Age of War

Chapter 19

Having grown up just a few streets away from the great harbour of Atlas, having watched his mother set out on the fishing trawler each morning, that great hulk of wood, rope and canvas, deck awash with oil and muck, its hull studded with barnacles, and then going out into the wide world himself, more often than not aboard ocean-going ships, from Atlantian galleys with their crenelated foredecks to shallow-bottomed barges for carrying troops and horses around the headlands of his home country, merchant cogs and cutters, nimble mainlands frigates, Albrihn considered himself something of an authority on boats. This was not, by any definition he was comfortable with, a boat. What the gnarls had paddled out of the mist was little more than a raft of rotten planks lashed together with rope woven from reeds. It surface was slippery from the same algae that covered almost everything else. Boarding it had been a hair-raising experience, even after the gnarls had pushed it right up to the shore where the water was only a few inches deep. Now he and Rykall both stood uneasily in the centre of the ramshackle craft being alternately towed and pushed along by the strange creatures. The gnarls were perfectly happy in the stinking marsh, it seemed. Most of their party swam or waded through the muddy water and always two or three would keep guiding hands on the edge of the so-called boat, propelling it along at an easy pace.

Rykall’s eyes never rested in any one place. He was trying to count the gnarls, Albrihn knew, but it was a lost cause. The banks of this channel were dense with reeds and bare, twisted trees, and the fog lay thick on either side. The gnarls moved quickly on land, with a fidgeting, slightly frenetic lurch. They reminded Albrihn of small animals in the open, constantly wary of predators. But hunched and diminutive though they were, it was hard to imagine what might prey on these things. They were constantly on the move, jumping in and out of the water, scampering across the firmer ground and disappearing into the mist. Occasionally they’d see one clamber up a tree, their webbed feet proving just as useful for climbing as swimming, and perching up there for a moment, apparently scanning the horizon with their bulbous eyes. They were all male, as far as he could tell, but their appearances differed somewhat. Most were as their host, certainly mannish in shape, but with a leathery hide and long limbs. Others appeared less human. Their skin was striped or mottled, and rather than being covered in warts it was smooth and wet. These ones seemed most comfortable swimming in the water. Strangest of all were those who had flaps of skin hanging from their throats. Albrihn thought little of that until one mounted a tree and inflated it like a pouch before emitting a croak that echoed across the fens. A similar reply came a moment later from some distant comrade.

“Toads,” Rykall whispered, “I told you.”

It was hard to disagree. Some of the gnarls were quite the opposite of these – appearing much more human even than their apparent leader. Their skin was free of all but a few clusters of warts and, though pale, was normal enough. A few even had hair, although it was universally unkempt and thick with green algae. These ones either stayed on land or, when taking to the water, did so in round coracles that they steered with short wooden oars. All of them though communicated in the same indecipherable language of hoots, hisses and gurgles. Occasionally a fully-formed word would appear in the midst of the strange animal noises, something that sounded almost Atlantian, but Albrihn could never quite make it out. Their chatter was a constant dirge, and it was clear there were many more of them strung out across the swamps than they could see at any one time. They would scramble through the reeds and dive into the water, maybe changing places with one of their fellows guiding the raft, maybe just scooting across and up the other bank, off to who knew where? Some stayed with the party, swimming or wading along, holding mysterious conversations with those closest to them before taking their leave and disappearing off again.

The only one who remained fairly constant, and which they could recognise, was the one they’d already spoken with. He was also the only one who seemed to be able to speak Atlantian, after a fashion. He mostly swam beside them, but would occasionally climb onto the raft, causing it to tip alarmingly, and stand with the two soldiers, watching them curiously.