The Magehound - Elaine Cunningham [103]
A round, furry head suddenly exploded from the water. Andris found himself staring into the insect's eyes. Each was a bulging orb containing a thousand smaller eyes, all as green as moss and filled with malevolence. A pair of dripping antennae quirked into a posture of unmistakable menace. The creature's mouth, a strange hooked beak, opened wide as the head reared back to attack.
Andris drew the dagger overhead and stabbed straight into the open maw.
The dragonfly screamed again, a horrible, strangled sound. Hot blood gushed from the beak, and the wild light began to fade from the dragonfly's multiple eyes.
The jordain wrenched his blade free, took a deep breath, and dived under the water. Though the creature was dead, it hadn't let go its prey. Salvidio's eyes were bulging, and rifts of bubbles spilled from his lips. Andris used his knife to pry the talons from Salvidio's shoulders. He saw at once that he couldn't finish the task in time and quickly rose to the surface.
"You three! With me!" he shouted, pointing toward a nearby trio.
He dived again. With two men working on each side, they soon had the talons pried free. Andris dragged Salvidio's limp form to the surface. The man sputtered and coughed, then staggered off to retch up swamp water.
Andris took a small bottle from his bag, an ointment that would seal the wounds and keep the insects away. Even the smallest scratch could turn deadly in a swamp. He quickly applied ointment and bandages to Salvidio's shoulder, ignoring the injured man's hisses of impatience over the delay. They continued on their way as soon as Salvidio could walk. With each step, the danger increased, for they neared the site of a lost city and its undead inhabitants.
Around highsun they paused briefly, perching on half-submerged logs by the shore as they took some of the rations of the food and water they'd carried in.
Wolther, a yellow-haired northerner with odd tastes in food, collected a handful of mussels from the shallows, pried them open with his knife, and ate them raw.
Before Andris could chide him about the wisdom of eating anything that lived in these swampy waters, Wolther turned a plump snail shell over and probed about inside with the tip of his knife. The man's face took on an expression of puzzlement that turned quickly to horror. He dropped the shell into the water as if it burned him.
"Look at the snails," he whispered.
Andris noted that several swirled shells inched along the driftwood-smooth bark. He picked up one of the snails, noting the tug of resistance and the single, fleshy foot of the creature within. He shrugged, then picked up another of the moving shells. This time there was no grip, and there was no creature within.
For some reason, this small uncanny fact seemed more ominous than the appearance of a rotting ghoul. The swamp was filled with undead creatures, they all knew that. Animated death held absolute sway in the depths of the swamp.
But Andris's mind grew dizzy as he contemplated a power so large that it would spill over into so small a creature. He could fight a zombie or a skeleton, but could they overcome a power that permeated the entire swamp?
He carefully set down the haunted shell and eased back into the shallows, motioning for the men to follow. The ruins of the lost city must be close by.
The first sign they came to was a watery field of standing stones. Draped with moss and broken into jagged shards, they thrust up out of the swamp like the graves of drowned men. Andris eased his daggers from their sheaths and heard the soft chorus of metallic hisses behind him as the men did likewise.
Several forms burst from the water, leering at them with skeletal grins and making strange, jerky gestures with their bony fingers. Weeds hung about the skulls in place of hair, sodden tatters of once-fine robes draped over bony frames, and tarnished medallions dangled over empty chests.
Andris and