Don't Feed the Trolls

by Jacob Peppers

  “Mariana,” Dannen said quietly, “we have a horde of bandits preparing to kill us—I don’t care.”

  He looked to Fedder for help, but the man was frowning, staring down at himself. “It’s this damn robe,” he muttered, “nobody can look good in such a horse’s blanket. Damn that stupid show.”

  “Gods help me,” Dannen said. He turned back to the woman. “Enough!” he yelled, figuring that if he was going to die horribly, he’d just as soon be getting on with it. “What do you want with us?”

  The woman turned back to him with a sigh. “Well, if the good-looking one isn’t here—”

  “It isn’t what she wants,” a voice said from somewhere behind her, “it’s what I want.”

  Dannen knew that voice, recognized it, and he had just realized who it was when the crowd parted revealing Hank, the man once known as the hero, Honor. “Well,” the old man said, giving him a smile, “if it ain’t the Bloody Butcher himself.”

  “Hank,” Dannen said dryly, the pieces clicking into place. “You’re the one that hired the bandits.”

  “Wait,” the old man said, frowning as he turned to the bandit leader, “where’s the fourth?”

  The woman gave a regretful shake of her head, her long auburn hair bouncing as she did. “I wish I knew. Anyway, it was just these three come out of the granary. Suppose maybe he’s inside.”

  “Well?” Hank demanded. “Maybe you should go check.”

  The woman frowned at that. “Maybe you should watch your mouth, old man. You’ve hired us for a job, and we’ll do it, but the coin you offered isn’t enough to make us your slaves, you understand?”

  Hank opened his mouth as if he might say something more—allowing Dannen the brief hope that maybe the two would fight amongst themselves and give him and the others a chance to escape—but then just gave an angry nod. “As you say,” he said in a sour tone. “After all, you’re the boss.”

  “Yes, I am,” the woman agreed with a smile that, even considering the fact that she was going to be having him and his companions killed in a few minutes, Dannen could not argue was incredibly charming. “And don’t you forget it, yeah?”

  The older man’s face flushed an angry red, but he inclined his head again before turning to Dannen and the others. “Your friend, the young one. Where is he?”

  Dannen said nothing, only stared at the man in silence, feeling his own anger growing. “What happened to you?” he said. “You used to be a hero, a great man. Now, what, you’re hiring bandits to accost innocent villagers and to kill me and my companions? Why?”

  The old man gave a snort of disgust. “Oh, don’t you sit there judging me, Dannen Ateran. I won’t have it, not from a man known as the Bloody Butcher of all things. What do you know? Sure, it’s easy to be a font of morality, to play at the hero, when you’re young and strong, when villagers spread their arms wide at your approach and the village women their legs. But where would your morals be, I wonder, if there was a sword at your throat?”

  Dannen considered the question for several seconds. He’d sometimes wished, particularly in the days following Val’s death, that he would die or, because even the miserable don’t like too much pain, that he would have died already, would have fallen victim to one of those many dangers he’d faced in his life like so many other would-be heroes had. But those sorts of thoughts were largely useless, he now believed, and not just useless—selfish. They were little better, in fact, than a man sticking a hand down his trousers in public, only the difference was that while the hand sought pleasure, the thoughts, while just as selfish and self-absorbed, sought pain.

  Sure, he’d had the thought, telling himself he wished he was dead, and like a fool believing, at the time at least, that he’d meant it. He hadn’t, of course, for the thing about dying was that it was easy. There was nothing easier in the world, and if he had meant it, if he’d really meant it, then he could have solved the problem easily enough with a blade to the throat or, if he wanted to take the scenic route, a trip to some particularly shady sections of the city where the people there would happily do it for him.

  If living was a problem, then at least it was an easily solved one. So what would he—a man who had never had many morals to begin with—do with those same morals if a sword were at his throat, its wielder demanding he relinquish them? Dannen grunted, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

  A stricken look passed over the old man’s face for a moment. “Pray you never have to find out,” he rasped. He ran a hand across his mouth then gave his head a shake, as if waking from a dream, before turning to scowl at Dannen. “A thing you will do, if you don’t tell me where the lad is and quick.”

