Hero in a Halfling

by William Tyler Davis

  Epik’s hands found the water to be a playful thing, splashed with one hand and then the other, sprinkling droplets on his face. This wasn’t such a bad thing. Was it? But where did his father go? He bobbed up, looking for him.

  “Dada,” he said to the air.

  Then there was a tug on his lower foot; a hand, or something more sinister, had caught him. Epik struggled to pull his foot back, but the pressure on his ankle grew. And even while dreaming, his heartbeat began to rumble in his chest.

  The hand was a strong one. It held Epik there, tight. The halfling child kicked and screamed. The dreaming halfling turned over with a spasm.

  “Dada,” he cried more anxiously.

  Then the plant man’s head rose out of the water, looking as if it were made of cabbage and seaweed. Nothing but empty mushy sockets stared back where its eyes should be.

  But suddenly, the plant man let go. He receded back into the water, and Epik was safe. He floated back to shore.

  The dream seemed to be failing, fighting to continue onward as the real Epik stirred in his sleep, eyes fluttering.

  “Well, that didn’t go as expected,” he heard his father’s voice say, the words a muddled garble. Then Epik caught a glimpse of his face, a real glimpse. His father had the silhouette of a halfling, short in stature, but he had the face of a man—a face of a man Epik recognized…

  If only briefly, while still in the dream.

  Epik awoke what seemed a few minutes later, feeling rested, but spooked by something, thinking maybe his companions had left him. He searched the relaxed bodies around him: Seven of them.

  Collus, Rotrick, and the dwarves rested, all cozied up between the roots of an old oak; the elf had found a large branch of a tree to lounge on, snuggled up against the trunk. The wizard was still nowhere to be found. For some reason, this didn’t surprise Epik. He wasn’t worried. Weren’t wizards meant to be off doing things like this in stories? Looking forward. Looking behind.

  Everyone but Todder seemed to be catching a bit of sleep. The sergeant laid back on his elbows, propping himself up beside a fire. He dangled a sausage on a stick above it.

  “You made a fire with all this damp wood?” Epik asked.

  “Aye,” the sergeant said, “secret’s in the kindlin’—one wet log, a bunch of dry sticks and bark.” He smiled. “All this wood is probably filled with dark magic and piss. What’d’ya think?”

  “Could be.”

  Epik unpacked his satchel. He had packed enough food, taken from the Rotten Apple, for the whole party to eat several meals, but after a long hike, several meals seemed a bit more like one. He set bread and cheese out on his traveling cloak, then roasted four whole chickens over the fire.

  Even with the heat of the day upon them, the comforting aroma of the fire woke and drew them to the food. The dwarves woke almost instantly. The smell of crisping skin mixed with herbs and potato lacerated the air with good intentions.

  Two-finger and Bill dove into the provisions without so much as a thank you. Wellspoken gave the halfling a little nod before pulling a leg from the chicken on the fire. The flame licked the leather on his wrist, but he showed no sign of minding. The rangers woke soon after. Only K’nexes stayed resting in his tree; his blonde locks furled out under him on the branch, his feet crossed at the ankles.

  Collus took a loaf of bread and broke it in half. “I knew there was some woman in you,” he said, looking at the fire. “It’s not good to fight on a full stomach though.”

  “I’ve never found that to be true,” Wellspoken said.

  “Nor have I,” said Two-finger. He took a whole chicken for himself.

  “Who said we’ll be fighting?” Rotrick asked, also taking a chicken. “The trolls turn to stone during the day.”

  “I thought—“ Epik started.

  “These are mountain trolls,” Two-finger said. “It’s true.”

  Epik took some meat from a chicken breast, shredding it and putting the pieces between a sliced loaf with some cheese. “How long do you think, before we get to them?”

  “Not long,” Collus said.

  “Then why are—“

  “It’s the orcs I’m worried about.”

  “Orks?” Two-finger stood; he peered out into all directions. “You didn’t say anything about orks?”

  Rotrick shrugged.

  The party had turned on Collus. “Because there are orcs,” he said, emphasizing the word.

