Don't Feed the Trolls

by Jacob Peppers

  “I’m…I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

  “Aren’t you?” Dannen asked. “Look, Perandius, you said yourself that these brothers, the necromancer and the swordsman, have seemed to know every plan your champions made, knew what they were going to do before they did themselves, right?”

  “Yes,” Perandius said slowly, clearly still not catching on.

  Dannen sighed. “So how is it, I wonder, that the dragon shows up when we haven’t been in town for hardly an hour?”

  The god frowned. “Perhaps they had scouts posted or—”

  “Scouts that somehow managed to relay a message to them hundreds of miles away, receive an answer, and then dispatch an undead dragon, all within an hour of us arriving in Palden?”

  “Then the dragon must have already been on its way and your appearance only a coincide—”

  “I’ve already told you how I feel about coincidences,” Dannen interrupted. “Besides, why would they do that? If they were fighting a battle with the king of the north—as you’ve told me they were—then why would they squander an undead dragon to go and attack some out-of-the-way town that makes no difference in the larger scheme of things? I mean, somehow I doubt they’ve got so many undead dragons lying around that they can waste one on something so unnecessary, and if they do, then I’d best go ahead and be picking out my coffin.”

  “But…if it was not scouts, and if the dragon was not already on its way, then how do you explain it?”

  “In my experience, godling,” Dannen said, “the simplest answer is usually the right one. Who could have somehow divined our path—a path we ourselves didn’t know until we were already walking it—and then communicate that information to this necromancer and his swordsman brother in time for a dragon to arrive at the town only shortly after we did ourselves?”

  Perandius’s frown deepened as he thought it through. When he said nothing, Dannen spoke. “No one, Perandius. That’s the answer. No one could have managed it. At least, no mortal could have.”

  The Messenger God stared at him blankly for several seconds, still trying to understand, then his eyes went wide as he realized what Dannen was implying. “Forgive me, Dannen Ateran, but you can’t mean to say that…that a god warned the brothers of your coming?”

  “Perandius,” Dannen said, meeting the god’s eyes, “that is exactly what I’m saying.”

  The Messenger God gawked at him for several seconds, apparently too stunned to speak. Finally, he shook his head. “No. Impossible. My father’s edict strictly forbids—”

  “Your father’s edict is just words, Perandius,” Dannen interrupted, “and in my experience, children don’t always listen to their fathers.”

  “Mortal children, perhaps,” Perandius said grudgingly, “but this…no, Dannen Ateran. I will not believe it. No one would dare defy my father in such a way.”

  “That right?” Dannen asked. “No one would, say, meet their champion in some abandoned fields for the dead—still a stupid idea, by the way—even knowing that it was fully against their father’s wishes?”

  The god squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. “That is different, Dannen Ateran. What you’re speaking of is a direct interference in the lives of mortals, and even if it were true—which I am sure it is not—what would such a god have to gain?’

  “Is it different?” Dannen asked. He shrugged. “I’m not so sure. But as for what such a god would have to gain, well that’s obvious, isn’t it? After all, you told me that there are those on the Council who seek to get your father’s edict removed altogether. What better way than for a villain—or, in this case, two—to arise, one who defeats all the champions sent at them, who threatens to destroy the entire world unless the gods become involved?”

  Perandius watched him for several seconds, a look of horror painted on his face. But then, he took a slow breath, shaking his head. “No. I understand what you are saying, Dannen Ateran, but I simply would not believe any of my kin, not even Lo—not even my cousin, capable of such a crime. It would be…unthinkable.”

  “Unthinkable,” Dannen repeated. “Is that right? Even for that asshole brother and sister of yours?”

  “Of course,” Perandius blurted, a bit too quickly to be believable. “Sahael and Hydrallia are…schemers, I’ll admit, and I do not care for either of them overly much, but even they would not dare defy Father, for they, like myself, know well what the repercussions to such an act might be.”

