Escape (The Prisoner and the Sun #1)

by Brad Magnarella

  Iliff wiped his eyes. Tomorrow he would leave. Yes, tomorrow he would venture on.

  * * *

  The hunter and Troll returned to their camp after dusk. They had retrieved game from the few traps that were still standing. Not daring to light a cooking fire, they cleaned the meat in the dark and ate it raw.

  “The advantage is ours,” the hunter said when they had finished. “The shelter has only one way in and one way out. I made sure of it. And the trees are long dead. They’ll light easily.” He knelt among his things and pulled out a hollow horn. “This holds a special resin. Fire’s Friend, I call it. Careful now.”

  Troll sniffed over the yellow powder and wrinkled his nose.

  “It makes fires burn higher and brighter. Her shelter will be overcome in an instant. She won’t have time to think, so she’ll fall back on her instincts. When she tries to escape, we’ll be waiting at the only place she can escape to. She’ll be trapped then. Finished.”

  Troll recalled Iliff’s warning. It was forbidden: a large animal, and a female, besides.

  “I’m already imperiled,” the hunter said when Troll spoke his concern. “I hunt large game in the summers. You’re surprised? I told you I come from a line of hunters. It’s the only thing I know.”

  “You could flee,” Troll offered. “Get far away from here.”

  “While I hold the advantage?” He laughed and shook his head. “Besides, she’d only hunt me again. She’s cleverer than I gave her credit for. No, she must be finished here and now.”

  Troll thought about it. “Will I be hunted too?”

  “So long as you remain in the forest,” he said. “So long as you trap and hunt. Yes, you’ll become hunted. It’s the way of this place. If you truly want to stay here, to become master over the lower creatures, you’ll have to face it sooner or later. You might as well do so now.”

  Anguish descended in Troll like a giant stone. Would there be rules and death wherever he went? He pressed his head into his hands, wishing to be away from all of this. Upon this thought, the white flame that Iliff had created from his pouch rose before his closed eyes. Troll flinched back and then stooped forward as if to pick up a log, before remembering himself. Whether he had meant the log to smother the flame or build it up, he could not tell. The flame did not swell or diminish. It just hovered in his mind, somewhere between his fear and his fascination.

  “Our fate is common in the matter besides,” the hunter said. The white flame vanished. “We’re bonded by our blood. Don’t forget that.”

  The hunter’s words sunk in slowly. Troll opened his palm and held it beneath his gaze. He studied the thin scar that showed faintly beneath the grime of the forest and the blood of their meal. The hunter was right. They had made a pact.

  “We ambush her tomorrow,” the hunter said.

  Troll looked up at the hunter’s severe eyes and nodded.

  Chapter 24

  They set out early in the morning. The hunter led them on a route that would circle the deep forest and approach the deadfall from the rear. “If she sees us,” he said, “our advantage will be lost. All our preparation will have been for nothing.”

  They had planned and practiced their assault through the night. At first light the hunter had dressed for battle. He donned a thick leather shirt to protect his torso. At his belt he sheathed his long knife and hung the horn of Fire’s Friend. He secured a pouch with a small fireboard and wood drill.

  “Remember what I’ve taught you,” he said as he drew the cords around the skins on his legs. “Suppress your fears. Fear is for lesser creatures. Be efficient in your combat lest you exhaust your energies. When you strike, strike directly. Strike to finish.” He stood and clapped Troll on the shoulders with both hands and held them there. “You’re a hunter now.”

  Troll lifted his chin and nodded.

  The hunter fit his bow with a long arrow and led the way. Troll held his spear to his shoulder and watched the forest in every direction. Their way pitted them against the winds and their progress was slow. At times they had to shout to hear each other. The hunter remarked that it was a sign the season was ending.

  They arrived at the deep forest almost two hours after setting out. The deadfall rose suddenly. To Troll it appeared larger and more foreboding than the day before, but this was because the collapse of trees was steeper at its rear. The dark logs climbed over one another and reached overhead, shielding the piles of gray leaves that rattled in their crooks. Troll sniffed. The same wet air seeped from beneath the leaves as had emanated from the entrance the day before.

