Where Darkness Treads: Book Two—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Two: Camp Misery

The following day, Prince Donovan looked down upon the brooding Great Black Thorn Swamp, which was mostly enshrouded by a hazy mist in the dim morning light. The sky above was an unbroken blanket of rain-swollen clouds, from which a soft incessant downpour fell in fine raindrops. Other than members of their expedition force, no creature, not even a bird or darter graced the silent gray sky. No breeze stirred leafy boughs, brush, or grasses; all stood still in the heavy humid air. "How long do we have before the enemy returns?" Donovan wondered silently.

In the distance, Brenna still searched for the sanctuary yet no matter how hard she tried, the riddle of finding it was proving to be an enigma she could not seem to solve. Despite the efforts of all concerned to raise their flagging spirits, a palpable tension filled the air. It was fueled by uncertainty, exhaustion, the moans of the wounded, memories of those whom they had lost, and knowing the enemy would return.

"Well, one thing's for sure, the defensive barriers helped a great deal last night. Without them, I doubt any of us, would have survived," Prince Everin said with a nod to Girard. The swordsman promptly poured the prince's mug full of tea and mulled wine and nodded. "My friend, I'm sure your assumption is dead-accurate. Our losses were heavy, but here we still stand, vigilant and determined."

"Unfortunately, we no longer possess the number of men required to adequately defend this site any longer. Our numbers are now down to some three hundred and fifty-two. Of those, forty-six are not truly ready for battle," Donovan commented from beneath his oil-cloth cloak. He took a drink from the steaming mug in his hand; the teas imparted warmth which served to give him a measure of comfort in the dank, cool air.

"Dreena weapon-smiths forge runes into each weapon they make. Thus, they are lethal to all forms of evil. Last night, we lost forty-five Dreena fighters and now number fifty-five in total. Even though more of my people join each day, we cannot continue to suffer such losses and expect to survive," Celete said tersely. She kicked a pebble to the side, sending it rolling.

"Agreed." Donovan was staring intently at the swamp, while rubbing the stubble on his chin.

"Brenna, I believe Celete is right. You will need to bless as many weapons as possible. We are going to need every advantage we can get," Sir Alfred commented. He slowly ran his hand through his soaking wet hair.

"I agree, completely," Donovan stated. During last night's battle, if not for the assistance of Lenaya and the Fetwyn, their quest would have come to an end. Despite their best efforts, it had been much too close. "Any closer and all of us would have died." Prince Donovan thought.

"We are going to be here for a while, just burying our dead. Whatever we're gonna do, we need to decide quickly," Sir Alfred said to one and all. Right now, the great man was tirelessly sharpening the blade of his great sword. It was clear, he was expecting a repeat performance from the enemy, at any time.

"I'm working on it, my friend," Donovan said as he began walking down the hill towards the swamp. "It just might work!"

Brenna followed Prince Donovan, along with Morgan, Prince Everin, Changa, and Girard. They hastened their pace to keep up with him, as he was now running.

"Yes, I do believe it will work." Donovan had raised his hand to shade his eyes and was now studying something in the bog.

"What will work?" Prince Everin asked, looking at him in a puzzled manner.

"You see the spit of land, which extends into the swamp? It is perhaps, twenty-five yards wide, where it joins the surrounding ridge. It is about eight to ten feet above the water and then it widens out for some distance, farther back within the swamp."

"Are you mad? There, is one problem Donovan, it's in the swamp! We cannot afford to lose any more men, to whatever lurks there," Prince Everin argued loudly.

"Which is why we won't venture near its edge. We will let whatever prowls beneath its surface, protect us beyond the front wall, which we will be defending. If the enemy ventures in, I believe they will be sucked down, just as our men were," Donovan stated. He continued to study the area before them, carefully.

"Wait a minute—I see where he is going with this. I cannot say I fancy camping down in this soupy stench. Still, it is better than dying in the next attack!" Morgan maintained, while nodding at all of them.

"The question is, will it work?" Prince Everin walked over to stand beside Donovan. From the look upon his face, it was clear the Chand Prince wanted to believe, and finally he swallowed hard and nodded. "Alright, my friends, I agree. Let get started right away."

"He has my vote. We could bring the logs down from the old camp, up there. It will save time and we can set them higher," Changa said. "We have enough men, to heavily defend an area this wide."

