Beyond the high falls that fell from Ikaydin, the Thorun River pooled, then ran wide and predictable through the low, forested hills. Here the population was sparse, tiny villages and small, often isolated manors close to the riverbanks. Frost followed the river as much as possible, though he and the others were careful not to encounter any of the local folk.
Frost and Madia chatted from time to time as they went, occasionally joined by Sharryl or Rosivok, but the Bouren prince talked only to his soldiers, and they only to him, until the trail along the river split.
"We will take the right fork into the swamp, then turn west," Frost said. "And luck will be with us."
Jaran frowned at this last. "And how do you know that?" "There are many good omens," Frost explained, noting the warm, sunny weather that had marked the last two days, the wind that never came at their backs, the pattern his augur pebbles made when he took them from their little bag and scattered them on the ground. The pebbles, he claimed, had helped him choose the way ahead.
"I put no faith in these," Jaran said.
"Nor do I," Madia said, "but I have noticed that Frost does, and I won't enter Golemesk on my own, so I am for staying along the water."
"A wise choice," Frost recommended. "Only a fool would risk all that he hoped for on his own knowledge alone."
"I wouldn't expect you to disagree with him," Jaran told Madia.
She fixed her eye on him, glowering. "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, of course," Jaran said, glancing at his men, grinning as they each did.
"You mind yourself, Jaran Ivran!" Madia snapped. "I will not be made a fool by any man!"
"One cannot do that which is already done, my lady."
Madia took a breath and started toward Jaran.
"All jests aside," Frost said, stepping calmly between them, "I think I can ensure our safe passage. And truly," he added, glancing toward Madia, "I would enjoy whatever confidence any of you might place in me."
Jaran studied the wizard a moment. "How can you be so sure?" he asked. "I don't say that I doubt you, but even you cannot know all that we may face in the swamps."
"I will put your mind at ease," Frost said. "Ask your men to form a line, just for a moment."
Jaran turned to face his soldiers and was startled. "Where are they, what have you done to them?" he demanded. He stood gaping at first, then glanced nervously in several directions.
"Go ahead," Frost insisted. "Tell them to form a line."
"What have you done with them!"
"If you will just give the order to your captain . . . "
Jaran stood fuming, still casting about, knuckles white on the hand that gripped the hilt of his sword. "Very well!" he said finally. He faced the empty road. "Purcell, have the men form a line!" He turned back to Frost, lips pursed, eyes drawn narrow. "Done."
Frost looked to Madia, grinning for himself now, and watched a similar smile appear on her face. "They seem well trained," he said. Jaran turned again—and nearly jumped. The men were there, of course, all of them, and in a very neat row. Frost's grin widened.
"But how did you make them disappear?" Jaran asked, obviously a little unnerved.
"I did not," Frost explained. "You were the only one affected. It is much easier that way." He turned and continued walking slowly along the riverbank. Jaran stayed put with his men for a while, and they drifted out of sight. Not long after that they appeared again on the trail, catching up.
No troops of Ariman crossed their path, nor anyone from the Thorun palace at Ginns, though the trail proved more difficult than expected. They had not yet reached the edges of the swamp as the day waned, and they were forced to make camp for the night.
Sleep came easily and lasted long with so many to take turns standing guard, and with the added comfort of the warding spell Frost carefully conjured all around the camp site. In the morning, full of breakfast and walking again, they found the river growing wider until it embraced lush groves and thickets and muddy islands, and was a river no more. The hard trail gave way to mud and undergrowth, and an uncertain path thick with moss and fallen trees.
On the border between Thorun and Vardale, with Frost and his Subartans leading the way, the small party entered into Golemesk.
Camp this night was a small hollow formed by a hillock and a massive fallen tree. A tiny fire glowed with warmth and light against the damp, pungent cold and thick darkness of the night swamp. The trail had become lost in the marshes, the heavens lost to cloud cover and huge ancient trees. The air was heavy with the scent of green water and decaying vegetation, laced with the fragrance of water-plant blossoms. Sharryl and Rosivok made dinner, a soup of dried beans and some leaves they had picked along the way, and Purcell passed flat bread around.
"We're already lost, aren't we?" Purcell asked generally into the silence that hung over the camp when the meal ended.
"I'd wager," Jaran said. "A consequence of following, rather than leading, I think."
"You would have us following you?" Madia asked.
"Perhaps," Jaran replied.
