Hero in a Halfling

by William Tyler Davis

  “How it works?” Nacer scoffed. “The people don’t pay attention to the succession of kings. They take their food stamps. They pay their taxes. Their life doesn’t change with the man that’s elected, crowned, what have you.”

  “And you?” Snyder said. “Is this all just a game to you too? The city needs a ruler. A real one.”

  “I’ve been the ruler of this city for the past several years. You just didn’t know it. Who do you think keeps your payroll?”

  “Well, Maurice does—“

  “I mean, who keeps your men employed? Who sends you recruits when you need them?”

  “Well, I guess you… and the king.”

  “Just me. Listen,” Nacer said, a bit phlegm in his throat. “How does Commander Snyder sound to you?”

  “It sounds… it sounds fine, fine I guess.” The captain, that is, the commander said sheepishly.

  “I have a task for you,” Nacer said. “The party that left to hunt the trolls. I have it on good authority, my own, that it was they who conspired to have the trolls siege the city in the first place. See to it that they don’t make it back into the city.”

  Snyder nodded. “Yes,” he said.

  “Your…” Nacer urged.

  “Your?” Snyder said questioningly.

  “Your majesty.”

  “Oh, right,” Snyder said reluctantly. “Your, erm, majesty.”

  “Oh,” Nacer said. “And if they have a girl with them. Make sure you bring her back to the castle.”

  Snyder left the room in haste but an awkward one. Nacer waited for the door to close.

  “And Sir Robert,” he said. “I have a special task for you.”

  Thwack! The sword buried deep in flesh, if you could call it flesh. Hide? Todder kept some pressure on the blade until he finished the stroke. A black spout of blood poured from the orc’s neck.

  Immediately, there was another orc to take that one’s place. The old man’s heart pumped furiously; he felt it in his throat. It took a deal of concentration to keep track of men and beasts surrounding him. Luckily, the mechanics of fighting had come back to him. He had attended several weeks of training when he’d first joined the Watch. Then on and off throughout the years after that. Some captains had been devoted to it, making the men practice, do drills and maneuvers. These were the ones who usually didn’t last long, scooped up for a post in the real army about as fast as Todder could down a pint.

  Being outnumbered wasn’t quite as bad as he thought it would be. The orcs came at him one by one, as they usually do in matters like this, waiting for their turns cordially and never swarming or overwhelming their foe. It definitely made things easier on the sergeant.

  It was Two-finger with the trouble. Used to fighting dozens at once, he’d gotten careless and got gashed on the foot pretty good.

  Collus waged battle with the leader of the orcs, the one with the blonde mane and the knife. The leader used his other hand like a shield. When Coe swiped at him, he would catch the blade, letting the blood spatter from his palm. Todder was sure that Collus had finally met a match. The orc flung the sword in the other direction, giving himself time to jab with a short knife. He caught the ranger in his forearm, with the strength behind the jab, the knife cut easily through Coe’s thin chain mail shirt. Collus bent over with a scream of pain. That was it; he was done for, now. The ranger stared at the wound in horror. Todder readied his heart for the final blow—the final letdown. But somehow, Collus defended himself with his other hand, still staring at the hand in agony.

  Todder was glad to know the ranger wasn’t left handed.

  Rotrick was. And he sawed through the orcs, uncomfortable fighting against his style.

  Finally, Todder caught his latest orc in the gullet; it fell forward on the blade limply, sputtering its last breath. Todder sighed deeply, putting eyes on the rest of the group. Dwarves: check. Rangers: check. Elf: what the blazes? Was that even possible? One arrow and three orcs. Check. Check. Check. But where had the wizard run off to? And how was the halfling doing? It was hard to discern amongst the sea of orc bodies.

  28

  Kill or Be Killed

  The orc’s blade cut through the air above Epik’s head; he had ducked just in the nick of time. Backing away, the halfling stumbled, falling to the ground again. The orc took the opportunity to pounce, both it and its blade went high into the air. Again, Epik was able to roll away just in time. This time, he found his feet. While the company pressed forward, driving the line of orcs back, Epik had retreated up the hill and back into the path of the dry stream. The orc spit blackish blood from his mouth, making gurgling sounds, humming as it worked to chase after the troublesome halfling prey.

