Damask & Deception (Spellbound #2)

Chapter 2: Dirty Water

Baudwin cursed as a mossy vine slapped him across the face. The swamps of Lyndor lived up to their reputation. Awful. Just bloody awful. It was hot and humid, with moss-covered trees and slippery ground. His horse was used to their northern climate and did not appreciate the knee-deep water if one took so much as a step off the beaten path. When there was a path at all. 

Why would anyone choose to live here? It even smelled differently. Was damp a smell? It smelled damp. Sometimes he passed areas that smelled like rotten eggs, and it made him gag. He missed the clean, fresh air of Breoch and its deep pine woods.

A splash made him look into the murky water to the left of the narrow path his horse followed. Black eyes stared back at him. Was that a crocodile? Not wanting to find out, he spurred his horse on. It let out an annoyed huff, as if questioning his sanity in bringing them to this place. He didn't blame the animal. He questioned it himself. Maybe he should have sent someone else on this errand.

Truth was, except for the swamp, he'd enjoyed his journey. It was freeing being away from the castle and the oppressing role of ruler. His sister could easily deal with anything in his absence, and her husband had a decent head on his shoulders. Between the two of them and the advisers, he couldn't imagine that there was anything they couldn't handle. 

If he'd felt guilty about leaving his duties, it had been expelled the moment he cleared the city walls and laid eyes on the beautiful woodlands of his kingdom.

Before taking the throne, he'd taken daily rides to clear his mind, something he had struggled to maintain since due to the demands on his time. It felt like wherever he turned there was someone waiting with a question or proposal. Now that he was thinking about it, maybe the swamp wasn't too bad.

If only he'd ever reach his destination. According to the locals in the last village he'd passed, the hut the Swamp Witch—their name, not his—lived in should be around here somewhere. He looked around, but all he could see was the murky swamp water and moss-covered cypress trees. No, wait, between the trees ahead there was a hint of a wooden structure. It could be a hut. Or the remains of one.

Urging his horse on, they made it into a small clearing where there was actually solid, dry ground beneath them. A small hut huddled beneath the tall trees, looking a little like a fat frog with its moss-thatched roof and lichen-covered wooden walls. 

Baudwin dismounted while looking around. There was no sign of human life around, only dragonflies, mosquitoes and—he suspected—the odd crocodile. He knocked on the door, but no reply came from inside and he could hear no sounds of anyone moving about either.

There were a few vegetables and herbs growing in a little vegetable patch, so someone must live here. Deciding to wait, he watered his horse and then sat down on a low bench outside the hut with his own water-skin. He stretched out his aching right leg in front of him. 

Riding was no worse for the pain than anything else, but the many hours in one position was always a problem. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as he massaged the aching limb.