  “He left us,” Mariana growled.

  Hank looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “That right?”

  “That’s right,” she snapped, and either the woman was putting on an amazing act pretending that Tesler had abandoned them and that she was furious about it or, alternatively, she actually believed that Tesler had abandoned them…and was furious about it. “He was a coward,” she spat.

  “Don’t be so hard on him, lass,” Hank said. “After all, the cowards live, and he’ll still be breathing while the worms feast on the flesh of you and these others.”

  “We get it,” Dannen said tiredly, “we’re going to die My only question is…why? Why do you want to kill us?”

  Hank spun on him so suddenly that Dannen was convinced the man was going to charge him like some wild animal. He didn’t, though. Instead, his face twisted with rage and Dannen realized something, in that moment. Hank, whatever else he was, was more than a little insane. “Why?” the old man snarled. “Why? Because you dared to disrespect me. To strike me. Me, Honor, the world’s greatest and most famous hero.” He took a slow, deep breath then shrugged. “Plus, I was ordered to. I was always going to kill you, Dannen, you and the others. But for what you did…” He paused, bringing a hand to his nose as if he could still feel the pain of being struck. “For what you did, I will not simply kill you. I will make sure that you suffer. You and your friends. Still, you ought to thank me. For as bad as it’s going to be for you—and it will be bad—it would be far worse if you made it where you’re goin’, if you found what, found who you’re looking for.”

  Dannen frowned as realization struck “You met them, didn’t you, Hank?” he said quietly. “The brothers?”

  A faraway look came in the old man’s eyes at that, and he gave a soft sigh. “Just the one, the swordsman, and that’s enough.” He paused, giving a shudder, his lower lip trembling as if he might burst into tears. “More than enough.”

  Dannen was surprised to see such a man, a man who had faced countless threats in his day, act so terrified over a simple mortal warrior. “He’s the one, isn’t he?” Dannen asked. “The one who held the sword at your throat and made you choose between your morals or your life.”

  “Yes,” the old man croaked, the word choked with emotion.

  Dannen watched him for several seconds, trying to decide what it was that had affected him so. Was the swordsman truly so terrifying? But no, that didn’t make sense. A man like Hank had faced death countless times before, along with his companions and—Dannen felt his eyes snap wide as realization struck. “Where’s Valor, Hank?” he said softly.

  The old man’s gaze—which had been locked on his feet—snapped up to Dannen, and his face paled as a look of pure terror chased its way across his features. “What?” he asked.

  “You remember Valor, Hank,” Dannen said. “After all, you two were the closest of all the companions, weren’t you? Honor and Valor, together since the beginning of the Ethics. You didn’t mention her, back in Alberdine. I thought it strange at the time—strange to see you without her too, since it was said the two of you were inseparable. Still, I didn’t think too much of it until now. Now, though, I have a question for you, Hank. Where’s Valor? Where’s your wife?”

  A terrible grief twisted the old man’s face at that, and a sound that was somew
here between a wail and a scream issued from his throat as he seemed to shrink in on himself. “She should have listened to me,” the old man said, his voice a wretched sob. “She should have…should have listened. I told her we didn’t have a choice. He was good, the warrior, too good. Even at our bests we couldn’t have beaten him. I told her to listen to me, to listen to him, but she refused and…and…”

  “He killed her,” Mariana finished softly.

  But Hank shook his head furiously. “N-no. Not…no. He made…” He cut off, sniffling and sobbing. “He wanted…to show…”

  “He made you do it,” Dannen said. “You killed Valor. You killed your wife. Didn’t you, Hank?”

  The man hunched his shoulders, burying his face in his hands and began to sob. “You don’t understand,” he said, looking up at Dannen. “She wouldn’t listen—I told her, we had no choice, but she wouldn’t listen and when he…when he told me to do it…she forgave me. She forgave me.”

