Darkwell - Douglas Niles [76]
Angrily Tristan hacked at another of the dead branches that entwined them. In the fens, as in the rest of the vale, the trees had died, shedding their leaves and leaving a putrid stench of rot. A heavy scum coated the brackish water, and each footstep brought noxious gases bubbling from the muck on the bottom.
At least the predatory creatures in the air did not dive. The interlocking branches overhead apparently prevented them from flying to the attack.
Tristan stopped to catch his breath, worn by the exertion of slogging through the mud and water. His boots, long since soaked through, numbed his feet more with each step. The spindly branches offered little protection from a biting north wind, and as the king paused, the air knifed through his garments and brought an involuntary shiver.
Canthus, beside him, stepped in front of his master and then stopped, his ears raised and his nose carefully sniffing the air. He, of all of them, seemed best able to cope with the cold and damp.
Tristan looked to the rear and saw Tavish leaning weakly against a tree. The bard unsuccessfully attempted a smile, and the king noticed her mud-spattered leggings and cape. Her lute, slung over her shoulder, had somehow managed to stay clean. She, too, shivered as a sudden gust of wind iced across them.
Pawldo slogged slowly up to Tavish, grasping branches and tree trunks to pull himself along. The water, knee-deep on the humans, sloshed to the halfling's waist. Pawldo looked at the king, and Tristan saw that his lips were blue and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
Yak lumbered slowly behind Pawldo, apparently having more difficulty ducking under the low-hanging branches than he did with the mud and water. Robyn came last in line.
"I'm worried about Pawldo," murmured Tristan, speaking to Tavish.
"I'm f-fine!" The halfling had overheard.
"You're starting to sound just like Yazilliclick!" The king spoke sternly before turning back to Tavish. "Do you think Yak could carry him for a while, at least until his legs are dry?"
"Yak!" Tavish turned to the firbolg. "Yak carry Pawldo?"
"Yak carry Pawldo!" The giant grinned and plucked the halfling from the water, cradling him like a babe in one of his brawny arms.
"Hey! Let me go!" Pawldo twisted fruitlessly, then finally noticed the comfort and security of his perch. He settled back against the firbolg's shoulder. "Well, if you insist… but only for a little while."
"Say, where are Yazilliclick and Newt?" the bard wondered aloud.
Tristan looked around but saw no sign of the faeries. "Probably exploring somewhere. I'm sure they'll catch up."
Robyn wearily came up to her companions. Her face was pale, and she drew each breath with a ragged gasp. "I… can't take much more… of this. We'll have to rest soon."
"We will," promised the king, "though we'll have to keep a sharp watch on those deathbirds overhead."
"I think we'll be safe in the woods," declared Pawldo.
"I hope you're right. We'll stop as soon as we reach dry ground again," the king declared, shivering again. "We can't stop here in the water. We'd get too cold."
Robyn nodded dumbly, and he waited for a minute or two while they all caught their breath. Grimly Tristan took his place at the front, following Canthus across an open stretch of shallow water. Here, at least, he didn't have to hack the ubiquitous vines out of the way. Since the path was narrow and winding, the deathbirds were not tempted to attack.
The wind became more savage, raging from the north, full into their faces. The companions trudged silently forward, Tristan trying to keep their heading as close to true north as possible. The thick clouds prevented him from plotting their course by the sun, but many of the larger trees had streaks of dried moss upon their permanently sunless