"Frost leads the way," Rosivok declared, again breaking his almost regular silence, turning all heads.
"Of course," Jaran replied, turning to the wizard. "But might you share with us what you know?"
"As I said, the Blade has a faint aura," Frost explained. "I believe I have begun to sense something."
"And is it where you thought?" Madia asked.
"And have you a plan to deal with the lords of these swamps?" Jaran asked further. "Or whatever else finds us?"
"Something of a plan," Frost said. "Most men see the world through narrow eyes. Many creatures, even the most terrible, are often greatly misunderstood, or tragically mishandled."
"Most men that run afoul of leshys and barrow-wights in this swamp never see another day," Purcell said, causing a stir of quiet voices to rise among the other men. "I understand that fine. And the boorish rabble that's crawlin' about everywhere in Golemesk. We already lost three good men, not far from here."
"The swamp is full of men from every land," Jaran added, nodding. "We came to chase some of them off, but we did not expect so many. I have seen dark men from beyond the southern seas, and men from the mountains, and soldiers from half the fiefs in Ariman and beyond, not to mention robbers and scum, diviners and freemen. We were surprised by the troops from—"
"Then you and your men will be a great aid to my Subartans in any future encounters," Frost said.
"Although, they have not fared well so far," Madia noted. "By their own admission."
"A valid point," Frost replied. "Still . . . "
"I will not stay in this camp another moment!" Jaran announced. He stood up, motioning to his men. "None of us will. We will not be insulted by the likes of her!"
"Are you always so easily bested?" Frost chided him.
"First you ran from these swamps and then from your father's war," Madia scoffed. "You even run from mere words. Such a man! Such a prince! Such a coward." She sneered maliciously.
Jaran held his tongue somehow, though he was shaking visibly with the effort. He turned and moved through his men, then beyond the camp, taking stiff, deliberate steps. Purcell and the others started after him.
"They may yet be of use to us," Rosivok remarked. "As you said."
Frost nodded. "Yes, if Jaran has the will. Meanwhile, he will follow, no doubt. If what they tell us of the others in the swamp is true, we cannot know what will be in front of us, but we will at least know what is behind us."
"If they stay near, we can count on them if need be," Rosivok agreed.
"And if they do not stay, better to know of it now," Sharryl said.
They watched the men silently mount their horses, ghostly shapes at the edges of the flickering light from the fire. They spoke among themselves, a mumble Frost could not discern.
"I wonder whether they have that kind of courage?" Madia asked, staring after them. "Any of them."
Frost looked again and his eyes counted too many shapes in the darkness, too many horses—suddenly accompanied by the sounds of clashing iron and the howl of a man meeting death.
Two of Jaran's men fell almost instantly, their horses trotting nervously in circles, saddles empty. Another fell a moment after that, then the muddle of shapes became too confused to sort out. Madia drew steel and started toward the fray, but paused as Frost called to her. Rosivok and Sharryl stood at his sides.
"Stay," Frost said. "Here!" He pointed to a spot just in front of him, the third corner of a defensive triangle. "There may be others. I must work quickly."
Even as she moved to comply, the forest around them rustled to life. At least two figures lunged and were met at mid-stride by Rosivok, then Sharryl faced an attack. Madia spun about as another man fell upon her. She stepped to one side and drove her blade deep, then pulled back and swung out as still another man took the fallen soldier's place. This next was more wary than the first, unwilling to follow in his companion's footsteps. Madia traded blows, waiting her turn. A voice screamed somewhere behind her and she saw her opponent glance briefly toward the sound. She kicked, caught one of the man's legs, then thrust her sword into him as he stumbled.
Now two others took his place, pressing in. They stood on the bodies of the first two men and used the added height to their advantage. Madia swung and blocked furiously, holding them off at first, then losing ground as her strength began to falter. She stepped back once, twice, then sensing herself very near to Frost with her back almost against him, though she dared not turn around.
Suddenly one of her opponents arched at the waist, mouth open, and stumbled back. The second turned his head frantically as he witnessed the event, checking all sides. Madia found the tip of a broadsword emerging from the first man's midsection even as she plunged the end of hers into the second. She pulled back to let the nearest man fall with his friend, and stood facing Jaran.
They stared briefly at each other, left alone somehow by the battle around them, if only for an instant. A very long instant.
"Thank you," Madia said, and saw Jaran nod to her graciously. Then both of them seemed to notice that the sudden calm was not imagined but was apparently quite real. All around them the attacking soldiers stood in place, gaping at the darkness or each other. Rosivok waved to gain everyone's attention, then pointed to the soldiers in earnest, indicating the attack.
