“Raine, don’t, I swear I won’t do it again, I swear to all the gods I’ll be good please don’t please please please pleeeeze!”
I shut my eyes against the insane light in his, hardened my heart against his pleas for mercy, felt my gut churn with nausea and self-hatred. I wanted to vomit. I bound my friend with rope hand and foot and turned my back. I breathed deep, and, for the first time in years, felt tears sting my eyes.
His screams, promises and insults continued for a few hours more. I watched the sun travel across the sky, my back to him for the first time in two days, only half listening to him, my soul sick. I pondered the evil of men, and tried praying to gods I no longer believed in. Why me? Self-pity poked me in the ribs for the first time since I was nine years old. Why did the gods choose me for this cosmic jest? Didn’t they have better men to pick on?
Gradually, his voice grew fainter and less intelligible, until mere mutters emerged from slackening jaws. I rose and went to him, afraid now that he might indeed die. Dusk settled across the land, the whisper of the breeze through the branches and the rapid gurgle of the river broke the peace. In the failing light, his eyes opened, but he failed to recognize me. Instead of insults, drool dripped from his sagging lips and spilled down his cheek. Yet, his skin felt hot and dry, sweatless under my fingers. Digging out a thick cloth from my saddlebags, I ran to the river to wet it. Without wringing the excess moisture from it, I cooled his head and chest, wiping his face clean of drool and vomit. Whether it helped or not I had no idea. I was a talented killer. I had zero skills as a healer. All I could do throughout the night was keep him clean and cool, and force more water down his throat. And hope that soon, really soon, the tros would surrender the battle and wave a white flag of truce. I feared that with much more of this Rygel would die, despite my best efforts to keep him alive.
When the sun once more set on our third day beside the river, I gnawed on a strip of dried beef as I watched him. I drooped with exhaustion, wanting nothing but rest. Damn it, how long would this take? If the tros failed to relent soon, it would triumph over two dead bodies, not just one. I had not slept since the ordeal began, never daring to even lie down. I forced myself to eat, to drink, although I had no appetite, no thirst. I cared for Rygel and our horses, yet could not summon the energy to care for myself.
Rygel moaned and twisted in his never-ending fight of the ropes that bound him. For the hundredth time I got up to check his wrists and ankles, to make sure they not only remained firmly in place, but also to ensure they did not cut off his blood supply. No sense in saving his life only to cripple him, I thought. Gripping his jaw, I forced his mouth open, pouring a small but steady stream of water down his throat. He choked, heaved and swallowed…then promptly vomited.
As I had many times before, I held him on his side so he would not strangle, feeling the knobby bones beneath his skin. His flesh had melted off his bones, his pale face still shining under the shade tree despite the lack of sweat on his skin. His fever had not broken. Had instead increased several fold. This cannot go on, I thought, feeling despair. He would die, despite my best efforts, and the tros would have won the fight.
Fetching fresh water from the river, I cleaned him, wiped the foam and spittle from his face. Repeatedly, I soaked his head, chest and neck in cold water and cursed my lack of healing skill. There were herbs and potions that could soothe a fever; why hadn’t I obtained any? Rygel himself could have instructed me. Gods above and below, why hadn’t I thought to get some healing information before starting all this?
I cursed my ineptitude. Rygel’s observation about the stupidity of gladiators was not far wrong, I thought savagely. So full of great ideas, I was, back at the inn. ’Tis best I was virgin. I mustn’t pass on the idiocy gene.
Fire suddenly bloomed in the darkness an hour later. The green treetop of a nearby elm burst into flame, followed by another on the far side of the clearing. Gods, gods, gods, I thought wildly. You cannot let this happen. I cannot fight his magic. With a roar, another tree, an oak, went up, sparks flying from instantly crisped leaves.
Rygel lay, lit by the fires he created with his magic, his delirium deepening. His body rigid and still, I heard his moans under the crackling of the fires. Heat seared me, forcing tears to my eyes in protest. Cinders, burning bits of wood and flames rained down on us. I covered Rygel’s body with my own, exposing my vulnerable back to the fires. Sparks burned through my tunic to my skin, making me hiss through my teeth in pain. Yet none actually set my clothing on fire. I remained where I was despite the danger, praying that the fires were all that would plague us.
