2 – Trogs
Ward looked down the long, winding dirt road toward the distant horizon, where he could see the walls of Port Granite sprawled against the azure backdrop of the Cobalt Sea. He only knew so much because Haley had just explained it to Grace and him. “And Westview is on the far shore?”
Haley nodded. “Yes. I don’t know how long it takes to get there, but I imagine it’s no quick jaunt.”
Ward stretched, twisting in the saddle. He was weary, but he felt pretty good overall. They’d spent a relaxing night at Children’s Crossing, stocked up on food for the road, and then taken a leisurely, four-day pace toward Port Granite, stopping at two other inns and camping on the road one night. Ward had eaten like a teenager, and, in his opinion, he’d pretty much recovered from his ordeal with the spell that had nearly killed him. Of course, the hemograph disagreed. According to the cryptic device, he was still down roughly ten percent from his former “longevity.”
“Tired?” Haley asked. Ward glanced at her, nodding. She’d shown remarkable stamina, and despite his attempts not to, Ward had spent too much time studying her behavior. She ate sparingly, usually only meat, and slept only a few hours a night. Still, she didn’t seem like any kind of “undead” he’d ever heard of. She breathed, she did eat, and though she was sensitive to the light, she didn’t burst into flames in the sun. He’d been over it a million times in his head, but the only undead creatures he knew about were from books, movies, and games. He just wished he could go back in time and tell Grace not to mention the damn word to him.
“I could use a rest. How far do you think that is?” He waved a hand toward the distant city and blue horizon.
Grace answered before Haley got a chance, “Looks like less than twenty miles. We made good time despite your lollygagging.”
Ward rolled his eyes and winked at Haley. “You see what I deal with?”
Haley smiled, though it looked forced, as she nodded. “I like Grace, but your banter makes much more sense now that I can hear you both.”
“I like you too, Haley!” Grace was, as usual, riding behind Ward, and she leaned in the saddle to say in hushed tones, “You know, I’m the one who talked Ward into casting that spell. If it weren’t for me—”
“Grace, put a sock in it,” Ward grumbled. “Maybe she’s tired of thinking about all that.”
To his surprise, Grace didn’t argue. She leaned against his back and, more seriously, said, “Sorry, Haley. I shouldn’t bring it up.”
“It’s fine…” She didn’t get to say more before Ward clicked his tongue and started down the hill at a trot. The city was distant, but the road was broad and flat, and he could see dozens of other travelers strewn along its ribbon-like length. He was eager to be done with the saddle for a while and intended to give Nutmeg a chance to stretch his legs. He leaned forward over the sturdy gelding’s neck and quietly urged him on.
“Let’s go, boy!” Nutmeg did his best to keep the lead, but they’d only been thundering down the dirt road for about thirty seconds before Wind Queen came up, and Haley passed them by. The young woman leaned forward, her cloak flapping behind her while the beautiful mare’s mane whipped in the breeze of her passage. Nutmeg whinnied in frustration, and Ward could feel him digging deeper, trying to keep up, but the other horse was just too fast. “It’s not your fault!” Ward laughed. “I’m a lot heavier than she is!”
They raced like that for a good fifteen minutes, and Ward lost sight of Haley as she rounded a curve in the road harboring a stand of tall, broad-leafed trees. When he came around the bend, he saw her ahead, stopped, and chatting with a man on a tall, steam-powered, brass and iron wagon. “Woah, fella!” Ward chuckled inwardly at his sudden cowboy vernacular. He pulled Nutmeg, snorting and huffing, to a walk and came up beside Haley and the man in the wagon.
She gestured to the stranger, “Ward, this is Lon Garrison, and he says there’s a woman up the way who needs help.”
Ward squinted up at the fellow, shading his eyes from the sun. He wore a wide straw hat and had something stuffed in his cheek that made Ward think of a ball player with a wad of tobacco. “Someone needs help?”
“That’s right! I told her I’d flag down anyone that I saw. Her daughter’s gone missing, and she’s convinced it’s a pack of trogs that’ve been living up in yonder hills.”
Ward raised his eyebrow, not sure he liked the sound of “trogs.” “How long’s she been gone?”
“What about the guard?” Haley asked at the same time.