"The same spell Frost used on me, on the road," Jaran said, grinning suddenly. "They cannot see us!"
"But they hear!" Madia yelped, stepping sideways as a pair of soldiers turned toward Jaran's voice. Jaran spun about, signaling his men as they came out of their collective trance, then he struck as a soldier's blade slashed wildly in the air. The second man went down and Madia stood over him. Within minutes every remaining assassin lay dead or dying.
"They attacked as soon as you and your men stepped beyond my warding spell," Frost said to Jaran.
"Why didn't the spell protect you?" Jaran asked.
"Once they were within its bounds, once they knew, it did no good."
Jaran nodded. "You handle yourselves well," he said to the two Subartans and Madia. She favored him with a very tight grin. "As do you, my lord."
"How have your men fared?" Rosivok asked. Jaran turned and called them round, counting heads, looking them over. One of the men was bleeding from the arm, another from the face, though neither wound seemed serious. Four men and Purcell. Just the two dead.
"Well enough," he said.
"I will build a new spell to warn us of another approach," Frost said. "And yet another warding spell. One guard should be enough. These are some of Ferris' men. I doubt there would be more than one squad in the same area at the same time. The rest of the night should go more quietly."
"But Ferris' men are not the only ones we have to worry about," Purcell reminded.
"I know," Frost replied. "I do what I can."
Purcell turned and showed the other men to the bodies of their attackers, and they began hauling them into the trees. Rosivok and Sharryl remained with Frost.
"When will we reach the barrows?" Jaran asked.
"Perhaps tomorrow."
"Then this may be only the beginning."
"Beginnings," Frost said, "are better than ends."
"Perhaps, but I have just lost two good men. You and I may yet join them."
"Unlikely," Frost replied. "You and your men have a propensity for foolishness, while I do not. There is cause for worry, my young prince, about a great many things—for all my powers I cannot foretell the future, and some of the signs, as best I can read them, now seem to point to doom. But we must stay to our plans."
"Which are?"
"Get some sleep tonight, then wake up in the morning," Madia contributed.
"You never told me you were such a philosopher," Jaran remarked.
"A good answer, nonetheless," Frost said.
"And goodnight," Madia added, making a face.
"Oh, a wonderful night," Jaran said. "The two of you deserve each other."
"And more," Madia replied. For a long, silent moment Jaran stood facing her, and Madia felt herself being wrapped in a dark anticipation that seemed to fill the air where they stood. He would not look away, and neither did she, until at last Purcell came over and addressed the prince.
"Should we bury them?" he asked.
"Not tonight," Jaran replied. "Tonight, it seems, we sleep."
"We will all help with that task come morning," Frost declared. Madia and Jaran each went to make ready to bed down, on opposite sides of the fire.
The bogs that lay along the border between Jasnok and Bouren were all but impassable under the best conditions, and this day, with dark clouds filling the sky and light rain drizzling through the thick canopy of green and brown above them, navigation was nearly impossible. The land frequently lied, a conspiracy of thick foliage and mists covered everything, and what seemed solid ground beneath thick green cover was often revealed to be water or peat or mud when tested with the weight of a man.
Several times Frost called everyone to a halt while he tossed his bag of stones and worked a perambulation spell, all to enlighten him as to the value of one path or another. In most cases, Frost thought, this seemed to work.
Until at midday when he broke from a brief meditation to Rosivok's yelp and found the Subartan hanging from the branch of a tree, his feet kicking air over the edge of a steep, previously hidden, bank. Below lay a small green pond.
"The way was level!" Jaran said, rushing up behind the others, then helping Sharryl and Madia pull Rosivok back.
"An illusion," Frost said, looking into the wet gloom. "And a good one. Not even I sensed it."
"A trap," Rosivok said, examining the pond below.
"Perhaps, but not made for us," Frost replied. "For the leshys, I think. There is an aura. I am not the first mage to pass this way. The one who did this is clearly talented, and probably not alone, and probably at least as intent on recovering the Demon Blade as we."
"Then where is this mage?" Jaran asked.
"Not far. This type of illusion will not stand for long without renewal. Less than a day. We may find them below."
"This way," Rosivok said, pointing left to a dark ravine that cut through the hill to the water below. "We will walk around, then down."
