The Troll-Human War

by Leah R. Cutter

  “Stop!” he commanded at the next beast who was about to take a swipe at Christine. “Stop!”

  The beast shook its head in surprise as it banked and rose up in the air again.

  A second one of the Longians aborted its run.

  “Look, we just want to talk,” Dennis said.

  “Why should we talk with you, human?” asked one of the bigger Longians. It had a purple snout and white and black scales, and looked older than some of the others, some of the spikes on its tail sheared.

  “We came to admire your great work,” Dennis said, indicating the statues around him. “And to maybe commission a piece.”

  “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” the Longian demanded, flowing down to the ground and landing on his bottom limbs, balancing with his tail. His torso rose up at least fourteen feet from the ground.

  “Because you were too busy attacking?” Christine growled.

  “You’re a troll. What do you know of art?” the Longian sneered.

  “Don’t answer that,” Dennis warned his sister.

  Christine snapped her jaw tight, not saying anything, though her glare spoke volumes.

  “My name’s Dennis,” he said, nodding at the Longian.

  “Du Ko,” the Longian said in reply. “How did you hear of our sculptures? Though some of our artists are quite shy about advertising,” he paused and glared at the bright yellow beast who landed bedside him, “I’ve been doing my best to get the word out.”

  “Oh, here and there,” Dennis said. “You know, the Kalickium are quite jealous.”

  Though Dennis had no idea if the Kalickium had ever even heard of the Longians, it was a safe bet, as the Kalikium appeared to be jealous of just about everyone.

  Du Ko preened. “Of course they are!” he said. “Their art forms really haven’t developed much beyond primitive.”

  Dennis wasn’t certain if Du Ko showing all his teeth counted as a big beaming smile, but Dennis had been around enough of the kith and kin to recognize a happy being.

  “So what can you tell me about these pieces?” Dennis said, gesturing toward the first one.

  “I would be delighted to give you a tour, although…” Du Ko paused as he looked around the rest of the room. “How about this?”

  Dennis could recognize a deal about to be struck as well as anyone else.

  “Why doesn’t each artist come and explain their work to you? Then, when they’re all finished, you can choose the artist you want to work with for your commissioned piece,” Du Ko said.

  “Only as long as I get to take selfies with each artist,” Dennis said. “In front of their work.”

  “Of course!” Du Ko said. “That’s an excellent idea!”

  At least three-fourths of the races Dennis met with liked having their pictures taken. Particularly selfies, with him at the center. Most of the time the pictures disappeared off Dennis’s phone as soon as he got home, but sometimes they’d reappear again once he went to one of the places that catered to the kith and kin.

  He’d never be able to show off his grand collection of photographs. He was actually quite proud of many of them. They represented the hard work he’d done, bringing the kith and kin over to Christine’s side, to fight in the war.

  It didn’t feel like work most of the time, schmoozing all the various beings, going out drinking with them, or even the one time he’d gone bowling with that group of orcs. (The human game lost something in translation, or so he’d been told, by using merely balls and not the polished skulls of your enemies.)

  Still, Christine told Dennis regularly just how important his work was, how much it meant to her.

  And now—time to listen to a bunch of artists brag about their work.

  He supposed it would be better than sitting through yet another annual report meeting for his day job.

  It turned out that most artists didn’t have a clue how to talk about their work, Human or Otherwise. Dennis had gone from wanting to gnaw his own arm off for a distraction to actively imagining killing the Longian standing beside him.

  Christine was so going to owe Dennis big time after this.

  Most of the artists had basically said, “It’s a sculpture. It’s pretty. I made it.”

  And that was it.

  Others droned on and on about how the wind on the rock had inspired them, or how this curve reminded them of sleekness of their mate’s wings, or even how the sculpture was supposed to capture that moment of surprise when an enemy turned on you.

  This last artist, however, had decided to give a blow by blow description of every single influence that had struck him, how turning his sculpting knife from this side to that had created that last curve, how modern and sensible and yet expressive every line was.

