Mlasha stood on a sandy bank outside the rear gate of Storm Haven, surveying the waters of Sovereign’s Crossing below her. The channel separated the North Shore from the isle of Myrrha to the north.

  Just ahead of her the town’s small but productive dock bustled with activity. Two cogs, each flying the flag of a different merchant house, were anchored at port. Men moved about busily hauling boxes, rolling barrels, and pulling carts. Several Yunni moved about a network of walkways high above the dock, from where they operated heavy ropes on pulleys to move pallets of freight below.

  A large wooden cage shaped like a wheel had been built onto the side of one pier. Inside the cage several men jogged in place, causing the structure to turn like a wheel. As the cage-wheel turned a pulley mounted onto a long wooden boom raised a thick rope, as round as a man’s leg. with a net full of cargo at the end.

  Another pair of workers turned a handwheel at the base of the wooden boom to move it left or right. The two workers turning the wheel on the boom along with the men jogging in the cage created a significant mechanical advantage that allowed the dock crews to handle a massive amount of weight both safely and relatively quickly.

  They called the machine a crane. Mlasha shook her head. The ingenuity of the habens – or humans - and Yunni never ceased to amaze her.

  The sand bank the giantess stood on descended gently towards the water ahead, but a sturdy, raised walkway wide enough for two horse carts to travel side-by-side ran from the docks to the town wall. A stone-paved avenue hugged the wall from the end of the wooden walkway to the gate behind Mlasha.

  The coast stretched as far as she could see to her left and to the right beyond the dock, following a northwestern arc in the former case and gradually curving northeast in the latter direction. To the east the sea gate at the channel’s end marked the meeting place of the eastern ocean, Del Amaranthi and the northern ocean or Endless Deep; the western channel entrance opened into the western sea or Sea of Sollum.

  Pidwermin insisted on calling the western sea by its proper, academic name of Solum Oblivni Oceanus. The giantess chuckled to herself as she thought of this.

  “Lonely and forgetful.” she mused aloud the meaning of the name as she looked in that direction. She marveled at the vast, deep body of water before her, not really understanding the difference between a channel and a sea, for she could see no island across this terrifying expanse of rolling blue waves.

  Mlasha’s people were generally fearful of the ocean. She found the spectacle both unsettling and mesmerizing.

  “I don’t much care for it either.” Pidwermin abruptly pointed out.

  Mlasha didn’t startle easily, and generally took offense when it did happen. She attempted to control her temper, sounding only moderately irritated when she replied. “It’s rude to sneak up on a giantess, frog.”

  “Oh, I see. Of course.” The frog replied with artificial empathy. “Scaring the piss out of half drunk, purple frogs after dinner, now there’s a fine thing. Just don’t spook the lady ettin.” He of course referred to the previous evening when Mlasha snuck up on their encampment.

  “In the eye!” Mlasha congratulated her companion as if he had just won at a game of darts. “You’re sharp as they come, Dwerm.”

  Pidwermin was relieved to hear the annoying nickname this time. He always grew nervous when Mlasha referred to him by his biological classification in an irate tone of voice.

  A frog might be something you’d smash, were you an angry, eleven-foot-tall warrior. Dwerm, on the other hand, was someone she loved and surely wouldn’t crush.

  “It is taxing being small at times.” The frog mused before having a long pull from his bottle of Nar rum.

  “Is it?” Mlasha took her curious tone again.

  “Indeed.” Pidwermin answered glumly. He had not intended to lament aloud about his size concerns. “It’s stressful enough in the company of humans, imagine my plight when my two primary companions are twice the size of even large men!”

  “Dwerm, I’d never hurt you, nor would Kovak.”

  “I know, dear.” He really didn’t, for the giantess had a temper beyond any he had witnessed elsewhere. He did know, however, that she spoke the truth in this moment, and would never want to hurt him.

  “Besides, you’re not that little, at least not for a frog.” Mlasha insisted.

  “True, I suppose. I have a good two feet on even a stud bullfrog.” Pidwermin held up one arm and curled his bicep muscle for emphasis.

