Yamara - Book 2 - Chapter 8

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!"

The grin turned to a scowl. "Me not gonna let dat boat stay here free!"

"No no no," Evart said, gesturing with his hands. "I mean I find myself feeling charitable, I am willing to give you my boat for free."

The troll frowned, an odd gesture on such a large and bestial face. "Nuthin free in Trollhome, an dat boat not gonna stay here free!"

Evart sighed. I rolled my eyes. He had told me these trolls were intelligent. Well, I suppose most trolls had trouble doing more then grunting, so he had a few notches on them.

"Troll," I said, trying to disguise my voice and make it sound more masculine. "You are right, my guide is wrong to fool you so, you have seen through his tricks. The boat is yours for two gold pieces."

A smug look appeared on the trolls face. He laughed, which was a frightening sound. "Rocktooth not stupid, me not gonna pay dat much!"

Evart looked at me questioningly, almost as though he thought I was mad. I ignored him and nodded to the troll. "Very well then, you drive a hard bargain. Let it not be said that the trolls of Trollhome are shrewd. A single gold piece for the boat, that is half the price to store it, a bargain to be had."

The troll nodded thoughtfully for a few long moments. Finally he grinned, convinced he had the better of us and fished around in his belt pouch. A handful of ten silver coins later and we were hurrying away from the dock with both of us trying hard not to laugh.

"I thought these trolls were smart?" I asked, shaking my head in amazement.

"Well, individuals may vary," Evart admitted.

Still laughing quietly to ourselves, I let Evart lead me through the dock section of Trollhome and into the interior. All along the way we saw various merchants of various races. Their wares varied from unidentifiable foods to (even worse) identifiable foods to weapons of all makes and sizes to other outlandish things. Such a wide variety I had never seen in one place, it seemed that Trollhome truly was a melting pot of cultures, though I was certain nearly everything available was either stolen or taken from the dead hands of its prior owner.

Before long I saw my first ogre of Trollhome. Normally ogres are big and dumb. That is to say, almost as dumb as the average troll but at least 2 or 3 feet larger. These ogres lacked nothing for size, but like the trolls, their wardrobe was considerably better then I had expected. Studded leather jerkins, bracers and greaves, and weapons that appeared to be very well maintained. The sloping brow most ogres proudly displayed was lacking as well, these ogres actually looked like they could count… and not just their fingers and toes.

Trollhome was divided into sections for defense. The overall layout of the city was very secure. Each section of the city was separated by walls, with the roadways joining them easily secured via heavy gates. We had passed through two of them until we came across the main market of the town. If I was surprised at the vendors we had already passed, then I was amazed at what the market had to offer.

Slaves (of both genders and almost any race imaginable), foods, more weapons and tools, various alcohols and drugs, boys and girls of varying ages for acts of pleasure, potions and oils their vendors claimed were magical, "ancient" maps to hidden treasures, books (both mundane and supposedly magical), and virtually anything else a person could hope to find or hope to never see available.

"I was shocked the first time I came through here too," Evart said quietly to me, hearing the catch in my breath. "The merchants have to disclose what they are selling to the city's clerk, though the city does not care, then they are charged a tax based upon the value of the item the city has assigned to it. The tax is fairly low and the merchants do not mind paying it in most cases. After all, where else could they get this kind of exposure for most of their goods?"

I nodded thoughtfully. The merchants themselves were almost as varied as their wares. Here and there were orcs and half orcs, an occasional goblin or kobold, several humans, scattered lizardmen, and more then a few trolls and ogres as well. On the far side of the market I could just make out a fire giant selling some items. A fire giant! I shook my head to clear it and just followed Evart as he wound his way through the busy marketplace.

He stopped finally at a booth where a man had a small pen behind him. Within it were a few ponies and horses, as well as a few other mounts that reminded me of my time spent on Acathia. Giant lizards the size of a saddle with saddles on them, as well as a few oxen and even a horse-like beast with some large humps on its back. Having no idea what Evart was up to, I stayed slightly behind him and kept my senses opened and in tuned to the crowd around me. A place like this was surely prone to draw thieves and pick pockets.

Evart spent several minutes haggling with the dark skinned human. When they finally reached an agreeable price Evart went back with one of the boys, probably the merchants sons, and retrieved two horses. They saddled them up and led them over to where I still stood.

