Hero in a Halfling

by William Tyler Davis

  He just needed a few moments to rest. What did they call this back in World’s Eye? A siesta. Just a little nap and he would be right as rain.

  “So you figured it out?”

  The voice barely phased him this time.

  “No thanks to you,” he said. “I wasted hours digging through those scrolls.”

  “Sometimes, it’s better that way. Seeing is believing.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way with you. I’m not even sure what you look like. Regardless, I would’ve taken your word.”

  “Is that smart? Like you said, you don’t even know who I am.”

  A tingle ran up Nacer’s spine. Who was he?

  “You know you caused me a lot of trouble this morning. I didn’t think the trolls were supposed to attack again. And now that wizard’s free, the king’s gone mad… Well, he was already a bit mad. But madder.”

  The Shadow didn’t flicker. “Do you know who’s daughter the trolls have taken?”

  Nacer didn’t.

  “Well, now you do.”

  “His?” Nacer said. But his mind was already whirring. “I could use her,” he said, almost to himself. “If I’m to become king, I can use her. And I can’t let that wizard back into the city. He’s caused me too much grief as it is.”

  “If the wizard worries you, there’s a simple enough solution.”

  “Yes?” Nacer said, intrigued.

  “A moonstone—the king has dozens in his vault.”

  Nacer nodded. “He does.”

  “They’re like Kryptonite to wizards. Carry one in your pocket, and his power will have no effect on you.”

  “What’s Kryp—“

  “It’s… it’s never mind.”

  “Why are you helping me?” Nacer asked. This time to himself. The Shadow had disappeared. “I hate when he does that.”

  To Epik’s utter amazement, it worked. His foot caught the tip of the next branch. Momentum propelling him forward, he ran down the length of it, twigs prodding and snapping into his callused feet. The slight rustling was heard, but by the time Collus looked up, Epik was safely on the other side of the tree trunk.

  He quickly climbed down. Quiet as he could, he tiptoed, keeping well away from either of their gazes. It seemed easier than it should be. Neither man nor elf paid attention to anything much below shoulder height.

  “I’m surprised we never crossed paths before,” Coe was saying to the elf. “I’m in these woods two, sometimes three seasons a year.”

  The elf smiled wryly. “Well, as your foreign elf said, we are nomads. We’ve wandered far, steering clear of kingdoms or city-states. We believe them to be dangerous, and we don’t have much use for your worldly things.”

  “Ah, so you are aimless.”

  “Not all who wander are lost,” the elf said sagely.

  “I believe I’ve heard that phrase before.” Coe took a look around. “I’ve got two questions for you,” he said, whispering. “The first is rather straight forward. The trolls, they took a girl last night, and some others, I wanted to know—”

  “If she’s still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Epik sighed a breath of relief. He really liked Myra still. But he wondered what is was called when two girls take up equal but unequal parts of his heart.

  “I believe so.” The elf stepped forward. He held his lips together reflectively. “There were several alive an hour ago—marinating. Partially submerged in river water. You know, covered in leaves and caked in mud.”

  “That is truly good news,” Coe said.

  Epik continued along with them, stepping over rocks, dirt, and grass, his heart beating fast was the only thing audible. His foot never took a step out of place.

  “My other question may seem a bit…” Coe paused. “Unusual.” He took another look around. “You’ve seen the halfling we travel with. I’ve heard tell of another, one traveling with the trolls. Is there any evidence of this?”

  And now, his heart stopped.

  “Another halfling?” Godric repeated. “I can't say we saw anything like that—nothing other than trolls or orcs.” The elf thought a moment. “However, I have heard tell recently of a ghost in the woods. Some Shadow lurking in the trees. My companions have said they’ve heard the wind talking.”

  So, Epik thought, this all comes down to his father. If Coe found him first…

  “And do you know the name of the wind?”

  “Like I said,” the elf’s tone hardened. “It’s a ghost.”

