Chapter 16: Suspicions Rise

  Dawn brings no comfort, only the dull ache in my muscles and the sharp awareness of being surrounded by enemies. I rise from my pallet just having received another of the strange popups in my mind, a phenomenon I'm becoming disturbingly accustomed to.

  [New Ability Acquired!]

  [Frogman Language]

  [Understanding: Basic]

  You can now speak and understand the most common and relevant words in this language.

  Great, now I can understand some of the croaks and bubbling sounds from these supersized amphibians. Just what I needed, to comprehend more of their insults and commands.

  Though I suppose knowing what they're saying might actually help me understand more about this world. Let's see how long before it takes to evolve from "ribbit" to full sentences.

  My roommates rise with mechanical efficiency, their movements perfected through repetition. Vrazak is already up, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he turns away. Even that fleeting contact carries a message. Be ready!

  Before I can respond, the door bursts open and Overseer Grakk enters, his pale scales glowing with an unnatural sheen in the morning light, and there's calculation in his gaze.

  "Up, worms!" he barks, his whip cracking against the floorboards. "Special work today!"

  My fellow Lizardmen scramble to their feet, heads bowed in practiced submission. I follow suit, but apparently not quickly enough. Grakk's eyes narrow, focusing on me with predatory intent.

  "You, worker. Too slow," he says, spitting as if disgusted. "Remember your place."

  The whip cracks finding my shoulder. The pain is sharp but manageable. What enrages me is that now I will have to apply Magba's paste and work with a throbbing arm all day.

  "Yes, overseer," I lower my head in practiced submission, mumbling acknowledgment while keeping my claws firmly closed to prevent them from instinctively lashing out. Play the part. Survive.

  Something appears to have changed in the village since yesterday. As we file toward the watchtower construction site, I notice Frogman guards patrolling in greater numbers, their webbed hands resting on weapons. Workers, both Lizardmen and even some smaller amphibian species I haven't seen before, are reinforcing wooden palisades and digging trenches.

  These smaller amphibians, barely reaching my waist, have mottled yellow skin and move with surprising agility. Unlike us, they wear crude amulets of polished stone. The Frogmen treat them with marginally more respect than Lizardmen, though still as inferiors.

  "Who are the small toads?" I whisper, nodding slightly toward a group of the yellow-skinned workers.

  "Croakers. Lower caste, but not slaves like us. They mostly live in water and control its flow around village to prevent floods." Vrazak keeps his head low as he speaks. "Important to Frogmen. Without them, village would sink in wet season."

  "And what about all this additional work?" I ask, curious about all the increased movement.

  "They're preparing," Vrazak murmurs as we trudge toward the construction site. "Raid must be coming sooner than expected."

  "How soon?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

  "Maybe even tonight." His voice is taut with tension. "Plans changed. We need to be ready."

  Before I can press for details, Grakk appears beside us. The pale scaled bastard is really intent on torturing me today. "Less talk! More work!" He shoves me forward roughly.

  I focus on the labor, the rhythm of lifting and carrying, while keeping my senses alert. My evolved body handles the strain better than it should and I deliberately slow my pace, allowing my shoulders to slump with apparent exhaustion.

  Midday brings a brief respite as we're given water and a meager portion of some unidentifiable mush. I sit apart from the others, observing the construction site from beneath lowered eyelids.

  The watchtower is taking shape rapidly. Its construction techniques somehow blend primitive and sophisticated methods.

  The foundations have thick logs that have been driven deep into the boggy soil, creating a stable platform above the water. Around this wooden skeleton, workers pack clay mixed with fibrous marsh grasses, tamping it down to form a dense, waterproof base that hardens in the sun.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The lower walls are made from solid stone that are perfectly fitted at crucial stress points. Other sections use a quick-setting paste that hardens rapidly with thick walls rising to create what will eventually be an imposing structure overlooking both the village and the marshy approach from the north.

  I can even identify what should be arrow slits punctuating the lower levels, while the upper section is open, presumably for archers or other ranged defenders.

  "Impressive, yes?"

  I nearly jump at Grakk's voice beside me. He has approached silently, watching me with that same calculating gaze.

  "Very impressive, overseer," I mumble, keeping my eyes downcast.

  "Many workers died building this. Many more will." He prods me, and the implication is clear.

