23 THE VERY BADLANDS

After leaving behind both the lands of GLUP! and Mary’s farm, Nanoc and his friends set out north, away the Guild of Heroes and Nial Liv’s rage. While the Static Empire had spread neatly across most of the world Below, there were still parts into which Order’s influence did not reach. On the northern part of the island of Sept lay one such pocket of wild rebellion, an enormous crater that stretched from horizon to horizon. The crater was surrounded by a ragged border of cliffs that were broken in a few places, allowing entry. The crater sloped downward from its edge into a wild mess of forests and rivers, narrow mountains, and grim monoliths built on low hills.

Nanoc and his friends stood on the edge of the crater. They could see smoke rising from hundreds of little fires, and several large plumes that suggested either towns or forest fires. The crater was a jumbled, confusing mess, nothing like the empire.

“Do you know, we agreed to leave the empire, yet it appears that we are heading directly back towards its center,” Dren said, looking at the map in his hands rather than the massive crater in front of him.

“That’s because you’re holding the map upside down. Pass it here,” Rotcel ‘Lec said patiently, holding out a hand.

Dren, who could get lost in a shoebox, happily handed the map to the lizardling scout, who turned it the right way around and scanned it quickly.

“We’re on the edge of what the empire has mapped,” she said. “I don’t want to scare you, but this crater is the start of the Very Badlands.”

“Why would that scare us?” Nanoc said.

“Ah!” Dren shouted in pure excitement.

The field scholar bounced excitedly, pens and books spilling from his pockets and flying everywhere.

“Do you know, I have always wanted to visit the Very Badlands,” Dren said. “So little is known about it. Many scholars have set out to study it—"

“But few have returned?” Nanoc guessed.

“Oh, parts of them have returned,” Dren said, loyal to his kind. “And in several cases their journals have been recovered. They make for fascinating reading.”

“It is a wild place,” Rotcel ‘Loc said, shaking her head. “A dangerous place. A place—”

“Filled with treasure?” Nanoc suggested.

The lizardling treasure hunter smiled slightly.

“Maybe.”

The Guild seldom went this far north, which meant they hadn’t yet stolen everything worth having.

“It’s a strange name,” Nanoc said as they walked. “The Very Badlands. I can’t see a lot of tourists wanting to visit.”

“Do you know, the people who lived here have been campaigning to change the name for decades,” Dren explained. “The orc businesswoman, Ediug Ruot, petitioned to change the name to Hunter’s Paradise. The idea gained much support from the locals, and the university’s map makers agreed to make the change official. There was a big day of celebration for the renaming ceremony and everything.”

They kept walking. Nanoc waited for Dren to continue his story, but the elf had been distracted by a tiny insect with six wings as it fluttered by.

“And then what happened, Dren?” Rocel ‘Loc prompted the scholar.

“Hmmm? With what?”

“With the renaming ceremony?”

“Oh, there was a rain of zombie scorpions, apparently. If the rumors are true, Ediug Ruot herself was eaten by one. There wasn’t much interest in changing the name after that.”

Nanoc laughed, Rotcel shivered.

The Very Badlands was filled with little kingdoms and queendoms, small states, and rebellious free cities that refused to be part of anyone else’s vision of unity. Each nation had its own culture, its own money, its own laws,

And its own problems.

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“…one of the zombie scorpions later went on to win a position on the town council,” Dren continued as the trio walked down a narrow path through the forest. “Where it made important contributions to local law outlawing the production of holy water—"

There was a rustle in the forest. Something was moving through the undergrowth, keeping track of Nanoc and his friends. Rotcel ‘Loc drew a knife, holding it at her side.

“—third case of undead politicians that year, not including vampires, of course—”

“Why not including vampires?” Nanoc asked.

“Do you know, it’s too hard to tell the difference between a vampire politician and a regular one. Anyway—"

“Everyone be quiet,” Rotcel ‘Loc snapped, drawing a knife.

“Don’t get so angry, Dren wasn’t even being boring this time,” Nanoc protested.

The lizardling scout rolled her eyes.

“There’s something in the trees nearby,” she said. “Something nasty, something foul. I don’t recognize the smell.”

“Good,” Nanoc said, nodding. “I was getting bored of all this walking, and I wanted to fight something. Let me know if it's going to jump out at us.”

Their path through the forest took them over a rickety wooden bridge. Rotcel ‘Loc sniffed the air uncertainly but then stepped onto the bridge. A voice called out from beneath them as she and the others were halfway over.

