Chapter 101: Danger Closing In

In Victor’s eastern lands, at the Chipman family camp, five wagons loaded with flour and salt stood waiting outside.

“Captain Garl, the cargo is loaded: twenty thousand pounds of flour, one thousand pounds of salt, ten suits of chain mail, ten shields, twenty short spears, forty heavy bows, and one thousand arrows. Please check the tally.” A guard reported to Garl.

Garl nodded, and several of his men stepped forward at once to inspect the goods.

Garl was one of the Chipman family’s guard captains, and his task was to escort this valuable shipment to the hillmen’s camp.

Ever since Flatlake Village could no longer supply the Chipman family with purple cane, the family’s attention had turned to the newly established hillmen’s camp. Though the camp numbered only a little over eighty people, it could reliably provide purple cane in exchange for certain necessities. The Chipmans had begun shifting their support to this hillmen settlement, and Garl was the family’s resident contact there.

A few days earlier, the leader of the hillmen camp, Benson, had come to Garl with a request. Benson was preparing to lead his people north to take over that freefolk camp, and he hoped the Chipman family would back his move and supply him with provisions.

Garl had sneered at Benson’s ambition and stupidity, and thrown three questions at him: Why should the Chipmans help him? How did he plan to cross the territory of the savage wolves? And how could he possibly control so many freefolk?

To Garl’s surprise, Benson had come prepared. He told Garl that he intended to gather people and found a village like Flatlake, and the more men he had, the more purple cane he could supply. Crossing the territory would be easy enough too: as long as the party was fully armed and moved in a dense formation, the savage wolves would not risk attacking them. All the hillmen knew the wolves’ habits. As for controlling the freefolk, Benson planned to rely on armed intimidation along with the lure of food. For that reason, he needed the Chipman family to provide rations for eight hundred people and support him for three months.

Garl admitted that Benson’s plan was thorough and highly feasible, but he did not believe the family would agree. The cost was simply too high; just ten sets of weapons and armor alone were worth eight hundred gold sols.

What Garl had not expected was that the overseer of the mine, Sir Bernard, had actually approved it, and had even hastily assembled a shipment of supplies.

“Garl. The cargo has been counted. Hurry up and leave. Looks like it’s going to rain again,” said Bernard, approaching like a great bear.

Garl hurriedly bowed to Bernard and said, “My lord, will you not have trouble for releasing so many supplies?”

As one of Bernard’s soldiers, Garl was a little worried that the count might blame Bernard. In his view, exchanging goods worth over a thousand gold sols for purple cane was an absolute loss, let alone continuing to supply Benson with grain afterward.

“Enough nonsense. Get moving.” Bernard glared and snapped.

Garl dared say no more, and led the caravan toward the hillmen camp. After he had gone, Bernard stroked his chin and muttered to himself, “Who would have thought I’d be played by Baron Victor?”

When those freefolk began flooding into Victor’s territory, the most anxious people besides Victor himself were the Chipmans. They were happily digging up quicksilver and collecting purple cane here, but if Victor fell, then those glorious days would likely come to an end. The Chipman family did not want Baron Victor impeached, and just as they were discussing countermeasures, Bernard sent word back to the family about the hillmen camp’s request.

Upon receiving the news, Count Chipman immediately understood that the hillmen camp must have been secretly arranged by Baron Victor; that was why they had so abruptly requested permission to take over the freefolk camp, even at the risk of provoking the savage wolves. But at such a critical moment, Count Chipman could no longer afford to worry about such details. After studying Victor’s scheme, he discovered there was much to be gained, and at the same time marveled at Victor’s good fortune.

For a lord, a wolf disaster in his territory would ordinarily be a terrible misfortune. But Victor’s territory was the opposite: the wolf disaster kept those freefolk from daring to enter. The matter might have ended there, but the holy warrior had actually built a camp to shelter the migrating freefolk. In that case, secretly controlling the freefolk camp became the best choice. Once the camp was under control, there would be many ways to work within it; at the very least, one could incite some of the freefolk to drive out the newcomers. Then, with savage wolves blocking the road outside and the camp itself expelling them from within, the refugees, seeing no chance of settling, would naturally leave Victor’s lands and spread the word elsewhere. In time, the unrest would gradually subside.

