Scholar of Magic

by Michael G. Manning

  “How can you like a troll?”

  “Well, putting a clothespin on your nose helps. If you can get past the smell, they’re not that bad.” Will didn’t reply; instead he focused on keeping up with the troll, who moved with deceptive speed through the tangled underbrush. The exertion, along with his slowly diminishing level of turyn, made him feel as though he was suffocating. Fifteen minutes into the journey, Will had to summon his first elixir of turyn and take a large swallow.

  His first trip to Muskeglun had all but exhausted his supply of the valuable elixir, though those potions had mostly been left over from Arrogan. Since then, Will had replaced them with elixir of his own making, which was both fresher and easier for his body to assimilate. This was the first time he’d had to use any of the newer potions, though, and he was pleased to find that they worked as well or better than the old ones.

  “Are we there yet?” asked the ring, unable to see the world around them.

  “Not yet.”

  A few minutes later he asked again. “How about now?”

  Will ground his teeth together. “Are you going to ask me every ten steps?”

  “This is boring. You could dismiss the limnthal until we get there. Then I wouldn’t have to endure this eternal darkness I live in for the entire trip.”

  “I might need you to translate for me,” said Will. “If I dismiss the limnthal, you wouldn’t hear what the troll said.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to keep asking questions.”

  “What did I ever do to you?” said Will, exasperated.

  “Besides being born? You cost me a lot of sleep, not to mention ruining my favorite tunic.”

  “Huh?”

  “Erisa was living with me when you were born, remember? I had to deliver your wrinkly red ass. You woke me up from a perfectly good dream because you just couldn’t wait until morning to be born. You were a very selfish baby.”

  His mother had told Will that she had stayed with the old man until he was born, but he hadn’t ever really thought through the practical ramifications. “You helped with the delivery?”

  “Yep. Worst thing I ever did. If you think you’re ugly now, you should have seen yourself back then. Your face was all squished up and distorted, and after you arrived I didn’t get a decent night’s sleep for months.”

  “Mom told me she went to live with Uncle Johnathan after I was born,” countered Will.

  “Sure, almost a year later, after you’d done your worst. Your uncle got the easy end of it. I had to deal with the crying and the puking. It was a relief when Erisa finally listened and got the hell out of my house. Now look at me—suffering the rest of eternity as a piece of jewelry—with you! There’s no justice in the world.”

  Will had long since learned to see through the bluster and mock misery in Arrogan’s diatribes. The old man wasn’t likely to ever admit to having a soft spot, but Will knew better. He’d read some of his grandfather’s journal, which was considerably more honest.

  He almost ran into the back of the troll leading them when it stopped suddenly, pointing with one gnarled and twisted arm to indicate they had arrived. Will saw a clearing ahead of them, and in it was a cluster of large shelters constructed of the limbs and the trunks of fallen trees. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting.

  On one hand, he couldn’t see that trolls needed much protection from the environment, but on the other, building homes out of the rotting remnants of fallen trees did seem to fit them. If anything, it was sometimes hard to see where the moss-covered houses ended and the trolls standing in the doorways began, as they tended to blend together visually.

  The fact that they built houses also made it harder for him to see them as simple monsters. “We’ve arrived,” he said quietly for Arrogan’s benefit.

  The troll he had been following stepped into a central clearing between the homes and cut loose with a loud, guttural bark. Within moments the doorways filled as trolls large and small (relatively speaking) looked out to see their strange visitor. Over a span of minutes, a crowd grew around them, making Will feel ever more nervous. If things went badly, he wouldn’t be able to escape. There were at least a hundred trolls around him now, fanning out in every direction from the center of the village.

  Despite the chaos, he could eventually tell that two of the trolls seemed to be more important than the others, though he had no way to identify them. His guide spoke loudly to those two, making sure everyone could hear him. “What is he saying?” whispered Will.

  “He’s talking to the chief, Clegg, along with his second in command, Lrmeg. Incidentally, Lrmeg is the one you stabbed in the dick last time.”

