Warmth against his face told Jale that the sun had risen, but his eyes refused to open to greet the morning. As he woke up, he became aware of the disorienting pain radiating from his temples. Every moment the pain worsened, and soon it became unbearable. Flexing his arms, he attempted to pull his arms down to relieve the tension on his numb limbs, but nothing budged. A grip tight around his wrists told him he had been bound to something, though his legs rested on the solid ground.
Birdsongs rang through his mind, encouraging him to pry his eyes open. The sun rays welcomed him with a glare, causing him to blink a few times before being able to use his sight.
Bright green plants greeted him, the marsh as lively as he remembered it from childhood. He sat on soft mud and the clearing had been in the center of thick vegetation, walls of brush and trees seemed to trap the man in the open area. Despite a few huts scattered around the clearing showing signs of a village, the land felt wild and untamed. His blue eyes scanned his surroundings, wondering where the death and drought had gone. Even the air felt happier; humid and moist.
Jale's next step was to examine his bindings, well-crafted sturdy, white rope. Snared around each wrist, they prevented him from moving too much, however, he had room to stand. Curious.
When his frame stood, the world spun for a moment. Once settled, the man looked around again. As beautiful and relieving as it was to see the land as it should be, something was wrong. On the wind, he could hear faint whispers, pleads, and prayers.
A Trollish sentence sounded beside him, bringing him to gaze over. His eyes found a group of trolls standing near the other guards, who were also tied up, whispering to each other. The humans were bound together, but their bindings kept them around a single post. Tied up like hunting dogs after a bad chase.
"He's awake," a smooth and melodic female said.
"That he is. Perhaps you hit him too hard though, he seems dazed." The next voice came from an equally song-like male.
Jale shook his head lightly. "What do you mean?"
His words sounded foreign to him as if he himself didn't even speak them. It concerned the commander. Maybe I had been hit too hard. The way the captors and his own men looked at him told him he didn't sound right either.
"What happened to the marsh?" he asked, raking his gaze across the trees.
Nobody answered, instead leaving him to listen to the whispers once more. They sounded desperate and he could've sworn some were asking for guidance. One, in particular, rang out clearer than the rest; it asked for freedom, relief, and clarity. A strong prayer that was filled with fear.
Most of the voices sounded distant: faint and soothing. He attempted to hear what these calming words were, but the more he focused the fuzzier his brain felt.
A spell of dizziness hit him and the tall man collapsed back onto the ground with a soft gasp. The world spun before him, twisting and turning, and shapes crept towards him. Dark disfigured creatures crawled closer and he couldn't move away from them.
Ice-like grips grabbed his leg, the low temperature slicing through the fabric protecting his skin. Fear raced through him as the undivined beast stretched its way up his body, faceless and hard to focus on.
"Commander!"
The sudden call jolted him back to his senses. When he blinked and reopened his eyes, the figures were gone and the plants had lost their green joy.
Tilting his head back, Jale looked up at the man who spoke; a male troll. Sharp orange eyes framed by dark clay-like skin met his gaze, staring down through the gap between his tusks. Judging by his iron rings hanging from his nose and wrapping his tusks, this was the chief.
"Well well, he's back with us finally." A familiar mocking tone rang out.
Across the clearing, behind the troll, tied by both his wrists and ankles hung the scrawny-looking ginger.
The commander scowled, ready to reply, but a pair of trolls walking over stopped him. A larger— tuskless— male with white symbols contrasting against his dark blue skin and a woman, covered instead in a dusty grey skin tone.
"You're rather odd. Tallest human I've seen, and I've seen plenty of humans," the larger troll mused.
"My mother was tall, it happens," he explained as calmly as he could. “I’ve never seen a tuskless troll.”
The female laughed and shook her head, commenting in her native language to the larger troll.
While they went back and forth, the tall man found himself looking down at his legs. Aware the added comment about the troll’s appearance may have doomed him.
"Commander Jale? I’d recognize you anywhere,” the chief said in Common.
Jale brought his eyes back to the smaller male, wondering now what they had planned for him. His title came with a lot of baggage, most of which wasn’t welcoming to other races.
"Lucky that warlock doesn't have any negative wishes against you. He told us what you did."
The commander glanced across the way towards his criminal. “What do you mean?”
Kneeling, the woman hummed in amusement. "He told us how you gave him water and offered him food even though he's your prisoner. And how you refused to waste meat."
Jale shifted his gaze back to the trolls; that sounded promising. Surprising, why would he say good things about me? He could’ve lied and had me killed, they would’ve freed him I’m sure.
"Even if he didn't, we've been watching your team since you left Bogsgate,” she added.
"Why?" Jale asked, bending his legs to stand up.