  “Ghosts do me no good,” Coe said. “But I thank you for your generosity with both your time and your answers.” There was no sincerity in his voice. He was aggravated. “If ever our paths should cross again,” Coe continued, “I’ll owe you one.”

  “Don’t worry,” the elf said. “I know. That’s something living three thousand years has taught me: Always collect a debt.”

  The elf was genuine.

  27

  Nacer Rising

  Epik no longer had to prick his ears to hear the pounding of the drums. They reverberated off the trees and the rocks; not even the sound of the river, as it wound back around to them, could dampen the drumbeats.

  Their path cut through the land; clay embankments rose on either side of them, with roots and rock protruding out into the passage. It was like the river had cut several paths before finding the one correct route from its mountain to the sea. Sensing Epik’s thoughts, Gabby interjected.

  “This used to be a stream,” he said. “A long time ago, many streams ran into the Bludmud, but war stifled them. The river’s path runs along two great cities, King’s Way and finally Foghorn—where it spits out to the Sunless Sea. The armies tried to cut off the supply of water, damming up streams that provided farms and towns outside the kingdoms with water. And it wasn’t just war between those two kingdoms. Dune All-En has seen its fair share of battles.”

  The halfling nodded.

  “You understand, it’s important to learn the history of the places you live.”

  Epik nodded again, but he had other things on his mind. That weird dream. Orcs. His father. The possibility of death by orc. His father. Death—which, with the sound of each drumbeat, was beginning to well fear up inside him. The halfling in him began to creep out, wanting to run or hide away.

  “Honestly, I’m a bit more concerned about my life right now,” he said.

  Gabby smiled at this. “As am I. We can leave the trivialities of ancient battles, lineages, histories9 of the people and races for another day. Perhaps you’re wondering if I can help you survive this battle? I’ve done such a good job of teaching you magic so far.” He winked.

  “Right,” Epik said; he tried not to make it sound too sardonic.

  “It was a joke. I know I’ve done a bad job. But you’ll see, I have been teaching you a bit.” The wizard pulled a small dagger from under his robe. He handed it to the halfling, who unsheathed it. It was rather plain, but fit into Epik’s palm nicely. Short and straight, it was the same diameter its whole length except for the small section at the tip that came to a point, a sharp one. The pommel at the other end of it was fat and round; the dagger’s cross-guard was small, but enough to protect Epik’s small hands and wrist. Only when examining it carefully, did Epik find a small green emerald stone hidden in the fuller—the groove that made up the center of the blade—only visible when the sun hit the blade just right.

  “I thought—“ Epik started.

  “You thought you’d be wielding a wand, magic against the orcs?”

  Epik shrugged a reply.

  “Even if you had a well of magic at your disposal—which, you might—orcs are creatures with dark magic buried in place of their non-existent souls. It takes very advanced magic to do anything against them.” The wizard looked Epik over. “Have you ever used a knife before?”

  “For cutting meat,” Epik said.

  “Pretty much the same principle. For you, it should be easier to stab at their gut or maybe their heart.”
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  “What if they stab at me?” Epik really hadn’t thought this through. Trolls made of stone were one thing. He had pictured the dwarves beating the stone form of the trolls with their hammers, as he untied Myra. Just the act of untying, he thought, would earn him a kiss. But did he really want to kiss her anymore?

  “As a halfling, you’ll have a key advantage,” the wizard said. “You know about your head? How it’s all bouncy, like rubber?” Epik nodded. “Don’t get me wrong; it can still be sliced open like a watermelon. And given your height, it’s the first and only thing any being of stature will be trying to cut off. But you can use that information. Protect your head. Protect your life.”

  Easier said than done, Epik thought.

  The path climbed a steep hill, and they got a better view of the land, of what lay ahead. The river arched across in front of them, and in a rock formation around it, the orcs waited. Their drums rang eerily. It was hard to make out, but he could just see one of the trolls huddled in stone form.

  Boom. Boom. Dum.

  Boom. Dum. Dum.

  Boom. Boom. Dum.

