“Magnosious! Don’t pick your teeth in public. How many times must I tell you that? Come down from there,” irate Earwig said.
Magnosious rolled over onto his great belly and stood up, shaking off the rocks and briars stuck between his bronze scales. He flicked a wing feather from his fangs with a fingernail.
“I need to find a piece of that nasty rose,” Earwig said to the dragon landing beside her. “Surely you didn’t incinerate all of it. Help me find a few thorns for a potion.”
“Thorns for what?”
“Nevermind why just help me find that rose.”
“I can’t see anything that small,” the dragon said, watching a buzzard circle overhead.
“Well, if you hadn’t gobbled up the servants, I might have someone to help me look. Now you find a piece of it before I tear up a piece of you.”
“I’ll get you a piece of it,” Magnosious said. He stamped about, pretending to look for the rose, trampling everything else in the weed patch in the process. Only the poison ivy on the castilyernov walls seemed to have recovered and thrived.
“I found a piece!” Earwig picked up the finger length shoot with a long pair of tongs. Cackling at her good fortune, she hobbled off with her prize. Magnosious looked up and toasted the buzzard, whose circling overhead was one tease too many.
In the tower, the witch carefully snipped off the black thorn tips and ground the lethal fungus to a fine powder. The powder she poured over a tray of fresh horse dung. She added dead ground bats and then scattered the spores of the Bloody Death mushrooms over top of that. She took the tray down to tower’s dark, dank cellar at its root.
“I’ve grown mushrooms in this cellar for years,” she said to herself as she climbed the worn stairs. “It’s been my favorite gardening project. It soothes my nerves to watch something feed off rotting things and grow into such a luscious, spongy creation. Infused with the rose fungus, those mushrooms should radiate death. Their recipient should expire on contact.” She clasped her hands at the thrilling thought and chuckled so hard she lost her balance and fell over backward down the staircase.
*
Duke Minnabec rarely left his counting room in Earwighof’s cellar anymore. Once he hobbled out front to his coach for a trip to the tax office. He looked around and noted all the poison ivy on the walls, the cactus with exceptional spines by the walks, and poison oak pruned to globes as centerpieces for beds of stinging nettles. Mock orange with five-inch thorns grew under the windows, and barberry hedges edged other beds. He’d thought the place had changed a lot with Irkin’s attention to detail. How nice that she’d turned her attention to gardening in her declining years.
*
Earwig checked the mushrooms daily. Light on her feet from anticipation, she skipped down the cellar stairs to the special tray in the darkest, coolest, moldiest spot in the cellar the day she expected the spores to ripen.
The original spores developed into thousands of fungi, and these were special indeed. Between their genetic heritage, feeding on the rose thorn fungus, and her spell, these were lethal-to-evil mushrooms. Just thinking of them made her bloated body ripple. When the precious fungi had absorbed the decaying matter, the hidden mycelium tentacles fastened to the undigested fibers, producing dozens of spore caps, each the size of a goblet. They were slate-gray from the thorn fungus and the Bloody Death mushrooms’ silvery white.
“They’ll open today.” Her heart raced when she stopped at the cellar door. “This is it.” She took a deep breath, coughed, then stumbled over a dead rat on the stairs. She got up, wiping rat feces from her face with her sleeve, and continued on, unaffected by the special mushrooms. Back in the rank darkness, she flicked a finger-torch to see her splendid creations and gasped at the sight.
“Look at those delicate hooked thorns fanning out in rows along the spore filaments under the mushroom caps. Why there’re like snakes teeth, and those spores, blood red!” Forgetting her finger-torch, Earwig clapped her hands. She re-flicked the finger-torch. “They’re gorgeous; they’d win first place at a fair except the judges wouldn’t live long enough to award the prize.”
Earwig kept a troll for company that she’d discovered under a bridge sometime before. He was practically starving since the villagers had built a new school, and the children took a new route. Earwig kept him in a dark chamber in the tower catacombs for the day when she had a good use for such an unusual treasure.
