Once the gift-giving was over, Sir Scabby took the burlap that had covered our new weapons and draped the pieces in a crisscrossed formation over the pile of heads and hides at the edge of his camp. He then broke down the wooden crate and built what looked like a teepee over the pile. After packing away or piling up any evidence he’d ever been there he took a flint out of one of the half dozen pouches at his waist. With a few well-placed sparks, he had an impressive, if not foul-smelling fire raging.

“Won’t that attract unwanted attention, my lord,” Aconitum asked, appearing chaotic-nervous.

“Better the attention beest hither, than whither we're headed,” Sir Scabby replied. “And unless thou art joining us, thee should be’est returning to the castle, post-haste.”

The warlock offered a facial expression that looked like a kalanchoe stalking its prey, yet I’m pretty sure it was meant to be a smile. He should seriously stick to frowning or poker faces. “As you say, my lord.” Turning to the rest of us, he said, “You’ll get what’s coming to you when you return with the prince, unharmed.” That completely not creepy, non-foreshadowy speech given, he darted off into the woods like the filthy, crazed murder-hobo I suspected him to be.

Cool, as innocent as a newborn baby, laughed as Aconitum scurried off like a rat into a maze. “Heh. He was nice, but he could use a bath. And a toothbrush. Maybe a pedicure, too. Hey, when we get our rewards, we should all chip in and get him a gift certificate for the kingdom day spa!”

Scalar hefted his huge axe over his shoulder and hung it across his back. He’d fashioned one of the kalanchoe hides into a makeshift bandoleer. He used an additional hide to make twin axe-holsters, which hung loosely from his belt, one on each hip. Scalar was handy with the hides, that was for sure. “Please, Cool, my dear friend, take no offense when I say, hell no. That stinky culo is the king’s advisor. If he wishes to spend a day cleansing his body to make himself look and smell like a respectable creature, then I am quite sure the king would be happy to accommodate him.”

Sir Scabby laughed heartily at Scalar’s response, giving one of Santa’s guffaws a run for its money. “Friend Minotaur, thee feeleth as most of the kingdom doth feel. T’is a mystery wherefore the king alloweth Aconitum to remain at his side. His loyalty and motives has't at each moment been in question amongst the knights of the royal court.”

Cool snaked his head around the trees, his neck winding like a creeping laurentii, and whispered into Sir Scabby’s ear. “He’s not a Minotaur, dude. He’s a cursed prince. He just looks like a Minotaur.”

Both Cool and the knight glanced back at Scalar, the revelation burning between them. Sir Scabby whispered back. “Forsooth he doest. I shalt be’est more careful in the days to come.”

Scalar snorted and plodded into the woods to await directions and grumbled. “I can hear you whispering.”

~

The witches’ lair, cave, tent, teepee, whatever they lived in, was in a region north of what we’d always considered north. Like, so far north, no one from Capitula ever ventured there. It was, as it turned out, beyond the land of the dragons, a place no one ever returned from. We, in our haste, um, my haste actually, agreed to go. Pharaoh offered more than one ‘I told you so’ or in his case, ‘Me did tell yuh suh’, as we made our way into the lands to the west of Candytuft.

We’d briefly considered going directly through Candytuft, but the risk of the queen, or one of her many handmaidens or advisors, seeing Sir Scabby was too great. We chose to circumvent the castle, and everything in its vicinity, by taking the western route.

I know what you’re thinking. What? The western trail? Are you out of your mind?

And yes, you’re right, taking the western trail was going to be dangerous. But think about it. Facing trolls, orcs, and creeping shadows in the western forests would be far less problematic than battling gnomes, ghouls, and golems in the rocky crags that made up Capitula’s eastern borderlands. The eastern route was nothing short of suicide. Not that everything in the northern territories wouldn’t be trying to kill us the moment we arrived, but the western route gave us a better chance of getting there in one piece.

The group was glum, even by our standards. Only Sir Scabby seemed to have a modicum of confidence that we might survive our quest. Dirk and Scalar moped along like children sent out to shovel snow, while Santa and Steve brought up the rear, whispering, so the horrors lurking around the swamp couldn’t hear. Hex floated along at the head of the group, keeping pace with Sir Scabby. Pharaoh, Yin, and Yang bravely took the left and right flanks. Even Cool was uncharacteristically quiet, plodding along thoughtfully, occasionally laughing at a joke only he could hear.