  “And mortal children know that by disobeying their parents, they’ll be punished. It doesn’t keep them from disobeying anyway, Perandius. It only makes them do it quietly. After all, their parents can’t punish them for something they don’t know they did, can they?”

  Perandius was shaking his head before he was finished. “While I might concede such a point to you regarding mortals, you know little of the gods. Trust me, none of my kin would dare go against my father—such a thing simply would not be done.”

  Dannen sighed. He had expected just such a response, but he’d had to try anyway. “Only, it has been, hasn’t it?” he said. “After all, we’re here talking, aren’t we?” The god’s expression was troubled at that, but he said nothing and finally Dannen shrugged. “Anyway, I hope you’re right, godling. Really I do, because if not, you have sent me and the others on a quest that can only end in our deaths, the same way it did for all those others. See you around, Perandius.”

  “Farewell, Dannen Ateran. And good luck.”

  Dannen was annoyed, annoyed about what had happened to Clare, annoyed that he was growing increasingly sure that he and the others were being set up and that the god was too myopic to see it. Well, if he was right, they were all screwed and there was nothing he could do about that. Still, perhaps he could have a little bit of fun before he died. “Good luck to you too, Perandius. I think you’re going to need it.”

  “I’m not sure what you—”

  That was when Dannen whistled as loudly as he could. Which, considering that whistling—along with surviving encounters he normally shouldn’t—was one of his greatest talents, was pretty loud. Loud enough that the god froze and that, a moment later, Dannen could just make out the faint sound of humming. Distant, sure, but growing closer by the moment.

  “What have you done?” Perandius breathed, his expression paling.

  Dannen flashed the Messenger God a smile. “Ah, damn, seems your cousin’s coming back. Well, I’d stay and help, but, you know, I’m not sure that it’d be in the spirit of your father’s edict. Looks like we’re both on our own.” The god only stared at him, stunned, and Dannen winked. “See you around, Perandius,” he finished, then he stepped through the portal.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Despite his fears, Dannen was gratified to see, when he opened his eyes, that he was not lying on an executioner’s block but was instead lying on a small cot. He was slightly less gratified to see that he was in a dungeon cell. Some others might not have come to such a conclusion so quickly, but Dannen’s life had unfortunately led him pretty often into one cell or another, and so he recognized the accoutrements quickly enough. A small, straw cot which seemed to have been crafted with the sole purpose of being as uncomfortable and lumpy as possible. There was a slight, but constant dripping sound somewhere off in the darkness, one which seemed to always be included in such a place and which, on more than a few occasions, had nearly driven Dannen mad.

  And there was the smell, of course. A sharp, acrid odor that was a mixture of sweat and mold and dirt. A combination of odors that, if it was given a name, would likely be called “Desperation.” His head was throbbing painfully, and he felt gingerly at it until he noted a distressingly large knot. He supposed he should be thankful that he was still alive, but with the amount of pain he was in, it wasn’t easy to be thankful for much of anything.

  He tried to sit up then let out a groan as the throbbing in his head increased, and he fell back down on the small cot, deciding that he’d try again later. Next year, maybe.

>   “Ah,” an arrogant voice said, “you’re awake.”

  Dannen opened his eyes—which he’d squeezed shut against the pain—and turned as little as possible so that he could see toward the cell door. He was unsurprised to discover the pompous Duke of Palden standing outside of his cell, a uniformed soldier beside him.

  “Not by choice,” Dannen muttered.

  The man tittered a laugh at that, one that made Dannen think it a wonder he hadn’t been strangled or stabbed by now. He forced himself to a seated position—he’d be damned if he’d talk to the man from the flat of his back—struggling against his rising gorge as he did so. He took a slow, deep breath, making a show of looking around the cell.

  “Anyway,” the duke went on, “you have much to answer for, mister…” The man cut off, making an angry sound in his throat. “Look at your betters when they are talking to you, commoner.”

  Dannen ignored him, rising to unsteady feet and continuing to glance around the cell as if searching for something.

