Often he would stop and pretend that the weeds were goblinoids or kobalds come to attack the pepperbeans, which he envisioned as homesteads full of dwarves or humans. He, Djeri, the great god of the garden was swooping in with his dirt-encrusted fingers and pull them struggling from the dry soil.
“Djeri!” shouted a voice and he looked back at the house to see his momma waving at him to come in and eat . . .
Stop! Djeri begged as the memory faded from his mind.
I’m sorry. This is for your own good, Tarah said, and dug some more.
A searing pain shot through his mind once more . . .
Rain fell around Djeri in a chilling patter. He swung the greatsword in his hands, battering aside the mace of the student in front of him. The crowd applauded.
The student had been in the Academy for some time. He knew what he was doing. But Djeri’s choice of weapon gave him the advantage. He had chosen the greatsword for that particular reason. The Training School Council usually tried to set each trainee up against a student with similar weapon types, but Djeri was an oddity.
He was an oddity for many reasons. Very few dwarves tried to enter the Dremaldrian Battle Academy, after all. That didn’t bother him. Djeri’s father was half human and Djeri had always preferred the company of human kind. But the thing that made him even stranger was that he was a generalist.
Djeri had trained with every weapon type. Summers spent at his Uncle Lenui’s blacksmith shop had given him plenty of opportunities to try them. Years of adventuring with treasure hunters had refined his skills before he had decided to enter the Training School.
Now he was able to pick a weapon for any situation. In this case, his opponent was using a short-handled mace and a shield. Djeri was spry enough and strong enough to keep his opponent at bay with his longer and broader weapon. He was also comfortable wearing a suit of platemail armor, which meant that he could take a hit if the student got lucky.
Djeri grinned beneath his helmet. There was no way this student was scoring first blood . . .
The memory faded, bringing fear and anguish with it. The memory did not fit! It wasn’t who he was . . . was it? Please! No more!
Tarah hesitated, torn by his agony both emotional and physical. She could feel it through the bond as real as if his suffering were her own. One more.
This time the pain was even worse, hot coals tumbling across his nerves . . .
Djeri was glad to be back on the ground. He ached all over, especially his shoulders. Of course that could happen if you were hung from a tree by your elbows all night. Especially in full plate armor. He didn’t let the pain show on his face though. He wouldn’t give his captors the satisfaction.
He knew that he was injured. He probably had torn rotator cuffs. Maybe sprained wrists too, but he couldn’t feel them. The ropes that bound his arms behind his back had cut off the circulation. There was also a series of bruises from the beatings he had taken at the hands of his distant cousins.
All in all, it was nothing he couldn’t recover from. He was as tough as any full-blooded dwarf after all. Too bad that wouldn’t stop the crossbow that was aimed at his chest. Djeri knew his crossbows and that particular one looked strong enough to send an arrow right through his breastplate and out the other side.
The man holding the crossbow, the one that his dwarf smuggler relatives called Shade, was giving him a searching look. The human had a rather plain look for an evil rogue horse hunter. He had the face of a merchant. But there was no doubting the skill with which he had loaded the crossbow or the menace in his eyes. Djeri’s life was clearly in the balance.
“Come over here then, Tarah,” Shade said, his voice mocking. “Kiss him. Convince me you love this dwarf.”
There was a mixture of laughter and groans from the other dwarves. Djeri was fairly certain that his life was over. Tarah’s proclamation of love for him had been a last ditch effort to get the man to spare him.
Djeri didn’t fully understand why. After they had been captured, Tarah had acted as if she knew this Shade. In fact, they had spoken of a contract. Tarah had then made up a story that Djeri had abandoned the Academy to run away with her and that he was no threat to their evil enterprise. It was an obvious tall tale at best, but the girl was a pretty convincing liar.
Tarah swallowed and shuffled towards him. She was gonna have to kiss him and have to make it look good. Despite the peril of their situation, his heart skipped a beat.