  The orcs lined up in several rows. There were at least a hundred of them: some black, some gray, some green, some a mix of the others, spotted like dogs. Some were hairy, others completely bald. Most had lumpy, unsightly faces, riddled with scars and random tissue. All of them gnashed their gnarly teeth as if they couldn’t close their mouths properly but were trying to anyway. They wore fragments of armor, pieces of leather. Some had spears, others swords, and a few had bows and arrows. One rather gruesome looking orc with a thick mane of blonde hair—literally a mane, it grew around its head and neck thickly—carried only a knife in his right hand.

  “Well, they’ve spotted us,” Gabby said.

  Looking around, the wood elves had already vanished back into the wood.

  Behind the orcs, closer to the river, with the rock formation, there was a pot with a cage atop it. Two faces gasped for air, barely skimming the surface of the water. They were trapped inside. A few logs were placed at the pot’s bottom, ready for lighting—the trolls breakfast upon waking.

  “Should we go and free them?” Epik said.

  Collus disregarded him. “Let’s do this quickly,” he said to the dwarves. He looked at the sun, setting in the west; it crept downward like a traitor. “None of that counting and showboating nonsense.”

  “I never showboat,” Two-finger lied.

  “I never count,” Billy said, smiling toothily. His white chin beard puffed out.

  “Only because you can’t count past six,” Wellspoken argued.

  “Seven,” Billy said earnestly, “I learns’d a new one.”

  “Dammit,” Coe barked, “who taught him a new one?”

  Rotrick shrugged. “I was bored.”

  The company traveled down the hill in an ill-formed line. All nine of them. Epik had never even seen a battle before. In stories, it always started from the middle or close to the end. It was probably better that way, more action packed. Less gearing up for battle and facing each other, a bit boring, but nevertheless, the orcs stared the company down. Nine versus over a hundred. Epik had heard tell of worse odds. Two men, a giant, and a wheelbarrow, versus thirty men guarding a castle. If only we had a wheelbarrow, he thought. His heart began to flutter. The closer he got to the orcs, the uglier they became, the more sinister. Who would breed these beasts? To what end?

  When would the fighting begin? He counted several breaths before that was answered.

  The drumbeats crescendoed.

  Boom. Boom. Dum.

  Dum. Dum. Dum. Dum Dum.

  Then rolled to a stop.

  Dummity dummity dummity dum.

  The company was a mere fifty feet from the lines of orcs. Silence resounded eerily in the ravine; the gurgling flow of the river was all that could be heard.

  Then there was a roar. It began with the orc with the lion’s mane, then chorused with the others like an A Capella group. The orcs ran at the company. Spears and all manner of other blades swung wildly. A crude arrow pierced the ground beside Epik’s feet. He jumped out of its way, a few seconds after it landed, thinking it was near impossible to pay attention to everything happening all at once10.

  He scurried forward, not looking for a target, but instead looking for any orcs targeting him. To his relief, there weren’t many. His short stature was doing him a favor for once. Only about three orcs narrowed in on him, most chose instead to target the men and the dwarves.

  K’nexes had already let several arrows fly. To everyone’s amazement, the awkward elf was an excellent marksman and had taken down many orcs before the two parties met. The first of the orcs was cut down by Two-finger. His battle-axe went immediately from silver to a spattered black with the orc’s blood. It stayed that way for the rest of the battle. The dwarf had swung it with calculated precision. He swung again and again, chopping off limbs and heads with long sweeping motions all around him. He used the double sided blade to its full extent, cutting one way and then back, always finding his mark before they found him.

  Billy’s sledge, while not as precise, seemed equally as capable; he took out several orcs in one blow. Instead of counting his kills, he counted the number he took out with each swing, staying within his wheelhouse of seven. “That was three,” he shouted. “That was two,” he yelled again, this time taking out another one who’d made greedy eyes at Epik.

