We went northward, and though I had wanted to be left behind in my half-delirious state, I kept my mouth shut once I’d come to. I wasn’t in much of a position to be turning down free care and a ride out of the demesne.

  I rode on a small cart pulled by the itinerant doctor’s chimera. It was an ugly beast, big, with a mottled gray hide covered in coarse fur and an enormous hog’s head. It had a dense mop of hair hanging low over its four glassy eyes and huge curling horns hanging low to the ground, their weight bowing its head so it seemed to walk in a perpetual depressive fugue.

  The creatures bred for nobles to use in war and travel were also molded for aesthetic. Chimera can come in strange and beautiful shapes.

  Not this one. Its humped back blocked my view of the road. It smelled bad, shat a lot, and its brassy lows had me gritting my teeth halfway through the first day of the journey.

  Olliard sat on the cart’s bench, guiding the smelly beast with a grandfatherly fondness that spoke of long familiarity. His gentle murmuring lulled me to sleep more than once despite the rough ride. His apprentice sat next to me in the cart, ignoring me.

  Perhaps the angel comment had been in poor taste, even if it had been true.

  The landscape drifted by in a surreal blur of images. First dense woodland, then rolling hills, then a gentler patchwork of lighter woods and wide, cultivated fields. The weather stayed clear, pleasantly warm, the recent storms having washed the land in an emerald sheen. Shallow lakes had formed here and there from rainfall.

  At one point I saw brooding clouds and flickering lightning in the distant horizon, and felt a tug in my chest. Instinctively, I knew that direction to be east.

  Not long after, clouds rolled over the land to cast that shining, emerald world in gloom. A gentle snow of pale gray flecks began to fall in a lazy dance from on high.

  “Ash rain,” Olliard commented darkly. “Been a few months since the last one. Thought we were done with these.”

  “There are parts of the land still burning,” I said, shifting to find a more comfortable position in the cart and failing.

  Olliard shook his head, grimacing. “It’s been years now since the fighting ended. A decade since the old capital burned.”

  I didn’t reply. It wouldn’t do my traveling companions any good to know that much of the destruction wrought by the death of Elfhome was supernatural in nature, and that some of those wounds might never heal. Nor did I want to explain that there were demons still loose, keeping the storms of choking smog and ever burning flames lit even after ten years.

  We hadn’t managed to hunt down all of them. We’d been too few, the realms too battered. And I’d had other duties. My hand lingered near the axe, lying in its own wrapped bundle at my side.

  Lisette pulled something from beneath the collar of her woolen robes and clutched it tightly. It was a medallion worked of pale rose gold, fashioned into the image of an arc pierced by three converging lines. She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer over the auremark, and I felt a gentle tug in that direction. I closed my eyes and tried not to show my discomfort.

  “This is a fertile land,” Olliard continued, his eyes roaming the green countryside. “But there are fewer like it every year. I hear the famine has become so bad in the Dale Kingdoms that the Accord had to intervene.” He glanced back at me and casually asked, “you from the Dales, Alken?”

  I glanced at him. “How did you know?”

  “You talk like a Gyldener,” the doctor noted, “but there’s a subtle accent you’ve not quite hidden. My mother was from Bryndale originally.” He tapped one ear. “I’ve still got the sense for it.”

  I settled back. The old physik was fishing for more information about me, and not very subtly. Well, I could humor him.

  “I was born in the Herding, but I’ve lived most of half my life elsewhere.”

  “Oh?” Olliard was all innocent interest. His apprentice, however, seemed a bit too intent on the conversation, her idle gaze too stiff as it lingered on the distant hills.

  Her master adjusted his grip on the chimera’s reins and said, “I know the life of the itinerant well. I’ve traveled all over, from the foggy shores of the Linden to the sunlit cities of Cymrinor. I’ve even been outside the subcontinent. Made the crossing over the Riven Sea more than once in my time.”

  He chuckled, a low and throaty sound. “They call me Olliard of Kell. You know where Kell is? Little duchy in the continent where I studied for a time, and now folk see me as a foreigner.” He shook his head in amusement. “Wasn’t there longer than two years.”

  “Funny where life can take us,” I said, staring at the falling gray flecks. So much like snow.

  “Yes.” Olliard kept his gaze on the road as he spoke, so I couldn’t see his expression. “Funny indeed. I imagine our travels have been quite different though, you and I. You’re a mercenary?”

  The question was abrupt, and it took me a moment to muster a response. “Of a sort.”

  Lisette finally stopped pretending to ignore the conversation. Her nose scrunched in annoyance. “There’s only one sort of sellsword.”

  “That a fact?” I arched an eyebrow at her. The girl’s expression turned sour and she averted her gaze.

  “As you can imagine,” Olliard said with wry amusement, “us healers don’t tend to have much fondness for men, or women, who’ve taken on violent lives. Yet the two often find themselves joined at the hip. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “You get good business from us,” I said, “and we need you to keep fighting. Makes sense.”

