Don't Feed the Trolls Read online

  “Just a minute, Butcher,” the mage said, “I’ll get this bastard lit soon enough.” Then he went back to it, his tongue sticking out between his lips in concentration as he struck the stones together again and again with predictable results.

  “Fedder,” Dannen repeated. The mage grunted distractedly, still focused on his task.

  “Fedder,” Dannen said, and it turned out that the wind hadn’t quite stolen so much of his voice that he couldn’t shout after all.

  The mage turned to look at him. “Alright, Butcher, alright. I was just tryin’ to get the fire started like you said, that’s all.”

  “Fedder,” Dannen said slowly, “you’re a mage.”

  The big man shifted uncomfortably, turning back to the stones. “Fine, alright? You were right—maybe it ain’t the best place for a camp, but it’s the only one we got. I hear you, Butcher, I do. Ain’t no need to be rude about it.”

  Dannen gritted his teeth. “What I mean is you’re a mage. A fire mage.”

  Fedder winced, glancing at the girl as if afraid she might have overheard, then back at Dannen. “We all got our burdens to bear, Butcher. It ain’t somethin’ I’m proud of.”

  “Cast a spell and start the damned fire!” Dannen yelled.

  The mage winced. “Alright, alright, Butcher. You ain’t got to shout.” He spared another glance at the girl—as if being embarrassed by his magic was their biggest concern just then—then hunched his shoulders, closing his eyes. A moment later, flame blossomed above the palm of one of his hands, rolling off it like a ball and into the twigs and grass. A moment later, the fire caught, and Dannen breathed a heavy sigh as he felt, if not warm, at least as if, given time, he might remember what it felt like to be warm.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “I’d have gotten it eventually,” Fedder muttered, tossing the two stones aside.

  Dannen, feeling the heat of the admittedly pitiable campfire, felt too happy, just then, to point out that by the time the man had “gotten it” they likely all would have been frozen to death. Instead, he half-sat, half-collapsed on his bedroll, staring at the dancing flames.

  Fedder grunted, sitting down on his own bedroll beside him, his large back pressed against the mountainside. For a time, they said nothing, only sat in silence, each of them thinking his own thoughts, each of them studying the blaze like it was the finest thing he’d ever seen.

  “So,” the mage said eventually, “what do you know?”

  Dannen frowned, looking over at him. “What do you mean?”

  The big man shrugged. “Just noticed when that guard captain was talkin’ about King Ufrith and all, you had a face.”

  “I had a face,” Dannen said slowly. “Well, I’m fairly sure I still do. Not that I can feel it.”

  The mage barked a laugh at that, clapping Dannen on the back hard enough to drive what little breath the wind hadn’t stolen from him out of his lungs. He continued to laugh as Dannen hissed and rasped for air. “Good one, Butcher,” the mage said. “Good one. No, what I mean is, you looked…well, doubtful, I guess. About the king dealing with the duke and all. Seemed to me you know something we don’t.”

  Dannen bit back the remark that came to mind—namely, that he suspected he knew a lot the man didn’t. For one, if Fedder was a fool, then what did that make himself, the man who continually found himself traveling with him? More importantly, though, was that he didn’t like the thought of what the mage’s platter-sized fists could do to him, if the man took it in mind to be offended. Instead, he sighed. “Perandius visited me. In my dreams, I mean.”

  Fedder grunted. “Not my first choice, I guess, but if a man’s lonely enough—”

  “What?” Dannen interrupted. “No, no, what I mean is he brought me to the Land of the Gods.”

  Fedder nodded slowly. “I see. Never heard it put quite like that, but I say that, in this world, a person’s got to find his joy where he can and—”

  “Damnit,” Dannen hissed, “I mean he spoke to me.”

  “Why, I should hope so,” the mage said. “Pillow talk’s an important part of—”

  “Damn you, he told me that King Ufrith and his army have been in a battle with the undead.”

