Evening came early in the swamp. The river had taken them swiftly away from the main road and through the typical woods.

Cara—hauled into their makeshift water craft thanks to a mid-river boulder and a lot of creative swearing—watched the vegetation change during their river journey while helping Dayton push their craft away from the riverbank at odd intervals.

Oak and birch trees merged into the naked ash trees that now sliced the twilight sky into ribbons and triangles. Knotted shrubs huddled together for warmth from the water’s cool embrace.

The sky was clear and cold, empty of any cloud-blanket. Frogs chirruped beneath overhanging willow branches and exposed roots. They fell silent as the boat passed, then resumed a tentative chorus.

At least there were no flies.

Cara itched her shin beneath its layer of fabric strip bandages. She wished for a dry change of clothes, but the water proofing hadn’t been that good. One or the other of them frequently bailed their “boat” using a cooking pot and a rather fine pewter goblet.

The further they traveled, the broader the river became. As the sun dipped beneath the crown of the tallest ash trees and a misty fog spun up from the water’s surface, Cara and Dayton found themselves drifting on the face of a watery plain, looking for a place to “dock” for the night.

“Or we could just stay in the boat.” Cara shrugged, but continued to study the passing dots of soggy—land. “It wouldn’t be comfortable, but I’ve slept sitting up before. Might be safer, too.”

“But there’re hippocampii in the water!” Dayton shivered a bit as an early evening breeze ruffled his matted hair. “They could capsize the boat!”

Cara frowned. “No one’s ever said anything about water horses in the river before, but I know they’ve talked about wisps and wolves. I’m not sure who’s been in the deep swamp lately—everything goes by the main road these days.”

She narrowed her eyes at the bushes on the nearest hump. “Anything could be out there.”

“Why—” Dayton cleared his throat and fiddled with the pendant. It caught the light, spots tickling the edge of Cara’s vision. “Why does no one go through the swamp to Cadens?”

Cara turned her head to look at her sailing companion, surprised by the question. “They do, just by the road. It goes around the swamp’s outer edge before heading to the capital. Why don’t they go through the swamp like we are, y’mean? On the river?”

Dayton swallowed and nodded.

“Well, a couple of reasons, I guess.” Cara eased into a sitting position and groaned, stretching her injured leg out in front of her. The fabric scraps wrapped around her shin were sodden, but clean of blood. Her leather lady’s jerkin bunched painfully, having shrunk slightly after its earlier dunking.

Cara sighed and unbraided her hair while she spoke, running her fingers through the strands to comb it. “It’s more difficult, for one. Most of the river cargo is carried by barges pulled by mules, and it’s tough to get reliable footing in a swamp for the beasties. They’re dratted stubborn, too.”

Her grin flashed and disappeared. “I heard some merchants bitch about their mules in the tavern a month or two back, saying that they would only get so close to the swamp before refusing to go a step further, no matter how often you switched ‘em.

“So the road is more reliable, for all you’ve got to walk a bit to find a stream or pond or another place like it to water your team at night. And then there’s the fact that few of the local Heroes will bother to clear the area. Monsters all hide their nests damnably well, and combine that with an area that can’t decide if it wants to be lake or land…”

Cara shrugged again and began to rebraid her hair into its customary crown.

“It’s a lot of work for very little reward. Few folks are willing to pay the fees to clear the swamp of anything, since they can take the road. Those edges are very well patrolled, but I suspect that just forces the nasty ones further in.”

“… You mean, where we’re going.”

“Yes.” Cara peered at her marque’s face, and then dug in the bags for a moment, hunting for a flask she’d seen in the luggage pile in the wyvern’s forest. She handed it to him. “Here. Drink some of this. You’re looking a bit pale.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Dayton muttered, but drank the liquor just the same before offering her a swig.

And then there was silence between them for a while, each alone with the random thoughts they couldn’t swat away. They passed the flask back and forth, sipping between bailing and pushing their craft back into the main current.

When Dayton began to hiccup softly, Cara stowed the half-empty flask deep into the pile of supplies and found a water skin to give him instead.

Dayton sneered at her. “Worried I’ll—hic!—compromise you—hic!—Cara?”

“I’m more worried you’ll drink yourself overboard,” she said, watching with some amusement as Dayton tried to catch a passing box turtle.

The boat dipped dangerously low, and a small spurt of water soaked the front of Dayton’s shirt. He tried to jump back, gasping at the sudden cold, but Cara caught his shoulders before he could slam her against the boat wall.

“Now sit. Look for a place to sleep.”

Dayton pouted and did as he was bid.

It was true night before they found a reasonable camping site. The broad river had widened even further before splitting around an islet. The chariot-wagon ground to a halt on its rocky, silty beach. It was easily the driest spot they’d seen all afternoon.

Cara tried to stand, but her leg cramped. Having been forced into a half-crouching position all afternoon, her legs were unhappy with the sudden straightening. “Oof.” She rubbed at her leg. “Dayton, how’re you feeling?”

“Fine. Jus’ fine.”

His words slurred together. Cara glanced at Dayton and groaned.

The empty leather liquor flask swung around and around Dayton’s finger as he stared at it, fascinated. “Why did you drink that? I needed some for my leg, you idiot!”

Dayton grinned and tilted his head. “I was cold.”

Feeling shuttered back into Cara’s leg. Carefully, she rolled some of her weight onto it, straightening when she could feel no pins begin to prick her from the inside out.

“Fine. Stay in the boat.”

“Wha’? You’re gonna leave me here?” Dayton’s voice rose and cracked in panic. He began to scramble after her, making the boat rock and grind against the river gravel.

“No, stay here. Unless you want to help me look around for evil beasties that will eat us in our sleep?”

Cara dug around and fished out the sling from the packs. She tied the bag of sling stones to her belt, adjusting her jerkin so it was supportive instead of restrictive.

“Well, no, but—”

“Well then.” Cara checked to make sure her sling was dry and functional before facing the swaying form of her marque. “So sit your pasty ass down in the boat, shut your mouth, and wait for me to come back.”

With that, she strode into the dense brush of the islet, swearing softly as tiny branches and brambles caught on every soft part of her left exposed, flesh or fabric.