I got the impression nobody wanted to walk with me, as I was given a wide berth at the middle of the group. I felt like a soap-covered finger at the center of a glass of peppered water. If I moved closer, they moved farther away.

And was that a giggle I heard in Angus’s ever-present wheeze?

Screw ‘em. I didn’t want to talk to any of them anyway.

~

Have I mentioned how much I hate swamps? Soggy boots are the freaking worst. And leeches? They get into your pants, and-

Yeah, don’t get me started. The only thing I hate more than the leeches, ogres, and goblins that seemed to like living in that mucking place, are the arachnodactyls. Because how do you make hairy, wolf-sized spiders even more terrifying? Give ‘em effing wings, that’s how! Those damned things seemed to be happy living anywhere with deep shadow banks and plenty of food. There’s plenty of food in the swamp because they’ll eat anything that has a soft, chewy center. I’m like a big, delicious wonton to those bastards.

Swamp-serpents, laurentiis, kalanchoes, and spine-toothed jawfish filled the murky brown swamp-waters. I’m sure I’m forgetting a few things, but you get the picture.

On a normal day, a walk from Lake Billy Buttons to the northern farmlands of Candytuft took slightly over a half a day. Turn the trek into a semicircle around the kingdom, and the ETA more than doubled. Add the time it would take to traverse the northern mountains, all while hiding from hungry dragons? We were in for a three-day hike, at least. Hell, we didn’t know how far beyond the mountains our quarry was, or what horrors lived in the lands north of the dragons.

We were in deep shit.

The path narrowed up ahead, and the team began to draw into a single file. The swamp rose on both sides of the trail, giving us little more than a 2-foot-wide, muddy path to follow.

Dirk grumbled as one of his booties got sucked off his foot with a thick, wet slurp. He retrieved it and nonchalantly hung it from one of Scalar’s horns. Ol’ tatanka-head didn’t seem to notice, and I wasn’t about to cause a skirmish out there in the swamp, so I kept my mouth shut.

Low-hanging willow branches covered with patches of moss and fungus drooped lazily ahead. We brushed them aside like a never-ending curtain of beads as we moved blindly forward.

Steve scurried ahead, passing deftly between our legs until he’d taken the lead. “I can see ahead,” he called back. “The branches don’t get in my way!”

“What do you see,” Sir Scabby asked, trying to duck, but still having no luck.

“The path widens again in about a half an SLA. Twice that distance, and we’ll be out of the swamp,” Steve replied. “The forest is dead ahead!”

“You had to say ‘dead’, didn’t you,” Hex muttered.

A shadow in the swamp water to my right drew my attention. I slowed my pace a bit, trying to follow its movement. Something was in the water, and it was moving fast. Too fast!

By the time I realized what I was seeing, it was already too late. It was a reflection! I looked up just in time to see a dozen arachnodactyls silently descending upon us in a frenzy. “Run,” I shouted.

Before anyone could get clear of the willow branches, they were on us. Steve was the first to go. One of those damned winged monstrosities picked him up and dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the treetops. Next was Angus, as an overzealous arachnodactyl misjudged the difference between Dirk and his noisy friend.

Dirk shrieked, reaching into the air for his friend, but as with Steve, it was too late.

The next to go… was me!

One of the beasts grabbed my ankle and dragged me roughly to the ground. I drew my sword and rolled to strike at the bastard, but was horrified to see it wasn’t an arachnodactyl at all. Nope, it was one of those other things I’d forgotten about.

A long, leathery tentacle coiled around my leg, and dragged me into the swamp. I was waist deep before I could get enough balance to swing my sword. At that point, I risked taking off my own leg if I wasn’t careful.

“Packard!” I heard a voice that could only be Pharaoh’s cry out. A strong hand clamped onto my shoulder. I guess he wasn’t that mad at me after all.

A moment later, I took in a mouthful of putrid water. Shortly after that, I blacked out.