Hero in a Halfling

by William Tyler Davis

  “And why trolls again?” Nacer asked. In all the meetings he’d attended, he had felt that he was missing something. He felt like a child lost in a parent’s conversation. But rather than speak up, he’d let the proceeding go, unchecked. Unwilling to speak of his ignorance.

  Until now.

  Master Investor hissed a sigh out of his nose. “The trolls have back-terra. It’s common enough in the mountains; the cure is well known. But here in the city. Well, without the potions of a witch, the cure of a wizard's nurturing hands, the city will be in a panic. Ripe for the culling.”

  “But won’t the trolls pillage the city?” Nacer said. “Kill people?”

  “Isn’t that what your king did ten years ago?” Master Investor asked angrily. “Tell me, what’s exactly the difference?”

  “Here, here,” the others chanted.

  It was true. Too true. And even quick witted Nacer did not have a comeback.

  7

  Me Talk Troll One Day

  A campfire billowed out mossy smoke. A goat, dead on a spit above it, crackled; its exposed muscles and tendons glistened in the firelight. The hairy remains of its fur coat blackened or fell away, sending small embers back into the fire.

  Four trolls sat gruffly around it. Everything they did was gruff: sitting, standing, walking.

  “Ook ma brakka goad,” a voice—a troll-like voice—throaty and gruff, said.

  Which roughly translated to: “Tired of eating goats.”

  The troll language, while guttural and slow, was quite eloquent. It was the romance language of the half man half earth creatures like trolls, orcs, and goblins. The words themselves required an excessive use of saliva—each syllable flung about ten ounces of dribble at the conversationalist on the other end. Rainwater and snow filtered through a troll's body for a constant supply of the brown spittle.

  Al, the largest and father troll, sent droplets sizzling against the fire as he spoke. “Tired?” he said slowly. “The goats are good for you. Will make you strong like your dad. Plus, rabbit is too small and hard to catch.”

  It could take hours, or even days, for the trolls to carry on a single conversation, as mountain trolls, unlike their cave troll kin, turned only temporarily to stone in the sunlight, usually hidden among the rocks of a mountainside.

  The stoney back of Al rose above the others. He rolled the spit, and the goat ambled over, flames licking each horn. The skull’s white bone was now exposed as its eyes and its flesh melted away.

  “But I want to eat… human,” the troll-like voice boomed again. And upon further reflection, a Shadow passed behind the fire.

  Al tore a leg from the goat’s torso. He shoved it toward what at first seemed a small boulder with arms and legs. Kids, he thought. “You’ll eat goat and like it. It’s almost bedtime.” Al gave a side-eyed glance to his wife. She was never helpful in these situations. They all liked to gang up on him.

  “I do like goats!” the little troll said, gruffly. “I never said—“

  “But human taste better,” the troll-like voice said. The Shadow moved with the wind.

  Boulder was one thing, but the teenage Kelly was another—all stalagmites and mood swings. Al scowled at her over the fire.

  “They do taste good, but human is stringy,” Peg offered, solidly in the middle of the fight. “They do have a better flavor. These goats eat too much grass.” No, she was on the children’s side. Al sighed, gruffly.

  “We ate human, what? Last season? Remember?” he said. He ripped a rack of ribs from the goat and tasted. There was a mild tang to it he did not like.

  “I think so,” Peg said, then she smiled—if you could call it that. It was more a sneer with a curl to it. “He came up the mountain and liked goats too.”

  “Yes,” Al laughed. “That human liked goats for a long time.”

  Peg rumbled a small avalanche of a laugh; snow fell from her shoulders. “The poor human didn’t hear us coming.”

  Al, still chewing his rib laughed again. “But we heard him coming.”

  They both rumbled with laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Boulder asked.

  “You two are gross!” Kelly said.

  “Nothing,” Al said to his son, then to everyone he said, “There are no humans here to eat.”

  “Humans in city,” the troll-like voice said.

  Al sighed again. “The city is too far.” He was tired of this line of thinking. “The humans would find us during the day and use their pickaxes and hammers on us.”

  Peg stood and tore her own piece of the goat.

  “Know good hiding spot, close to city. And friends will help us.”

  “You do?” Al said. He wasn’t sure to who.

  “Yes.”

  Al pondered this. Peg had never mentioned a hiding spot close to the city before. Or friends.

  After licking the flesh from the bone, Boulder snapped the goat’s femur and began to suck the marrow from inside. “Now I’m hungry for human,” he said with the cuteness of a toddler.

  “Me too,” Al admitted. He sat down gruffly by the fire.

  “Me three,” Kelly said.

  Peg, who wondered how Kelly knew of a hiding spot next to the city and not knowing the number past three said, “Me… um… many.”

  “Friends near city will help us.” The troll-like voice faded into the distance.

  As Al hugged a rock for a pillow, ready for the rise of the sun, he wondered if venturing to the city was well advised. But that day, his dreams would be riddled with the soft juicy flesh of humans, and upon waking his choice would be made.

  8

  Mostly Harmless

  It was a new day in Dune All-En. Epik woke with a rumble in his belly. He yawned and stretched. The cool wooden floor of the motel helped jolt lingering effects of grogginess from his body. He did a few side bends before drawing the curtains to let in the stale morning light.