“Trolls are rare now; I don’t want to waste him,” Earwig said to herself one day not long after the mushroom spores ripened. “Their use is limited, of course. Not liking the daylight, and clumsy with those huge feet, they’re slow traveling. Being so ugly, they’re quite noticeable when exposed. Still, they have talents and absolutely no soul or remorse. They’re the sort of creatures I relate to. The new mushrooms are just what I need to enhance the attributes of my troll companion that’s languished under-utilized too long.”
Earwig fed bits of immature caps to the troll over a period of many months. She gradually increased the amount of mushroom in his buzzard scraps until he built up a tolerance. One day she was feeding him and noticed the troll had turned slate-gray, his eyes and the skin under his nails blood red. Earwig tested the troll’s lethal strength by giving him a starving wharf rat as a pet. The hobgoblin reached to pet his toy, but the vicious rodent died instantly, having lunged and bitten his finger.
“It’s time, big boy,” Earwig said.
The troll grunted and ate the wharf rat raw, which Earwig dusted liberally with salt and mushroom spores.
“I can’t get to the queen. She’s confined to her bed,” Earwig said. “So I’ll have to go after Saxthor again. Now listen carefully. Make no mistakes.
“You’ll search the peninsular for traces of Saxthor. Track him down and kill him. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything of the prince’s to help you get a scent. All I have is this shoe from when he was a boy.”
The heavy-handed troll took the old shoe, stuck it to his large, hairy nose, and sniffed. He licked the shoe finally, getting Saxthor’s faint scent.
“Travel at night and search for Saxthor, do not fail me.”
The witch saw the troll off on his mission with a basket of buzzard parts and a big batch of mushrooms for ‘spicing up his meals.’
“Careful, don’t touch me.” Earwig waved good-bye as the creature disappeared in the dark. She then sterilized his subterranean cave with a big fire.
* * *
Saxthor entered the marsh with trepidation. “I hope we don’t run into anything bad in there. Bogs, swamps, and marshes can be productive places, but my experiences haven’t been good.”
“I can confirm that,” Tonelia mumbled.
“True,” Bodrin said. “Tournak, is there any other way around this marsh?”
“None that I know of,” Tournak said from the rear.
“I studied most Neuyokkasinian natural habitats as a boy, but I know nothing of Graushdem’s plants and animals,” Saxthor said. “I should’ve paid more attention in the palace school.”
“No one knows much about Graushdem since suspicion and hostilities closed the borders to court communication two generations ago,” Tournak said.
“We’ll just have to go through there and take our chances,” Saxthor said. “We’ll have to be cautious until we know how relations stand.”
The streams that flowed north into Graushdem had flooded the marsh through which the band now traveled. As a result, it was sandy and lacking in nutrients. Plants supplemented the low nitrogen by becoming carnivorous. They used pitchers or modified leaf pads to trap and digest the insect proteins for nitrogen.
“What is that thing?” Tonelia asked as she came up beside a bright green plant her height with hollow, bulbous stems capped with purple covers.
Tournak came up beside her and whistled. “I heard some wizard long ago meddled with strange plants in Graushdem. I never gave it much thought. It looks like this might be one of them. Developing spell
s, the wizard tested them on the marsh plants. It would appear this species of insectivorous ‘Wizard’s Lettuce’ has evolved to feed on marsh rodents, perhaps even larger animals.”
Tonelia reached to feel the moist, red-ribbed rim. Tournak grabbed her arm. “Perhaps you shouldn’t touch it.”
Saxthor leading the way, the trekkers crept further into the marsh, covering their tracks along the way to avoid discovery. They made slow progress in the soggy environment and soon despaired, affected by the dismal surroundings. On the second day, they located a slight mound topped by a flood-created logjam. They stood close together, eyes squinting, scanning to see if anything lived there.
“Dry land is dry land,” Bodrin said.
Tonelia looked down. “My shoes are wet and toes wrinkled.”
“I suppose we can’t avoid everything,” Saxthor said. The men trudged through the marsh to the mound.
Bodrin looked. “I see an opening. There might be shelter in there. Something’s been coming and going, though, judging from the grassless, striated sand.”
