Ifonsa froze.

The land bucked and swayed. Fahesha screamed. Ganthe shouted. White, rope-like vines erupted out of the mound both lithesome and dexterous. Tegalie rose, sword in hand, preparing to do battle. Then one of the tendrils clobbered her on the head and she collapsed. Heric and Lera soon received the same treatment as they sought to defend themselves. A loud splash. Then another. The vines raged around Ifonsa, slamming and destroying everything they could reach.

Yet, Ifonsa did not move.

“Huyxar!”

It was Falduin’s voice.

He crouched near the fire. Somehow the vines ignored him.

The fire remained burning, and mostly intact. Several flaming logs had scattered across the mound, the brands continuing to burn. Some of the vines probed, jabbing at the fiery tips trying to extinguish them, sending up showers of sparks.

“HuyXAR!” Falduin cried again, changing the stress.

A tendril sprang out of the soil near Falduin. The apprentice dived out-of-sight as the vine smashed the campfire, flinging fire, logs, embers and stones in all directions. The tents caught on fire, as did some of their bedding and other belongings. The mound pitched and jerked about, as the vines all tried to stab out the fire.

Ifonsa still did not move.

“HUYxar!” Falduin’s voice rang out, from everywhere and nowhere.

The mound spasmed, as though struck by something heavy and hard. It shivered. The vines jerked about erratically, dancing like snakes with their heads removed: twisting, and curling, and desperate. They slammed into everything: the mound, the remaining fire, and each other.

Crack! Like an iced-lake just before it shatters.

Finally Ifonsa moved. She grabbed her bow and arrows, then leapt from the mound, landing with a splash, her feet buried in the mud. Turning she saw the mound was raised up on more vines, like legs, but a thick layer of ice coated then. The mound shivered and bucked, in the last throws of life, as the ice crept higher and higher. The light from the fire extinguished as the ice covered the entire creature, followed by more cracking noises, loud and resonate.

Ifonsa dived into the mud, just as one of the legs shattered, spraying out a mist of sharp ice. A groan, as the rest of the legs strained. Then as one they all shattered, dumping the mound into the thick mud with a loud thump.

Amid the darkness, with only the stars and the gibbous moon, piercing the shadowy vale, there was silence for a moment. Even the croaking frogs and chirping insects refused to disrupt the silent night.

Then...

“Lera!” Falduin called. Ifonsa heard splashes, moving through the swamp. “Lera.”

“Princess here,” Fahesha said.

More movement.

“I found Heric,” Ganthe said. “And Lera,” he added a moment later.

A glow, pale and bluish, its radiance just visible, emanating from the far side of the shadowy mound.

A croak, from a frog. More. Chirping crickets. The swamp returning to life.

“Where’s Ifonsa?” Ganthe asked.

Ifonsa pulled herself up, free from the mud, “Here,” she said.

“Are you hurt?”

Ifonsa wasn’t entirely certain how to answer that. Yes, but also no.

She moved around the frozen mound of grass and vines towards the others. She shivered, as she waded through the mud. It and the surrounding water were icy, almost but not quite frozen.

On the other side of the mound, Falduin held his sword aloft. He knelt beside Lera’s prostrate form. The tip of his sword glowed bluish-white, only a little brighter than the moonlight. Close-by, Ganthe knelt beside Heric, keeping his head above the water. Off to the side, Fahesha did the same with Tegalie.

Ifonsa stared at them for a long moment. For too long.

Ganthe called to her, “Ifonsa. What are you doing?”

“Sorry,” she said, and hurried over to help.

“What was that thing?” Ganthe asked.

Ifonsa’s shrugged, the movement only just visible in the pale light. “We can’t stay here,” she said.

“Perhaps we can carry him.”

“We need to get up into those hills,” she said looking to the south.

“We can’t carry them that far. What about the boats?”

Ifonsa glanced towards the mound. What remained of the boats littered the area. She shook her head. “We’ll have to walk. Carrying them if we must, plus whatever gear we can salvage.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Falduin asked. “Perhaps If we awaken Lera, she can help the other two. Maybe Salmiac? We had that in the High Tower.”

“I’ll find her pack. She might have something,” Ifonsa said, rising.

Ifonsa hesitated before the mound. It loomed before her, the twisted tendrils resembling a forest of frozen tree trunks, bent and tortured. She eyed them warily. She was still terrified of the creature, despite it being completely frozen by Falduin’s spell. The surface appeared slick, with many sharp spines and spikes. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to climb it.