"We have mounts," Evart said, the boy handing me the reigns to the one he led. I nodded and took them.

"We're being watched," I told him quietly, walking beside him away from the booth.

"Not surprising in this place, everybody wants to know everybody else's business, or at least be able to convince them to come over and buy from them."

"No," I told him. "Not so simple, there are three people, a half-orc, a havrin, and a goblin. They are keeping an eye on us, one or two at a time, then one will disappear for a while to make it seem coincidental."

Evart grunted, casually glancing about over the next few minutes to try and observe them. I had to hand it to him, he did a good job of not drawing suspicion to himself. That probably came from years of working for the S.E.T. down in the pit of evil that Mardurin represented. Finally he nodded as though he was thinking about something. He pushed on, forcing me to follow him again.

We stopped at a few more booths so that we could buy some food, which I had considerable concerns about, then Evart also purchased a broadsword to replace the one he had lost in the swamp. Realizing this may be my one and only chance to do so, I stepped up to the weapon venders booth he was at and surveyed his wares.

"How much?" I asked him, picking up a long bladed dirk that looked like it would serve me well. I then saw a group of four specially weighted throwing daggers and knew that I had to have them as well. "And those," I said, gesturing towards them.

The ogre merchant set a price and we began haggling. I was surprised quickly at the ogre's shrewdness. He did not resemble the troll at the docks, but instead was well able to keep track of the conversation. My first attempt to outwit him nearly ended with him refusing to do business with me, in fact. In the end, I paid a little more then I had hoped too, but was pleased nonetheless to be able to fill my empty sheath and to also have some throwing knives to boot.

By the time we were finished with the market and ready to press on, the sun was deep in the western sky. Mindful of the trio watchers, I suspected the worst. "Let us press on tonight," I said to Evart. I was hardly afraid of them, but wanted to cause no trouble inside a city that was filled with such creatures as this was.

"Aye, there are a couple of hours of light left to ride by," Evart agreed with me without questioning my reasoning.

And so we set out. The guards at the northern gate of Trollhome gave us no trouble, they simply ignored us as we made our way out. We mounted our horses and went north along the path that was slowly but steadily raising towards the mountains that marked the border of Palungol. As I gazed at the mountains my mouth and threat suddenly felt dry. My destination was getting closer and I was not sure if I dreaded it or anticipated it. That I felt considerable anxiety was certain to me.

Needless to say, I was introspective that night and kept mostly to myself. I forced myself to once again play the events through my mind as I knew them to have happened. The fact that James needed to be destroyed remained a constant within my head and my heart, but knowing that Brina was with him made me falter. Was I ready to face her again, after all that had happened? If she had not escaped him and sought me out since that hateful day, would she want to see me?

My questions went unanswered. Far from being further worried about them, however, I found myself instead reacting to that nagging itch in the back of my head. Maybe it was carelessness on the part of the attackers or maybe it was my rarely ever worked on sixth sense. Regardless, I was jumping to my feet and spinning around with a throwing dagger in each hand. Unknown to me, my abrupt rotation had caused a crossbow bolt that had been fired at me to narrowly miss me and cut through the air behind my back instead.

The goblin came first. He leapt over a log, a well cared for battle axe gripped in both his hands. I threw both of my daggers at him, changing his snarl to a wide eyed look of fear. It was justified, for both daggers imbedded themselves in his chest to the hilt.

Evart had readied himself by this time, not reacting until the first sign of trouble. For him that first sign was my sudden movement. Only now was he narrowing his search to the goblin, which had collapsed to the ground and was trying to pull the lung piercing daggers out of his chest. Evart's new broadsword cleared its scabbard and he readied himself for what was sure to come next.

And come next it did. The half-orc slipped almost noiselessly into the firelight of our campfire. Only by keeping aware of his surroundings did Evart happen to notice the would-be assassin. He wheeled on him in time to bat aside a skillful thrust of the half-orc's longsword. He returned the lunge with a swipe, being defeated by the parry from the half-orc. Battle was joined in full force between the two.

The human came at the same time, but I was prepared for him. He stepped into the firelight on the opposite side of the camp from the half-orc, completing the triangle the goblin had started. Had it not been for the goblin's premature attack, we would have been sorely pressed by the three. As it was, I had my shortsword and trusty dagger in hand. He advanced slowly, knowing his surprise was ruined. I lowered my shortsword and held my dagger high, presenting what appeared to be a poorly defended target.

