A coldfire silence engulfed the grove, and Kraghtol could see Valir’s face working under his pale skin. Finally, he sighed. It wasn’t his usual theatrical sigh, meant for everyone around to hear clearly. It was aquiet and personal sigh, like that of a battle lost he wasn’t sure he even wanted to win.
“By the stars. You will be the end of me. Fine. I’ll come. But first, tell me the truth about why you need to go there.”
And Kraghtol did. He told Valir all about his dreams, the Principles, and what he was hoping to find in the swamp. To his relief, Valir didn’t laugh and only commented on the whole thing with a “You sure weren’t kidding when you said alchemy was your dream.”
True to his word, he didn’t bring up any doubts about his accompanying Kraghtol again, and even though the half-orc didn’t understand why, he didn’t dare to ask. After a rest, they followed the road west to Winterstone for a bit. It was risky, since this would be the way Roderic Hawke would come, but it was also the right direction, and Kraghtol hoped they would meet Dagna there. It made sense to him she would go west to find out more about her uncle. They avoided actually travelingonthe road as best as they could, but they couldn’t avert being seen by farmers or villagers when they asked about the dwarf. If Roderic were to ask for them on the way, he would have an easy time figuring out where they went, but Kraghtol hoped he would head straight for Bronzebreak before even considering they might not be there anymore.
They found Dagna only a few days later, in the morning. She was alone on the foggy road and was carrying a backpack that was almost larger than herself, slowing her down considerably. She was ecstatic to reunite with them and wanted to hear the story of their escape immediately they got off the road. Her eyes were gleaming when they had finished.
“And now you’re going to the Shifting Swamp? To see a mysterious oracle that you’ve dreamed of? That’s just… magnificent! Can I come with you? Please!”
Kraghtol and Valir exchanged a look.
“I didn’t expect you to be so enthusiastic about it. Aren’t you following your uncle? And I guess we might be seen as criminals now.”
“Are you kidding? You can’t tease something like that and then shut me out of it. Of course I want in! And I’ve got plenty of time, at least ten years. My uncle has been gone for 40 years now; another few weeks won’t change anything.” Her eyes grew a bit more serious as she continued. “And just so you know, everyone seeing you as criminals can seriously suck it. Hard. You’re fine.”
“Right. I, too, made it a habit to trust dubious people I just met a few days ago,” Valir added sarcastically. “Well, perhaps I have, in a way, and shouldn’t judge too harshly.”
“Well, if you insist…” Kraghtol said, but couldn’t entirely hide his smile.
“I insist very much! Oh, right, that reminds me. I’ve still got your lockbox.”
She rummaged through her backpack and handed Kraghtol the metal box. It was unlocked when Kraghtol tried it. Dagna shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard. I actually had it open after a day or two, but I forgot to tell you over your alchemical experiments. Honestly, I don’t get why the thing should be important.”
The inside of the box was padded with thick layers of velvet and contained one item: a slender needle made of glass, with a slight greenish-blue sheen to it. When Kraghtol picked it up, it was light andincredibly pointy at one end. The other end was formed into a small bulb, perhaps as thick as Kraghtol’s thumb, that was open on one end. The whole needle was hollow, and empty.
“It looks fragile,” Valir remarked, and Kraghtol had to agree. Unless it was meant to pierce only through the softest cotton, the needle would probably break on its first use.
“I have absolutely no idea what this is for. Perhaps Merress can make sense of it,” Kraghtol said while carefully putting the needle back and closing the box. “Oh, but I’ve got something for you, too. I found this monocle on the ground in Voldrik’s workshop. I think it belonged to him.”
Dagna took the gold-framed lens carefully, like a holy relic. She obviously really admired her uncle, whom she had never met, and Kraghtol wondered if it wasn’t a bit obsessive.
Her backpack contained about half of the contents of her workshop, and it was so heavy it was no wonder she was slowed down by it so much. When Kraghtol offered to carry it for her, she immediately agreed.
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 notentirely 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 notnormal. 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.”
