Jonathan Haymaker

by Sam Ferguson

  He looked back to Raven and gave a quick hand signal, then he pointed to Moose and nodded to the west. The two silently turned and disappeared into the forest toward the west. They would circle around to the north, Ziegler knew. The captain then turned to Bull and pointed to the trees where the dark shape moved.

  Bull stepped forward and squinted through the water coursing over his face. His eyes widened momentarily and his nostrils flared when he caught sight of the figure. Bull glanced to Ziegler and nodded confidently. Ziegler returned the nod. Bull took hold of his weapon and moved through the forest to the north.

  Ziegler then motioned for Bear to follow him. The two men circled out to the east, ever watchful for sign of others in the forest nearby.

  It could be that the figure they saw was a human scout, sent from Battlegrym to check the swampy forest to the south, but it was far more likely that it was a troll. Most humans would scout in pairs, or sometimes in trios. Trolls, on the other hand, were far more numerous than humans. They were also more adept at moving through the swamp without contracting any of its ill effects due to their tremendous powers of regeneration. Even the vipers and insects that could end a human life with a single bite were nothing more than small annoyances for a troll. Somehow their bodies could reject even the strongest of poisons. More than that, trolls didn’t seem to care as much as the humans did about the loss of life in this war. For every troll that died, there were several more to take its place, and regardless of how many they lost in a struggle, they always fought to the last troll warrior. They never retreated from battle, and they never stopped to help the wounded. This was not so with the humans.

  Ziegler kept his eye on the form as it wound its way through waist high ferns and around great trees. It ducked behind a screen of thick moss stretching from a rotting bough eight feet above the ground down to the thick ferns below.

  Captain Ziegler halted in his tracks and held a hand out for Bear.

  “Where’d he go?” Bear whispered.

  Captain Ziegler shook his head. Whatever the thing was, it was gone. Ziegler scanned the area as best he could, wiping water from his brow and squinting at the harsh rain. He couldn’t see anything. He turned back to locate Bull. The large berserker must have also noticed the figure’s disappearing act, for he was crouched in a crop of ferns at the base of a large, bald cypress tree.

  “Something’s wrong if Bull hesitates,” Bear cautioned.

  Ziegler drew his sword and gripped the leather-wrapped hilt. He bent to a mid-crouch, ready to sprint out as soon as he could discern where the figure was.

  He waited for a few more minutes, still and focused, as his eyes scanned the area around the screen of moss. Water cascaded down the living wall as he watched.

  Then, the moss bowed out toward Ziegler. The bough above the screen creaked and snapped as the moss effectively trapped something inside like a great net. A moment later Moose was trampling the ground and pummeling the lump of thrashing green with his hammer.

  Ziegler rushed in, as did Bull. They arrived just as the troll managed to rip through the moss and snarl at Moose. Jagged yellow teeth flashed up at them as the troll reached out from the moss with a lean hand holding a dagger. Moose brought the hammer down quick and decisively on the troll’s face, flattening everything it struck and pounding into the mud below. The sickly sound of cracking bone and squishing flesh was loud enough to be heard above the din of the torrential rain. Luckily, the moss concealed all of the gruesomeness.

  The troll twitched a time or two more, and Ziegler thrust his sword down into the creature’s chest for good measure.

  “Always better to kill the troll twice than to let it escape,” Ziegler commented as he withdrew his sword. He looked up to Moose with a nod of approval. “Good job.”

  Moose grunted.

  Raven appeared out from behind a crop of large trees then and gestured out to Bull. “I think the troll scout caught sight of you,” he said.

  Bull shrugged. “That was the point. I draw his attention while the four of you close in from the sides.”

  Raven nodded knowingly.

  “Let’s move along,” Ziegler said. We have another couple of miles before we reach Battlegrym. We can report this sighting when we get there.”

  “I could do with a dry pair of socks,” Bear said.

