Yamara

I surfaced and swam toward the shore, gripping my shortsword tightly all the while. I emerged from the water only to be splashed as the body of the snake slid free from the tree and came down behind me. I glanced back and cursed. If Evart found nothing to eat, I had just found two perfectly fine sources of meat. However, that required another trip into the filth that served as water.

Scowling, I stopped only long enough to take off my spare equipment and weapons, though they were already soaked through again, I did not want to run any further risk of losing anything. I waded back in, my feet sinking in to the muck nearly to my knees with each step, and pulled first the body of the snake to shore, then on the next trip, I tugged the heavy crocodile onto the bank. Lances of fiery pain shot up my leg with nearly every step, but in an environment as harsh as the one I was in, I had no room for weakness.

Once I was finished retrieving what would soon be supper, I stripped down completely and began the unpleasant task of removing the nearly fist sized leeches that again covered my body. I shuddered in renewed revulsion at the thought of where some of them might have gone, but was again pleased to find none of them in places where only a select few invited guests are allowed to enter.

Now I had food. My wood I intended to use to start a fire was still up in the trees, however. What I had gathered before had fallen from my surprised hands into the swamp during my encounter with the snake. Scowling anew at the situation, I strapped my sword belt around my naked hips and scaled the same tree, being a little more careful to watch out for native inhabitants. I returned with enough kindling to start a fire, though already one seemed to be burning in my leg. My ankle seemed the worst, and I presumed I had twisted it during my fall.

Nonetheless, a girl's work is never done. I scaled the tree again, searching for larger branches that I could hack down with my sword. By the end of my second trip I was determined to never climb another tree again.

Evart returned as I was blowing a spark into a flame in the tinder. He beached the canoe where we had when first approaching the small island, not seeing the results of my own hunting expedition on the opposite side of the atoll. He whistled softly, some sort of bird hanging from his hand.

"Now that's as fine a way to be welcomed back as I can imagine!" He said, chuckling at my nudity. I scowled at him and turned my back to him.

"Did I get them all off?" I asked.

He instantly knew what I meant. Some of the leeches were still attached to my back, feasting happily away. I knew they were there but did my best to not think about them as I had gone about my business. Evart quickly pulled them off, then demanded that I let him inspect me more thoroughly to be certain I had gotten the rest. Scowling unhappily, I let him do it even though I knew I had done as fine a job as could be done. Turns out I had missed a smaller one on the back of my neck though, so I ended up sheepishly thanking him.

"I was going to say this toratoo bird is not much, but it will let us keep our strength," Evart said, noticing the 16 foot headless body of the snake laying nearby. "But it appears I should have stayed here instead! I'm sorry for not warning you about the tree pythons, though normally they go after much smaller prey like this toratoo bird. This was a really big one though, one of the biggest I have ever seen!"

I just nodded. Of course it was, that was just how my luck ran. "That's nothing," I offered, motioning with my head over towards the body of the crocodile.

Evart looked and let out a whistle of appreciation. "You ever meet anything you didn't kill?" He said with a grin and a casual brush of his throat. I smiled fiercely then looked over to my clothes drying on the branches I had stuck into the ground and formed a makeshift clothesline with.

Evart went to work on the corpses, cutting away parts of the snake and then the croc for dinner. I finished getting the fire going and then began working on hardening a branch to use as a spit. In short order, we were roasting our swamp critter dinner. Evart was doing everything he could to not stare at my nakedness. For my part, I was doing nothing to conceal it either. Noticing how awkward it seemed for him, I suddenly felt a little awkward myself. I changed my position a few times, trying to obtain some small measure of modesty. It was a strange feeling.

Finally I gave up and tried to walk over to where my clothing was drying. I nearly collapsed with my first step, my ankle not wanting to support me. Evart was there in an instant, asking me what had happened.

"Just twisted my ankle earlier is all. It will be fine," I insisted. First rule of being successful in my profession is to never need help, and even when you do, never show that need or ask for it.