  “What orks?” Billy said. “I haven’t seen any sign of them.”

  “Orcs,” Collus said.

  “Orc or ork, they’re the same either way you spell it,” Wellspoken said, well-spoken.

  “You trust me to know we’re not far but not that to know they camp with orcs?”

  “How can you tell we’re not that far?” K’nexes sat up.

  “I’m a ranger,” Collus said. “A ranger can tell if a leaf is missing from that tree.” He pointed above the elf. “A good one can tell you what took it. A ranger can track a falcon. A good one can track a falcon on—”

  “A cloudy day?” Rotrick offered.

  “Hell no,” Collus said. “A windy day. How the hell are you going to track a falcon on a cloudy day?”

  Rotrick looked back at him, smiling.

  “Anyway,” the ranger said. “I’m a good one. And not only are we close, but our trolls have friends—and bloodthirsty ones, at that.”

  Nacer scoured his office. Nothing. Then he wove his way around the castle, to the unused rooms. He found lineages, scrolls of heraldry and the like.

  Shouldn’t these things be well known? Nacer thought. But in a place like Dune All-En, heraldry seemed as well-guarded secret as a grandmother’s apple pie. Finally, he found it, a dusty scroll, written in grandiose calligraphy, plotting names of kings and lords from World’s Eye to Dune All-En, King’s Way, and back again. He read it. He read it again.

  While the king had only the one brother, the ruler of World’s Eye. And all eight of his wives were dearly departed—and missed. There was no heir apparent. The king barely had a cousin that wasn’t marked off by death. But Nacer’s figure wove around the angled lines, reading through names and symbols. His finger stopped. No, not him… Couldn’t the Shadow have just told him? Wouldn’t that have been easier?

  Of course, the Shadow had been right. This was a play at the throne. But how? Nacer slouched over on his desk. He should’ve known. He had felt tricked. He had been tricked.

  But there was still time. The dust hadn’t settled. There were chess pieces still in play. The king wasn’t even dead after all.

  The solution was simple. It came to Nacer like the foolish ideas of a philosophy undergraduate. And like that, it didn’t take long to become drunk with the idea.

  How did King Simmons come to power?

  He took it.

  How could Nacer come to power?

  He could do the same.

  They ate quickly. Before Epik knew it, the fire was out, and packs were being thrown over shoulders. Belts and scabbards cinched more tightly, and the dwarves carried their axes and hammers with both hands.

  “What about Gabby?” Epik asked, as Collus began down a path.

  “What about him?”

  “Where is he?”

  “Where is who?” Gabby said. He strolled down an embankment ahead of them.

  “You,” Epik and Collus said together.

  Gabby took the narrow slope in large strides, simultaneously fastening the waist of his robe. “A wizard needs time to consult his own head.”

  “If that’s what you call it,” Two-finger said sarcastically.

  They hiked onward.

  “What did your head say?” Epik asked, falling back in line with Gabby.

  “It said that my stomach was rumbling and did you happen to save me any of that cheese?”

  Epik sighed. He handed over the cheese. “Did it say anything else? Remember, you’re going to teach me how to do some magic.”

  Twigs began snappi
ng ominously in the woods around them, coming from all sides.

  “Now seems as good a time as any,” the wizard said, drawing his wand.

  The men drew their swords. The dwarves were at the ready. The five of them formed a circle, looking out at all angles while Todder, Epik, K’nexes, and the wizard individually scoured the wood for the signs of life—or half-life, as it was orcs they were concerned over.

  The orc, or ork, was little more than a golem—soulless, unintelligent creature. But like a dog, it could be taught to do tricks, usually with a knife or a blade. Also like dogs, they’d found a way to exist on their own in packs without masters.

  At first, Epik was sure they were in for it, outnumbered and in a low lying piece of wood, surrounded. All of his senses told him this was true, except the one: his eyes. The orcs were nowhere to be seen.

  K’nexes, who had drawn his bow and nocked an arrow, suddenly pointed it to the ground and let the taut string slacken. “God’s teeth,” he said. “Wood elves.”