  The hunter looked at Troll and nodded. Troll moved to the side to stand guard. The hunter shouldered his bow and crept forward. He poured some powdered resin from the horn into his hand and tossed it away; a yellow cloud swept over the deadfall. Troll cringed, but the resin was so finely ground that its impact was soundless. The hunter repeated this from several angles. Wiping his hands clean, he pulled out his fireboard and wood drill and knelt to the ground.

  Troll watched, his heart striking his chest like an axe into stone. He peered about, certain that the creature had been alerted somehow, certain that she would emerge before the trap was set. He braced for the moment that she would descend on them like a sudden storm.

  But soon smoke scattered from where the hunter knelt. He signaled to Troll who eased through the trees to the front of the deadfall. Troll found a place with a view of the opening but off to the side, as they had planned. Upon setting fire to the deadfall, the hunter would arrive from the other side and position himself opposite Troll.

  “At the first sign of her, launch your spear,” the hunter had said. “Throw it hard and to this height.” He indicated the level of his neck. “I’ll release my arrows. If the ambush doesn’t kill her, it will surely cripple her. We can finish her in close.”

  Troll peeked from behind a tree to see yellow smoke come tumbling over the deadfall. He could feel its heat as the smoke whispered past, now thicker and whiter. Soon there were sharp snaps and the flash of flames.

  Troll stepped away from the tree to have a clearer shot at the opening. He watched tensely, but as the smoke billowed down, the deadfall became harder to see. The dark opening streamed in and out of view. Troll squinted and waved the smoke from his eyes. He drew his spear further back and ventured a quick glance to the side. Smoke had washed out the expanse of trees and he could not see whether the hunter was in position.

  Troll looked back to the deadfall. The opening became visible for a moment before disappearing again. Still no movement. The muscles in his shoulder began to ache; the stone head of the spear quivered. Troll peeked again to the side and when he looked back, smoke swirled deep inside the deadfall’s dark opening. A shadow barreled forth. Troll heaved the spear with all of his strength.

  He waited for a moment then crept toward the deadfall in a low crouch, poised for a fight. Searing smoke enveloped him. Ashes and burning leaves streamed past. Suddenly the long shaft of his spear appeared from the smoke, as if the weapon were suspended mid-flight. Troll seized it and ran his hand down to where the head was buried—in dead wood.

  He yanked the spear free and spun about. There was no sign of the creature. There was no sign of anything. Troll fought to think. He had to get to the hunter, had to get outside the smoke. But the fire was everywhere now. The wind blew it into trees and across the forest floor where new flames sprang to life.

  Troll put the deadfall to his back and felt his way to where the hunter was supposed to be. He had only gone a few paces when the creature crashed into him, jarring the spear from his grasp. Troll’s arms embraced thick hair and massive, churning muscles. He tried to twist her beneath him as they fell, but he could not get the leverage. She was too broad, too heavy, had come in too fast.

  Troll landed hard on his back and was driven into the earth. He threw his forearm up just as her head came smashing in, her mouth seeking his throat. Wet blood darkened her snout, and he feared for the hunter. He st
rained against her neck, fought to draw his arm and knee in close. Her weight bore down. Humid breath blasted his face.

  But Troll was no longer afraid. She was large and powerful, but she was not the dreadful creature he had imagined. She had only four legs and two eyes and one set of sharp teeth, and she had all of the vulnerable parts that the hunter had taught him to exploit.

  He wedged his knee between them and, with a terrific roar, pressed the creature up and over. Her great mass thundered down behind. Troll leapt to his feet and spun to confront her. When she lunged this time, he was prepared. He stepped aside and swung his fist into the side of her head, knocking her behind a curtain of smoke. She lunged again, and again Troll stepped aside and pummeled her.

