Chapter 15: Friend or Foe

  Carefully, I crack one eye open and notice one of the hut's occupants, not the same ones from last night, but a new face who is observing me with unusual intensity.

  His eyes, unlike the vacant stares of the other worker lizards, hold a distinct alertness, a spark of intelligence or perhaps curiosity that seems out of place. His shadowy figure reveals him to be a full Lizardman, slightly larger than me.

  When our gazes meet, he doesn't look away, but instead, he gives an almost imperceptible nod before turning to arrange his sleeping pallet beside mine and immediately lying down.

  I remain fully alert, observing the strange newcomer who stays motionless. After more than an hour, my eyelids grow incredibly heavy just before he finally stirs.

  I feel something press against my arm. The alert Lizardman has moved his pallet even closer to mine, and now he speaks in a voice so low it's barely audible.

  "You're not from eastern hatcheries," he whispers.

  My blood runs cold. I remain perfectly still, weighing my options. Denial seems pointless as he's clearly noticed something off about me.

  "Why you say that?" I finally murmur.

  "Your posture. The way you watch everything. Eastern hatchery lizards are bred for hard work, not curiosity." He pauses. "Your scales have a different shade."

  I lock my eyes with his, my arms tensed and my claws ready for any sudden action. "I'm no threat to you," I say carefully.

  "Maybe not, but certainly trouble. New faces rare here always come in groups. Single transfers... suspicious." He's silent for a moment, but then smiles. "Name's Vrazak. Been here three seasons."

  I hesitate, because as a Minor Lizardman, I'm not yet supposed to have a name.

  "Morglub," I finally respond, using the frogman word for "worker" that Shokar taught me.

  "Word of advice, 'Morglub.' This place has a way to break those who think too much." He gestures subtly toward the other sleeping forms. "And it rewards those who help maintain its order."

  "Is that what you do? Maintain order?" I can't keep a hint of contempt from my voice.

  Vrazak's expression doesn't change. "I survive. And I watch. Same as you doing now." He shifts, turning his back to me. "Rest while you can. Tomorrow they work you harder, test your limits."

  "Why tell me any of this?"

  He's quiet so long I wonder if he's fallen asleep. Finally, just as I'm about to give up, he speaks again.

  "Once had the same eyes."

  I stare at his back. Besides his dark scales, I can see various deep scars in the distinctive pattern of whip marks. One particularly brutal scar runs from his left shoulder all the way down to his hip, the tissue there permanently discolored.

  These aren't battle wounds but the clear reminder of what happens to those who resist their Frogman masters.

  Dawn breaks with a clamor of wooden gongs and the harsh croaking of Frogman overseers. The hut's other occupants rise in seamless unison, their movements mechanical and practiced. Not a single word passes between them as they shuffle outside to begin another day of labor.

  Vrazak is already gone, his pallet neatly arranged as if he had never been there. For a moment, I wonder if our midnight conversation was merely a dream, some strange hallucination born of exhaustion and stress.

  Outside, the village awakens to its daily rhythm. Lizardmen workers file from their huts, heads bowed, spines curved in practiced subservience. Frogman guards patrol the elevated walkways, their webbed feet making soft slapping sounds against the wooden planks.

  I'm assigned to stone hauling again, trudging to the watchtower construction site with a group of equally silent workers.

  And like this, five days pass with little to no development.

  Five mind-numbing, muscle-tearing days of hauling stone blocks under the merciless sun. My evolved body handles the physical strain better than I expected, but the mental toll of being in constant vigilance of my actions is far worse.

  As we haul another massive stone block, I notice my muscles straining less than they did yesterday.

  My body is adapting to this labor in a way that feels different from normal exercise. No pop-up messages have appeared since my evolution to Minor Lizardman, but I can feel subtle changes continuing within me. My scales are being toughened from sun exposure and my arms grow stronger from the constant lifting.

  I wonder if my regenerative abilities are accelerating this adaptation process.

  But Despite these subtle advancements, the rest of the days are the same routine. A harsh awakening, followed by trudging to the watchtower construction site.

  During a brief water break, I often spot Vrazak across the construction site. He works with methodical efficiency, and after the first night, he gave no further indication of even recognizing me.

  "New one!" The harsh voice of a pale-scaled overseer breaks my concentration. "No staring! Back to work!"

  I quickly lower my gaze, mumbling an apology before returning to my task.

  The overseer, Grakk, I've heard others call him, a full Lizardman with uncharacteristically pale scales, carries his leather whip with practiced ease. He watches me a moment longer, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, before moving on to harass another worker.

  Throughout the day, I feel Grakk's gaze return to me repeatedly. Something about his attention feels different from the casual cruelty of the other overseers. There's calculation in his eyes, a predatory assessment that sends prickles of warning down my spine.

  By evening, my muscles ache with fatigue, but my mind remains alert. As we trudge back to our quarters in the fading light, I notice Vrazak deliberately slowing his pace until we're walking side by side.

