Merse wasn't sure how long she remained on her hands and knees, her sides heaving, but she had long since expelled every ounce of liquid still remaining in her stomach. However, looking at the puddle of reddish vomit, she was certain that it was in no way proportional to the amount missing from the hydra's abdomen, which led her to one conclusion: the remainder had already been digested. The thought only served to send her into new spasms.
Thanks to the misty light filtering through the swamp, Merse was unsure how long she had spent unconscious, but it appeared to be late evening. Scared and dumbfounded by what had just occurred, Merse was tempted to flee, although she had no idea to where. However, she was quite sure there was no way she could explain what had just happened to anyone, and if anyone figured it out, she was pretty certain she would end up being hunted down or trapped and sold. As much as she wanted to run away, Merse realized that the light would soon be fading, and as dangerous as the swamp was by day, it was infinitely more so at night, even without the possibility of mistaking her footing. She was stuck there for the night.
"Damn this accursed swamp!" she cursed between heavy breaths, then paused. Curse? Maybe that's it! Merse suddenly thought. After all, why would an archmage be guarding a hunted beast? Maybe it was cursed! And now the curse is on me, because I killed it... Merse's thoughts trailed off as she grimaced. Even if it were true, what could she do about it? After grabbing her waterskin from her belongings and rinsing her mouth out, Merse began to think more rationally. Of course, she had no idea about the true nature of the transformation.
Weighing her options, Merse decided to see if she could get any more information out of Drin, or any survivors of the crew that might show up. If she could figure out what group the archmage was with, maybe she could find someone who knew more about the spider, or the "curse." Of course, she would have to keep what had happened to her to herself.
Grabbing her possessions and the fish, Merse headed back to the cave. She cautiously listened outside the entrance, but hearing only the steady breathing of the still-unconscious Drin, went inside. She quickly donned some of the extra clothes she had brought along, having buried her torn ones. Quickly preparing the fish, she began cooking it over the fire. While the inviting aroma did nothing for her uneasy stomach, it appeared to bring Drin around as night fell.
"Wha...where am...?" Drin groaned, raising his hand to the knot on his skull.
"Don't move too much," Merse warned him. "You took a pretty bad knock. Rest a bit more, the food's almost ready." Drin appeared to obey her instructions, but after a moment his eyes flew open wide as he tried to sit up.
"The SPIDER! What happened to...!!" he yelped, but Merse was there to press him back.
"Don't worry, we're safe," Merse replied grimly. "Now rest, because I need to know exactly what happened when you guys were out there." Drin looked at her doubtfully, but as there appeared to be no immediate danger, lay back again. Merse turned back to tending the cooking fish, ending any further conversation.
**********
Although it was extremely rare that anyone was allowed into the city at night, the group of cloaked and hooded individuals that entered through the night gate did so with ease, the guards showing a great deal of respect despite the terse warnings by the leader of the group that no indication be given of their presence. As it was the wee hours of the morning, not a soul was on the streets to witness this strange sight. Hurriedly leaving the gate, the troupe proceeded to a location which had caused quite an uproar during the day, as the signs of blood and battle still remained in the little square, as did the remains of the covered wagon, and the cage which had sat atop it.
"A disgrace, one of our archmages killed by a mere gaggle of thieves," the group's leader said through clenched teeth to his subordinates, obviously irritated. "You, find out if there were any survivors," he ordered, indicating half of the individuals. "The rest of you, find the beast! Its parts are too valuable to let some backwater militia kill it as a trophy, not to mention the problems if anyone were to find out who brought it into the town." As the group scattered into the shadowed streets, only their leader remained for a moment, a cold glint in his eye. Had Drin been present, his sharp eyes would have been wide as saucers. The robes on every one of the strangers under their cloaks matched exactly the ones he had recognized the night before: the robes of an archmage.