They went slowly, minding their footing on the damp, mossy rocks and rotting fallen trees. When they reached the bottom, they followed the soft ground to the water's edge. Mist gathered across the little pond and nearly obscured the far shore, though it was not far. There was no sound at all. Not even the chatter of birds.
"If this was a trap set for leshys," Jaran said, "it does not seem to have worked."
"The trap is fatally flawed," Frost explained. "Leshys associate themselves with natural objects: a certain tree, a bend in the river, a small pond. A leshy of this place would already have been here when the spells were cast. The mage, whoever he is, does not understand his subject. He asks a question that has no answer."
Rosivok led the way further along the shore. As the other side of the pond emerged from the mist, a small clearing came into view, a place where several trees lay felled, their stumps cut to jagged points. Closer, among the fallen trees, lay the bodies of four men, three of them soldiers, another dressed in more ornate robes and a hat embroidered in gold lace—a much fatter, much older fellow. This one clutched a dark wooden staff in one white, stiffened hand. The Subartans stayed with Frost. Madia went with Jaran as he took his men forward to look the bodies over.
"All dead," Jaran announced directly. "Strangled, I think." He looked to Purcell, who had hold of the head of one of the soldiers and was tugging it to one side. Purcell nodded agreement. "And what of these small wounds, here and here, lots of them?" he added.
"Bite marks," Frost said as he came forward and looked for himself. "At least a dozen leshys, I'd say. I know this one—a formidable sorcerer. Gray, his name was."
"That is encouraging," Jaran muttered.
"Where are the leshys now?" Purcell asked, standing up and peering into the swamp.
"They are here, somewhere," Frost said.
"Should we leave them?" Rosivok asked, nodding toward the dead.
"Yes," Frost answered. "I am sure the leshys have plans for the bodies. We will not deprive them."
"Deprive them?" Jaran stood fast. "What talk is that? I care little what plans they have. Leaving them to lie here like this is not decent."
"Here, in Golemesk," Frost said, "what you think is decent behavior is not what matters. Propriety is a relative thing, Lord Jaran, and here the rules are made by the lords of Golemesk. Unless you plan to join Gray and his foolish friends."
"You must do as he says," Rosivok urged.
"Yes," Madia chided, "you must. Is that not right, Purcell?"
Purcell, of course, said nothing. Jaran closed his eyes, keeping something inside, then he opened them and nodded at Frost. For Madia, he had a less affable expression. Rosivok set off, leading the way again.
By late afternoon, the living canopy above them had grown so thick as to bring an early dusk to the land. But Frost had already found the place he was looking for. The very depths of the bog spread out before them. The smell of stagnant, rotting waters hung so thickly that the air was nearly unbreathable. The dusk grew almost tangible, a cloak that moved just ahead of one's vision, obscuring anything distant that the eyes tried to focus on.
Another pond lay just ahead, visible now through the breaking tangle. The wide shallow waters were pierced and crisscrossed with standing dead tree trunks and fallen trees, their branches reaching, crooked and bare, like the rigid arms of drowning creatures toward the still living canopy of green above. All around, in the shadows and crowded undergrowth, a quiet motion could be heard.
Rosivok turned to the others. "Look," he said, pointing just ahead. "More dead."
Frost and the others followed cautiously. These were all soldiers, twenty when counted, two low ranking officers among them and no captain, so far as anyone could determine from the uniforms and weapons. All of them had died from loss of blood. Gaping wounds marked their flesh wherever it was exposed. But not all the dead were human.
"That creature is an imp," Frost explained. "A lesser demon like the one we faced in Kamrit. These are Lord Ferris' men. Imps have the sense, of course. It was sent to sniff out the Demon Blade, certainly, and may have done just that. I am sure it is here, very close."
"Horrible little thing," Jaran said, speaking mostly to Purcell, poking at the knotty, ruddy body lying near his feet. Everyone nodded.
"Hold now!" Frost whispered, raising his hands, palms out.
"I hear it," Madia said.
Jaran stood next to her. "So do I."
All eyes were fixed on Frost as he gazed into the mists. "Leshys," he said.
Jaran's men reached slowly to their swords.
"Draw no weapons yet," Frost told them. "This contest will not be won by brawn or steel. I will speak with them."
"You cannot talk to leshys," Jaran insisted, "as many a dead man can attest."
"Perhaps," Frost said, "that is why they are dead."
Jaran motioned his men to stand still. In the brush, all stirrings abruptly stopped.