“There are no accidents, Tormara. Everything prepares us for what is to come next. That is the way it has always been.”
“Heroes are not influenced by the wills of the gods, Guilda. You know that as well as anyone. They are pure chaos and I would have them on their way before any more damage is done.”
Limmy stands quiet beside me, the quietest I have ever seen him. Even at such a young age, he knows more about troll customs than I do.
Chief Rizza raises her hand, and the debate ceases.
“Before you left, I promised to reward you with anything within my power if you completed the quest. You have succeeded. Now it is time to claim your reward.”
The wyrm adjusts itself beneath the throne. How in the hell am I supposed to kill it without making the chief irate?
“Chod?” she asks again.
“You know you have to kill the wyrm, right?”
“I have to do no such thing. It will one day be a great and powerful protector of our village.” She reaches out her hand and the wyrm uncoils, rising to rub its head against her palm.
“It’s what blocked the ley lines. It’s the reason there is a regional event. The thing is infused with mana and attracted to magical energy. That’s probably why it came to the forest. If you allow it to live, then it will breed and sooner or later, this will all happen again.” They can’t really be so obtuse to think that keeping a violent monster as a pet is a good idea, can they? “Jira, back me up here.”
I turn to face the shaman, thinking he may at least be thinking rationally.
“I’m sorry, Chod, but I stand with the chief. For too long, we have been hated and oppressed, forced to hide away from the men that would do us harm for nothing more than the color of our skin and the tusks on our faces. Let the humans destroy the rest, but this one, it is ours, and it may one day be the difference in our survival or extinction.”
“And what if it cuts off your magic again? What if it rises up and kills you?”
“How is it you know so little of troll ways?” asks Tormara. “Were you raised on an island?”
“Enough, Tormara. There is no need to worry about the wyrm.” Chief Rizza stands and the wyrm rises next to her, equaling her height. “We are bound and the wyrm will do as I command. Now, Chod, tell me what you would have of me.”
I don’t know. I could ask her to kill the wyrm. Would she honor that? It seems like such a waste if there was actually a way for me to convince her on my own. Would she really hand over the village to me if I said that’s what I wanted? I really have no desire to rule, but I've done too much to just stand by and watch them destroy themselves. And what did she mean about me not knowing troll ways? What am I missing here?
“Can I have more time?” It’s the only rational solution to make sure I get this right.
“Very well. You may have one day. If you do not request your reward within the next twenty-four hours, then it is forfeit. Jira, show him to his quarters for the night.”
I don’t get it. She was so welcoming last time I was here. It was like I was the savior of the village that they had all been waiting for, but now it feels like I’m the outsider Gord claimed on day one. Is the magic having this effect on them or had they lost so much hope that an outsider was all they had to believe in?
Jira leads Limery and me away from the council area and back to the village. The glowing flower bulbs make the village feel alive as we walk.
“You will be staying here tonight.” He stops in front of a small hut.
“What am I missing about the wyrm? Why is no one else worried about it destroying the village?”
He raises an eyebrow at me, but then motions into the hut. “Step inside.”
The inside of the hut is warm and welcoming. Vines adorned with tiny glowing berries run along the ceiling like Christmas lights. Branches form a bed layered with living leaves that looks incredibly comfortable. There is a small table against an open window that has shutters that open and close, all made out of living foliage. A small bush grows from the wall, ripe with berries. Limery picks one off and tosses it in his mouth, mumbling something about how good it is. This all has to be crafted with magic somehow. If not, it would take years to bend each individual piece into the correct shape. And to do that for every hut, the manpower it would take would leave time for nothing else. I for certain want to learn how it is done, but first I want to understand what the chief meant.
We take a seat, and Jira pulls the shutters closed.
“She’s right, you know,” says Jira, his red eyes boring into my own.
“Who?”
“Tormara. You know so very little about our culture, yet it is undeniable that you are one of us. Well, it was.” He looks down at my arms and hands, my blue skin so different from his own. “You know the seaside trolls are the only ones with blue skin, but they don’t glow quite like you do. They’re much smaller, too. If you were raised a troll, or rather, raised by female trolls, you would know of their inborn ability to bind with creatures that most other societies view as monsters. Once they bond, they bond for life, until one or the other dies. A mental connection forms between them, one that remains no matter how far they are separated.”
“Then why don’t all of the women bond?” I ask.
“It is not always an easy task. The creature must first be subdued. Once that happens, a bonding of blood must take place. All of this while not dying to the creature. Chief Rizza is lucky to have found a newborn.”
Newborn…yeah, seven feet tall and loves to snuggle. I can see why it’s not worth the risk for most.
“And the men, it’s not possible?”
“No, most were blessed with great strength only and the ability to go into a powerful rage. It’s the women who have the high intellect. I’d be lying if I said I trust the temperament of most males to control a bond.”
I agree with that. The last thing we need is Gord running around with a fully-grown wyrm at his beck and call.