Thus it seemed it might until something struck me solidly in the back.
Twisting around, I found a large rock lying nearby, its shadow long on the firelight. That rock had not been there a moment before. Oh, gods of the heavens and earth, nay, don’t do this, you mustn’t. Glancing around, I ducked my head in time to avoid another missile, a piece of granite the size of my fist. A shadow moved, just outside the firelight. I peered into the darkness and ducked as a stick whizzed by to land in the dirt, then another rock, still yet another. Where the bloody hell were they coming from and what was throwing them? I sat up straighter, peering past the firelit clearing into the gloom beyond.
Next to the river, where I remembered two man-sized boulders had been, now stood two creatures from hell’s nightmare. They stood about a hand taller than I, and broader. Dark scaly skin with thick curly hair, almost a pelt, covered their bodies. Hair from their heads dangled in long thick ropes well past their shoulders. Their eyes, glowing green in the dark, with a goat’s slitted pupil, stared at me with evil intent.
No name could I put to them, but they reminded me of trolls from ancient legends. Rygel’s delirious magic must have created them from the very rocks that stood there a few moments before. Dancing shadows from the firelight lit up their bulging features. Then they began to move.
The burning trees gave me plenty of light to see by as I backed away, edging toward my sword. A troll bent down stiffly and picked up a stout branch. His mate did the same. Now armed, they steadily advanced.
Seizing my blade, I jumped between Rygel’s tied and unconscious body and the advancing trolls.
“I don’t know which is uglier,” I commented dryly. “My ass or your face.”
I had no idea why I spoke. Nor if they even understood me. A strange sort of madness took hold of me, perhaps from exhaustion, or from the futility of waiting for the tros to leach finally from Rygel’s ailing body. Whatever the reason, I began to laugh like a crazy man, howling dementedly to the unhearing moon.
The pair hesitated, glancing at one another. They did understand me, after all.
I twirled my sword, a trick I picked up years ago that seldom failed to intimidate an enemy. Spinning it faster and faster, making it whistle sharply, I invited the two trolls by crooking the fingers of my left hand.
“Come on,” I said, curling my lip. “Let’s dance.”
Like twin baboons, they bared long fangs of yellow-brown teeth, dividing to catch me between them. I circled carefully, still twirling my sword. Balanced on the balls of my feet, I sidestepped as they stumped ungracefully around me. No doubt, they were stronger than I. Yet, I had speed and agility on my side. I could put the daemonic madness to work for me, I thought, as long as it is there.
“You know,” I said conversationally. “You ought to do something about those teeth. Girls are so not attracted to yellow fangs.”
With identical roars of rage, the trolls charged. I spun fast from out between them, slashing my sword at the one on my left. My sword, while striking with all my strength, left only a small slice in the troll’s head. Howling in pain, the troll could not stop in time and slammed headlong into his mate. Both rebounded comically from one another, staggering from the impact.
I could not help it. I laughed.
Shaking their heads and growling, both turned. I leaped in, slicing at the neck of the closest. My blade gl
anced off, as though I had struck solid granite. My laughter enraged them further, and they ran at me, swinging their cudgels high. I ducked, spun and leaped in the same move, slamming both in the back with my feet. They fell, rolling and roaring.
“Look, lads,” I said, out of range as they staggered to their feet. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Wolf. Which one of you is Dumb, and the other Stupid?”
Twin bellows of rage marked their new charge. Once more, I danced out of their way, slashing at exposed necks. As hard as I hit them, my blade did little damage. My only weapon, it appeared, was to keep them angry. Rygel’s insults might come in handy, I thought. Thus, I invited them to do the anatomically impossible. Their roars of rage rose several decibels into a sound not unlike that of a squalling cat. I grinned. This was just too easy.