He said a few colorful words that showed he did not believe me, and walked over to where the head of the snake sat on the ground. He took out a dagger and began working on the head of the snake, cutting expertly into it. In a few minutes he approached me again, holding a few sharpened splinters of wood that had some glistening liquid on the end of them.

"Sit," he demanded, motioning towards a spot of bare ground. I frowned at him but did so. His manner indicated he knew what he was doing. Besides, my ankle had swollen up to nearly half again its normal size, I began to fear I might have broken it.

He knelt next to where I sat and took my leg into his lap. Gently he probed my ankle with his fingers, trying to determine as I was whether the damage was serious or not. He grunted at last, a satisfied expression on his face. "Just a sprain I think," he said.

"This will numb it and reduce the swelling. If you keep off of it as much as possible it might even be mostly healed by tomorrow night."

"What is it?" I asked, wondering what he was planning.

"Poison and blood from the snake mixed together. In small amounts it aids in healing. In larger amounts, it acts as a drug and sells for quite a price." I felt the first prick then. Then feeling washed away almost instantly though as the snake oil medicine began to affect my ankle. When he was finished I had 6 splinters pin-cushioning my ankle, though none stuck into it deeply. The relief was nearly instantaneous, though I knew better then to put any pressure on it.

I nodded my thanks to him, uncertain of any proper way to show it. Only my companions on Acathia would have treated me thusly. I was uncertain as to how to behave towards Evart, the more time I spent with him, the more he seemed to be a decent sort of man. The type of man that I felt quite certain that did not exist, especially in a place such as the one we were in.

"Now put your clothes back on, wench," He said, slapping me playfully on the thigh, "you're making it hard for me to concentrate lying there like that!"

I chuckled in spite of myself. He was a man after all, that much was certain. Evart helped me to my feet and then over to where my clothing was drying. I could hardly get my breeches around my ankle, so I simply made do with my tunic for the time being. It was mostly dried, so I had little cause for complaint.

I took the first watch again, letting Evart get some sleep while I kept an eye out for any more indigenous life forms that felt the need to try and eat me. Inside of a few hours the smell of the slain snake and crocodile drew the attention of other natives of the swamp. They waited impatiently at the edge of the fire's light, anxious for a chance to dart in and feast on my kills. I counted mostly other crocodiles, but a few shapes seemed even more outlandish. I just kept up my watch and occasionally tossed a burning branch out towards any the approached to closely.

By the time my watch was over I was running low on firewood. I woke Evart and showed him the situation. He told me he had expected as much, and climbed up a tree to gather more wood for his watch. It was a long time coming, considering our guests, but eventually I managed to catch a few hours of sleep ere the dawn came.

With dawn I found our uninvited dinner guests gone. Gone also were the leftover remains of our dinner. When I showed my interest in it, Evart explained how the hungry denizens had grown more bold after I fell asleep and come forward enough to drag the meals back into the water with them. I shuddered inside at the thought of all those teeth, but assumed that Evart had made certain we were in no unnecessary danger.

I realized in short order that my leg was feeling much better as well. The ankle seemed all but healed. Only a little stiffness remained, which I stretched out of it as soon as I became aware of it. My knee showed a few twinges of pain whenever I walked down a slope, but it was easy for me to deal with and in no way hindered my movement.

Our days journey through the swamp brought us within site of others in makeshift skiffs, canoes, and boats. In almost all cases some or all of the travelers within those boats were lizardmen. Evart cautioned me to wear my hood early that morning to avoid any undue attention. I wore it without complaint at first, in spite of the quickly growing heat of the day. Then as I saw our new neighbors on the waterways, I silently praised his good advice.

"Welcome to Emmerdwym," he said in a voice pitched low so as to not carry over the fetid water. Ahead of us I could just make out the burning lamps and torches along the docks of the port city of Sarph.

"How big is it?" I asked, my voice equally toned for silence.

"The barony is many leagues across, but to go where you need to go, we will provision ourselves here then head to the north and west, avoiding the more heavily populated areas. We will see a change in scenery in perhaps ten days, and enter into Palungol in two weeks."