  Bull scoffed. “What’s the matter Bear, toes starting to wrinkle?”

  Bear picked up his right foot and turned it to the side as if he could see through the leather. “Oh, I think I am well beyond wrinkled toes.”

  “Are you still warm enough?” Raven asked. “Have you felt any chills or other signs of fever?”

  Bear shook his head. “No, but I can feel the stinging. I know something is ripped inside the boot. The faster we get back to Battlegrym, the better I can stave off foot rot.”

  “Any blood?” Ziegler asked as he pointed to Bear’s foot.

  “Nothing seeping through yet,” Bear said with a shake of his head. “Though with this rain I don’t know that I would be able to see it anyway. Mud’s so thick on the bottom of the boot it might be hiding it, and the rain hitting the top would wash it away before I could notice.”

  Captain Ziegler nodded. “Let’s move.”

  The five of them left the troll corpse wrapped in moss and moved northward. They pressed through the large cypress trees, trudging through thickening mud that seemed to grow heavier with each step as the farther they moved north the more rocks and clumps seemed to cling to them.

  Finally, after another hour of marching along, the trees broke and they saw the clearing. The muddy swamp gave way to waterlogged earth. Puddles formed all along the dead and dying patches of grass that had only a few years before been part of a vast field. That was before the monsoons moved this far north. The marching was a bit easier, if a little on the slippery side now as they crossed over the grassy field. Through the rain they could just make out the sight of a crew fixing the large boardwalk that extended out to the south. Thick posts were driven into the ground to hold up the platform of wood that stood a couple feet above the ground. It afforded Battlegrym an easier defense should the trolls ever make it this far north, Ziegler knew.

  They made the platform in good time and the crew of engineers helped them up to walk on the wood. It was then that Ziegler saw they were not only repairing broken planks, but they were also preparing to build a wall. Posts were being placed at the edge of the platform every four feet. All along the platform were tall piles of boards and logs, waiting to be used for the wall. Logs were being fashioned into pikes that would presumably be aimed outward from the wall. Additionally, there were several crews of men pulling large handcarts behind them.

  Ziegler stopped to watch as his men did the best they could to scrape the thick mud from their boots before traversing over the pristine platform. One of the carts held a great amount of birch bark. The men pulling this cart moved forward and started loosely nailing the rough bark to the smooth planks on the platform. No sooner had they finished then the carts behind them would come forward and shovel out quantities of sand over the bark.

  “It provides better traction,” one of the engineers told Ziegler as he pointed to the carts. “We have to replace the sand a lot, but the bark helps to trap the rough grains and gives our men better purchase on the platform. We’ll build slanted roofs near the wall, but it would take too long to do that for the whole platform.”

  “The platform is bigger than I last saw it,” Ziegler said.

  “You have been gone for a few months,” the engineer replied. “We reached our goal. This will give us a good defense if the trolls are spotted coming over the clearing. We can even build bunks out here once the walls are up. That way no one can sneak up on Battlegrym.”

  “Have the trolls been up here enough to make that possible?” Ziegler asked.

  The engineer shrugged. “All I know is every day you are out there looking for their home, they are sending armies north to find ours. We have had
a few battles here in the clearing over the last several weeks, actually. Nothing too serious, but enough that we have redoubled our efforts to finish the platform. When it is finished it is going to create a palisade that completely surrounds Battlegrym. The castle will be in the center, with the outer walls of the palisade measuring half a mile out in every direction. The wooden platform is designed to afford our warriors better footing than the clearing would have offered now that it is constantly waterlogged.” The engineer shrugged and offered a smile. “I imagine if we have the time that they’ll order us to create some sort of roof over the whole deck.”

  Ziegler glanced back and noticed that his men were now waiting for him to finish his conversation. His eyes flicked down to Bear’s foot and he noticed a thin line of red flowing out from the heel of the boot, washed along by the rainwater. He clapped the engineer on the back. “Best of luck to you. May the Gods grant you strength.”

