by CW Thomas
“I’m thinking no,” Nash said.
“What makes you think that?” Broderick asked.
“My negative personality.”
Khalous trotted back to join them. “We’re approaching the main road,” he said. “From here on out you speak only Efferousian.”
The company journeyed south for the rest of day. They traversed along grassy hills that gave way to league after league of dull brown hardwood forest devoid of autumn’s colors.
The country of Efferous was about twice the size of Edhen, longer from north to south than it was wide. In the summer months the northern regions were rich in emerald hills of grass and dense forests that gave way to sandy deserts in the south where the heat never died. Come wintertime the north endured blustery winds with occasional snow, except for the immense Thanadousi Mountain range where it seemed to snow almost constantly.
The territories in between were a harsh landscape of untouched wilderness, blistering sun, and strange creatures.
“Will we see any of those barbarian girls?” Nash asked.
“What barbarians?” Ty said.
“The ones you told us about. The ones that don’t wear any coverings up top.”
“Them isn’t barbarians. Just because a person lives in the Sylvestri doesn’t makes them barbarian.”
“The what?”
“He means The Wilds,” Broderick said.
“Whatever it’s called. You know who I mean. Are we going to see any?”
Ty looked annoyed, as he often did when dealing with Nash’s curiosity of Efferousian women. “No,” he said. “Them is being in the desert lands much further east.”
“Forgive my brother,” Preston said. “He’s merely being an idiot.”
Nash extended his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “What’s wrong with—”
A roar echoed through the forest, bouncing off the rocky hills to their right and the slate gray walls of the mountain to their left.
Khalous lifted a fist in silent command and the entire company came to a stop.
“What in all the hells was that?” Nash asked.
“Whatever it was, it was way too close,” Preston said.
Broderick looked around. “Sounds like old Kette.”
“Oh, like you know,” Clint scoffed.
Broderick threw him a discourteous look. “I’ve heard locals in Mykronos talk about him. They’ve seen footprints. Trust me, he’s real.”
“He’s a myth.”
“It’s not being a him,” Ty said. “It’s being a her. And you saying her name wrongly.”
“Says the one who can barely say anything,” muttered Clint.
“Quiet!” Khalous said.
“What is a Kette anyway?” Preston asked.
“A mountain troll,” answered Brayden. Once the words left his mouth, he felt his insides twist into a nervous knot.
“Perfect,” Preston moaned. “That’s just perfect.”
“Shut it!” Khalous snapped.
The group fell silent. They remained stationary for several long moments, eyes and ears roaming about the notch of rocks and hills.
Brayden inclined his head to the west, listening to the wind tussle the tops of distant trees. He turned eastward, hearing nothing but silence from the steep edges of the mountain.
“Psst,” Nash said. “Your horse’s nostrils are quivering.”
Brayden looked down at his ashen horse. Although he couldn’t see her nostrils, he did notice her trembling and that her ears were pinned.
“Something’s in the air she doesn’t like,” he whispered.
Behind him he heard Broderick patting his horse’s shoulder. “Easy girl,” he said in a low tone.
Up ahead, Brayden saw that Pick had stopped at a bend in the road. He turned in his saddle and gestured with a gloved hand for Khalous to come forward. Brayden took the initiative and followed. His horse clopped along on the uneven terrain, its ears flicking left, right, and then back again.
“What is it?” Khalous asked.
But Brayden saw it before Pick could even answer—the mutilated corpse of a mountain lion. The carcass lay in the grass off the beaten trail, but bloody red bits of it were strewn across the road. A fresh kill.
“Mountain troll?” Khalous asked.
Pick glanced up at several large tree boughs that stretched out over the road. “They normally prefer thicker canopy than this.”
There was a sudden crashing in the woods along the hills to the right that startled Brayden’s horse. He urged the animal to be still while his eyes roamed the thick evergreens. He saw no movement, but the crashing was inching closer. When it stopped a cluster of black winged birds sprouted from the trees in front of them into the gray sky, screeching and complaining.
