Prologue

Prologue-

            “We be dead!”
            “Shut your mouth, Selamn.” Ysan leveled a sharp gaze at his middle aged friend. The dark skinned man was wide eyed, staring off into the thick dark with beads of sweat dotting his face.
            Ysan closed his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts. In spite of his terror, all he could think about was his wife and daughter. He could see tiny little Tseya, standing with a smile that was more gum than tooth and looking up at him with her arms opened wide. He could see Molina’s supple form sprawled out naked on the bed before him, ready to accept him into her loving embrace. He could feel that embrace; he could feel her gentle kiss on his neck. He could see his small hut beside the marshy edges of the Amak River. Tendrils of smoke wafted lazily out of the small vent in the simple, thatched roof, carrying the thick scent of Yanoff fish grilling slowly above a low fire. Selamn made a whimpering sound that snapped him back to the present.
            “We not be dead. No, today we live! We live for the things the gods do give us,” he took Selamn by the shoulders and gave him a good shake, “do there be nothing you live for?”
            “I have no family, like you be having,” Selamn’s eyes were cast downward and his voice trembled as he spoke, “but yes. There do be something. I don’t be giving up the bottle. Not even for those… things.”
            Ysan furrowed his thick brow and struggled to penetrate the darkness. Rain began to fall in a heavy deluge. The Rek Swamp was an intimidating place, even to those well accustomed to its dangers. Trees clustered together in haphazard clumps, their tangled roots often rising out of the mud like the gnarled knuckles of an old man. Moss hung from the limbs, thick and matted like hair dangling from ancient heads. This place was old and dangerous. In the dark and heavy spring rain even Ysan’s well adapted vision could not reach in far. It was like staring into a bowl of black root soup.
            Selamn swayed slightly and smelled overpoweringly like ale. There was a slight glaze to his eyes, widened as they were, revealing what Ysan had expected from the moment he had met with the man earlier. In all the years Ysan had known him there were few times that Selamn was sober. They had met when Ysan was still a youth, becoming fast friends after Ysan had saved Selamn from a drunken brawl with a group of travelers from Eton Mal.
            The thick morass was cut by a deep and unnatural roar. It sounded as if the very earth had opened up in an ear splitting groan, shaking the ground at their feet. Selamn cried out and leapt into a run.
            “Selamn you fool!” Ysan said in a rasping almost whisper.
            They had been hidden away in an ancient tree. The thick bark had long gone gray and the interior was covered in thick moss and mushrooms. From the outside, the entrance was nearly invisible. He had only known of it from his childhood; when he ran and hid from his mother, this was the best spot in miles to hide. There was no doubt in his mind that none could find them here, not even that.
            Ysan left behind the safety of his old hiding spot and dashed after Selamn. His young, muscular legs treaded the heavy swamp mud with ease, and he sped along closing the gap between them. He had to catch Selamn before his wailing gave them away. The middle aged drunkard was surprisingly fleet of foot, but Ysan was younger and faster.
            He was only a short distance behind Selamn when the swamp lit a bright, cold blue. A beam of light erupted from the dark depths in the distance, disturbing the rain and mists as if it had a physical presence, and punched into Selamn’s back. He let out a gurgling scream through a mouthful of blood. His impossibly wide eyes became a flood of crimson that coursed over his cheeks. He toppled into the dark swamp water with a loud splash and lie still. Ysan knelt beside his friend and frantically turned him over. Selamn’s eyes were a ruined mass of twisted flesh in his sockets.
            Ysan became rigid. His hands were covered in blood. He had seen death before, when his father had been mauled to death by a great swamp lizard, but he had been little and the memories were cold and distant. The remains of his friend now lie in front of him, blood pooling out in the water and a knot of entrails floating beside the body. He noisily emptied his stomach and continued to retch for several moments.
            Another roar blasted his ears from the dark.
            “I can’t be standing here,” Ysan said to himself and slapped his cheek hard, “Molina be waiting for me. I must escape.”
            With a pang of guilt stabbing at his middle, he fled and left Selamn floating in the murky water. Now was not the time for him to grieve, or he would end up like his friend. He could not allow that to happen. Who would feed Molina and Tseya if he died? Who would keep them safe from harm? He ran with a fervor he had never before known; it was his only recourse. He had to live.
