Chapter 8

Day 3:

The following morning was spent setting up a marginally adequate waste disposal system for him. It wasn’t perfect, but would allow him to skip wearing a diaper. Sort of anyway. The catheter still went in, but there wouldn’t be any getting around that. The tech who hooked it up he’d never seen before, and kept a scrub mask on. She remarked that his system was an adaptation to the ones used by the Big Four space corporations. Even NASA had purchased the commercial solution for all manned spacecraft after they became common. John just hoped it worked, since he wouldn’t be aware of any problems.

Almost exactly twenty-three hours after unhooking, he was back in harness and ready to go.

“You sure you want to go early?” Veronyka asked him, holding the final cable.

“Let’s do it.” John affirmed. “I’m betting at least one of them is already there. Too bad you can’t check for me.”

“Sorry.” She apologized.

“No problem. Hook me up, doc!” He winked.

She had to lean around his head, and her lips brushed his cheek. The non-scarred one, the more sensitive one. “Good luck!” She whispered.

He opened his mouth to thank her, and was back inside.

Welcome back, Visitor. As you still have not completed any prerequisites, only the First World is available to you. Do you wish to return to your previous location?

“Two questions, if I may.” John tried. “First, what are the prerequisites you’re talking about? And if I wanted to go to a different location, could I?”

“Oh, wow. Okay, um, what is the cost, and what size area are we talking about? Oh, and what criteria are there that I need to meet?”

You must sacrifice either time, or a temporary reduction in one of your physical or sensory traits.

The areas are of differing sizes.

The criteria specifics are not available to you before meeting them. Once you meet them, you will be informed.

“How much time? How long will the reduction last? Is my handicap voluntary, or picked for me?”

One week for each area beyond the one you occupy. Plus one week for the one you came from.

The reduction lasts for a month, according to the same formula.

The handicap is chosen randomly, weighted toward traits you rely upon.

“And what are these Challenges I have to complete?” His heart was pounding.

That information you must find for yourself.

“Well, shit.” He muttered. “Okay, send me back to the End village.”

And he was there. Sygraid was waiting for him in the dim morning light. She was fully armed, scanning the horizon.

“You return.” She said without looking. “And early as well, though not too early.”

“Got everything I needed to worked out, so I came back to see how you are doing.” He told her.

He checked himself, and found all his weapons, armor and clothing as they were the previous day. Including the snowshoes, he grinned at seeing. He shuffled to the edge and stepped off. The flames winked out, and Sygraid waved for him to lead back to the wall.

“You look more vigilant than yesterday,” John commented after a few minutes. “Did something happen?”

“I do not like the questions the Infernal was asking. He stood on the wall and watched you disappear yesterday. I believe he knows your secret, and there was no way to prevent him from learning it.” She sounded frustrated.

“Yeah, he’s a real dick, isn’t he?” John agreed. “But he’d already guessed about that, so we didn’t lose much. Let’s see what he does when we get back. Is he still in town?”

“Yes, he pays for his room and food, and wanders about town asking annoying questions and making rude comments.” Sygraid muttered. “We cannot honorably send him away so long as he pays and obeys our laws.”

“Are there any laws or rules that apply to him, but maybe don’t to me, or you?” He tried.

“No. We are a fair people.” Sygraid replied stiffly.

“Anything else happen?” He asked.

“No, nothing—trolls!” She picked up her pace, passing him easily. He struggled to keep up without tripping.

Three great shaggy white figures rose from the snow. They’d been hiding near where he slew the varg. All were identical, as far as John could tell. Generally humanoid in shape, but standing around seven feet tall, they were covered in long, thick white hair. The only parts visible were their blue eyes, without any internal structure and lips, and their palms. They wielded tree-trunk clubs. One had a giant stone spike shoved through the end of his club, while another bore two shorter ones, covered with wicked-looking thorns. Those two faced the charging Shield-maiden, while the third turned to face the town. John could hear shouts of alarm coming from the Watch, but he focused on backing up his partner.

Sygraid led with her spear. The thorn club troll tried to swat it aside, but she avoided the strike easily and jammed the tip into its chest. She shouted two words he didn’t know, grounded the butt into the snow at her feet, then drew her sword and crouched behind her shield facing the other one. That troll chopped his clubs at her head, but she raised her shield to intercept. A double boom echoed across the landscape, but she appeared unfazed.

John swung wide, looking for an opening. The thorn troll was trying to pull the spear out, and failing. And the butt looked like it was fixed in place, keeping him just far enough away that he couldn’t hit Sygraid from where he stood. Trusting that Sygraid wouldn’t be ignoring the thorn bearer without a really good reason, John angled behind the other troll. She kept jabbing at it with her sword, keeping the thing’s attention on her. When John got within range, she shouted at him.

