Raven Quest

by R A Oakes

  To herself, Balzekior was thinking, Why am I kowtowing to Zarimora? I could destroy her and all these miserable trolls. What am I doing here face down in the dust?

  But she knew why, and it infuriated her.

  Balzekior derived her power from underground streams of red-hot demon lava flowing along passageways dozens of miles below the surface of the earth. When feeling tired and weak, her energy having been depleted, she’d crawl down through thin cracks in the earth’s crust making her way to the flaming lava. Once standing in front of such a stream, she’d spread her arms and fall face first into it, basking in its rejuvenating warmth.

  Why do I keep coming back to the surface? she’d asked herself many times, but the answer was always the same. There were more potential victims on the surface of the earth. And for a demonic woman who took personal pleasure in the misery of others, Balzekior couldn’t resist.

  And now, as she lay in the dust, Balzekior dreamt of a day when demon lava would be available much closer to the surface where she could draw on its power more readily. But that was only a dream, which meant she needed the trolls’ help creating the magnitude of pain and suffering she wanted to distribute so generously to anyone she could get her hands on.

  She was face down in the dust today, but tomorrow it would be someone else and she’d be the one laughing. Cheered at the thought of what perverse joys tomorrow might hold, she bucked up and accepted her own public humiliation.

  “Please forgive me, Zarimora, I wasn’t myself. I don’t know what came over me. I beg your forgiveness.”

  “Degrade yourself further,” Zarimora encouraged her.

  Knowingthepowerfulfemaletroll had a weakness, like herself, for humiliating and degrading others, Balzekior knew the way to her heart.

  “I’m worthless. I’m nobody. I don’t deserve to live.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’ll never be any good.”

  “And?”

  “I’m hopeless.”

  “Continue.”

  But Balzekior had enough. Lifting her face out of the dirt, she looked around at Zarimora’s guards, each one gripping an axe, each one eager to kill in defense of their leader.

  “You must feel very reassured knowing you’re loved,” Balzekior said cynically.

  “I’d be more reassured if you held up your end of the bargain.”

  “I’ve done so,” Balzekior said, an edge of defiance to her voice.

  “Show me.”

  “Won’t someone please help an old woman to her feet?” Balzekior asked, looking around and extending her hand to no one in particular.

  Not a single troll moved.

  “Humans are much easier to manipulate,” Balzekior admitted, glancing up at Zarimora.

  “If we didn’t have to hide from the sun during the day, we could roam farther from Gratuga. We could enslave the humans,” the powerful troll woman said.

  “Good, you’ll be needing them. Gratuga is becoming too overcrowded. You’ve got to enlarge the existing caverns and dig new ones,” Balzekior said, pointing out the obvious.

  “I’m well aware of the overcrowding. If we could just neutralize the sun, all sorts of options would be open to us,” Zarimora said, walking over to the wagon and studying the contents that had spilled out onto the trail.

  “You’re looking at hooded black cloaks, full length, all the way down to your ankles,” Balzekior said proudly.

  “How many?”

  “Dozens, with bolts of cloth for making more.”

  “How many more?”

  “Around 100, or so.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “It’s a start.”

  Zarimora, Merimar and the 12 female guards each picked up a hooded black cloak and put it on.

  “These cloaks will protect us from the sun? You’re sure?” Merimar asked in disbelief.

  “Yes, the cloth is very thick, and strong.”

  “We’ll no longer have to fear the sun’s rays?”

  “Why don’t you get up early tomorrow and greet the sunrise?” Balzekior suggested.

  All the trolls recoiled in dread, even Zarimora, who caught herself, took a deep breath and said, “Not likely. But we’ll have a male troll try it.”

  “I don’t know about that, the men are dumb but not that dumb,” Merimar said.

  “I won’t be asking for volunteers,” Zarimora said, a steel glint flashing across her eyes, an aura of violent energy surging around her at the mere thought of a man daring to deny her anything she wanted. Merimar flinched yet held her ground knowing her friend meant her no personal harm, but all 12 female guards surrounding them stepped back. If there was one thing they feared more than the sun, it was Zarimora when she was angry.

