[Epik Fantasy 01.0] Hero in a Halfling Read online

  “I assure you,” Gerdy said. “He’s not.”

  She didn’t seem happy about this prospect at all.

  “Well I’d wouldn’t usually take the word of a lady, but you’re not—“

  “Watch it!” Epik growled with more muster than he thought possible. He really was beginning to take a liking to her.

  “Fine,” Coe laughed, “a game it is then. And because it’s your money on the line, I’ll even give you a head start. Hounds and Hares, you ever heard of it?”

  Epik shook his head. There was a lot of things he hadn’t heard of.

  “I start at the top of the board, twenty. And we’ll say ten rounds, you start ten spots ahead, at the bottom, spot three. Each time I gain a space, you buy and I drink a round. If you go one ahead, I’ll buy you a round. Sound fair?”

  Epik nodded, though it really didn’t. He would need a hundred tries to match one of the ranger’s attempts. But this was what Gabby wanted, he thought.

  “And I’ll warn you,” Coe said snidely, “I play better when I’m drunk.”

  “And if I make it back around,” Epik said. “The jesting stops.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

  Coe gave him a look; he smiled flippantly. “It won't come to that."

  "But if it does, the jesting stops.“

  “It won’t,” the ranger managed to say through gritted teeth but agreed reluctantly after. “If it does then I guess it stops.” He rubbed his jaw like it had done something wrong.

  Myra came over and took a spot by Gerdy along the wall. The morning’s grievances forgotten or buried away.

  Collus stood, slipping off his leather jerkin to reveal a pale blue linen shirt. A narrow slit ran across the chest of the man’s shirt; a fresh scar ran beneath that. He yanked the darts from the board with one swipe of his battered hands, and plunged one dart down into Epik’s fist.

  “It’s settled then. Let’s play. And,” Coe said, grinning. “The turn doesn’t change until we miss.”

  Epik found the off color wooden plank that served as the marker for his feet. He stood as Gerdy had taught him, with a little bend in the knee. The bar was silent. A chill of nervousness washed over his body. He took a deep breath. And he nailed the first dart in the wedge. Lucky, he thought. But he missed the next dart. Coe equaled him, quickly finding his target at the top of the board.

  The next two were the ranger’s. Two rounds of drink drunk eagerly. Loftily. Then it was Coe’s turn to miss. He studied the remaining darts in his hand wearily before handing another to Epik.

  The halfling made the next one to the oohs of the onlookers. He couldn’t believe he was actually making a game of it. Another miss on the next one.

  “Your forms all wrong,” Coe suggested. “You’ll want to put some more spring in the ankle. Like this!”

  Collus found his mark.

  The ranger went up two more places before Epik found the target again. Four rounds of ale. Epik’s savings were already close to depleted. He’d have to live on Snow’s stew for the remainder of his life. No more croissants. Behind him, Gerdy made little sounds with every throw. Even Myra’s attention was locked on the halfling. She stood close behind him so close Epik that could smell her. She even smelled pretty.

  Epik missed again.

  By this time the sergeant had left the bar—off to take his spot along the missing bit of the Wall. Epik was glad to see him go, not wanting to be any more embarrassed than he already was.

  Coe smiled madly. His dimpled left cheek caved in like a canyon. The thin wisps of his beard made a heart shape around his mouth. “Well, I think it’s time to put this to bed,” the ranger said. He stood and swaggered to the position, overconfident. He paid more attention to looking down at Epik smugly than lining up his shot. The dart veered off course. It was the first time the ranger had missed on a first attempt.

  And the bar erupted in laughter.

  Rotrick snorted.

  “It’s okay mate,” he said. “I believe even His Airness missed from time to time.”

  Coe muttered a curse under his breath; one that would have prickled the ears of a fish. Then he stumbled back affronted.

  “Who’s His Airness?” Myra asked.

  “A Knight of the Hardwood,” Collus said, sulking.

  Epik was able to win one back. Gerdy came around from the bar, a single pint glass the only thing encumbering the tray. She placed it on a table and handed the beer gingerly to the halfling.

