The Troll-Demon War

by Leah R. Cutter

  Buddy nodded. These things could really do the trick.

  That didn’t detract from the fact that Lars was still an idiot.

  “Suppose I give you the four armies,” Buddy said slowly. “I’m assuming you’ll outfit them, feed them, direct them?”

  Lars didn’t really have much of a throat, but he still gulped before he nodded.

  Outfitting and feeding a demon army was expensive. No matter how good the accountant you hired to keep track of all the money, you were still going to pay through the nose for some things, be cheated on the rest.

  They were demons doing business with primarily other demons, after all.

  That would take a bunch of creatures off Buddy’s hands for a while. He might even make a profit on this if he handled it correctly, insisting that Lars used only the vendors of Buddy’s choice when it came to weapons, armor and such.

  “And with the special fairy magic crystals, you think you can win,” Buddy said, flipping the crystal back to Lars.

  The boy bit his tongue and didn’t reply to the insult, which was a good thing. But he did nod, then say, “Yes. Yes, I’m certain we can win.”

  “How certain?” Buddy asked.

  Lars paused before he said, “I can’t guarantee it. Saying that I could would be tempting the fates. Stupidly.”

  Buddy dropped his voice to the low, silky part of his register. “Sure enough to bet your own soul?”

  “Yes,” Lars said immediately.

  Yup. Boy was an idiot.

  “Okay, then,” Buddy said with a huge grin. “I’ll have my people draw up the papers. Oh, don’t look so worried. The contract’s pretty simple. I’ll supply you with armies. You win the war. Put the demons back on the top of the food chain where we belong. Or I claim your soul for all eternity. The end.”

  “Thank you,” Lars said.

  Boy even sounded sincere. Probably didn’t even realize just how badly he’d screwed the pooch.

  Expectation filled the space between them.

  Buddy didn’t have the patience to wait until Lars finally found the balls to say whatever else he was going to say. “Well? Out with it,” Buddy said.

  “Don’t you want a crystal, sir?” Lars asked. “It will help your powers tremen—”

  Buddy rose from his throne, then kept growing. Instead of the easy-going, potbellied demon with the funny nose, he transformed into a true Prince of Hell. His head brushed the ceiling. Great black wings expanded from his shoulders, sucking in all the light of the room. Hellfire dripped from his fingertips, scorching the floor.

  A rumbling growl filled the entire throne room. Lava erupted from the walls and spewed ash and smoke into the air.

  “Do not tell me, boy, that my powers need increasing,” Beelzebub thundered. “Do not presume such familiarity with a true prince of Hell. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, yes sir, I do,” Lars said.

  At least the boy was smart enough to fake being scared. Buddy doubted that Lars was smart enough to realize just how close he’d come to death.

  “Now, be gone,” Beelzebub said. “My people will be in contact.”

  Lars turned and scurried out of the room as fast as his little bony feet could take him.

  Beelzebub let out another belch, shooting smoke and fire toward the ceiling before he let himself shrink back down into Buddy. The throne room became a more comfortable place. Buddy’s throne reappeared out of the haze and smoke.

  Using on long nail, Buddy started picking at his teeth. Now, he would never go so far as to actively undermine another demon’s plans to win the Great War once and for all.

  That didn’t mean that Buddy wouldn’t poke at Lars sometimes. Remind him of his bargain.

  Keep the fear of the devil in him.

  Chapter Six

  Lars floated a few feet off the floor of his room. He was back in his human form, wearing a comfortable long-sleeved white shirt and gray slacks, with black leather boots. He had no need for a three-piece power suit and tie. Anyone who didn’t understand that Lars was powerful, who underestimated him, deserved what they got.

  He sat cross-legged, floating like some damned diva, just a foot above the bed.

  However, never touching the ground was the best way for Lars to hide while he was here on the human plane. The Host would know immediately if Lars set foot on the human plane in his demon form. He wasn’t taking a chance that they might have some ability to find him while he was in human form, either. Hence, the floating around.

  Of course, the Host was looking for him. Probably had a full-scale demon hunt going on. Lars had escaped from prison, after all. One of the few who’d ever accomplished that.

  The room had been set up for him by his parents. Lars was going to have to change everything. It was appropriate for the boy he’d been five years ago. (All right, if he was perfectly honest, it hadn’t been totally appropriate then, either.)

  However, as the general of the myriad demon armies about to fling themselves into the last Great War, it was wholly inadequate.

  Lars didn’t need a bed as much as a desk. He could go sleep on another plane. He needed a place where he could meet people. Talk strategy. Plan battles and discuss tactics.

  Find the weak belly of the enemy and run a sharp dagger into it.

  While it was more dangerous personally for Lars to be on the human plane, it was decidedly safer at the same time. Particularly since Lars’ cousin Manny had discovered how to find those little pockets of space and apply corruption spells to them.

  So Lars would just have to make do with this room.

  The bed would just have to go. Along with the cream colored walls and the decidedly Ikea-esque end tables. The rugs, too. Not all the demons who’d be calling on him were necessarily trained not to make a mess.