Count Chipman immediately made up his mind to support Victor. He knew the process of calming this storm might take a long time and require a great deal of grain to sustain it, but compared to the priceless quicksilver, what was a little food?

Bernard received the count’s message only then and learned that the hillmen camp had in fact been secretly controlled by Victor. Victor, however, still did not know that the Chipman count had seen through the connection between the hillmen camp and himself, yet he was absolutely certain the Chipman family would never simply stand by and watch him collapse.

While the countess, Viscount Briat, and Victor were all trying to control that freefolk shelter camp, a vast catastrophe was quietly drawing near the Centaur Hills.

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The Great Marsh lay to the west of the Centaur Hills. A continuous range of rolling hills separated the marsh from the frontier lands. The marsh stretched on without end, and most of it was covered in a kind of reed called sawgrass. Hidden among those reeds were many small islands, thick with vegetation—mahogany trees, ferns, oil palms, and more. The plants and the sawgrass blended together so completely that ordinary people could not tell where an island ended and where the perilous marsh began.

Within the Great Marsh lived all manner of strange and bizarre creatures. Among them were many savage monsters: serpent demons, dragon lizards, wyverns, six-legged crocodiles, giant pythons, shadow spiders, and more, not to mention the legendary hydra-lizard.

Gulu carefully parted a clump of sawgrass. Its dark yellow vertical pupils studied the stretch of water ahead, and it flicked its forked tongue. It failed to catch any trace of danger, but Gulu knew that a giant python was hidden in that water.

Gulu decided to take a detour. It was only an ordinary lizardman, not a warrior of the tribe, and the giant python in the water was beyond its ability to handle.

The lizardman Gulu made a wide circle around the python’s territory and continued toward its destination, a small island.

The Great Marsh was fraught with danger, full of deadly traps everywhere. Even a native like Gulu had to remain extremely cautious; on the journey it had already witnessed three brutal hunts. After avoiding a pair of wyverns that had come out to feed, Gulu finally saw the island and let out a breath of relief. Once it reached there, it would be safe.

When the lizardman climbed onto the island, it saw a thatched hut. Beside it, a frail little human girl was squatting on the ground, playing with two horned frogs. She was Gulu’s friend, Beltina.

When the little girl saw Gulu, she smiled, dropped the reed stem in her hand, and ran toward the lizardman on her tiny feet. The two dull-witted, greedy horned frogs hopped after her at once, trying to bite at her heels.

“Bell,” Gulu hissed in greeting. Although Bell could not understand the lizardman tongue, it did not matter. Gulu knew Bell never spoke; she only smiled and played with it. So Gulu smiled too, its tail curling into a knot, the way lizardmen expressed joy.

Bell pulled the two plump horned frogs off her heels and handed them to Gulu. Gulu stuffed the two foolish frogs straight into its tooth-filled maw and swallowed them in a few gulps. It really had been hungry after traveling for two days.

After Gulu finished its little snack, Bell tried to drag it off to play, but Gulu shook its head. It had risked its life coming here, and not to keep Bell company.

“Wizard Imosen! Wizard Imosen! I am Gulu. I have something important to tell you and Bell!” Gulu hissed toward the thatched hut.

“Gulu, hasn’t your tribe already migrated? Why are you still here?”

A deep, powerful voice came from inside the hut, speaking in human words that Gulu could not understand, yet somehow it knew exactly what they meant. Strange, and yet natural. The tribe’s priest had told Gulu that this was a kind of sorcery, and that humans who mastered it were terrifying wizards.

“Wizard Imosen, hurry and take Bell and flee! Flee to near our tribe and hide yourselves! The insect tide is coming!” Gulu hissed.

The door of the thatched hut opened, and a tall man stepped out. His gray hair and beard were tangled together; though his frame was broad, he was gaunt, and his haggard face was carved with deep lines. Yet his eyes were clear and bright, like those of a young man.

“Gulu, what exactly happened? What is this insect tide?” Imosen asked the lizardman gravely.