  Refocusing her attention on the task at hand, Zarimora asked Balzekior, “What risks are involved with these cloaks? What problems might we encounter?”

  “Very few, if any.”

  “For instance?”

  “The heavy black cloth will make them uncomfortable on warm days, maybe even unbearably hot, especially after extended periods of time.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s the only problem?” Zarimora asked in surprise.

  “Pretty much.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Merimar said, suspecting the old witch of some trickery.

  “You will after tomorrow,” Balzekior retorted.

  “Okay, if there are no other major problems, what about minor ones? Limitations? Shortcomings?” Zarimora asked, continuing to probe.

  “You can travel while wearing cloaks, but I wouldn’t fight in them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one, swinging your axe will expose your arms to sunlight. Two, your hood could fall down. And three, if you spin around too quickly, the front of the cloak might fly open. So, it’s still far too dangerous to fight in sunlight, even with cloaks. One mistake and you could be turned to stone.”

  “I’d call that a major problem not a shortcoming,” Merimar said, glaring at the old witch.

  “If we attack human settlements after dark, it won’t matter,” Zarimora said, putting a restraining hand on the big female troll’s well-muscled shoulder.

  “Good, you’ll fight at night and travel by day,” Balzekior agreed, glaring back at Merimar while thinking, How about if I drag you down into the bowels of the earth and give you a nice hot lava bath? You wouldn’t act so smart then, would you? You’d be instantly incinerated, ending up as nothing but a few dark ashes on the surface of a red-hot lava stream.

  One of the female guards tried to break the tension between the two women by calmly asking, “Besides digging to enlarge the caverns, what else can humans do?”

  “Anything we tell them,” Zarimora said smiling, pleased to change the topic, wanting to avoid a confrontation between her two hot-tempered allies. “Anything at all.”

  The guard’s question and Zarimora’s smile shifted the focus off personal animosities putting it back on the humans whom they could all hate. Balzekior and Merimar smiled grimly at each other, neither willing to start fighting openly, at least not yet.

  “Tormenting humans is going to be great fun, isn’t it?” another female guard asked, her sadistic enthusiasm proving so infectious that everyone began laughing. Even Balzekior and Merimar joined in, though continuing to eye each other suspiciously.

  “For us but not for them,” Zarimora said, envisioning hundreds of humans slaving away while enlarging the caverns, doing her bidding and groveling in submission.

  “What a pity,” a third female guard said, cynicism and scorn dripping from her voice.

  “There are countless ways to degrade and humiliate the humans,” Merimar said, triggering another fit of laughter.

  The trolls exchanged knowing glances and smiled, for after all, abuse was their specialty.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning, a few minutes before sunrise, Jaren was squeezing his way thro
ugh a crowd gathered inside Gratuga’s entrance, all of whom wanted to witness a male troll attempting the impossible, exposing himself to sunlight and surviving.

  Ordinarily, Balzekior refused to allow Jaren anywhere near the entrance, the old witch being unwilling to risk losing such a source of personal entertainment. That Jaren amused the old witch was all that kept him from being eaten, though some trolls still eyed him for their stew pots while waiting for Balzekior to grow tired of him.

  Today, however, Balzekior had requested Jaren’s presence and assigned him the task of rescuing the male troll, just in case the experiment turned out badly. Although confident the cloaks would provide excellent protection, Balzekior realized that males were exceedingly stupid and could wreck even the most carefully laid plans.

  On top of that, Tarzak, the biggest troll in Gratuga at well over seven-feet-tall, had surprised everyone by demanding the chance to challenge the sun. Regretfully, however, he was also one of the dumbest.