This time the larger troll spoke. "You're interesting. Guides are with you. The Divinities are stressed and you seem to agitate them."
"Hah! I knew you were an annoying swinekin.” The warlock laughed from his bindings.
The female sighed and locked her gaze with the tall man's. "Ignore him, the sun drives even the strongest towards insanity. I'm Tesk. This is chief Tunskin and his son Jor'al."
Jale gave a polite half-body bow and stood. "May I ask what you want with us, Chief?"
Tunskin grunted something before tilting his head to look up at the human. "That is a bit complicated, commander. We want our land back, but I do not believe you can help us there."
"Perhaps we should hang their tongues from rope across their gates!" The larger troll suggested with a touch too much excitement.
More conversation in Trollish, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what they discussed. Instead, inspecting his men to his right. They all sat on the ground, and other than looking a bit sore they appeared fine.
Prompted by a growl, he brought his attention back to his captors. Jor’al’s face had scrunched up in distaste as he slunk backward a few steps.
"You see, Jale, here’s our issue: humans are distressing our habitat. The Divinities aren't happy with your manners and thus punish everyone. So, I hope you have a good reason we should let you go," Tunskin said.
Jale raked his brain for a reason, his chest swelling with a deep breath. "We haven't attacked any of your hunters or warriors in a long while, but I'm afraid if you kill us I can't promise the city will keep it this way."
Tesk laughed. "Let them come. Even your trained mages couldn't win against us."
He didn't have a counter for that for he knew it was true. Trolls were born hunters, warriors of the swamp, they could take on the humans of Bogsgate with ease. Even if the humans did outnumber them.
Before anyone could speak further, a chitter sounded off behind Jale.
"Chief! Do you know what you have?" This new person sounded large, a deep guttural tone that didn't fit the melodious trolls.
A zerdal joined the trolls, which explained the tone. This new race stood even shorter than the trolls and half the height of the commander. They held their sleek canine head tilted to the side at the chief, with one of the large ears fallen to the side. A row of six golden rings in its perked ear caught the sun, shining into Jale's face and forcing him to look towards their bare chest. Coated in fine- though thick- grey fur, its lanky body confirmed to him that this curious creature was a male.
With a curious and intrigued expression, the creature looked up at the tied captive. His ghostly blue eye pierced the commander, while the deep brown eye greeted him."Oh, pardon me! I'm Roon! Explorer from the west, here to learn all I can of the eastern lands!" Behind the short man, a black-tipped tail wagged lightly.
"Roon, what do you want?" Tunskin asked.
The zerdal turned to the chief and perked up their ears. With ease, they responded in the troll’s tongue.
After listening, the chief turned back to the human. "Who was your mother?"
Jale shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea, I never met her."
"I have been reminded of a prophecy. Of an elf hybrid who held promise to restore the world as it had been." Tunskin twisted a pair of rings around his tusk thoughtfully. “Perhaps Tesk should prepare to check you and your men.”
Paranoia crept under the commander’s skin. "Well, unfortunately, human hybrids are killed at birth. We can't help you."
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Roon looked personally offended at that phrase. "How could you be so cruel?"
Tesk laid a hand on the small man. "Humans aren't as open to strengthening their species through cross-racial means. You must remember not everyone is as advanced as your culture."
With a soft nod, Roon excused himself and made his way towards the warlock, probably to ask questions.
"I'm afraid my people have their own mind set. If you wish to keep your own alive, you must help us." The chief’s demanding tones were not lost
He didn't look up at the man, but he listened to the words. Did it surprise him? No. Humans have been pushing borders and impeding on the troll's land for as long as they've been on this continent, they have all right to wish us dead.
"If I agree," The tall man started, raising his head to look across the open area at the ginger and zerdal. "You'll let them go?"
With a laugh, Jor'al leaned in to whisper to his chief. Jale had no choice but to wait, watching the warlock and the fur-covered man chat. No telling what the vile criminal was telling the eager creature about the human society.
"Yes. If you agree to help us, we will let all your men go. They will return home and we will not touch them," Tunskin said, interrupting his thoughts.
"What of the warlock?"
The chief glance back at the man in question. "He's not yours to command correct?"
Unfortunately, that had been true. Jale sighed lightly a bit defeated. "No, he's my prisoner, he's intended to reach the king to answer for his crimes."
"A criminal? Human warlocks are rarely stable enough to be helpful to society. We can’t let him go. He'd face the mercy of our soul breakers."
Well, that would make my life easier... But, do I want him to suffer at the hands of trolls? No one deserves their soul broken in such a manner, not even him. Jale pondered what he had been told, concluding that he didn't wish to let the warlock out of his sight.
"He is to answer to our king. If you want my help, whatever that may be, you'll allow me to keep my prisoner,” he said, locking a demanding glare on the chief.
