A cultist, wrapped from head to toe in black splintmail, pushed through the door to the blackguard's chamber.

"They've arrived at the edge of the swamp, my mistress," he announced.

The blackguard, hunched over a figure lying prone on a waist-high table, didn't bother to turn away from her work.

"That's good news," she said. "Keep me informed of their progress."

 

 

Tasca dropped softly down from the treetops, bow already stowed on his back.

Regdar straightened up. "Those men looked an awful lot like the ones who attacked the duke's keep."

Whitman scratched his beard, looking at the dead soldiers. "Maybe we should head back and inform the duke."

"No," shouted Regdar. He put his whole hand across his face, aware of how loud he had been. Then in a quieter voice, he said,

"You saw how they reacted when I mentioned Naull. She's here somewhere, and I'm going to find her."

Clemf stood up, finished with his inspection of the dead men. "Nothing," he declared, raising empty hands. "Not even a few coins."

"Professional soldiers," remarked Tasca. "Well-trained, well-outfitted, organized, and no nonsense. These aren't mercenaries. They have a purpose, a mission." He looked to Regdar, then to Whitman. "Even if we did return to alert the duke, then what? We'd just have to come back here, where the enemy is. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone."

Regdar slapped the elf on the shoulder and nodded his agreement.

Clemf grabbed the first soldier by the arms and dragged him back toward the eel pool.

"If these soldiers are who we're looking for, and this is their swamp, then it's a good bet that we made enough noise killing these three to bring more of them." He looked up at his comrades.

Whitman and Regdar grabbed the other two and dragged them into the water as well. Tasca followed behind with a tree branch, sloshing mud back over their tracks and smoothing out the drag marks.

When the bodies were submerged, the group struck out again. The path they followed wound deeper into the swamp. Though it was mucky, it seemed to be the firmest patch of ground in the smelly wetland. Around two more bends, the dense vegetation gave way to a small clearing at the base of Mount Fear.

Seemingly built right out of the mountain, on the edge of that clearing, climbed an imposing black tower fortress. The walls rose from the base of the mountain up to the height of two storm giants. It jutted out of the mountain as if it were emerging from a deep slumber, stepping out into the swamp for the first time in hundreds of years.

Spires at the top leaned out, then angled back toward the mountain at the bottom so the fortress appeared unbalanced, as if it were surging forward, trying to break free of the restraining mountain.

A single door, wide enough to admit an ox cart, broke the smooth stone—the only opening on the ground level. Above that, Regdar counted twenty-four arrow slits cut into the wall, perhaps the height of two men from the ground. And at the very top, a wide balcony jutted out and overlooked the clearing before the fortress.

"Well, well, well," said Regdar. "What do we have here?"

"My money says somebody evil lives here," quipped Tasca.

"It certainly has an unwholesome look about it," agreed Whitman. "Look at all the spiky, jagged bits along the top edges."

"Black stone construction," added Clemf.

"Improbably placed in the middle of a dreary swamp with no safe access," confirmed Tasca.

"Yep," agreed Regdar. "It sounds like something out of a legend."

"Probably well guarded, too," cautioned Whitman.

"Maybe," replied Regdar, "but maybe not. Who do they expect to come prowling around, way out here? Anyone have a suggestion on how to proceed?"

Whitman hefted his hammer onto his shoulder and smiled. "I say let's do what we always do," replied the dwarf. "Kick down the door, kill whatever's inside, and haul away whatever's worth taking. Or in this case, rescue the girl. It's worked so far."

Tasca unsheathed his rapier. "That's the smartest thing you've ever said. We have a plan." He started toward the tower.

"Just one problem," interrupted Whitman.

Tasca stopped and turned around.

"They'll be able to smell you coming," said the dwarf. "Better let me lead."

"Planning on tunneling in?" quipped the elf.

"Only if I can use your pointy nose for a pick." Whitman pushed past and strode down the path.

"Oh, that was clever," replied Tasca. "Did you think that up all on your own, like the plan?"

"That's enough, you two," said Regdar. "Whatever we find in there is likely to be powerful enough to survive on the Elemental Plane of Fire. I can't be sure, but I'd say that's beyond anything I've ever killed." He turned to Whitman. "Do you honestly want to just march right up there, in the light of day, barge in, and hope they didn't see us coming?"

Whitman scratched his beard. "In a nutshell, yes."

Tasca quietly slipped his rapier into its sheath. "Only a dwarf would think up a numbskull idea like that."

Whitman smiled. "But only an elf would follow a numbskull." Then he turned to Regdar. "What do you propose we do?"

"We wait here until nightfall," said the fighter. "Then we go in, covered by darkness."

Clemf spoke up. "What about the guards we killed?"

"What about them?" asked Regdar.

"They're going to be overdue."

Regdar rubbed his chin, thinking. "Well," he said finally, lifting his fingers away from his face. "We kill two birds with one stone." He turned and headed back toward the pool. "We take their armor and sneak in, in disguise, assuming the eels left the bodies where we put them."

Whitman hefted his hammer over his shoulder. "I liked my idea better."

