Don't Feed the Trolls

by Jacob Peppers

  And then it was not confusion or panic that he felt—it was pain. Terrible, incredible pain.

  And then, as the blade was ripped free, he did fall.

  ***

  The king and his troops moved with practiced efficiency, securing their mounts and preparing for the ride out of the gate. Yet for all their speed, Mariana watched impatiently, feeling the seconds slipping by. Any moment, the others would be overwhelmed by the forces they faced—if they hadn’t been already.

  She turned to where the king was barking orders at several of his soldiers, preparing to ask him—for at least the fifth time—how much longer it would take but then suddenly, the world began to grow dark, and she frowned, turning to stare up at the sky.

  As she did, she felt her breath catch in her throat. A great, dark, seething cloud was gathering over the forest she and her companions had traversed only hours ago, and she stared at it, disbelieving. Only moments ago, the sky had been clear. Now the world was growing darker as if night had decided to come early.

  “What…what is that?”

  Mariana turned at the sound of the voice to see the soldiers staring in disbelief at the unnatural cloud, and then she noticed something. The cloud wasn’t a cloud after all. Instead, it was hundreds, thousands of birds, all flying in the direction of the battlefields. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? What would make the birds behave so strangely? She thought, perhaps, that it might be the army of the dead except that the army had been here for some time and the birds had done nothing. No, it had to be something else.

  Tesler. The name struck her thoughts, and she felt a surge of unexplainable fear run up her spine. She didn’t know where the thought came from, but as soon as she’d had it, she couldn’t get it from her mind. The man spoke with animals, befriended them. Had he called them to his aid, somehow? But that didn’t seem right. After all, if he’d planned to do such a thing, why would he not have done it earlier? No, she didn’t think he had summoned them, at least not on purpose. But why else would the birds act so strangely, all moving toward the battlefield?

  There was only one reason she could think of. Tesler was in trouble. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she knew that it felt right. “King Ufrith!” she shouted. “We have to go—now!”

  ***

  Tesler lay on his back, staring up at the sky, knowing it was only a matter of time before one of the skeletons milling around him finished the job the first had started. Not that they needed to, for he was sure that if they only waited, the wound he’d taken would deal with him quickly enough. At first, there had been pain, terrible, shocking pain that was somehow cold, a cold that had spread through his entire body.

  Now, though, he hardly felt anything at all, and he thought that was probably a bad sign. He had tried to move several times, but it seemed that the strength had leaked out of his body along with his blood, and so he only lay there, staring at the clear sky.

  But moments later, the sky wasn’t clear but dark, filled with thousands upon thousands of birds, and he thought that he must be imagining things, that the image was some phantom sight caused by his expiring mind as his body failed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them again, the birds were still there, only they were no longer flying over the battlefield.

  Instead, they began swirling up above him in quicker and quicker circles, then abruptly they descended in a funnel that seemed centered directly on him, a swirling, whirling funnel of wings and beaks that struck around him with shocking force, destroying the skeletons nearest him and then continuing to spin so that everywhere his eyes turned, he could see nothing but birds, all of them flying in tight circle, their synchronous flight creating powerful gusts of wind which buffeted him.

  “What’s…happening?” he said. He meant to yell it, panicked and confused, but the words came out as little more than a rasp.

  Do you not know?

  There was a slight pressure on his chest, and he glanced down to see Maela, the squirrel goddess, perched there, regarding him. If one only glanced at her, he might think her no more than a squirrel, no different than the others one might see scampering through treetops in the early morning. But if that person looked closer, if he saw her eyes—eyes that seemed, that were, thousands of years old—wise, ancient eyes, then he would soon realize his mistake.

  “Maela,” he croaked, “I…I don’t understand.”

  They come for you, Green Speaker, the squirrel goddess answered. They come for you.

  Tesler blinked. “For me?” he asked in disbelief. “Oh,” he said as realization struck. “They came…to watch me die.”

  No, Green Speaker, they came to ensure you did not, they came to see what you will become.

  “What I’ll become?” he asked.

  Yes, the squirrel answered. Have you never wondered why you possessed the ability to understand animals? Why they, in turn, could understand you?

  Tesler had only asked himself that question a thousand times in his life, for its answer was also the answer to why he had become an outcast, exiled from his village, his people, and had led a largely solitary life. At least, that was, until he met Maela.

  You are special, Green Speaker, the goddess went on. You have felt different all of your life, and the reason is simple. The reason is that you are different. As different from those small-minded men and women of your village as I am from a regular squirrel.

  “There are others…” Tesler said, “who can talk to animals, Maela. Druids.”

  The squirrel gave a derisory snort. Druids. They are like children who learn their first words and then use those words to congratulate themselves. Only the very best of their number are wise enough to know just how much they do not know. No, Tesler, you are not like them. Such men might spend their entire lives in study of the animal world, yet they will never come to understand it, not truly. They cannot, you see, not any more than an ant might grasp the complexities of the world of mortals, for it is not their world, and one of which they might only catch the faintest glimpses.

  “And…me?”

