The salt swamp was hot and humid. If it seemed that the heat they had felt before was bad, this was a humid sort of hell. The insect life seemed to start swarming, and leeches feasted on all when the party had to flounder in the mud to get the raft moving

Cronwyn tried to partially solve the problem by pulling out a women's silk scarf from his backpack. He wound its red length over his mouth and neck a few times and then tied it at the top in a big bow. The sight of the old merchant dressed up like an old women heading out to a Darokin show was more than Rodrick could take. "Help me fair lady because you are so... Grizzled!" he exclaimed before bursting into laughter. Malthus and Alexander soon joined in and even Turadyl had to hide the grin that formed on his mouth. Cronwyn bore it all with a bow, "It's not as silly as it looks you know! It stops them flying into your mouth at least!"

"But still," answered Rodrick, "I wouldn't like to have you in my troop during a battle. The laughter would kill my own men!" With another outbreak of uncontrolled giggles the tall warrior muttered something about Cronwyn being "uglier than his own dead Grandmother." Rodrick had to excuse himself to the far end of the raft.

That night Alexander found his own answer to the bug problem. He captured a few of the larger ones and served then up with a light broth made from some tree ferns.

"Well done again!" exclaimed Malthus. "I don't know how you manage it my dear boy!"

"Yes," agreed Cronwyn while removing a particularly crunchy bit from his mouth. "But next time could you please pull the legs off first?"

Progress actually seemed to improve over the next few days. The raft was stuck less often and although the water was shallow, it seemed even and easy to predict. The insects even lessened a little on the evening of the third day, possibly because of a cold fog that flowed over the whole swamp. Suddenly it was hard to see further than a few yards, and the noise from the insects was dulled.

It was quite a coincidence then that the party managed to find the hut. They bumped into it really, only seeing it when it was ten feet away, and the raft bumped into one of its legs. It was raised about six feet above the water level of the swamp, and only about ten feet square in size. Some crude steps had been chipped into one of the legs with an axe which would allow someone to climb through the small opening that served as a door.

"That's strange," remarked Pormas. "No one lives in the swamp. Except the insects that is."

"Perhaps a hermit of some sort," said Cronwyn. Cupping his hand to his mouth he called out. "Hello! Is anyone here?"

There was no answer, but it was then that Turadyl noticed something. "Speaking of insects, where have they gone? I know that the fog dampens sound, but I can't hear anything now." The party listened but he was right. For the first time in days they were not being pestered by insects, in fact, they could not even hear them.

"Probably getting close to sundown and a little cold for them," suggested Alexander helpfully. "Towards sundown is when they've been coming out to each us the most!" answered Rodrick.

Cronwyn did not look to concerned. "It may just be the fog that they don't like. In any case, I'll just check this hut and we can head on."

With Pormas steadying the raft, Cronwyn grabbed onto the leg and started climbing up the rough ladder that had been cut into it. He had to bow his head to get inside, and almost as an after thought he drew his rapier before he did this. "Its empty," he yelled back down. "Doesn't look like anyone has lived here for ages." 

Pormas pushed off a few feet, and the rest of the party started to pole the raft along. "Only a few hours to sundown," commented the villager. "Time to start thinking about tying up somewhere." As it happened the group only got another ten minutes into the swamp before another hut appeared out of the mist, this one looking pretty much the same as the first.

"Another one?" asked Cronwyn. "Maybe this is some sort of disused string of guard huts?" The fighter started to move towards the stairway again. "I'll do a quick check again."

Turadyl pulled his pole onto the raft. "No, I will do this one if you like." The elf was too tired to sit around watching the old man clamber slowly up the stairs again. With some nibble movements he sprung out the few feet over the swamp and latched onto the leg of the hut. In a few seconds he had scrambled up as though it was the rigging of a ship and had entered the hut with a drawn dagger.

The inside of the hut was dark. The day was dying and very little light penetrated the fog anyway. The elf's eyes were keen though, and quickly adjusted to the gloom. The room was the same as the last one Cronwyn had described, empty. However Turadyl noticed something the old merchant hadn't. The hut was also spotlessly clean. Not a single leaf nor twig lay inside it. With a grim look the elf backed out and leapt down the distance to the raft.

"Just the same," the elf reported. "Empty but its been swept clean recently, probably within the day I guess."

"Whatever!" exclaimed Pormas. "I don't care. This is not a sightseeing trip lets just get going!" So for a second time he poled the party off and they got moving again. Within ten minutes they reached another hut.

"There must be a whole city of these in here!" said Cronwyn disbelievingly. "They were all built by the same people obviously."

From the back of the raft Turadyl gave a low moan. "No, it can't be." he whispered.

"What?" asked Cronwyn.