  “Wood elves?” Epik parried the words. But then he saw them, up in the branches of the trees, a dozen of them staring down at the company.

  “We prefer the term native elves,” a large elf with silky black hair said. He looked K’nexes over, examining him.

  “Native,” Two-finger huffed. “I’d be native here too if I lived to be a million years old.”

  The leader and several others hopped down from the trees. “I’m a mere three thousand,” he said sardonically. “Your city was ours long before your ships set sail for this land. We allowed a trading post. Now, look what it’s become. Filled with these non-native elves as well.” The leader came uncomfortably close to K’nexes, sizing him up. For what, Epik wasn’t sure, either a kiss or a fight. “I am Godric. These are my companions. My followers, if you will.”

  “How can he tell K’nexes isn’t native?” Epik whispered to Gabby.

  The elf’s pointed ears were like antennas. “He bleaches his hair—only a Spritian elf would do such a thing.”

  “I don’t bleach my hair. Don’t listen to this nutcase,” K’nexes said. “He knows as much about me as his precious gods. I assume you’ve all drunk the cool aide?”

  “Nutcase?” Coe questioned.

  “Cool aide?” the other elves whispered.

  “These doomsday shenanigans,” K’nexes said.

  Epik owed himself a drink. He had used the made up word shenanigans earlier that morning at the bar, and now K’nexes had picked it up.

  “Come on,” K’nexes continued, “it’s all a bunch of rubbish. They’ve decided to follow this man for eternity, waiting out doomsday, agreeing never to fight or live in cities. Tell me, you’ve heard of this?”

  The party shook their heads. Epik stood there, blank-faced.

  “No fighting?” Two-finger said, exasperated.

  “So I guess any help with the orcs is out of the question,” Coe said.

  “The orcs? Is that what you’re after? They’re about five clicks further southwest. They’ve taken shelter next to a rock formation.”

  “Perfect place for a troll,” Two-finger said.

  “Orcs in your land doesn’t bother you?” Coe asked. “You won’t join us and take up arms against them?”

  Godric tossed his head back, sending strands of his satin hair over his shoulder. His pale green eyes were striking in the afternoon light. “It stopped being our land the second you monsters took it. Why should I care if other monsters invade it? To me, you are the same, if a little less ugly.”

  “Just like an elf,” Wellspoken said, “only concerned with looks.”

  “That ain’t true!” Billy said. “Me brother dated one once. Seemed much more concerned with gold.”

  “Wasn’t an elf,” Wellspoken said.

  Collus put out a hand, shushing them. “So, you’re a pacifist,” he said. “I’ve no use for a pacifist. But at least you bring good intel. Five clicks is closer than I imagined. Do they have any clue we’re on our way?”

  “Oh yes,” another of the elves said, his hair a glossy brown and feathery. “I can hear their war drums from here.”

  “Prick your ears,” Gabby whispered.

  Epik looked up at him skeptically.

  “Like so.” The wizard made an odd face, his eyes bulged, and it looked like he held his breath. But more importantly, his ears stood up and wiggled. Epik did the same. Sure enough, he heard the distant thundering of drums.

  Boom. Boom. Dum. Dum.

  Boom. Dum. Dum.

  He lost his concentration, and the sound was gone.

  Collus groaned. “Damn!”

  “It’s one thing to surprise a pack of orks,” Two-finger said. “A whole other when they’re ready for battle. They get that game-time mentality, all hyped up on music and adrenaline.”

  “These orcs,” Gabby said, emphasizing the correct pronunciation of the name. ”Are as foolish as most men. They sit and wait for the battle to come to them, when they could meet it head on.”

  “I’ve never heard a wizard talk of battle in such a way,” Coe said. “Well spoken.”

  Wellspoken, the dwarf, perked up before realizing the conversation was not about him.

  “It’s best we head onward,” Coe said. “We’ll want to meet them when the light is still high enough in the sky. I don’t fancy another fight with the trolls.”

  “Aye,” Wellspoken and Billy chorused, brandishing their hammers.

