Downfall

The leaves shimmered in the torchlight, the green melting from them to be replaced by grays and blacks and browns, many of which were difficult to discern against the shadows of the swamp. The leaves continued to transform, growing wings and tails.

"What are they?" Rig hollered.

Dhamon shrugged and readied to meet this new mysterious threat.

There were hundreds of the things-roughly the size of blackbirds, though they were not birds. They had batlike wings that were more membranous than leathery. Their heads resembled that of mosquitos-complete with needlelike noses that dripped something viscous.

Dhamon reached up to knock one away, discovering that their bodies were segmented and hard like the shell of a beetle. He swung at another, slicing it in two and releasing a foul red gore.

"Stirges!" Fiona hollered.

"What?" This from Dhamon.

"Stirges. They're… they're insects. They'll drain your blood!"

Dhamon was quick to react, for the creatures were already swarming him. Though he swung his sword high above his head, cleaving some in two, several dove at his chest, their needlelike stingers stabbing into his flesh. He hollered, in surprise and pain, as they began feasting on his blood.

He heard Fiona behind him, sword whistling as she cut through the foul creatures. The Solamnic was protected by her plate mail, the stirges flying at her and stu

The clearing was filled with growls from the ogres, who had never encountered such malevolent insects and who were plucking them off their bodies and squishing them in their bare hands; screams from the freed slaves; the soft thud of the dead stirges hitting the ground; smacking sounds from the creatures gorging themselves.

Bare-chested, Dhamon was an easy mark for the little beasts. A dozen were latched onto his chest and his back. He scraped some off his legs, stomping on them before they could take to the air again.

"They're not that difficult to kill!" Maldred was shouting.

"No," Dhamon muttered, as he jabbed at the stirges who flew in to take their dead brethren's place. "There's just so many of them! Too many!" He felt weak, and realized it was because so much of his blood had been drained. "They could destroy us," he shouted to his friend.

"I'm not going to die here, Dhamon Grimwulf!" Maldred returned. "I promised to help you with that scale, remember?"

I won't have to worry about the scale, Dhamon thought. If we can't get rid of these deadly pests, soon the scale will be the smallest of my concerns. He hefted Wyrmsbane with one hand, using it to fend off the creatures diving on him. With his other hand he began plucking at the insects, squeezing them in his hand until the chitinous shell broke, then hurling them on the ground and stomping on them for good measure. His hand was slick with his own blood that they'd drained, and he whirled about to see that the ogres' hands were bloody as well. They'd all abandoned their weapons, using their hands to squeeze the life from the stirges. Dhamon considered doing that as well, but he was loath to drop the long sword, and wasn't about to leave himself too open by taking a moment to sheathe it.

There was a snarl behind him-Mulok. The big ogre was plucking the stirges off Dhamon's back. Dhamon felt blood spatter him with each creature the ogre squeezed. Then he felt the ogre's back against his, slick with blood. Others were copying Mulok, standing back to back; those who didn't were falling.

"No! Mugwort!" Maldred cried to the largest ogre, the one who toted Fiona's chest of gems through the swamp. The great ogre dropped beneath a cloud of black, winged bodies. He flailed about on the marshy ground for a moment, then lay still. More of the creatures descended on his body, their smacking noises hideous.

"Enough of this!" Maldred was battling several of the creatures. He tugged a few free and then began gesturing. An instant later, Mugwort's body-and all the stirges blanketing it-were engulfed in a crackling ball of flame.

The ogres nearby began plucking the stirges off themselves and throwing them on the bonfire, the insects shrieking and popping and releasing a nauseating stench. There was another burst of flame, and then another, as Maldred ignited the corpses of other fallen ogres and slaves.

Finally he tended to himself, tearing one bloated insect after another from his arms and legs, backing toward a pair of Do

Rig and Fiona were standing back to back, a ring of dead stirges at their feet. The Solamnic battled the insects without a word, one hand clenched tightly on her sword, the other reaching up to grab stirges from the air and crush them. Rig was vocal, cursing the swamp and the insects, Maldred, Dhamon, the chieftain Do

"Stirges, huh?" Rig said. "Damn big mosquitos, if you ask me. Fought them before?"

"Hu-uh." Fiona, too, was busy.

"This many of them?"

A shake of her head.

"Where?"

"Once. When I was visiting the isle of Cristyne. But there were only a small number of them. We'd disturbed a nest. We got out of there fast."

"We're wi

Only a few dozen of the stirges remained, and soon they were dead, too. The ground was covered with black bodies, an insect carpet that crunched as the ogres and slaves trod across it to see if any of their fallen comrades survived.

Rig kicked through the mound in front of him, finding his sword and quickly retrieving it. He shook his head. It was covered with blood-his and the stirges. He scowled as Dhamon approached him, Maldred behind him.

The fires were burning out all around the clearing, but Dhamon was peering into the dense cypresses that surrounded them. "I was certain I heard a voice…"

Maldred nodded.

"I heard it right before these creatures came."

"Yeah," Rig said. "Soft and pretty-these… stirges… were anything but. Bet she brought the snakes, too, our mysterious lady. Doesn't want us in the swamp. Or maybe she just doesn't want us near Shrentak. The stirges came right after I mentioned that place."

Dhamon's eyes narrowed. He thought he spied something with a metallic gleam moving between the fern leaves.

"Shrentak…" The voice was feminine and breathy, the same one they'd heard before the insect onslaught.

"Shrentak would welcome you, o' man the color of night," the voice continued. "There are always a few empty cells." A veil of lianas parted and the figure of a young girl glided into the clearing, her coppery hair disturbed by continuous motion. She appeared no more than five or six, yet she spoke like a much older woman, with a seductress's voice. And in her small hand she clasped Rig's glaive, a weapon she shouldn't have been able to lift. The blade glimmered in the light.

"The girl…" the mariner began.

"From Fetch's vision," Dhamon stated.

Their eyes grew wider as a silvery-gray mist formed and encircled her free hand. Dhamon darted forward, able to take only a few steps before he found himself rooted to the spot, the stirge-covered ground shimmering around his boots and holding him fast like a vise. The silvery mist poured from her hand now, blanketing the ground like a low-hanging fog and swirling around everyone's legs.

Twisting around, Dhamon saw that Rig and Fiona were likewise held. But Maldred was free, the mist somehow was unable to hold him. Now the big man was charging toward the child, bringing his two-handed sword from his back as he moved.