  “Do you think he holds a grudge?”

  “Probably, but Clegg is making the decisions today, so don’t worry too much. Oh, he’s repeating my apology and offer to them.”

  “You offered them the ale already?”

  “No, something else. Not to worry, it’s merely a formality.”

  The way the ring said it made Will nervous. “What formality? Tell me what you said.”

  “It’s a traditional troll apology. To make up for your former transgression, you offer the village one of your limbs as a meal.”

  “A limb?” Will’s voice pitched higher as fear.

  “Yeah, like an arm or a leg. You know the expression, ‘I’d give an arm and a leg for such and such.’ The phrase actually originated with trolls, so we owe them for that little piece of our culture.”

  “That’s not all right!” hissed Will. “I don’t want—”

  “Shhh, I’m trying to listen,” said Arrogan. “Oh, he sounds angry.”

  “Who?”

  “Lrmeg, shhh!” A few seconds later, Will was nudged forward to stand before Clegg and Lrmeg. There followed a long series of grunts and coughs in which the ring spoke back and forth with the elder troll. Eventually the conversation paused, and the crowd pulled back slightly. Another troll appeared with what looked like a section cut from a massive tree trunk. The enormous piece of wood was deposited in front of Will with the flat side up, creating a table of sorts.

  Arrogan spoke up. “I have good news and bad news.”

  “Fuck me,” whined Will.

  “You want me to tell Clegg that?”

  “Just give me the news!” barked Will, already beginning to shake.

  “Well, the good news is that Clegg has granted your plea for clemency and will agree to the trade of ale for urine, but there are a few conditions.” Will was already sweating from the heat, but he began to sweat more. “First, and probably worst of all, you have to stay for the party.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Will.

  “Spoken out of pure ignorance. Remember, trolls don’t cook anything. They’re afraid of fire, and that’s just the beginning. Anyway, the second condition, which Lrmeg is insisting on, is that you honor the offer of an arm or a leg.”

  “What?” His face grew cold as the blood drained away.

  Arrogan hurried to add, “They know how dangerous that is for humans, so they’ll allow you the use of fire to cauterize the wound, though. And you get to pick the limb. I’d choose your off-hand arm. People never realize how much they need two legs. Also—and they don’t have to know this—if we get back soon enough, you might be able to regrow the arm or leg if you can make the potions quickly enough.”

  The ring’s words seemed to come to him from across a vast chamber, echoing in his ears. Will’s shaking grew more violent as he saw that one of the trolls had arrived with what appeared to be a massive cleaver. The iron implement was large enough to cut a cow in half. Glancing around, Will could see that there was nowhere to run.

  “You don’t have to, though.”

  “What?”

  The ring’s voice was calm and even. “Clegg says you can leave if you want. You don’t have to accept the deal, but you won’t get the urine.”

  “Really?” Will’s heart leapt at the news, and his voice emerged in a high-pitched sque
ak, but a second later, his fear returned. He couldn’t do it. A dozen justifications ran through his head, but they all lead back to one ending. “God damn it.”

  “Should I tell him no?” asked Arrogan.

  Will’s teeth chattered, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he answered, “Tell them to take my left arm.” He almost fell as he stepped closer to the table and put his left hand in the center.

  The ring whistled. “Damn, Will, you may be dumb as a stump, but you’ve got balls the size of boulders.” Arrogan resumed his grunting, guttural conversation with the trolls.

  Clegg barked something in return, and the troll with the cleaver stepped forward. Will’s legs grew weak, and he found himself sagging downward, until his shoulder was even with the table. Some helpful troll grasped his shoulder then, to keep him from sinking too low, and held him in place. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, so he couldn’t see the impending blow.

  The trolls began to cough loudly around him, their sounds rising in an almost rhythmic beat while he waited for the blow, but Will didn’t dare look up. Almost a minute passed, and he felt his heart trying to leap out of his chest, but still the strike hadn’t happened. Eventually, he cracked on eye to look around.

