T Lain - Return of the Damned

Great, he thought, they’re fighting over me.

Maneuvering his greatsword as best he could, Regdar twisted the blade and drew it across the eel’s flesh. The creature’s rubbery hide was tough, however, and the blade’s edge slipped right off. The attack apparently angered the beast.

Regdar was yanked through the water. His head breached the surface, and his chest came up into the air. He coughed out a mouthful of foul water as he toppled over. The serpent at his feet pulled him back toward deeper water while the one around his waist pulled him forward.

Shaking the water from his face, Regdar opened his eyes in time to watch the muddy ground come up to greet him. He landed on his chest with a dull thud and a grunt. Immediately, the serpent around his legs strained to pull him back into the water.

“Pull,” yelled Clemf.

Regdar looked up.

The human, the elf, and the dwarf leaned back hard on the rope attached to their waists.

Regdar looked down.

The serpent around his middle wasn’t a serpent at all but a rope, now with a huge gash where he’d attacked it.

Rolling over, Regdar saw the shiny, black hide of a giant eel wrapped firmly around his legs just above his ankles. He pulled his knees to his chest and swung his sword at his feet. The magical weapon connected with serpent scales and bit deep. A gush of purplish blue blood ran onto the muddy bank.

The pulling at his waist stopped, and Clemf’s huge arms wrapped around Regdar’s shoulders. To his right, Whitman tumbled into view, coming up on his feet and landing a hammer blow to the back of the serpent. Tasca appeared to the left, cutting into the wound Regdar had inflicted and slicing almost all the way through the creature’s body.

The eel recoiled at the assault and loosened its grip on Regdar’s legs. Uncoiling, the creature’s body slithered over the prone fighter, spinning around and around in a circle like the chains unwinding from a drawbridge. Finally, a pointed tail flashed through the air, and the giant eel swam off into the murky water.

Regdar relaxed his shoulders and dropped back into the mud.

“Are you all right?” Whitman stared him first in one eye, then the other.

Regdar coughed up a bit of thick, black water that dribbled from his lips. “Never better,” he said with a burp. Then he rolled over and vomited.

After he finished emptying his stomach, Clemf lifted him to his feet.

“Someone’s approaching,” murmured Tasca in a loud whisper.

Whitman tumbled into the heavy brush beside the path.

Clemf grabbed Regdar by the back of the arm and shoved him behind a large tree.

Tasca crouched down into a squat, then jumped into the air. He caught a branch nearly three times his height off the ground. Then, swinging his feet, he lifted himself into the canopy of the tree, out of sight.

Not more than a heartbeat later, three black-clad soldiers, all wearing the same spiked scale mail as the men who attacked Duke Ramas’s keep, entered the swamp from the plain, following the same path Regdar and his companions had used. Though it had been difficult for Regdar, these men made it look easy, as if they had done it many times before and had no fear of the giant eels.

They passed the hidden comrades without any indication of noticing them.

An arrow sailed out of the treetops and nailed one of the soldiers in the neck, dropping him to his knees.

Whitman somersaulted from the brush, back-flipping to a stop before the stunned soldiers. His hammer barred their path.

Clemf stepped from behind the tree, longsword leveled, blocking their escape back through the swamp.

Regdar stepped into clear view, his ornate longbow pulled taught, an arrow nocked and pointed at the trapped men.

“We can do this the easy way,” Regdar chuckled, “or you can make it hard on yourselves.”

The black-clad soldiers stood completely still.

“We’ve come looking for a woman,” said Regdar, moving a bit closer. “A wizard named Naull.”

The two soldiers still on their feet turned to glare at Regdar with malice in their eyes.

The man on his knees pulled his helm from his head. Tasca’s arrow was lodged in the side of his neck, and the wound bled freely. Regdar could see that he would bleed to death before long without aid. The wounded man threw his helmet at Whitman and drew his sword, still on his knees.

“I thought so,” said Regdar through gritted teeth. He let his arrow fly. It connected with the kneeling man’s ear, knocking him stiffly sideways and pinning his head to the ground.

The other two men drew their swords, then both lunged forward at Whitman. The dwarf bashed away one attack but suffered a cut to the shoulder from the other. Reversing the head of his hammer, he used the momentum from his swing to wind up for another attack. The head of his dwarven-forged weapon collided with a bone-splitting crack against one man’s shins. The soldier dropped to a crouch, clutching his obviously broken leg.

Clemf rammed his longsword into the back of the other man’s ribcage. The scale mail separated before the sharp point, and the man gasped, arching his spine. The man stumbled away from Clemf’s blade on his toes. He ran blindly into Whitman, who refused to give ground.

With a half step forward, Clemf held the man pinned on the end of his blade like a giant bug.

“Drop your sword,” he growled, “or I’ll saw this blade right down through your guts.”

Regdar nocked another arrow. “You’ve heard of the woman Naull?”

The two black-clad soldiers remained still.

Regdar stepped up and kicked the soldier’s broken shin.

The man collapsed to his side, whimpering. His face wrinkled up, and the ridges faded into white as he clinched against the pain.

Clemf twisted his sword, the tip still lodged in the other soldier’s back. The man moaned and gripped the hilt of his own sword tighter. Whitman nudged him with his shoulder, pushing him farther onto Clemf’s blade.

Regdar kicked the downed man again. “I’m going to keep asking you until you tell me,” he said, exaggerating each word and pausing after each one to land another kick.

The standing soldier inhaled deeply, with much pain. Then he lurched forward and slashed with his sword toward Whitman. It was a stroke of defiance—he hadn’t the strength remaining to be truly dangerous.

In a blink, however, four men moved.

An arrow launched down from the treetop, slicing into the back of the man’s neck, missing the helm entirely and sinking into the soft flesh below the head.

Clemf lunged forward, twisting his blade with all of his considerable strength.

Whitman jammed his shoulder deeper into the pinned man’s gut, shoving him hard onto the sword in his back. The tip of Clemf’s blade burst from the man’s chest, just above Whitman’s head.

A second arrow, fired from ground level at point blank range, slipped through the eye slit in the man’s helm to penetrate midshaft into his eye.

The soldier’s sword slipped from his hand and hit the wet ground with a light splash. His limp body followed a moment after.

Regdar dropped his bow and grabbed the remaining soldier by the neckline of his breastplate. Lifting him to his feet, the big fighter shook the man.

“Tell me what you know about Naull.”

The man cringed, trying to hold his broken shin. Beads of sweat dribbled down his forehead, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Holding the man up with only one hand, Regdar knocked off his helm with the other.

“Talk to me, you slavemonger.”

“Regdar—” started Whitman.

Regdar ignored the dwarf. Bending slightly at the knees, he lifted the captive into the air by his neck.

“I said talk!” He shook the man.