Don't Feed the Trolls

by Jacob Peppers

  He turned to Tesler and saw that the man’s squirrel, currently perched on his shoulder, was also scowling much like the woman, but the man himself met Dannen’s eyes and gave a small shrug. “Come on,” Dannen said, “let’s go to the inn, see if we can find someone suicidal enough to lead us to the capital.”

  “And what does that say about us?” Mariana asked.

  He grunted. “Nothing good.” He noted the way the woman’s hands were playing at the handles of the weapons sheathed at her hips and frowned. “Relax, alright? Everything’s fine. Now, let’s go.”

  Despite his assurances to Mariana, Dannen found his eyes roaming over each alley between buildings, confident that men with swords, skeletons with swords, or someone with swords would be waiting to pounce on them. But the alleyways were empty, save for a mongrel dog they passed, one who cut off chewing on some unidentifiable piece of meat long enough to growl warningly at them as they passed. Dannen thought it said something about him, something about the life he led, that he was genuinely surprised that no one attacked them. And whatever that something was, he didn’t think it was a good thing.

  Still, despite his worries and Mariana’s scowling, none of those few they passed seemed to take any notice of them save for cursory—and admittedly suspicious—glances they shot in their directions. Not that he could really blame them. In the best of times, Dannen imagined that visitors to such a small, out-of-the-way village would be looked at with suspicion and distrust, and with undead armies scouring the north times were just about as far from their best as they could be.

  But his own reassurances didn’t work any better on him than they had on Mariana, judging by her unmoving scowl. He watched their surroundings suspiciously as they continued on and was not even mildly surprised when he heard a shout from somewhere nearby.

  “What was that?” Tesler asked.

  Dannen frowned, looking down the nearest alleyway in the direction from which the shout had come. He didn’t want to check it out—the gods knew they had enough problems on their plate already without looking for more—and he was still trying to think of a reason not to when Mariana started forward.

  “Let’s go find out,” she said.

  “Wait,” Dannen said.

  The woman paused, turning to look at him with an eyebrow raised.

  Dannen met her gaze then, after a moment, let out a sigh. “Best we stick together.”

  They walked down the alleyway, and it didn’t take them long to come upon the man who had voiced the shout. Or, at least, Dannen expected it was him—there was no asking him, that much was sure as the man in question was currently lying on the alley floor unconscious. Two men were hunkered over him, rifling through his pockets.

  “Hey!” Mariana shouted, and the two men turned in surprise.

  The first went for the sword he had sheathed at his side, but the other, instead of reaching for his own, put his hand on the wrist of the first, forestalling him. He rose, flashing them a chagrined smile as they drew within a few feet. “Oh, hi there.”

  “Just what do you think you’re doing to that man?” Mariana demanded, her hands on her weapons but Dannen was gratified to see that she had not drawn them yet. After all, doing so would ensure that the men went for theirs, and he didn’t much feel like getting in a life-or-death fight so early in the morning, at least not before he’d had breakfast.

  “What?” the man asked confused, his smile faltering. Then he turned and glanced down at the unconscious man. “Oh, you mean with him.”

  “Of course I mean with him,” Mariana snapped, “who else would I mean?”

  The man raised his hand, and then Mariana’s weapons appeared in her hands as if by magic. He made a surprised, strangled sound and held up his own empty hands, palms forward, as if to show he meant no harm. “Easy, miss. It…there must have been…well, a misunderstanding is all. See, this here, he’s my uncle.”

  Mariana glanced at Dannen in obvious disbelief, and Dannen frowned. “Your uncle?”

  The man gave a weary laugh, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. “That’s right. My uncle.”

  Dannen glanced at the other man. “Let me guess—he’s your uncle too?”

  “Nah, not mine,” the man said, glancing at his companion. “I’m just, you know, a concerned citizen.”

  “I see,” Dannen said, thinking it was looking like a fight was coming and no mistake. “And as a concerned citizen do you always go rifling through unconscious mens’ pockets?”

  The man let out a growl and took a step forward before the other put a hand to his chest, stopping him. “Forgive my traveling companion,” he said, “it has been a trying few days, that’s all, and I’m afraid he’s quite exhausted and, perhaps, a bit…quick-tempered.”