  She did not reappear right away. Troll wheeled slowly, his body flexing. He sensed that she was circling as well. Shrouded in smoke, ringed by fire, their combat felt exclusive. Intimate.

  When she charged again, Troll pivoted and caught her burly neck in the crook of his arm. He rode her to the ground. She snarled and struggled to twist her head free. Beneath her shaggy coat and sinew, Troll felt her windpipe rolling beneath his clench. He pressed his weight into her back and squeezed tighter. Her amber eyes rolled back.

  It would be so easy to finish her now, Troll thought, to force the vitality from her. Just as the hunter had showed him.

  But then Troll thought of Iliff. What would become of him?

  He held tightly for a moment longer and then relented enough for her to draw a frothing breath. What would become of his journey to the very high place with the light?

  He released his hold further. She bucked from his grasp and galloped off. Troll stood and watched the smoke swirl in her wake. He hoped she was gone for good. He hoped the battle was ended.

  But it was not to be.

  A low growl sounded off to Troll’s right and there rose a dark shape. Troll spun to meet her, but she was no longer there. Before Troll could turn about, she descended from behind. She seized the place where his neck met his shoulder and drove him to his knees. Troll managed to catch himself before he could be pressed flat. He grimaced beneath her powerful bite and weight. He tried to lift an arm, but could not. He fought to twist her off, but she stepped around with her hind legs and bit more fiercely.

  They remained like that for a long time, Troll doubled over, the creature clinching from behind, crushing him slowly. Troll roared. He could feel his vitality swelling inside, straining to get out, but there was nowhere for it to go.

  His neck muscles began to throb in thick cords. His arms quivered then buckled. Troll collapsed forward onto one elbow, then the other. The creature shifted forward, concentrating her bulk over his upper back. Troll roared again, though with less force. The earth smoldered just inches away. With every breath, he took in more and more smoke. Tears sprang from the deep wells of his eyes. He refused to give in, refused to be crushed. He knew she was fighting the smoke and fire as well. If he could just hold out, she would have to release him.

  Somewhere behind them, the deadfall groaned. Timbers coughed and fractured. To Troll, it sounded like pain. Everything was pain now. He opened his mouth to cry out, but the air clapped loudly and the ground shook. A hot plume rushed over them. Troll felt his throat fill with ash, felt himself trying to retch it back out. The creature over him snarled and bit down. And then, with Troll’s forehead pressed into the scorching earth, she was gone, simply gone, as if her giant body had been plucked away.

  Troll lay there, every muscle burning. He pressed himself to his knees and sat back on his heels, eyes closed. At last he was able to cough weakly. In the open air, the place where she had bitten him stabbed. He reached to the wound and felt a slick mat of blood and saliva. Troll knew he needed to get out of the smoke. If she returned a third time, he would not be able to withstand her. She would destroy him.

  He was struggling to stand when he heard someone call.

  Troll opened his eyes. Though the air coiled and streamed with smoke, the densest wave had moved on. He could make out the shadow of the collapsed deadfall and the burning trees all around. A figure grew large through the haze. It wrapped an arm around Troll’s torso and helped him to his feet. Troll blinked and waved at the smoke between them. The hunter’s thick shirt had been torn away. He was without his bow or his belt, and his other arm was blood-soaked. His bearded face showed grim and pale through the haze.

  “We must leave here,” he shouted. “I speared her through while she was on you, but still she moves. She charged me then disappeared. She’s not likely to hold out, but she’s dangerous so long as there’s breath in her.”

  The hunter pulled Troll against the wind. They made it past the burning deadfall and did not stop until they were beyond the smoke. Troll put his hands on his knees and panted in the fresh air.

  “What was she?” he asked.

  “A bear. There are others, but none so powerful.” The hunter began walking. “Come, we need to make distance.”

  Troll turned to look at the fire. It swept away from them in a rage. Clouds of smoke and flames rose skyward as far as he could see.

  “The fire,” Troll said.

  “Yes, the forest is dry, it will burn far. But hurry now, our path is this way.”

  “Iliff’s back there.”