  When Jaren joined them, Balzekior, Zarimora, Merimar and six female guards were surrounding Tarzak outside the entrance on a hilltop overlooking the valley. Except for the old witch, the females were carrying large axes and keeping a close watch on the giant troll. After waiting all night for this, they weren’t about to tolerate Tarzak having any second thoughts. One way or another, Zarimora had told the guards, she wanted him outside when the sun came up.

  “Keep your face, hands and feet covered by the cloak,” Zarimora advised.

  “I don’t fear the sun,” Tarzak boasted.

  Looking up at the giant troll who was almost a foot taller, Zarimora shook her head in disbelief but said nothing.

  “What are they doing,” Tarzak asked, looking down the hill at the female guards visible in the moonlight. Each was carrying a large, extremely sharp, double-bladed axe while patrolling along the edge of the woods.

  “Nothing,” Zarimora lied, knowing she’d stationed them there. Should the giant troll attempt to escape the sunrise, these guards were under orders to keep him from reaching the protective cover of the trees.

  “I want something to eat, I’m hungry,” Tarzak complained.

  “Not until we’re done,” Zarimora said firmly.

  “I could eat him,” Tarzak said, pointing at Jaren.

  “No.”

  Stooping down a little and putting his face close to hers, he said, “If I can’t have breakfast, I’m not helping you.”

  Wielding the flat side of her double-bladed axe like a club, Zarimora slammed it against the side of Tarzak’s head. The giant stumbled a few steps, his legs almost buckling, but being as strong as he was dumb, Tarzak quickly shook off the blow and glared at his assailant while swinging at Zarimora with all his might.

  Easily dodging the fist, she circled the giant troll and said, “I’d reconsider that last statement if I were you.”

  “I want breakfast!” the huge troll shouted.

  “Not now,” Zarimora said quietly, her subdued response being even more threatening than if she’d shouted back.

  Instantly alert, Merimar gripped her axe tighter knowing that Zarimora never became this calm unless she was getting ready to strike.

  But ignorant of the danger and furious over her steadfast refusals, Tarzak lunged at Zarimora grabbing her left arm, pulling her close and shouting, “Be thankful I don’t want you for breakfast!”

  “Why eat if you can’t swallow?” Zarimora asked, ripping a knife from its sheath and slashing his throat.

  With a wild-eyed look of disbelief on his face and blood streaming down his chest, Tarzak put both hands over the gaping wound and stumbled a few steps towards Zarimora, then dropped to his knees and fell face forward onto the ground.

  “What now?” Merimar asked, nudging the giant troll with her foot wanting to be sure he was dead.

  Shrugging off the incident, Zarimora strode back inside the entrance, went up to the first male she saw, held her bloody knife to his throat and said, “Come outside with me.”

  Dragging him through the doorway, she shoved him forcefully towards the dead troll and said, “Put that cloak on.”

  “But it’s covered with blood.”

  “So what? It’s his blood not yours, but that could be arranged,” Zarimora said, flicking her knife at the troll’s cheekbone, nicking it with the tip of her blade.

  Wrapping the wet cloak around himself as quickly as possible, he began shivering but not from being cold. Zarimora’s reputation for savage cruelty was so established in Gratuga that every male gave her a wide berth, and the females, for whom she had more tolerance, feared her almost as much.

  “Put your back to the sun, keep your hood up and your hands covered,” Zarimora warned. “Everyone else, except for Jaren, get back inside.”

  “What’s he doing out here?” the male troll asked.

  “Nothing, if we’re lucky,” Zarimora said, striding through the entrance and slamming the door behind her.

  “No wait!” he shouted, beating on the thick wooden door with his fists.

  Sitting a few yards away, Jaren was looking at the eastern mountains while holding his breath and thinking, If the sun doesn’t kill this troll, then humans are in serious trouble.

  Facing the entrance, the male troll couldn’t see the sun peeking over the mountains, painting the sky with brilliant colors and touching his cloak with the first rays of early morning light. But Jaren saw what was happening, and the implications horrified him.