  "Grakk watches you," he mutters without looking at me. "Be careful."

  "What's his problem with me?" I ask, keeping my voice equally low.

  "Ambitious. Wants to become captain's favorite. Always looking for ways to prove worth." Vrazak's voice is barely a whisper.

  I deliberately slow my movements for the next block, allowing my shoulders to slump further. The art of appearing broken while maintaining inner strength is a delicate balance that I still need to master.

  "Better," Vrazak nods approvingly. "Tonight I'll show you something. After the others sleep."

  Before I can respond, he quickens his step, merging with a group of workers ahead.

  Back in our hut, I collapse onto my pallet, my body craving rest while my mind races with questions. The other Lizardmen curl into their sleeping spaces without a word, their eyes already glazed with the emptiness that seems to be their only escape from this existence.

  Did I overplay my strength as a Minor Lizardman? Has my cover already been compromised? The questions plague me as I finally manage to get some well deserved rest but I cannot yet sleep.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Hours pass. The village grows quiet except for the occasional splash of water against the stilts supporting our hut and the distant croaking of guard patrols. When the breathing of my hut-mates has settled into the deep rhythm of sleep, Vrazak quietly appears at the door and nods at me.

  I rise silently, my movements carefully controlled to avoid the creaking floorboards.

  Vrazak gives me one last assessing look, and as if making a decision, mouths the word "Follow", slipping silently toward the night.

  _____________________________________________________________________________________

  Every instinct tells me this could be a trap, but curiosity wins out and I follow him into the night. Slipping out into the darkness.

  The village is transformed under the dual moonlight. The pale blue glow of the larger moon paints the stilted structures in ghostly shades, while the amber light of its smaller companion creates long, distorted shadows. Frogman guards patrol the main pathways, but Vrazak leads me through narrow gaps between buildings, staying in the shadows.

  "Where are we going?" I whisper when we're far enough from the hut.

  "Somewhere we can talk freely," he replies without looking back.

  We navigate through what seems like a maze of alleyways, until finally, Vrazak ducks beneath one of the larger structures, motioning for me to follow.

  Under the stilted building, the murky water reaches my knees. The smell is foul, but Vrazak wades forward confidently, eventually reaching a small rotten wooden shack built just above the water level.

  "Thought maybe you wouldn't come," he says as I pull myself onto the platform.

  "Almost didn't," I admit, surveying the decrypt construction. "It's hard to trust anyone in a place like this. Is this truly where we can speak freely?" I asked, my skepticism evident.

  "No one comes here," he says, settling onto the platform. "Water masks our scent, building masks our voices. Better than anywhere else in this shhhsh village."

  I join him, careful to keep my back to a support beam and my eyes on Vrazak. Trust is still a luxury I can't afford.

  "So, 'Morglub,'" he begins with a hint of amusement, "not from eastern hatcheries or anywhere else, are you?"

  I remain silent, calculating my options. Denial seems pointless, but confirmation could be dangerous.

  "Don't worry," Vrazak continues after a moment. "Report to the toads? The overseers?" He shakes his head. "If wanted to expose you, would have done it already. Could have earned me a feast of fresh meat and maybe even a day of rest."

  He seems truthful enough, but surely there's no such thing as a free lunch. "Then what do you want?"

  The Lizardman studies me for a long moment. "What I want? Not die in this shhhsh hole!" His exasperated voice then drops to a bitter whisper. "I want out, and maybe you know a way."

  "Why would I know anything about escape? I just came here." I ask carefully.

  Vrazak grimaces, a gesture that might be a smile on his reptilian features. "You came from outside," he says simply. "Must know ways through marsh, safe paths." He leans forward intently. "Maybe from place where lizardfolk aren't slaves? Secret caves? Hidden settlements?"

  I consider my words carefully. "Sorry, just trying to survive, same as you."

  "No," he says, shaking his head. "Not the same. I've been watching you. You're different. Stronger, smarter." His voice drops even lower. "Overseers whisper about hunters searching the caves for days, looking for someone."

  I tense, ready to flee or fight.

  "Relax," he says, noticing my reaction. "Don't care if that's you or not. But if you know a safe place outside this village, caves, tunnels, anywhere. I want to know about it."

  I consider my response carefully. Mentioning Magba or the training caves could put her at risk. Yet Vrazak seems to be offering a potential alliance that could prove valuable.

  "And even if I had, why should I trust you with that information?"

  Vrazak's expression hardens. "Because I've been planning. For seasons now. Watching guards, finding weak spots. Just need somewhere to go when I break free."

  I understand now. Vrazak doesn't have specific knowledge of my past or me, but he recognizes a kindred rebel spirit and hopes I possess escape knowledge he lacks.

  "Let's say I'm interested," I say noncommittally. "I might know some places, but what exactly are you planning? The village is too well guarded."

  Vrazak's mouth curves into what might almost be a smile. "Not always. Not during raids."