He wasn’t sure why. His feelings for her were mixed. He certainly found her physically attractive. She had the body of a warrior and a face that would have made her a traditional beauty if not for the nose, something which he felt just gave her character.
The thing he didn’t like so much was her brash bravado and mercurial attitude. On the surface, she seemed like a real ornery woman that didn’t care for anyone else. Still, there was this strange vulnerability about her. She had only let him see it a few times, but within that tough exterior was a lot of fear and doubt. Oddly, he found the combination . . . endearing.
“I-I’m afraid I might hurt him,” she stammered as she drew near.
Djeri gave her an apologetic look. He knew his face was a nasty mess, all snot and blood. And she was such a pretty girl in her own way. “It’s just a split lip. I-I’m . . .”
His jaw quivered. Surely this wasn’t going to work. She was going to embarrass herself and he was going to get shot anyway.
Then Tarah leaned down and grasped the back of Djeri’s head. His eyes closed as their lips touched . . .
Enough! Djeri begged. She pulled back from the depths of his memories and the pain eased down to a dull throb. His mind felt raw. It was as if his very soul had an open wound.
Tarah bent her thoughts on his. There was definitely a barrier there. The behemoth hadn’t taken your memories away, just covered them over. I think I got it all. Are you okay?
Honestly, Djeri didn’t know. His memories were all a jumble. He couldn’t sort everything out. Just leave me be.
Djeri, she said. Do you remember me now? Do you remember how we feel about each other?
The question was another blow to his wounded psyche. He did, but he didn’t. He had that vivid memory of her kissing him for the first time and he knew that there was more, but that was all. He didn’t dare look further. I-I need to sort this out.
Her thoughts became filled with anxiety. Okay, but there’s something else you should know. Something important. I’m . . . Whatever she was about to say, she changed her mind at the last moment. Djeri, I do love you. Please remember that above everything else.
He had nothing to say to that. He could feel the truth of it in her emotions, but he was too raw to focus on it.
I’ll be back tomorrow night, she continued. Please, I don’t want to have to put you through this again.
Just go, he said and this time she did, her thoughts retreating back to the corner of his mind from whence she had come.
Chapter Nineteen
Djeri’s eyes opened to the darkness of his room in the Axis Palace. His troll sight showed him the lines of his walls and ceiling in shades of cool blue. Except for one bright orange blob at the corner of his vision. That was Gray.
Djeri realized that his face was wet. He could smell the part-dog’s putrid breath and hear his nervous panting. Groaning, he sat up. His head pulsed. That raw feeling was still in the back of his mind.
Grimacing, he reached up to wipe the slime and slobber off of the side of his head. His hand felt funny against his cheek and he realized that it was because his beard was longer than he usually kept it. Strange how that particular memory stood out so much to him. He usually kept it neat and trimmed.
“How late is it?” he wondered aloud and even the inside of his mouth felt wrong. His teeth pointed in front, his molars serrated in back. “I need to talk to the king.”
He stood, swaying on legs that seemed longer than they should be. Gray let out a soft whimper and Djeri reached out and patted t
he top of the dog’s stony scaled head. He walked to the front of the room and opened the door.
Djeri’s room was one floor below those of the king’s and Murtha’s. He walked awkwardly down the corridor to the stairwell that led up. Taking the stairs was a bit of a challenge. His feet seemed too big and he realized that it was his newly reopened memories clashing with those of his current ones.
He tried to push those old reflexes aside. He no longer had the body of a dwarf and never would again. Even though the majority of his old memories were still buried, it was a fact that filled him with a deep sorrow.
Half way up the stairs he stopped and shook his head. He clenched his fists so hard that his claws pierced the skin of his palms. Somehow the pain of it helped stabilize him.
“This is what’s real,” he said aloud. He was a trollkin. Whatever happened in the past, this was who he was now. He opened his hands knowing that the oozing wounds in his palms would heal quickly.
