Chapter 28: The Serpent's Lake

  The expedition descends from the platforms via a series of rope ladders that lead to the now inundated base level. The transition from the relative safety of the elevated settlement to the dark surface of the swamp feels like crossing a threshold into another world entirely.

  Waiting for us are five boats, all crude but functional, their craft woven from thick reeds and coated with some kind of waterproof resin that gives off a faint chemical smell. Each boat is roughly three meters long and one meter wide, with a shallow base not surprisingly designed to navigate the marsh's unpredictable depths.

  The Gnolls divide us efficiently. Hynnal Death-Howl takes the lead boat with two additional warriors and the shackled Frogman. He must want to keep an eye on the most dangerous one.

  The second boat holds three more Gnoll and Gorvash while Kor'ik and one of the Goblins are placed in the third boat with another two Gnolls.

  The fourth boat carries myself and the remaining Gnolls, including the creepy Stalker and two Bog Goblins.

  The fifth and last is a smaller one apparently for supplies only, with water skins, dried rations, coils of rope, and several sealed containers whose contents I can only guess at. It is being secured with a rope to the two boats in the front.

  At least I dodged this one, because barely a second after I noticed it, the other Gnoll hunter in my boat grunts, "Paddle," shoving a crude oar into my hands.

  I take my position and begin rowing in rhythm with the others. The boat glides across the water with surprising ease, the woven reeds flexing slightly with each stroke but maintaining their structural integrity.

  As we push away from the settlement, I look back one final time. The platforms are already fading into the darkness, illuminated only by scattered torches that look like distant fireflies.

  No one is there to wave us goodbye.

  We turn southeast, heading to a part of the marsh I haven't seen before.

  Even from the boats, we can all feel this region is different.

  As the hours pass and we move deeper, the water here gets increasingly darker, almost black in the moonlight, with a thickness that makes our paddles drag slightly with each stroke. The usual ambient sounds of the marsh, the chirping insects, splashing fish, and even the occasional predator's call are muted, as if the local wildlife knows to avoid this area.

  The vegetation changes too. The trees that line our route are getting older, more twisted, their bark covered with luminescent fungi that pulse with a sickly green light. Some of the branches reach out over the water like grasping claws, and I swear I see them moving, tracking our passage with an awareness trees shouldn't possess.

  Kor'ik leans over the side of his boat and retches, his earlier meal coming back up in violent heaves. One of his Gnoll boat-mates growls in disgust but doesn't intervene. The Frogman's terror has overwhelmed him, and he's not even trying to hide it anymore.

  I feel a certain sympathy. Whatever awaits us in the sunken ruins, it's clear that even the marsh itself grows more hostile the closer we get.

  The blue moon climbs higher, its light turning the water into a mirror of liquid silver. Beautiful, certainly. But there's something predatory about that beauty, as if we were moving towards the lure of a giant anglerfish.

  Dip after dip, my paddle encounter more resistance entering this dark water, as if the swamp itself is reluctant to let us pass. Each stroke becomes a small battle, and I quickly understand why the Gnolls insisted on multiple rowers per boat. This journey won't be measured in distance but in endurance.

  Hours pass and we only have the moons and by Hynnal Death-Howl's instinctive knowledge of the marsh to navigate. Several times we take channels so narrow that the boat's sides scrape against roots and stones. Once, we pass beneath a natural arch of tangled vegetation so low that we have to lay flat in the boats, the smell of rot and decay overwhelming as we glide through in silence.

  My arms burn from the constant paddling, but I don't dare slow my pace. The Gnolls maintain a brutal rhythm, and any slave who falls behind gets a painful reminder from a spear butt. I've already seen one of the Bog Goblins receive such encouragement, the small creature's cry of pain quickly stifled by fear of attracting worse attention.

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  We're perhaps four hours into the journey when things take their first genuinely dangerous turn.

  The channel we're following widens into what might be called a lake, though "lake" implies a clarity and openness that this body of water completely lacks. The surface here is covered with a thick mat of floating vegetation. Lily pads the size of shields, trailing vines, and large patches of what I assume to be some sort of yellow moss.

  Hynnal Death-Howl raises his hand, and the entire convoy comes to a stop. The Gnoll leader sniffs the air, his ears swiveling to catch sounds I can't perceive. His body language screams caution.