“Her husband left to fetch the guard a half-hour ago, but he was afoot, hoping to catch a ride with someone going ta’ market. Even if he’s just got there, they won’t move too quickly. You know how them city guards are.” He spat a thick, viscous, brown squirt of saliva that confirmed Ward’s earlier suspicion. “As for the girl, her ma said she ain’t seen ‘er since breakfast when she sent her out to check on the goats.”
Haley turned to look at Ward with those pale eyes of hers, but there was something new in them, something that almost looked like excitement. “We should help!” Ward could have cheered at the sound of purpose in her voice. He really didn’t care what the problem was; he would have gone to help find a lost cat if it would get that sort of interest from her.
“Will we see her from the road?”
“Aye, just about half a mile up the way. She’s hoping someone helpful will stop by, not an old codger like me with a knee that won’t bend half the time.” He lifted his stiff leg by way of illustration, and Ward nodded.
“I’ve had a bad knee before. No fun. Anyway, we better get moving if we’re going to be any use. Every minute counts.” He clicked his tongue, and Nutmeg immediately started moving. To Ward’s amusement, so did Wind Queen, and Haley had to scramble to get her reins in hand.
“Do you guys think this is smart?” Grace asked as Haley rode up beside him.
“Smart’s got nothing to do with it,” Ward grunted.
“That’s right. A girl needs help, Grace. You wouldn’t want someone you cared about caught by trogs.”
“No…” Grace sounded ashamed, and Ward wished he could see her face. “You’re right, Haley. I’m sorry.”
He looked at Haley. “What the hell is a trog? Do I want to know? Is that short for troglodyte?”
“Savage creatures!” she said, nodding emphatically. “They’re humanoid, but not people, trust me! They’re cannibalistic, have big fangs and long arms, and they wear the skins of anything they kill, including people! A traveling circus came through Tarnish once, and they had one. They kept it chained and threw live chickens to it as a kind of show. I only saw it for a minute before my auntie covered my eyes and pulled me away.” Haley sighed from within her hood. “I’d shudder, I’m sure, if I weren’t so damned unnatural.”
Ward looked at her sharply, “Hey!” He pulled on his reins, and Haley followed suit, slowing the horses to a near stop.
“It’s true, Ward. I’m not right. I have to tell myself that this is exciting. I have to remind myself that I should feel horrified for that girl.”
“Haley…” Grace started to speak, but her voice faded. Was she at a loss for words? Ward found it hard to believe.
“Listen,” he said, “I don’t know what exactly changed in you from that spell, but Haley’s still in there.” He reached over and grabbed her wrist, pulling it toward him. “Look at me.”
She resisted at first, staring down at her saddle horn. After a moment, though, she turned toward him, staring out from the depths of her hood. Ward locked eyes with her. “You’re still you, in there, Haley. If you have to remind yourself what that means from time to time, then do it. The more you practice, the easier it’ll get. Sooner or later, you’re going to feel what you know you should feel without even trying.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Do you really believe that?” she asked.
Ward nodded. “I do. You were affected by death and by the magic that brought you back, but you’re still you, and your spirit is too damn strong to get changed forever. Just keep remembering how you know you should be, okay? I think that’s important. Don’t let it slip away.”
She ducked her head, and when she looked up, her eyes were determined. “I won’t, Ward. I’ll keep reminding myself.”
“Attagirl.” Ward smiled and then nodded up the road. “See that woman waving at us? You were right to want to help her. Come on!” He nudged Nutmeg with his bootheels and clicked his tongue, and the horses both leaped into motion. Soon, they were rolling in a smooth canter toward the woman who kept waving the entire time they approached.
In his right ear, away from Haley, Grace whispered, “That was very well done, Ward. I hope you’re right. You sounded so sure. Do you really believe it?” Ward didn’t reply, but he tilted his head in the affirmative. Grace squeezed him around the ribs—Ward hated how she could shift position around him in an instant. Then he pulled on the reins, and he, Haley, and the huffing, snorting horses were before the woman.
She was short, stocky, with long, salt-and-pepper gray hair. She didn’t look old, though; her hair was just graying early. “Thank you for stopping! My daughter—”
Ward tipped his hat up and smiled, waving his hand. “We got the story from the guy on the steam wagon.” He pointed behind her, past a big, yellow farmhouse, toward the hills beyond. “You really think trogs have your girl?”