  “Best you start explaining,” Fedder growled, popping his knuckles. “Fast.”

  The man turned to look at him, his eyes going wide. “Damn my eyes, but you’re a big fellow, aren’t you? Strong enough to lift a horse cart, I dare say.”

  Fedder grinned at that, and Dannen grunted. “Anyway. You were saying—your uncle?”

  The man with the brown hair blinked. “Ah, right. Well, you see,” he went on, letting out a soft laugh, “my uncle here, he gets into his cups sometimes. More since my aunt—the gods rest her soul—passed. And unfortunately, my uncle is a bit of a…well, a mean drunk. A bad one, too. I heard he was around these parts, and I came to collect him, but when he saw me he attacked me.” He paused, gesturing at a small, crude knife lying in the alleyway a short distance away. “As you can see, I had no choice but to knock him out. For his own protection, of course.”

  “Right,” the second said, “for his own protection.”

  “I see,” Dannen said slowly. “But that doesn’t explain why you were checking his pockets.”

  “What?” the man asked. “Oh, that. Right. Well, I was looking for the key to his house, that’s all. It’s just a short distance away, you see, but he keeps it locked—doesn’t trust people, my uncle, and—”

  “The gods wonder why,” Mariana said dryly.

  The man let out another laugh. “Right, well, anyway, I was checking for his key and this fellow happened by”—he paused, gesturing at his companion—“and I asked if he might help me carry my uncle. I’m a bard, you see, and I’m afraid my profession does not strengthen a man like…” He glanced at Firemaker. “Well, like your own does, whatever that may be.”

  “So you’re just a kind nephew,” Dannen said, “one looking out for his uncle.”

  The man grinned. “Exactly.”

  Dannen glanced at the others to see their own thoughts on it. Fedder shrugged, and Mariana hissed. “He’s a liar. Of course he’s lying.”

  Dannen looked at the man again, nodding his chin at the sword strapped to the man’s waist. “That’s an awful big blade for a bard.”

  The man flashed him a toothy smile. “Well, I imagine you’ve heard of the undead menace plaguing the lands?” He gave a shake of his head. “What am I talking about? Of course you have. Anyway, bard or not, a man can’t be too careful, not in these times.”

  Dannen nodded. “That’s an ugly scar too,” he said, gesturing to a diagonal scar that started at one side of the man’s forehead and went all the way down to his chin. “For a bard.”

  He tensed, figuring that this would be the moment when the men would realize that their ruse was bound to fail and would go for their swords and attack. Instead, the man only continued to smile. “Well, it is a dangerous world out there and, as I believe I said, a man can’t be too careful. He can, however, not be careful enough.”

  Dannen stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do. After all, he thought it was pretty obvious that the two men were lying, but on the other hand, he had plenty enough trouble without borrowing more. Still, the thought of leaving the unconscious older man in the dubious care of the other two didn’t sit well with him, and after a moment’s thought, he had an idea. “Tell you what,” Dannen said
, “since we’re here and you were needing help anyway, why don’t my companions and myself help you carry your uncle back to his home? How’d that be?”

  The man’s grin faltered, but only for a moment. “Oh, you needn’t put yourselves out on our account. Me and my new friend here will be able to manage well enough, I’m sure. Thank you but it isn’t necessary.”

  “Oh, I think it is,” Dannen said, meeting his eyes. “I really do.”

  Now he knew, without question, that they would go for their blades, for there was no another choice. He tensed in preparation, ready to spring forward or—and largely depending on how good of swordsmen they appeared to be—backward as needed. He watched the two men, watched as their hands began to drift toward the handles of the swords sheathed at their waists, trying to disguise the movements with their bodies.

  Dannen crouched the smallest amount, bending his legs, preparing himself. He was so keyed up, so ready, that he nearly leapt straight out of his skin as he heard a voice from farther down the street. “Whoa there!”

  He spun, expecting more trouble, perhaps another man coming to check on his “uncle,” but the person walking down the street wasn’t a man at all but a woman with a frown on her face and, perhaps unsurprisingly, a sword sheathed at her waist. To Dannen’s vast relief, though, the woman was wearing the uniform of a town guard. She was also, surprisingly pretty with long red hair that fell in loose ringlets down to her shoulders and sparkling blue eyes.

