We were moving away from the border of the vengeful Lord Rumolt's lands.

  "We need to take a shortcut," Gunther declared, examining the map with the confidence of a captain steering his ship onto a reef. "The King's Road makes a loop here. But if we go straight through 'Green Hollow,' we save half a day's travel and 20 units of provisions."

  "There is a toad drawn there," Jem noted, peering over his shoulder. "And it doesn't look like a symbol of prosperity."

  "It is an allegory of humidity," Gunther dismissed. "Azimuth thirty. Forward."

  Two hours later, the "allegory of humidity" turned into an economic disaster.

  The cart, loaded with tools, food, and Directors, sank into greasy gray mud up to its axles. The mules stopped, ears drooping sadly.

  "We have arrived," the Sergeant stated, slapping a mosquito the size of a sparrow on his cheek. "Gunther, where is the road?"

  "The road is here," the Accountant replied stubbornly, poking a finger into the bubbling swamp. "Just a seasonal fluctuation of groundwater. We need to push."

  The Captain jumped off the cart. His boots instantly sank into the sludge.

  "No," he said. "Enough. I won't lead the convoy blind. Reconnaissance. Check if there is solid ground ahead."

  "I'll go!" Talah boomed. He was bored standing still.

  "I'm with him," Bodo nodded. "Someone has to make sure this gold ingot doesn't drown."

  "And Gil," the Captain added. "He has... intuition."

  Gil, our superstitious poacher-archer, shuddered. He wrapped himself tighter in his strange cloak — a gray-brown, matted rag inherited from his grandmother. It smelled of burnt hair and old herbs. Gunther demanded this "unsanitary item" be thrown out, but Gil clung to it with a death grip, claiming it "warmed the soul."

  "Jem, you too," the Captain commanded. "You'll be my eyes."

  The quartet disappeared into the fog. The cart remained behind like a sinking ship.

  The further they went, the quieter the forest became. The trees here were twisted, as if suffering from arthritis.

  "I don't like this," Gil whispered, pulling his smelly rag over his nose. "Look, see that? A big black crow flying tail-first. That's a bad omen."

  "That's just the wind, bumpkin," Bodo snorted.

  Ahead, on a relatively dry island, a hut appeared. Crooked, covered in moss, with smoke coming from the chimney.

  "Home! People!" Talah rejoiced and quickened his pace.

  "Stop!" Bodo shouted. But the Gladiator was already barging ahead.

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  A Woman stepped onto the porch.

  Even through the fog, Jem saw she was frighteningly out of place here. Young. Clean. In a white dress. She smiled at Talah and reached out to him.

  Talah froze. His shoulders slumped. The scimitar in his hand trembled.

  "Mama?" the giant rumbled in the voice of a little boy. "You... you found me?"

  "Come to me, my sweet," the woman sang. Her voice was sweet as honey and sticky as a web. "Protect mommy from these evil men."

  "Back!" Bodo yelled. "That's a Hexe! It's a charm! Don't look in her eyes!"

  But Talah wasn't listening. The Charm spell had worked successfully.

  He slowly turned to Bodo. His eyes under the helmet visor became empty and happy.

  "Don't yell at Mama," he growled. "Mama is good."

  He raised his terrible sword.

  "We have a problem," Jem stated, retreating behind a tree. "Asset hijacked. Talah is about to chop us into mincemeat."

  Bodo barely managed to block the blow with his greatsword.

  CLANG!

  Sparks showered into the swamp. Talah was strong as a bull, and now that strength worked against us. Bodo grunted, holding back the onslaught, but was afraid to strike back — scratching "9,500 crowns" was scarier than dying.

  The Witch shifted her gaze to the others. She began to whisper.

  Jem felt his will melting like ice cream in the sun. He wanted to walk up to this nice woman, give her his lute, his heart, and his kidneys...

  Bodo was also drifting away. His sword slowly lowered.

  Only Gil stood firm.

  His dirty cloak suddenly grew warm. To everyone else, it was just rags. In reality, it was a rune-cloak woven from Hexe Hair, providing reinforced resistance to mental attacks. But Gil didn't know that. He just felt that "Grandma's cloak" was keeping the alien voice out of his head.

  "Begone, hag!" the poacher shrieked. To him, the Witch remained a hunched crone with a wart.

  "Shoot her!" Jem wheezed, fighting the delusion. "Kill the bitch!"

  Gil hesitated: the Witch was hard to hit, far away and in the fog. But Talah — he was right there, raising his sword over the dazed Bodo.

  He drew his bow. And shot Talah.

  The arrow struck the Gladiator in the shoulder, piercing a gap in the golden plate.

  Pain is the best sobering agent.

  Talah howled, grabbed his shoulder, and blinked. The blissful smile vanished. He looked at the porch.

  "You!" he roared, staring at the crone. "You are not Mama! Mama had a mustache!"

  "Run!" Jem commanded, seeing the water around the island begin to churn, releasing the Witch's "pets" — swamp spiders. "Operation failed! Dead end!"

  They ran.

  Bodo dragged Talah, who promised to return and "explain family resemblance to the old hag." Gil ran last, pressing his saving "rag" to his face.

  They stumbled out of the fog to the stuck cart. Dirty, wet, out of breath.

  "No road," Jem exhaled. "Dead end. And a Witch's hut."

  Gunther looked at the arrow sticking out of Talah's shoulder.

  "Who damaged the Asset? Did the Witch shoot a bow?!"

  "Friendly fire," Jem explained. "Medical procedure. Exorcism via acupuncture."

  "Arrow — minus," Gunther calculated. "Armor repair — minus. Treatment — minus. Your navigation, Gunther — minus."

  The Captain looked at Gunther. With a heavy gaze.

  "Turn the cart around, Accountant. We are returning to the road. And next time you want to 'shortcut' through a map with a toad drawn on it, I will deduct the cost of lost time from your personal ration."

  We spent three hours pushing the cart out of the mud.

  Gil worked with double strength. His childhood village tales were confirmed: grandma's old cloak protects against evil.

  And Talah sat on a hummock while Vain pulled out the arrow, muttering resentfully:

  "She didn't look like her at all... Mama's mustache is important."

  Thus we learned a lesson: in our complicated world, a straight line is not always the fastest path, and a dirty rag is sometimes worth more than golden plate.

  (End of Chapter 24)