 

 

Regdar pulled one of the dead soldiers out of the water by his ankle.

"Nasty business, stealing a dead man's armor," he said, bending down to unfasten the first of many leather straps.

"Hey, look at this." Tasca had already removed most of one man’s armor, exposing the dead soldier's upper body.

Regdar looked over the elf's shoulder as Whitman bent down and examined a large tattoo on the man’s chest.

"These guys don't look like slavers," said the dwarf. "More like cultists."

"What makes you say that?" asked Regdar.

Whitman pointed to the tattoo.

"That's the mark of Hextor," he said, indicating the fist and arrows. "And those—" he pointed to three words inscribed above the image—"are words in Infernal."

"What do they say?"

The dwarf shook his head. "I don't know, can't read Infernal."

Tasca just shrugged.

"This one's got it too," said Clemf, having stripped down another of the dead soldiers.

Regdar returned to the man he'd pulled up. "Let's hope they're not checking tattoos at the door."

"Yeah," said Tasca. "Let's also hope we don't end up as sacrifices to the god of destruction."

"Cultists of Hextor don't sacrifice elves," said Whitman, putting on the first part of his stolen armor.

"Why not?" asked Tasca.

The dwarf smiled. "Waste of a good meal."

 

 

Newly outfitted in at least some pieces of black scale mail, Regdar and crew came hesitantly back to the edge of the clearing. Standing so near the tower nearly drove Regdar mad. Here he was, outside, while inside, he felt sure Naull was being tortured or worse. As far as he was concerned, they couldn't get inside fast enough.

"Do you think this is going to work?" asked Tasca.

Regdar shrugged. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Yeah," said Whitman. "We stop all this sneaking around and bust in."

"After you then." Regdar checked the hilt of his sword. "But no busting anything until I say the word. Remember, we want them to think we're on their side for now."

"Right," replied Whitman with a snort.

The dwarf marched toward the tower, and Clemf fell into step beside him. Regdar and Tasca followed close behind. The path they had been following led right up to the front gate. Heavy, wooden doors were held open by movable iron spikes along the entranceway. The pointy, sharpened ends of a portcullis hung above. Below that, a heavy darkness descended, as if light itself were afraid to enter such a place.

"Here we go," whispered Tasca.

Regdar only nodded.

As they crossed the threshold, the man's eyes adjusted to the dim hallway. A handful of sconces holding dimly flickering torches lined the walls, which were made from the same black stone as the outside. The floor was covered in fine stone tiles alternating in dark and light shades, forming a checkerboard pattern.

The room they entered was long and wide, a grand foyer. It reminded Regdar of the duke's reception chamber or the entryway in the Church of Pelor back in New Koratia. It was the same, but different—designed for greeting newly arrived dignitaries but tainted with darkness. It seemed almost to mock itself, as if the whole room were simply a joke, a parody of good corrupted by evil.

There were no guards on duty, no reception party, and Whitman and Clemf continued on toward the wall at the far end of the long room. Regdar followed behind, focused on every detail, his senses aware of the light draft blowing in through the open door behind him and even the slight smell of swamp gas hed all but grown accustomed to over the past few hours.

"I don't like this," he whispered. "Too easy."

Whitman nodded.

Tasca pulled out his bow.

A loud, skull-splitting, clanging sound echoed down the chamber. Regdar yanked his enchanted sword from its sheath and spun around.

Wrapped around a wooden wheel to the right of the chamber, a heavy chain was unwinding, and quickly. The portcullis thundered down to seal the entryway. Tasca took two quick steps toward the open door. Regdar flinched, knowing the elf would never make it through the gate in time.

As if the elf heard Regdar's thoughts, Tasca skidded to a stop. The portcullis hit the ground with a crash. Tiles cracked where the gate's sharp points slammed into them, and chips of stone were thrown in every direction.

"What have you done, elf?" shouted Whitman, his hammer already braced and ready for battle.

Tasca nocked an arrow to his bowstring, his eyes scanning every brick of the hall. "I followed your bumbling ass into a trap."

"Stop it," interrupted Regdar. "The disguises didn't work. Clemf, you're with me. Tasca and Whitman, stay together."

They nodded and paired off.

"And Whitman," said Regdar.

"Yeah?" replied the dwarf.

"Bust whatever you want."

"Right."

A grinding noise, sounding like stone on stone, echoed down the chamber. The wall at the far end parted. Regdar watched in amazement as the bricks slid back and disappeared into darkness. When the grinding stopped, the sound of heavy, marching boots filled the room.

Regdar looked to the other men. Whitman slapped his hammer against his hand with obvious impatience. Tasca sighted down his drawn arrow, watching the far wall. Clemf stood with his longsword held casually at his side, his eyes intently focused, his knees bent and ready to charge.

Regdar tested his grip on his greatsword and whispered a prayer under his breath. "Grant me the strength to vanquish my foes and carry my brethren through to safety," he said, stretching his neck to one side, then the other. "Woe be to those who oppose Pelor."

The darkness stirred, and from out of the newly formed portal in the wall poured a flood of black-clad soldiers.