Tunskin stared him down, considering the negotiation brought to him. His strong hand gripped his left tusk, messing with the rings in deep thought once more. With the other two remaining silent, awaiting the wishes of their chief.
Tunskin grunted and waved the other man off. "Fine. But I pick the troll to accompany you."
"Why would a troll need to travel with me?"
With dismissive tones, Jor’al responded. "Eat, drink. Rest. We'll talk in the morning, Commander.” He laughed, walking off with his leader.
What had he gotten himself into? He turned his head to gaze over at his soldiers. They were eating and drinking. That relieved him; at least his men would be safe. All life mattered to him, even the criminal hanging across the field. To Jale, how they're handled is a matter of life or death, and he'd never choose death for another soul.
After a few minutes, he had been given food and refreshments: cooked alligator and what appeared to be goat’s milk. Though he'd never personally liked reptilian meat, he ate the meal; not only was it polite, but he needed it. Plus, with his hands bound how they were, a troll had fed him the food and he couldn't exactly refuse it.
With his meal eaten, he settled into the ground to watch the ginger, who had been more eager for the food, naturally. The man took each bite offered and used his teeth to take the cup from the troll, downing the milk before dropping the container. A reminder that this male had not been used to going a full day without food, something nobody should have to experience.
Jale didn't mind the sun beating down on him, but the other men, especially the paler ones, had already started turning red. Sun's rays were not kind to the thin-skinned race. With his own skin being both dark and thicker than the others, he had the advantage of not turning into a painful display of damaged skin.
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The day had passed with little more event, they had been given a second meal before dark, but that had been it. Despite his unfortunate ties, the tall man had managed to sleep under the nearly full moon and bright stars.
Awaking to some excitement next to him, the commander observed as some trolls freed his men from their imprisonment. Though they seemed sore and uncomfortable, their moods were high.
"Next time, maybe we should pay you. Two meals and a nice soft dirt patch to sleep in. Hospitality!" Derik joked, only to turn to his commander respectfully.
Jale smiled at the comment. "Perhaps."
Tunskin walked over, his shoulders draped in a cream-colored scale hide. "You men will return to Bogsgate, if you wish my own warriors will ensure you get there."
"Thank you, chief. My men should be fine though," the commander said, nodding towards James.
"As you wish. Your horse and cart are north a few paces." The chief followed the comment with a gesture in the direction.
"May the Guides bring you smooth roads," Sah said, giving a polite nod to the troll.
He watched his group march off out of the village, knowing he may not see them for a while. Or ever again. At least they’re free and safe.
Tunskin huffed and untied the ropes encasing his wrists. "Since you demand to travel with the wiked, you can listen with the wiked."
Jale nodded, lifting himself off the ground. "Of course."
The smaller man looked up at him. "Without the ropes, you stand even taller. Impressive for one of your kind."
Offering a sheepish shrug, the tall man remained silent, unsure how to respond to that. His captor led him over to the warlock, who somehow seemed content in his binds.
He inspected the man with a curiously raised eyebrow. Hung from his wrists, the ginger had his head against the post and had his muscles slacked. Besides the angry exposed skin, he looked happy to be there.
"Hellspawn, you get to join the commander on his journey to save our world," the troll said, bringing his hands to free the human.
The warlock sucked his teeth. "Hard pass. Pardon me, Commander, but traveling a broken continent in a cage doesn't sound as appealing as hanging here being fed twice a day,” he hissed.
Jale scowled at the warlock, resisting the urge to inform him that he was offered food under his watch.
As Tunskin freed his wrists, the criminal fell forward, hitting the ground with a series of scornful curses. A hearty laugh fell from the troll before the rope around the human's ankles was undone.
"You don't have a choice," Jale mentioned with delight, grabbing his arm to pull him up.
His captive winced, trying to pull his painful arm away, but failed. "Ugh, I'd rather die."
Tunskin led the two into a large hut, the building stood strong; made of tanned leather and dull grey wood. While shiny golden scales scattered around the walls glinted in the sun, stating the importance of the house from the surrounding houses.
Inside the air was several notches cooler, and it smelled of herbs and smoke. Guider's tools. Knelt on her knees was a familiar troll, her hands were mixing a green smoke trail with a white cloud.
"Tesk, would you care to explain our prophecy?" the chief asked the female.
She looked up, pausing in her movements to scan over the humans. "This is who Roon suggested?"
The male spoke in their language, leaving Jale to glance at his prisoner, who returned the gaze with a weary bored expression. Though an underlying pain could be seen in the green eyes, that wouldn’t make the commander release the blistering arm.
"Fine, but I demand a strand to confirm his suspicion,” Tesk said suddenly in Common.
"Strand of what?" the ginger asked.