“Fire! Hamstring!”

He activated his tomahawk, angling the blade at the back of the troll’s leg. Then he followed up with a knife slice lower, just behind where he guessed the thing’s ankle should be. Then he had to duck as the troll spun, backhanding at him. There was a crackling sound, and John felt a flash of heat with his face. The beast roared, and he awkwardly back-pedaled at it swung at him in a flurry. When he got a decent look, the leg he’d hit was limping badly, and a fire was spreading in the hair covering it.

Sygraid was stabbing double-club in the back as quickly as she could, but the third troll was bladed towards her, swinging its own club so she had to use her shield to parry. Taunts and cries from several approaching villagers were keeping the final troll from completely committing to John and Sygraid, but it was doing enough to keep her from finishing off the troll flailing at John. It took only one good blow to knock John into the snow. His left upper arm screamed, but he rolled, kicking his snowshoes free and avoiding the follow-up strike.

Fortunately, the thorn troll, who had been circling to get at John, was coming around the other side. John’s roll had taken him away from that one. He couldn’t stay in place and trade blows with something that outweighed him by up to double. He needed mobility. He sank into the snow, up to his knees, and used the tomahawk’s spike to uppercut right between the troll’s legs. He activated Death on impact, and got the response he’d hoped for. The monster forgot about him instantly, dropping both clubs and toppling with his hands cradling his groin. The troll’s bowels released, a putrid stream of the most foul dung poured from it’s anus. It froze almost immediately upon hitting the snow, but he still jumped back involuntarily.

“Fuck me!” He exclaimed.

Sygraid took advantage of the distraction to bat the third troll’s club aside and slice at its legs. Blue-black blood flowed from multiple cuts on both, as the beast staggered. She pressed him, shoving with her shield to keep him off balance.

“Light him on fire!” She called to John, as he pushed to get behind the troll writhing in the snow, but avoided the pile of shit beside it.

He chopped twice at that one, setting its back hair on fire, then with a wince, pushed the ax head into the pile of feces and set that on fire. He pulled it back out, the edge coated in a thin film of burning crap and threw Gentle Breeze at the one Sygraid faced. That troll’s attention was still on her, and the tomahawk blurred into its chest. A fireball burst out from the impact wound, which made the troll scream. He batted the tomahawk to the ground, and belly-flopped into the snow trying to smother the flames. Sygraid dove in, jamming her sword into its back and severing the spine. John copied her, pulling his second blade out and stabbing the troll he was behind in the upper back as many times as he could. Its entire lower body was on fire, and it made a horrific hiccuping scream.

He didn’t lose sight of the thorn troll though. That monster was approaching John’s position. He made sure to keep the downed troll between himself and the spear-stabbed one trying to get at him. The fact that the downed troll’s body was aflame made Thorny visibly shy away. First rule of hand-to-hand combat against a group: try to maneuver so one opponent is blocking as many others as possible. John stayed low, ducking and crouching to give Thorny a smaller target. The troll seemed not to care when its strikes hit its teammate, and John kept blindly stabbing the downed one’s back as he ducked and dodged.

He heard a cheer from the approaching villagers, and hoped that meant Sygraid had taken care of the third one. When she didn’t immediately reappear, he tried risking a glance in her direction, but Thorny nearly took his head off.

“Syg, a little help here!” He called.

What was that? Melvin said.

“Shut up Melvin!” He growled.

Sorry.

“Cut its head off!” She told him.

A moment later, a giant hairy smoldering bowling ball smacked into Thorny’s chest.

“Like that!” She added, sounding closer.

“Little busy right now!” He ducked again.

Then she was there, stepping on Writhing’s head to get herself in front of Thorny. She took a blow on her shield, and followed it with a quick chest jab.

“I have this one. Kill the other!” She ordered.

John stabbed both blades into Writhing’s neck, and sawed for all his was worth. He kept repeating the words for Separate and Split in Dwarvish until the head fell off. A second cheer sounded from the villagers, telling him they were coming fast. He looked up just in time to see them swarm Thorny. Rorik and Heegan both carried spears, which they stabbed into the troll from different angles. Another armored villager John didn’t know ran up and smashed an odd-shaped torch into its back. There was a shattering sound, then the whoosh of fire as Thorny’s back and shoulders went up in flames. Thorny screamed, and tried to fall back into the snow, but Sygraid’s spear kept his upper body in place, so the troll landed on his ass. Rorik and Heegan ran in and jammed knives into Thorny’s eyes before sawing his head off as well.