  The final light of the day now barely shone through the trees and rocks above their heads. The orc’s yellow eyes glowed madly. He waved the sword like a drunk ninja, hitting rocks and tree roots that surfaced from the soil.

  Epik was able to get a few decent swipes in himself, skirting the wild swings of the orc. The halfling inside him was now gone, hidden under some rock in his soul. He didn’t fear death. He didn’t even fear this orc. A laugh bubbled out as Epik thought about Fatty Cheapskate, about what he would say if saw Epik here, fighting. He took a deep breath. Then he felt it, that same euphoria he’d sensed at the bar, the same prickling feeling when the other halfling outsmarted the troll. It took up places in the back of his mind, in his chest. Magic, he thought. But he pushed it away. With no wand, he was powerless…wasn’t he?

  He brought the dagger in front of his face to block a blow of the sword. His wrist nearly gave way, allowing the orc’s sword to come within inches of his nose.

  “Behind you,” a high pitched voice pierced the air. The orc turned, and Epik saw it too. His father. The other halfling, or at the least the a Shadow of one, Epik’s same height against the rock in the waning light. The orc swiped at nothing at all.

  Now was Epik’s chance. He jabbed at the orc’s calf, slicing it open. The orc spun back around on him.

  “Now I’m over here,” the other halfling said, a mere Shadow faded and small along the rock. There was no time, to look atop the dried embankment above them, to see his father. The orc swung, again at the Shadow. Epik cut again at the orc’s legs. This time, it hissed with real pain. It fell to the ground. Epik took one final swipe at its throat with his dagger, and the whole affair was over.

  “You confused it,” Epik said to the air, looking around for what he knew to be his father.

  Silence filled the air.

  “Hello?… Are you there?”

  Epik stood there a while listening, looking for shadows. Then he heard Todder calling him, coming up the hill.

  “Epik, little lad,” Todder yelled. “Did you make it? Are you alive?”

  The company had done quick work, taking turns with the sledge and pickaxe, chiseling away at the trolls and even crumbling apart some of the surrounding rock formations for good measure, until only a couple of lone boulders remained. Aside from some cuts and bruises and Two-finger’s foot, the company had come away unscathed.

  Darkness was upon them, turning the sky a grayish blue. The moon shone full above them. It reflected off the river as they made their way back toward the city. They setup camp down along the river, comfortably far away from where the orcs had made their last stand. After, they burned the bodies.

  Myra and a child warmed their freezing bodies by the fire. After Epik and Rotrick freed them, she could barely look at Epik, and he wasn’t sure exactly what to say. He had helped rescue her, kind of, but maybe she thought her capture was his fault entirely. She wouldn’t be that far off, he thought.

  He recognized the child. The girl who’d saved him his first day in the city, Amber, thinking he was a leprechaun. She gave him a vicious smile. “Tolds them not to mess with you,” she said. “A killer, you are.”

  And he was. Well, he’d taken one life. But that was one more than any halfling he knew. If only Epik could see Frank Biggle’s face when
this stories finally made their way to the Hog’s Toot. Epik smiled at the thought.

  A figure approached the firelight. Both Coe and Rotrick sprang up, gripping their swords. “Oh, it’s you,” Coe sneered. “Couldn’t bring yourself to help us fight? I’d heard a wizard’s magic was useless against orcs but even the damn halfling here lent a blade.”

  Gabby smiled knowingly. “Sit down. Sit down,” he said, commanding. “I’ll tell you; I did my part. The orcs had reinforcements, about twenty of them, hiding down the river beside a waterfall. I could show you if you like.”

  “You took on twenty of ‘em?” Two-finger said. “And lived to tell the tale?”