  Do you not yet understand? You are not of their world, Tesler, Green Speaker, you never have been. Or, at least, not only their world. You are born of both. For years, since your village’s betrayal, you have tried to deny that other part of yourself, have chosen to remain in the mortal realm, to be a part of it and it only. I allowed you to do so, for I understand what you have gone through, better than you know. And yet, you can afford to deny the other part of yourself, the animal part, no longer.

  “I…but I only ever…wanted to be normal,” Tesler managed, wincing at a pressure in his wound.

  The squirrel studied him with those ancient eyes, eyes filled with compassion. But you are not normal, Tesler, and you never will be. You are better. Now, are you ready?

  “Ready…for what?” Tesler asked, feeling dizzy now, his vision beginning to fade.

  Why, to become, of course.

  “To…become what?”

  Yourself. The self that you have denied all your life.

  “Become…myself,” Tesler repeated.

  Yes, Green Speaker. Close your eyes.

  Tesler did. It was an easy enough thing, for the struggle had been keeping them open, a struggle which had felt as if it had taken all his dwindling strength.

  Now look. Not out at the world, Green Speaker, but into yourself. Past all the pain and the hurt you have suffered. You knew once what you were, what you are, but you chose to forget, chose to bury it in the pain your life has brought. Now, though, it is time to uncover it. Now, it is time to remember.

  Tesler felt a change within him, felt as if some strange, alien thing had been awakened…only he realized a moment later that that thing was not alien or strange. It was him, and it had been there all along. It was a green thing, a thing of the wild, of deep forests and hidden lakes, of mountain trails and deserted prairies where the tall grass swayed in the wind, unbent beneath the tread of man. And as he focused on it, that thing sw
irled within him, and then it did what all wild things do—it grew.

  It grew and grew, blotting out the many pains of his life, the fear that he had come to know as a near-constant companion. The fear of being misunderstood, or of being understood, the fear that all those of his village had been right after all, that he was a freak and no more. The fear which had twisted and shaped him was suddenly gone. And in its place…there was only green.

  A wild, growing green which filled him up, rushing through him with so much force, so much power, that Tesler arched his back and bellowed. But it did not stop there. It continued to grow, and the numbness left his limbs, the strength returned, far greater than it had been, and the wound in his back and stomach suddenly hurt no longer.

  For the first time in his life, he felt complete, he felt himself. He leapt to his feet, the birds, his friends, swirling around him in a great spiral, and then he roared. Or at least he tried to. Instead, the sound was not a roar at all but was something very different…almost like…an oink.

  Maela stood in front of him, her head cocked, and Tesler, confused, glanced down at his body and saw that he was not a man any longer. He was…different. Gone were his arms and legs, his thin frame. They had been replaced by a thick, pinkish body, his fingers and toes replaced with cloven hooves. He was…a pig.

  Not what I’d have chosen, the squirrel goddess said slowly. Perhaps…perhaps it would be best if you tried again.

  “Yes,” Tesler said, or at least he tried to. Instead, the word came out in an oink. Then he closed his eyes, gave a snort, and tried again.

  ***

  A blade dragged across his upper arm painfully, and Fedder roared, spinning and grabbing the offending undead and hurling it into several of its companions, knocking them backward. Not that it made much difference. There were plenty more to take their places. He spun, looking, and saw the troll named Fiddleguts beside him, swinging his club in great sweeping swings that, he couldn’t help noting, were far slower than they had been when the fighting started. Perhaps the troll was getting tired or, equally likely, its strength was being sapped by the dozens of wounds—some severe, some not—that covered its green hide.

  The other trolls, or at least what remained of them, were spread out so that they all formed a ragged circle, a small knot of resistance in the unending tide of undead. They fought hard, as did Fedder himself, but their forward progress had come to a halt now, and he knew that however well they fought, sooner or later, the vast numbers of their opponents would tell.

  That was when he heard it. A great roar, one so powerful it seemed to shake the very ground itself, seemed to shake his very bones. A moment later a massive form leapt into the undead gathered in front of him, and Fedder was shocked to see that it was a lion, the biggest of its kind that he had ever seen. The great cat lashed out with its massive paws, crushing the undead around it as it spun in a circle, gracefully evading the skeleton’s strikes as it wreaked shocking devastation in their ranks.

  Fedder stared, stunned, and then he saw something strange. A squirrel clung desperately to the great beast’s fur, flapping around as the lion rampaged through the undead. In moments, the beast destroyed those undead nearest it and spun to regard him. Fedder tensed, crouching and bringing his hands up in front of him in anticipation, but the beast did not pounce. Instead, it only watched him with eyes that, unlike the others of its kind, were completely green, a deep, vibrant green that seemed to glow.

  And for all their strangeness, Fedder thought he detected something familiar in that gaze, and he frowned, glancing again at the squirrel clinging to the great beast’s back. “Tesler?” he asked slowly. “That you, lad?”

  The beast continued to meet his gaze, then gave an undeniable nod. Fedder grinned. “Damn, lad,” he said, taking in its great, muscular form. “You been workin’ out?”

  The creature—Tesler—made a deep, chuffing sound, then turned and glanced at the tent Fedder and the others had been heading toward, only a few hundred feet away now.

