“Magic, hah. Magic will not save you.” She stands up and walks over to the edge of the dock, gazing into the clear blue water. Her navy braids sway in the breeze.
After a moment, she turns back towards us and spreads her arms wide. A fish jumps out of the water and wiggles through the air before splashing back into the sea. Then another does the same thing. After a few seconds, dozens of fish are diving out of the water in a beautiful arc.
“Tell me, girl, what good will this magic do on the battlefield? If we are attacked, then the seaside trolls will defend themselves, but we will not go marching to our doom. I will hear no more of it.”
“But he’s a hero. Chod, just show her your power. Once she see—”
“I said enough!” roars Chief Lida, and for the first time, I see the power that dwells within her. The power that makes her chief. Then and there, I know that the seaside trolls will have no part in whatever comes our way. “I have heard enough. When you are finished eating, take your belongings and be on your way. If you remain on our lands past nightfall, it will not be Imoko who comes for you this time.”
34. Blood Spills
“Why were you so adamant about convincing the chief to join our cause?” I ask Yashi as we walk along the coastline once more.
There was something about the way she pleaded with the chief that I just can’t shake. I’ve never seen her look so desperate.
The small troll twists the end of her black braid as we walk, her bow strapped across her back. Her wyrm stays close by, sensing her unrest. I am amazed at the change that they go through after bonding. There’s no training period or acclimation, almost like they can read each other’s thoughts. Maybe they can.
“I can see what is coming.” She stops walking, and so do I. “Everyone can see what is coming. Blood will be spilled before we are left in peace. If more of the undying ones come, how can we possibly stand a chance?”
I don’t know what to say. Am I going about this all wrong? Even though everything here feels real, I’ve still been treating this like a game in a lot of ways. Death doesn’t come for me the way it does for them. The trolls are so powerful, so strong, that I didn’t think for a minute that they might be afraid of dying. Maybe death isn’t what they are afraid of, but losing everything, their way of life. Chief Lida didn’t hesitate to protect her people. I could be leading them all to certain death, for all I know. If only there were another way, but with our reputations, there will be no option for peace unless we take it by force.
The only way to attain peace is by bloodshed. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“I’m sorry, Yashi. I know it’s unfair. At the end of the day, it’s you and the others who will pay the steepest price if this all goes south. I wish I could guarantee that everything will work out, that when the time comes, we will crush whoever opposes us and things will be far better than they were when I met you all, but I can’t do that. All I can promise is that I will do my best to make sure that no lives are needlessly lost. I’ll die a hundred times over if it means I can spare one troll.”
“That is more than enough,” says Gord.
Limery rides on his shoulder, conjuring tiny fireballs and flicking them into the air until they dissipate. Clad in his skeletal armor with the small red imp on his shoulder, Gord truly looks like a being from hell. “When you first came to the forest, on that night we were attacked, you offered to risk your own life in exchange for mine against the undying one. In that moment, I was too proud to accept your help. You were an outsider, and I had no reason to trust you. But now, I will gladly let you die for me.” Gord places his powerful hand on my shoulder.
Did he just crack an incredibly dry joke? There may be hope for him yet.
“I’m sorry, Chod.” Yashi straightens her back and puts her chin up. “I know we are doing what needs to be done, for the good of our future tribe, but we have not known a real war in a long time. Not in any of our lifetimes. Small battles, yes, but not the horrors of war.”
I pray it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, we must be ready.
Regional Event Alert! Richard Hummel, Ethan French, and Otis Wiggins have slain a mana-infused wyrm. 13/20 remaining. 11 days remaining.
That’s the first time three people have teamed up together. I don’t know if that means they are starting to work together more or if it is just coincidence. No doubt every one of them wants their shot at the regional event and the loot it provides. Even though the notification says thirteen, in reality, there are only ten wyrms still left in the wild. If the humans found out we had three wyrms, nothing would stop them from attacking the village.