  “Damn you, what are you looking for?” the duke snapped.

  Dannen grunted. “Not sure. A bag of gold, maybe? Or a horse, new suit of armor, something like that. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the free room, and I suppose it goes some way toward rewarding us for saving this little town of yours, but—while I don’t want to be picky—it could do with a bit of decorating, couldn’t it?”

  “Reward?” the duke said in obvious disbelief. “You expect a reward? You and your, your fellow miscreants destroyed my castle!”

  Dannen frowned, finally turning back to the duke. “Funny, I must have been hit on the head harder than I thought—seems to me the undead dragon did most of the destroying.”

  The soldier standing beside the red-faced duke made a strangled sound of laughter at that, and Dannen was rewarded with the sight of the duke’s face growing an even deeper, blotchier crimson. He spun on the guard, giving him a look that promised retribution later, before turning back to Dannen. “Because of you and your, your rabblerousers half my town is in ruins!”

  “Rabblerousers,” Dannen repeated slowly. “Huh. Well, I s’pose I’ve been called worse. Anyway, you’re lookin’ at this the wrong way, Your Dukeyness. You see, thanks to me and my fellow rabblerousers, half your town still stands.”

  “Dukeyness?” the man screeched. “How dare you. You, you—”

  “Rabblerouser? Or are we back on miscreant?”

  For a moment, the duke’s face grew such an angry shade of red that Dannen was beginning to think it would pop right off—and wouldn’t that be a shame?—but a moment later, the man took a deep, shaky breath, gathering himself, and a slow, malicious smile came onto his face. “Make all the jokes you want, fool, but do not think that I have missed the fact that that creature showed up only moments after you and your fellows arrived in town. Likely, you were in it together.”

  “In it together,” Dannen said dryly. “I don’t know a lot about undead dragons, but in my experience—sadly not as brief as I’d like—they don’t tend to work well with others. And so your thought is what, exactly? We made plans with the dragon to destroy this town and, when he got here, we had a falling out and set about trying to kill each other?”

  The duke’s face went red again, and he opened his mouth only to close it, taking a moment to run a finger over each of his eyebrows. “Mock if you will, but I will know the truth of what happened here, and there will be severe punishments for the chaos you have caused, that I promise you. Already my men are questioning these compatriots of yours, and rest assured that I will have the truth, will have my men carve it from your bodies, if I must, before you see the executioner.”

  Dannen felt a surge of anger at the thought of his companions being tortured for answers they could not give. “You listen to me,” he growled, “if you so much as harm a single hair on their heads, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, exactly?” the duke asked in a tone that was at once both mock-innocent and gloating. “Weep from inside your prison cell? Or will you make another joke, perhaps? I do so enjoy a good joke.”

  Suddenly a large, familiar figure appeared out of the shadowed confines of the dungeon hallway, directly behind the duke and the soldier standing beside him. “Must have a blast every time you look in the mirror then, you silly little bastard,” a deep voice growled.

  The duke and the soldier both managed to let out strangled gasps of surprise—no more than that—before hands the size of dinner platters reached out, grabbed them both by the backs of their heads, and proceeded to plant their faces into the cell bars. The bars made a sound of their own—a metallic ringing—and both men went limp in his grip.

  Then Mariana stepped out of the shadows, nodding her head at the Firemaker as if in appreciation. She reached into the dangling guard’s pocket and withdrew a key, fit it into the lock, and a moment later the metal cell door was swinging open.

  “I was wondering when you all would show up,” Dannen said.

  “Oh, you know,” Mariana said, “we got a bit busy, socializing and all.”

  Fedder grunted in agreement before stepping forward and tossing the two unconscious men unceremoniously onto the hard-packed earth of the cell floor. “Bastard,” he said, spitting in their general direction.

  Dannen nodded. “A real miscreant.”