"Do you notice anything similar about these huts?" queried the elf.

"Offcourse! They're all identical."

"And what about that dead branch lying over there and that small fern growing by the leg?" asked the elf while pointing.

"I don't know," muttered Cronwyn, confused. "They're just plants, I don't really look at them not being a horticulturist like yourself." The merchant was still not understanding.

"No, wait a second." said Alexander. "And that root sticking up over there. I'm sure that was at the other place too!"

"That's because we're still at the same place!" roared Rodrick. "Our great native guide here has been leading us around in circles for the last hour!" The fighter looked fiercely at Pormas.

"No, no, its not possible." stammered the boatman. "I've been polling in these waters for thirty years and never got lost like this before. I mean, gone a bit offcourse yes. But to approach from the exact same direction twice after only ten minutes? There's no way!"

"Its no problem Pormas," offered Malthus. "The fog can do things like that to you. Lets move off again and take things a bit slower this time. We still have at least an hour till nightfall anyway." The boatman just shook his head in disbelief.

"Ok," said Cronwyn. "And I'll mark this one so that we'll know for certainly whether we are going round in circles or not." The fighter drew his silver dagger, reached out and marked the leg and forgot the first rule of riding a raft.

"One hand on the edge when leaning out!" screamed out Pormas. "That's why Ixian gave you two!" But it was too late. The raft slide out from under Cronwyn and with a splash the fighter disappeared into the murky salt water.

He reappeared a split second later, gasping from the shock and very keen to get out. Strangely enough, no one on the raft laughed so tense was the situation. (Although Turadyl did mutter "landlubber" under his breath.) Malthus reached over to help the merchant up.

"Hang on a second," said Cronwyn. "Something that felt like a rock scratched my leg as I went under. It seems like the bottom of the swamp is covered with them here." The fighter stood in the waist deep water for a few seconds while feeling the bottom with his hand. He had to bend over and put his arm in up to his shoulder to do it. He finally retrieved the long stone and pulled it out of the mud to the surface. It wasn't a rock. It was somebody's thigh bone.

Malthus just looked stunned but Cronwyn screamed. "Ahh! Get me out of here!" he bellowed while trying to claw his way back on the raft. In his haste he forgot to let go of the bone and it was still in his hand when he managed to stand up in front of the rest of the party. "The bottoms covered in them! Bones everywhere! We're either in a graveyard or on somebody's dinner table." he yelled.

Meltar had moved to the side and was examining the "root" that Alexander had said looked familiar. With a raised eyebrow the large man heaved it out of the mud with a loud pop. It was all that remained of someone's arm. "I believe he is correct," Meltar added in his stern baritone. "There is another one here."

"That's it!" exclaimed Pormas. "We're getting out of here NOW!" With a huge shove he had the raft moving again. He lacked helpers for the first couple of minutes as the two fighters and the elf scrambled to get their armour on. It was the first time they had worn it since leaving the village. Cronwyn was finished first as he only had a light suit of chain mail to put on. "Don't let there be a mark," he muttered to himself. Turadyl was next with his elven mail, Rodrick took several minutes more to get his plate breastplate attached, but looked imposing after that.

Suddenly it seemed as though all the strength was being sucked out of the sun. Torches were unpacked and lit. Rodrick drew his long sword and Malthus felt his war hammer for weight. They didn't have to wait for long. After ten minutes the hut appeared out of the mists again, complete with a fresh cut on one of the legs from Cronwyn's dagger.

"Oh no!" cried Pormas. "This can't be happening! This isn't happening." The rest of the party looked grim.

"It is seems that we are being magically held here," reported Turadyl. "I have heard of such things within the forests of Alfheim, but offcourse never experienced them myself."

"Would a dispel magic work Turadyl?" asked Malthus.

"I don't believe so. The area you would have to apply the dispel to would need to be the entire stretch the spell is working on. That must be several hundred square yards. Who ever set this trap up was either very powerful or put a lot of time and effort into it."

Meltar kept quiet, but knew how the trap could be overcome - for himself as least. He had the ability to open a dimensional door and transport himself safely over several hundred yards. This would be enough to escape the magic. However it would only open a door big enough for one person, and would never fit in a raft. He kept his silence and sat back from the discussions, knowing that he could leave at any time if he had too.

"What if we go east instead of north this time? Would that work?" questioned Rodrick. Turadyl shook his head. "Try it anyway," Rodrick ordered Pormas. The boatman rushed to comply.

Ten minutes later the party was back at the hut. Now it was really getting dark.

"What about walking out backwards?" said Rodrick. Turadyl only rolled his eyes. "Damn it!" exclaimed the fighter. "If only the fog wasn't so heavy we could see where we were getting turned around."