We make camp for the night among a copse of trees. Right now, remaining hidden is the most important thing. While us trolls have Camouflage, the wyrms do not, so I have Tormara and Yashi order their pets to burrow underground for the night just in case anyone happens to stumble upon us. Ismora disappears in the shadows of night underneath her cloak, invisible to even our heightened senses.
I wake to another notification.
Regional Event Alert! Pressley Allen has slain a mana-infused wyrm. 12/20 remaining. 10 days remaining.
No one speaks a word when we wake up. Two more wyrms have been slain in the course of about eight hours, and I can’t help but think of how many adventuring parties must be out there. Eight have been slain by other heroes and not a single name has been repeated. Some of them must be traveling around with a group of NPCs like myself, but there is evidence that others have begun forming alliances. All the more reason to get to the next dungeon faster.
Even Limery can sense the unrest between us, because for once, he flies in silence overhead. The slain wyrms, combined with Yashi’s worries and the interaction with the seaside trolls, have put a heavy cloud over our party. I hope that clearing a dungeon may put it to rest.
By midday, we are near the next cluster of magical veins. If we find a wyrm here, then we can head back to the village without checking the last magical area.
The mountainous coastline morphs into more docile and friendly beaches that stretch on for miles. Crashing waves are replaced by a gentle purr. A mixture of palm trees and oaks with swooping branches line the forest where brightly-colored birds flutter through the canopy. Long strands of moss hang from the trees like cobwebs.
We make our way through the wooded area until a hand appears out of nowhere and Ismora emerges from the shadows, telling us to stop.
“Someone is here,” she whispers. “The dungeon must be close because I heard talking and then it just vanished.”
“How many people?” I ask.
“I don’t know. At least two, maybe more.”
“Okay, spread out. We need to find the entrance before they emerge.”
Ismora disappears into the shadows, Limery goes with Gord, and Tormara and Yashi stay together with their wyrms. I cast several horrors as quick as I can and set out in search of the entrance.
The forest is alive with sound, which is good for concealing our movement. Bugs chirp and birds caw. Nearby, something slithers through the tall thicket of grass. I wish we had a few more perception potions, but we haven’t resupplied since leaving Paltras Ruins.
As I do my best to sneak through the humid underbelly, there’s nothing that even remotely resembles a dungeon. Only trees, bushes, and more trees. Could Ismora have been wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time the forest has played tricks on the ears. I continue to cast horrors regardless, and soon, I have a small army at my disposal. I’m thankful for the cacophony of sound to muffle their murmuring. Far away, I can see the blue glistening skin of one of the wyrms as they search as well. If Ismora did hear voices, then the entrance has to be close.
A shrill shriek cuts through the forest, silencing the wildlife, and a bright beam of light explodes beneath the shady canopy. It takes me a moment before I realize it is Limery’s flare! Ismora must be in trouble. The blinding light burns white hot as I rush to see what the commotion is. Branches and limbs break off aga
inst my trampling body. I run with reckless abandon, panic throbbing with each powerful beat within my chest.
The flare fades and I find Ismora surrounded by a group of men, a dagger held to her throat. I count six well-armed men. Two of them clearly heroes by their garb. I focus on them and the names Jason Montoya and Lester Hobbes display. A wizard and a ranger, both level eighteen.
The names sound familiar. Pulling up my notification history, I see that they were the first group to slay a wyrm before Limery and I returned to the forest. They’ve been busy.
Ismora shouts as the men hold her captive, telling the rest of us to stay back, that we should take the wyrms and flee.
One of the foot soldiers has his dagger pressed to her throat. The blade of the dagger is black as night and a small skull adorns the pommel. Ismora towers over his body, causing him to have to reach up to apply pressure.
“Hey!” shouts the wizard. “If you don’t shut up, Raymond here is going to stick his knife all the way through your throat.”
Jason, the wizard, is clad in light green cloth armor with a red hood pulled over his head. Next to him, the ranger, Lester, wears similarly-colored attire. His armor is heavier, consisting of silver greaves and bracers, both shimmer with a green hue, and a studded leather vest. A cowl covers most of his face. He holds his bow at the ready, an arrow pointed out into the forest.