  “If I hadn’t, this conversation would be rather weird,” Gabby said. “There is one part of my magic that even an orc cannot defend. Fire. Fire is their beginning, and fire is their end. I’d never made such a ball before in my life, but I guess I knew our lives depended on it.”

  “Convenient,” Coe said. “So, if I find this waterfall, I’ll find a ton of scorched bodies, will I?”

  “You’d find them,” Gabby said seriously.

  “I’m sure I would,” Coe said, chewing his lip like it had done something wrong. He took his hand off the hilt of his sword and sat down, grudgingly.

  The dwarves had found growlers of ale in their packs. Todder joined them in drinking. Collus, unsettled and sulking, took several swigs from a small flask that he carried on his side along with his sword. There was no food, but the company made good with song and drink.

  Gabby pulled up a stone beside Epik. “I see you were successful in defending yourself. Congratulations.”

  “The dagger,” Epik said. “Thanks.” He handed it back to the wizard who took it by the handle and pressed the tip of the blade into his pointer finger. A spot of blood trickled down onto the ground. Gabby nodded approvingly. He slipped the dagger into some hidden compartment of his robe.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t leave you defenseless,” he said. And the wizard dug into the sleeve of his robe and found the wand. “This is yours after all.”

  Epik took it, gingerly dancing it around in his grip. It felt utterly useless after the dagger. It felt like a twig. There was no power in it at all. He whispered in Gabby’s ear, “I saw my father again. He helped me overcome the orc.”

  “Maybe, this isn’t the best time,” Gabby whispered. His eyes darted around the fire. Collus was looking straight at him but looked away as their eyes met.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. He’s gone now.” And for some reason, that thought filled Epik’s heart—or his stomach, he was halfling after all—with unease. He’d never known his father, not really. And for years he’d pushed the thoughts of him away, telling himself he never wanted to know him. But now, now that he was this close to his father, his heart burned with the strange desire to know him.

  The wizard brushed the tip of his nose and scratched his beard. “You know,” he said. “I believe it’s time I teach you a spell. Give you something to do with that thing.”

  “You will?” Epik said incredulously. He was still nonchalantly bobbing the wand between his hands. “Now that we’ve already done all of this? After we’ve beat trolls and orcs, saved a girl? Now you’ll teach me something?”

  “The timing seems right. It never did before.” The wizard grinned; it was a thing to marvel. “It is not a complicated spell, but not an easy one either. And this is of the utmost importance: it can only be used at the right time.”

  Epik’s heart hammered. Even as the dwarves began to sing, even through the crackling of the fire, his heart and Gabby’s voice were the only sounds filling the halfling’s mind. He nodded in agreement. “I can do it,” he said.

  “There’s also one slight catch,” the wizard said. “But we can discuss that later.”

  29

  Feet of Clay

  Bould opened one eye wearily. Al had curled around to protect his son, in the day, making the young troll look as his name implied, like a boulder. And now as Bould’s eyes adjusted to the brightness of the moon; he called for his family. Nothing. He felt around and found them—what was left. His father had warned something like this might happen.

  “Don’t you worry about your Dad, okay?” Al had said. “Worry about the humans. They’re smarter than let on. And dangerous. I feel tricked… Coming here, in this short a number, was wrong.”

  Bould nodded, unafraid. It wasn’t in a troll’s nature to be afraid.

  Al had shrugged his mossy shoulders and patted his son on the back.

  Now, Bould knew his father had been right. Bould felt for the pieces of both his father and Kelly mixed with rock. He took a minute to mourn them, only a minute. Then he ran. But not back toward the city. He ran for to the mountains, where he could grow to the giant troll he would become. And plan.

  30

  Splinter of the Mind's Eye

  Todder could barely believe he was alive. His face and hands still felt numb, buzzing, tingling, shaking. His heart was done with racing, but still pounded with a rhythm he’d never known. He felt it in his ears and throat.

