The chain that suspended the gem was a long one, and the diamond disappeared between my breasts as we hurried back to the camp. The moon must have been peaking through the clouds overhead affording us better light. The sentries, a pair of the surviving Prostates, lifted their crossbows, then lowered them as they saw who it was. They shared knowing looks and set their weapons down, returning to their vigil.

The next day dawned bright and clear, the sun beating down to lift steam from the rain sodden jungle in long streamers. The haunted aspect it had possessed since the rain stared appeared to have lifted also and the improvement in morale became marked when we hit a large trail, almost a road, that Beren assured us lead to Darkwater Crossing. Surprisingly the road wasn't a muddy lake, being drained by a large ditch that ran along side it and laid with timber that occasionally protruded from the reddish volcanic dirt packed atop it.  To the south the ground fell away to the black river, a dark ribbon of water several hundred yards wide. It was swollen with the recent rains, up over its banks as evidenced by partially submerged trees. Dozens of craft made their way along it, most no larger than the barge Beren had commanded when I first met him, though a few were respectable vessels with one or two masts.

The city of Darkwater Crossing was a smudge of chimney smoke on the horizon, though it seemed we would be there before too much long. I looked down at the reddish mud already caking my boots.

"I do hope you are right about the baths," I complained.