My laughter and insults kept them angry, and angry men, or trolls, made mistakes. Insulting them went against all my training, for it took away my concentration and could leave me vulnerable. My superior speed and agility kept them at bay and me free to plagiarize more of Rygel’s insults, yet did little to kill them or solve the problem of their presence. Their skins seemed as tough as the granite from which they sprang.
“Are you lads blind as well as stupid?” I asked. “I’m over here.”
From behind, I hit them both hard, one right after the other, on the backs of their heads. Had I hit a man that hard with my blade, his skull would have leaked his brains out his ears. As it was, my sword clanged uselessly against their heads and bounced off.
“Your brains must be as stone hard as your asses.”
With the flat, I smacked one across the backside, making him howl and clutch himself. I ducked his mate’s vindictive swing at my head with his cudgel, and stabbed my sword backwards, without looking at him, into his rock-like belly. He grunted. I danced away from another wild swing and leaned on my sword.
“What’s wrong? Can’t catch a mere man?”
I found new and interesting ways to taunt them, laughing at their helpless rage as they sought to brain me with their cudgels. Yet, their energy seemed inexhaustible, while my own had three days and nights of sleeplessness, little food and plenty of worry. If I failed to kill them soon, they would have me as their next meal.
Dawn finally rose within their thick pates, and they discovered I could not as easily escape thrown stones as I could their awkward cudgel swings. Happy and hooting with joy, they pelted me with rocks and stout chunks of wood. I ducked most, but one hit hard enough to send agony spiraling through my left shoulder. Another, large enough to turn my head into jelly, missed me by a mere fraction, hissing balefully past my ear. This is ridiculous, I thought. I’m going to get slaughtered by two living rocks too stupid to find their own backsides with both hands and a map.
My taunts faded as I seriously fought to kill them. For it was not my own life at risk. If they managed to kill me, they would certainly not put Rygel on a pedestal and worship him as their creator. They would roast him for breakfast.
I ducked another fist-sized rock, but felt another hit me square in the back. Gods, but that hurt. I deflected another thrown stone with my sword blade, using it as a bat to fling the rocks from their trajectory. The trolls sensed my immediate and humiliating demise, and began throwing rocks faster and harder.
Hell’s teeth, I thought.
With no warning, a squat boulder near the river exploded and ran with flame. At the top of the riverbank, it oozed downhill into the river, where it hissed menacingly, throwing up steam. It startled both trolls enough they stopped their rock throwing game and looked stupidly at the melting, flaming stone. Rygel. I glanced wildly at his still body, lit from the continually burning trees. Still unconscious. Still caught in his delirium. He appeared unharmed, however.
Another rock blew up, molten stone oozing, catching the grass and twigs on fire. The small brush fire burned merrily, spreading, eating all in its path. Then two more boulders whooshed into sudden flame, solid rocks burning like bales of dry hay. Keep that trick handy, I thought with an insane giggle. We will have no need to cut wood for fire this winter. Just burn rocks. There are always plenty of those lying around.
Deciding the burning rocks held little danger to them, the trolls picked up more stones to throw at me. With their backs to a large oak, they raised their fists to throw. They hesitated, catching the shock in my widening eyes. Turning, they saw what held me entranced, my sword lax in my fist.
Oak branches waved in no wind, whipping back and forth, sending leaves flying. The tree roots groaned with a low guttural sound as they pulled themselves from the stony soil. Ponderously, like a stiff old man rising from his chair, the oak tree walked. Huge root feet stepped forward, digging lesser roots into the soil, gripping with woody talons. Two steps, it took, then three.
Rygel, do you see this? I wanted to laugh, but had no breath with which to do it. The tree reached down a long heavy branch, aiming to scoop up a troll. The troll shrieked and danced out of the way and the tree missed.
Trolls birthed from boulders, stones catching fire and trees learning how to walk. What a tale! I couldn’t wait until I could tell Rygel what his delirium created. He would never believe it. Provided we both survived, that is.