He continued to the top of the stairs and walked towards the king’s room. He could see the soft light of a glow orb emanating from under the door. Djeri opened the door and took a step inside, but the king wasn’t there.
He checked Murtha’s room, but she was gone too. He trotted down the stairs as quickly as he dared, Gray following after him, the part-kobald’s claws leaving a clickety-clack on the stone as they descended.
Djeri came to the bottom floor and called out for a guard. One stepped in from just outside the main entrance and told Djeri that the king was out. His expedition had returned from their journey deep in the swamps to the Mother’s midden.
He ran in the direction the guard had told him, towards the northern edge of the city. He saw the glow of the king’s orb in the distance and was surprised when he arrived. He hadn’t known the sheer number of trollkin that the king had sent. There were at least thirty of them gathered in the square where the king stood and in front of them was a large line of bulging sacks and stretchers piled high with pieces of metal.
“This expedition may have been a big mistake,” the king was saying. “How many?”
“Eight of them. They left not long after they found their weapons,” one trollkin replied and Djeri noticed that a Jharro sword hung from a belt at his waist. “What do we do, Xeldryn?”
“Don’t call me that! Not in front of people,” The Troll King’s mismatched face was a mix of anger and concern. He reached out and grabbed the arm of Murtha who was standing beside him. He took her aside and began talking to her in hushed tones.
Djeri’s eyes were drawn to a stretcher not far from him that was piled high with metal implements. Something broad and shiny was reflecting the light of the orb. His eyes widened as he moved closer and reached down to pull it out from the pile.
The metal was quite heavy and upset the pile as he pulled, sending metal items to the ground in a clatter. He recognized it immediately, a shining breastplate covered in tiny red runes. In the center of the chest was an oval of red iron with a golden ‘F’ emblazoned in the middle of it.
He lurched as a torrent of new memories were released. He remembered his Uncle Lenui, the long years spent adventuring with him and helping him in his shop. He remembered the day Lenui had given it to him to help Tarah Woodblade on her quest to save the rogue horse . . . another surge of memories threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed them back for now.
Djeri lifted up the breastplate and pressed it against his chest. It actually fit the upper portion of his torso quite well. The Mother hadn’t changed his width much at all, though a solid inch of his lower abdomen protruded from the bottom of it. He began rummaging around until he found the back half. The leather straps that held it together were torn, but he was certain he could repair it.
“Hey, who are you?” asked the trollkin with the Jharro sword. He had an angular face and a pair of ram’s horns sprouted from his temples.
Djeri realized the trollkin was speaking to him. He looked back at the part-human and used his talent. Djeris head twinged slightly, but he saw the man as he had been, a proud Roo-Tan warrior wearing the uniform of a captain in the Roo-Tan’lan garrison. “I’m Djeri. I’m a culler for the king. Did you find any more pieces of this armor?”
“The shiny stuff with the red runes?” asked one of them. “No. Just those two big pieces. But there is a lot more to go through. The midden is huge!”
“I don’t know if you should be taking that,” said the trollkin with the sword.
Djeri cocked his head at the trollkin. “Who are you?”
“Rembis bin Tayl,” the part-human said.
“No you’re not!” said the king, rejoining them. “You are just Rembis now. Trollkin do not have clans. Understood?” Rembis reluctantly nodded and the king turned his attention on Djeri. “What are you doing, Djeri?”
Djeri cleared his throat, wondering how the king would react. “I remember this armor, King. It used to belong to me . . . before. I’m remembering a lot, actually.”
The king let out a growl and he ran a hand across the bald human side of his head. “Blast! Maybe Stolz was right. Still . . .” He looked to the rest of the gathered trollkin. “Those of you who found your own Jharro weapons come speak with me. The rest of you wait here for a moment.”
Five of the trollkin stepped forward. Three of them had Jharro swords, one had a bow, and another had a staff. The king walked a short distance away with them and Murtha motioned for Djeri to join them.
