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She flew by trees with reaching limbs and over crooked little streams and frogs croaking in the gloom of twilight. Snakes slithered beneath her porting feet, and again and again she closed the distance.
A being stood with its back to her. It wore a ragged, maroon cloak covered with eldritch sigils and held not a lantern, but a staff with a weak light perched at the top.
Daemona grabbed the being by the shoulder. “All right, you! What’s the game?”
The cloaked being whirled around, and Daemona was face to face with a red-eyed skull and its ravenous, chomping teeth. It lunged, shrieking insanely, a skeletal hand catching the edge of her shirt and pulling her close. A scythe-like blade swung out from the edge of the staff.
Daemona struck with her daggers. While the thing retreated a step, its crazed wailing only seemed to grow louder, throwing a wave of dizzying nausea over Daemona like a poisonous cloud.
She teetered and stumbled, trying to remain upright against this foul attack. Daemona caught herself on a gnarled mossy tree. The hand of death stretched out, the wailing ringing in her ears like a bell.
Daemona waved her dagger back and forth, trying to ward the foe away.
Its claw-like hand reached for her just as she ported away.
Daemona fled from the Death Specter, racing each and every way in the Swamp, the hunter now the hunted. The fear paralyzed her rational thought, and she flew through the Swamp with no direction except escape. Just when it seemed she had evaded the thing, it was upon her heels yet again. She realized she was screaming. Beyond the wail of the specter, she thought she heard Harlin and Ghul Lykos calling to her.
She turned once to look back at the chasing specter and saw its bony hand clamp down on her shoulder. She tripped on a root and her face hit the moist dirt.
She turned around, screaming, fighting against the gripping hands, when she saw Harlin and Ghul Lykos standing over her.
“Where is it?” She looked about wildly like a caged animal.
“I don’t see anything,” said Harlin. “As soon as you ported away the light vanished. We heard you shouting on the ground and came to find you.”
“It was the wisp,” said Ghul Lykos.
“No,” she shook her head. “It was much worse. It was the screaming specter of death.”
Her companions looked to each other dubiously. Ghul Lykos said, “We didn’t hear anything but you. Just the normal sounds of the Swamp insects.”
“Frogs, owls,” agreed Harlin.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked accusingly as she stood and brushed the dirt and moss from her shirt. There was still a hint of daylight left. It wasn’t nearly as dark as it had seemed only moments before.
“I’m sure you saw something, if only in the land of dreams,” said Ghul Lykos. “There are many things lurking there, and half of the dreamworld is nightmare.”
“It seemed so real,” she said, rubbing at the bruise on her forehead. “I felt its cold hand upon mine. I felt the wind from its scythe when it nearly cut me in half.”
“Best not to dwell too much on such things,” said Harlin.
“That’s easy for you to say. I had the clammy hand of death on me, screaming in my ears.”
Harlin looked at her and said, “So have I. We better continue with our mission.” He slung his belongings over his back and walked into the mist. Ghul Lykos nodded and went after him.
She harrumphed and followed Ghul Lykos, continuing their trek through the shadowy undergrowth. Though she wanted to be done with this business, the thought of that specter of death made her resolve to not venture far from her companions again. Maybe it is good to have friends.
Chapter 7:
Bats flitted about in the gathering twilight and the sounds of the Swamp grew louder in the encroaching dark. Frogs thrummed, crickets began their night songs, and everything seemed to voice its presence except the party of three trudging through wet ground, the mud sucking at their boots.
“I hope that spot of yours is nearby,” said Harlin as he slashed a thick vine that blocked their path.
“The ground rises up yonder. I have never camped on Attercop Hill but at least we will be above the waterline, a rare enough thing in this area of the Swamp,” said Ghul Lykos.
They marched along sullenly for another mile until the ground rose a few feet and a copse of dense trees surrounded a tiny hill. The few spots without trees growing had stones spouting forth out of the grass-covered slope like the knuckles of a stone giant’s hands.
“I believe a sorcerer’s tower once stood here, but it was cast down long ago, thank the Goddess,” said Ghul Lykos.
