Murder in Cormyr - Chet Williamson [46]
The trek back through the swamp was even longer than the march in. We had to move more slowly so that we wouldn't leave the corpse-bearing soldiers behind. And I finally learned how the thornslinger got its name.
It happened when one of the soldiers slipped in the muck.
We had all been walking as quietly as possible, but when the soldier slid off the path, going up to his knees in vile black swamp water, he cursed. Not loudly, and certainly not the worst curse I had ever heard, but enough so that the rest of us turned to see what was wrong, and saw the low-lying tree nearby shiver. One of the limbs twitched violently, like a hand flicking off some unwanted liquid.
But instead of liquid, a dozen foot-long thorns came flying toward the soldiers. Most of them whizzed by, one coming within inches of the second man. But one thorn, with a wet, ugly sound, sank its entire length into the body of Grodoveth. The two soldiers just stared at it, and the one who had fallen scuttled back onto the path and picked up his end of the dropped burden. Both of them shuffled through the muck as quickly as they could, heeding Darvik's frantic but silent gestures.
When our party was far enough away, Darvik halted. "I think yore men had better pull that thorn out the body, sor," he said to Captain Flim.
"Pull it out? Now?" Flim said, no doubt wondering why it could not be done later.
"Aye, sor. Else there won't be a great much of the body to send to Suzail, sor."
Captain Flim raised his eyebrows at that, and ordered the soldiers to unwrap the corpse. Sure enough, the flesh had started to blacken and putrefy around the spot where the thorn had gone in."Take it out!" Flim ordered, and the soldiers hopped to.
"Try not to get it against yer skin, sors," the gnome cautioned, and the soldiers' haste slackened considerably.
Soon the thorn was out and thrown off the path. As it sank into the bog, I wondered what effect it might have on a living man, and decided I was lucky not to know. When the corpse was wrapped again, we went on.
I don't recall ever being as glad to set foot on dry land again, even if that land was parched by drought. The contrast between the swamp and the hard, moistureless soil of the rest of the land around Ghars was extraordinary. Some had suggested diverting moisture from the swamp to the surrounding farmlands, but when those budding engineers were asked if they would want to eat grain and vegetables that had been irrigated with water from the Vast Swamp, their faces told the story clearly enough. At the very least, it was felt the swamp water was poisonous, and at the worst, it would turn any drinker reptilian within days, though that's a bit exaggerated. I suspect it would take at least a month.
Captain Flim and the soldiers headed back to town with the body, Darvik started back to his holdings on foot, and Lindavar and I returned to Benelaius's cottage. We discussed the situation as we rode but kept most of our thoughts to ourselves, waiting to share them with Benelaius.
22
As my master opened the door for us, he called up the stairs, "You may get dressed now, Lord Mayor. Your clothes are hanging on the hook just outside the door." He looked at us and gave a tolerant smile. "Mayor Tobald, though usually a jolly sort, doesn't care at all for my examinations. But when someone is in the state he is in, I feel I must be thorough. But come, sit, and tell me what you've seen in the swamp."
Lindavar looked down at our swamp-saturated selves. "May we change first, Benelaius? "
"Oh, of course, of course! Silly of me not to notice. That must be quite uncomfortable, all that squishing around inside your trousers. Yes, do change, and put your dirty clothing down the chute in the hall. But let's just wait a moment until Tobald comes down."
In a few minutes, a miserable Mayor Tobald descended our stairs, cats scurrying from beneath his Umping feet. He looked as though he had lost his best friend