Tasca let his arrow fly, and the first man to step into the flickering torchlight fell dead. Whipping his hand over his shoulder, he drew another arrow and fired again, dropping a second soldier.

The rushing enemy barely paused, however, and the room continued filling with black-armored warriors, like water gushing into a sinking boat. They marched uncaringly over their fallen comrades, flowing constantly forward.

"Whatever you do," shouted Regdar, "don't let them get behind

us."

The others only had time to nod before the wall of black-armored soldiers came crashing down.

Whitman's hammer sent a clang echoing off the stone walls, disrupting the metered sound of the soldiers' marching. Tasca stood just behind the stalwart dwarf, firing arrows over his shoulder into the crowd of enemies.

Regdar and Clemf raised their swords over their shoulders and simultaneously cut into the line of men before them. The sound of metal against metal was followed by metal tearing flesh. Blood drenched the floor, and the swarm pushed forward.

Regdar ducked under a swing to his head then jammed the tip of his greatsword into his attacker's gut. The man grunted once, dropped his sword, and grabbed for his wound. looking past the injured man, Regdar estimated the size of the small army he and his men faced. They were outnumbered easily four, maybe even five, to one.

Clemf slightly improved their odds when he connected with a two-handed swing. His blade plunged between the shoulder piece and helm of the man before him. The soldier's head slipped from his separated neck with a sickening pop. The headless body stood upright for a moment more, but Clemf never paused. His follow-through collided with another man’s sword arm, slicing it off at the elbow.

The amputated body parts rolled on the floor, being trampled underfoot. Regdar saw a soldier step on the head. Its helm collapsed under the weight, and the skull made a loud cracking sound. The soldier lost his balance as the head caved in, and his other foot slipped on the gory flagstones.

Regdar's reverie was cut short by a slash to his leg. A pair of soldiers lunged at him from the side. There were so many he was having a hard time keeping track of them. One blade clanged harmlessly off his armor. The other cut into his muscle. The wound burned and made Regdar angry.

The big fighter rolled his hands over, bringing his enchanted blade to bear on the offending soldier. The weapon opened a large slice across the man’s chest, cutting through metal, leather, and flesh alike.

The man hissed at the cut but stood his ground. His sword pulled back for another strike. Regdar stepped into the opening. He jabbed his elbow into the cut on the man’s chest, scraping his jagged armor against the wound. The soldier shouted and fell to his knees, releasing his sword.

Regdar, smashed his knee into the man’s face. The kneeling man reeled backward, swayed momentarily like a hypnotized snake, then collapsed.

Another man stepped in to take his place, rushing Regdar with his shoulder down. The soldier crashed into Regdar's chest and grabbed him in a bear hug. Regdar had leaped into the air when he saw the man coming, so the force of the impact carried both men backward several feet and out of the immediate fray. Regdar's weight was too much for the man to bear, however, and the attacker had to let him drop to the floor.

Regdar landed on his feet and took two long steps back to steady himself. His opponent was still off balance, so Regdar slammed his sword down with all his might against the top of the man's helmet. The blade struck with such force that it knocked him flat on his stomach. Regdar quickly stabbed the point through the gap below the man's helmet, cutting through his spine. Though the wound didn't kill him outright, the man lay on the floor unmoving, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Regdar was now separated from Clemf, and the tattooed human was surrounded. A black-clad soldier stepped behind him and jabbed a dagger at Clemf's unprotected flank. The dagger sank into Clemf's soft, fleshy backside, making him jump straight into the air.

Regdar charged back into the melee, zeroing in on the soldier stabbing at Clemf's rear. He took two steps before the sound of a bowstring filled his ears. He cringed, bracing himself for the impact.

The arrow wasn't aimed at Regdar. Green fletching sprouted in the ear of the man ahead. His knees went weak, and he spun around just in time to see Regdar before the greatsword knocked him to the floor with a blow to the chest. To his right, Tasca winked as he nocked another arrow and loosed it into the dwindling crowd.

Glad he's on my side, thought Regdar. He took a second to check on Whitman. The dwarf was flinging his hammer around in a figure eight pattern, bashing away blades and moving the soldiers back with his unorthodox style. Regdar had encountered men who had fought that way before. They had come from the far east, but they fought with small, finely crafted blades and trained for years in the ancient arts of swordplay. Somehow, seeing the dwarf use his hammer in the same fashion seemed comical—and effective.

Clemf stepped next to Regdar, rubbing his behind.

Another rumble echoed through the great hall—the sound of more marching soldiers.

The remaining fighters before Regdar and his men suddenly disengaged, falling back and forming a defensive line.

Tasca continued firing arrows into their midst, but now many of them were bashed away by blades or shields.

As they waited, the darkness at the far end of the room stretched and grew, widening along the edges, rolling out into the open and snuffing what light dared enter. Bits of that growing shadow broke off and separated into individual, man-sized chunks.

Regdar shook his head. It wasn't a shadow at all. It was an even bigger unit of black-clad soldiers.

"This doesn't look good," said Regdar.

"Not good at all," agreed Whitman.