“If women have higher intellect, does that mean that if they went through the same process that I did, that they would have stronger powers?”
“Perhaps, but they do not have the constitution that you have. That much raw magic would surely rip them apart.”
There’s always a catch. The ones who could use this power best are not strong enough to survive getting it.
“You know we cannot complete the regional quest while the wyrm still lives, right?”
“Indeed, but that does not mean you can’t save the island. Chief Rizza’s wyrm will not breed, it is one of the consequences of the bond. If not for this, the trolls would never have been forced into hiding to begin with.”
“How do I save the island then?”
He stands and smiles. “I will leave that for you to figure out.”
As he walks to the door, I call out one last time. “Jira, one last thing. Will you show me how trolls control the magic?”
“Tomorrow.” He half-smiles before leaving.
I think about Jira’s words long after he leaves. Limery curls up at the foot of the bed and goes to sleep. Soft snores fill the hut as I’m left to ponder my future.
How can I save the island without completing the quest? The other players are already out hunting the wyrms, what will they do if they reach the last one and find out that it is here?
I already know the answer to that. By allowing the wyrm to live, the trolls are dooming themselves.
No, ourselves. I am one of them. It doesn’t matter if my skin is green or blue, I went on the quest because I believed in these people. They might not be perfect. Hell, they suffer from many of the same flaws that humans do—pride, arrogance, anger—but that doesn’t make them monsters.
Or maybe I’m looking at it all wrong. Who gets to decide that being a monster is a bad thing?
I know what I want for my reward.
* * *
I’m awakened the next morning to the clatter of wooden clubs. The troll children run through the villa
ge, beating each other as they duck, roll, and otherwise tumble around learning the ways of battle.
Limery flies out into the chaos, juggling fireballs above their heads. The children laugh at his antics until the instructor comes over.
“Excuse me, Chod,” she says. Even though she is female, she is seasoned from battle. Scars run down her dark green arms, making her look like a tiger in places, and one stretches across the entirety of her face. Her hair is pulled into two ox-horn buns on the side of her head. I’m sure I’m about to be reprimanded for Limery’s behavior.
“Yes?”
“My name is Ismora. I train the children during the day, but I have also fought many battles for our village. I have heard that you are a great warrior yourself, that you raise demons from thin air. I just wanted to say thank you for bringing magic back to our village. For protecting the little ones.”
“Uh, you’re welcome.”
“Thank you to your little one as well. I can tell he has the heart of a warrior.”
Limery continues tossing his fireballs as the children watch, then he catches one in each hand and slams them into the third, making an even bigger fireball that vanishes into the air. The children laugh with delight.
“I see you are providing entertainment now,” Chief Rizza says from over my shoulder.
I turn to see her with the wyrm following close beside her. She’s smiling, at least. The wyrm licks at the air and watches me with its icy blue eyes.
“I have decided on my reward,” I say.
Ismora nods to the chief and leaves to rejoin her students.
“Let it wait for now. There is something I want to show you first. There is no doubt you have taken in some of the changes to the village since your return, but I want to show you why it was so important to clear the obstruction. What it really means to our people.”
Limery joins me and we follow her to the village center, where several of the other council members, along with Jira, stand around what looks like a well. To one side, pigs roast over an open flame in one hut and a woman tans leather in another. When we arrive, Jira removes the lid that covers the well and a dull blue glow can be seen coming from inside.
“This is the fountain of our village. It is one of very few wells on the entire island that tap into the ley lines directly. They were formed long ago, long before the trolls were hated. When we all simply roamed the lands. A new well has not been created in many years. Most of the humans do not understand their true power, because they are not able to touch or control raw magic. It has the power to rip through their very flesh. There are those, the imps being one of them, who have managed to pull a fraction of the magic’s power from the air around magical areas and harness it, but even they cannot do this.”
A chain goes down into the well. Jira turns a crank and it slowly pulls up, the glow growing brighter as it does. When the crank will turn no more, a bucket filled with bright blue energy, the same energy that passed through the ground when I fought the wyrm, sways back and forth.
Chief Rizza reaches into the bucket and cups some of the energy in her hands. It jiggles like slime but doesn’t spill. She walks over to a tree and gently forces the energy into its bark. When it’s gone, she presses her hands to the tree and closes her eyes.
The tree shakes momentarily, its roots rumbling the earth and its leaves swishing far above. As quickly as it started, the tree moves no more.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Tell your friend to throw a fireball at the tree. The biggest one he can make.”
“Is okay, Chods?” Limery’s eyes radiate concern.
“Give it your best shot,” I say.
Limery flies from my shoulder to the ground about twenty yards from the tree. He looks back at me as he takes his position, and I nod for him to go ahead. He gives a small bow to the chief, then turns towards the tree.
A small fireball erupts in his hand. He pushes both hands together and the fireball grows between them, doubling and then tripling in size. He raises his hands over his head and the fireball grows even larger, until it is bigger than he is. The air around the fire is distorted to the point that I don’t know how Limery is even controlling it.