“Wizard Imosen, the insect tide is a demon. It is endless. It swallows up every life that dares resist it. When it appears, even the descendants of Tevariel must hide in the pools. It comes once every fifteen years, and this year is its year to emerge,” Gulu answered hastily.

Imosen frowned hard. He had been living in seclusion in the Great Marsh with his daughter Beltina for a full nine years, and had never encountered so-called insect tide. But Gulu was the lizardman he had rescued from an ogre tribe, and their relationship had always been excellent. For it to come alone and risk its life to warn him now, it could not be lying.

“Gulu, you say the insect tide is endless, that it appears once every fifteen years, and that even the hydra-lizard dares not oppose it. Then how is there still any life in the Great Marsh?” Imosen asked.

“Wizard Imosen, the insect tide has appeared in the Great Marsh for four hundred years. Whenever they rampage, countless centaur warriors of the forest enter the marsh to fight them. Our half-dragon tribe has always defended its homeland with the help of our centaur brothers. This year, the centaurs will not come. Without the centaur warriors, we can only migrate.” Gulu hissed.

“Migrate, and you can avoid the insect tide?” Imosen asked again.

“The insect tide spreads everywhere, killing every creature that resists them. As long as you do not resist, they will not attack,” Gulu said.

Imosen found it almost amusing. He shook his head and smiled. “Then why migrate at all? Just do not fight them. How could there be such absurd creatures?”

“Wizard Imosen, they do not attack, but they will trample you into a pulp,” Gulu explained, flicking its tongue.

The old man blushed. Fortunately, his hair and beard were so thick that it could not be seen at all. In truth, Gulu could see it clearly, but it assumed the wizard was blushing as part of some dreadful sorcery, and so its reverence only deepened.

“Mm. Bell, let’s move house. We’ll move a little closer to Gulu, so it can come visit you often and play,” Imosen said with a dry cough.

Bell still did not speak. She only nodded at her father.

Imosen sighed. His daughter, Beltina, was mute; she had never once spoken a word, and she had never had any human companions either. She was a lonely child, and a lizardman like Gulu was her only friend.

Imosen stamped once on the ground. Gulu clearly felt a tremor rise from beneath the earth, growing stronger and stronger. Soil churned across the surface, and one beast after another emerged from below. These creatures looked part lion, part tiger, with flat heads and sharp claws, and mouths full of razor teeth. Mouse-like tails trailed behind them. If Victor had been here, he would have been astonished to discover that they were all mutated rats.

More than a dozen mutated rats lined up neatly, orderly as a troop of disciplined soldiers. Imosen walked to the edge of the island and shouted, “Philip, we’re leaving. Come out quickly!”

A massive shadow appeared in the water. Waves roiled, and a monster surfaced. It was a beast seventeen meters long and more than three meters high. Its pitch-black scales gleamed with a metallic sheen, and its thick tail, eight meters long, was covered in spines. Beneath its pillar-like limbs were terrifying claws, and on its neck grew not one but two enormous, vicious heads. Their nostrils flared, spraying great clouds of mist like rain. It was an aberrant two-headed dragon lizard.

Gulu bowed its head to the beast. It was this creature that had led dozens of mutated rats in an assault on the ogres’ camp and rescued Gulu from the roasting spit. Among the lizardmen it had a name: the water beast, Irtugos.

The beast crouched docilely before Imosen. Imosen and Beltina climbed onto the back of the two-headed dragon lizard, then turned and shouted to Gulu, “Well? Hurry and get up here.”

When Gulu climbed onto the dragon lizard’s back, the dozen or so mutated rats leaped up as well. The dragon lizard turned its head, and with a sweep of its thick tail it smashed the thatched hut to pieces. Then it let out a sky-shaking roar and plunged into the water, sending up a towering spray.

“Gulu, guide us,” Imosen called out from atop one of the beast’s heads, full of swagger.

“Wizard Imosen, head in this direction. Walk for a day and we’ll reach our tribe. But there’s a giant python on the road, so perhaps we should still take a detour.”

“Detour for what? We go straight through!”