Legacy

Chapter 11 - Marsh Crossing

Kane used the opportunity over the next couple of days to buy fresh supplies for the road and a set of reversible travelling cloaks that were dark green when keeping out the rain and light grey when keeping out the cold. The young prince was anxious to move on but they needed more time to arrange a boat and recover. The normal cargo trams were slow and made frequent stops along the river making them only marginally faster than walking. A swamp skimmer would get them down the Muddy River past March Crossing and as far as Hundred Orchards in a day, but it would be expensive.

The prince was well enough to travel now and the hearty fare at the inn had gone a long way to replenish Kane's vitality. Archon spent the evenings gambling with fellow travellers, relying on his skill at thirteen to win the additional coin they needed for the journey while keeping an ear open to the latest gossip and stories.

It was on their last night, while beating a local lumberjack in six straight games and claiming a handful of commons for his trouble, that Kane learned the disturbing news that Praxis had stopped searching the Barren Ravine. The next morning, for a small finder's fee, the inn keeper arranged for a marsh skimmer with a driver who knew how to keep silent, to take them up river.

The little low boat glided across the water effortlessly. Its driver managed the sail with expert ease and they made impressive time. Kane armed himself with a hook pole and kept a watchful eye out for marsh hunters and Praxis. The little blue lamp at the front of the boat would glow orange if they hit any pockets of noxious gas when travelling through the marsh. If all went well they would reach Hundred Orchards by dawn.

It wasn't long before they started to spy patrols from the Iron Army moving up the river bank. They paid little attention to the small boat as it went by, but there were far too many patrols for Kane's liking. The break at the way station had been longer than he would have wanted but the river would give them a chance to once again get ahead of their pursuers. Once they reached Hundred Orchards then things would be safe again. They would vanish without a trace – the old agreements would see to that.

The river was fairly quiet, the only other travellers being a few slow moving pole barges lazily making their way up river. But the further they went the more frequent the patrols became. The landscape was brown and muddy. The river frequently overflowed its swampy banks in the heavy rains leaving them mostly clear of trees. The locals tended the banks regularly, shifting away any debris to keep them safe and profitable. The prince found himself bored by the monotony of the journey and seemingly unchanging landscape. It had none of the grandeur and elegance of the imperial hunting grounds. This was simple working land for small, simple people.

They dined on a light lunch of traveller's sandwiches, black bread stuffed with a tangy cheese and rich chutney. When they finished Kane spied two fishermen sitting by the side of river leisurely chatting and talking as they watched the boats glide by. He took no notice of them at first; there had been many similar sights along the way. But something about them bothered him. They had been dressed in heavy leather jackets. Kane glanced back trying to get one last glimpse of the men and saw a subtle glint from their direction. It was almost unnoticeable in the autumn light but it had been there. And he was certain the men were no longer casually fishing by the river.

The swamp skinner was fast and the driver picked up the paced after Kane insisted but, despite its quickness, the river was against them, and twice more in the distant Kane caught the suspect glint. Praxis had once again caught their scent. It had been nearly two weeks and Kane realized he'd been foolish. Falstis had not expended all his resources searching the ravine. He'd gathered his agents and spread his net wide.

Darkness was fast approaching as the river joined the marsh. The driver, despite Kane's repeated insistence, slowed the pace of boat. Nightfall in the marsh was a dangerous time. Hidden logs and thick patches of reeds made the journey treacherous and concealed within the shallows there was the deadly threat of the marsh hunter – a fearsome scaled reptile with a thick hide, a long set of jaws and two slimly black tentacles it used to drag its prey into the swamp. They were solitary hunters, highly territorial and preferred the taste of rancid meat. The marsh hunter often let its prey rot for days before taking the first bite and then slowly dined on them over the course of a week. The best protection was a watchful eye and a swift blow from a hook pole if one got within reach.