“Hear me,” said the king. “When I returned from the swamp with my weapons I was feeling as you are now. I sent you to retrieve these weapons because I believed that it was best that all my people remembered their pasts.”
“You don’t believe so now?” said Rembis.
“You would have us all in the dark?” asked another.
“Thirteen of you found your weapons. Only five returned,” the king said and the five part-humans frowned. “If two thirds of our people abandon the Mother am I serving her?”
“But, King,” said Rembis. “How can we serve Her and still keep our promise to our trees?”
“We will find a way,” he promised them. “But for now we must keep this a secret from the rest of our people, at least until I figure out what to do. We will move all of the Jharro wood you retrieved into the palace.”
The king reached out and touched Rembis’ shoulder and from the way the trollkin’s posture stiffened, Djeri knew that the king had used his talent. “Will you trust me?”
Rembis nodded. “King Xeldryn, I returned here to KhanzaRoo because I knew you from before. I trusted you then and I still do.”
There were nods among the others and the king made a point of reaching out to touch each one in turn. “You will all join Murtha and Djeri as part of my personal guard. I now know I can trust you in a way that I can’t trust anyone else. You will stay in rooms in the upper floors of the palace.”
“What of the others?” asked another of Jharro wielders. “They do not have their memories, but they know we do. They all saw what happened.”
He nodded and walked back to face the remaining trollkin. “Hear me. All of you! When I picked you for this expedition I did so because I trusted you to be loyal to me. The fact that you have returned to me successful proves that loyalty.”
There were broad smiles among many of them.
“Therefore I am making all of you part of the palace guard. You will come stay with me!” There were a few cheers at this remark. “First you will take all of the metal items to the center square, then Murtha will show you to your new rooms.” He placed his hand on Murtha’s arm. “Stay with them. Do your best to see that they do not spread tales.”
She nodded and trotted over to help them gather the items. He turned his attention to Djeri. “Tomorrow I want you to put together a new expedition to go through the rest of the midden. I still believe that anything that can help our people must be brought back. Rembis and Murtha will help you. I want you to pick only those trollkin not under Mellinda’s sway
and I want you to make sure that none of them used to be Roo-Tan. Do you understand?”
Djeri nodded.
“How can we be certain of that?” Rembis asked.
“Djeri’s talent allows him to see who people once were,” the king explained. “Rembis, I want you to pick one of the men to lead the expedition. You can go yourself if you must, though I would rather have you here.”
“Yes, King,” Rembis said.
Djeri helped the king and the five other Jharro wielders gather up all the bundles of Jharro wood and carry them back to the palace. The wood itself wasn’t too terribly heavy, but carrying several bulging bundles of pointed weapons along with his uncle’s shiny breastplate was quite awkward.
They took the weapons up to the middle floor of the palace and back to the row of cells where Stolz was being kept. They loaded the weapons into an empty cell and shut them away. Then the king dismissed his five new personal guards and sent them to pick out rooms on the same floor where Djeri was staying. Djeri made as if to go with them, but the king reached out to stop him.
“Stay back with me,” the king said. He walked over to Stolz cell and spoke through the slot in the metal door. “Are you listening in there?”
A soft glow shone from within as Stolz activated the globe that the king had given him. Stolz replied, “Of course, my king.”
To Djeri’s surprise, the king unbarred the door and pulled it open. Djeri looked inside to find that Stolz had all the furnishings from his old cabin inside including the bonding wizard’s wooden chest. Evidently the king had decided to treat the bonding wizard and his bonded better than common prisoners. Both Stolz and Bluth were sitting on grass mattresses every bit as nice as Djeri’s. Even the cat looked cozy on his own small mat in the corner.
“Was it as I said it would be, King Xeldryn?” Stolz asked.
The Troll King sighed. “We lost two thirds of the trollkin who found their weapons.”
Behemoth (The Jharro Grove Saga Book 6) Page 31