  “Don’t be letting it get to your head,” she whispered.

  Epik drank. He had a chance to make up a few places—if he could only hold it together.

  Now, the physiology of halflings had never been studied in earnest. But it could be proven that the neurological effects of food and drink on a halfling were something akin to meditation to a practicing monk. Just the one beer drew Epik closer to enlightenment.

  He centered himself to the board.

  He readied.

  He aimed.

  “Fire!” an archer yelled.

  A single arrow sliced through the night air.

  “What are you doin’ up there?” Todder yelled up at the boys—at the men, he corrected his thoughts. Three of them now stood on the rampart, notching arrows and firing them into the darkness.

  “Target practice,” one of them yelled. “I believe I hit your stool from last night.”

  The other two laughed.

  “You kids and your poo jokes,” Todder muttered. “We need to save them arrows.”

  He took his seat. “And that’s an order!” he yelled.

  “Yes, Sarge—ant,” one said as he was audibly elbowed in the rib cage, the others laughing heartily.

  The wooden chair was uncomfortable; the armrests dug into his sides. His backside barely fit between them.

  Another night of this nonsense at the Wall. This time of night, an old man was supposed to be asleep in his bed—or at worst, in his tomb. The sergeant shuddered. There was a reason he never volunteered to go out on a march. It’s not that he never wanted to see the world. It was the fighting of battles—people usually wound up dead.

  Todder’s mind wandered elsewhere. The poor halfling. If he wasn’t poor before, he definitely would be now. Ten rounds for the ranger. And the humility. But Collus would have to go back out eventually, out into the world to make his living.

  “Eleven o’clock and all’s well,” a watchman yelled out in the Jersy street.

  Todder stood from the chair, wavering on his feet. He could just sit back down now and call it a night. No, he thought. And he strode over to the young guard.

  “Well, Brendon, is all well? I mean, did ya even check?”

  Brendon shrugged. He slouched, using his pike to lean on and stretch.

  “I mean, it looks pretty okay, out there, doesn’t it?” He pointed to the expanse of the city behind them. While lamps along the roads in Jersy were lit, most windows were dark and shuttered The city across the river, however, was still aglow, still bustling.

  The boy had a point.

  “Come on,” he growled. “Let’s at least give it a look.” He waved back at the men along the wall. “Gareth, you have the conn.”

  “It’s Garrett, Sarge.”

  “Garrett,” Todder sighed, “you have the conn.”

  “I have the conn, Sergeant.”

  Todder and Brendan crossed over the river to give the city a proper look.

  16

  Men at Arms

  Thunk! An arrow landed among the tall grass. They were close now—close to the city and its bright lights. The smells of cooking, and humans, and of sewage fused together, wafting aromatically into Al’s stubby snout like an aphrodisiac. Humans. He shuddered ever so slightly, bringing his carnivorous desires back in check.

  This was how he’d wound up with Kelly and then later the small Boulder in the first place. A human climber had tried to summit the tallest of the Tenzing Mountains. Al and Peg were on their third date. The first
two had been innocent enough. They’d hunted goats and larked nastily along a stream.

  But that night, on their third date, Al and Peg had found a hot spring and sank into its depths for a while, letting it warm all the chambers of their insides.

  And when the climber happened by… Al had never tasted human flesh before. It was exciting and exotic. Peg encouraged him to go all the way. And after, they went all the way, too. Kelly was born six years later. Bould was born six and a half years after that. Cave troll twins, as they were called.

  “Did you see that?” Al asked, pointing to the arrow.

  Boulder rolled beneath him; he shrugged.

  “Do you think… they’re ready for us?” Peggy asked both skeptically and gruffly.

  She had seen better days, Al thought. The rocky patch of skin that had always dangled so gizzard like under her neck was thinning. And those wrinkly leather-like legs he had loved so much, well they’d all but faded into smooth stone.

  “Nah.” Al motioned them forward. “Arrows aren’t a match for trolls.”

  “How many should we eat tonight?” Kelly asked.