  At least Dennis had perfected the art of yawning with his mouth closed, all the while making appreciative and encouraging noises.

  Finally, Du Ko came to Dennis’s rescue. “That’s very interesting, Kai Shan,” he boomed. “I think that the human has a good enough idea of your style to be able to make a choice.”

  Actually, Dennis had made his choice long ago. The first piece had turned out to be Du Ko’s work, and he’d actually been good at describing how it represented the three branches of wisdom—fighting, flying, and meditation—and how they got cut off before reaching fruition by death.

  “You’ve made my decision very difficult,” Dennis lied. He caught the eye of a couple of the artists, nodding in their direction. “However, I believe that the artist who is going to be most capable of capturing my vision is Du Ko.”

  The other Longians all clapped politely. Some only used their upper two hands, while a few actually seemed enthusiastic and clapped using two or three sets of hands.

  Either that, or they were just suck-ups.

  “Wonderful! Wonderful!” Du Ko said. He gave a sharp nod to the other Longians. One by one, they all departed, up through the center hole.

  Then Du Ko turned to cast a dark eye on Christine. She’d been chatting with one of the other Longians, showing off her ax and comparing fighting techniques.

  “The creation of art is always a private matter,” Du Ko said slowly. “A holy bond not entered into lightly between the muse,”—here he indicated Dennis—“and the artist.”

  Dennis nodded. “I feel the same way. But this is my sister. And my patron, as it’s her gold paying for your work.” They hadn’t started bargaining yet over price—Dennis figured they’d get to that once they figured out what the work entailed.

  “Your sister, eh?” Du Ko said. He rubbed the underside of his chin with one hand. “You have an interesting history, particularly for a human,” he concluded after a moment. “And a keen eye for the arts. And while I was of course flattered that you chose me for your artist, I have now decided to choose you, as well, for my muse.”

  “Ah, thanks,” Dennis said. He had the feeling that he was entering into a much longer-term relationship than he’d bargained for.

  But hey, maybe that meant that he’d be able to recruit the Longians for Christine’s armies at some point.

  “So what exactly did you have in mind?” Du Ko asked. He paced around Dennis, looking at all sides of him.

  Dennis didn’t really like feeling like a piece of beef. However, he knew this was where it was going to get tricky.

  “Me,” he said.

  Du Ko nodded. “I’d already assumed that you were the model,” he said dryly. “Anything in particular, though?”

  Dennis glanced over at Christine, who shrugged.

  “My torso,” Dennis proclaimed.

  “Show me,” Du Ko said, waving his hand at Dennis, indicating that Dennis should take off his shirt.

  Damn it. Dennis was just going to have to wear this shirt some other time, when it wasn’t either going to be covered up with armor or crumpled on the floor.

  Wait. That came out wrong.

  Dennis lifted up his shirt and took it off. He had some muscles from playing racketball
, though he’d let that slide recently. And he’d been drinking too much with the kith and kin, recruiting them for Christine’s armies. He hadn’t gotten out all summer, so all his skin was pasty white. Not that his skin allowed him to tan. He’d always envied Christine her ability to do that when they’d been kids. Not that he’d ever told her that.

  The Longian nodded as he stared at Dennis, his black eyes intent on Dennis’s skin.

  Dennis fought the impulse to cross his arms over his chest and instead put his fists on his hips. He tried to flex his muscles, but that just made him hunch his back.

  Sure, he was a pasty white guy. Not in the best of shape. And he really didn’t like having to stand there and be looked at by one of the kith and kin who’d admitted that he found humans a pretty tasty dish, when cooked properly, of course.

  “I’m assuming this is a private sculpture?” Du Ko asked after he’d walked around Dennis a few more times.

  Dennis suddenly saw his opening. “It isn’t, actually,” he said. “This is part of an installation piece that is going to be given to the troops.”