  "Snikta vhoolk nakta," he mutters to the warriors in my boat. Whatever he said, it makes them immediately grip their weapons tighter.

  The water beneath our boat suddenly moves.

  I can sense something massive has just shifted in the depths below, something that's been disturbed by our passage.

  The floating vegetation begins to ripple, patterns spreading across the surface in concentric circles that originate from... everywhere. Multiple points. As if something enormous is coiling beneath us, displacing water in waves.

  Then I see it.

  What I'd taken for a patch of that yellow moss, floating innocently thirty meters to our left, rises from the water. Not moss at all. Scales. Massive scales covered in the same vegetation that chokes this part of the marsh, camouflage so perfect that the creature had been invisible even in plain sight.

  The coil that emerges is as thick as an ancient tree trunk, water streaming off its surface in silver sheets under the moonlight. It rises silently, impossibly high, until it towers over our boats like a living pillar.

  For a heartbeat, everything is still. We're all frozen, staring up at this thing that shouldn't exist.

  Then another coil breaks the surface. And another. And another.

  How many creatures are down there? How large is this thing? The questions race through my mind as more of those massive coils appear between the boats, rising with that same terrible silence.

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  "VRAKKA! VRAKKA!" Hynnal Death-Howl's voice shatters the paralysis. The Gnoll leader is already moving, his warriors responding to the command with trained efficiency.

  But they're too slow.

  The supply boat at the front suddenly jerks sideways, pulled by its connecting ropes as something wraps around it from below. I catch a glimpse of the small vessel tilting, water rushing over its sides, supplies sliding into the water.

  "Cut ropes! CUT R…" Hynnal's roar is cut short as the supply boat is yanked under with shocking violence. The two boats connected to it lurch forward, their Gnoll crews desperately trying to cut at the thick ropes with knives and claws.

  The first rope parts with a sound like a whip crack. The second holds for one second longer, long enough for me to see the supply boat completely vertical in the water, its reed hull already beginning to collapse under pressure, before it vanishes beneath the black surface.

  The second rope snaps.

  All hell breaks loose.

  The careful formation disintegrates as Gnolls begin paddling frantically in different directions. Hynnal is shouting commands that no one can hear over the chaos. I see Gorvash's boat veer sharply left while Kor'ik's goes right. The Frogman is screaming, a high-pitched wail that echoes across the water.

  In my boat, the Stalker is already moving toward the edge, his yellow eyes fixed on the nearest vessel. The other Gnoll, the hunter who gave me the paddle, has his spear raised, searching the water for a target.

  There is a massive water movement beneath us.

  The two Bog Goblins squeal in terror, and I grip the sides of the vessel, my knuckles white.

  The creature surfaces directly beneath us.

  There's no slow rise this time. The impact is instantaneous and violent. Our boat launches into the air, spinning, and for one disorienting moment I'm weightless, seeing the whole scene laid out below me, the scattered boats, the churning water, and the many coils breaking the surface everywhere.

  Then I'm falling.

  I hit the water hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs. The impact is shocking and I immediately start to sink, the weight of my scales and the strange viscosity of the marsh pulling me down.

  Something grabs me.

  Claws dig into my shoulder and I thrash instinctively before realizing it's one of the Bog Goblins, the creature's bulging eyes wide with panic as it tries to climb me like a ladder. Its weight pushes me deeper, its claws tearing at my shirt, my arms, anything it can reach.

  I try to push it away but it clings tighter, mouth opening in a silent scream that releases a stream of bubbles.

  Then something hits us both with the force of a battering ram. The impact separates me from the Bog Goblin and sends me tumbling deeper into the darkness.

  I need air. My chest is screaming for it, my vision starting to narrow at the edges.

  Something brushes past me, scales scraping across my arm like rough stone. The water here is thick, like swimming through oil. Even with my enhanced vision, I can barely see through the murk, just vague shapes.

  I kick desperately toward what I hope is up, but with all the murkiness, I can't be sure. My lungs are on fire. I need to breathe. I need to…

  A shape appears beside me in the gloom. For a moment I think it's another coil, but then I make out details. Arms. Legs. Eyes bulging from a canine face twisted in agony.

  The Gnoll hunter.