“Do you think it safe to spend the night there?” Tonelia said from a distance. She swatted a fly bussing around her face as dark clouds covered the sun.
Saxthor walked toward the entrance with Tournak when suddenly a troll rushed from the opening and grabbed at Bodrin. He dodged and jumped back, but the troll’s long fingernail scratched Tournak. The sun returned, and the troll dashed back inside. The men just did escape.
“Are you OK?” Saxthor asked.
Tournak wiped dirt from the deep scratch. “I think so.”
By late afternoon, Tournak’s scratch had festered in the fetid marsh. His strength was waning as his body fought the foul, corrosive wound.
“We have to find shelter. Tournak needs food and rest,” Tonelia said.
Saxthor looked around. “So far, the only dry land’s been the troll cave.”
“I’ve used medicinal herbs and green moss on the wound, and that’s slowed Tournak’s decline,” Tonelia said. “Still, he needs to be dry and resting.”
About half an hour before sunset, Saxthor turned to the exhausted group.
“We’ve lost our sense of direction and walked in a circle. It’s getting dark.”
Looking left, Bodrin spotted the troll den.
“It’s too late to get away. The troll will be coming out soon, searching for meat,” Tournak said, his voice a shadow of its former strength. “Their sense of smell will lead them to us.”
“We must fight the troll now or it will attack us in the dark,” Saxthor said.
“What’s your plan?” Bodrin asked. “I know you have one.”
“One of us has to get close enough to the den opening to draw out the troll. It’s nearly dark now. The creature will attack soon, for sure.”
“I’ll go,” Bodrin said.
“No, I need you with me to fight the troll. There could be more than one in there. Trolls are exceptionally strong and ferocious.”
“I’ll go,” Tournak said, his voice so weak Saxthor wondered how he could stand.
“No, you stay here and defend yourself with wizard fire, and your sword, should we fail.”
Saxthor and Bodrin turned to look at Tonelia, who then turned to look at whoever they must be looking at behind her. When she saw no one else, she turned back to the two men. She began swaying her head side to side.
“You aren’t looking at me. I know you’re not looking at me! You don’t seriously think I’m going to parade past a troll den in a marsh at night, do you? I’ve seen some ugly guards in father’s dungeons, but I am not troll bait.” With that, she crossed her arms in front of her, lips pursed.
Saxthor and Bodrin knew Tonelia and grinned at her. Together they pointed at the troll den’s entrance.
“Okay, I’m going. Don’t rush me. It’s my last day in this life, and I want to savor my last minutes.” Tonelia stepped forward toward the cave. She looked up at Bodrin for a reprieve.
Saxthor pointed to the cave entrance. “You can do it. We’re right here behind you.”
Tonelia walked toward the troll den. Just before getting there, she deliberately snapped a stick for sound. The troll jumped out, grabbing stunned Tonelia.
“Tonelia!” Bodrin dashed forward.
An arrow flew from Tournak’s bow and slammed into the troll. He screamed and fell back. His grip relaxed as he took one-step and fell forward, dead on the soft ground.
Tonelia turned to wave, nearly collapsing.
Another troll leaped from the den and grabbed at her, but this time she dodged the charge. She ran down the marshy ground past Saxthor and Bodrin with the troll in pursuit. It ran into Bodrin’s sword, arcing up across its gut, and Saxthor’s sword, arcing down and lopping off its head.
Still shaken, Tonelia growled at Bodrin and cautiously approached the den entrance once more. This time nothing grabbed at her. She started back, thinking it empty.
“Come on up. It’s safe now.”
Saxthor and Bodrin rushed up just as a young troll darted out at Tonelia.
“Look out!” Bodrin said.
A female troll followed close behind, overtaking the younger one, but tripped on Tonelia’s snapped stick. As Bodrin jerked Tonelia aside, the female rushed forward onto Bodrin’s extended sword. Saxthor struck the young troll. He fell back into a large wizard’s lettuce leaf beside the path. The leaf cap flapped forward, swatting the troll down into the interior digestive juices. The cap sealed the stem.
Saxthor searched the cave. “They’re all dead. Tournak has a dry if smelly place to rest the night.”