  Fedder turned on him, frowning. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” Dannen said, “forget it, I—” He cut off as he glanced at Mariana and saw that the young woman was sporting a fresh black eye. They had been strangers only a few short weeks ago, but seeing that there, Dannen felt a flash of anger in his chest. “His men do that to you?” he asked, nodding his chin at the duke.

  Mariana brought a hand to her eye then forced a smile. “It’s fine. Anyway,” she said, “you should see the other guy.”

  Dannen glanced angrily at the two men lying on the floor before finally stepping out of the cell and slamming the door shut. “Where’s the lad?”

  Fedder and the woman glanced at each other then shook their heads. “We thought he was with you,” the mage answered.

  Dannen didn’t like the sound of that, not at all. “Come on,” he said, “best we go and find him.”

  “You’ll…pay…for this.”

  They froze and turned to see the duke lying on his back, propped on his elbows, a fresh, cell-bar shaped bruise rising almost directly down the center of his face. The man looked groggy, and there was blood leaking from his mouth and nose, but he was still, surprisingly, conscious.

  “Huh,” Dannen said, glancing at Firemaker. “Seems you’ve lost the touch.”

  “Let me have a second go at it, Butcher,” the mage said, starting forward with a growl, “practice makes perfect and all.”

  “I’d love nothing more,” Dannen said, stopping him with a hand on his arm, “but we don’t have the time—we need to find Tesler.”

  “I-I will hunt you down, all of you, and make you…pay.”

  Dannen’s head ached badly. And while this wasn’t the first time he’d saved an entire village—admittedly the undead dragon had been a first—and ended up in a dungeon as thanks, it was the type of thing that never got easier to swallow. Those things, coupled with the fact that he felt a surprising amount of concern for Tesler meant that his patience—never particularly impressive to begin with—was a withered, pathetic thing, and he stepped toward the bars of the cell so abruptly that the duke let out a cry of surprise.

  “You’ll hunt us down?” Dannen demanded, shadows creeping along the outside of his vision as the anger threatened to take over. “Let me tell you something, you pathetic son of a bitch. If you or your men have done our friend any lasting harm, you won’t have to because I’ll find you, wherever you are, wherever you lay your head down to sleep, and I’ll rip your throat out. You understand me?”

  He didn’t realize he’d been screaming at the last until he heard the echoes of his voice dying away in the dungeon. Not clever, perhaps, to be yelling and dr
awing attention to yourself when doing something as suspicious as escaping from prison, but he barely noticed. Instead, he was staring at the duke, his own chest heaving with pent-up rage, with a desire to make good on his promise now.

  “I-I can tell you where he is,” the duke stammered, all the fight suddenly gone out of him.

  Dannen realized he’d bitten the inside of his cheek, and he tasted the coppery taste of blood. He opened his mouth to answer, but he was having difficulty talking, and what came out was, even to him, a rasping, unintelligible growl of anger that might have come from some animal. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, and he spun, baring his teeth, to see that it was Fedder, the mage nodding his head in a soothing way.

  “Easy, Butcher. Let’s take it easy, yeah?” the mage said, his voice sounding as if it came from very far away. Then he turned back to the duke, still lying on the cell floor but looking considerably less arrogant and angry than he had, his face pale and waxy. “Best do that and quick.”

  Dannen stood, his chest heaving, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, struggling to keep his anger in check, as the duke blurted out a quick stream of directions to where Tesler was being held. Dannen listened, but he could barely hear. His heart was thumping in his ears like a drum, and he felt full of a manic sort of energy.

  Although he was staring directly at the duke, he didn’t fully realize the man had finished speaking until Firemaker put a hand on his shoulder once more. “You ready, Butcher? The lad needs us.”

  The lad needs us. He stood on a precipice, staring down at the great, thick fog of his anger, his rage gathered beneath him, waiting for him to dive headlong into it. And the four simple words were like a nudge, easing him away from that edge. Not much, but enough to give him his balance again, to pull him back.

  He still tasted blood in his mouth, but he grunted, giving his head a shake. “Right. Let’s go.”