Chapter 8

I frowned. It was far longer then I wished to remain within the swamp. Surprisingly, our journey met with little incident. A few of the swamps more adventurous denizens harassed us at night, but they were scared away or slain easily enough. Nothing so difficult as our first encounters within the swamp, though I suspected that was because I had a better grasp on the dangers the swamp represented and between Evart and I keeping a sharp eye out, we avoided the worst of things.

I remained at camp or with our boat whenever possible while Evart would journey into the towns teeming with lizardmen, Havrin, trolls, and other dark races. We regularly died my hair but given my lack of knowledge of local customs, we deemed it best that I stay out of sight as much as possible. More so for fear of agents of Baron Palungol being afoot.

As the days passed we did indeed notice changes. The swamp slowly began to recede while the islands grew larger and rockier. As Evart had predicted, on the 10th day the change was undeniable. We now traveled up what resembled a river more then a swamp. The nonstop haze of the swamp had begun to thin as well, and on occasion we could catch glimpses of mountains ahead of us to the north and the west.

Without realizing it, I found myself opening up to Evart more each day of our journey as well. As much as I could, I even began to trust him and rely upon him. Not depend, of course. No, that would be impossible for me. But I accepted that the things he said were true, and his actions further satisfied me. I blame it on his simple nature and our shared experience. While he was obviously quite capable of guile, he used none of it with me. Or at least not to the best of my knowledge, and I like to think there are few people better able to spot such duplicity then me.

"The first city we will reach has a name nobody can pronounce. Instead it is called Trollhome." Evart was filling me in on the details of the new region early in the morning of what he promised was our last day in the canoe.

"Trollhome and the surrounding areas do not really belong to any of the baronies of Mardurin. Instead, it is inhabited by a tribe of remarkably intelligent trolls and a clan of ogres," he explained, making my scowl deepen. "Long ago a powerful troll chieftain named Muzgrob refused to join with the Dark One's armies. This, of course, brought about the attention and the displeasure of Dark One. He sent armies of orcs, goblins, lizardmen, Havrin, and even ogres and great things. The trolls, fought them back, combining their great strength, regenerative powers, and their surprisingly talented knowledge of strategy and tactics. An ogre warrior named Arag, seeing this going on, secretly made a deal with Muzgrob. He and the other ogres he had allied to his side changed sides in mid battle, helping the trolls overthrow a swamp dragon."

I snorted. It was a colorful tale but the thought of trolls and ogres possessing such advanced cunning was preposterous.

Evart ignored me and continued. "With the two humanoid races aligned, victory was more trouble then it was worth. The Dark One's emissary met with them and they set up a small tract of free land that the trolls and ogres could live on safely, so long as they agreed to a garrison force of the Dark One's army."

"So this is basically more of the same I have seen everywhere else then?" I asked with a smirk. "Lots of bad guys of different races."

"Indeed," Evart said, grinning. "But this place is different in that most of the creatures we may see could care less about you and I. But owing to the semi-autonomy the place enjoys, several spies exist there as well."

I chuckled. "Alright, thanks for the heads up... though it does smack of the same story every other town around here has. Only difference this time is that, somehow, I expect the inhabitants here to smell even worse then the citizens of the other towns do."

Evart smiled. "There is that. But the reason I tell you is so that you have some background, just in case we should get separated or spend more time there then we want to."

I nodded. It made sense and I was one of the most research and intelligence gathering savvy people I knew. "So how long will it take us to get through this Trollhome place?:"

Evart's smile turned into a genuine grin. "That's the good news. We are getting close to Palungol. Trollhome is a matter of only a few days to cross. The city is large because of the semi-free trade that occurs there. What that really means is the thriving black market, but the lands surrounding the city are fairly small. A few days up a trail into the mountains to the northwest and we will reach the mountains of Palungol."

"Black market, eh?" I said doubtfully. "You mean to tell me that the Dark One has placed limits and laws on his cronies?"

