Don't Feed the Trolls Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Newsletter Signup

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Come say Hi!

  Newsletter Signup

  About the Author

  Note from the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Don’t Feed the Trolls: The Antiheroes Book 2

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  Copyright © 2021 Jacob Nathaniel Peppers. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  As Dannen watched the undead dragon flying toward him, several thoughts passed through his mind. The first wasn’t so much a thought, in truth, as it was a feeling—namely, wild-eyed, shit-yourself terror. The second, though, as he frowned at the sky, gauging how long it would be before the beast reached the town of Palden—the answer, of course, being not nearly long enough—was how easy it was for a man to make seemingly innocent decisions, such as taking up the quest of a messenger god, and wind up well and truly screwed.

  Okay, he corrected, maybe not so innocent. Still, if a man’s wisdom might be measured in the amount of times he managed to avoid or—as the case may be—run directly into the path of life threatening danger, waving his arms and screaming in case it managed not to notice him, then he thought he’d proven himself the world’s biggest fool a few hundred times over.

  “So what’s the plan, Butcher?” Fedder shouted, forced to raise his voice in order to be heard over the terrified screams of fleeing villagers.

  Dannen turned, scowling at the mage. Maybe he wasn’t quite the world’s biggest fool, but at least he was in the running. His first response was that they ought to flee, flee like their feet were on fire and their asses were catching. The problem, though, was that even if he were in great shape—and while the last weeks’ exertion had shaved off a lot of the excess fat he’d gained with great pleasure over the years, no one would accuse him of that—it wasn’t as if he could outrun a dragon. Unless, maybe, the dragon decided to take a nap, and based on the unerring course it was charting toward the village, that didn’t seem likely.

  He glanced over at Tesler and the girl, Mariana, both of them looking at him like he had some magic answer. He wanted to tell them he wasn’t the mage here, but an idea struck him, and he turned to Tesler. “Can you talk to it?” he said. “Like the gryphon?”

  Tesler blinked. “Talk to it?”

  Dannen waved his hand vaguely. “Yeah, you know. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

  Tesler looked up at the undead dragon in the distance. “It is a dragon, and they are very different than regular beasts, for they are magic in nature. Also, it’s undead, yet even if neither one of these things were true, it would not matter, for even if I could speak to it, I doubt very much if we would like what it might say.”

  “So no then,” Mariana said testily—understandably so, as far as Dannen was concerned. “Just say no.”

  “Right,” Tesler said, clearing his throat. “Well. No.”

  Dannen winced, casting about for any possible solution, and his eyes alighted on the squirrel sitting on the man’s shoulder. “What about your pet? A squirrel god, didn’t you say? We could use a miracle just now.”

  The squirrel met his eyes, and despite the fact that he was fairly sure squirrels couldn’t frown, it seemed to anyway. Tesler glanced at it, and the squirrel, still watching Dannen, chattered something.

  Tesler cleared his throat, holding up a hand in what appeared to be an attempt at a calming gesture, then turned back to Dannen. “She says…no.”

  Based on the anger flashing in the little beast’s eyes, he thought she’d said a lot more than that, but it was Fedder who spoke. “Bet she’d be interested in doin’ somethin’ if that was a big nut flyin’ at us. Damned rat.”

  The squirrel’s attentions shifted to the mage, and she chattered a steady stream of squirrel talk, Tesler wincing as she did. “I don’t actually think that would be possible,” Tesler said, cringing as if expecting to be struck, “I mean…his size alone would preclude—”

  “Enough,” Dannen interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. I think we’d better find cover and—”

  But before he could finish, a horn sounded from nearby, a loud, piercing, obnoxious sound, and he spun, expecting to see the man who’d called himself Duke Navierd marshalling his troops, either to fight the dragon or, more likely, to stage a quick execution before it arrived, one involving Dannen and the rest of his group. But the “Protector of Palden” was too busy cowering underneath the overhang of a tailor’s shop, he—and the dozen or so guards with him—staring at the sky with pale, slack faces.

  No, the horn had not come from that quarter, then, but when Dannen glanced over and saw the two men approaching on white horses, one of which held a curved, ornate horn in his hand, he thought that, all in all, he would have preferred the execution.

  “Could this day get any worse?” Fedder said from beside him.

  “Oh, it’s early yet,” Dannen muttered. “Give it time.”