“There’s a pack of ‘em up there, sir! They took a goat last week, and my husband made a report to the sheriff down in Port Granite. They’re supposed to hunt ‘em out soon, but—”
Ward nodded. “Okay, listen, keep looking for help, but point us in the direction where your goats graze. That’s the last place your daughter was, right?”
“Yes! Oh, thank you, sir!” She made a funny gesture, curling her hand into an O and pressing it to her forehead. “I wouldn’t have thought a sorcerer would stop to help the likes of me. Thank you, sir!” She turned to Haley. “Thank you, milady.”
Ward just nodded, but Haley opened her cloak to reveal the hilt of her sword. She put her hand on it and asked, “How many trogs, do you think?”
“My husband said he was sure he saw five different sets of tracks. He said one was an alpha, ma’am, twice the size of t’others.” She turned and pointed to the left of a big gray barn. “The track my daughter takes is just yonder, past the barn. You can’t miss it; it’s worn deep from the goats. There’s a meadow about a mile up the track. It’s bordered with berry brambles, and the goats just love it up there.”
“How old is she? What’s her name?” Ward found his fingers reaching for his old notepad and suddenly wished he had one handy.
“My Rini’s just fifteen, sir.”
“All right. If your husband gets back with the sheriff’s men, make sure you let ‘em know we went up there.”
“I will, sir! Thank you so much!” The woman had been wringing her hands nervously, but now she reached up toward Ward as though she wanted to squeeze his hand. He stretched down from the saddle and took her small, hard-calloused hand in his.
“We’ll do what we can.” Ward straightened and pointed to a gap in the fence a bit further on. “Let’s go, Haley.” He clicked his tongue, and Nutmeg started forward. Soon, he and Haley were trotting over the field, past the barn, and onto a narrow dirt trail leading into the hills.
“Can you track?” Grace asked. “If not, you should know I’m quite good at it.”
“Good.” Ward didn’t elaborate on the fact that he hadn’t hunted in more than twenty years. He didn’t doubt that he could spot clues that might lead him to the trog lair, especially if they weren’t exactly geniuses, but he was happy to let Grace do the tracking. As they followed the meandering track through the hills, he dug into his saddlebag and pulled out the knife Haley had taken from Nevkin. Ward had enchanted it and his other bowie-style knife when they’d stayed in the inn at Children’s Crossing.
“Two knives against at least five trogs?” Grace asked, leaning over his shoulder.
“Two knives and Haley. Yeah, I wish I had another weapon, though.” Ward turned to speak over his shoulder to Haley. “Let’s stop for a minute so I can put my armor on.” The leather coat with its heavy metal rings was a decent piece of armor, but it was uncomfortable, so Ward preferred to ride in just his wool coat.
Haley nodded. “I want to run through my forms quickly.”
“Right. Good idea.” Ward pulled on the reins, bringing Nutmeg to a halt, then shrugged off his coat. The air was chilly but not overly so. The sun was high in the sky, and the weather had been nice. He dug his armor out of the pack he had slung beside his saddlebag, grunting as he worked it on over his head and shoulders. Once he was done, he sat, scanning the hillsides, waiting for Haley to finish going through her strange martial arts dance.
After just a few minutes, she nodded, her cheeks slightly flushed, and leaped into her saddle. “I only went through them once, but I don’t want to keep her waiting—trogs are nasty creatures, Ward. I’m not sure we can take five. What if there are more? If five were out hunting, there might be more in their lair. Do you think there’s any chance this girl is still alive?”
Ward lifted his hat from his saddle horn and settled it on his head. “I have no damn idea. I hope so. Maybe they’re eating the goats first.”
“Are your spells prepared?” Grace asked.
“Yeah.” Ward nudged Nutmeg, and the horse started forward. “Can’t be much further.” When they reached the meadow, it was evident that the goats had been there for a while. The yellowed grass was chewed down to the dirt, and the berry brambles were also well-trimmed back into a wide gully between two hills. Still, it wasn’t hard to see what had gotten Rini’s father running toward town for help—the bloody, skeletal remains of a goat sat in the center of the clearing, and all around it were deep, clawed, four-toed footprints.
