Swamped Chapter 48 Page 15

Well. Whoever these people are, you’re not in any state to fight them. But if they just stumble onto you, they might assume you’ve got other ideas, and that wouldn’t go well at all.

You’re probably better off letting them find you, while making it as clear as you can that you’re not threatening them.

And all you can think of is singing. If you popped out of hiding, they might mistake that as an ambush. If they follow your voice, though, well, at least they’ll understand that you’re trying to be found.

So you sing. Not very well – you’re out of practice, and even when you were practicing you were mediocre on your best days. But you’re not aiming to impress your audience here.

It’s an old classic, about a weary soldier who dreams of peaceful days. More importantly, it’s a simple tune, and you can keep it going for five minutes easily.

Haska tonno.

You realize that you got a bit lost in thought there. Someone’s found you. You hear another voice some way off.

Sisket. Gado eska?

The figure in front of you gives you a questioning glance.

You hold up your one hand, in hopes that this shows you’re no threat. The figure calls out.

Militara. Rem’let.

Well, you can guess what one of those words means. Your interrogator might have seen your uniform… although, they must have good eyes to have noticed it in this darkness. Then again, it could be a coincidence.

Vak. Indredor.

A minute or so passes, and you can faintly see a second figure next to the first. The second figure raises a hand…

And suddenly, a small torch lights in her raised hand. Is that magic? Whatever the case, you can see your interrogators now – though as they’re both wearing cloaks, you can’t see that much.

You opt to start with the most direct question.

“Um. I’m Marshall. I don’t really know what’s going on. Can either of you understand me?”

You suddenly notice that the woman with the torch only has one arm. Though it looks to have enough muscle on it for at least two. The other one, who’s considerably scrawnier, is pointing… something at you. It may or may not be a weapon, for all you know.

They mutter at each other, not directly answering. Finally, the scrawnier of them tugs at your uniform.


“Military?” you ask, a little nervously. “Sort of. I’m a trainee with the Bogknights. But, I’m not here on any sort of mission.”

They mutter some more. You have no idea if this is a good sign or a bad one. Though you feel reasonably confident they can understand you, even if you can’t understand them.

Maybe there’s something you can say that will help this go more smoothly, then.

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Well you don’t have any weapons on you.

Ask about the cart!