  The Brothers Mackeena rode their horses with straight backs, their chins lift
ed into the sky—they always were, if the times Dannen had had the unfortunate displeasure of being in their vicinity were anything to go by—looking like what he thought they imagined storybook heroes looked like. To him, they looked like a couple of assholes in armor that gleamed enough to blind you if you looked too closely.

  It was as if some god, tired of the usual screwing up of mortals’ lives, had decided, for a change of pace, to combine all the most obnoxious, arrogant qualities of would-be heroes into the two brothers. Everything about them, from their raised chins, to their armor, even to the horses they rode—horses so white Dannen was fairly certain they painted them—pissed him off.

  “I thought the Ogre of Allenheim did for those bastards years ago,” Fedder grumbled.

  “Sure,” Dannen said. “Or the Gorgon of Belthalest.”

  Fedder grunted. “Bastards got a way of stayin’ alive.”

  “Like roaches.”

  “Shiny ones,” the mage agreed. “They also got a way of showin’ up where they’re not wanted.”

  “Where else could they be?” Dannen muttered.

  The two brothers rode into the center of the terrified townsfolk, stopping to regard the duke who had stepped out from hiding. Likely, they guessed the man’s position—not that hard of a guess, really, considering the man’s ornate dress and the jewelry bedecking his hands and neck. They paused, removing their helmets, and giving their heads a shake to free their long, golden hair, then turned their chiseled, manly features toward the duke. “We seek the governor of this fine town,” one said. Which one, Dannen couldn’t have said—he never could tell them apart.

  The duke managed to pull himself together enough to stand straight. “I am Duke Navierd, ruler and protector of the city of Palden and its outlying areas.”

  Dannen thought calling the small town a city was about as pretentious as the brothers’ perfectly styled hair, but the brothers were far too chock-full of virtue to have such a negative thought, and they only nodded, dismounting their horses in unison and stepping forward to offer the duke two gauntleted hands. He hesitated, glancing at his guards, then took the hands one at a time, giving them each a timid shake. “W-who are you?” he said, doing his best to sound imperious but mostly sounding like a child who has just witnessed two heroes from the stories his mother told him about materialize in front of him.

  The two brothers glanced at each other, sharing arrogant smirks that made Dannen want to punch them in the faces, incoming undead dragon or not. “We,” they said in unison, as they turned back to the Duke, “are the Brothers Mackeena. I am Deucelleran, but you may call me Deuce,” one said.

  “And I am Xavier Mackeena,” the second said, “but you may call me Ex.”

  The Duke swallowed hard, bowing his head. “Deuce, Ex Mackeena. It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “Oh, but the pleasure is ours,” Deuce—or maybe Ex, Dannen didn’t know for sure and didn’t care enough to worry over it—said. “We have come because we heard that your fine city was in trouble and”—he paused, glancing behind him at the dragon as if it were no more than a stray dog and he the one tasked with carting it away—“it seems that our information was good.”

  “Would you like for us to assist you in dealing with this…pest?” the second brother asked.

  The governor glanced at the dragon, trying for the lack of concern the brothers displayed—a lack of concern, when faced with an undead dragon, which was only possible if you were a complete and utter fool. But while the man was obviously an idiot, he wasn’t quite stupid enough to avoid trembling. “I-if…that is, if you would like.”

  “Very well,” the brothers said in unison once more. They turned and started back toward their mounts but then paused as they noted Dannen and the others. They shared a whisper then grinned, strutting over. “Why, if it isn’t Dannen the Bloody Butcher and Fedder the Firemaker,” one of them said.

  “Deuce,” Dannen said.

  The two brothers shared a humorous look. “I’m Ex,” the one who’d spoken said.

  Fedder grunted. “Who gives a shi—”

  Dannen held up a hand, silencing him. “You have come for the dragon?”

  Another humorous, shared look, another urge—nearly irresistible this time—to punch them in the faces, to see if maybe he couldn’t spoil those handsome, storybook features a bit. “So we have,” one said. “We have tracked the beast for some time, though…” He paused, frowning. “We were not aware that you and your band were here. It would not be proper for us to intrude, if you had designs on the beast.”

  “Oh, no,” Dannen said, “please. Intrude.”

  The brothers studied him with something like pity in their expressions, likely thinking—rightly so—that he was afraid. That was fine with Dannen, for as far as he was concerned, any man who wasn’t afraid of an undead dragon flying directly at him deserved what he got.