Brayden had long heard rumors of mountain trolls, massive beasts that kept to the woods feeding off anything they could find. Some people said they were timid. Others said they were a myth. Brayden hoped for either.
“Perhaps we should keep moving,” Pick whispered.
“No,” Khalous said. “We’re being watched.”
“You see it?”
“Through the trees straight ahead.” Without looking away from whatever it was he was seeing, the captain continued, “Brayden, I want you to pass by behind me and continue down to the next bend. Pick, send the others after him one at a time.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t just—”
“This is a territorial challenge,” Khalous said. “We just need to show him that we are not a threat to—”
The beast charged. The trees in front of it split and snapped in a rush of noise akin to an avalanche of stone. The mountain troll roared into view, a towering four-legged beast that seemed hewn from the forest earth. It swatted at Khalous’ horse, knocking it and its rider aside.
“Go!” Pick shouted to Brayden as he drew his sword.
But Brayden’s horse was out of control, spinning first away from the troll and then back in frantic confusion.
The troll reared up on its hind feet, extending its already immense height to three times that of a man. On stumpy cloven hooves it stood before them and pounded its chest with a massive fist of dwarfish fingers. If it had eyes, Brayden couldn’t find them under its dome of gray bony protrusions and bulging root-like veins.
The troll crashed down onto all fours. It knocked Brayden off his horse as it charged toward the wagon, roaring at the pair of dray horses.
Stoneman cursed and dove off the wagon seat. The troll plowed into the horses, ripped the head off one and struck the other with its forearm so hard that it went sailing into the trees. The wagon came apart with the blow, its contents spilling all over the ground.
From the scattered mess of provisions came the horrified scream of a girl.
The troll flinched, startled at the ear-piercing wail.
Brayden’s eyes went wide.
“What in all the bloody hells?” Pick shouted.
Nairnah scrambled out from under the mess of broken wagon parts. She sprinted for the trees, legs scrambling over rocks under the folds of a gray dress.
“Nairnah!” Brayden shouted.
Her scream seemed to irritate the troll. It leveled its bony head at her and charged.
Brayden jumped off his horse and ripped his sword from its sheath. Any thoughts of fear or hesitation were gone from his mind. He charged forward, shouting at the beast in hopes of getting its attention.
Broderick and Nash unleashed a slew of arrows at the animal, most of which just bounced off its calloused hide.
Stoneman, Pick, and Preston attacked the troll from behind, drawing thin lines of red across its thick squat legs. Broderick and Nash circled around in front of it and continued to fire arrows at its head in search of a weak spot.
Brayden worked his way toward Nairnah. She was caught between a wide boulder and a pair of trees through which the troll was making desperate grabs for her with its stubby fingers. It grabbed one of the trees and lifted it from t
he ground, uprooting a massive spiny orb of dirt and branches. It chucked the tree aside.
Brayden wasn’t sure which had struck him—the tree or the arm of the troll. He just knew that his world was spinning out of control. He landed on the other side of the road where he tumbled through leaves, dirt, and pain.
He staggered to his feet, clutching his sword in a vicious grip.
Stoneman, Pick, Preston, and Clint lay in scattered heaps on the road while a cloud of leaves rained down around them. The troll had gone feral, ripping up trees in a frenzied effort to find Nairnah, who was screaming in a terrified panic.
Brayden got to his feet and saw her sprinting down the road toward the unconscious body of Khalous. She would’ve escaped the troll’s notice had she not screamed again.
The mountain troll pulled back from its frenzy. When it spotted Nairnah, it gave chase, shaking its head in protest of her high-pitched wails.
Brayden raced to intercept it. He dove out into the road and threw himself in front of the beast’s charge. He caught the troll in the throat with the full shaft of his sword and hung on tight as it plowed over top of him. He twisted the hilt of his blade and allowed the friction of the ground against his clothes to drag him along the beast’s underbelly, tearing a long gash through its neck. Brayden’s cloak and tunic turned to shreds as his left arm and face raked across the gravel.