With a flick of his wrist, the fireball erupts from his hands and soars toward the tree. It sends nearby leaves up in smoke before colliding with the tree in an explosion of fire and smoke.
The smoke dissipates and I expect the tree to be charred, thinking that the magic might help it heal faster, but the tree isn’t damaged at all. The grass and leaves beneath the fireball’s path are singed, but the tree itself is undamaged.
“How?”
“Magic.” She smiles.
That fireball probably could have dropped me for half my health, maybe even more, and yet the tree looks like nothing happened.
“We have the power to infuse mana into living objects. If the object accepts our will, then it may continue to pull magic from the ground itself until no more magic remains. We can’t infuse weapons or non-living items; only certain mages may do that. Animals are tough because they very rarely accept our will and can only use the magic we infuse in them, unable to replenish it from the earth, but plants, they love anything that will make them stronger.”
“How do you do it, though?”
“Come, let me show you.”
She leads me to the well and dips her hands in the bucket of swirling energy.
“Hold your hands out,” she orders.
I cup my hands and she pours the energy into mine. It’s hot, but it doesn’t burn. Hot like a bath that’s not quite ready. The kind you can put your feet in for two or three seconds but then it starts to hurt. Except this doesn’t hurt. It’s like being constantly on the edge of hurting, definitely not a pleasant feeling.
“Now, pick a tree.”
Looking around, I try to find a tree that suits me. I settle on a small but sturdy maple, not much bigger than I am.
“Now, try to focus your mind and pour the magic into the tree.”
I do as she says, and the tree absorbs the magic like a sponge.
“Good, now place your hands on the tree, close your eyes and feel the tree within your hands. When you do, impart your will upon the tree. It will let you know if what you wish is possible.”
When I close my eyes, I feel something reach out to me. Another presence, but entirely inhuman. It’s like I can feel the tree’s energy in the blackness. There’s nothing there, but at the same time, something very special. I try to do what Chief Rizza says, focusing my intention on the tree before me. I go crazy at first, willing it to uproot itself and walk, but I’m met with a forcefield of resistance in the darkness.
Something simpler, then. A shield perhaps. I focus on the tree using its branches and leaves as a shield, protecting it from anything that might harm it. This time, there is no resistance and the tree accepts my offer.
Congratulations! You have unlocked the skill ‘Magical Infusion.’ You are now a level 1 Infuser (Novice). Increase your skill and learn advanced techniques for working magical infusion by finding an advanced infuser (Apprentice or above). Crafting Ranks: Novice, Apprentice, Journeyman, Expert, Artisan, Master, Grandmaster.
I open my eyes and look to the chief for confirmation.
“Well?” she says.
“Well, what?”
“See if it worked.”
I feel stupid doing it, but I pick up a rock and toss it at the tree. I don’t use my axe just in case it doesn’t work and I kill the tree. Just as the rock is about to hit the tree, several of the tree’s branches move with blazing speed and block the projectile. It’s almost like the branch has an invisible forcefield around it, because the branches aren’t even damaged.
“Wow. This is amazing.”
“It truly is. And we have you to thank for it. Now, tell me, Chod. What is your reward?”
As I lay in bed last night, I kept thinking about Jira’s words and about the trolls. Even though I’ve helped them the best I
could, I haven’t really embraced their culture, embraced my new culture. I’ve treated this game like every other, content to fight and level, assuming that humans are the main race and that nothing could be done to counter that.
It doesn’t have to be that way. I’ve been given an opportunity to make the trolls relevant, to make them powerful.
“I want two things. One, I want to become a citizen of the village, with a seat on the council to have my voice heard in all council decisions.”
Tormara and the other women shake their heads and whisper among themselves.
“And secondly?”
“I want to take a party of women to hunt down the remaining wyrms.”
“What makes you think that I would allow that?” She crosses her arms, but behind her, I can see Jira’s eyes light up.
“Because I want them to bond together so that if the humans attack again, we can wipe them from the map.”
23. Beggars Can't be Choosers
Tormara stares at me from across the council area. Her red hair blazes vibrantly against the white flowers that bloom from the headrest of her chair. I don’t know if she is angry or intrigued by my request to form a party in an attempt to bond the remaining wyrms to the women of the troll village.
“The humans have already killed one mana-infused wyrm. Limery and I slew two others. Taking away the one Chief Rizza has already bonded with, that leaves sixteen. We don’t know where they went, all we know is that they are attracted to magical areas. We’ll be racing against time to find them before the humans as it is, so I think we should get a group together as soon as possible.”
“How many trolls do you require on your adventure?” asks Chief Rizza. Her wyrm lies coiled beneath her feet. “It is not often we send our people outside of the forest, but the cause is worthy of the risk. I have no false hope that we will bond with all of the wyrms, but even one can turn the tides of battle when fully grown.”
Sentenced to Troll Page 15