  The cleaver was gone, though the trolls around the clearing continued to cough loudly. Dimly, Will remembered the sound from his first visit, along with what Arrogan had told him it signified. Laughter. “This was a joke, wasn’t it?” he asked tremulously.

  “Yes, little human. It was,” said Clegg in broken but still understandable Darrowan.

  The troll holding him up stepped back, and Will fell on his ass in the mud.

  Chapter 30

  “You speak my language?” Will asked after gaping at the chieftain for a long period. It was a stupid question. He realized that even as he asked it, but his mouth wasn’t strictly tethered to the rational part of his brain at the moment.

  “A little,” said the troll, squeezing two of his fingers together in a gesture that seemed far too human-like. “Long time.”

  “Clegg is the one that taught me their language,” offered the ring.

  Will glared at his hand as though he might cut it off himself, but it was the ring that his ire was focused on. “You! When we get out of here, I’m not talking to you anymore.”

  “At least you’re not dumb enough to try that while we’re here,” said Arrogan approvingly. “Besides, I didn’t lie to you. Everything I said was the truth.”

  “But you knew Clegg wasn’t going to insist on taking my arm!” A series of fresh coughs came from Clegg at that remark, fresh laughter. “What about last time? When they chased me out of here? Was that a joke too?”

  “Lrmeg have bad temper. Always talk to Clegg,” suggested the chieftain.

  “He’s right,” agreed the ring. “You probably would have been torn apart. That’s why this plan was so much better, and funnier. By the way, Clegg is quite intelligent. He understands I’m in the ring now.”

  “I see that,” said Will, then he dipped his head respectfully toward the troll. “If you taught Arrogan your language, who taught you ours?”

  “Old wizard, long ago. He was Lanthel, first troll friend. ‘Gan is last troll friend.”

  ‘Gan, that must be short for Arrogan. “How long ago was this?” asked Will.

  Clegg scratched his head. “Very long.”

  “Lanthel wasn’t in favor of the scorched-earth policy back when they were driving back the troll hordes,” Arrogan informed him. “He made contact with Clegg and managed to convince the last tribe in our world to relocate voluntarily. Since then, the council maintained contact with them for diplomatic reasons. I was the last ambassador appointed before the Terabinian War for Independence.”

  “You knew Lanthel?”

  “No, that was over a thousand years before I was born. I just happened to be the last wizard who handled our contact with Muskeglun before—well, before everything went to hell,” explained the ring.

  Will nodded, swallowing as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing. “So Clegg is somewhere around two thousand years old?”

  “Who knows?” admitted Arrogan. “He was old before Lanthel first met him, supposedly, but whether that was fifty years or five thousand years, no one can say.”

  Clegg smiled, showing a multitude of dark, stained teeth. “We don’t count many. The years mean little.” Lrmeg leaned in, making an odd series of sounds. The chieftain translated for Will, “Enough talk. Time for drink.”

  Will produced the first butt of ale, causing it to appear atop the heavy wooden trunk section. The trolls didn’t bother tapping it the usual way. Lrmeg moved up beside the massive barrel and with one heavy fist knocked the top end into the keg, then pulled it out. Trolls began disappearing into their homes and emerging with large wooden bowls, which they dipped into the keg before pouring the contents into their mouths.

  There was a tap on his shoulder, and Will looked over to see Clegg holding a small bowl by troll standards. “Drink,” ordered the troll chief.

  Will did as he was told. He was so relieved to not be facing the loss of an arm or leg that he would have done almost anything just then. The bowl held something close to what a large human tankard might contain, so he drank it as speedily as he could. Clegg took the bowl, filled it, and gave it back to him a moment later.

  “The drinking has started?” asked Arrogan.

  Will swallowed another mouthful of the ale, which was quite good. “Yeah.”