Deni appeared just as they were finishing, and he jammed a spear into an already ruined eye. The head tore free, and Deni tripped as his momentum carried him across his mother’s spear shaft. Deni’s spear rebounded off the troll’s shoulders and levered underneath him to fling the head far out into the snow. The building cheers at their victory turned to laughter at the sight. Deni stood back up, lip trembling and in that moment, John could see every bit of the eight-year-old boy in him.

He walked over as tears spilled and grabbed the kid’s shoulders.

“Deni!” He shouted to be heard. “You came to help!”

Deni looked up at him with all the worship an unblooded youth has for a hero.

“I tried!” Deni explained.

“You did!” John agreed. “You ran into the fight. You came to aid your mother and me. Thank you!”

A hesitant smile broke out.

He leaned close. “I wanted to be brave, but I wasn’t fast enough. I’m glad you’re all right.”

John nodded. “Your legs are shorter than theirs right now. So remember that, when you’re taller. And faster!”

“I will!” Deni promised.

“Deni?” Sygraid snapped.

Deni’s smile vanished. He bowed his head as he turned to face her.

She looked at him in silence, as the other men gathered around but didn’t speak.

“That was the best troll head-fling I’ve ever seen!” She grinned suddenly.

“Good job, catapult!” John added, punching Deni’s shoulder as the men cheered again.

Sygraid looked at John. “What did you call him?”

John mentally reviewed what he’d said. Oh, catapult was an English word.

How long have I been speaking Norse without you translating? He asked.

Nearly the entire fight. Since you told me to shut up. Melvin replied.

Well, damn. Don’t quit on me now, though. I don’t totally have the hang of it yet.

No problem. I’ve got your back. He could hear Melvin’s smile.

“Uh, do you have a word for a device which uses a weight to fling heavy rocks or other stuff at distant enemies?” John asked.

“Ah, you mean it rotates, with a long arm to swing the object high into the air?” Rorik asked.

“Yeah, something like that.” John confirmed.

He probably means a trebuchet, by that description. Colonel Mason said.

“Yes, we have that.” Rorik told him.

He turned and looked at his son. “Trebuchet!”

All the warriors laughed, slapping Deni’s shoulder.

Deni looked back at John, who smiled and winked. He leaned over.

“Years from now, when somebody asks you why you’re called Trebuchet, you tell them its because you’re the best spear and rock thrower in the whole End. And I promise, any of us here will back your version.” John told him.

“But, that’s not true!” Deni protested.

“Maybe not. You know, and we all know the real reason.” John agreed. “But anybody who wasn’t here doesn’t need to know. It’s a bond between warriors. But!” John held up a finger. “You’ll have to live up to the name!”

“I will!” Deni stood straighter.

“Trebuchet!” John cheered, and they all joined him another time.

It was several hours later when Sygraid, Rorik, Deni and John trooped into the inn common room. Runa was just tossing more wood to build up the fire, and Halphis was warming himself by standing nearly inside the ring. The four were laughing and joking with each other. Several times while they were dragging the troll carcasses back into the village, John had complimented Deni on his hard work, and every time the lad seemed to move just a little faster or do one more thing. It was Deni who found Gentle Breeze, where the troll’s body had crushed it into the snow. He had the haft resting on his shoulder, since John had loaned it to him while they completed the grisly task of butchering the trolls’ bodies.

According to the villagers, trolls had incredible regenerating abilities, and items made from them would sometimes retain that trait. The village didn’t have an alchemist, but there was one in Last Watchtower, the next village to the south west. Two runners were dispatched to relay the news and return with her if she wanted supplies.

Halphis studied the foursome as they took off cloaks and hung up weapons. Rorik showed John the hooks near the door that he said were for any weapons John cared to hang there. Deni reverently put Gentle Breeze on them.

“And no one takes what’s not theirs?” John confirmed.

“Some are known to be community property.” Rorik acknowledged. “But if someone is unsure, they will ask me, or Runa or Syg or ... Trebuchet!” He grabbed the boy and they laughed together.

“A fine battle.” Halphis told them.

All four smiles vanished, and they turned as one to glare at him.

“Peace,” he said, holding his hands up. “I am serious. You, and you were outnumbered and surprised. Against most other opponents, I believe the trolls would have prevailed.” He looked at Rorik. “Do you agree?”

Rorik nodded. “Yes. Sygraid’s reputation is well-earned. She has much experience fighting trolls, even in groups. She carries weapons specifically made for her to use against them.”

“I am told that even though they are not the largest of the giants, you consider them the most dangerous. Is this true?” Halphis asked.

“Yeah,” Rorik agreed, waving everyone to seats around the fire.

John eagerly warmed himself. He loved the cold, but damn if this place wasn’t worse than he liked!

“They can regenerate, and their hair and hide are really difficult to pierce.” Rorik elaborated. “Fire’s usually tough to have handy, but if you do, they are vulnerable to it, and it frightens them badly.”