The mountain troll moaned an effervescent bellow, coughing blood and mucus onto the road. Its feet stumbled and gave out. Brayden lost his grip and felt his body toss and turn under the mammoth monster until it slid to a stop.
All went quiet.
For a moment Brayden remained still, his heavy breaths muffled against the rancid skin of the mountain troll. With great effort he pried himself out from under the animal’s hind leg, covered in dirt, his skin pepped with shards of rock and a plethora of burning scrapes and bruises.
On shaky knees he walked around to the front of the animal. Blood was flowing from the long gash in its neck.
It was then that he noticed a tiny black orb nestled beneath a small horn on the side of its head—an eyeball. It was staring at him, using the last bits of its life to examine its conqueror. The black orb flitted from Brayden’s face down to his feet, then back up again. Then the skin around the black orb relaxed and the eye went dead.
“Brayden?” came Nairnah’s meek voice. She staggered toward him, her teary expression frozen in horror.
He ran to her, scooped her up in his arms, and held her tight.
“W–what was that–that thing. W–what… I don’t… I’m sorry. I–I…”
“Shh,” Brayden said. He did his best to calm her, but he knew that nothing could take the edge off except time.
Nash and Broderick jogged over to him in a clatter of leather, quivered arrows, and astonished breaths.
“Brayden, you do realize you just killed a mountain troll,” Nash said. He grinned. “A bloody mountain troll. By the gods!”
“Well fought, young master,” said Pick. He pointed toward the left side of Brayden’s face. “Better get that cleaned up.”
Brayden’s hand went to his face to discern what Pick was referring to. The moment his fingers touched his skin he felt the wounds ignite—imbedded pieces of rock felt like fire against his face. He grew queasy and sat down. His nerves became aware of the other injuries along his left arm, which was bleeding beneath the shredded sleeve of his shirt.
As badly as he had been hurt, he considered himself lucky to be alive.
The horses, on the other hand, had not fared so well. Three of them were dead, and the rest had scattered except one.
Khalous had taken a direct hit from the troll and landed in the rocks on his head, but apart from a bloody rip on his scalp the Old Warhorse wasn’t badly injured. The moment he was well enough to stand he launched into a tirade against Nairnah. She accepted his fierce scolding with her chin huddled against her collar.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said. “I didn’t wish to be left behind.”
“We don’t always get what we wish, young lady,” Khalous growled. “I’ll deal with you more later. For now, let’s clean up this mess and make camp. Quickly now. Move!”
The boys dispersed, but Brayden stopped when Khalous called his name. “Sir?”
Khalous leaned back against a rock. He pressed a torn white rag into the gash on the side of his scalp from which had flowed several thick streams of blood. He looked at Brayden and said, “Well done.”
Like a well-oiled set of gears the boys did as they had been trained. Clint and Nash retrieved food from the supply wagon; Preston gathered wood and built a campfire; Ty and Pick corralled the scattered horses and took them to drink; Broderick scouted around the campsite to ensure that they were hidden from any roads, towns, or houses.
Stoneman and Khalous collected their supplies from the wagon, which had been destroyed beyond repair. At the campsite they divided up the provisions among what horses were left while Stoneman brewed some vegetable stew.
“Can you eat troll?” Nash asked.
“I wouldn’t,” answered Clint. “Their bodies carry too many diseases.”
“Says the man being unbelieving in trolls just a short whiles ago,” said Ty.
“That’s one thing I’m definitely going to miss about life at Halus Gis,” Pick said. “The food.” He sat down on the ground and leaned back against a log. “Those nuns sure do know how to marinate a goose.”
Brayden smirked at his remark, which caused the left side of his face to ignite with fresh sparks of pain. He winced and tried to remain still as Nairnah pulled another rock from his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No, it’s not you.”
She removed the bandage from his head, dipped it into a bucket of water and rung it out. With gentle fingers she dabbed at his pockmarked skin. She had pulled more than a dozen pebbles from his jaw, cheek, and forehead, some imbedded so far into the skin that they had to be pried out with a sewing needle.