  Fedder ran a finger across his eyes. “Thought we’d lost you back there, lad. Thank the gods you’re okay. Still…” He frowned, looking around as the undead began to press in once more. “Don’t think it’s gonna be enough, lad. It’d be best if you and your furry little friend got out of here while you still ca—” Fedder froze as the squirrel leapt from Tesler’s back onto the ground, regarding him.

  The rodent shifted and reached its arms out as if stretching—then suddenly, it began to grow. Fedder stared, stunned, as the squirrel continued to change and, in moments, it was a squirrel no longer but a great, hulking furred beast at least eight feet tall, towering over him, its paws displaying long, deadly-looking claws, and its buckteeth looking large and strong enough to chomp through trees—or people—with ease. Fedder grunted. “Fine, maybe not so little. Still a furry bastard though.”

  The squirrel cocked its head, staring at him, and then abruptly it and Tesler turned and, with one glance back at Fedder, they charged into the undead, moving in the direction of the tents. Fedder turned back to the remaining trolls and Fiddleguts who was staring at his club then at the hulking lion and massive squirrel then back again as if trying to decide if they needed smashing or, more likely, if he was the one to do it.

  “Come on,” Fedder said, “let’s go get some smashin’ done.”

  The trolls grinned at that, and then they were moving forward, toward the tent in the distance, following in the devastation the two creatures left in their wake.

  ***

  Dannen caught the undead skeleton’s blade on his own sword only inches from his face. He growled a curse, knocking the blade away and then took his opponent’s head off on the back stroke. Gasping, he ran an arm across his forehead, doing his best to keep the sweat out of his eyes. He didn’t remember fighting for his life being quite so hard. Of course, the last time had been years and at least thirty pounds ago. Still, if things kept going at this rate, when they made it to the tent—an occurrence growing less and less likely as more trolls fell beneath the undead blades—he’d only have enough energy to maybe utter a curse before he was killed.

  He glanced up at the tent in the distance and saw that it was still a hundred feet away at least, a hundred feet that were choked with an uncountable amount of undead skeletons, and he came to a realization. They weren’t going to make it. There were only six trolls left standing. He was going to die. They all were going to die. The thought might have been okay once. Certainly in the years following Val’s death, he had hoped to die, had only been too much of a coward to do the deed himself. Now, though, things were different, for he knew that if he died, Fedder and Tesler and all the rest would likely die with him, their loss only the beginnings for a world that would suffer and eventually fall beneath the undead army. And that was before he thought of Clare. He had meant to save her, but he could not even save himself. Still, there was nothing to do but go on, to stand until he could stand no longer, and so he did, charging toward the enemy force separating him and the others from the tent.

  He'd just cut down another skeleton—and taken a minor cut to his arm for his trouble—when something strange happened. The undead line in front of him began to ripple and buckle in tremors, like a pond when someone has thrown a large stone into it. Then suddenly, the undead line in front of him broke, and dozens of men on horses charged through it, their mounts rearing up in front of him.

  And at their front, a giant of a man sat on a massive horse as tall at the shoulders as Dannen. The man held a massive battle axe in his hand, and a crown sat atop his head.

  “King…Ufrith?” Dannen asked.

  The man grinned widely. “And you must be Dannen Ateran. The Bloody Butcher. Your reputation precedes you, sir.”

  “As does yours, Majesty,” Dannen said, forcing the words out past his surprise. “You’ve…you’ve come to help?”

  The king barked a laugh. “Seemed the least I could do, you and your companions coming to save my kingdom and al
l.”

  Dannen grunted at the mention of his companions. “King,” he said, “there was a woman, she—”

  Suddenly, another rider led their mount to beside the king, and Dannen saw that it was Mariana. He grinned widely. “Thank the gods you’re alright.”

  “Give it time,” she said, glancing around at the undead which were slowly beginning to recover from the horsemen’s charge, but when she looked back to Dannen he saw that she was smiling. Suddenly, though, her expression grew grim. “Is Tesler with you? I thought…I saw the birds and—”

  “No,” Dannen said, wincing. “Tesler went with Fedder and the others, toward the second tent.”

  The woman’s expression paled at that, but she nodded. “I…I see.” She glanced in the direction of the other tent, clearly wanting to go to the man’s aid. In the end, though, she took a deep breath and looked back to Dannen. “Well?” she asked. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go find this necromancer and kill him.”

  “Why not?” Dannen asked. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else going on just now.”

  “It is strange company you keep, Dannen Ateran,” the king said, glancing past Dannen to the trolls.

  Dannen grunted. “They’re friends, King Ufrith, here to help. Besides, if you think they’re strange, wait until you meet Fedder.”

  The king barked a laugh at that. “Very well,” he said. “let’s finish it.” He spun his mount, bellowing a war cry, and he and his soldiers charged back into the undead line in the direction of the tent, Dannen and his ragtag group following behind.

  The undead army scattered before the momentum of the king’s charge, falling like wheat before the scythe, and they reached the tent in surprisingly short order.

  A man stood outside the tent, easily noticeable among the undead, mostly because he still had skin on his bones. He was a tall man, thin and with the wiry muscle of a professional swordsman, which made it clear to Dannen which tent they had chosen.