  The engineer smiled and turned to leave, but stopped short, looking at the others with Captain Ziegler. “Is this all that remains? I mean, where are the others that left with you?”

  Bull stepped up and placed his face directly in front of the engineer’s. “Why do you think they call us the Ghosts of the Quags?”

  The engineer nodded nervously and then shuffled back to work.

  Ziegler turned and the men marched along the deck with him. He might have rebuked Bull for the man’s harshness, but Bear was quick to do so for him, which of course started a merry argument that had all of the men along the palisade construction zone moving quickly to make way for the group. Ziegler let it go, as he found himself doing more and more lately.

  When they finally saw the looming towers and walls of the stone fortress known as Battlegrym, each of the men felt a wave of relief. Their pace redoubled as their boots clapped on the boardwalk below. The gray stone of the building seemed to absorb the light of the sun that managed to filter through the thick clouds above and the sheets of rain. Spots of orange light fought the gloom from the covered lanterns and torches that were shielded from the weather. They did little to cut the gloom, but they did help the Ghosts of the Quags to find their way to the main entrance.

  They passed by a large number of guards and through several mantraps, each of them blockaded and closed with a heavy portcullis of iron. The warriors would move into each one and wait for the portcullis behind them to close before the one in front of them would open.

  “This is the part I hate,” Bull grunted. “As if they can’t see we’re not trolls, we have to sit in each little holding cell and wait for them to raise the gates.”

  “It’s a precaution,” Raven said. “In case the trolls have sent an army to follow any who come into Battlegrym.”

  “Isn’t the large boardwalk and palisade supposed to prevent surprises now?” Bull retorted. “Or are they just building it because they had nothing better to do with good wood than let it rot in the rain?” Bull looked up to the shadowy faces peering down at them from the murder holes above. “Where are the wizards?” he shouted. “Can you not at least keep the rains away from Battlegrym?”

  “Close your mouth,” Ziegler said curtly. He turned and narrowed an eye on Bull. “I mean it.”

  Bull grunted and folded his arms, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  After a matter of minutes and going through three more mantraps, the group was admitted into the castle courtyard. The floor was dirt, as this is where the horses and other animals were kept in their stables, but a roof had long ago been built over this portion of the keep. Columns of soldiers trained in the courtyard as workers hurried about with feed for the horses, or with supplies for the castle.

  Ziegler led the group directly to the twenty foot tall doorway at the top of a grand staircase of gray stone. Each of the double doors stood mightily with arched tops and bands of iron bolted across the wood to reinforce them from assault. The guards stood flanking the doors, with their halberds pointed upward and their eyes focused on some point directly in front of them.

  The large door on the left opened inward, revealing a man dressed in black garb with a long, hawkish nose set between a pair of narrow, ever scrutinizing eyes that glared out coldly at Captain Ziegler. The man was bald, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin proudly jutting out beyond his neck.

  “Where are the others?” the man asked pointedly.

  Captain Ziegler sighed and inwardly cursed his luck. There were not many men he had ever met that had always seemed to rub him the wrong way, but Toles, the Master of the Keep, was one such man. It was as if Toles believed he was the steward for the king himself. It wasn’t only Ziegler who felt this way either. Even Moose let out a displeasured groan when Toles opened the door.

  “They’re dead,” Bear answered.

  “Perhaps you can find us some better warriors,” Bull put in sharply.

  The group barreled past Toles and hardly slowed enough to allow the man to move aside.

  Toles raised a hand and opened his frowning mouth. “You will have to wait your turn for an appointment,” he said. “I must maintain the proper schedule, you know. It isn’t easy to maintain a castle, especially one embattled as this one is.”

  Moose stepped toward the hawkish man and leaned down, emitting a deep growl. Toles bent backward, trying to keep a respectable distance from the giant man. Moose responded by pulling a cigar and biting it.