  Soon, trolls will be roaming far from Gratuga, but to where? Not as far away as Coldstream Village? Not that great a distance? Jaren asked himself, frightened that Zorya and Raven’s lives might be at risk.

  Beginning to panic, he thought, Yes, trolls are terrorizing the countryside back home but not in the huge numbers that would come pouring out of Gratuga. And up until now, trolls haven’t exhibited the intelligence necessary to overrun the stockades protecting villages like Coldstream and Woodcliff. Yet Zarimora and Balzekior could plan the attacks and change all that.

  What am I doing here? I should be home protecting my family, Jaren thought, furious with himself for running away after his face was burned. But in a moment another thought struck him, an inspiration of sorts, What if I memorized the entire layout of Gratuga, all the caverns and passageways? Then, I’d be escaping with not only my life but with knowledge. Yet how can I escape? he asked himself, looking at the heavy chains attached to his wrists and ankles.

  However, if I did escape and did have valuable information about the enemy, whom would I tell it to? Who would even know what to do with such information? But then, the man with the ravaged face set such a concern aside.

  Jaren was very determined once he put his mind to something. And now, what he wanted most was to get away. But with trolls guarding the edge of the forest below, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere today. However, he told himself, I’ll find a way to get home soon.

  As the sun slowly rose above the eastern mountains, Jaren’s attention shifted back to the cavern entrance where he saw the male troll’s shadow being projected onto the wooden door.

  “The sun’s up, and your troll’s not dead,” Jaren shouted to the female trolls inside.

  Immediately, the door swung open and a dozen females stepped outside wearing hooded black cloaks. On the hilltop outside the entrance, Zarimora stood with her back to the sun feeling no discomfort whatsoever. The other troll females were experiencing no adverse effects either.

  “With the freedom these cloaks give us, we’ll overrun human villages and take hundreds of prisoners,” Zarimora said. “Then after enlarging Gratuga . . . who knows?”

  “While slaves are working on Gratuga, you should also have some building outposts as staging areas to strike deeper into human territory,” Balzekior suggested.

  “Excellent, we’ll strike at their very center, but where’s that.

  “To be precise, Woodcliff Village near Dead Man’s Mountain.”

  “And what’s an outpost?”


  “A tiny version of Gratuga,” Balzekior explained. “But first, I’ll teach you about using ladders and tunnels to breach stockade walls. We’ll go over the stockades and under them.”

  “Breaching walls? That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

  “Not if we use ladders.”

  “Whatever they are, we don’t have any.”

  Balzekior bent over laughing and said, “No wonder trolls have never conquered a village before.”

  “Maybe you’re right, but that doesn’t matter because now I’m going to enslave them all,” Zarimora proclaimed, embracing the old witch, lifting her up and spinning around as both of them laughed.

  Merimar shifted nervously, uncomfortable that Zarimora seemed to trust this old witch so quickly and so completely. What do we really know about her? she asked herself, but the big female troll decided to keep silent about her doubts, at least until she could gather proof of Balzekior’s treachery.

  “The time of trolls has arrived,” Balzekior said, smiling at Zarimora. But seeing the concern on Merimar’s face, the old crone thought, I hope I’m not going to have trouble with her.

  “Yes it has, with your help,” Zarimora agreed.

  “Warlord Zarimora! That’s your new title!”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Destroy every village, burn them to the ground,” Balzekior said with a wicked grin, hoping Zarimora’s public acceptance would put her on the road to becoming the most influential person in Gratuga, next to the warlord herself.

  “Start making cloaks from the cloth Balzekior brought us,” Zarimora ordered her guards as she savored her new role, somehow appearing taller and exuding enormous energy and even greater authority.

  “And when that’s done?” Merimar asked, impressed by Zarimora’s sudden transformation and feeling herself being swept up in the excitement of the moment.

  “We attack!” Warlord Zarimora shouted.

  “Attack! Attack! Attack!” the female trolls all yelled, holding their axes over their heads.

  “Enslave the humans!” Balzekior shouted.