  But pretty or not, the woman’s expression was grim, her eyes hard, as she moved to stand a few feet away, her hands on her hips as she scowled at both groups. “And just what do we have here?”

  “A muggin’, you ask me,” Mariana said.

  The guardswoman frowned, looking at the two men crouched over the unconscious older figure. “A mugging, is it? And what have you got to say about that, Kerry?”

  The speaker of the two frowned, shaking his head. “Guardswoman Liddia, I’m afraid there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. It’s my uncle, see, he—”

  “Let me guess,” the guardswoman said, walking over to stare down at the unconscious man. “He’s in his cups again?’

  The man winced. “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

  The guard sighed, shaking her head. “And this man?” she asked, motioning toward the fellow’s companion.

  “He just came along to help me, ma’am. What with gettin’ my uncle back to his house and all.”

  “I see.” She turned to Dannen and the others with a sigh. “Sorry about this, folks. Things have been a bit…hard lately, all over of course, and some people just take it better than others. This ain’t the first time this has happened, and I don’t imagine it’ll be the last.” She flashed them a smile at that, and despite everything, Dannen couldn’t help noticing that it was a fine smile.

  Dannen looked back at his companions, saw the same confusion and surprise on their faces as he was feeling. On everyone’s face, that was, except for Mariana who scowled. “Bullshit,” she said.

  “I’m sorry?” the guardswoman asked, the smile fading as she frowned at Mariana.

  “I said this is bullshit,” Mariana repeated. “I know a mugging when I see one—I don’t care what he says.”

  The speaker of the two let out a small laugh as he gave his head a shake. “Look, ma’am, truly I’m sorry for the confusion, but if I was going to mug someone, it wouldn’t be my uncle. What little coin he has he spends on ale as a general rule, you see.” He finished and flashed her a big, toothy smile.

  “I don’t doubt it looked bad, miss,” the guardswoman said, “but I can attest that what Kerry here says is true. His uncle here’s a drunk, known for it around these parts, ol’ Clemens the Drunk they call ‘em and rightly so. Why, there ain’t a soul in the whole of Yarrow who hasn’t seen him passed out in the street half a dozen times or so. How many times you carted his sorry louse-ridden self back to his home in the last fortnight, Kerry? Ten? Twenty?”

  Mariana frowned, looking at the bard. “I thought you said you just got back into town.”

  The man the guardswoman called Kerry gave a soft laugh. “Right, well, maybe I’ve been back a little while. Honestly, in small villages like Yarrow time practically seems to stand still, every day looking pretty much like every other day, you understand?”

  “No,” Mariana said, “no, I don’t understand this, not any of it. You were mugging him sure as anything.”

  The guardswoman finally frowned at that. “Are you calling me a liar, miss?”

  Mariana glared back. “I call them like I see them.”

  “Mariana—” Dannen began warningly.

  “That so?” the guardswoman asked, her hand going to the hilt of the sword sheathed at her waist. She turned to Dannen. “I don’t much care for being called a liar, especially not by some stranger happens into town, one I don’t know from anybody. Now, why don’t you and the rest of your friends here turn around, walk away, else I’m likely to lose my patience.”

  “Oh?” Mariana said. “Why, I’m just terrified.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes, her hand gripping her sword as if she might draw it at any moment. “Yeah, yeah, you oughta be.”

  Mariana opened her mouth to speak, no doubt to get them all in more trouble, but Dannen grabbed her by the arm, turning her toward him. “Enough, Mariana.”

  “But, Dannen—”

  “Let it go,” he said. “I thought it was a mugging too, alright, but clearly that’s not the case, and we’ve got things we need to be about anyway, so how about we just let it go?”

  She studied him with a frown on her face and for a moment Dannen thought she meant to argue, that she would tell him to mind his own damn business and go on getting into a fight to the death with a guard. Instead, though, she sighed, nodding. “Alright, Dannen. Whatever you say.”