  Dannen found himself staring at the man in shock, at a loss for words. A quick glance at his two companions showed that they were just as lost as he himself, even Mariana looking too stunned to speak, almost too stunned to breathe.

  Suddenly, Hank looked up from his hands, his face streaked with tears, haggard and terrible, and Dannen saw the insanity come back into the old man’s gaze. “This is your fault,” the man screeched. “She died because of you!”

  “My fault?” Dannen said. “I had nothing to do with—”

  “Oh, but you did,” Hank said, giving a mad cackle, “don’t you see? You did! The man came and told us to track you and your companions and, if the opportunity presented itself, to kill you. My wi…Valor refused. So you see, Dannen Ateran, you have taken my wife from me, taken everything from me.” He turned to the bandit leader then, the woman looking just as stunned at the rapid revelations as Dannen felt. “Keep them alive if you can. I want them to suffer before the end.”

  The woman stared at him for several seconds, and Dannen had enough time to hope that perhaps she would call it off, that perhaps the depravity to which the old man had sunken would be enough to make her decide the job wasn’t worth it. But she turned to him then and gave a slow shrug of his shoulders. “Sorry, friends,” she said. “I don’t normally go in for killing—robbing, sure, pilfering why not, but killing has never been my style. But the coin…well, the coin is quite good, I’m afraid. It’s nothing personal, you understand.”

  Dannen grunted. “If you ask me, there isn’t much more personal than one person killing another person.”

  The woman nodded slowly, rubbing a shapely hand across her shapely chin. Then she gave another shrug. “Well, as you say.” She motioned to the other bandits then. “Let’s get this done fast, huh?” She glanced at Hank with an undisguised look of disgust, “I want to be out of here by tomorrow. This town’s left a sour taste in my mouth and no mistake.”

  Dannen watched the bandits slowly approaching, an army of them, far too many to handle in a stand-up fight. He glanced at Fedder. “Any magic up your sleeve?”

  The mage frowned. “Don’t think so, Butcher. I doubt I could even light a candle right now. I need rest.”

  Dannen grunted. “Oh well. It was worth a shot.”

  “What do we do?” Mariana asked, and despite her training, despite her skill, Dannen saw that she was scared, though she was doing her best to hide it. He wanted to tell her something that would make it okay, but he could think of nothing.

  In the end, he only met the girl’s eyes. “We take as many of the bastards with us as we can, that’s what we do. Maybe if we get enough of them, the villagers will be able to fight their way free.”

  She stared at him for a moment, and he saw the knowledge sink in, the understanding that she was going to die. He thought she might quail at that, but she was made of sterner stuff and, instead, she gave him a single nod, her expression growing hard as she drew the metal rods from her waist. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Dannen nodded, deciding that she would be okay, or at least as okay as anyone could be, given the circumstances, then he turned back to regard the approaching bandits. He’d long since lost track of the number of times he’d evaded death, sometimes with the bastard so close he could feel his breath on the back of his neck, but it seemed that, finally, death had caught up with him. “I’m sorry, Clare,” he whispered. Then he braced himself, wishing that he had a weapon, anything with which he might defend himself.

  The bandits came on slowly, taking their time, and he felt himself growing impatient, was considering charging the nearest if for no other reason than to get it over with. But when they were about two dozen feet away on either side, Dannen became aware of a low, rumbling sound. At first, he thought it might be thunder, and he thought that would be no great surprise if it started raining. After all, the gods had been pissing on him all his life—why not do it in his death, too?

  But as he stood, waiting for his death to come, the sound began to grow louder, loud enough that the bandits stopped in their tracks, looking around in confusion, trying to figure out what was causing the increasingly-louder ruckus.

  A moment later, they had their answer. Dozens, hundreds of forms rounded a corner in the street, charging right toward where Dannen and the bandits stood. At first, Dannen couldn’t believe his eyes and was left staring stupidly—as the bandits were themselves—at the figures rushing down the road toward them, kicking up great clouds of dust as they came on.