  “Very well,” one of them said, then they slid their helmets back on and made their way to their horses, swinging into the saddles at the same time as if they’d practiced it—probably they had. “Do not worry, citizens of Palden,” one said—intoned, really, it seemed the bastards never did anything else—“we are here, and the Brothers Mackeena will protect you.” A small smirk, visible even through the slit of the helmet, as he glanced at Dannen and the others before his gaze shifted to the gathered crowd of frightened people. “After all, it is what we do.”

  Then they were riding off at a gallop, side by side, their swords, as they drew them, gleaming in the sunlight. Dannen checked on the dragon and saw that it had come considerably closer while the brothers had been busy posturing, close enough that he could see what looked like the grizzly remains of its last meal—person or animal, it was impossible to tell—in its mouth. Close enough that he was getting that sinking feeling in his gut, the one that always came when he found himself in a life-threatening situation and one which he felt was altogether too familiar.

  But if the brothers felt any of the fear gripping his insides, they did not show it. Instead, they rode to meet the dragon, the hooves of their horses tearing up the earth as if they, like their riders, could not wait to come to grips with the beast.

  “Gods, I hate those bastards,” Fedder said.

  Dannen opened his mouth, meaning to answer, but just then one of the brothers who, now that the “valiant charge” bit of the proceedings seemed to be over, had resheathed his sword and drawn a bow which he fired from horseback at the beast. It was an impressive shot all things considered, one that whistled through the air, flying unerringly to strike the beast in its eye. Or, at least, it would have, had the beast still had eyes instead of cavernous sockets where they had once been. So instead of making for a bad day—being shot in the eye, Dannen figured, would do that even if you were a dragon—the arrow ricocheted off the beast’s skull and flew harmlessly away without effect.

  But then, that wasn’t exactly true, for the shot had had an effect. It drew the creature’s attention, and its massive head turned, for the first time seeming to notice the two men riding toward it on their white chargers. There was a subtle shift of its bony, fleshless wings, and then it was hurtling toward them with shocking speed.

  The brothers were fairly distant now, yet in the silence which had descended over the village, Dannen could hear them bellow twin war cries right before the dragon swiped out with one of its massive talons and sent the two men—and their unfortunate mounts—hurtling through the air to vanish into the distance. Dannen grunted. “Well. It seems the dragon doesn’t much care for them either.”

  “Yeah,” Fedder said. “Reckon that’ll do for ‘em.”

  Dannen glanced at him. “You think?”

  The mage sighed. “No. No, I don’t.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  This from Mariana, and Dannen had to admit it was a good question. After all, there was still the small issue of the undead dragon rushing toward them. Five minutes, maybe less, and it would be on them. It had been
a pretty shitty day so far, a pretty shitty life, in truth, but it could definitely get a lot worse and in a hurry. He racked his brain then, thinking. Finally, an idea came to him, and he spun to look at the duke, the man still staring off at the hillside where the Brothers Mackeena had been moments before, where something—a boot, perhaps, or a helmet—still glistened heroically in the sunlight. “Do you have a catapult?”

  The man blinked, turning to him. “Sorry?”

  “A catapult,” Dannen repeated. “Do you have one?”

  The duke frowned, looking thoroughly confused before turning to one of the men near him, the guard captain by the insignia on his shoulder. The man nodded. “Yes, sir. Two.”

  Dannen nodded. “Get them ready. Let’s see if we can’t knock this big bitch out of the sky.”

  The Duke’s frown deepened, and some of the confusion left his features to be replaced by anger. “I rule in Palden, not you, and I’ll be the one to give the orders here.”

  Dannen sighed. “Listen, we don’t have time for this bullshit, alright? Arrest us later, if you want, but right now, we’ve got more important things to worry about than your feelings—namely, a huge undead dragon. So do you want to sit here and assert your authority, or do you want to live to see tomorrow?”

  The duke’s face turned a deep shade of red at that, so that it looked as if he might explode. His mouth opened, likely intending to give the order that would see Dannen and the others executed which meant they would beat the rest of the citizens of Palden to the land of the dead by five minutes, maybe less. In the end, though, the Duke showed that he was perhaps not quite as foolish as the average person, for he chose staying alive over pride, and he grunted. “Very well, you heard him, Captain,” he said, “prepare the ballista.”

  “As you command, sir,” the man said, a clear expression of relief on his face as he sketched a quick bow and hurried away, barking orders as he did.