling shots and they seemed quite unaware of the two stealthy females on approach.
The short mutant strummed the strings on its golden harp to keep the song alive as it focused its eyes on the darkness. The beast had gangling arms and stubby black hands and it clutched its clarsach as though its music were its only defense.
Two young and very pretty female hunters approached cautiously, each girl held her bare right arm outstretched as though holding a weapon or shield, but their hands were empty.
"Geeee bor!" The brunette shouted and the sound echoed across the slough and into the mountains beyond. Lon watched her make another ball of fuzzy blue sparks. The blast flew straight towards the short harpist at the back of the boat.
The creature screamed in terror as the fuzzball struck its body. The thing seemed powerless to avoid the ordinance. It raised-up its golden harp like a shield in hopes that object would yield some protection but instead the surge played the cords one last time as it passed through the stringed instrument. Sprong. The bolt struck the beast's pig face and cooked its flesh. The hideous creature collapsed and steam issued from its body as it gurgled and squirmed at the back of the craft.
The smashed harp fell from the hag's hands and her power over the others faded. Now the other three travelers could see both mutants were not courtly musicians but carnivorous monsters. Their long greasy hair was matted with feces and their faces were hideous pig-like abominations. Each beast had deep set eyes with jet black pupils and swine-like noses. Their smoldering bodies didn't resemble anything Lon had ever seen before.
The weary survivors stared in silence at the repugnant shapes with a mixture of shame and revulsion. Amidst their cargo Lon could see loose body parts; a hand, a hairy arm, leg, and foot and other body parts of earlier victims. Some of the remains had spilled on the bottom of their craft and the smell of rotten flesh filled the air.
Lon vomited. Clyde was wide-eyed and his mind raced. Tharus and Jarl gagged and supported each other as they tried to make sense of the scene before their eyes. They needed time to process it.
The four fugitives stared down at the grotesque monsters and then up at the beautiful females who carefully crept towards them along the shoreline.
The girls were both shockingly pretty and each was dressed in very stylishly but very different clothes. Their apparel was hand-tailored to perfectly fit their slender bodies. Even when viewed by torchlight, in a misty swamp, they both looked immaculate. The blond was young, maybe only sixteen years old. She wore a green corset-coat with dozens of small brass buttons, and which displayed its purple brocade across her chest and arms. A silk jerkin underneath caught the light and made a white neckline which highlighted her blond hair. Her outfit was complete with green trousers and tall brown leather boots. A strap across her shoulders supported a ram's horn on her back. When she came closer Lon could see that her freckled face had the unmistakable look of someone eager to prove herself and determined not to fail. She completely ignored the weary refugees and unsheathed a long hunting knife from her thin waist belt. The shiny blade reflected the torchlight on the prow of the skiff as she knelt over her quarry.
Her dark-haired lass was senior but no older than eighteen. She had bright blue eyes and a long thin aquiline nose. She had high cheekbones and a strong chin. When she came into the torchlight Lon could see that she looked more confident than her companion. Her form-fitting bodysuit was comprised of many separate garments that overlapped and which were fastened together with leather straps and buckles. She had pale white skin and her pretty face wore the weary expression of someone who'd killed before and didn't enjoy the task. She approached less anxiously and more confidently unsheathed her blade. Then she looked to the blond and readied her knife. Lon watched and understood that she was demonstrating her technique; he watched the sultry lass show her friend how to apply a proper killing blow.
The brunette dropped and plunged her knife and it sounded like she cut a vegetable. The monster's hot blood spurted out of its head and into the water as its corpse stilled.
Now it was the blond's turn. She held her breath and looked down at the steel in her hands. Then she bit her bottom lip with determination and emulated her mentor.
Lon watched the blond girl insert the knife and saw she'd done it wrong. She didn't push deep enough and pulled back too early, and too quickly. The horrible beast squirmed, and it frightened her. She got angry with herself for feeling scared and so she stabbed again more forcefully, but in the same wound. Blood spurted up her chest, neck, and face. "Ugggh" she said and was about to stab the mutant a third time when it happened.
When these powerful monsters died it caused The Doubling, and everyone present felt the surge and this time all were affected.
Black blood dripped from their killing knives and both warriors turned bright white. Their skin glowed under their clothes. The effect only lasted for a moment and then it slowly faded until they were entirely normal again. It was the same thing Lon had seen happen to Tharus after they'd defeated the roc, and now it happened here to these girls. The effect thrilled them. They laughed riotously and collapsed into a hug, their knives dripped dark blood on each other's pants and arms.
"From A. To. Zed," the blond said. She could barely talk and her difficulty speaking only made it funnier for them both. The brunette hugged her again as they laughed.