  They were demons. It was their job to leave messes behind everywhere they went.

  One wall needed to be kept clear as a portal space.

  Maps needed to be hung on the other walls, along with a trophy head or two.

  Maybe Lars would leave a single spot open on the wall, just behind his desk, to encourage his generals to do his bidding. So that he could threaten that they’d soon find their own heads in that place of honor.

  Though whoever was disgracing the spot would just have to give up their place once Lars went after that damned princess troll.

  In his mind’s eye, her head took front and center stage on his wall. It was her downfall he sought, more than the human races in general, if he was perfectly honest with himself.

  Something he tried not to do very often.

  But since an honest mood had struck him, Lars stayed with it for a few more moments. He pulled out a pile of the gems holding the corrupt corruption spells, peering at the tiny pile of joyous maliciousness. The crystals were perfect, bright with their own glow. It wasn’t until you looked deep into the heart of them that you saw the worm in the heart of the rose.

  Lars sighed and put the crystals away again. He knew, knew that they could win with these. Given enough time and patience, the demons would not only win the Great War, but ensure their place for all eternity.

  Demons generally didn’t hold much weight with introspection. However, Lars hadn’t had much choice. It was either go deep inside himself or go crazy while he was in solitary confinement in prison.

  Or maybe he’d gone a bit of both.

  So Lars had thought, and contemplated, and banged against the walls of his own head while he’d been imprisoned. He’d been allowed regular communication with his family, and it had actually been his younger brother Karl who’d perfected the corrupted corruption spell, as well as the easy twist it took to place it in a tiny crystal. (Not without Lars’ help, though. Karl was not allowed to take all the credit, as much as he might occasionally brag.)

  While Beelzebub and the other demons might not believe in Lars, his family did.

  Trolls and humans weren’t the only ones with Destinies, after all. Sure, Lars suspected that his
father had bought the one that Lars wore, but still.

  Destiny was Destiny. And it was Lars’ Destiny to lead the demonic armies into the Great War.

  Of course, the stupid oracles were gun-shy when it came about to predicting who would be victorious after those battles.

  It didn’t matter.

  Lars was sure to win. He had the will. He’d taken the time to plan the attacks. The special crystals would actually guarantee their victory.

  Lars’ biggest problem?

  Other demons.

  Beelzebub’s reaction to using one of the crystals had been the worst so far. Lars knew, though, that he was up for similar fights from every demon he tried to persuade.

  It was like they wanted to lose.

  None of them seemed to grasp that winning was just within reach.

  While Lars had minions he could order to do his bidding slavishly, he still needed to convince the other generals and armies that it was worthwhile. No amount of demonstrations would work, either. Lars had already gone that route and failed just as spectacularly as he had earlier that week with Beelzebub. Demons were just damned stubborn.

  It was bad enough trying to get a group of demons to follow a plan. Lars had heard the human expression about herding cats. He’d also heard someone upgrade the complaint to herding goldfish, which was much worse, as the damned fish moved in three dimensions.

  While demons…demons were like trying to herd goldfish with fangs. Lars always had to be prepared for the ones who would jump out of the pond and bite him. Or even try to decapitate him.

  All Lars could do would be to plan everything as well as possible. Plans within plans, wheels within wheels. Set it all up so that the demons would win the Great War.

  Despite themselves.

  Chapter Seven

  The great king of the trolls, King Garethen, sat on his onyx throne and listened to the reports of the spring crops. Most of the court had gathered in the throne room, mainly to gossip but also to see and be seen.

  It made the king’s heart glad when he looked out over the trolls gathered before him. They’d slowly shaken off the influence of the corrupt chamberlain, McDommokin. The court wore bright jewel tones again—emerald greens, sapphire blues, and ruby reds—instead of the metallics that he’d favored.

  The room reflected the court, with gems and precious stones, many about the size of a trollish fist, covering the ceiling and providing light. The walls were carved out of good solid rock, with a smooth floor made out of glazed rocks. The room itself was longer than it was wide, and comfortably held over two dozen trolls.

  King Garethen himself had also changed styles. Gone were the blacks, browns, and somber clothing. Instead, he wore a fiery red sleeveless vest made out of the finest velvet, with crushed brown velvet pants that ended just below his knees. At least half a dozen large gold rings covered his fingers.

  Under his heavy gold crown, long white hair hung down to his shoulders. His skin had a healthy green tint to it, finally, as he ate better foods again, and not the overly-refined crap that Chamberlain McDommokin had insisted on. Of course, the battle scars that ran down his arms would never heal, but healthy muscles now rose up across his shoulders, his arms, and his legs.

  Before the king stood the head of the blacksmiths’ guild. That guild had continued wearing black, but then again, that was their traditional color and reflected their work. The blacksmith was giving his report, as well as the guild’s request for additional hard coal for the king’s own forges.

  King Garethen wasn’t inclined to grant their request. Why had the guard put in such a large order for new weapons? The old swords worked just fine. The guard merely needed to polish them up. A bit of elbow grease and those old swords would be as good as new.

  Still, at the end of the report, the king promised to “think it over” and get back to them.