"Well the fog offcourse," answered Turadyl. "Is part of it."

"I know!" said Cronwyn. "When can unpack the ropes and tie them all together. Then we can thread our way through the swamp from tree to tree, tying in at each point."

The merchants plan took several minutes to organize. Then the party set off again, this time very slowly. They darted from tree to tree, tying the rope to each. Cronwyn was always careful to keep one tree in view while getting the rope to the next, although the fog was so thick that this was not always possible. It meant that the rafts progress through the swamp resembled a drunken mans swagger, but Cronwyn was sure they always went more forwards than sidewards. Because of the extra distance it took at least half an hour to get back to the hut. Cronwyn made a great show of tying the rope onto the leg at the same point the rope had started off at. "There you are," he muttered. "A perfect circle of three hundred feet."

"Its not possible!" exclaimed Pormas. "We were going mostly straight, I know we were." As though to answer him a cold breeze suddenly rose over swamp. It did nothing to clear the fog, but just made it swirl round quicker so that to even look into it made boatman feel queasy. "This is like going over a waterfall," said the villager weakly.

It was definitely night now, and the torches did little to dispel the gloom. The temperature was dropping far more than it should of in the swamp, and everybody knew it. The silence seemed more sinister than ever. Meltar began to consider that dimension door spell very seriously.

"I know a way. I think," chimed Malthus. He produced a beaten scroll from beneath his cloak. "This is a powerful incantation, capable of dispelling any evil. It was given to me when I was made bishop and I have carried it for the last ten years. I was thinking we might need it later on. But it seems...'

"Just try it!" exclaimed Rodrick. The breeze was more than a breeze now. It had risen to a steady, cold wind that wiped the mist across the front of the raft, and seemed to drag it over all on board.

The ragged cleric nodded, cleared his throat and began. The wind rose to meet him immediately. The cleric's eyes widened as he increased his voice to match. The rest of the party now no longer stood, but crouched down close to the luggage in the centre of the raft, weapons drawn. Alexander was trying to calm the animals who were threatening to break free of their bindings.

Halfway through it looked as though the grizzled cleric might not make it. The wind was roaring and pulling on his dirty hair. But Malthus was made of stern stuff. With a resolute look he increased his volume yet again and finished reading the scroll.

With a whistle of magic the wind died down immediately. That meant that the voice could be heard very clearly saying. "Go then cleric! Go now! But go quickly!" The voice seemed to rise from the foggy earth itself. There was a tickle of wind and then the mist in front of the raft seemed to break. It was as though a large corridor was opening in the fog!

"Lets go!" shrieked Pormas, springing out of his hiding place. The party did not need to be told twice. Every hand grabbed a pole and the raft fairly flew out into the clear passage. It was a bizarre feeling, moving through the swamp with the fog on either side of them like some giant wall of water ready to drop on them at any moment. After fifteen minutes the fog seemed to be weakening, then they were clear of it! The familiar sound of insects filled their ears and a wave of heat washed over them. Everybody loved it.

"Come here you little wonders!" yelled out Cronwyn to the beetles trying to chew on him. "Tonight you can feast on me and I won't even care!" The fighter still couldn't stop squashing a few that were too keen though. The party smiled at each other and there was a lot of back slapping.

"Don't stop pushing!" blurted out Pormas. "We're going to travel for several more hours and I'm not going to even charge you overtime!"

Poles were gripped with renewed vigour, and the journey continued by torch light. A double watch was posted when they finally stopped in the early morning, but not a trace of mist was to be seen by the party for the next two months..

The next week was uneventful enough that even the gloomy Pormas regained some optimism. A routine of travel was formed, with everyone getting used to travelling in the swamp. Although he would never admit it, Turadyl was one of those who found it hardest to adjust. The noise of a thousand winged insect bore down on him twenty-four hours a day. The muggy heat seemed to press from all sides. Several times the elf had to consciously stop himself from yelling out at his frustrations, very unusual for one of his kind. After a while he realised that he was feeling claustrophophic, he who was born to a life in the dense forests of Alfheim (although he had never been there). He almost chuckled out loud. No-one else noticed. They were all trapped in their own little swamp hells.

The further they travelled, the more salty the swamp got. The stench from the mineral rich decaying vegetation was unbearable. Pormas said the only thing that could make everyone feel better. "Not far to go now!".

In fact later that day the trees started dying out. Even these mighty plants that were adjusted to a high salinity were eventually unable to scratch out a living. At that point the raft struck the bottom. It was not one of the muddy patches that the party had heaved the raft over earlier, but rather a firm marshy dirt with a layer of white salt on top. What was worse, it stretched in all directions. "This is it!" exclaimed Pormas. "From here you walk and I get to go home!"