  “One for roasting,” Peggy said, thoughtfully. “And two for stew.”

  Boulder counted it out on his fingers. The number took the lot of one stubby hand. “So,” he said, stalling. “Many?”

  “Many!” Al beamed with pride. Trolls were not the best at counting.

  A wall, what a novel concept, Al thought. Like a wall could stop anyone with a mind to cross it.

  They could see them now, the humans, lining the open expanse between the Wall. A few of them even sat lazily on the top of it.

  “Must be fast,” a troll-like voice said. “Sun be up before know it.”

  “Yes,” Al agreed (with what seemed to the others like himself). Except he didn’t talk like that—with a cave troll accent.

  Finally, the torches of firelight flickered off their mossy skin. And for the humans, it was all but too late.

  “Trolls!” one of the archers yelled. Frankie, Garrett thought. He looked up just in time to see the rampart beneath Frank become the stone bits above him.

  Garrett had seen a picture of a troll in a storybook once. He remembered it, all funny looking with a nose that took up most of its face and hair sprouting oddly all over its body. It stood under a bridge. He’d always liked that story growing up. Those billygoats were smart, he had thought to himself.

  But the trolls hurtling toward him now bore no resemblance to the one in the book. The first troll had a nose like a pig’s snout, while another’s nose was long and crooked. The two largest trolls were as big as the Wall itself, their gray skin almost the same color. It was leathery, no hair on it at all.

  Once, Garrett had been bitten by a dog. It was a mean, vicious looking dog. He’d run from it when he’d heard it growling. And at the time, he remembered thinking how weird it was that some dogs could look almost the same as this one but put on a wholly different facade. He couldn’t imagine anyone ever thinking that about a troll. They were like a nightmare, and their bite was even worse. Much worse.

  The trolls made easy work of the rest of the Watch. And either Garrett lost the conn, or more likely, he had never really had it at all.

  But the Watch wasn't what the trolls were after. They left them either dead or dying along the Wall. Most were rail thin, underfed, and gangly. The trolls had a different prey in mind. They spread out, advancing over the river and into the city. They demolished carts. Lampposts were left cut down in their wake as their club-like arms nudged into them. Al worked west while Boulder went straight north and found some of the tiny humans in the park—just the right size for his stunted paws.

  The others went east. Kelly pried open a local candle shop. The shopkeep, on his chamber pot for the fourth time that night, went into her burlap sack without incident, but the owner of Denise’s Kustom Kraft Jewelry, several shops away, screamed before Peg stuffed the woman inside.

  Sergeant Todder fell back to a typical routine—of avoiding trouble where he could. Just because he’d always been the biggest and the strongest, didn’t mean he wanted to put any of that to use. He was a gentle giant. And always would be, he thought.

  He and Brendan had started toward the park. But there could be trouble at the park—in fact, there usually was. So, instead, he began to veer off toward the upper west side, where at least he knew the people were civil.

  Brendan bobbed behind him. His pike rested lazily on the boy’s shoulder. Brendan was a young man, probably about the same age Todder had been when he joined the Watch.

  “So,” Todder began. “Where are ya from?”

  “Oh, here,” Brendan said, “Dune All-En.”

  “Right.” Todder sighed. What had he expected? “I meant, what part of the city, lad?”

  “Oh, erm… Originally uptown. But I lived in the park since I was about twelve.”

  “And you joined the Watch?”

  “Yeah,” Brendan said confidently. “Just the other day—the day we met. Dad was in the Army; I thought I’d do my part. Plus, ya know, I stole a few bottles of wine…”

  Todder nodded. “And how do ya like the Watch, so far?”

  “It’s not bad, ya know, a gold doubloon every month, a place to lay my head every night—well, mornings now.”

  “A gold a month?” the sergeant spluttered.

  “Well yeah, but it’s taxed at fifty percent, it’n it?”

  “Oh, um, right,” Todder agreed. He knew he’d never pushed much for pay increases, never joining the union and all that. But paying the damn recruits the same amount as him? He grimaced.