Beside the two heroes, there are three other soldiers, two clad in heavy armor holding shields, and another with light chainmail much like the one holding a knife to Ismora’s neck.
“She doesn’t understand what you are saying.” I try to remain as calm as I can as I say it. One, to hopefully keep them from doing anything stupid, and two, to keep any of my party members from escalating an already volatile situation.
The wizard licks his lips. “We’ve heard about you, Mister Troll. Yes, we have. A troll that can speak the common tongue is a rare find indeed. Even rarer, a hero troll. You’ve made quite the name for yourself with your regional events and murder and whatnot. Hasn’t he, Lester?”
“Oh, he definitely has, Jason. Definitely has. And now we find out that he not only started this whole thing, but he’s also collecting the wyrms for his own private collection. If we would have known it was possible, we wouldn’t have killed the first one.” He changes the position of his arrow toward where the others are standing, and fiery red tendrils extend down his fingers and wrap around the arrow. “Don’t be scared, honey. We see you. You and your little blue wyrms can come right on out. We’ve been watching you approach all day long, so no surprises.”
They must have some sort of buff or potion that is allowing them to see us in the forest.
“What is it you want?” I ask, casting another horror behind me so that they can’t see it.
“Experience, gold, women…” The wizard smirks at his comment and both men laugh. “Give us the wyrms, and we’ll let you go in peace.”
“We can’t do that. The wyrms are bonded.” Not that I trust a word they are saying.
“I don’t care if they’re bloody brother and sister. You give us the wyrms or the troll dies. And then you all die.”
My blood boils at their audacity. Ismora’s eyes are locked on me.
“They want us to give up the wyrms,” I know that the men can’t understand me when I talk to the other trolls. “Tormara and Yashi, they know you’re there. I don’t know what kind of abilities these men have, but they are higher level than us and they won’t hesitate to kill.”
“Take them and go!” roars Ismora. “For the good of our people. The wyrms are our tribe’s only hope.”
“There is no way we are leaving without you,” I counter, but I can see on her face that she has already given in. She doesn’t believe she will make it out of here alive.
“Enough of that gobbledygook,” says the wizard, licking his lips again. “Tell them to bring the wyrms.”
“They won’t obey you. They are bonded.”
“Let me handle that.” The way the ranger says it makes me feel like he has something up his sleeve. In other games, rangers sometimes have the ability to make pets or control low-intellect animals. Wyrms aren’t common forest creatures, though. “And while you’re at it, tell Mister Big Scary Skeleton and the others to drop their weapons.”
“They want you to drop your weapons,” I tell them. A few seconds later, I hear the sound of their weapons falling to the ground.
“You too, Mister Big Shot. Weapon on the ground.”
I drop my staff. Luckily, I don’t need it to cast. I have nearly fifty horrors tucked in tight behind me, each new horror crouching lower than the last in an effort to not be seen. The mental connection we share is invaluable right now. Even if they have been watching us all day, they don’t know how many horrors I am capable of casting. Still, I have no idea how we get out of this with everyone in one piece.
“Now, the wyrms. I won’t ask again.”
“Send the wyrms.” The look on Tormara’s face is one of absolute betrayal. Nevertheless, she does as I say and both wyrms slowly slither towards the group of men.
Their eyes light up with greed as the wyrms approach and the ranger lowers his bow, the red tendrils of energy retracting into his hand.
“Kill her!” the ranger orders his soldier and I’m drowned in the roars of my party as the blade digs into Ismora’s skin, spilling her blood. She collapses to the ground and all hell breaks loose.
Blue energy sparks out from wizard’s hands, wrapping the wyrms in arcane chains from head to tail. The ranger bends down over one of the wyrms, his hands glowing a vibrant emerald as he passes them across the body of one of the bound wyrms.
