The merchant and the sell sword travelled the long road north through the fens. They had met at the Marsh Gate, one of the many portals in and out of Kingswyck, Albion’s capital.

  ‘What brought you to Kingswyck?’ The sell sword asked having heard the man’s accent was not from the south. The path wound through endless swaths of high grasses that stretched for many miles north of Kingswyck. Their horses feet occasionally splashed through the water that lapped at the bases of the reeds.

  ‘Meeting with members of my guild. I work with Weavers in the north east and there’s great demand for cloth in Radinghem. I managed to secure partnerships with several sea captains who are prepared to cross the small sea and deliver my goods to the growing market over there.’

  The sell sword looked to his travelling partner’s garments as he rode and saw that his doublet was died a rich red in colour and seemed even to be lined with fur inside, a costly garment. He regretted instantly not trying to take some level of payment from this man one way or another. The merchant must have more than enough coin to keep the sell sword in drink and warm beds for a few days while he looked for work in the north.

  ‘Why not simply write to your guild, or send a messenger? Why take the trouble to brave the roads and the burdens of travel?’ The sell sword asked.

  ‘Well my friend, all the best deals are done face to face. They say it’s harder to cheat a man when you can see the whites of his eyes but I say otherwise. When I meet someone face to face I can paint a picture of that man’s desires and ensure whatever I’ve got for sale is the one thing that can allow him to reach out and take it!’

  Rearing up from the reed filled waters a stretch of dense swamp like forest spread across the horizon. The road burrowed into the trees and suddenly became shaded and the sounds of croaking frogs and chattering birds and insects rose all around them.

  ‘Besides Kingswyck has those fineries that sate my desires too,’ the merchant chuckled and the sell sword grimaced at the jangling of his fleshy chins. ‘Oh I say,’ the merchant mused smugly ‘the girls up north have neither the figures nor the attitude of the little pretty’s down here. And the wares, my my, the things you can acquire in that city boggle the mind! In fact,’ he pulled a medallion from around his neck that hung heavily upon the fine doublet.

  The sell sword raised his eyebrows and drew his horse closer to the side of the merchant’s. The medallion held on a fine gold chain was a gold skull nearly the size of a fist with two red jewelled eyes. The thing must have been worth a few hundred gold pieces easily. The sell sword groaned internally, this old fool would have been an easy mark to charge and extortionate protection rate. All that gold just trotting alongside him for hours and not a penny of it trickling into his own pockets. He seethed but nodded appreciatively to the merchant, ‘impressive.’

  ‘Ah you don’t know the half of it! Got this little beauty for a steal, it’s a Medallion of Thought. Lets me look into the mind of others you know. Only a couple of times a day mind you, though that’ll be more than enough to pull one over on those lazy Weavers to ensure I’m getting the best deal,’ he nodded proudly to the sell sword, ‘or know when best to ask my old hag of a wife to suck on my deal!’ He roared with laughter and the sell sword watched on as both belly and chins rocked like a turbulent sea.

  He’d need more than the power of mind reading to get any woman to want to go anywhere near the old cretin the sell sword though as he grimaced an appeasing smile.

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  ‘Still got the pictures in my mind from the Kingswyck whore houses so maybe she’ll even finish the job this time!’ The merchant roared again.

  The sell sword watched the heavy gold medallion bouncing on the merchants chest. He made up his mind quickly.

  The merchant was so caught up in his own mirth that he didn’t notice the thin blade pulled from the sell swords back scabbard. He didn’t register the tactful movement of the sell sword’s horse closer and closer alongside his own. He was so pleased with himself that the first thing he noticed was the recoiling arm of the sell sword and a wet feeling trickling down his chest. He felt warm liquid gushing down his chest matting his thick chest hair to his heavy fur lined clothes and saw the splatter of blood over the medallion he so cherished.

  By the time the merchant had slumped dead over the neck of his horse the sell sword had reigned the creature in and halted the procession.

  Wasting no time he removed the medallion from the merchant’s flabby neck and proceed to rid the man of all his possessions which to his disappointment had been relatively meagre. The man had a least had the small amount of sense to not bring so much gold on his travels. Though by his stories he imagined if he had caught the old wretch before he’d spent who knows how long and how much in Kingswyck’s pleasure houses his pockets would be rather heavier by now.

  Not wishing to be greedy and already most pleased with his days efforts, ridding Albion of a lecherous old piece of scum and lining his pockets nicely for the beginning of his expedition north he dragged the man to the side of the road and tied his horses together ready to be on his way. He looked up and down the road to ensure no one had seen his business. Nothing, no one in sight, just the hanging willows and bald cypress trees lining the road and the constant croak like sounds of the local wildlife.

  Before he could mount up a flash of green burst from the trees and wet squelch sounded beside him. Dropping the reigns of the horses and spinning toward the sight he lunged for his sword at his side. He wasn’t able to pull the blade from it’s scabbard before a figure, just over five feet in height and with the greenish brown wort ridden skin of a toad to go along with his wide frog like mouth and dead looking eyes, jabbed him through the stomach with a nasty rapier. As the frog creature withdrew the blade the sell sword gasped at the grievous wound but also at the unnerving sight of a green ooze dripping of the blade. Poison, the thought flashed in his mind like a bad omen.

  Suddenly a now familiar squelch sounded behind him and he spun once more just in time to deflect a second rapier attack with his own blade. He retaliated and managed, with a quick feint and jab, to by pass the attempted block from the creature’s sword and pierce his wet skin. He yelled out but it sounded like a pained croak more than a scream.

  The small victory was in vein though as distracted with the second foe the first rammed his rapier straight through the sell sword’s back. For the second time in a matter of moments the medallion was splattered with blood as the rapier pierced right through the mans chest. He went wide eyed but was dead before the blade was pulled back through and his body slumped on the road.

  ‘Great Ramenos!’ One of the Bullywugs wailed in its wet croaking tongue, ‘that stings, oh bog rush!’ He hopped about clutching at the wound in his stomach and croaking in pain.

  His companion barely noticed as he rummaged through the sell sword’s pockets. He pulled out coins and the daggers from his back scabbard and was almost salivating as he lifted the medallion from the mans neck and stared at it in all its blood soaked beauty.

  ‘Oh ho ho! The Lady will be pleased, oh she’ll be most pleased! I shall no doubt be rewarded handsomely. I shall no longer be just Bra’bot of the White Ash. She will have to award me even greater honour. I shall have the whole Ash glade and maybe the Gilfe river too.’ Bra’bot leapt for joy and clutched the befouled item close to his wet, wort covered, chest further coating the thing in a briny moisture.

  ‘Hey, what about me! Moorboff, Might of the Mud Pits deserves honours too! I was injured in the acquisition of treasure for my great Lady, she will put me at her very side, yoww!’ The Bullywug yelped as Bra’bot slapped him about the wide mouth.

  ‘Shut it, Moorboff! You’d still be wallowing in those mud puts if it wasn’t for me. Now shut your mouth and let’s get going. Don’t want none of those Maple maggots learning of our find before we get it back to the Lady!’