Sword of Truth 07 The Pillars of Creatio by Terry Goodkind

Author:Terry Goodkind [Goodkind, Terry]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-05-17T22:14:41.929000+00:00

He saw no vines hanging down that might steady him, so he quickly cut a stout limb and stripped it of branches to make himself a staff to help him balance as he crossed the low place.

Staff in hand, Oba waded out into a stretch of water. It wasn't as much of a cooling relief as he had hoped; it smelled awful and was full of brown leeches. As he moved through the water, trailing a wake that dislodged debris from the banks, he had to keep brushing the clouds of biting bugs from his face. He kept checking, but unless he backtracked to look for another way, he saw that it was the only way to dry land beyond. That thought alone convinced him to keep going.

There were roots enough under the surface for footing, but Oba soon found himself in up to his chest and he wasn't yet to the middle. As deep as it was, the water made him buoyant, which meant his footing wasn't as good. The roots at the bottom were slippery and poor support for the staff, but it at least helped him keep his balance.

He was a good swimmer, but didn't like the thought of what else might be swimming with him, and preferred to keep on his feet. Almost to the far bank, Oba was just about to discard the staff and swim the rest of the way to wash the sweat off, when something heavy brushed against his leg. Before he could think what to do about it, the thing bumped him hard enough to push him from his feet, dumping him into the water. As soon as he plunged into the deeper water, the thing enveloped his legs.

He instantly thought of the monsters that were said to dwell in the swamp. Throughout their long ride, Clovis had regaled him with stories of the beasts, warning him to be careful, but Oba had scoffed, confident in his own strength.

Now, Oba cried out in fright of the monster that had him. He struggled frantically, in gasping panic, trying to shake his legs free, but the firebreathing beast had him fast and wouldn't let go. It reminded him of being locked in the pen when he was little, trapped and helpless. Oba's cry

echoed out across the frothing water, returning threefold from the darkness beyond. The only clear thought that came to him was that he was too young to die-especially in so awful a fashion. He had so much ahead of him to live for. It wasn't fair that this should happen to him.

He cried out again as he splashed and fought to escape. He wanted away, just as he had wanted out of the terrible trapped feeling of being locked in the pen. His screams never helped then, and they didn't help now; their echo was empty companionship.

The thing suddenly and forcefully twisted him around, spinning him, and dragged him under.

Oba gasped a breath just in time. As he went under, eyes wide in fright, he saw for the first time the scales of his captor.

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