I don’t know what he’s doing, but I have to stop it. Grabbing a Horror of Vitality by the horn, I toss it with all the force I can muster straight at the ranger, exploding it right as it hits his body. It knocks the ranger off balance, disrupting whatever spell he is casting.
Chaos unfolds all around me as we gather our weapons and rush towards the evil bastards that murdered our sister.
Absolute terror paints the faces of the NPC soldiers as we descend on them. The wizard conjures a cube of energy around him and the ranger as they continue their ritual against the chained wyrms, leaving their companions to die.
We take care of the foot soldiers first. With my horrors and the furious rage of my party, they don’t stand a chance.
With the foot soldiers dead, Gord swings Peacemaker with all his might at the cube shield to no avail. Limery pelts it with fireballs, but still nothing. The wizard must be charging a hell of a lot of energy to keep it in place.
“We need to break it!” shouts Tormara. The ranger presses his hand to the wyrm’s body and Tormara seizes in pain. She bends over, screaming, barely able to move as emerald energy penetrates the wyrms scales.
The wizard has his arms extended, reinforcing the magical energy of his shield. I have a suspicion that the ranger is trying to make the wyrm his own pet, and it looks like the process will kill Tormara if he succeeds.
We’ve already lost one member of our party. I can’t let them take another.
“Everybody, step back.”
Gord lifts Tormara and carries her a dozen or so yards from the shield.
My horrors surround the cube, standing one on top of another until every side of the box is blocked from view.
“Yashi, ready your arrows.”
I cast Kamikaze and every horror explodes simultaneously. The shield shatters and the wizard falls to the ground, knocked out from the backlash of energy. An arrow zips across the forest, hitting the ranger in the shoulder. He stumbles and the energy connection breaks for a moment. Without looking up, he presses his hand against the wyrm, focused on his task. Another arrow rips through the side of his neck and blood sprays in a sickening stream onto the wyrm. He grimaces in pain but keeps his hand pressed. He must know he’ll never escape. His only hope is in bonding the wyrm and using it to defend himself. A third arrow connects with
the side of his head and he falls to the ground.
The chains that bind the wyrms are still active as the wizard groggily comes to. I ready my staff to finish him off, but Tormara stops me.
“This one is mine.” She bends down over the blood-covered wizard and their eyes lock as he finally recalls where he is. She buries the blade of her dagger in his throat and rips it out with enough force to sever his throat down to his spine. The chains vanish from the wyrms’ bodies, and they rush to their masters.
I receive a notification telling me I’ve hit level sixteen, as well as a -2399 reputation, but I brush it away. There’s no celebration to be had in the victory. Instead, we all sit in stunned silence.
I’m the first to break the quiet. “I don’t understand how she got caught. She had her Cloak of Ruin. It should have kept her hidden.”
“Rangers have higher perception than most.” Yashi wipes a tear from her eye.
I stand and walk over to Ismora’s body, her chest covered in dirt and blood. Her scarred arms spill out from her cloak and I can’t help but think that after so many battles, I am the reason for her most fatal wound. Did I make a mistake bringing them down here?
Bending down, I take her hands in mine. They’re still warm to the touch.
“I’m sorry.” As I wipe a stray hair from her brow, there’s a slight gurgle in her throat.
35. Death March
“She’s not dead,” I say it but no one comes. The words linger in the air for what feels like an eternity. Ismora’s hand are too warm for there to be so much blood. I’ve never seen this much blood in my life.
As I watch the blood trickle out of her open wound, my mind drifts for a moment. Back to the day when I knew for certain that I would have to take care of myself in life. At eight years old, home alone, I was hungry. Mom and Dad had left the credit card for me to order takeout, but I wanted to cook for myself, to show them that I was a big boy. I sliced my finger opening a can of ravioli and blood went everywhere. It covered my clothes, the marble counter, the hardwood floors. Thinking back on it now, I don’t know why I didn’t panic. Maybe because I knew there was no one to help. I soaked an entire towel mopping up the blood and when Mom and Dad finally made it home, the kitchen looked as if it never happened. There had been so much blood, but not like this.
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