“Will these scar?” Brayden asked.
“I suspect so,” answered Khalous.
“Look on the bright side,” Nash began, “you now have a great nickname. Leatherhead.”
“I was thinking Pockface,” added Clint.
“You’re both being so helpful,” Brayden said.
Stoneman passed out bowls of steaming watery broth filled with soft vegetables. The soup was bland, and made Brayden miss Halus Gis even more.
When Nairnah was done removing the stones from his arm, she applied a sticky green paste that Khalous had made from some medicinal herbs and hot water. She bandaged up the worst bits and fetched him a new tunic from the bundles of spilled provisions.
She sat down on his right side and cuddled into him. The warmth of her body so close to his gave him a wave of energy that seemed to ease his pain.
“Do they have good food in Thalmia?” Nash asked sipping broth from his bowl.
“Very good foods,” answered Ty. “Lots of fishes. Very good spices from Konia so the meats tastes very good.”
“Sir?” Preston asked, looking at Khalous. “Are we still going to travel there, I mean, now that we’ve lost the wagon?”
Khalous finished wrapping a white bandage around the gash on his head. “Tomorrow Pick will take Nairnah back to Halus Gis and the rest of us will continue on. We’re down four horses—mine is dead, the carthorses are dead, and Brayden’s ran off. That means two of you will have to double up.”
“I don’t need a horse, sir,” Pick said. “We can make it to Halus Gis on foot by the end of tomorrow if we leave early and move quickly.” He looked at Nairnah. “Is that all right with you?”
Before she could answer, Khalous said, “Serves her right.” He thrust a finger at her. “You should never have put yourself in that wagon.”
“Stupid girl,” muttered Clint.
Brayden sprung off the ground in an instant, slopping steaming hot puddles of soup onto the ground. “What
did you say?”
“Here we go,” Nash said through a mouthful of soup.
Clint rose to meet his gaze. “And I thought she was the one with the bad ear. I said she’s a stupid girl for hiding in the carriage. Now it’s destroyed and she’s inconvenienced everyone.”
“That wasn’t her fault and you know it,” Brayden said.
“All right. Let’s calm down,” said Pick.
Brayden refused to blink as he stared at Clint. “Apologize.”
“Or what? You going to fight me again?”
Though Brayden’s heart was raging at Clint’s unending disrespect of Nairnah, more bloody knuckles between him and his cousin was the last thing he wanted. Khalous had told him once to make a stand against Clint, which he had done to the praise and admiration of his peers, but he had regretted it ever since. Dealing with Clint was going to require a bit more tact.
Though it went against every impulse coursing through him, Brayden turned his back on him. “No, Clint, I’m not going to fight you again because I know that’s what you want.” He walked over to Nairnah and sat back down, careful of the wounds on his side. “You like feeling like you’re in control. Or maybe you just like to fight. I don’t know. But I’m not going to have any part in it. You want to be a prick, be a prick. The rest of us have better things to do than listen to you bray like an ass.” He put his arm across Nairnah’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
Clint looked confused, lost, and unsure of what to do with himself. His ire seemed to have calmed though. He sulked back to his seat and sat down.
After a moment the campfire chatter returned.
Nairnah gestured with her chin to Brayden and he followed her out of the campsite. She led him away from the fire until they were out of earshot, tucked under an opening in the forest canopy where the moon painted several nearby rocks in light gray.
She sat down on a flat stone, patting the spot next to her. When he sat, she nuzzled into him, careful not to squeeze him too tightly.
“I’m sorry. I’ve messed everything all up.” She sounded on the verge of tears.
“No you haven’t,” he said. He put his arm around her and teased the fraying sleeve of her shoulder with his fingers. “A mountain troll messed everything up. Khalous and Clint are just frustrated, and they’re directing their anger at you.” He looked down at her, her tiny brown head bowed to her feet. “Honestly, I’m glad you hid in the wagon.”