Looking up the hillside leading further south, Haley observed, “I don’t think it’ll be hard to track them.” Ward followed her gaze and had to agree; the tracks were deep, but beyond that, the tell-tale drips and splashes of blood provided a bright reminder of the situation's urgency.
“I’m guessing they live in a cave?”
“That’s how the story always goes.” Haley touched her heels to Wind Queen’s flank, and the horse started up the hill, following the trail of clawed prints. Nutmeg followed at Ward’s urging, but the horse was acting skittish, his ears swiveling left and right as he snorted. Haley glanced over her shoulder. “The horses don’t like the blood.”
“They going to be all right?” Ward patted Nutmeg’s neck. “Easy, boy.”
Haley peered up the sides of the hills; they were growing taller, and the foliage along their slopes thicker. “They’ll be fine if the blood doesn’t get much worse. Unless we’re attacked, I suppose. Neither of them are trained for combat. If they come at us, we should let the horses run so we can get clear and then circle back.”
“All right.” Ward studied the ground as they made steady progress over and around small hills, and soon, they were in the shadow of a deep gully. He scanned the hillsides, wary of ambush, trying to peer through thick scrub and short but densely leafed trees.
“Look,” Grace said, reaching past him to point. Ward followed her finger to a dark spot high on the slope to his left.
“Hold up, Haley. There’s a cave up there.”
Haley slid out of Wind Queen’s saddle and began rummaging through a saddle bag. “I’ve got a decent lantern.”
Ward got off Nutmeg and stretched while Grace walked around the horses, staring at the ground. “I believe that’s where they were headed.” She looked at Haley. “You should leave the horses loose so they can run.”
“I agree. I’ll not have Wind Queen become a trog’s dinner.”
Ward frowned at his saddlebags and pack. He loathed the idea of leaving all of his belongings unwatched. He unslung his backpack, ensuring the mana-well and his grimoire were inside, then, grunting with the effort in his ring mail armor, slung it over his shoulders. “C’mon.” Without further delay, he started up the slope, using rocks, roots, and clumps of dry, yellow grass as footholds. He could hear Haley moving behind him, her steps far softer than his as he laboriously hauled his heavy frame, armor, and pack up the hill.
“On the bright side,” Grace said, daintily traipsing beside him, “I don’t see much cover on the way to that cave. I doubt they’ll—Look out!” Ward had already seen the missile coming—that’s how Grace knew about it. He ducked his shoulder, and the rock sailed past him. He heard Haley grunt as she hit the deck. Ward scrabbled over behind a clump of wiry brush with tiny green leaves and peered up the slope at the figure that had emerged from a difficult-to-see depression in the hillside.
It looked like a man—a twisted, hairy, gray-skinned man with too few fingers, inch-long black claws, and red eyes set in deep hollows beneath a heavy, bony brow. It hooted, scooped up another fist-sized rock, and hurled it. Ward rolled to his left, and the stone whistled through the air, smashing through the branches of the bush he’d been hiding behind. “You need to close with it!” Grace shouted.
“No shit,” Ward grunted, getting his feet underneath him and charging up the slope, aiming for a large rock halfway between him and the trog. He was still three steps away from cover when the next rock came whistling through the air. Ward dove for it, and the stone just missed him as he slid on his chest behind the boulder. He glanced over his shoulder to see Haley also hunkered behind a clump of big rocks about twenty feet to his right. She saw him looking and nodded. Ward poked his head up, just for a second, to get a look at their aggressor, and the creature howled and threw another rock.
Ward ducked and waited for it to sail past, and then he was up, knife out, charging for the creature. He took two steps, crouching as he went, fighting the slope, and nervous about being hit with a follow-up stone, but the trog didn’t pick up a rock; it hefted a sharpened length of wood and spread its too-wide mouth into a savage, hungry grin, exposing dozens of pointy, saliva-slick teeth. “Not a good look, Ward,” Grace said. “He’s got the slope, the reach, and—"
“Not helping, Grace,” Ward growled, moving around the trog to the left, hoping he could get it to expose its flank to Haley. That was when he heard the rustling in the brush, and another of the monsters came barreling down the slope, this one wielding a heavy, gnarled branch as a club. “All right,” Ward sighed. “Here we go.” He flipped his knife, catching the point between his fingers, and lifted it to throw. “Catch, asshole!”