Swampboy

The first man died screaming.

The second never had the chance.

By the time Skyfe pulled his sword free, the wyvern was already among them.

Its wings tore through the trees, scattering leaves and branches across the camp. Men who had fought beside Skyfe for years disappeared beneath claws and teeth. One was carried screaming into the darkness. Another simply vanished beneath the creature’s weight.

Skyfe remembered its eyes most of all.

Green.

Not the dull reflection of torchlight.

They glowed.

And they looked directly at him.

Then the wyvern left.

Three days later, Skyfe found its trail.

He had buried what remained of his men and followed the creature alone.

The tracks led away from the road, through low country where the earth became black and wet beneath his boots. Trees crowded together. Their roots rose from stagnant water like knotted fingers.

By the fourth day, there was no road behind him.

By the fifth, there was no sky above.

Only swamp.

Skyfe kept walking.

He found bones.

Deer at first.

Then livestock.

Then people.

Some had been picked clean. Others were fresh.

And always, somewhere beyond the trees, something moved.

Watching him.

Waiting.

Skyfe slept with his sword across his chest.

When morning came, there were tracks around his camp.

The wyvern could have killed him.

It hadn’t.

That frightened him more.

On the seventh day, Skyfe found it.

The creature rested in a clearing beneath an enormous dead tree, wings folded against its body.

Skyfe crouched behind the reeds.

There.

Around one nostril was a small golden ring.

An ornament.

He had never noticed it during the attack.

Stranger still, faint symbols had been carved into its surface.

The wyvern opened one eye.

Green light filled it.

Skyfe stood.

“For them.”

He charged.

The creature moved faster than anything that large should have been able to move.

Its tail caught Skyfe across the chest.

He flew backward.

His sword disappeared into the water.

Skyfe scrambled upright just as the wyvern lunged. He threw himself aside. Teeth closed where his head had been.

This wasn’t a hunt.

It had never been a hunt.

The creature had been leading him here.

Skyfe ran.

He crashed through reeds and thorn until his lungs burned.

Behind him came the unmistakable rhythm of something enormous moving through the swamp.

Then—

Light.

A lantern.

Skyfe stumbled through the brush and stopped.

A cottage stood upon a small island of dry earth.

Smoke curled peacefully from its chimney.

Someone had planted flowers beside the door.

Skyfe nearly laughed.

He staggered onto the porch and pounded against the wood.

“Please!”

The door opened.

A woman stood inside.

Long black hair fell over her shoulders. Strange markings covered her arms.

Her name, she told him, was Amoly.

“What happened to you?”

“Wyvern.”

For the first time, her expression changed.

Skyfe grabbed the doorframe.

“It’s coming.”

Amoly looked past him into the darkness.

Then back at Skyfe.

“Come inside.”

She cleaned his wounds.

Gave him water.

Placed herbs into the fire that filled the cottage with sweet green smoke.

Skyfe told her everything.

His men.

The attack.

The trail.

The glowing eyes.

The ring.

At that, Amoly became very still.

“You saw the ring?”

Skyfe nodded.

Amoly smiled.

He should have noticed.

Instead, he felt warm.

Safe.

Sleepy.

“You’ve traveled very far,” she whispered.

Skyfe tried to stand.

His legs didn’t move.

Amoly knelt before him.

“You poor thing.”

Skyfe reached for the knife at his belt.

His hand stopped halfway.

“What’s…”

Amoly touched two fingers to his forehead.

Green light flickered beneath her fingertips.

Skyfe’s hand lowered.

“Rest.”

His breathing slowed.

“Amoly…”

“Rest.”

Something inside Skyfe screamed.

His body did not.

The room softened around him. Fear disappeared first. Then anger. Then the faces of the men he had buried.

Amoly stood.

“Good.”

Skyfe stared forward.

Empty.

“Stand.”

He stood.

“Come.”

He followed.

Amoly stepped onto the porch.

The swamp had become silent.

She raised one hand.

Skyfe stood behind her, motionless.

For several moments, nothing happened.

Then two enormous green eyes appeared between the trees.

The wyvern emerged.

Skyfe did not reach for his weapon.

Did not run.

Did not remember.

The creature lowered its enormous head before Amoly.

She smiled and scratched gently beneath its jaw.

“There you are.”

The wyvern rumbled.

Amoly reached higher.

Her fingers found the golden ring fastened through its nostril.

The symbols upon it began to glow.

Green.

The wyvern’s eyes burned brighter in answer.

Amoly glanced back at the man standing silently in her doorway.

Another traveler.

Another soldier.

Another thing the swamp had brought home.

She stroked the wyvern’s snout.

“Good boy. You brought me another.”

The creature closed its eyes.

And somewhere deep inside Skyfe, where neither glamour nor witch could quite reach—

a man screamed that he had come here to kill it.