  A moment later the cigar burned bright and the smoke swirled around Toles’ face until the annoying steward had no choice but to stop talking and turn away from the group.

  They walked on through the main entry chamber toward a pair of black doors on the other side.

  “I thought you hated his cigars,” Ziegler whispered to Raven.

  Raven looked back to Moose, who nodded appreciatively and took a long drag on the thing before billowing out a cloud of smoke above them as they walked. The wizard then turned to Ziegler, unable to conceal his smug smile. He shrugged. “I said I don’t like to smell it in my face.”

  “But it’s fine for Toles?” Ziegler pressed.

  Raven pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a full wave of laughter.

  “Can you imagine a more pleasant way to shut the windbag up?” Bull put in harshly.

  Ziegler looked back to Moose. The big man was grinning stupidly from ear to ear, holding the cigar in place with his teeth. He would never say it, but the captain had enjoyed the prank as much as the others had.

  They pushed through the large, black doors and into the council hall. Unlike the entry chamber, which was essentially nothing more than a bare stone room with doors in each of its four walls, the council chamber was a long, rectangular hall with well-appointed furniture, carpets of fur, and tapestries along the walls. Sconces were bracketed into the walls and chandeliers with large candles hung from the ceiling. It was the first sign of the comfort that could be found within Battlegrym.

  Ziegler pointed to a tufted red couch and looked to Bear. “Let’s take a look at your foot.”

  Bear shook his head. “If I take my boot off, it’s not going back on for a while. Better wait until after we make our report.”

  Captain Ziegler shook his head. “Take it off now, or I’ll have Moose hold you down. I can make the report by myself. Let’s take care of you now.”

  Bear arched a brow and lifted his right foot to the tufted couch. He bent down to loosen the buckles and latches, but a sudden pain made him wince when he tugged on the first strap. Ziegler looked to his other men. They all nodded and swooped in. Moose gently grabbed Bear by the shoulders and turned him around to sit him down on the couch. Bull knelt down and took Bear’s foot between his knees and went to work freeing the latches. Raven stood near, preparing the few healing spells he knew.

  The boot slid with some sticking and jerking along Bear’s foot. Bear grunted and winced, but he never cried out. When Bull set the boot aside, he looked up at Bear and shook his head.

  “You should have told u
s sooner,” he said.

  Captain Ziegler moved in closer to see the blood-soaked sock. “Cut it off,” he said.

  Bear produced a roll of wet leather and handed it to Bull. Bull unrolled the leather and found a pair of scissors. He carefully slid one edge into the back of the sock and began cutting down the back of Bear’s leg. Even when the entire back of the sock was cut, it clung to Bear’s flesh.

  Bull huffed in disgust and handed the leather back to Bear. “Do me a favor and bite down on this,” he said.

  “Just pull it off,” Bear insisted as he shoved the leather away.

  Bull shrugged and worked his fingers along the sock, pulling only a portion of the cloth at a time. It was the worst over the back of the heel. A blister had ruptured and the wetness had prevented it from healing over. The tender skin underneath the open wound had been too wet to harden, and so it had split as well. The sock pulled at the edges, allowing a bit of blood to run out and drip over Bull’s fingers. Eventually he was able to get the sock pulled away from all but the toes.

  “This is where it might get tricky,” Bear said. “I first felt pain in my toes.”

  Bull nodded. He worked the sock as gently as he could. The toes themselves were only raw or split along the pads, but there were many places between the toes that gushed with blood and had a foul stench so that Bull had to turn aside more than once during the sock’s removal.

  “Raven, can you do anything?” Ziegler asked as the worst of the mangled flesh was revealed.

  The wizard shook his head. “I can dry the wound, but some of those tears are deep enough they require sutures. It would be better to do that while the skin is still moist. If I dry the foot completely, then the skin near the rips might recede and shrink, which would make the sutures more difficult to successfully hold the skin.”