  “You’re a hunter now. Your place is here. Leave him.”

  Troll took one last look at the battered hunter then lowered his head and lunged back inside the smoke. His legs trembled with returning strength. He hurtled forward, through pain and blinding ash and torches of trees. He had to make haste, get ahead of the flames, get to the river. He had to reach Iliff.

  He ran and ran until the great bear appeared before him.

  * * *

  Iliff shouldered Salvatore’s bag and tested its weight. The spare clothes were in there, Troll’s knife, a full skin of water, what remained of the food. He had packed the tinder pouch as well. It had not worked except the one time, but he supposed it would not add much weight to his load.

  He had a harder decision with the trowel. He looked at the wooden handle and encrusted blade. Adramina had said he would not need it, but the tool was more familiar to him than any other. He looked at it a while longer and then made room in the bag.

  He cinched his cloak and was preparing to step from the shelter when his eyes fell once more to the soiled sack of treasures. He wondered why he had brought them this far. What were they to him anymore?

  He knelt and pulled them out: the chalice, the crown, the helmet and matching shield, the gold chest, the urn, and the scepter.

  Perhaps I can take just one, he thought.

  But even the least cumbersome would not fit inside his bag. He unwrapped the crown and placed it on his head. It was something he used to do in his room in the mines. He would imagine that he was the king of the mines and that all the tunnels and caverns, trolls and treasures were his. He laughed dryly now.

  But as the crown settled above his ears, he found familiar comfort in its fit and weight. He was reaching up to feel the jewels when he smelled smoke.

  He looked around the shelter and prodded the ashes with a stick. Nothing. He looked up through the opening in the dome. Was that fog? No, it was too late in the day.

  Still wearing the crown and bearing his bag, he stepped outside. The winds that gusted past were hot and lined with ash. He looked toward the river and saw that the sky above the trees churned orange and brown.

  What was this?

  He stepped past the shelter and around a stand of trees. Was the change of seasons upon them? Was this how it happened? The sky appeared large and furious, capable of great destruction. The wind bellowed.

  But it was not the wind Iliff heard. Something huge and hirsute rose from the riverbank in the middle distance. Iliff gave a cry as he stumbled backward. But a moment later Troll appeared beneath the thing, for it was borne upon his back. Iliff watched his companion fighting for each step, his knees nearly scraping the ground. Troll bel
lowed again.

  “Troll!” Iliff hollered.

  The ridge of Troll’s brow appeared briefly. He stumbled and veered toward him. Iliff rushed to his companion.

  “Troll!”

  Troll listed sideways and fell. The thing rolled from his back and lay still. Iliff could see now the wound on Troll’s neck, the blood that braided his burned torso and blackened his trousers.

  “Troll, what’s happened?”

  “Can you help her?” he groaned.

  Iliff looked from Troll to the smoking mass on the ground. And in the space of an instant, the mass became a living creature. There were the folded hind legs, the front paws with thick padding and claws that shone dully. Beyond the ash-covered body was the head.

  Then he saw the shaft of wood in her upper back. He recognized it.

  “Troll.” His voice wanted to die in his chest. “Oh, Troll. What have you done?”

  “I promised to help him. I made a pact.” Troll struggled to his feet. “It was so I… so you and me could eat.”

  Iliff knelt beside the bear. Her eyes were closed, her snout frothed with foam. He ran his hand over her chest, through her thick, dust-coated fur. The point of the spear pressed through her shallow breaths. The bear shuddered and opened one eye. She struggled to lift her front paw, to push him away, but she hadn’t the strength. Her head fell back to the ground.

  “Can you help her?”

  Iliff turned to Troll.

  “How could you?”

  “No, I—”

  “How could you?”

  A deep rumbling made them both look. The fire had jumped the river and was rushing toward them. It ravaged the trees and tore along the forest litter. Hot wind and ash stormed around them.

  “We have to go,” Troll shouted. “We have to run.”

  “No.” Iliff backed away.

  Troll stepped toward him.