  The ranchers’ guild was up next. They’d finally had a mild enough winter that most of the herds had survived. The number of lambs birthed that spring had gone up as well, and they actually had pigs already fat enough for slaughter, despite it only being the start of summer.

  Of course, the ranchers weren’t optimistic about the coming year. They were farmers (though they declared themselves as ranchers and therefore different) and farmers were never optimistic.

  Though the court hearings took most of the morning once a week, King Garethen never considered it time wasted. He needed to be accessible to his subjects if he wanted to be supported by them.

  Instead of appearing, as Princess Kizalynn had called him, like a sullen old man, hiding and afraid.

  One of the changes King Garethen had initiated had been to listen to the complaints of common people. Not everyone, of course; that would take up all his time and he’d never get anything else done. Ever.

  Instead, he’d started a lottery. That way, every citizen had a chance to appear before the king and have their grievances heard.

  To ensure that the lottery would be run fairly as well, he’d put the king’s guard in charge of it and not any member of the court. There would have been too much temptation for a member of the court to start taking bribes, while the king’s guard took great pride in being incorruptible.

  However, for the most part, the common troll had no idea how to speak in court, let alone address the king. An unfortunate consequence was that some in the court came just for those moments of inadvertent hilarity.

  Today’s complaint came courtesy of a troll called Lapundar, who was a candlemaker. He was short for a troll, and thin. Almost as if he was part human, a suggestion that the king would never make to the troll’s face.

  Not unless he wanted to be subject to another duel and kill yet another of his subjects.

  But Lapundar was obviously making good money at what he did. He wore a beautiful sleeveless tunic made of a rich blue, green, and gold paisley. His pants were black velvet. He didn’t wear any rings on his fingers, however, he did have two gold hoops piercing his right ear.

  “My sovereign liege,” Lapundar said, bowing after he was introduced by the crier. “I bring you gifts only fit for someone as elevated as yourself.”

  Lapundar nodded to a young boy, maybe seven years old, and shy. The boy slowly walked forward, carrying a beautiful hand-carved box, about a foot square.

  “What a strapping lad you have there!” the king exclaimed.

  “Eh,” Lapundar said. “He’s the best I can afford.”

  “I see,” the king said. He was surprised. Normally, merchants apprenticed their own family and rarely took on strangers. Particularly not hired help.

  The boy looked around anxiously, as if unsure what to do next.

  “Open the box,” Lapundar declared. “Show the king our finest work.”

  The boy lifted the hinged lid and showed the king, then turned in a circle so the rest of the court could see as well.

  Four tall, off-white candles lay snuggled against rich red velvet. Many small gems were embedded in the wax, along with crystals that shown with their own light.

  “A candle for every season, my liege,” Lapundar said.

  King Garethen could see that now. Green spring, blue summer, orange fall, and blue-white winter. Each seasonal candle had its own pattern of designs, like ferns, waterfalls, leaves, and snowflakes.

  The gems seemed to wink at King Garethen. No, that had to be his imagination or a trick of the light. The candles had no magic. Trolls, particularly commoners, for the most part weren’t magical.

  “A kingly gift, indeed,” King Garethen said, nodding. “Thank you. Place this in the hall of viewing, so that everyone can see your magnificent work.”

  “Thank you, my liege, thank you,” Lapundar said, bowing his head low.

  The king actually received a lot of gifts. The hall of viewing was reserved for the best of those. Merchants whose goods were placed there would certainly not stay quiet about it.

  Most of the gifts the king received were immediately regifted to others in the
court, the king’s relatives, or to cement relations with other kith and kin kingdoms.

  These candles, though, the king might actually keep.

  “What need have you to seek your king today?” King Garethen asked as one of his own stewards took away the box with the candles.

  “As you would expect from any honest businessman, I have a concern with our taxes, my liege,” Lapundar said. He immediately launched into a lengthy complaint about how the costs of everything kept rising and he couldn’t just keep charging his customers more and more for the same basic goods, now could he?

  “But what would you have me do?” the king asked. “We need roads. And the children need to be taught. And you certainly wouldn’t want me to leave our borders undefended, now would you?”

  “That’s the problem,” Lapundar said. “Demons haven’t threatened our borders for years. The worlds are at peace. The demons have been stopped.”

  “For now,” the king agreed. “They will come back.”

  “When they do, we’ll all gladly contribute to the war coffers!” Lapundar said. “But until then? How large of a standing army do we actually need?”

  “Thank you for your opinion, citizen,” King Garethen said, dismissing the man. “You’ve given me food for thought.”

  After the court had been dismissed, King Garethen sat on his throne in the empty hall for a while. He was used to sitting there with no hope. Before Christine had come back into his life, or rather, Princess Kizalynn.

  She’d taught him many things, this new daughter of his. He’d declared her his official heir, going through the intricate ritual that spring. The other cousins, for the most part, took it well. Particularly Timolok, who had been next in line. He, too, was a farmer, and it was nearly impossible to bring him into court except during the winter. And even then, he’d complain about the work he was leaving undone.