  Fedder frowned. “Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing a man would want to hear after—”

  “They lost,” Dannen interrupted. Because it was either that or murder. “Ufrith, Perandius assures me, has been driven back—along with what remains of his army—to his capital. They are currently under siege by the necromancer and his brother’s army.”

  “Oh,” the mage said. “Well. That’s bad.”

  Dannen stared at the man. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

  He was contemplating saying something more—something that would likely allow him to experience, first hand, what it felt to be beaten to death by the big mage—but just then Mariana walked over, knelt down beside them and put her hands out toward the fire, unshed tears dancing in her eyes. “He’s still asleep,” she said softly.

  Fedder grunted. “Unconscious, you mean. I’ve seen a few folks be knocked unconscious in my day, and that’s…” He trailed off at a hiss from Dannen, wincing. “Right. Well. Probably the sleep’ll do him good. My da always said sleep was the best medicine. ‘Course, he usually said that when he was in his cups and my ma was after him about gettin’ chores done. Still…” He paused, shrugging. “Seems to me he weren’t far off.”

  Shockingly, the man’s words didn’t seem to make the girl feel better, and Dannen reached out a hand, patting her on the shoulder. “I’ve seen a lot worse wounds than those he’s taken. The lad’ll be fine.”

  She pulled away from his touch, shrugging. “What do I care?” she snapped. “Anyway, I’m off to bed.” She rose. “I’m going to sleep with him tonight,” she said, the words and the glare that accompanied them daring any of them to question her. “To keep him warm.”

  “Sure,” Dannen said, careful to control his expression, for he had seen the skill with which the woman wielded the weapons currently had sheathed at her sides, and the last thing he wanted was to experience it first hand. “Sounds…sensible.”

  “Sure it does,” Fedder agreed. “Body heat—that’s the best thing. Come to think of it,” he went on, “I been feelin’ a mite cold myself lately. Maybe—”

  “Screw you, old man,” she said, then turned and stalked toward the bedroll where she had laid the man, climbing in with him and pulling the covering over her face.

  Fedder grunted, turning back to Butcher. “And here I thought that’s what I was saying.”

  Dannen sighed, lying down in his own bedroll. “Goodnight, Fedder.”

  “Goodnight, Butcher,” the mage said. “See you in the morning.”

  That seemed naively optimistic to Dannen, perhaps just as naively optimistic as the mage thinking that a young woman like Mariana would have any interest in him, but he only nodded, closing his eyes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It snowed during the night. Thick flakes which contrived to land on whatever small bit of exposed skin Dannen’s tossing and turnings left, leaving him cold and wet and miserable. A condition which, judging by the snores—reminiscent of an angry bear defending its den—coming from Firemaker beside him and the still forms of Mariana and Tesler, were not shared by his companions.

  By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, casting the snowy mountainside in pale light, Dannen was damp and cold and ready to kick the still-sleeping mage over the mountain edge out of pure jealousy. In the end, though, he decided against it. Instead, he set about rolling up his damp bedroll with fingers numb with the cold.

  The others were still sleeping when he’d finished, and he walked over to Fedder, staring down at him. The man’s mouth was agape, bellowing snores that would have given small children nightmares, but he was apparently unaffected by the snow falling on him, turning his red beard a frosty white.

  Dannen meant to kneel down and shake the man softly awake. Really, he did. Instead, h
is foot lashed out, giving the man a solid kick which immediately sent a spasm of pain through Dannen’s foot. Fedder grunted, turning over and reaching out with a meaty paw. Dannen had time to let out a squeak of surprise before the mage caught his foot and, the next thing he knew, he was pulled into an embrace against the still-snoring Firemaker’s chest.

  Dannen meant to protest, but the man’s strength was such that it was all he could do to draw a breath. “Fedder,” he rasped.

  The mage continued to snore, so Dannen desperately flung an elbow behind him, into the man’s midsection, and Fedder’s snoring cut off into a grunt. “Butcher?” the man asked in a voice muzzy with sleep.

  “Well, good morning.”