  “This’ll do ‘em fine.” Billy waved his sledge.

  “Again, you’re mistaken,” Wellspoken argued. They continued to bicker, as dwarves do.

  “We could lead you to the orcs,” Godric said.

  “You can lead us, but you won’t fight?” The elf shrugged. Coe thought a moment. “You’re going to spectate on us, aren’t you? Bet? I’ve heard the noblemen do that in King’s Way.”

  “Maybe,” Godric said, smiling. “We’ve found that time has desensitized us to the senseless killings and violence of lesser beings. A good fight is hard to pass up.”

  The party trekked onward, up the forest path and away from the river, where the hills became rockier and ran into a narrow ravine. Here, a sword would be too cumbersome for battle, only hand-to-hand combat would be possible. As the rocks grew wider, the path opening, the group spread out. Epik pricked his ears again, and to his relief, the drum beats were still a way’s away.

  Todder followed behind Rotrick, who followed Collus and the elves. Even the wizard was giving the halfling a wide birth, now talking softly with K’nexes. Collus approached Godric, who stepped lightly along the path, his strides effortless. The ranger whispered in the elf’s ear. Epik pricked his own just in time. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a private word,” Coe said.

  The elf nodded.

  They fell cautiously back behind the company. To everyone but Epik, it probably looked casual, the leaders of two parties getting to know one another. Epik slipped back as well, making sure to keep well away from them. He checked to see if Gabby was concerned, but the wizard nodded slightly, giving Epik the green light.

  26

  Those Who Wander

  The terrain was wooded, but rocky, the path treacherous and narrow. It curved like it, too, had the flow of water.

  The ranger and the elf found a flat spot and inched into the wood. Epik followed on the other side of the road, hiding behind trees and shrubs. Crossing the road would mean discovery. But even with his now sharper hearing, the two whispered so softly it was barely audible.

  Epik considered giving up. That there was nothing to gain from eavesdropping here—if he were caught, he’d fall further into the ranger’s ill graces. And the next time he tried to dip his skin in polluted waters, the man probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

  Epik was leery of Collus now, now that he knew what Epiman had planned. He needed to know what the ranger was up to at all times. He couldn’t anything happen to his father. Not before… well, not before, he met his father. The thought brought weird image
ry to his mind—the swamp, the plant man.

  Epik stood beside a tree. Ivy and other cord-like vines wrapped the oak’s trunk. Above the road, one of its giant branches hung casually, shading the way to the other side before falling in line with the thick branches of another oak on the other side. Epik studied the chasm between the two. If he made it up the tree, he was certain he could make it across.

  He wrapped his hand around a vine and tugged—no sound, and it held firm. Cautiously, he put his entire body weight on it. His arms and hands burned as he made his way up. The tree's bark became slippery as he climbed, covered in moss and peat, but his dexterous toes did most of the work.

  Once on the branch, it was like a balancing beam, but with the advantage that his head and feet were in closer proximity than a human’s. He steadied himself with both arms held out to his sides. He walked toe to heel, toe to heel until reaching the thinnest portion at the end of the branch, where it forked into smaller twigs, and he was uncomfortable going any further.

  What had seemed a safe distance to jump from branch to branch, on the ground, transformed to something else entirely; it looked to be double, maybe triple what he had thought.

  Collus and Godric looked to be joking together nonchalantly, still ambling forward but keeping their distance from the rest of the party, barely in Epik’s view.

  He’d come this far, yet the distance seemed so immense. If only he knew magic, he could easily float across.

  Magic, he thought, the pit of his stomach welled with fear. Magic. He’d already felt it—hadn’t he? He tried to grab hold it, chasing it in the recesses of thought.

  It would either happen or it would not. And something in Epik’s brain—stupidity probably was the right word—told him this would work. He didn’t even take a step back to gather momentum.

  He leaped.

  Nacer stepped blearily into his room. He drew his curtains. Even before this whole conspiracy business, there was hardly any time in the day to sleep, to eat, to do that other thing he enjoyed so much. The past few days—nights—were wearing on him.