Now it was Lon's turn to feel strange. He too had been under the influence of these creatures, and he too had watched these young females kill the beasts. He too was directly affected by their deaths and so his body also received the bounty which triggered The Doubling. The lad's eyes widened with surprise as he could see his own skin turn snow white. For a moment everything he saw became oddly translucent. The knot in his stomach reminded of him of how it felt to fall from a great height, but he was not moving. He turned to check the others. He could see they experienced the same sensations. He watched the glow leave their bodies as it left his own.
Lon puked. Pins and needles occupied every muscle in his body for a few moments and he shivered to try and shake it off which didn't help at all.
The maidens recovered their wits and cast eyes toward the wretched fugitives they'd just saved. It pleased them to see how they were also affected by The Doubling. It was because they'd all co-experienced the monsters' deaths. By participating in this cosmic drama as the monsters' prey, the males had also quite deservedly shared the payout upon the spirits' release. The entire group had the same transformative experience. When the ladies saw how the fugitives were also affected by their actions, they began to giggle again.
The freckle-faced blond girl sobered and scanned their faces. Her eyes were drawn to Lon and his curly white hair and she saw then for the first time that he wore a stone tablet on his chest. The blond girl pointed it out to the brunette who squinted her eyes and studied the sea drover's face for clues.
"A toll for Atar?" the blond said to her companion like it was bad news.
"No." The brunette snapped. "Don't you dare..."
"But..." The blond sighed like it was hopeless. She pointed at Lon. "It's a toll."
The other three survivors, still too stunned to speak, craned their necks to see what the young females found so interesting about Lon.
"De tok talon brangerdan spe Atar." The girl pointed at the tablet. When the Lon didn't reply she tried another tongue. "Bilescpise dedfres usexcu de-Atar," she said awkwardly and the brunette smirked. Lon and the others stared back at her with blank looks. Finally, she tried the common tongue: "Do you carry the Toll to Atar?" She asked.
"Yeas." Lon croaked, more to signify that he understood the words, because of course he certainly didn't know who Atar was, nor did he have any idea why anyone would want such a deadly object. He was just happy he could understand her and also that somebody alive wanted the heavy thing he'd lugged around his neck for two days.
In the calm that followed the excitement of the killing, and the Doubling afterwards, the dark-haired huntress held her head in her hands and behaved as though she had a headache. She acted like someone who'd just felt a great rush of excitement and now needed to lie down for a short period of time to recover. Lon felt the same way.
The blond wasn't so badly affected. The freckle-faced girl secured the flatboat with its bloody corpses by taking the rope at the prow and turning the vessel around. As the adults watched she hauled it up onto a mud bar. She removed the torch that still flamed at the front of the boat. She held it aloft and walked back to retrieve the soggy satchel of food that Tharus had dropped. She peered inside the bag and then tossed the whole sack into the boat. It was just garbage to her. The four weary feigor were too warped to protest the waste and they merely watched helplessly as their only food supply was tossed on top of the dead hags and their hideous cargo. The blond studied them as they stood in the mud and they stared back at her in silence. She walked closer again to stand in front of Lon.
The sea drover drank in her beauty by torchlight; she had lovely brown green eyes in a freckled face. Her long blond hair curled around her neck and chin. She pointed to the tablet on his chest and tried to talk again. "Atar?" She said. Lon tried to speak and say who is that? But he couldn't reply.
"Atar Mendi?" Clyde asked and then smiled mysteriously. Lon looked at him in surprise. The blond also raised her eyes and took-in the clerk's red silk jacket and refined appearance. His strange question was enough response to convince her of something and she shifted the leather strap to bring forth her ram's horn. This led to a raucous debate between the two females.
"Doncha dare," the brunette said hotly in Common. "Don't bring em here." The dark-haired girl was older and taller. "If you blow that, and we find it... We won't get to keep it."
"Either way," the freckled face girl said, "It's what's next." She gazed at Lon. "He's Po-bound on a path."
"Doesn't have to diminish this."
"Don't believe it will," the blond said, and then she smiled warmly at Lon.
"Of course it will." The brunette huffed and shook her head no. She reached out to stop her friend, but was too late. The blond puffed her rosy cheeks and blew into the ram's horn with all her might. Barrrroooooooom! A loud bellow issued forth over the gloomy environs and the sound caused the older brunette to curse with abandon. Now instead of being friendly toward each other, the two seemed competitive. The brunette swore curses under her breath and went to work with new urgency; she dragged the captured craft farther on shore and took-up the torch to begin a search.
The blond meanwhile continued her summons. She pointed up at the sky and spoke words which were really loud also echoed about the marsh.
"Picabor." The blond said. All the survivors were amazed when her little freckled hand lit-up and a yellow flare hissed forth to climb high in the sky before arcing out over the misty swamp and exploding into a brilliant starburst. Lon felt the pyro toss his stomach, and then he saw for the first time just how close they were to the trees. Why had he not seen that whole forest before?
