Chapter 14 Acquaintances #4
There was no reason anymore to stick to the road.
According to Valir’s vague sense of direction, they would have to turn south soon anyway, and while they would be slower off the road, it would be safer.
They left the fields and farms clinging to the road within a day and entered wide, open fields.
The landscape was rocky, covered with moss, low grass and orange lichen.
Fresh winds swept over the low hills, and only occasional birch and pine forests broke the vastness.
The land tasted of freedom, but Kraghtol knew acutely that this was but an illusion; at least he was a fugitive from the law, and if he was not entirely mistaken, Roderic Hawke would not rest until he caught him, this time.
Escaping the reach of the Fist of the Guilds twice already had been pure luck, and he didn’t count on getting that lucky again.
The area was open and easy to travel, especially on horseback.
The orderkeeper would be much faster than them here.
Over the days, the elevation lowered, the rocky hills gave way to grassy fields more often, and they encountered shepherds with their flocks now and then.
At first, Kraghtol tried to estimate where their likely pursuers might be right now, but after a few days, he had to admit he just wasn’t able to tell.
There were just too many possibilities, ranging from their having left the road right where they had done so themselves — in which case they would have to be right behind them — up to the option that for some inexplicable reason they hadn’t even left Winterstone.
After a little more than one and a half weeks on foot, they crossed another, smaller road that, according to Valir, connected Winterstone with Crossroads more directly than the mountain route going to Bronzebreak.
The air had gotten considerably warmer the lower they had come, and the ground softer.
Behind this road, the Shifting Swamp began, and Kraghtol was relieved to get out of the open soon.
The marsh started harmlessly enough. Small lakes dotted the grass, which was longer and sprinkled with colorful flowers.
They were easy enough to spot, though, and the most dangerous thing was Valir’s complaints about the insects.
Indeed, there were more mosquitoes, butterflies and even the occasional dragonfly here than further north, which was probably because of the warm, humid climate.
When asked about it, Dagna suspected the entire swamp to be set in a large basin, making it considerably warmer than the surrounding highlands.
To Kraghtol, all of this was fascinating.
He had only known the harsh climate of Mistpine for all his life, and the fact that just a few hundred kilometers south, there was practically a whole different world just baffled him.
He had, of course, learned about other parts of the country, like the vast forests surrounding the capital, but experiencing it with his own senses invoked a strange feeling of smallness within him.
It was easy to find a direction. Whatever they were searching for was hidden at the exact center of the swamp, Kraghtol was sure of it. A dense forest was looming ahead, with bigger, ancient trees sticking out further in. That was where they needed to go.
Once they crossed the tree line, however, it became clear that this was easier said than done.
The ground became softer with every step, and it was harder to spot where it was safe to walk.
At times, they needed to take huge detours to avoid especially muddy areas, and Kraghtol understood why it was so easy to get lost in a swamp.
It wasn’t just the unfamiliar nature, though, and Valir was the first to voice it.
“Ugh. This whole place just doesn’t make sense. It’s giving me a headache.”
Dagna, who had to focus even more on not treading on unsafe ground, looked up.
“What do you mean? Of course, all those trees and… weather are tiresome, but I would think you longlegs had some time to adjust to that.”
“I mean,” Valir said pointedly, “that it’s not normal. Take this tree here. It’s not supposed to grow like this.”
Kraghtol immediately understood what he meant. Tree branches were supposed to bend upwards, towards the light. This gnarly and twisted oak, however, was bent downwards, as if the sun was shining from the ground.
“Also, we’ve passed it already. Twice, if I’m not mistaken.”
“We’re going in circles?” Kraghtol asked with onsetting alarm.
“Yes and no,” Valir said and gesticulated accusingly at the tree. “We have definitely come across this tree here. But I think I would remember that purple fern right next to it. As I said, it’s giving me a headache.”
“Perhaps it’s just a similar tree then,” Kraghtol suggested without being fully convinced himself.
He hadn’t noticed the tree, but that was because his attention had been captured by another oddity for the last hours.
Nestled between the ferns and grasses was a surprising amount of wild herbs, ranging from the moisture-loving Mossfern to Bitterleaf, which he would not have expected in this dim light.
But above all, the area was positively overgrown with Mandrake plants, reminding Kraghtol of the old man’s comment about them. They are friendly. Whatever that meant.
The uneasy feeling Valir had described took root in the half-orc as well and added to his generous basket of worries.
He was sure the orderkeepers had to be right behind them, and half-expected to spot a red jacket behind every gnarly tree.
He felt watched, as if a thousand eyes were silently judging him, only waiting for an opportunity to betray him.
While part of his mind was screaming at him to turn around right now, his heart beat faster, and a strange euphoria took hold of him the deeper they ventured into the swamp.
It was as if he was getting closer and closer to something he had longed for his whole life, and Kraghtol wondered what it was.
While Dagna didn’t share his strange enthusiasm, it was clear that she was driven forward by her curiosity.
Valir, on the other hand, didn’t fare so well.
He was uncharacteristically quiet and clenched his hands and teeth when he thought nobody was watching.
The noble was probably afraid, and Kraghtol felt bad for dragging him into this.
There was no turning back now, though. The second time they made camp, one and a half days after entering the swamp, Kraghtol spotted the distinct blood-red color of their pursuers from his lookout on a tall tree.
Four orderkeepers were leaving their horses with a fifth bloodjacket and entering the Shifting Swamp behind them.