Valgrin tugged his pack into place and jumped down to join the others. He glanced at the group, his gaze lingering on Malcolm. Did he get any sleep on the way, or did he fake it too? What can I say to him? How can I help? I want to do something, but everything seems so empty. Now I have to fight against treating him differently. Also need to stop stressing over it, no cancer now, so why dwell.

  Malcolm walked over and leaned close. “I understand you’re still trying to comprehend this news. But I need you to put it aside and not let it affect our relationship. I told you because it might impact our future, not because I expect you to take any action.”

  Valgrin answered with a quick nod. “Didn’t think I was being that obvious. However, I know and that’s what I’m working towards. Have to admit it’s a bit of a shock. Give me some time and guidance when I go the wrong direction.” His blue face broke into a grin. “Besides, given what we’re about to do, I imagine I’ll forget about it by the end of today or tomorrow at the latest.”

  “You have a point.” Malcolm pulled back and then started walking through the scrub grass next to the road. “Come on me lads, it’s time to get our socks wet and like it.”

  Steeyann followed close behind. “You mean you don’t have trail socks? Keeps your feet warm, dry, and all the other things you like your feet to feel.”

  Malcolm stopped, turned, and pointed back at Steeyann. “I think that is something you should’ve asked back in town. Me and Valgrin aren’t used to magic wardrobes and aren’t always thinking about what we could go buy—“

  “Actually,” Valgrin held a pair of socks up, “it looks like Fred made sure we had two pairs of trail socks.”

  Malcolm did a quick check of his bag. “So he did, nevermind Steeyann, at least this time.”

  The group fell into a comfortable silence as they trekked through the knee-high grasses. An hour into the hike, they noticed the ground softening and an occasional patch of slippery grey-green mud made for a more careful watch of their steps.

  “Whoa.” Malcolm, still leading the group, came to an abrupt stop. “Be careful, we go from almost a marsh to full on swamp in one step. The grass just stops and becomes some sort of short crabgrass type stuff. And the ground goes from firm to spongy feeling.” He took a few slow steps forward.

  “Not been to the Southern Swamp before, but looks like there may be some old magic in the ground that helps keep it defined or created it. That would be why there is such a sudden shift in terrain.” Steeyann stepped next to Malcolm.

  “This place smells like rot when you cross the line there.” Valgrin pointed behind him. “Did those trees get closer? Or did the magic make them seem more distant until we crossed the line?”

  “I’m guessing, and it is only a guess. It has something to do with the magic line we crossed.” Steeyann continued to look around him. “Seems this part is mostly mud and shallow water. We’ll have to pull out staffs so we can test the ground as we go.”

  Skwilly bumped against Valgrin’s ankle. “I prefer this view; at least I can see something other than endless grass. I can lead. I should be able to tell where the water gets too deep to walk through.”

  “How, without falling into the water yourself?” Valgrin asked.

  “I can swim, so anywhere we go I need to swim would be probably be too deep for you.”

  “Guys, Skwilly says he can take the lead. Might save us a little time tapping out a path with our staffs.”

  “I’m not all that possessive with being the leader,” Steeyann said. “Soon as I get my socks changed and staff out, I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Socks. Yeah, good catch. Need to get mine changed.” Valgrin replied.

  Steeyann and Tahlur stood with Skwilly, waiting for the pair to get ready for the swamp. Soon as they got ready, the group headed toward the strange tree line. Twisted roots, hanging moss, and creeping vines added to the surreal shapes of the trees. The air seemed to thicken as they got closer; the weight seemed to muffle sound. An occasional splash or crack of wood broke through.

  Skwilly’s sense of direction and path selection saved the group an hour or more. Soon they were close enough to the trees to traverse the roots as paths. The muddy slime, mixed with moss, slowed them down considerably, but they weren’t wading through waist high murky water.

  The group reached the massive trunk, its dark bark glistening with slime. They looked around, the eerie silence pressing in. No clearing, just endless gnarled trees twisting into the shadows. Reed-like grasses bent like crooked fingers, and the air felt choked, heavy with something unspoken.

  “Don’t want to go through that this close to dark,” Malcolm commented.

  “Agree with you there. Hard telling how deep this stuff goes and we’re losing light already—wouldn’t want to be in the middle of all this and not be able to see,” Steeyann said.

  Tahlur took a few steps around the trunk. “It seems like if we stay close enough to the trunk we can make a camp for the night. This space over here has three sets of tree roots intertwining and make a decent size area above the water level.”

  “Good thing we have those new levitating camp beds. Hate to sleep on these roots without them.” Valgrin stepped up next to Tahlur.