My companion raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "That is a good point, Yamara. I suppose anything you and I might normally have a little trouble finding due to laws and availability doesn't mean very much down here. However, Trollhome's markets thrive in the items that are harder to obtain in most places. Slaves, drugs, magic, you name it, they have it and will sell it for a price. Not much in the way of laws there either. Oh, the trolls and ogres, amazingly, are very organized and disciplined amongst themselves, but they see everyone else as an outsider and do not care what one outsider does to another. Wrong a troll or an ogre though, and things get ugly real quick."

Finally Evart had gotten to the good information. I suppose it was all useful, but this type of intelligence seemed the best. "Never did care for trolls much, damn things never seem to stay dead."

Evart nodded fervently in agreement with me. We kept rowing, heading up the river the swamp had turned into. From time to time other skiffs, barges, and canoes past us. Some heading the way we were, others head downstream. I did my best to remain anonymous with my hood over my head. The humidity was stifling, but I figured if I had lived through Acathia, I could live through anything the climate of Malatoria would throw at me.

We rounded another bend in the river and I saw the reason behind the increasing river traffic. Ahead of us lay the docks of Trollhome. For a backwater town in the middle of the filth and vermin that made Mardurin their home, I had to admit, I was impressed. It had a 16 foot wall made out of rocks and stone, filled in with mortar. What was more impressive about the wall was the iron spikes that stuck out of it roughly 12 inches from the bottom 4 feet of it. The spikes angled upwards and looked to be quite sharp. Outside of the wall, of all places, were built up mounds of earth with reinforced positions at the top of them, allowing for archers or spear wielders a commanding view of the terrain. The earthen towers stood easily 12 feet tall themselves, tall enough to make a difference but not tall enough to aid an attacker should one fall. I suspected that underground tunnels allowed access to the towers, for I saw no doors or other visible means of accessing them. That meant, of course, that the tunnels could be secured somehow in case they became occupied.

But outside of the defenses I was impressed by the port. The docks could probably support a good 30 or 40 boats the size of a longboat, which covered most of the skiffs and other boats used to traverse the swamp. It was well maintained and guarded by trolls. Ugh.

Worse part about trolls in my experiences was not the smell, which was bad, or their behavior, which was worse, but how damned hard they were to kill. Chop a leg off a troll and the leg will grow back, given enough time. How much time? Only a day or so, maybe less. Amazing healing powers they had. The only way to stop a troll from healing was to burn them or kill them so dead that every last bit of living tissue in their body died, and that meant magic. Sure, a good pounding could knock one down and make it seem dead, but even with a removed heart the unnatural healing prowess of their blood and their body would knit a knew heart and start it pumping again. So the trick, as I mentioned, was to knock one out of the fight and drop a torch into their remains. Not only was fire the surest way to kill one, whatever it was that made them so good at healing also made them very flammable. Not many things burn as well as troll blood.

One look told me volumes about these trolls though. Big, green, and ugly like all trolls, they stood at least 7 feet tall and had long and lanky arms and legs ending in vicious looking fingers and toes. The average troll is somewhere on the reasoning level of a rock though; these trolls looked smart. They were boiled leather cuirasses studded with iron spikes, and various other mismatching pieces of hide, cloth, and other light armors. Many of them wore shields or bucklers, and all possessed some sort of weapon. The garden variety troll usually attacked with their vicious claws and pointy but disgusting teeth. These trolls seemed to have evolved and realized that they possessed opposable thumbs for a reason.

With me extremely leery, Evart guided our canoe up to one of the empty docks. He lashed a rope around the site and moored it to the dock before we gathered up what little gear we had and climbed out of it. As I was straightening up I saw a very large and very green foot thud into the dock in front of me.

"You pay toll," He said, his voice deep and guttural. The accent was harsh, but he was easily understandable, if a little weak on his grammar.

"How much?" Evart asked, drawing the trolls attention.

The harbormaster, such as it was, grinned a very toothy grin. "2 gold each day."

My eyes widened considerably. I was glad my hood concealed my face because the look on it would have surely not gone unnoticed. Evart coughed a little himself at the outrageous fee.

"You are in luck, my friend," Evart said conspiratorially. "I find myself having no wish to return to Emmerdwym, how about my friend and I head into town and we let you keep our boat... for free!"