  Out there, the city looked more like a painting than something he belonged to, and he was keen to explore it further and hungry enough to eat both breakfasts3 at once.

  Epik was on the lookout for magic, and he was hoping he wouldn’t have to go far. But the wizard’s supply shop across from the Rotten Apple, still had its door locked tight. Epik could have sworn he heard mutterings from inside. But after knocking and standing at the brink with his nose on the glass for several minutes, he decided to move on. He crossed a bridge over a foamy river and walked into the city proper where the buildings grew taller, and the streets got tidier. Still, there were no wizards with firework carts. No witches with potions to sell. Fortune teller’s shops all had closed placards on their doors. His heart began to sink lower in his chest. His insides were squirming, teaming with the nervousness and the probable reality that he’d made a mistake.

  He put on his best face, taking in a deep breath of smoggy, city air. That, too, was a mistake. He coughed and sputtered a bit before recovering. Dune All-En wasn’t what he had thought. More than anything, Epik had wanted to be a wizard. And now he couldn’t find one. No bearded faces, gray or white, no purple cloaks or pointed hats walked the streets. He made a lazy circle around the city; he found the docks and watched a few of the pointy sailed ships head off to what had to be oblivion as they dropped from view.

  Later, he strolled past the castle, where a group of people had gathered outside, marching in circles, holding up signs that read Simmons Out or Here, Here for a new king.

  Epik finally gathered up the courage to ask someone. “Excuse me,” he said to one of the marchers, a brunette woman with a red apron. She wore bangles around her wrist and at least two rings on each finger. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but do you know what’s happened to the magicians?”

  She looked down at him, scowling. “Those freeloaders?” she said with an accent like a crow. “Oh, the king sent them away yesterday, didn’t he? Said there’s no magic allowed in the city. About time, if you ask me. They’ve had their run, taking all the profits away from the small bus
iness owners—the lifeblood of the economy, we are.”

  Epik wasn’t asking her. Well, he was, but not for her opinion on magic. He walked away about as quickly as his short legs would take him, away from the gate and the marchers’ chants and songs. His neck hurt from having bent it looking up and steadily it began to act on its own accord. Instead of looking up for the usual tall height of a wizard, Epik looked around at head height, his head height, like he’d typically do in the Bog.

  If not a wizard, there was perhaps one other person he could be on the lookout for.

  His father.

  Now, he couldn’t say for sure where his father would be. But the map. The books. All signs pointed to Dune All-En. The problem was, he wasn't sure he wanted to meet his father, not really.

  But subconsciouses do funny things.

  He scanned the streets. The city was vast and sprawling, and the streets crowded even during the working hours—especially in the working hours.

  There were more beings of around his height than Epik could have ever imagined—dwarves and goblins, sure, but mostly human children.

  They ran around in packs, playing hide and seek with the change they found in men’s pockets. They grabbed from food carts. They climbed on buildings. To everyone else, it looked as if they were invisible. The kids all had an earthy, homeless look to them.

  Are they on their own? Epik wondered. Though Epik had never really known his father, his mother had more than made up for it, doubling, sometimes tripling the amount of parenting she’d given him.

  Now, he knew these were children. They weren’t halflings. They weren’t his father. But he found himself following them regardless, watching as they ducked in and out of sight, turning down alleys and backstreets, all headed in the same direction.

  Three of the children bounded beside him along the cobbled street, then one by one they ducked into a narrow pass between the castle’s outer wall and a fortune teller’s parlor—a closed fortune teller’s parlor. No one paid them any mind—even the ones who had their purses stolen. No one except Epik.

  Intrigued, he slipped sideways down the gap, sucking in his roundish middle, and followed. At the end of the slim alley, the children scurried up a broken down cart and over the castle wall. The halfling found himself on the cart, wondering what he’d find when he peeked over the wall. He put his hands on the top of the ledge. It was cool and damp to the touch. And using his belly as a pendulum, scrambled to the top.

  The children gathered into a sort of pit at a hidden entrance to the castle, well away from its grand and protected entrance—a kind of loading zone to conceal all the king’s shipments and deliveries. They loitered there, milling around and talking. Epik watched as some wrestled and kicked up the dirt, doing the type of things kids usually do.

  They looked harmless.

  Epik jumped carefully down the rocky castle wall and into the pit along with them. From all sides, children hung or climbed over the walls, corralling themselves inside. Epik attempted to hang toward the back, but before he knew it, he was being pushed from all sides as more children came over. They gathered close to the loading paddock which was raised a few feet off the ground. The castle doors above them remained shut, and probably bolted.

  Why are the here? he thought.

  For a while, he just watched. He blended in nicely. Though he was a bit cleaner than most of the children, he shared their height and most of their frames. These kids, while they had the look of street urchins, didn’t seem to miss a meal.

  Two of the children—boys—climbed the paddock and sat on the edge in front of the castle doors. Their legs dangled off the ledge as they scanned the throng of their peers.

  The weight of the crowd continued to press Epik forward. What had once been a few dozen kids was now hundreds, all clambering to get closer to the doors.