  A sharp, whooshing noise tore through the air, startling the group. Tahlur’s hiss of pain snapped all eyes to the vine coiled tight around his arm, thorns digging deep, blood already trailing across his skin.

  Valgrin ripped his katar free and slashed, severing the vine that had lashed onto Tahlur. Leaves rattled, a flurry of vines erupting towards him. He swung the katar wildly, hacking at the swarm, desperate to carve a path through the writhing green.

  His eyes flicked between the chaotic dance of Tahlur and the vines, and the focused precision of Malcolm’s sai as it sliced through the writhing mass. The air was thick with the scent of vegetation and sweat, and the sound of blades against vines was like a symphony of battle.

  Valgrin’s head spun around at the sound of Skwilly’s squeal. A vine had grabbed the priggy lifting Skwilly into the tree. Steeyann’s sword lashed out and Skwilly scrambled for footing back on the roots.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  A razor like leaf slashed across Valgrin’s cheek, drawing blood. Another slash and the vine retreated. Easy to cut, but there are so many. A black moving mass scampered back into the shadows. What did I just see?

  Valgrin called out a warning. “There is something creature like, lurking in the shadows. Just got a glimpse. Couldn’t tell what it was.”

  Tahlur’s finger glowed with fiery energy. A small spark shot into the air, erasing the surrounding shadows. In the flickering light, Valgrin saw a spider scrambling up the bark of a nearby tree, its eight legs moving gracefully with purpose. It was about the size of a small dog, with deep black fur and sharp, glistening fangs.

  “That wasn’t unnerving at all.” Malcolm called out between attacks on the flailing vines.

  “Tahlur, come stand by me.” Steeyann had pulled his bow and was notching an arrow. “And be ready to do that again when I ask for it.”

  A few seconds passed, Tahlur stood next to Steeyann ready for the command.

  “Now!”

  Another spark of fire shot up into the tree, this one larger than the first. The spider stood frozen on the trunk. Steeyann loosed an arrow, a thud sounded as it hit the tree, through the spider.

  The spider’s body contorted and thrashed, but the arrow held it in place, freezing it in a moment of agony. The vines now hung limp and motionless, mirroring the stillness of the spider. A tense silence settled over the scene for a few seconds.

  “It was controlling the vines?” Malcolm whispered.

  Tahlur brought his gaze down from the spider. “It would seem so.”

  “Do we still want to camp here?” Malcolm asked.

  “Don’t see any better alternatives. I’m not fond of the idea now. But any other tree roots we pick, same issue. Plus, at least we know how to deal with attacking vines.” Steeyann answered.

  “Kinda my thinking, too.” Valgrin said in a hushed tone.

  The group moved away from the trunk to the tangle of roots that Tahlur had found. Glowstones flickered to life, their pale light joined by the orange pulse of oil lanterns as the group set a rough perimeter. In the center, they scraped together a small camp, flames licking upward in a hasty firepit. Tahlur put some dry ingredients in a pot and cooked a simple soup. Valgrin’s stomach clenched at the smell, hunger gnawing sharp and immediate.

  Tahlur sat his empty bowl down and stood. “I’ll take the first watch—wake you up next, Steeyann?”

  Steeyann took a final slurp of his soup. “Works for me. Then I’ll tap you in Malcolm and you can tap in Valgrin.”

  “With watch set, I’m going to try to get some sleep.” Malcolm looked up into the dark canopy. “Try may be the operative word.”

  Steeyann and Valgrin followed Malcolm’s lead. Valgrin smiled when he noticed the other two had already fallen asleep. “Looks like you’re on your own now Tahlur, I’m not far behind the others.”

  ###

  Wha…A spike of fear worked through Valgrin. He struggled, trying to free his hands. He failed. With an effort, he opened his eyes to a fuzzy, dark view. A cloth blindfolding preventing anything better. He pushed against the ground with his feet. Ground? Cold and damp to sit on. So still in the swamp? Who…how…gagged, tied up, blindfolded. Tied to something and it’s keeping me sitting upright and not letting me turn my head. Is everyone else okay? He growled and tried to scream. He heard a muffled noise to his right. That may have been a string of curses from a gagged Malcolm.

  “Oh good. Seems like everyone is awake now.”

  That’s an unfamiliar voice.

  “Take off their blindfolds, but leave the gags in place.”

  Bright light blinded Valgrin for a few moments. He blinked back tears as fast as he could, trying to clear up his vision. He saw Malcolm at his side doing the same. Looking forward, he stopped breathing, an icy chill played up and down his spine. His muffled, angry curses joined Malcolm’s.