A granite boulder to my left exploded with a dry crack, flames rushing through its gaping maw. A troll stood not far away, gaping like a landed fish. I leaped, seized him by the arm and swung hard. With turning one, then two revolutions, I gained some momentum. Letting go, I sent the troll staggering into the mouth of the flaming stone. He screamed, his body running with fire, fire leaping from his howling mouth, jumping down his straining throat, his limbs melting. If the rocks could run with fire, I thought tiredly, so should a rock troll.
Shriveling, the troll collapsed and melted with the boulder.
His mate watched in horror, his fangs reflecting the firelight as he stared first at his crisped partner, then at me. With a roar of rage, he hurled the rock in his fist. My exhaustion took a firm hold and made my body and wits too slow. Unable to jump aside in time, it hit me low in the chest. Agony lanced through my body as my ribs broke, my breath gone, caught on a tidal wave of pain. I gasped, doubling over, barely dodging the next thrown rock in time. The third caught me in the knee, the explosion of pain toppling me headfirst into the sooty dirt. Now he will kill me, I thought haphazardly. I watched him advance slowly, triumphantly, gripping his cudgel in his fist. Sorry, Rygel, old lad. I did my best.
The club lifted, high over the troll’s head, his fangs bared in an apelike grimace.
Behind him, the tree walked splay-legged, awkward on its newfound root feet. The heavy branch arm, green and thick with smaller braches and leaves, reached down once more. As I might pick up a child, the tree scooped him, wiggling, into its embrace. The troll shrieked, struggling, beating the stout tree branch with his club. Unperturbed, the tree lifted him, crushing his ribs, breaking his spine. Black blood burst from his gaping jaws, his howls of agony silenced as the tree broke him as surely as all green life eventually breaks stone.
With the troll’s corpse hanging limp and loose in its grasp, the tree’s other leafy arm reached for me. The wind roared soundlessly in my ears, the black spots in my eyes grew to the size of platters. Icy cold reached my bones, turning them to ice.
This was it.
I had time for that one brief thought before the darkness took me.
* * *
“Raine.”
The single word floated, meaningless, through my ears. I was supposed to know that word. It meandered its way through the thick fog in my brain, tickling me with its familiarity. I was supposed to know what it meant. What was it?
“Raine, wake up.”
There it was again. Yet, remembering what it meant exhausted me. Go away, I thought. Let me sleep. I retreated behind the fog, drifting.
“Damn it, Raine.”
That bloody voice intruded once more, rudely preventing me from drifting back into the sweet te
mpting nothingness. Weak, querulous, yet insistent, it crept under the fog and forced my eyes open. Green leaves dancing in a light breeze, behind them blue sky with a few fluffy clouds met my gaze. Where was I? The silvery-green leaves fascinated me endlessly, hypnotizing. I began to drift.
“You filthy, miserable piece of fly-ridden donkey shit…wake up.”
That sliced through the fog in my brain and I remembered. Raine was me. Rygel’s weak voice spoke it. Images of the trolls, the fires, and the newly liberated trees swamped my aching brain.
I tried to sit up. The pain hovering at the edge of my consciousness suddenly soaked into my bones.
“Gods,” I hissed, flopping back to the ground. Agony flared through my broken ribs, making me curl into a fetal position on my left side. My head spun, aching with a savagery that put the rest of my pains to shame. I squinted at Rygel, who lay a few feet away, watching me.
Bloody from various gashes and burns, filthy, stinking, and still tied like a hog at slaughter, the old Rygel looked at me with faint annoyance. The insanity, madness, fevers and drug addiction had all disappeared in the night while I lay unconscious.
“Morning,” he said.
I grunted at the attempted lightness in his tone and squinted around the clearing. “So ’tis.”
The blackened husks of the downed trees still smoked, blue tendrils coiling lazily into the air. Stones, branches, deadwood and other debris littered the clearing. As though the skies had opened up and rained not water but rocks and wood. A squat oak tree, its roots delving deep into the soil, stood over me, its limbs branching out and down, surrounding me with its green life. Fascinated, I stared upward into the sunlight flickering off the leaves, dancing in the slight breeze. The tree’s limbs surrounded me, as though captured in the act of reaching to pick me up.
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