  “Part of a larger body of work?” Du Ko asked. He sounded hopeful.

  “Exactly,” Dennis said. “Now, I can’t guarantee the placement of your piece, particularly since I haven’t seen it yet. However, if it comes out as spectacular as I’m assuming it will, it will be the centerpiece.”

  He wasn’t about to try to explain how it would actually be part of the assembled obelisk of truth.

  “When will it be unveiled?” Du Ko said.

  Dennis could tell that the artist was already considering how to turn the opening into a marketing event.

  “Sorry, it won’t be a public public showing,” Dennis explained. “It’s just going to be for the troops of the kith and kin who have allied themselves with Christine. Princess Kizalynn Linumok Te’Dur. My sister.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Du Ko said, turning to suddenly stare at Christine.

  Christine bristled in response, though Dennis could tell she was trying to keep it down. At least she wasn’t growling. Yet.

  Finally, Du Ko nodded. “I remember now. You were raised as a changeling, correct?”

  Christine nodded.

  “Hence, your brother,” he said, indicating Dennis with his middle set of hands.

  Christine nodded again.

  “Princess, it will be my honor to sculpt the torso of your brother,” Du Ko said.

  “Thank you,” Christine said.

  Dennis could see the wheels turning inside Du Ko’s head, wondering how he could turn this onetime gig into a permanent thing. He could already see Du Ko creating new business cards, ones that said Royal Sculptor on them.

  Yup. This was definitely going to be a thing.

  Now, they just had to settle the details.

  Dennis let Du Ko and Christine bargain with each other regarding price and materials. Dennis hadn’t been raised to bargain—he was an American, so he generally accepted whatever price was listed on an item. Since a lot of the places he went to were run by the kith and kin and didn’t have any prices listed at all, he’d had to learn. He’d also had to get good at it rather quickly, or he would have been spending half his paycheck every week on those he was supposedly recruiting.

  Still, watching Christine in action was educational. She was apparently a natural when it came to driving a hard bargain. Probably her trollish nature coming to the forefront, along with her natural contrariness.

  He was concerned at the first insult thrown between them, how Christine referred to Du Ko as an insect not fit for stepping on and Du Ko told Christine that he was surprised that, as a troll, Christine even understood that insects weren’t just for eating.

  Back and forth they went, until finally they reached an agreement.

  Dennis would have to come back twice to sit for his piece. Du Ko would deliver the statue to the human plane in one week’s time. Christine would deliver half the gold now, and the other half when the statue was complete.

  Du Ko would create the portal for Dennis, though Christine had bargained hard for Du Ko to come to the human plane to do his work. However, the artist had insisted that his studio would produce the best results, and he would not be budged.

  Finally, the bargaining was finished. Christine brought out a trunk of gold from one of the pocket spaces she’d fashioned for herself.

  What, had she already had that planned? Was she used to carrying around trunks of gold? What else did she have stashed?

  Then Dennis shook his head. He didn’t want to know. That was the same dark rabbit hole as asking a woman what she carried in her purse.

  Only when Dennis and Christine were finally back at her place on the human plane did Christine turn on Dennis. “Just what were you thinking? Taking off your armor? Showing your skin that way? You could have been killed!”

  Dennis took a step back, surprised by the vehemence of her anger. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said. “They would have killed you.”

  “Or they would have killed you,” Christine growled at him. “You didn’t need to go to such an extreme.”

  “Yes, I did,” Dennis said. “They wouldn’t have respected anything less.”

  Christine growled low and deep in her throat. “They would have eventually respected my ax,” she said.

  Dennis sighed. “No, they wouldn’t have. You could have killed all of them and then only more would have come. Death wasn’t the way to get their attention.”

  Christine blew out her breath, obviously frustrated. “There must have been some other way. Not this stupidity. Just a single claw strike would have killed you.”