  The children hadn’t taken notice of him at all.

  Until.

  “Peter, look at that little man.” One of the boys on the ledge pointed Epik out. He was dirtier than all of the others. Made more of soot than flesh and bone. Flecks of dirt sprinkled as he moved and spoke.

  “That’s not a man,” the other, Peter, said. He had flame red hair and wore a green tunic. “It’s a dwarf. Hey dwarf, why’d you shave yer beard?”

  “Nah, can’t be a dwarf. He’s not even wearin’ a helmet.”

  “He is so a dwarf,” Peter argued.

  “Hey, little man,” the other said. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

  “You ain’ts a dwarf, are ya?” a boy whispered into Epik’s ear. “I heard o’ you before.”

  He stepped forward. He wore a dusty brown cloak, the hood of which was pinned over his head. “I wouldn’t go messing’ about with him,” he said to the other two.

  But they weren’t listening.

  “Little man,” the soot covered one said. “How much gold ya got?”

  “Yeah, dwarf,” Peter asked, “how much gold ya got?”

  The crowd tightened around him.

  Now Epik had been threatened before—once or twice by Frank Biggle, accusing him of stealing tips. But never with any real threat of physical harm. And never so unevenly matched. He stood there stupefied. The halfling inside him began to peek out, wishing to disappear and inwardly calculating all the exits. Presently, the total was zero.

  The thought of his father had completely slipped away, back to the recesses of his subconscious. And the idea of wizards, of magic, crept back into Epik’s mind. It found a stronghold and locked itself in place. This was what happened when Epik got scared, when he felt alone. Magic had always been there to comfort him—if only in a dream.

  He could really have used some magic now.

  The sooty boy scooted forward on his hands, then lazily fell forward into the dusty pit. The kids parted, letting him by, and he took a small yellowed knife from his back pocket as he came forward. Peter, on the other hand, stood up on the platform, smiling as he rubbed his hands together.

  The boy, standing in front of Epik, lowered his hood. Her hood. For this was most definitely a girl. Charcoal black hair framed an ashy, tanned face. She had shadowed black eyes.

  “You gonna stand in our way, Ambrosia?” Peter asked from his pedestal.

  “What if I am?”

  The knife glinted in the other boy’s hand.

  “Amber… just move,” he said. The boy gazed right through her. “This’ll only take a minute.”

  “I don’t really have much gold,” Epik said. He knew he'd picked the wrong words the moment he'd said it. Even some of the other children now decided to take notice. Before they were crowded toward the platform, ignoring the two boys, Epik, and Amrosia entirely. There for some other purpose.

  But the cold eyes of more children locked on the would be fight.

  “Nick, you hear that? He said he’s got gold.” Peter flew to the ground, landing in a crouch. His blue eyes were a ball of fire; they narrowed.

  “What? Have you boys never heard of leprechauns before?” Amber scoffed.

  “Think I have.” The redhead was taller than Epik had thought. At least a head higher than Epik himself.

  The boy with the knife shrugged.

  “Never heard o’ no leprechaun. Won’t matter much in a minute anyhow. Amber… sis… get outs the way. You ain’ts our mom.”

  “I heard a story of one,” Amber started.

  “I’m not—“ Epik started.

  Amber shushed him. “You never heard about the fools that stole a leprechaun’s pot o’ gold?” she continued. “They locked him up and took his gold. Then several years passed. Some accidentally lost it. One even swallowed a bit of it. That’s when the leprechaun struck. Went on a murderous rampage.”

  “I ain’ts afraid,” Nick began to say.

  Then the castle doors flew open.

  Several well-dressed servants ambled out, pushing carts laden with food and foodstuffs. There was bread of all kinds, flat bread and round bread, and long and skinny loaves. Though, the
pastries seemed all half eaten. There were puddings and pots of beans, rotting fruits and carved meats, and a variety of decent looking vegetables.

  The kids closed in, to an almost crushing state. The two boys were lost amongst them.

  The kids were here for castle leftovers?

  But what surprised Epik was when the servants pushed over the carts. And all four of them began to stamp heavily on the food, kicking it all around and trampling the vegetables to shred. Fruit juices splashed everywhere. Only after they’d all worked up a sweat did the servants begin to sweep the food off the paddock and into the crowd.

  Children scrambled to take them. They wrestled each other for the less frayed pieces of bread.

  Epik caught a mince pie before it fell to the ground. All of the mince parts had been squished away, and boot prints had done a number to the crust.

  Before he knew it, Amber took it from his hand.

  “What?” she questioned. “You never had food stamps before?”

  Epik did his best to duck through the crowd unnoticed. At the wall, a group of older homeless men and women sat straddled, watching, ready to scoop up anything left for them in the dirt. One shook his head at Epik, but helped the halfling climb over.

  He looked back one last time. There was no sign of Amber or the two boys.

  9

  Guards! Guards?

  Sergeant Todder was vaguely aware of his superiors. That is, He knew he had them. He was aware that they had names, and he was sure they were fine names, like Jared or Travis or Blake. He’d just never been keen on learning them. Superiors changed as often as Todder changed his underwear. About every two months.