  "Raids?" I feign some ignorance about them, even though I genuinely have very little information.

  "Information is survival," Vrazak says, his voice barely audible above the lapping water. "Been watching raids for seasons. Gnolls, Bog Goblins, but most reliable are the Marsh Orcs."

  "Marsh Orcs?" These supposed fantasy names are all still a surprise to me. But I guess so are Lizardmen and Frogmen.

  He nods, his expression turning serious. "Marsh Orcs attack village regularly. Three times each wet season." He draws a crude map in the wet wood with his claw. "They come from north, always. First raid already happened last cycle in Bloodfever.

  Though some words translate, their meaning eludes me. Could this be the name of a moon cycle? My curiosity is piqued, yet I guess I revealed enough of my peculiar nature already.

  "And don’t the guards know of this pattern?" I ask skeptically.

  Vrazak's mouth curls into what might be a smile. "Of course. Why you think they build watchtower? But knowing doesn't mean stopping." He taps the southern edge of his makeshift map. "When Orcs attack north gate, every fighter runs there. South side thins out. Just few guards."

  His eyes gleam with new intensity. "And more important, hunters are away, and Lord Vex'mor travels for council with other Alphas. His elite guards travel with him. Captain Glubak commands in his absence. Competent, but not... intimidating like Lord. Guards less vigilant, more likely to run than die when Orcs come."

  "Sounds too simple," I counter. "They must have contingencies."

  "Nothing simple about Marsh Orcs," Vrazak says darkly. "Huge creatures, twice size of Frogman. Thick fur, tusks that can gore through armor. Most raids, dozens of lizardfolk die, Frogmen too." He spends some more time

  "Marsh Orcs," I repeat, my scientific mind already cataloging the information. The evolutionary implications are fascinating. Would they be some version of a mammalian humanoid with traits reminiscent of Earth's wild boars?

  "What are you doing?" Vrazak interrupts my thoughts.

  "Just trying to understand them better," I reply, refocusing on the practical implications rather than their biology. "As you said, information is survival."

  Vrazak seemed happy to share more about the various creatures that inhabited the marshlands. Besides the tusked Marsh Orcs he told me of the pack-hunting Gnolls with their sadistic laughs, the swarming Bog Goblins that attacked from beneath the water's surface and even hinted at even stranger creatures dwelling in the deeper parts of the marsh like Swamp Trolls.

  I study his expression, searching for deception. "So you're planning to use this raid as cover to escape?"

  "Not first time lizardfolk disappeared during raid. Guards just assume Orcs took them for food. Nobody searches hard."

  I don't like this implication of being food, but the logic is sound, if cold. "And where exactly would we go after?"

  Vrazak grins, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "That's where Morglub can help, can't he? Great Marsh very treacherous. Need destination, shelter. A place where Lizardfolk are free and frog hunters won't follow."

  I remain silent, weighing my options. Magba's cave might offer safety, but leading others there could endanger her. And she said to stay put until an opportunity appears. Is this the one she meant?

  "When is the next raid expected?" I ask, still not committing.

  "Within days. Maybe as soon as tomorrow night or the night after." His voice drops even lower. "Signs are there for those who know to look. Frogmen reinforcing north wall. Extra patrols. Supply wagons arriving with weapons."

  He taps the crude map again. "Plan is simple. When Orcs attack, chaos erupts. Guards rush north. We slip out south, into marsh. Need to move fast, travel far before dawn. By time Frogmen realize we're gone, trail already cold."

  It's a desperate plan, fraught with risks, but not without merit. Still, something about Vrazak's intensity makes me cautious. Is he truly seeking freedom, or does he have other motives?

  "How many others know about this plan?" I ask.

  "No one," he immediately responds. "Most workers are too broken to take risk. Overseers would betray me for an extra food portion. You are the first I've told."

  "Why me?"

  Vrazak's eyes hold mine in the darkness. "You act weak but still have fire." He gestures toward the village. "Most here already dead inside. You still want to live."

  His assessment is uncomfortably accurate. Despite everything I've endured, the scientist in me still burns with curiosity, the human with determination, and the Lizardman with primal survival instinct.

  "Should think about it" Vrazak says, sensing my hesitation. "But don't take too long. The moons wait for no one."

  He slips back into the water with barely a splash. "We return separately. Wait ten minutes, then follow path we took."

  As he disappears into the darkness, I'm left alone with my thoughts, still undecided if he's a potential ally or a future threat. Magba's warning echoes in my mind. For even considering his escape plan, I'm doing exactly what she cautioned against. She trained me for survival, not rebellion. The old blind witch spoke in riddles, but her wisdom has kept me alive so far.

  After ten minutes, I follow his instructions, making my way back to our hut in silence.

  Now deep in all these schemes, I find myself missing the simplicity of the caves. There, at least, the dangers were straightforward, you fight or die.

  In this village, the distinction between friend and foe is as treacherous as mistaking a shallow puddle for a deadly marsh, a single misstep can prove fatal.