“So, congratulations are in order. You were ambushed, but turned out a hard-won victory. I salute you.” He stood, and bowed.

“Thank you, Halphis.” John said, when no one else spoke.

“May I ask you, all of you, a question?” Halphis ventured after sitting back down.

“Yes, Halphis, you may ask.” Rorik answered, when everybody looked at him.

Halphis pointed his cup at John. “The trolls were sent for you. They were lying in wait before Sygraid went out to meet you, and would have had a greater chance against her alone, than when she had help. Yes?”

“You speak the truth.” Sygraid confirmed. “They hid themselves well. And I passed near them on my way to the funeral stone.”

“You all have had three attacks in as many days.” Halphis argued. “Each worse than the last. How long will you wait before Nyd’hagh sends something the village cannot handle? Or comes to investigate herself?”

“We’ve been here since a few years after the Arrival.” Rorik told him. “The Ice Dragon has overflown the village more than once. She’s never shown us the slightest interest. Why would she care now?”

Halphis pointed at John. “Because he’s a Visitor. From another world.” He held up a hand. “Please, I already know this is true. Don’t deny it, and make yourselves look foolish.”

“How do you know that she cares?” John asked.

Halphis patted the saber hilt lying on the table beside him. “May I show you this?”

The three warriors nodded. Deni leaned forward eagerly. Halphis slid the blade free, holding it hilt up. The blade was narrow, about a finger width, if you used one of Sygraid’s. It gleamed like chrome, with intricate scroll-work framing various runic symbols. They were much more stylized than the symbols on Rorik, John and Sygraid’s weapons. The basket-hilt was gold colored, with fine detail work. Various dragons were represented: flying, standing, rearing or lying down; there were nine in all. The pommel was a five fingered dragon’s claw, two thumbs and three fingers wrapped around a jawbreaker-sized pearl. He offered it to Rorik, who was nearest for examination.

“This is possibly the most beautiful sword I have ever seen.” He acknowledged. “But the blade is too narrow. It will shatter in a real fight.”

Halphis shook his head, gesturing for him to hand the saber to Sygraid. “Take it.” He urged. “And hit one of the stone table tops as hard as you can.”

The woman reluctantly accepted the weapon, but made no move. “I am very strong. Please, you are wealthy, but I could not destroy your only weapon and leave you defenseless.”

Halphis stood, hands together, palms up and bowed. “I give you my oath: should you shatter my blade—nay, should you even mar the blade in any way, I shall hold you blameless and will willingly be your servant for a year and a day.”

Sygraid’s eyebrows shot up. “Your solemn oath?”

“May the Curse force me to a hundred years of service to Azazel, who gave me that sword herself.” Halphis intoned.

Sygraid nearly dropped it, her hands shook so badly after hearing that. Even Rorik looked stricken. Halphis waved her patiently at a table.

Steeling herself, she cleared off a stone slab. The rock table was over a foot thick at the narrowest, revealed when she moved the furs to another one. With one last look at the Infernal for acceptance, she held the weapon with both hands over her head.

“As hard as you possibly can.” Halphis insisted.

Sygraid yelled, bringing the sword down as hard as she possibly could. There was a loud cracking sound, and the Shield-maiden staggered. She stepped back, and pulled the unmarked blade out of the now split stone. One side cracked again and crashed to the floor. They heard running steps in the silence as Runa came into the room.

“What happened?” Runa asked, staring at her husband.

“Hal—ahem,” Rorik coughed, “Halphis challenged us to try and break his sword. Sygraid used it to cut the table in half.”

Sygraid held the blade up, examining every inch.

“Flawless.” She remarked, bowing to the sword, then its owner as he took it back.

“It’s okay, dear.” Rorik said to his wife. “Another round would help, I believe. And some food, if it is ready.”

While the woman bustled, getting drinks and plates, they moved to one of the non-wrecked tables. Halphis sat at one end, nearest the fire.

“How came you to carry that blade?” Rorik asked, once they were eating.

Halphis smiled. “That is quite the tale mighty hunter, and in the interests of not boring you, I’ll endeavor to keep it shorter than I normally tell it. So that you gain greater appreciation for what it means, I will show you something I rarely reveal, especially to my own people. Please do not become alarmed.”

They nodded, so he closed his eyes and the air around his face rippled. When it cleared, his face was totally changed. His skin was paler, merely dark pink, like after a hot shower, and his eyes were black. Hideous scars crisscrossed his cheeks, nose, chin and forehead. The bumps on his forehead were gone, replaced by ugly, dime-sized pockmarks. He held his hands out, showing the skin there matched the color of his face. They were just as scarred. After letting them look at him for a long minute, he closed his eyes again and another ripple in the air returned him to his previous appearance.