  "Just doing work, overseer," I respond, hunching my shoulders further. "Try hard to please Frogman masters."

  Grakk makes a sound that might be amusement or skepticism. "We'll see how much they pleased after work day ends." He moves away, but I can feel his attention lingering on me like a physical weight.

  The rest of the day passes in grueling monotony, my mind constantly divided between the physical labor and awareness of Grakk's surveillance. By the time the work horn sounds, signaling the end of the day shift, my muscles genuinely ache with fatigue.

  As we trudge back toward the village in the late afternoon light, an unusual commotion draws my attention.

  The hunting party has returned.

  _____________________________________________________________________________________

  Twelve Frogmen warriors march in formation toward the Red Frog's tower, their spears and armor glistening with mud and what might even be blood. Their expressions grim beneath their amphibian features.

  But what captures my attention isn't the hunters themselves but what one of them carries. A much familiar-looking pouch, crudely tied and stained with something dark.

  My heart freezes in my chest. That pouch, I would recognize it anywhere. How many times had I watched Magba extract herbs and potions from that very bag? The rough-spun fabric with distinctive markings, the odd shape from the many small containers within.

  "Magba..." I whisper before I can stop myself.

  Beside me, Vrazak tenses, his eyes flickering between me and the hunting party. "You know something." he says, his voice low and urgent.

  I realize my mistake immediately and force my expression to neutral disinterest. "I know nothing. Just tired."

  But the slip has already occurred, and worse, I also notice Grakk watching from several paces away, his eyes narrowed to slits, his tongue flicking out to taste the air, maybe testing for the scent of fear or deception.

  The hunting party disappears into the tower, taking Magba's pouch with them, but the damage is done. As we continue toward our quarters, Grakk falls into step beside me.

  "A peculiar return today," he remarks, his tone casual, yet his gaze piercing. "Hunters scour caves for days, only to seemingly return empty-handed…"

  I say nothing, keeping my gaze forward, my posture submissive.

  "Odd, new worker seems surprised," Grakk added. "Even stranger that he’d be concerned with what the hunter found."

  "Just curious, overseer," I mumble. "Never seen hunters before."

  Grakk makes that same ambiguous sound, part laugh, part hiss. "Dangerous thing, curiosity." He taps his whip against my shoulder. "Makes me curious about worker too."

  With that ominous statement, he peels away, heading toward what appears to be the overseers' quarters, a structure slightly larger and better maintained than the workers' huts.

  Vrazak waits until Grakk is well out of earshot before speaking. "Bad. Very bad. He suspects something."

  "I know," I reply, keeping my voice low. "Slipped up. Thought I saw something the hunters were carrying."

  Vrazak's expression darkens. "Grakk not like other overseers. Smarter. More ambitious." He glances around, ensuring no one is within hearing distance. "Been watching you since you arrived. Today he confirms his suspicions."

  "What will he do?" I ask apprehensively.

  "Report to Captain Glubak, probably. Or wait and gather more evidence first." Vrazak's tail twitches anxiously. "Either way, not good for you."

  We reach our hut, where the other workers are already settling onto their pallets with the blank-eyed resignation of the utterly defeated. Vrazak positions himself near the entrance, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert.

  "Rest," he advises. "Need strength. Raid coming soon, maybe tonight. Be ready."

  _____________________________________________________________________________________

  I stretch out on my pallet, feigning sleep while my mind races. If the hunters found Magba's pouch, what does that mean for her? Is she safe? Captured? And how long before Grakk acts on his suspicions?

  The hut grows darker as evening deepens into night. One by one, the other workers' breathing settles into the rhythm of genuine sleep. Only Vrazak and I remain awake, our eyes occasionally meeting in the darkness, acknowledging the danger surrounding us.

  As hours crept by, the village falls into a creeping silence, broken only by the rhythmic lapping of water against the stilts, the ceaseless hum of insects and the occasional distant splash of unseen marsh creatures.

  Just as I'm beginning to think we might pass the night undisturbed, the hut's door creaks open and a silhouette appears. Grakk, his pale scales reflecting the blue moonlight that filters through the gaps in the walls.

  "Worker," he hisses, his voice low but commanding. "Captain Glubak wants to see you. Now!"