  He was alive. He felt alive. And the sergeant knew that each day after would be a gift—a gift from the gods. Or God, he wasn’t sure. He planned to find a woman, a nice one. It didn’t matter how pretty she was or even if she could cook. After all, he could stand to miss a few meals as it was. Tomorrow was a new day. And the thought of it was like a dream.

  He took the growler of ale from Two-finger’s good hand. The dwarves sang about gold, cold mountains, and dragons. The rangers stared off into the fire like the lights were turned off in their minds; their work was done. Epik had given the elf a skin of wine from his pack. And now the halfling and the wizard spoke softly to each other. The elf tended after the girl and the child.

  “Can always tell when it’s a man’s first battle,” Two-finger said. “He looks like you. Plain dumb and happy.”

  Todder nodded. “I feel dumb and happy.”

  “Aye.” Two-finger took back the drink. “The more battles men are in, the more they look like that.” He pointed to Rotrick and Collus. “Fightin’ does somethin’ weird with the human mind. Takes a while for them to come back around. But they always do.”

  “Have you fought with them long?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And no.”

  The dwarf left it at that. He handed the growler back. Todder had tried not to drink too much ale, but he was parched from battle. And even the stale, warm beer felt good going down. With his throat still dry and sweat drenched clothes, he found the need to urinate perplexing. It was like that each night as well. No matter when he stopped putting liquid in his mouth, the early AM call to tinkle on his chamber pot always came. “Two AM and all is well,” he’d usually hear a watchmen yell.

  Tonight the city would sleep safely, partially because of him. He smiled at that. He thought of Brendan, stuck there at the Wall with probably another promotion.

  Todder left the merriment—the dwarves, blood stained and smiling, the men, both staring dumbly at the fire. He thought he saw Coe’s eye follow him. Epik, the little halfling, scooted across a log by the fire to speak with Myra, who had now seemed to come to her senses in a sense. Even the child looked in good spirits—if a little under the weather.

  Todder stood and headed back into the wood to piss. The gray light of the evening had quickly made way to the dark black of night. He counted the trees, one, two, three would be enough. He turned back to see if anyone was watching, the way all men do when they pee in the woods—just to check. But again like most men, he didn’t pay much attention to what was ahead of him. He started the flow.

  Sometimes, when dehydrated, a piss can hurt. This one didn’t. It was the opposite really; it felt like the gods were shining down on him. He sighed a long sigh. Then a branch snapped ahead of him, stifling the flow immediately.

  The wizard had made a hasty retreat into the wood. He stepped over bushes and branches
. Todder’s eyes followed him as best they could. But the darkness was closing fast, and the moon was being a poor sport. Just when Todder thought he was about to lose him to the light, the wizard stopped. He fumbled with his wand a second, doing something that Todder couldn’t see or understand. Then he took out a dagger, the one Epik had used in the fight, and he held it out.

  It looked strange, like nothing was happening. But something was. Something grabbed the dagger. It seemed like the wizard’s own Shadow was now holding the blade. But the Shadow was small, almost not a shadow at all, which didn’t make sense in the flickering light. Sure, Todder’s shadow was bigger than most, it blocked the firelight from several trees. And… and… and his shadow didn’t move on its own accord.

  Gabby shuffled back to camp.

  Todder followed, stumbling drunkenly with something on the forefront of his mind, on the tip of his tongue. He pointed a finger at the wizard, at the halfling. Epik looked up at him, his conversation with Myra coming to an abrupt halt; he smiled politely at the sergeant. Todder wheezed a huff of air. The words had escaped him. He staggered back to sit by the fire, confused.

  Epik dozed on the bed made of straw, wrapped in his traveling cloak for a bit of warmth, but mostly to keep very many bugs from finding their way inside with him.

  He slept, or tried to, three feet away from Myra who had warmed back up to him almost immediately, telling him she’d been stupid and careless and pig-headed. He had assured her that at least the last one wasn’t true. Myra had spent the previous night and the day thinking she would surely die.

  “If it weren’t for all the crying,” Myra had said. “I’d surely have found a way out.”

  “Oh, Amber?” Epik had said.