He considered that for several moments. “I’m sorry.”
She gave him a small smile. “It’s alright. I s’pose if I want myself a good man, I can always steal him, can’t I?” she asked with strained humor. “Don’t guess you mind if I take one of the horses though, do you? Seems only fair, me havin’ paid for them and all.”
“No,” he said, “I don’t mind.”
She gave another quiet laugh, watching him. “It’s a shame,” she said, finally managing to get the tether undone. She leapt smoothly into the saddle. “Still, I wish you luck, all of you. And if it’s any comfort, you’ll make a handsome corpse.”
He gave a soft laugh of his own. “Not much.”
“No,” she said, smiling, “no, I don’t suppose it is. Goodbye, Tesler.”
“Goodbye, Arabelle.”
And with that, she turned and started her horse down the path. He watched her for a time, until the shadow that was her and her horse blended in with the other shadows of the darkness, disappearing as if they had never been.
It was so easy, he thought, for a man or a woman to vanish in the world. So very easy. It was a place of shadows and light. Mostly, though, it was shadows.
He walked back to his bedroll. He considered telling the others of Arabelle’s departure, but in the end he did not. Telling them would serve no purpose, after all, and doing so would not be an act of kindness but one born of selfishness, him only wishing to share the grim tidings that they were even more outnumbered now than they had been so that he might not have to bear the burden of that knowledge alone.
In the end, he remained silent, lying down in his own bedroll, thinking it pointless, thinking he would never fall asleep. But while the mind might be troubled, the body carried its own imperatives and eventually, he slept.
He slept. But he did not sleep well.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They traveled through the forest quietly, the relative good mood of the night before nowhere in evidence now that Arabelle had fled. Dannen told himself it didn’t matter, that four against thousands was just as shitty odds as five against. The problem, though, was that he only needed to look around at the others’ grim expressions to see that it did matter. Still, he held the woman no ill will, understood well enough the urge to run. He’d felt such an urge plenty of times in the past. He could have told her, though, had she asked, that some things couldn’t be ran from, no matter how hard a person tried. Death could not be ran from. It was there, always, waiting somewhere up ahead, in front of you, no matter which way you turned.
And you’d get to it, sooner or later. Walking or crawling, screaming or begging, you’d get to it, and it would get to you. One day you’d wake up and it wouldn’t be somewhere up ahead, not anymore; it’d be right there with you. No controlling it, no more than a man might control the weather. A million paths a person might take in their life, tens of millions, but there was only the one destination. And so, knowing that, knowing that it was coming either way, Dannen chose to meet it standing.
They traveled on through the day, riding the horses for a time, walking them, then riding them again. They passed more bodies, some the skeletal remains of what could only be the necromancer’s troops. Most not.
Eventually, the sun began to sink below the horizon and, once more, they set up camp, saying little, each of them thinking their own thoughts, though he did note Mariana and Tesler casting furtive glances at one another when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Noted it and it brought a small smile to his face. It was a dance performed only by young men and women, complicating something that should be simple—nothing simpler, really. The old rarely did as much, for they knew enough to know that time was short. Still, he left them to it and they all ate a quiet meal before eventually lying down in their bedrolls.
A thousand thoughts plagued Dannen’s mind, a thousand worries and concerns, a thousand questions, but as he lay in the darkness, he forced them all away. He would sleep tonight. After all, it might be the last chance he got.
And sleep he did. A heavy, thick, dreamless sleep that might have gone on forever, but one which was interrupted by the feel of a hand on his shoulder. Dannen yawned, opening his eyes to see the largest, most grotesque face he’d ever seen above him. Not the face of a man at all but of a troll.
He opened his mouth to scream, but never got the chance as the massive creature clamped a hand over his mouth, turning his scream into a strangled, muffled whine. “Relax, Dannen Ateran,” the troll said, its words sounding nothing like those of a troll at all, but like those of a man. “Be at peace.”
Dannen thought that if there was anything more likely to ruin a man’s peace than waking up with a troll looming over him, he couldn’t think of it, but he cut off his attempts at a scream, for there was something in that voice he recognized. Something in the creature’s eyes, too, not yellow and jaundiced as its kind usually were, not red-rimmed and evil-looking, but eyes that might have belonged on a man.
He stared, confused, until he finally realized where he’d heard that voice before. “Perandius?” he asked. Or at least, he tried to. The creature’s hand was still clamped over his mouth and so the word came out muffled and unclear.
Slowly, the creature removed its hand. “Forgive me,” it said, most definitely in the voice of the god, “I did not want you to wake the others.”
“Gods, what happened to you?” Dannen asked breathless. “Why do you look like that?”
Perandius frowned. “I’m not sure…” He paused, glancing down at himself then winced. “Ah, right.” He waved a massive troll hand at himself and the air around him seemed to shimmer until, in another moment, it was a troll’s hand no longer, but the god’s, and the rest of him, too, was changed back to the familiar look Dannen recognized. “My apologies,” the god said, “I had forgotten to remove my disguise.”
“What in the shit?” Dannen hissed. “You trying to kill me of fright, that it, godling?”