  The two pressed forward. The streets were empty, only the occasional drunken passerby. The thieves knew to stay well enough away, either because a watchmen’s purse was light or because even a scratch from a dull sword will bleed. Instead, they sank into dark allies so not to meet them on the lit street. It was a quiet night by the city’s standards. Sporadically, as they passed the occasional bar, the air would be filled with laughter and song. Presently, a low rumbling of singing fizzled out of MacLaren’s Pub.

  “Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral,” they sang, “Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Li.”

  As they circled back to Kings, Todder realized that a trip to the Forge, this time of night, was unwise. Dwarves and drink and all. He adjusted course.

  The palace was lit to the nines. Its occasional stained-glass window was speckled with reds, blues, and greens. The uneven towers were lit with torch light. It looked like a beacon set high on the cliff above the sea. It towered over the city in a way that gave Todder's heart a bit of a fit if he looked at it too long.

  Every few feet a real guard—a Palace Guard—stood stone faced along its wall. They dressed in purple and had huge plumed hats that they wore low on their brow.

  “Does it take much training to become a Palace Guard?” Brendan asked.

  Todder towered over Brendan, though the boy was in good health. He looked physically fit like maybe he’d done a few dozen pushups every day of his life.

  “Yer askin’ the wrong man,” Todder said. “But I believe the training’s a bit more… um… rigorous.”

  “There’s training?”

  “There is fer them.” Todder laughed.

  They headed back for Jersy, cutting through Madhatten but around the park.

  “Well, I guess all is well,” Todder said.

  “Yeah Sarge,” Brendan said. “I believe I really can say it’s 11:59 and all’s well.”

  They stopped. A faint wind rippled through the air. Along it came a frantic bit of laughter from the palace behind them.

  Then, in direct and counter response to all being well, they heard a piercing roar and a scream. They came from different directions, causing both men to jerk around in opposite ways.

  17

  Flight of the Phoenix

  Sometimes ideas came to him like the spry mind of a child, a child with one of those imagination things. And when they did, Nacer wondered what took them so
long. He was having one of those thoughts right now.

  “Come in,” he said. He could hear the knight’s heavy breathing as he bumbled all the way down the hall. It was weird to see him without the armor, in a long blue nightshirt and slippers. A nightcap sat crookedly on his head.

  It was also obvious this was new to him. Sir Robert hung by the door.

  “You can take a seat,” Nacer pointed to the chair across from his desk.

  The knight nodded, then sat down, unspeaking.

  “I’ve been thinking. Well, I’m always thinking. But, particularly, I’ve been thinking that you and I have a shared interest. Do you know what happens to knights after their king has fallen?”

  Sir Robert gave a halfhearted shrug. He knew.

  “Well, it’s probably the same thing that happens to Grand Counselors. Death and I don’t see eye to eye. Not yet. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

  Sir Robert went to pick something out of his teeth with his fingernail.

  “I guess not. What I’m getting at is, I need your help. I don’t want the king to do anything more with the troops. If he sends a messenger, I need you to stop him. Do you think you can do that?”

  Sir Robert nodded, looking away. He wasn’t fully invested. But his foot was in the door. And his foot hadn’t tried to trip Nacer all day.

  An hour later, Nacer stalked down the corridors to the lavatory. The castle was dim this late at night. He carried a small candlestick, lighting his way. But just as he turned a corner, a Shadow moved along the wall.

  “I have the name.”

  Nacer barely heard the voice.

  “What? Who’s there?” He stumbled back.

  “I said, I have a name.”

  “What is it?” Nacer asked, recovering quickly, recognizing the voice. This operative was obviously good at what he does. Too good, Nacer thought.

  “Epiman,” the voice said. “G. Banksy Epiman. Master Investor.”

  A laugh bubbled to the surface of Nacer’s lips, attempting to part them. It was such an unusual occurrence that he clenched his teeth out of reflex, only allowing the sound to break free from his nose. It continued like this for several seconds before he gave in, laughing heartily, opened mouth and maniacal.