  The pair laughed, she because the joke amused her, and he because the rum gave him no other choice.

  “And I see you scavenged a bottle of the northern spirits here in Storm Haven.” Mlasha skillfully changed the subject.

  “A surprise to be sure!” The frog once again sounded cheerfully boozed. “The corporal had been kind enough to sequester a bottle for me in anticipation of our arrival. What a kind gesture. You know I always feel bad that I can’t recall the man’s name.”

  “Understandable. I mean that you don’t know his name. Rank and file soldiers often don’t last long or fare well in our stories. Best not to get attached.”

  “Our stories? What an interesting thing to say.” The frog’s curiosity stirred, he pressed the matter. “Why do you use that term?”

  “The actual word, from my language is “Shlarom”, which means epic story, or hero’s tale. When one leaves the tribe, whether by will or exile, the journeys and adventures they collect are Shlarom. Every Grokmas, or warrior, and Zaroki, or wizard, hopes their exploits will be sung by the Meheliurchum, who are like the Bards of the Guths.”

  “That is quite lovely, my dear. I am honored to be included in your Shlarom.” Pidwermin paused, placing his finger on his chin, another of his thinking postures. “Strange how much I thought I knew of your people, and yet I constantly learn things from you I had never heard of. Just goes to show, university education will take one so far, but on-the-job training is where the true wisdom is gleaned.”

  “Well said.’ the giantess affirmed.

  “Speaking of work, I have just a few more things to pick up.” She motioned towards a wagon loaded with some timber and several iron spikes ranging in length from four to six feet.

  “Interesting.” the frog eyeballed the wagon but held his questions for the moment.

  “What’s our next move?” Mlasha sounded eager.

  “I have a meeting with the mayor of this fine town.” the frog sounded less eager. “The foreman of Narooh and some council members from Crystal Ford and Talahmas.”

  “Goblin grotty!” Mlasha complained.

  “Oh I’m not even finished yet – you did interrupt me there dear a tish rude if you don’t mind I say so…” the frog swayed subtly as he spoke.

  “Actually I do mind a little Dwerm.” the giantess interrupted again. “You talk faster when you’re drunk and you slur a ‘tish’ so I’m not always sure when you’re finished…”

  “I am not drunk young lady!” this time Pidwermin interrupted. “I’m simply a bit frisky. The cool fall air, the lovely environment...”

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  “The Nar rum.” the giantess interjected.

  “Perhaps.” the frog took on a snooty expression. “I’m a grown, talking, magical frog and shall have a sip or two of whatever spirit I fancy…”

  “You’ve had more than a sip buddy.” Mlasha smiled and leaned forward so her face was closer to the frog’s face. “And don’t call me young lady. I’ll have you know I am one-hundred and two score years alive.”

  “Barely a hatchling.” the frog rolled his eyes. “You say ‘years alive’ as the Duarden say. Why?”

  “I always liked the way the dwarves say that instead of saying I’m this many years old. A very spirited little people, those dwarves, although my people have not always had the best relations with them.”

  “Haven’t seen eye-to-eye.” Pidwermin laughed. “May the Shining Father forgive me such an awful pun!”

  Mlasha puzzled a moment over the frog’s gaff, then suddenly threw her head back in laughter. “That’s perfect Dwerm! Perfect because that’s a thing the humans say and,” she held her hand overhead then lowered it to about her knee. “The Duarden and the Duarok are not at eye level.”

  “Glad it gave you a laugh. I think the booze is adding up for me.” Pidwermin admitted.

  “Your race lives around three-hundred years is that right?” the frog inquired. “Hard to find concrete information on your people’s longevity in the textbooks and manuals.”

  “Well, a typical lifespan for a male is quite short, actually, and sometimes also for a female. Not because we are short-lived by nature, simply due to the brutality of our ways and our many enemies. Untouched by the spear or club, a male may exceed three and one half centuries, for a female four hundred years is possible.”

  “I see.” Pidwermin sounded distant and thoughtful.