The Messenger God winced, glancing at the others before turning back to Dannen. “Might we have this conversation elsewhere? Already I am, at the least, bending my father’s decree of non-interference by being here and speaking to you. Should the others see me…”
“Fine,” Dannen said, “not like I’m going to be able to sleep any more after that anyway. Come on.” He rose and led the god toward a bend in the path. “Alright, damnit,” Dannen said, spinning on the god once they were out of sight of the others, “what is it that brings you here? In case you’ve forgotten, Perandius, I’ve got a long day of dying ahead of me tomorrow.”
“I have come to deliver a message,” the Messenger God said.
“Right. But then, you would, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, well,” the god said, frowning, “so I have.”
Dannen grunted. “No offense, Perandius, but I doubt whatever you’ve got to say will make any difference. Unless, of course, you’ve come to tell me that you’ve got an army on its way to help us. Otherwise, we’ll all likely be dead this time tomorrow.”
“As it happens,” the god said with a smile that, on a mortal man, Dannen would have described as arrogant, “I have come to tell you exactly that.”
Dannen arched an eyebrow. “That so? Well, where are they then? You got them in the pockets of your trousers, that it?”
The god winced. “Not exactly. I come only to tell you that there is one on the way. An army that will give you a fighting chance.”
Dannen frowned. “What army? The only one I know of in these parts is King Ufrith’s own, and unless you can raise the dead, I’m doubting they’ll be much help just now.”
“No,” Perandius said, “this army is…of a different kind.”
“Oh?” Dannen asked, not liking something in the god’s voice. “And what kind is that?”
Again, Perandius gave him that arrogant smile. “Tell me, Dannen Ateran, have you ever heard of a…let us be generous and name it an ‘organization’ known as the TWB?”
“TW
B,” Dannen said. “Can’t say as I have, and if this is some sort of riddle, godling, then I’ve got to be honest—I’m not really in the mood.”
“No riddle,” Perandius assured him. “You see, the TWB is a group known as Trolls Without Bridges.”
“Trolls Without Bridges,” Dannen repeated dryly.
“That is correct. It is a…coalition, of those trolls who—due to war, famine, the construction of new bridges or, mostly, well, trolls—have had their bridges either destroyed by mortals or simply left abandoned.”
“Huh,” Dannen said. “Well, that’s a bit of a surprise. The trolls I’ve met, well, I wouldn’t have thought the damned things capable of organizing, not unless that was to murder or eat, maybe.”
“Yes, they are…simple creatures,” Perandius admitted, “and normally, you would, of course, be right. But if one should rise up in their ranks, one of particular intelligence—no great feat, I admit, when one considers what such an intelligence might be measured against—who might point out to them the error of their ways…” He trailed off, waving a hand in front of his face and, once more, his visage morphed, shifted into the hideous features of a troll who would have been thought ugly, brutish even for its own kind.
Dannen recoiled instinctively, reaching for his belt, only, like the times before it, to find it empty. “Gods, but I need to get myself a weapon,” he said, considering the sword he’d seen earlier in the night. Didn’t much care for using a dead man’s blade—after all, there was a precedent for it not working—particularly when the dead man’s hand still clung to it, but then there was a lot about his situation that he didn’t particularly care for and somehow he doubted if the undead he would soon be fighting would take it easy on him because he’d been fool enough to show up without a weapon. He grunted, glancing back at Perandius. “Anyway, what are you saying, that you somehow organized the trolls into an army, one that is going to help us instead of, I don’t know, doing what trolls always do and killing anything in sight?”
“That, Dannen Ateran, is exactly what I’m saying.”
Dannen grunted. He didn’t much like the idea of teaming up with an army of trolls. It wasn’t an issue of the morals of the thing, gods no, he simply thought that, as far as allies went, bloodthirsty creatures who spent their spare time chewing on humans or playing games with their bones weren’t the most trust-inspiring. But, then, he didn’t much like the idea of getting hacked to pieces by an undead army, either, so he shrugged. “Well. Where are they then?”
“They are on their way. It has taken them a bit longer considering that someone…” The god paused to clear his throat. “That someone saw fit to destroy both the bridges through the mountains. However, they will be here soon, two days, I imagine, no more than that though…” He winced, “I must admit, they are fickle creatures.”
Dannen barked a humorless laugh. “Not the first adjective I’d use to describe them—bloodthirsty or insane come to mind, but still…thanks, Perandius. Probably we’ll all end up dead anyway but still, this might just give us a chance. But…won’t your father be angry?”
The god winced. “Wroth, I think would be more accurate. If, that is, he found out. Still, what is it you mortals are so fond of saying? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him?”
“My experience,” Dannen said, “it’s the things we aren’t aware of that tend to hurt us the most. But I appreciate it, Perandius. Really.”
The god inclined his head, obviously pleased. “You are very welcome, Dannen Ateran. And I have one more small bit of aid I might give you and this one, at least, is well within the rules.”
He produced a long bundle wrapped in cloth, offering it to Dannen with both hands. Dannen frowned, taking it. “Oh, you shouldn’t have, Perandius,” he said, “I always wanted a pony.” He unwrapped the bundle and was left staring, wide-eyed at a sword. “Huh,” he said, staring at it, “a sword.”