"It seems we have a plan. I will begin blessing each of the weapons, right away," Brenna stated. Donovan watched her walk back up, towards camp, knowing she was as exhausted as the rest of them. Right now, they couldn't afford to waste time resting. None of them knew how long it would be, until the enemy struck again.

The light rain continued throughout the day. The process of dragging the logs, had churned a fair portion of the dirt in front of the barrier, into a thick blackish-brown muck. It seemed to cling and stain all it touched, making their lives even more miserable. Many of the men were digging graves, high up on the ridge, in the soggy ground. The rest were busy building their new defensive wall, which Donovan had to admit was impressive. It now stood some six logs high and many men were busy emplacing sharpened flame-hardened stakes, as additional protection.

Despite all attempts to avoid the waters of the swamp, they had lost an additional four men to its black waters. As before, all attempts to get the beast to reveal itself had failed. The somber day dragged on, and finally all the men they had lost, were laid to rest. The burial crew advanced down to the peninsula of raised ground and assisted in finishing the log barrier, building small bulwarks, and setting up camp. The horses were led into the interior and tethered so they might crop the lush green grasses, growing back there. As the day progressed, Prince Donovan could not avoid casting quick glances towards the ridge some seventy yards away, where they had fought the enemy last night.

After having finished the wall and set-up camp, some Dreena and a few others ventured out to hunt something for dinner. Despite being exhausted from last night and today, Prince Donovan kept an unwavering eye along the wooded ridge. He was determined their token force would not fall prey to an ambush this evening.

Morgan stood at Donovan's side, in her oil-cloth cloak with her sheathed bow in hand. Both had not moved a smidge for some time now, as they intently scanned the surrounding forest. All along the log wall, men stood at the ready, with bows, crossbows, spears, and swords, waiting for the enemy's arrival. No one knew if they would approach by stealth, or an all-out charge, but clearly everyone expected they would attack them, soon.

The gray skies had partially broken, allowing shafts of sunlight to shine down, illuminating patches of terrain here and there. At any rate, it was a welcome reprieve from the constant rainfall, hinting perhaps to a break in the weather. Prince Donovan and Prince Everin had divided their men; half would stand guard, while the rest slept for four hours, then they would exchange places. During the last waning minutes of the day, those who had went hunting, finally returned empty-handed. Here they stood behind a barrier of logs and swamp, upon a stretch of mud and grass, where there would be no steaming meat, fresh off the spit. Tonight, there would be dried meat, fruit, and shelled nuts.

Donovan pulled the stopper from his water-skin and took a drink and slapped at a mosquito with a vengeance. "Time will tell, which will stop our quest first, the enemy or these blood-thirsty vermin!" Prince Donovan smiled wryly. His jest at their plight, brought a round of jovial, yet tired mirth, as many nodded in agreement.

Quietly, Prince Donovan scanned their new campsite, carefully scanning for any unexpected surprises. He spotted Brenna, who had evidently finished blessing the last of their small army's weapons. By the Neeri's gait and manner, Donovan knew she had exhausted her strength and power. For a few minutes, she stopped and stood still, gazing down at a large bed of bright yellow flowers, which a ray of sunshine had revealed in all their glory, beyond her tent. Then, abruptly she raised her head and began to walk beyond the blooms, in the direction of the Black Thorn Swamp beyond.

"Brenna—STOP! Come back here, do you hear me? Someone, stop her!" "My God, she's going into the swamp—I've got to stop her. No, she's going to die!" Fear wailed in Donovan's mind, as he ran as fast as he could manage around tents, assorted gear, and dead-tired men. Resting soldiers around him, rapidly rose, but he had no time to explain. The Neeri was closing in on the edge of the swamp, and he had but one chance to save her. "Brenna, STOP!"

Prince Donovan's legs burned with the exertion, and his lungs felt as if they were on fire. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and he was developing a stitch in his side but was closing rapidly with Brenna, who was steadily walking towards the vile blackness of the bog before her. In full-blown panic, Donovan reached out to the Neeri's form, as she stepped into the muddy waters with her left foot. His friend's right foot entered the swamp, as his hands grabbed for her. In the next instant, his friend vanished into thin air, leaving him empty-handed.

Immediately, Prince Donovan stopped short of the still blackness of the Great Black thorn Swamp, while gazing in horror at the spot where Brenna had stepped. The sounds of many booted feet were approaching from behind when his bellow shattered the air. "BRENNA!"