  His first thought was that somehow King Ufrith had heard of the village’s plight and had sent his cavalry to deal with the issue, but he quickly dismissed the idea. True, there were horses, a dozen at least, among that great onrushing horde, but there were other animals too. Two bulls that Dannen could see, several cows, mules, goats, and as they drew closer, he even saw several pigs and chickens scattered among the throng.

  It was as if all the village’s farm animals and livestock had suddenly gone mad and taken it in mind to attack, but even that wasn’t the strangest thing he saw, for at the front of the throng, riding on the largest horse of the lot, was a figure he recognized. The young man was bouncing uncertainly in the saddle, seeming to grip it for dear life, but the expression on Tesler’s face was not one of fear but one of determination as he—and his animal army—charged toward the bandit ranks.

  The bandits nearest the stampede had time enough to shout in surprise but little more than that before the horde of animals crashed into them. Men and women alike were trampled beneath the hooves of cows and horses, of mules and goats, as the animals swept over them like a tidal wave.

  Tesler and his horse were a flurry of kicking hooves, leaping away from sword slashes with a nimbleness Dannen wouldn’t have credited to the big animal. And while the pair wrought devastation among the bandits, they were far from the only ones. As Dannen stared, stunned, he saw the bandits ranks wither, some of their number gored by the horns of a furious bull, others kicked by mules and horses, and he saw one unfortunate man brought down in a flurry of flapping chicken wings as their bloody beaks dug at his face and hands.

  The stampeding animals cut a swath through the bandit army and Dannen was still staring, trying to process what was happening, when Tesler rode up in front of him, his horse rearing. “Sorry…I’m late,” the young man panted.

  “What in the absolute fuck?” Fedder said, eerily close to Dannen’s own thoughts. “Gods, boy, what type of spell did you cast to get these animals to listen to you?” he asked, eyeing the animals gathering behind the young man warily. Dannen followed his gaze and saw that not all of the animals had made it but most had, and they appeared nearly unscathed.

  “I didn’t cast a spell,” Tesler said. “I just…I asked them.”

  “You…asked them,” Dannen repeated.

  The young man nodded. “That’s right. Or well…I asked Precious here,” he went on, patting the horse on which he rode gently, “he convinced the rest.”

  “He?” Dannen asked, befuddled. “And it�
��I mean his name is…Precious?”

  Tesler winced, clearing his throat. “Yes, well, it was given to him by the young daughter of his owner…apparently, she was unaware that he was…well, a he.”

  “Well…sure,” Dannen said, eyeing the massive horse whose shoulders were nearly as tall as he was. “An uh…an easy mistake.”

  “Anyway,” Tesler said, “it’s Precious we have to thank.”

  Dannen eyed the horse who seemed to be studying him as if trying to decide whether one more good kick was in order to set things back to rights. “Well, it uh…” He cleared his throat. “It’s…nice to meet you. Precious.”

  “What in the name of the gods was that?”

  They all turned at the sound of the voice—human and animal alike—to see the bandit leader, along with many of her men, picking herself up off the ground. She wiped an arm across her mouth where apparently her lip had gotten bloodied which, from what Dannen could see, was about as much as anyone could have hoped for. Indeed, at least half of the bandits on that side of the clearing were down, some writhing on the ground in pain, most not moving at all. Hank was among the latter, his body lying unconscious—or dead, no way to know for sure—near the red-haired woman.

  “They’re animals,” Tesler said back.

  She stared at him for several seconds, blinked, then let out a melodious laugh that was at least as charming as her smile had been. “Oh, but I like you. I surely do.”

  Dannen noted the way the young man’s face turned red at that, just as he noted Mariana scowling at Tesler’s back like she was considering putting a dagger in it and decided it was probably best to change the subject. “Now then, have you had enough?” he yelled. “Or does this have to continue? It would seem your employer, after all, is out of the picture.”

  The woman glanced down at Hank then back to Dannen. “For now, it would appear so. But I regret that I have already taken his coin and am therefore bound by honor to uphold my end of the bargain.”

  “Bound by honor,” Dannen muttered. “Is that a joke?”