Today, I have a fun excerpt from Legends of Windemere: The Mercenary Prince.  Our heroes are facing some new creatures and might not be ready for the encounter.  I mention these are the Frozen Blades and not the champions?  That means there’s no magic to help them.

Cover art by Jason Pedersen
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When the vile stench becomes too much, the mercenaries cover their mouths and noses with scented rags that Scorpion hands out. He slows down to allow Delvin to keep up, the champion trying his best to fight against his concussion. A rapid bubbling sound can be heard to their left and it reminds them of soup being overheated. After five minutes of walking, the tall grass shows signs of a blight that has covered them in black spots. The tops of some of the blades have become bloated orbs that Scorpion warns against touching. Their progress is gradual as the warriors move around the dangerous spore sacs and stumble over the occasional carcass of a dammah. The bodies are nothing more than rotting meat on silver bones, the exposed organs releasing a hazy steam. As the mercenaries continue, they imitate their black-clothed friend and hunker down to hide in the tall grass. Eventually they are on all fours, which helps them avoid the fragile orbs and rapidly decaying corpses.

Scorpion signals for his friends to join him before he sticks his face through a thicker area of the grasses. The natural wall is entirely black, which makes the warriors believe they are at the source of the blight. A constant wave of heat can been seen in the air above their heads and it is close enough to make them sweat. Every movement is met with the gentle crunch that they soon realize is coming from the mass of cooked insects beneath their feet. Not sure what else they should do, the mercenaries imitate Scorpion and peek through the barrier.

With dry throats and tearing eyes, the men stare at the corrupted watering hole that is fringed with dead animals. The pool is bubbling from the heat-inducing toxin that a quartet of black-skinned creatures have pumped into the water. Filthy rags and empty eyes reveal their undead nature, but their ability to walk across the lake confuses most of the mercenaries. As if one creature, they double over to vomit crimson poison and swirl the toxic liquid with their long fingers. With a howling scream, the four monsters hold hands and spin to create a compact whirlwind that roils the water. Another wave of heat erupts and drives the mercenaries further into the tall grass.

“How did you check this place out and get back to us so quickly?” Pelo asks as they move far enough away to speak. The bald man is about to stand for another look at the creatures, but is yanked back down by Gerdo. “Don’t worry. Their eyes are so putrid that I doubt they can see very far.”

“Wights rely more on smell, so we’re fine as long as the wind doesn’t change,” Scorpion explains, two daggers appearing in his hands. He dips the blades into one of the containers on his belt, the weapons coming out glistening with blue ooze. “I didn’t come out here. When we were in the encampment, I heard the dammahs leaping over something to the east. It got me curious and I investigated. They were avoiding a toxic river. Knowing that the source is upstream, I got all of you and I followed the sound of running water to get us here. Track a river and you’re bound to find something. Rather basic wilderness strategy that you taught me, Pelo.”

The weasel-faced man grins and licks his lips. “I haven’t used that old trick in years. No wonder I forgot it. Do we have a way to kill . . . whatever those things are?”

“All of us really need to start carrying bows or something for range,” Gerdo says, winking at Delvin, who curses under his breath. The smiling mercenary pats the bow on Tavris’s back, reminding everyone that the weapon exists. “Wights can be as easy to kill as zombies, but they’re deadlier. You never know what type of poison they’re packing until they attack or corrupt the area. These were made with a heat toxin that can melt a victim from the inside out. At the end of their fingers are retractable nails that act like needles, so we need to stay out of reach. I guess Tavris is the best one for the job as long as he knows how to use that thing. The only time I’ve ever seen him use a bow is when he takes one from an enemy archer and beats them over the head with it.”

“I know enough to get by,” Tavris claims as he draws the weapon and fumbles with an arrow. The others try not to groan, but the warrior can tell they are worried.