“A magic sword,” the god corrected. “One of them finally ripened.”
“I see,” Dannen said, studying the blade. He wasn’t sure what he might have expected from a magic sword, but what he held in his hands certainly wasn’t it. There was no fancy hilt or scrollwork along the weapon, nor did the blade gleam with some inner magic. The handle was a simple one, wrapped in leather, and the blade itself looked dull, slightly nicked and battered as if it had been put to hard use. “You’re sure…I mean, that this is new? It looks well-used.” The truth was it looked like just about the ugliest weapon he’d ever seen, and one on which, if he’d sought to purchase it from a smith, he would have expected to receive a sizeable discount.
He glanced at the god who had an embarrassed expression on his face, shuffling from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. “Yes, well, magic weapons are unique in that they often reflect the qualities of the one who wields them.”
Dannen grunted. “Sure,” he said as he stared at the weapon. “I guess that makes sense. Anyway, what’s its name?”
“Name?” the god asked.
“Sure. Even I know that magic weapons are supposed to have names, aren’t they?”
“Oh, of course, of course,” Perandius agreed, nodding. He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully for a moment. “This weapon, I believe, is named B2-113A.”
Dannen nodded slowly. “Right. Well, probably we’ll work on that. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?”
“No,” the god said, “no, I don’t suppose it does.”
He studied the blade again. Ugly it might have been, but it felt good in his hands. It felt right. The weight was good, the balance too. “I told Val, promised her, that I’d never wield a blade in anger again.”
“Well,” the god said slowly, “best not get angry then?”
“I think you might be missing the point of the promise, godling.”
“I do not believe so. In your past, Dannen Ateran, you used your sword to conquer all manner of evil creatures, but in those times you did it largely for your own glory. Now, I believe, those days are long behind you.”
“My glory days are long behind me,” Dannen repeated. “Perandius, has anyone ever told you that you’re awful at pep talks?”
The Messenger God winced. “What I mean, Dannen, is that you no longer seek your own glory. What you do now, you do for the good of others with no thought to your own welfare.”
“Well,” Dannen said slowly. “Some thought. Anyway, I think I take your point. So…what does it do?”
“Hmm?”
“It’s a magic sword,” Dannen said. “So what does it do?”
Perandius raised an eyebrow. “I admit, I am no expert, but my understanding is that it cuts things. Now,” he said, glancing around, “I must go. I fear I have wasted too much time here already. Should my father or someone else come looking for me, it would not do for them to track me here. The consequences would be…final. Good luck, Dannen Ateran.”
“Hey, hold on a damn minu—” Dannen began, but there was a flash of golden light and, in another instant, the god was gone, and Dannen was left standing alone in the darkness. “Bastard enjoys that,” Dannen muttered. Still, he found himself excited. If the god was right, then it appeared that they wouldn’t be forced to face down an entire army of the undead by themselves after all, and if that wasn’t enough to raise someone’s spirits he had no idea what could.
So, sword in hand, he turned and walked back to camp.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next day, while they broke their fast, Dannen told the others about his visit from the god. “An army of trolls,” Mariana said slowly once he’d finished.
“That’s right.”
“Well, sure,” she said, “why not? After all, we got along so well with the last one we met.”
Fedder grunted. “Well. He did invite us for dinner.”
“For which we were meant to be the main course,” Mariana countered.
Dannen sighed, shrugging. “I don’t see as we have much choice. Without help, we don’t stand much chance at all.
”
They lapsed into a thoughtful silence then, each of them considering the path ahead, until Fedder spoke. “Well,” he said, nodding his head at the sword where it lay on the ground, wrapped in the cloth bundle once more. “Let’s see this magical blade then.”
Dannen nodded. “Go ahead.”
The mage lifted the bundle with a reverence the man normally reserved for a full tankard of ale, and Dannen watched as Tesler and Mariana crowded behind him, eager to see what a god-gifted weapon looked like. Fedder unwrapped it slowly, carefully, as if it were a snake that might lash out and bite him.
Finally, the last of the cloth fell away, the three leaning back as if they expected to be blinded by its brilliance. When the weapon was finally revealed, Fedder grunted. “Huh.”
“Wow,” Tesler said, forcing a smile on his face. “It…it’s nice.”
Mariana glanced over at him as if he were insane. “Nice? It looks like a piece of shit.”
Dannen winced, suddenly glad that he hadn’t mentioned the fact that Perandius said magical weapons reflected the quality or—in his instance the apparent lack of quality—of their owners.
“Oh, it ain’t so bad,” Fedder said. “I mean, look, it’s got a handle and a blade. That’s about all you need…right?”
Mariana snorted, and feeling suddenly defensive, Dannen moved forward, snatching the blade away. “Anyway, the important thing is that Perandius said we’ll have help from the trolls. All we have to do is wait for them to arrive.”
“And then hope they don’t decide to eat us,” Mariana said.
“Right. There is that. Anyway, best we get packed and moving.”
“Sure,” the woman said, “wouldn’t want to keep the undead horde waiting.”
Fedder grinned. “It would be impolite.”
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