The half-orc was actually taller and stronger then Evart, but Evart's skill and cunning was greater. I only heard a few clangs as steel rang on steel, then the unmistakable sound of metal cleaving into flesh, followed by a grunt of pain. I could only hope the wound was for the best. From the curse the man in front of me muttered under his breath, I assumed such was the case.

Dimly, on some subconscious level, I heard the click of a crossbow release. It did not register until half a second later when I felt a sudden sting on my upper arm. The sting was followed by a sudden blossom of fiery pain and made me cry out at the suddenness of it. The man jumped at his chance and beat down at me with his scimitar, driving me to my knees as I blocked the heavy curved blade with my short sword. The fingers on my left hand, suddenly numb, let my dagger slip free from their grasp. My head swam with the pain and the shock in my arm, distracting me in spite of years of discipline. I wanted it to stop and I was very nearly willing to do anything to achieve that end. The part that frightened me the most was that it had only just started!

Evart came to my rescue. He leapt over me and lashed out at the man attacking me. The man growled at Evart and parried his first few attacks. Then he launched a series of his own. Finding himself unable to beat through Evart's defenses right away, he scowled and thumbed the onyx that was seated in a ring he had twisted around backwards on his finger. Instantly a cloud of blackness rapidly swelled up and around him like smoke. In seconds all three of us were blinded. For fear of striking me, Evart crouched low and held his sword defensively in front of him, I did likewise with my shortsword, though it drooped low as I struggled against the waves of agony emanating from my arm.

No attack came. When the odorless black smoke dispersed a few moments later there was no sign of the man. Evart glanced about nervously, noting that the half-orc and goblin were missing as well, though both had been dealt mortal wounds. Evart cursed and turned back to me. He sheathed his sword and knelt next to me, examining my wound. I looked to his face, searching for an answer in his expression as he studied me. I saw only puzzlement on his face.

"'Tis a scratch, Yamara," he said, still looking puzzled.

I glanced down at it, turning slowly so that the firelight augmented what little daylight remained to help me see it. The cut was just above my elbow on the outside edge of it. The bolt that had scored me had a broadhead instead of a point on it, but as he said, the wound was slight. Already though it was angry and red, and as I reached to touch it with my other hand it burned with an inner heat.

I knew the answer already, but it was unlike anything I had ever seen before. "Poison," I said, my voice raspy and dry.

Evart nodded thoughtfully. He grabbed my arm roughly and took out a curved dagger. I looked at him, alarmed. When he made no move but instead gave me a questioning look, I nodded to him. Two quick swipes and he had scored an "x" over the wound. Like a snakebite, he took it in his mouth to suck out the poison. His eyes widened the instant his lips touched my arm and he staggered backwards, spitting forcefully.

I looked at him, clearly surprised. The pain had begun to slowly lessen, or maybe I had grown used to it, I was not sure. Regardless, I stared in surprise at the wound. In spite of the three cuts in my arm, no blood showed at the surface. It was angry and red from inside, and nearly seemed to glow with the ferocity of it, but nothing dripped from it.

Evart touched his lips with his fingers, wincing in pain and pulling them away. A quick glance at his face showed that blisters were forming on his lips.

"I have never seen anything like this!" Evart said, clearly at a loss for what to do. I nodded, equally confused and frustrated. The pain had lessened enough by now to allow me to think a little more clearly by now though.

Seizing upon an idea, I reached into my magical pouch and called forth one of my precious few remaining potions of healing. I pulled the cork out with my teeth and spat it upon the ground, fearing myself in mortal danger if I waited any longer. I drained it without taking a breath, nearly choking myself on the slightly amber liquid. I took a few shuddering breaths as the magic of the potion raced through my body. When it swept through my arm I felt it slow and then a battle began within my body. It was very nearly terrifying to me, this concern that my fate might be out of my hand.

Suddenly there was a powerful release within my arm, exploding through my body in a rush. My senses were swept away with it and I knew only blackness then. As my consciousness fled I heard, as though from a great distance, the ghostly echoing of a horse galloping away.

Continued in Chapter 9

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