Still wrapped in Bodrin’s arms, Tonelia shook her head. “I suppose you men want something to eat, too.”
The next morning, the four left the troll den in a hurry.
“Trolls are as nasty as they are ugly.” Saxthor brushed himself off. “Those bones lying around contribute to the stench, no doubt. Let’s get out of here and find some clean water so we can wash off all traces of these trolls.”
“That was a long night if a dry one. Tournak is much better this morning with the herbs, moss, food, and rest,” Tonelia said.
The four again journeyed north and emerged from the marsh on dry land near a village some days later. When nearby villagers discovered the hikers emerging from the marsh, they came to investigate the unexpected strangers.
“No one in our village that’s gone near the marsh at night ever came out again,” the village elder said.
Bodrin brandished his sword for the crowd. “We killed four trolls in there. They were ambushing anyone who entered at night.”
“We must celebrate,” the village elders said amid the villagers pressing close to shake the heroes’ hands.
Saxthor grew uneasy watching Bodrin basking in the adulation. “Thank you for your hospitality, but we must move on.”
“You can’t refuse to celebrate with us. You’ve saved many of our children. We must give thanks. You’re heroes.”
“Heroes,” Bodrin said.
The villagers entered the marsh and retrieved the dead trolls, except for the young one left in the bulging wizard’s lettuce leaf with two feet protruding.
During the festivities, a runner reported the heroes to Graushdemheimer, the capital, as Bodrin told and retold how they liquidated the trolls. Anxious, Saxthor remained silent.
“Bodrin’s boasting may get us killed,” Tournak said to Saxthor. “We need to get back on the road. Bodrin is enjoying the notoriety too much. His tales are attracting too much attention.”
“And I’m worried about the wraith,” Saxthor said.
“If it figures out someone else was involved, it’ll hunt us to gain another chance with the Dark Lord,” Tournak said.
The trip to Graushdemheimer was without incident. The autumn sun was warm, and the hikers walked along the rocky back roads and through pastures untroubled by sights of slinking creatures. The peace ended when they got to Graushdemheimer. A great throng greeted the now national hero
es with great pomp and ceremony at the city gates.
“It seems our exploits with the trolls preceded us,” Saxthor said. “It’s a good thing we didn’t mention the orcs and ogres or Dreaddrac’s watchers in Graushdemheimer would be waiting for us, too.”
“Who says they’re not?” Tournak asked.
The closer to the city they got, the more people rushed out to greet them. Everyone wanted to touch the heroes and their weapons. More than once, Saxthor had to hold onto Sorblade, so no one drew it from its scabbard.
*
Word reached the court that travelers near the border had discovered and slain a band of trolls that had snatched villagers for years. The court was abuzz with news of the troll killers.
“Activity on the northern borders is picking up,” Graushdem’s chatra said in a council meeting. “The people report seeing orcs and ogres passing through Graushdem. There’s growing discontent among his majesty’s subjects. The king ordered castilyernovs Feldrik and Tossledorn refurbished for reassurance. This troll incident could be a great morale booster if we use it properly.”
“Maybe these villagers could report on Tossledorn’s progress; the citizens here are listening to them for sure,” another minister said. “As the king’s ministers, we need to show a victory over Dreaddrac’s creatures.”
“This troll eradication is a timely political plum,” the chatra said. “We should be on hand to welcome these heroes and associate with their success.”
The council agreed and adjourned to the city gates as the crowd surged, sweeping Saxthor and his friends into the city.
“Welcome to Graushdemheimer,” the chatra bellowed, ushering Saxthor up to a high spot where the crowd could see them together. “It’s my pleasure to extend our warmest greetings to our distinguished troll-slayers. The people of Graushdem will forever appreciate your valor in ridding us of such vile creatures.”
The chatra’s broad smile faced the crowd, not Saxthor, as he assessed the crowd’s response. The people were cheering the heroes and not him, so he took Saxthor’s hand while patting him on the back. He held onto Saxthor, turning left and right that everyone could better see them together.
The N Arc of Empire- Complete Series Page 46