  “And you?” Mlasha asked him.

  “Me what?” asked the frog.

  “How long does your kind live, and how old are you anyway?”

  “Oh, I suppose we keep on until something interrupts us. We aren’t prone to illness but there are plenty of other ways to end a life. Can’t go on forever.”

  “Do you mean you would just go on forever if something doesn’t kill you?” Mlasha was every bit as fascinated as she sounded.

  The frog chuckled. “I suppose, yes, although I don’t consider that a genuine possibility in this world. Mirabillis is a dangerous place.”

  “Mirabillis. I’ve heard you use that before, what do you mean?”

  “That is the old name for our world, meaning our whole world , not just the Northern Kingdoms and the Old South. There are other continents, you know? We’ve become a more isolationist society with the rise of the humans; very tribal in nature they are, prone to sticking with their established zones of influence.”

  “Other places, you mean out there?” she pointed to the water.

  “Yes, and much further south as well if one walks the land beyond Sarda.” the frog replied.

  “That’s amazing. You are quite old, aren’t you?” the giantess asked again. She then added: “Thought I forgot about that part of my question didn’t you?”

  “I know better than to think Mlasha is going to let a question go unanswered.” Pidwermin assured the giantess.

  “So how old are you?” the female ettin continued to press.

  “I rarely disclose that my dear, and for a reason.” the frog smiled. “I find it makes people uncomfortable to learn my true age.”

  “I’m sorry.” the giantess said in a soothing voice. “Of course, you know you can’t just leave me hanging with that pitiful little excuse, right?”

  “I do know that, yes, but thank you for clarifying. My dear I am 3,472 years young.” the frog tucked his bottle of rum into one of his magical pouches.

  “Dragon shit! You are not!” Mlasha sounded like a stunned child; a very large, loud, stunned child. “Are you?”

  “I am indeed.” the frog confessed. “You are now the only other living creature who knows this; please keep it to yourself.”

  “Wow Kovak doesn’t know?” Mlasha asked.

  “He’s not quite as nosey as you my dear.” said the frog. “He’s never asked.”

  “Well I like to learn new things” said the giantess flatly.

  “Yes.” the frog agreed. “A strong inquisitive nature is a good thing. Learning something new each day should be a goal everyone shares.”

  “Do all the frogs where you’re from live such long lives?” Mlasha asked. “I mean, you know, if uninterrupted.”

  “I never met any other frogs where I was born.” said Pidwermin. As much as Mlasha would have liked some sort of elaboration, the frog said nothing more.

  “Really? That’s weird.” the giantess frowned. “Did you have many friends?”

  “Oh yes, many.” said the frog. “My father was the greatest of these, but there were others as well. Sir Radish and Beleena; I miss them at times.”

  Pidwermin could rarely be accused of being sad, but his voice betrayed the slightest hints of that emotion.

  “Strange how sheltered I was in those days.” the frog said distantly. “When I was reviewing the work of that sage Corrulius I consulted some old journals in search of verification of dates. My own journals contained barely a mention of things outside of that old tower. My father of course had neatly indexed and cataloged many of the things happening across the realms at the time. Famines, war, all manner of calamities occurring in the wide world and all I knew was my happy home life, for the most part.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” the giantess noted. “Your father, was he… interrupted?”

  “No.” said the frog. “He died over a century ago but it was at the end of a good, very long life. Old age caught up with him, I hate to say it.”

  “Huh?” Mlasha made a funy face. “But you said…”

  “My father wasn’t a frog dear.” Pidwermin interrupted.

  “Oh.” More questions formed on the giantess’ lovely face.

  “That will be all of this day’s autobiography.” the frog announced. “You’ve pried plenty for now.”

  Mlasha frowned.

  “I’d best get back to the inn for this meeting. Then we can be about our business.” said the frog.

  “Ok.” Mlasha said as she looked towards the dock. “I’m gonna grab some of those heavy lines.”

  “Saltu.” she heard Pidwermin say.

  “Salt who?” she asked, but when she turned the frog was gone.