When the lad looked back at the murder scene, he saw how the brunette now rooted through the monsters' possessions at top speed. Her foraging also profited from the new light-source and she rummaged through the hags' disgusting clothes and cargo at top speed. She'd dumped the rotten body-parts bag and sorted through the meat and now worked to disrobe the two fat corpses. The blond helped. It was clear they were on a quest to discover valuables, and they hunted something specific.
Their hunt yielded loot, however repulsive. The ladies uncovered valuable trade beads, an old book, the tall witch's cleaver, and a long string of various sized teeth which passes for currency in some parts of Tokal. The females piled their plunder on a patch of fabric in the mud. Yet the brunette continued to root through the monsters' belongings no matter how horrible. She searched for something else, and finally, after yet more despoliation, she held-up the reward she'd sought.
Lon watched the brunette smile with satisfaction and present a golden cloak-pin decorated with one red ruby. This was a respectable treasure, except Lon could see there should be two large centerpiece gems. One was missing, and so the pattern looked incomplete. The lady looter frowned at the bent flange and empty socket before she cast her eyes down at the bottom of the boat. The blond girl tapped her on the shoulder to interrupt; her freckled face smiled with glee as she held up the loose ruby in her fingers and together, they both laughed again as best friends.
Lon cleared his throat and made ready to speak, but once again found that no words would come; so he simply pointed to Jarl. The females shifted their eyes and noticed for the first time that the big cat looked infected. His green eyes begged medical attention.
The brunette ignored Lon and others to appear unconcerned. She laid down grimy fabric that would become a loot bag.
The freckle-faced blond came to their rescue. She fished about in her magnificent top and produced a flask filled with a glowing white liquid. The way she'd pulled this vial from her jacket helped convince Lon that the vessel contained an antidote to a frequently encountered poison.
"Smals," Clyde rasped and this confirmed Lon's belief. The liquid glowed in the dark which was something else he'd never seen before.
Instead of handing the vial over respectfully, the blond dropped the container down into the mud in front of Jarl. She motioned the lionfeigor should uncork it and drink its pure white contents. She wasn't going to risk getting too close to these strangers on such a remote shoreline.
Lon knelt and steadied his tablet as he bent to retrieve the medicine bottle. He studied the incomprehensible characters on its crude paper label. What struck him was how he could feel what existed inside the bottle. He believed there was a small amount of the-misty-stuff he'd seen stream-up from the silver sphere; that's what he'd ingested when he was tied to altar. He was sure that's what he felt when he held this flask. So, this was the Smals medicine? He looked at it carefully and then uncorked it to smell its contents. It smelled like hot-buttered pancakes and licorice which was comforting. The unique fragrance also helped convinced him it was a cure.
Lon handed the jar to Clyde who helped Jarl swallow the mixture. The effect, while not immediate, was noticeable. Within a very short period the green tinge disappeared from the patient's eyes and some of his strength returned.
The blond used the torch and another piece of Varget to set the boat on fire. Her action caused another ripple in the young lad's body which lifted his attention away from the lionfeigor. He caught the brunette's eyes and took a step closer. The dark-haired girl packed her booty bag and stared-up at the young male the way a wild animal might assess a threat.
"I'm Lonastasius."
The sultry brunette stood full height and looked down at him. She snorted derisively. Without regards to him or any of the others she hoisted up her booty bag to her shoulder and turned her back on the battlefield. Her treasure-sack tinkled as she retreated to the bushes from which she'd first appeared.
The blond meanwhile tended the growing fire and watched it consume the crude boat and corpses in a flickering funeral pyre. The two locked eyes and glared at each other for a moment.
The dark-haired lass pulled a tiny coracle from the bushes. Lon knew the boat was made of cow hides sewn together and sealed with pitch around a wicker frame. This craft looked very well constructed. The tiny vessel had one wooden plank seat and a small leather sail. It wobbled as she stepped aboard and pushed herself away. "Geishef," the brunette said and raised her hand to direct a fresh wind toward the hide. Lon watched and felt again a ripple in his chest. Her words rumbled through the air and the wind pushed her craft into the channel. Her little black boat disappeared entirely in the moonlit fog that swirled and swayed in the breeze she'd made.
The blond huntress was not pleased with her dark-haired friend's departure. She huffed, sighed, and went back to work coaxing the flames. Lon knew she waited for something or someone to answer her summons and it wasn't much longer before everyone heard them approach.
Soldiers marched. Leather boots splashed and leggings chaffed as a body of armed feigor with a single oil lantern bobbed close; a military company could be heard, and then seen, advancing through the marsh.
The sight and sound of the approaching force became a catalyst for activity; the fugitives took baby steps through the mud at their feet and pried through the sludge in their minds.
The four travelers gasped in unison when it became clear that all the soldiers who approached were minuchin; the entire company was composed of red-skinned lizard mutants.