She circled around until she found a place where the mound had half-buried itself in the mud during its death-throws. Cautiously, she stepped up, and almost slipped. Despite the night being cool, the surface had already begun to melt. A thin-layer of liquid forming in some places.

Ifonsa worried that the creature might burst back to life once enough ice dissipated. She had seen frogs do that after a long winter.

She hurried, using the frozen vines to steady herself as she searched. It proved to be difficult with such little light and so many shadows. She found pieces of their belongings, some frozen, some not, most important were Heric’s armour, and Lera’s shield.

Then she had a moment of both fortune and misfortune. She slipped. Grabbing the closest handhold, it came away in her hand pulled free from the ice. She slid off the mound, landing with a plop in the mud. However the handhold proved to be Lera’s pack.

Falduin rooted around in the Lera’s bag until he found what he sought. Lera did carry, what he called Salmiac. In a bowl he placed a couple of crystals, breaking them up as best as he could. Then he added water. The crystals sizzled and produced a sharp odour. Falduin waved the bowl beneath Lera’s nose. She started awake.

“A light spell,” Lera managed, with a smile.

“I just thought of you,” Falduin said.

Ifonsa rolled her eyes, and returned to searching for their kit. She was soon joined by Ganthe.

After that, events went both faster and more slowly. Although still groggy, Lera oversaw the ministration of both Tegalie and Heric. Soon both were roused and ambulant, albeit with help. However, finding their belongings proved difficult. Much of it had been destroyed, either by the slamming vines, or the rampant fire. A good deal of the rest remained encased in the ice.

The tents suffered both burns and long rents in the fabric so as to be completely useless. Fire had scorched all, but two of the bedrolls. Even Lera’s blanket had not escaped the carnage. Although not too bad it had been singed, and caked the mud. Much of the food had been spoilt, but at least they found all their weapons and armour. Lera’s hauberk and gambeson took some work to break from from the ice however.

As Ifonsa stood atop the mound, scanning the shadows for more of their kit, something caught her eye to the north. The Fae had drawn closer. Although they were still some distance away, the figures and lights floated towards them, likely drawn by Falduin’s own faerie light.

“Grab the kit. We need to leave!” Ifonsa cried.

“They’re not ready to move yet,” Falduin protested.

“Get them ready!” Ifonsa insisted. “Unless you’d prefer to dance.”

Ifonsa indicated the approaching fae.

They left behind more than they wanted, but they already carried more than they could truly bear. By the time they had donned their armour (for Lera, still a painful process), and grabbed all the kit they could carry, the fae were less than an arrow shot away.

“Put out your light,” Ifonsa hissed at Falduin, as she led them southward. Fortunately, Falduin complied immediately instead of querying, commenting or complaining.

The darkness closed in around them as they trudged through the mud. While Heric was fine, both Lera and Tegalie required help. Falduin, and Heric supported them respectively, walking beside them. Fahesha too needed assistance on occasion. Despite her small stature, she bore almost as much as Heric on her back.

“I mule” she said, cackling.

However, sometimes the mud or water was too deep, and Ganthe hurried forward to help her until she was once again able to maintain a solid footing.

“They’re still following,” Tegalie cried.

“Stop looking at them,” Ifonsa told her.

Yet, although they hurried as fast as they were able, the area around them brightened as the faerie lights drew closer. Ifonsa glanced back at the others, careful to keep the fae from her view. The seven of them were moving as fast as they were able, she could see. They all looked exhausted and spent. They weren’t going to make it, she realised. The fae would catch them. She might be able to stall them with a few words, but these were not like the faerie on Xnaxel te col säóts. These fae were completely wild.

Eight pursued them, Ifonsa glimpsed from the corner of her eye. Eight niiate, they were called by her family. The Washers. Tall and elf-like, from a distance, with large angular eyes, without iris or whites, they clad themselves in green vines and grey lichen. They were strong. Even the momentarily glance towards them almost ensnared Ifonsa now they were so close.

Dairfirn! Dairfirn, they cried in her mind. Tailetuli.

She turned away, and tried to drive out the song that filled the air. Sweet, ghostly voices. A fiddle or three, and bells, and horns. So delightful and merry. She would have loved nothing more than to dance to it.

“Xatutd!” Falduin cried out abruptly.

A loud whoosh roared in the distance. Off to Ifonsa’s right side, the swamp flashed and caught fire. A massive conflagration of orange flames and thick, black smoke.

Ifonsa glanced back at the fae. That had caught their attention. They approached the inferno.

“Hurry,” Ifonsa shouted, “As fast as you can. Go, go, go!”

They raced away, with the boiling fire raging behind them.