            “Yes,” a disembodied voice boomed from behind, “keep running human! I delight in the hunt!”
            How was it possible for such things to exist? This was pure madness. Many times he and Selamn had ventured deep into the Rek Swamps, often fishing or hunting the swamp lizards. They had seen nothing unexplainable, despite the tales of unspeakable evil in the darkest bowels of the swamp. These stories were fairy tales, told by the old crones to children to keep them from getting lost in the more dangerous parts of the swamp. Yet, as they had ventured to a deep spot in search of Yanoff hatcheries, these things had emerged from the dark and attacked. In his haste to flee, Ysan had barely glimpsed his pursuers. Now, with the heavy rains that came in spring and summer here, he could see very little.
            “I can hear you, filth!” There came another roar. “The blemach can smell your stench. You are doomed.”
            The loud voice was laced with dark mirth. It was a cackling, mad laughter that intruded the creature’s words like a snake coiling its prey. Ysan had never heard anything so terrible in his life. Not even the low growl of an attacking swamp lizard could compare. At least he understood the lizards, knew where they would strike, how even to hold their jaws open if necessary.
            He willed his legs to carry him faster, to move him farther away from that haunting voice. After several eternal moments of silence, another beam of light flashed from the darkness. There came a sharp, searing pain and he collapsed into the mud. His vision blurred and his mind swirled as his lungs filled with choking, black water. He pulled himself out of the mud with a gasp, spitting out mud that tasted like spoiled eggs. He tried to stand, only to realize he could no longer do so. He looked down and saw that where once had been a healthy, muscular leg was now a seared hunk of tangled meat. The moment his eyes touched the horrific sight, tremendous pain swept over him. He continued to struggle forward, pulling himself along the ground with his arms and screaming at the gut wrenching pain.
            “Oh, you miserable fool.” The voice was much closer now.
            Ysan looked over his shoulder, and what he saw froze him in place. There above him stood a tall, paled skinned humanoid. He appeared human, but there were noticeable differences. He was almost a head taller than any human Ysan had ever met. His body was rippled with graceful, thin musculature. Long, pointy ears peaked out from underneath straight hair that had once been blonde but now was nearly brown from filth. Water streaked down his face from the heavy rain and dripped onto a crudely fashioned set of armor. It appeared to be made from a haphazardly sewn collection of hammered metal plates and swamp lizard skin.
            The creature stretched his arm forward with his hand opened in a grasping manner. An incredibly intricate series of symbols were carved into his very flesh and blood trickled from the fresh wounds. Ysan was momentarily distracted from the terror in front of him by something impossible in the distance. He could hardly make it out in the rain, but it was a hulking thing larger than any being Ysan had ever beheld. It stood, heaving slowly, all features blocked out by the heavy rain fall and suffocating black of night.
            “Yes, there is little quite as arousing as watching a human writhing in futility and pain.” His face split wide with a wicked grin that bared grime encrusted, but perfectly straight, teeth.
            “I not be dying today,” Ysan growled with as much power as he could muster while he crawled backwards, “Molina be my reason to live!”
            That same, horrid laughter split the air. The creature bent over forward, holding his middle as he laughed. After several moments, he regained his composure, but was still chuckling.
            “Oh, you silly humans. Your tenacity simply amazes me. But please, do continue. The struggle makes this experience ever more pleasurable.”
            He couldn’t die like this. He would not give up and he would not let Molina spend the rest of her days alone. He moved forward, thrashing his arms wildly in an attempt to move faster. Anything to get him away from this thing.
            “Rekma’thar,” someone shouted in the distance, “we are prepared!”
            “Good, I shall join you shortly.”
            A foot smashed hard into Ysan’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. After gasping for several moments, he looked up and saw that the creature was grinning only inches from his face.
            “Sadly, I must end our playtime,” he whispered harshly. His breath was fetid and hot against Ysan’s face.
            “Worry not,” he laughed, the symbol on his palm was emitting a bright blue light now, “this has been a most entertaining experience.”
            “Molina, forgive me.” Ysan whispered.
            There was a bright flash and then quiet darkness.