  “Good luck,” said the ring. “Enjoy the dancing and don’t worry too much about the food. You can take a blood-cleanse potion later.”

  “Food?”

  “They’ll want you to eat with them.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “They’re afraid of fire. You can guess what I mean,” said Arrogan. “Just be sure you don’t eat any troll. The stuff they hunt won’t kill you, but sometimes they get excited and someone rips off his own arm or a leg. If you eat troll flesh, you’ll wind up with more than an upset stomach.”

  Will wrinkled his nose. “That’s revolting.” He didn’t say more, though, because one of the trolls let out a loud ‘whoop’ and snatched him up to sit on the massive creature’s shoulder. The crowd seemed to be cheering, so Will held his bowl up in the air and yelled with them.

  Then he drank.

  He didn’t have very much experience drinking, aside from a few minor occasions while he was in the army and one or two formal events in Cerria. During most of those times, he had been more concerned with keeping a clear head or babysitting one of his squad mates. This time he had only himself, and the trolls insisted that he drink as much as his stomach would hold.

  When he got too full and belched up a large mouthful of foam, they laughed and cheered. Things got considerably more chaotic after that.

  Drums were brought out, and the trolls began to dance. The music was strangely compelling, particularly since it was different than anything Will had ever heard before. There were no strings or horns, only drums, so the music consisted entirely of a variety of percussive beats that shook his bones and vibrated through his chest. Before long, he was up and dancing with the trolls, while the world swirled dizzily around him.

  When they finally brought in the food, Will was drunk beyond his wildest imaginings. The feast consisted of a large reptile some twenty feet in length. He’d never seen anything like it, but the size, short legs, and long, sinuous tail suggested the beast was semi-aquatic. If he’d been in his right mind, he would have decided he was glad that he hadn’t gone near the lake. As it was, he was busy watching the trolls rip the massive reptile apart, exposing its guts and flesh, which they greedily stuffed into their mouths.

  Someone handed him a handful of something bloody. Will held it for ten or fifteen seconds, hoping the giver would move on, but the troll simply stared at him, then barked and pointed at his mouth.

  Well, shit, he thought blearily. Steeling himself, he shoved the bloody gobbet of f
lesh into his mouth and chewed the rubbery meat. It was an effort to keep from gagging, but being drunk seemed to help. Eventually he swallowed, and the trolls began cheering for him again.

  He smiled at the troll who had fed him, whereupon the seven-foot humanoid promptly grinned back before vomiting. A cascade of foul-smelling fluid rained down on Will’s head, and he reciprocated by gagging and retching up the contents of his own stomach.

  Lrmeg appeared then, yelling something at the troll who had vomited. He pointed at the empty barrel, and Will guessed that he was remanding the troll for not vomiting into the container so it could be saved. That’s right, Will reminded himself. They only have one orifice, so they piss and shit from their mouths. He looked down at himself, covered in rancid troll bile, and promptly threw up again.

  Thankfully, he passed out soon after.

  He awoke sometime later, as someone shook his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw a creature of nightmare staring down at him. He almost screamed before recognizing it as Clegg. “Barrel full. Time to go,” said the troll in what was probably a gentle tone.

  Sitting up, Will’s stomach lurched, and his head began to pound. “Oh,” he groaned. He’d had a few minor hangovers in the past, but this was an entirely new level of misery. Reaching up, he rubbed at his temples, only to find that his hair was stiff and sort of crunchy to the touch. Examining himself, he realized he was still covered in troll vomit, or piss, whichever way one preferred to label it. The disgusting fluids had dried in his hair and on his clothes while he slept.

  Thankfully, he couldn’t smell it, or much of anything else for that matter. His nose had been overwhelmed by the constant onslaught of troll stench and had given up at some point while he slept, but he had no doubt he probably smelled like something that had been retrieved from a cesspit.

  Clegg was laughing. “Humans don’t drink well.”

  Will agreed, but his head hurt too much to nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  “Hungry?” asked the chieftain.