  Dannen, who had been just about convinced that his life couldn’t get any worse, looked up to see Mariana standing over them, a wide grin on her face.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Huh,” she said, looking down at the two of them, the mage’s thick arm still draped across Dannen. “Seems you were serious about that whole body heat thing after all.”

  “It works,” Fedder agreed.

  “Get off me, damn you,” Dannen said, pushing against the man’s arm, but he might as well have been trying to push an oak tree over. A moment later, the man pulled his arm back, and Dannen stumbled to his feet, his face heating with embarrassment.

  He looked at Mariana, still grinning. “I…that is, I fell.”

  “Sure, ‘course you did,” she said. “No worries—I’ve fallen myself a few times.”

  “What? No, damnit, I fell, that’s all. The bastard took hold of me and—”

  “No judgment here,” she said, holding her hands up as if to say she meant no harm. “Sometimes the bastards do get a hold of you, even when you know better.”

  Dannen growled, thinking that maybe a leap from the mountain edge might not be the worst thing in the world. “How’s Tesler?” he asked, deciding it best to change the subject.

  She nodded over at the bedroll, and he followed her gaze to see that the man was on his feet and currently at the task of packing his and the woman’s bedroll, his pet squirrel perched on his shoulder.

  “Well,” Dannen said, “that’s a relief, at least.”

  “Sure,” she agreed. “I guess the sleep did him good. What about you two?” she went on, grinning again. “Did you all get some sleep?”

  “Like a baby,” Dannen snapped.

  “Hardly,” Fedder said, yawning, “what with the way this one tosses and turns.”

  “Well,” she said, still grinning, “I guess I’d best go help him pack.”

  Dannen watched the woman turn and walk away before spinning to glare at Fedder. “What in the name of the gods was all that about?”

  The mage had risen to a seated position, his arms draped across his knees, and he gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. “Well. You do toss and turn, Butcher.”

  Dannen stared at the man in disbelief. “Just pack your damned bedroll. We need to get moving.”

  “Of course, Butcher,” the mage said, “ain’t no need to go gettin’ ornery.” He shook his head. “You always have been grumpy when you first wake up.”

  Dannen decided then not to say anything else, confident as he was that anything he should say would come out in an angry shout and after the guard captain’s talk of avalanches he thought that likely wouldn’t be wise. He bent and retrieved his pack, slinging it over his shoulder then turned and walked toward where Tesler was just finishing stowing his bedroll.

  “How are you feeling?”

  The man looked up, blinking. “Oh, hi.” He smiled almost sheepishly. “I’m well. A bit sore, but no more than that.”

  Dannen grunted. The gods knew he’d taken enough beatings to have a pretty good idea of how the man must be feeling. “You gonna be okay to walk?”

  The younger man nodded. “Sure, I believe so. I thank you for asking.”

  “Of course.” Dannen shifted uncomfortably then. He never had been good at this part of it, the feelings part. “Anyway, I’m…I’m glad you’re okay, lad.”

  Tesler grinned up at him. “Thank you, Dannen. That means a lot.”

  “Easy there,” Mariana said, walking up, her own pack slung over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to be making the mage jealous, would we?”

  The squirrel on Tesler’s shoulder chittered in what sounded like a laugh, and Dannen scowled at it.

  “Jealous?” Tesler asked, clearly confused. “Why would he be jealous?”

  “Well,” Mariana went on, grinning, “you see, the thing is—”

  “Nothing,” Dannen growled. “Come on—best we get moving.”

  The snow picked up as they walked, the wind whistling loudly against the mountainside, and Dannen did his best to put the miserable morning and the miserable night that had preceded it out of his mind. He was aided in this by the concentration required to keep his footing on the snow-slicked ground of the mountain path, a path which grew narrower and narrower as they made their way up the mountain until they were forced to walk in single file.