Tesk stepped over to the men, reaching up to pluck a hair strand from them both despite the warlock’s protest. "Hair. Now we can see who's supposed to be our savior."
Tunskin sat on a small fur mat. "Roon thinks it's the commander, but Jor'al believes it is the warlock. Seeing as humans don't normally have such... expansive energy ability."
"Think we’re what?" Jale asked.
"The hybrid. Our legends passed from the first Guiders back from before we even set foot on this land tells of a hybrid born of two worlds destined to save our lands. Offspring from the Divined Touched race and the Blind race, capable of soothing both the spiritual and physical souls,” Tesk explained, returning to her place in front of the fire. “As the Blind race pushes the Divines and Guides away, the land suffers, death and destruction following their spread.
It's believed, this savior will soothe the world, and our rains will return. Not only that, but the troubles to the north with the elves would also end. They suffer the most from the poisonous spread." She spoke with an eerie monotonous voice, eyeing both the humans down.
Under the glare, the taller man dropped his eyes. Perhaps it wouldn't be too late to back out, the warlock had a point. Being fed twice a day until you bake away in the sun was sounding extremely nice.
"Wow... Imagine that, our race is poisonous and blind." This was all the smaller human had to say.
The female searched for a response in her chief, who gave an encouraging nod. She sighed and took a branch of smoking leaves from the fire, it emitted the green smoke and smelled of spice. Snakestail, named for the slender shape of the single-pointed leaves hanging off the branch.
She placed the plant on a flat wooden plate, taking the red strand in her right hand. The troll laid the hair across the small flame eating one of the leaves with a steady and fluid movement. Shortly after the strand started smoking, she muttered a Trollish prayer, guiding the smoking in a circular pattern.
With hissed at them, the red hair caught fire, burning away to nothing. With a tsk of her tongue, she repeated the process with the shorter black strand. While guiding the smoke, the trail turned black momentarily, before vanishing. Curling at the ends, the hair refused to catch fire— instead, the leaves extinguished themselves.
Tunskin stood from his seat, narrow-eyed as he watched the smoke dissipate from the hut.
"Well... I suppose the Guides have spoken," Tesk said, looking up at Jale.
"You're hilarious. Don't kid yourself, lady. Mutants aren't allowed power in our society, so how would a hybrid of such bloodline become a commander?” The ginger scoffed. “A king's commander to be exact."
His prisoner's words whipped his brain, reinforcing why he worked so hard to hide the truth. "What did the Guides say?"
Tesk picked up the strand, bringing it over to show them. "You see, they never speak clearly to us, we aren't elves. But, we know how to read signs, and this sign," She shook the hair lightly, "Tells me that you have elf in you."
More disbelief spilled from the warlock. "Why would that of all things tell you such an outlandish thing?"
"Because, L'ineshed,” Tesk hissed the Trollish word, “the branch of snakestail is a plant of the Guides, they come to see what we need when it is burned. Since elves are Divined touched, the Guides could never harm them, not physically or figuratively. This includes putting out a flame to prevent a single strand from burning."
Jale let go of the smaller man's arm, using the hand to brush through his hair. The coarse and rough strands had always been a pain to hide. Knowing it could've easily given him away, he didn't know even disguised it could still reveal his identity.
The chief spoke up. "Commander? You're quiet for hearing such things. Are you more versed in this?"
Shaking his head, the tall human sighed. "It's not that. I don't know much about your culture or practices. I do know many people come to troll Guiders for help, and I trust your knowledge."
"Then what silences you?"
Jale brought his gaze to the chief. "Knowing it’s right."
Tesk gave a semi-relieved sigh, glaring a prideful glance at the ginger. "We listen to what the Guides have to say."
"You don't strike me as an elf." His prisoner commented.
"Half-elf. Mother was an elf..." When he had been given expectant looks, he added. "Father was a human if you're curious."
The chief nodded. "Roon had been right. I ask you to take him and Tesk with you on your journey. I'm not sure what the prophecy wants you to do, but please, commander. End the suffering."
Presented with the new goal, Jale raised his shoulders to bring his frame a touch higher. "Yes, sir."
"He's not the king. You can relax. If you know how to," his captive said.
"Darael Snyder was it?" Tunskin asked the ginger. When given a nod, he continued. "I hope your captor comes to his senses and leaves you here for our soul breakers. No one enjoys folk like you."
The commander smirked at the silence, bending in a respectful bow. "We shall leave whenever Tesk and Roon are ready, chief."
Tunskin chuckled. "He's got a point, don't forget your mission, but you might as well enjoy the traveling."
Of course, Darael had been right, this guy had probably never worked hard for anything. If anyone knew how to have fun in even the worst situation it was him. But, with the fate of the world in his hands, could he afford to relax?