  He's caught in the creature's coils, the massive body wrapped around him three times, crushing the life from him as casually as I might squeeze water from a cloth. His mouth is open, and I watch in horror as the last of his air bubbles out in a silver stream.

  His eyes find mine. Even in death, there's something in that gaze. Not pleading. Just... acknowledgment. We're both dying here, that look says. You just don't know it yet.

  Another shape drifts past, smaller. A Bog Goblin and most likely the one that had grabbed me, its neck bent at an angle that necks should never bend, its eyes staring at nothing.

  My lungs spasm. I need air NOW.

  I kick again, harder, following the path of those silver bubbles from the Gnoll's last breath. Something brushes my leg and I nearly scream, losing precious air, but I keep kicking, swimming, fighting my way toward where I pray the surface is.

  My head breaks the water and I gasp, sucking in air that tastes of rot and fish, but I've never been so grateful for a breath in my life. The world is in chaos around me.

  Boats are scattered across the water. The Gnolls and even Gorvash shouting and hurling spears at shapes that move too fast to track. I see Death-Howl standing in his boat, his massive form silhouetted against the moon as he slashes with his curved blade. The weapon sinks deep into something that roils the surface, and the Gnoll leader roars in triumph.

  But there's too much of it. Too many coils. Every time they wound it in one place, it surfaces somewhere else.

  I can finally see the creature properly as a massive section rises between two boats.

  A serpent, yes, but on a scale that defies belief. Its body as thick as a trunk and covered in those liquid-metal scales, with patches of vegetation still clinging to it like a grotesque garden. Multiple spears jut from its back, making it look like some kind of mobile pincushion, but the wounds don't seem to slow it at all.

  As I watch, it dives again, the movement sending a wave that nearly swamps the nearest boat.

  Something grabs the back of my shirt.

  I thrash, thinking it's the creature, but then I hear a Gnoll voice growl, "Move slave!" Strong arms haul me up and over the side of a boat, and I collapse into the bottom of it, retching up marsh water and gasping.

  I look up to see my rescuer, one of the Gnoll warriors from Hynnal's boat. Beside him, shivering and equally soaked, is the other Bog Goblin. We're alive. Somehow, impossibly, we're alive.

  The creature surfaces one more time, perhaps fifty meters away now, and I finally see its head. Flat and wide like a viper's, with eyes that reflect the moonlight like mirrors. I can also see a huge scar near down its neck that oozes dark red blood. Most likely the huge blow from Hynnal’s curved blade.

  Its mouth opens, revealing rows of teeth, and for a moment I think it's going to come back for another attack.

  Instead, it simply sinks back beneath the surface, the movement sending ripples across the entire lake. The spears in its back disappear with it, and suddenly the water is still.

  Silence falls, broken only by ragged breathing and water dripping from paddles and soaked clothing.

  I'm alive.

  The thought hits me like a physical blow. I could have died down there. Should have died. The Gnoll did. One of the Bog Goblins did. I saw them. I was right there with them, seconds from the same fate.

  And I'm alive only because of luck. Random chance. The creature's impact happened to separate me from the Bog Goblin instead of crushing me too. I happened to swim in the right direction. A Gnoll happened to be close enough to pull me out.

  Luck. Nothing but luck.

  My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists, trying to stop the trembling, but it doesn't help.

  "VRAKKA SHOLTA!" Hynnal Death-Howl's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. The Gnoll leader is counting, taking stock of his remaining forces.

  We're down to three boats now. My original boat is gone, along with the supply one. One Gnoll dead. One of the Goblins dead. The supplies we needed for the expedition, gone to the bottom of this cursed marsh.

  I see the Stalker, now in another boat, after having successfully jumped and avoided the attack. He catches my eye and shows his teeth in what might be a grin. Survival, his expression says. That's all that matters.

  Hynnal's fury is palpable even from a distance. His ears are flat against his skull, his lips pulled back to show fangs, and when he speaks again his voice is tight with barely controlled rage.

  But beneath the rage, I see something else. Wariness. That creature was huge, powerful, and we barely drove it off. It's still down there somewhere, and we're still in its territory.

  And we haven't even reached the ruins yet.

  Whatever waits for us in this sunken city, we just encountered one of its guardians. The thing that keeps other predators away. The warning that nothing beyond this point is safe.

  We've paid in blood just to get this far, and I have the sinking feeling that the price is only going to get higher.