  Walking was perhaps being a bit generous. How they got on, truth be told, was in a hunched, staggering shuffle and more than once the powerful gusts of winds made Dannen feel as if some malicious god were trying his best to swipe him off the mountainside. His face, the only bit of him exposed to the elements, felt as if it were being repeatedly stabbed with thousands of ice-cold needles, and the rest of him fared little better. His hands were numb, his feet too, which made the normally simple task of putting one foot in front of the other seem like one of the greatest challenges of his life, one that, it had to be said, he was quite motivated to take up as there was less than a foot separating him and the others from a several-hundred-foot drop. A single slip then, and Perandius would be finding himself a new champion for an impossible cause.

  It would serve the bastard right, but Dannen wasn’t at the place in his life when he was willing to throw himself over the edge of a mountaintop just to make a point. Not quite, at least, but he had to admit to himself that with each miserable, freezing, moment that passed, he grew a bit closer.

  The one thing that could be said about the whole affair, including the roaring wind, was that it made talking near impossible, giving him a much needed break from his companions. The thought reminded him that he hadn’t checked on them in a while and that any or all of them could have fallen off the cliff face and, with the wind a roaring thunder in his ears, he wouldn’t have so much as heard it. He looked back and, despite everything, felt a great sense of heady relief when he saw Fedder’s massive, snow-covered form lumbering up the path behind him.

  Past the mage, he was able to make out Mariana next and Tesler behind her. Dannen shook his head, thinking it a wonder that the man hadn’t fallen off already considering the repeated looks he was flashing at the woman’s backside instead of paying attention to the trail. He grunted, giving his head a shake and dislodging some—but never all—of the snow and wet that had gathered on his hood, then turned and started up the path again.

  It felt as if they were walking forever, the snowfall growing heavier and heavier with each minute that passed until Dannen was forced to hold up a hand in front of his face to see.

  As he trudged up the mountainside, he found himself thinking of Clarissa, wondering how she was. Perandius had not told him much, but at least she was still alive. Or had been, anyway, when they’d spoken. Fear for her, for what might have happened, crept into his mind then, but he forced it away. Fedder had been right in this much, at least—if there was anyone who could find a way not only to survive but to somehow work the situation to her benefit, Clarissa was it. And, of course, whatever she might be going through, at least she would be warm.

  He realized then that there were things he wanted to say to her, things he needed to say. He still missed Val, of course, he always would, but he found that he missed Clarissa too. Not that it was likely he would ever see her again. If he and the others somehow made
it off this frozen mountain—an occurrence feeling less and less likely by the moment—then there was an undead army to face, one that had already sent the king of the north and his entire army into retreat.

  “Butcher!”

  Fedder was shouting, yet even the big man’s yell—which had sent more than a few men and, for that matter, more than a few monsters fleeing—was barely audible over the buffeting wind. Dannen turned, glancing back at the man, and saw him pointing up ahead of them. Dannen followed the man’s gesture and at first could see nothing, nothing, at least, but the driving flurries of snow.

  He shielded his eyes with his hand, struggling to make out what the man was indicating through the snow—and then he saw it. Up ahead, the path split into two, one continuing up the mountainside, the other branching off to the right, just as the guard captain had said. Dannen breathed a heavy sigh of relief and, staring at the two paths, he realized that he had never actually expected them to make it this far.

  Grinning despite the freezing cold and the sharp pains in his face where the wind sliced at him, he started down the path on the right. By the time they reached the bridge the snow had gotten even heavier, yet he could make out the vague form of the bridge’s shape even through the blizzard just as he could make out the plummeting chasm over which it crossed.

  And despite everything, despite the cold and his own fears, Dannen couldn’t help but be impressed. Indeed, the guard captain had been right—his cousin had accomplished an incredible feat, for the bridge which lay across the chasm was wide enough that a wagon could have gone across it without trouble. Though, how the wagon would have made it up the path he and the others had just taken was another story and what purpose the bridge might have in being so wide he couldn’t imagine. Still, it was an impressive sight.

  But more than that, it was a sight that meant that they were nearing the village the guard captain had spoken of, a village that would no doubt have a hearth and a warm bed. “Come on!” Dannen shouted, not knowing and, in that moment, not caring whether the others could hear him or not.