Since morning, the caravan has been waiting on the edge of the great salt marsh where the Sartauk River leaves the Varrel Hills and finally puts out to sea. You can see little through the shifting mist that rolls toward you over the brackish water, save for a few small islands of muddy grass that rise above the windswept surface.
"How far does it go on like this?" you ask.
"I can't say," says Drazha from beside you. "I've only ever heard of Blightmarsh from traders who would come to Tar-Domos—and they didn't have much to say either." She wanders over to where the ground drops down into the drifting waters of the marsh. "Most would avoid it if possible, and take a boat from Anselm's Landing to the Varrel Hills."
For some time, Vanya has been standing a little way off, looking into the mist. "Coming to Blightmarsh was a mistake," he says, turning back toward you. "We should have stayed in the hills or headed west to the sea. You'll never get us through here, Basileios."