  That left Epik with only one to take on on his own. He brandished his dagger, holding it at the ready as the orc lunged toward him. Its yellow eyes gleamed with delight. It licked its lips with a forked tongue as black as night, then swinging a curved sword in Epik’s direction, it went for his head—just as Gabby said it would. The halfling ducked and rolled for cover. He just missed an opportunity to stab at the orc’s gut, thinking only about his life. One that would soon be over if he wasn’t brave enough to take one.

  The orc scrutinized the ground around him, finding the halfling on his back and afraid. It grinned again, its crooked brown teeth showing as green lips wrapped around them. The orc brought the sword down from its head height; the rusted blade raced downward like a bullet. But Epik was quick; he rolled to the side and brought his dagger into the orc’s side, between the part in its breastplate. To Epik’s horror, it howled, not with pain, but with the joy of a masochistic lover. This was all a game. He cocked his head and smiled at the halfling.

  Epik pulled the blade out swiftly; brackish blood oozed from the wound. He backed away as the orc spun on him, sending the edge of its sword curving through the air right at the halfling’s neck.

  “Bar them from the city?” The king said. “I couldn't… No, not after…Not if they finish off the trolls. I don’t see why—”

  “Do I need to remind you that they harbor the wizard? The one we sentenced to death.”

  “That was yesterday,” the king said. “I’ve been thinking. Everything that happened in the courtroom. Everything you said… It was all just… Just…”

  “Speculation?” Nacer offered. “Theory?”

  “No,” the king groused. “Blatant lies is more the word I had in mind.”

  “Sire,” Nacer pleaded. “Wasn't it you who suggested it'd be a wizard this time? I was just following—”

  “My direction?”

  “Yes, my lord.” A pang of anger ran up Nacer’s chest.

  “It didn't feel that way,” the king said. “It felt like… Like you had an agenda. In fact, it still does.” The king sighed. “Ten years… Ten years to the day. And nothing more than a few trolls. I really thought…” the king trailed off.

  Well, if he was going to do it, he should do it. The timing seemed ripe. Time to take, to steal the throne.

  “I thought maybe King’s Way,” the king continued, “surely. But I've called Captain Snyder. I plan to call Commander Lightbody and his regiment back to the city.”

  Finally, Nacer thought. But too late. He wasn't listening anymore. He searched the room for a sharp
instrument. He found one.

  The king must have sensed that his Grand Counselor was too close. The bed chamber was large enough, why should he be so close? The king turned quickly, and preventing the stab in the back that most kings suffered, gifted himself with a stab in the chest.

  Captain Snyder knocked and then strode into the king’s chamber, not looking up as he shut the door.

  “You called sire?”

  “The king has taken ill,” Nacer said calmly.

  “Ill?” Snyder chided. “But he just—“

  “By this, um, poker.”

  “Oh,” the captain stepped back, instinctively putting a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Calm down,” Nacer hissed. He put his hands down in gesture. “No need to get your unmentionables in a wad.”

  “But—“

  “But what? I killed the king. Someone was bound to.” Nacer looked down at the limp body on the floor. “I figured, why not me,” he trailed off. “Listen,” Nacer cleaned the blade of the fire poker with the king’s robe. He had taken some precaution. And he’d already won Sir Robert to his cause. “I’ve sent a courier out of the city. I’d hope to catch you at a better time. But the timing is all off. The basic gist is this, if any harm should come to me, the courier will deliver his letters. I drafted three, to King’s Way, Foghorn, and World’s Eye. It may mention our current circumstances regarding the army—or lack thereof. It may specify troop placement around the realm.”

  “That’s treason—“

  “It won’t be. When I’m named acting king, I can simply pardon myself.”

  Nacer strode over to the door, confident, keeping eye contact with the captain. He knocked once, and Sir Robert entered the room.

  “We should dispose of this,” Nacer said. The knight nodded, a bit grim.

  “A coronation should be scheduled,” Nacer said. “Do you think tomorrow would be too soon?”

  Snyder began to piece it together. “But the people,” he said. “I don’t believe this is how it works.”