  He couldn’t rip his eyes from the scene. Steeyann tied to an x-shaped cross. Wrists and feet tied down. Bright red blood running from his mouth down his chin. His left eye bruised and swollen shut.

  A dark-haired, muscular man stepped into Valgrin’s line of sight, eyes blazing with impatience. “I got bored waiting for you.” He jerked his hand toward Steeyann.

  So now I have a face for the voice. Valgrin’s eyes narrowed as he chewed on the gag.

  “Ooh, scary looks from all of you.” The man’s voice clipped the air, sharp and angry. “As you can see, I’m trembling. But let’s get the most out of this. I am your host, Drathnor Lupine! If you asked me, but you can’t, can you? But if you could, I’d have said you all guessed that part already, right?”

  Valgrin heard some struggling from behind him. Tahlur? Can’t see him in my peripheral.

  Drathnor's eyes widened, a wildness overtaking them. “Do you know how long?” His words came out in a snarl, fangs bared and yellowed. “I have dreamed of this for hundreds of years.” He spat the words, a venomous hiss. “Dreamed, hoped, and dreamed some more. And then it happened. Do you hear me? The creators are in the EverNever. My dreams, my revenge—now possible!”

  Valgrin growled and tried to speak.

  “Should I let you speak or not? I despise the idea of you, despise the fact you are here, but I celebrate and rejoice that you are. Your anger and fear will be a delicious meal I look forward to devouring. Perhaps allowing you to speak will enhance that for me. Unloose his gag. But note, Valgrin, I will not hesitate to shut you up if you grow tiresome.”

  Valgrin waited until the gag went away. He worked hard at keeping his voice under control. “Revenge? What for? We’ve not done anything to you?”

  Drathnor clenched his jaw, teeth grinding. “So, we cut to the chase. I believe that is how you use that phrase.” He paused, glaring at Valgrin, eyes wild and burning. “Not done anything? Not done anything?” His voice rose, a manic edge sharpening each word. “You’ve done everything! Everything! And now you’ll face the consequences.”

  Drathnor stood, panting, as he glared at Valgrin. His voice turned to a feral snarl, each word a weapon. “Perhaps, with a slight twist, that is exactly your crime. You, the great Keith, created this role!” He screamed the name, eyes blazing with unrestrained mania. “They offered this job to me.” His chest heaved with fury, his entire body alive with hatred. “Early release from prison if I agreed to be Drathnor for the length of the story. Then I’d be released to live my life.”

  Drathnor stormed forward, a snarl twisting his lips. He leaned close, his breath hot on Valgrin’s face. “Then you abandoned me,” he hissed, at first a low growl, then rising to a primal scream. “No story beyond the first chapter. Nothing of me defined for a story the Structure would recognize. I have lived aimlessly without a story for hundreds of years.” His words crackled with madness, a hatred so deep it seemed alive. He trembled with the force of it, the desire for revenge burning through him. “Abandoned. Forgotten. Incomplete.” He arched back, roaring with a wild, deranged fury. “Abandoned!”

  Valgrin shouted back, “How was I supposed to know all of that? I just now learned about the EverNever being a real place and not some fantasy I created.”

  “That doesn’t matter!” Drathnor’s face changed to a deep purple mixed with crimson. “You started a story and had nothing beyond the introduction. This is all at your feet. Now, shut up! Son, it’s time to start the next phase of our vengeance.”

  “Yes, father, gladly.”

  That voice. Valgrin's spine stiffened as if ice water had been poured down his back. His jaw clenched against the gag.

  "Tahlur?" Malcolm's voice cracked on the second syllable.

  Valgrin's jaw clenched so tight his teeth threatened to crack. The rope around his wrists suddenly felt like nothing compared to the invisible hand squeezing his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one burning.

  Footsteps circled from behind, unhurried, almost casual. Tahlur stepped into view, the firelight catching his familiar face—now twisted into something unrecognizable. He swept into an exaggerated bow, one arm extended, the other pressed to his chest,his fingers splayed with theatrical flair. "Surprise."

  Drathnor’s finger jabbed toward Valgrin. “Gag him and Mark, now.”

  Someone snapped their fingers and Valgrin found himself, once again, gagged. Magic gag, yippee. How do we deal with someone who’s…um…deranged. Tahlur—Drathnor's son? The betrayal cut deeper than any blade could. The soup. The damn soup. That's how they'd been drugged, rendered helpless like animals for slaughter. Valgrin's thoughts spiraled into a vortex of terror as he stared at the blood dripping from Steeyann's face. Was that just the beginning?