“Psst! King Naem keeps kidnapped puppies in his dungeon,” the voice said. “He sacrifices them to demons in exchange for magic! The sheriff won’t do anything about it, but it’s true!”

“Do you know, that doesn’t sound true at all,” Dren said, frowning as she leaned over the side of the bridge. “Who said that? Where are you?”

“You’ll never hear the truth from the town criers,” the voice under the bridge continued. “They’re part of the puppy sacrificing, too!”

Nanoc had his flamin’ pitchfork ready for a fight, but the enemy was too well concealed. The little gnome sighed, annoyed. He was a gnome of simple if violent pleasures, and he hated working too hard for his fights.

“I think I saw… I don’t know, something big and green and hairy under the bridge,” Rotcel ‘Loc said. “I don’t know what it was.”

“King Naem caused the plague of blood-drinking ticks that ran through the city of Um last year, too! He did it to make people want to give up their puppies!”

“Plague of… no, there was no report of any plague in Um last year,” Dren said, frowning. “Except for a small plague of frogs.”

The frogs had been very polite about the whole thing, and nobody had held it against them. There had been no plague of ticks.

“There!” Rotcel ‘Loc said, pointing to movement beneath the bridge. “There it is!”

“I see something!” Nanoc agreed eagerly. “Its… its… what the heck is that thing, Dren?”

Dren muttered a curse and then a spell, pointing a long finger towards the hidden foe. There was a bang, a whimper, and a loud roaring. A purple beast with a bright green mohawk climbed quickly up the side of the bridge to stand in front of the trio. It hissed at them, revealing long yellow incisors. Its paws were massive and ended in talons. Rotcel ‘Loc turned and ran; Nanoc stepped forward.

“Do you, know it’s a troll!” Dren warned him. “We need to get off the bridge right now!”

He grabbed Nanoc and pulled the little gnome off the bridge to follow the lizardling treasure hunter. Nanoc protested. The troll had made the ordinarily placid Dren frantic to escape the bridge, and surely that meant the beast would be a good foe. He wiggled out of the elf’s grip.

“You two stand back,” the gnome said. “I’ll—”

Dren spun around and pointed and accusing finger at the beast. “Do you know, you ugly creature, that I am here to defeat you! Koob’s light of truth!”

A beam of light as wide as a bus exploded from Dren’s finger and engulfed the troll. The sound of a thousand well-reached books rustled in the air, and the forest smelt of ink and paper for a moment. The beam faded, leaving the troll standing on the bridge.

“He looks exactly the same!” Nanoc said in amazement. “Dren, did your spell go wrong? Is it my turn to fight? Ah… Dren?”

Dren was shaking in anger. The elf’s face had turned quite red, and several veins on his head were popping out. He had not missed.

The troll’s outer purple skin was fading away quickly; the muscles and claws had been nothing but an illusion. Soon, the appearance of a fearsome beast had been replaced by a skinny green troll with a pimple-covered face.

“Only a member of the puppy-eating city elite would do that!” it squeaked. “I heard you go around to people’s houses and pee on their door handles!”

Dren pointed an accusing finger at the troll.

“Lies! Lies! Do you know… do you know… I’m so angry I can’t even think of a good spell!” Dren shouted at the troll. “Oh, a bad one will have to do, then! Splat!”

A boot the size of a horse fell out of the sky and hit the troll with a splatt! The boot burst into tiny bits of leather which flew away in the wind. Amazingly, the troll stood up and blew a raspberry. Dren raised his finger again, but the troll was already running away from the bridge and into the trees.

“Did you miss with the boot, too?” Nanoc asked, confused. Like all barbarians, he didn’t understand magic.

“No, trolls are basically invulnerable,” Rotcel ‘Loc explained. “Some people think that Death himself doesn’t want to have to deal with their nonsense and refused to accept their souls into his court.”

“Do you know, I hate trolls,” Dren said, then added passionately, “they lie intentionally! Can you believe it?”

“There will be more,” Rotcel ‘Loc said glumly. “Where you see one, you can expect ten. We should get out of here.”

“We should hunt them down,” Dren said instead. “Every single one of them. We should send them running from these woods. We cannot let them stay.”

“We should leave!” the lizardling scout insisted. “Trolls have no treasure, and they’re dumb and dangerous and dirty!”

The scout and the scholar glared at each other. One wanted to leave, the other to stay. It was up to Nanoc to break the tension. Unfortunately, he had not been paying attention to it at all.

“I call dibs on the next troll,” Nanoc said. “Hey, Rotcel, Dren? I call dibs on the next one, okay?”