  Dannen nodded, turning back to the guardswoman who was still watching them—Mariana in particular—while toying with the hilt of her sword. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for all the trouble we just…well, it looked bad, and we were just trying to help. But it seems that you’ve got everything in hand. If it’s all the same to you, we’ll be on our way.”

  She looked somewhat mollified but not completely as she gave a slow nod. “Probably that’d be for the best.”

  Dannen nodded, glancing at the others before turning and starting away, making sure that Mariana in particular was following—which she was, though with obvious reluctance.

  “And next time you take your dog out,” the guardswoman called out, “might be you ought to bring a leash.”

  Dannen tensed at that, turning to Mariana. He had been around the woman for some time now, long enough to know that she had a tendency of saying—or doing—exactly what was on her mind and never mind the consequences. Certainly a troll with a giant club hadn’t been enough to stay her tongue, and he thought that he would be happy if the woman was satisfied to make some quip back. Likely, she would decide that words wouldn’t be enough to express her displeasure as well as she’d like and draw her weapons instead. Dannen didn’t doubt that she would take the guardswoman down easily enough, but he also knew that the thing about guards, the inevitable truth, was that there were always more of them.

  But Mariana did not spin and attack the guardswoman, nor did she snap out some clever rejoinder. Instead, she only took a slow, deep breath, and some of the tenseness visibly left her body, then she turned to Dannen. “Well? We going?”

  “Yes,” he said then, quickly, in case she changed her mind, he started down the alley toward the inn.

  ***

  The woman, known to her men as Oleander, a flower that was as poisonous as it was beautiful, watched the group of four walk away, frowning after them. The woman had challenged her, and that made her angry. It had been a long time since anyone had dared challenge Oleander.

  “Thanks, Mum,” Kerry said, “that was a close one.”

  Oleander let out a hiss, spinning on the two men. “Fools,” she sna
pped. “Do you realize how close you came to giving us all away?”

  Kerry had the good sense, at least, to look ashamed, averting his eyes to stare at the ground at the unconscious man, the man who most certainly was not his uncle. Rock, though—a name the man had chosen, she suspected, because he thought it sounded tough but was more accurate than he knew as he was as dumb as one and no mistake—frowned. “We could have taken ‘em, boss.”

  Oleander shook her head, considering—not for the first time—putting her blade to work on the big fool. “That so?” she said. “One of them’s a mage, you fool, not to mention the Bloody Butcher, said to be the best swordsman of our time, maybe any time. You two fools are just lucky I happened along when I did—and what possessed you to go knocking this one here out anyway? I thought I made it clear—the villagers aren’t to be harmed.”

  “Soft thing to say for a bandit leader,” Rock whispered.

  “What’s that?” she snapped, and the man turned away, avoiding her angry gaze. Oleander rolled her eyes. “It isn’t soft, you fool, it’s smart. We’re here for the job, nothing else. The last thing we need is to get the entire kingdom, maybe the king himself coming down here with his army.”

  Rock was too busy looking sullen, like a child angry at being scolded but not stupid enough—not quite—to challenge her to answer. Kerry, though, winced. “He tried to get away, boss, this one. He broke out of the granary. It’s just bad luck he ended up runnin’ into their path.”

  “Bad luck,” she repeated dryly.

  “Uh…yes ma’am,” Kerry, always the pragmatist, said carefully.

  “In my experience, Kerry,” she said, “a man—or a woman, if one’s lucky enough for the gods to bless her so—makes his own luck. Still, quick thinking with the uncle bit.”

  His face flushed with obvious pleasure at that, and he nodded his head to her. “Thank you, boss.”

  “Coulda taken them,” Rock muttered, staring down the alley in the direction they’d gone.

  Oleander sighed, shaking her head. Something would have to be done about the man, soon. “I’m tempted to give you the chance, Rock, but I doubt if it’ll turn out the way you think. No, the mage is dangerous, the swordsman too, and that girl, the one who dared to challenge me, seems like she knows a thing or two about fighting. Best to take care of ‘em quiet.” After all, she had not always been a bandit leader, had only risen to such a rank by strictly following several rules she herself had devised. And one of those rules, perhaps the greatest of them, was that violence was rarely the answer and, when it was, a knife in the back was far preferable to a bloody row in the streets.