  “They weren’t paying any attention to me,” Dennis pointed out. “And you’ve told me before that winning the war isn’t just about fighting.”

  Christine seemed to deflate at that. She transformed down, changing out of her full troll body into something that was an amalgamation of troll and human. Just a bit larger than Dennis, with more human girl curves but still a troll snout and tusks. “I didn’t like it,” she said, wanting to make her point.

  “I understand that,” Dennis said. “I can’t, however, guarantee that I won’t do it again.”

  “But why?” Christine asked, her rage boiling up again. “Why sacrifice yourself?”

  Dennis shrugged. He’d never really considered it before. He just knew in his gut that he would.

  Dennis wasn’t really a contemplative kind of guy. He’d been accused of being as shallow as a mud puddle. Maybe the war had changed him as well. Maybe losing the kith and kin who he’d befriended had changed him.

  The air in Christine’s underground warren grew heavy with expectation. Dennis knew he had to answer his sister’s question.

  “If you lose, if the kith and kin end up allying themselves with the demons, all of humanity is lost, at least until the next turn of the wheel,” Dennis said slowly. “My death will be worth it, if it will prevent that.”

  Christine paced away from him. Her posture was stretched tight, her hands at her side, clenching and unclenching.

  “I wish I could order you away from the war,” Christine said softly. “I wish I hadn’t dragged you into it. You’re supposed to be safe.”

  “But you wouldn’t be this far along without me,” Dennis pointed out. Or at least that was what she’d told him more than once.

  Christine kept her back to him, but she nodded. “Without your efforts, the kith and kin would have already fallen.”

  He didn’t know what that admission had cost her, but he knew that it hurt.

  “Look, Sis, I don’t plan on sacrificing myself. I have no death wish, believe me,” Dennis said sincerely. He knew that there was an element of a lie at the very bottom of his words. On the bad nights, he might have considered ending it all. But the bad nights didn’t come anywhere near as often now.

  “But I also have a job to do,” Dennis continued. “An important one. One that I’m good at, and that I actually like doing.” He
hadn’t really thought about it before, but he realized that statement was more truthful than the previous one.

  Christine finally looked at him over her shoulder, giving him a sly grin. “So once the war is over, should I hire you as head of my PR department?”

  Dennis shrugged. “Or you could hire me now,” he said.

  Christine blinked, then nodded. “Done,” she said.

  Now it was Dennis’s turn to take a step back, surprised. “You serious?” he asked.

  Christine shrugged. “You’ve been working part time for me for a while, now. May as well make it official.”

  Dennis grinned at her. It actually felt like the right thing to do. Still, he had to say something. “That might make me more of a target,” he warned.

  Christine shrugged. “This is a hard truth, Dennis, that I’m willing to share with you and no one else. If we lose, yes, you’ll be among those first killed. That is actually a good thing.” Christine gave an expressive shudder. “Hell on earth will no longer merely be an expression. I would rather that you and the rest of my human family didn’t have to live through that.”

  Dennis nodded. He knew that intellectually. However, the way Christine had just said it had driven the point home.

  “In the meanwhile,” Christine said, rounding on Dennis, “you have to promise me that you’ll try harder not to be killed. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Dennis said easily. He really wasn’t seeking his own death.

  Particularly not now, when a whole new future appeared to be opening up before him.

  Du Ko hadn’t allowed Dennis to see the sculpture while it was still a work in progress.

  However, the artist had finally declared it finished, and both Dennis and Christine had been invited to Du Ko’s studio for the great unveiling.

  The studio had turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. It existed in a pocket plane, on a world filled with huge trees that had long, knifelike leaves. Du Ko had built a small wooden platform strung between four of the trunks. The walls were all wood, polished to a golden, warm hue. Windows lined each side, giving Du Ko different light, at least according to him. (Dennis never saw sunlight—all light appeared to be filtered through various levels of leaves.) A long platform lay under one window, where Du Ko had Dennis stretch out on his side.