  “It’s not about business,” Lisette said acidly.

  “Peace, Lisette.” Olliard’s voice was gentle, but firm. His apprentice glared at me a moment longer, then snorted and propped her chin in one palm, returning her attention to the countryside.

  There wasn’t much conversation after that. The land rolled by, and the sky grew steadily darker.

  The ash rain wasn’t the last dark omen on that journey.

  “We’re getting close now,” Olliard announced with forced cheer. His mood had improved once the ash had stopped falling in mid-afternoon. The rolling fields beyond Vinhithe had steadily become more forested as the doctor’s chimera stoically plodded along. Ugly as the beast was, it had stamina, and we ate through the miles.

  Lisette leaned forward, her dour mood and annoyance at me momentarily forgotten. “Is he near, master?”

  Olliard flashed yellow teeth in a knowing smile. “Indeed! Ah, Alken, I nearly forgot to warn you. There’s a troll bridge ahead. Harmless fellow, but we’ll need to pay his toll to get on. Just don’t panic when you see him. Shy fellow, blessed big as he is.”

  I shifted in the cart until I could get an arm up on the edge, trying to look beyond Brume’s mountainous back. The country trail had become a woodland road, carrying us through a dense growth of forest that shrouded the gray sky. The woods were deep, and old — I could feel a weight pressing in on my senses not unlike the pressure of deep water. The more distant parts of the forest were lost in a deep darkness, as though the daylight did not touch them. The trees grew close, their canopies intermingling in a twisted labyrinth.

  Damn healer’s brought us into an irkwood, I thought. I settled back, letting my hand rest on the bundle at my side.

  “Something the matter?” Olliard glanced back again worriedly. “I promise you, the Troll of Caelfall is harmless. Most of them are, really, at least this far from Trollwood.” He paused and added, “You’re not some eld hunter, are you?”

  Lisette glanced at me and narrowed her blue eyes.

  “Not exactly, doctor.” I winced as I tried to find a comfortable position in the bumpy cart, then suppressed a hiss of pain as the goring chimera took us over a rut. When I could speak again, my voice was strained. “I’ve had dealings with the eld before. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Olliard nodded, looking relieved. “Good, good.”

  I felt some surprise at the old physik’s concern. Few people in recent times distinguished between the benign and malignant elements of the Fae.

  Not just an educated man, but knowledgeable in old lore too. I would need to be even more careful of Olliard of Kell.

  It would be best to part ways soon. Still, I needed more time to fully recover.

  Another half hour passed before we came upon the bridge. I knew immediately something was wrong. I smelled it before I saw it, and the other two noticed not long after. Lisette’s expression went pale as she placed the sleeve of her woolen robe over her mouth.

  “What is…” Her words drifted off as we all heard something else.

  Buzzing flies.

  Olliard stopped the cart. his hands tight on the chimera’s reins. A moment later, we all began to hear the buzzing ambience more clearly. It confirmed what I’d already suspected, and I knew the smell too well.

  The scent and song of death.

  Olliard spoke to Lisette in a calm, quiet voice. “Remain here. I will go ahead and take a look.”

  The apprentice clutched at her master’s sleeve. “But—”

  “No time to argue,” Olliard said, patting the girl’s hand. “I’ll be quick. Perhaps my old friend just didn’t clean up after a meal, eh? Gluttonous fellow. Besides,” he added with forced cheer. “I should warn him about you two before we all approach. It’s been many years, and I don’t wish to startle him.”

  I closed my eyes, considered for a moment, and then heaved myself out of the cart. Both of the healers let out cries of alarm. Olliard all but lunged for me.

  “What are you doing, man! You’re—”

  He paused as he watched me stretch. I rolled my shoulders first, grimacing as I felt my skin pull at Lisette’s stitch-work. I placed one hand against the side of the cart and tested my hip. It twinged with pain, but the bone seemed to have set well.

  Olliard’s dark eyes widened in disbelief. “Your hip was cracked. There’s no way you should be able to move.”

  I blew out a breath and turned my attention forward. “Must not have been as bad as you thought,” I said lightly, knowing it to be a weak excuse.

  Olliard just shook his head slowly, lips turning into a deep frown. “No, you were near dead when I found you, and it hasn’t been three days. Even with Lisette’s Art, you shouldn’t have been moving under your own power for another two weeks at least.”

  I would have given myself another four days, maybe five, but the girl’s magic had improved even my quick healing. I began to rummage around in the cart until I found my axe. When I pulled it out, both of the healers recoiled from me.

  “Stay here,” I said, jabbing a finger down at the road. “Try to keep quiet. I’ll be right back.”

  I didn’t wait for them to argue or ask me questions. I moved past the cart and went forward, heading toward the sickly-sweet smell and the sound of buzzing flies. Every step sent a lance of pain through my side, but I tried to keep my movement steady while I knew Olliard and his apprentice were watching.

  If danger lay ahead, I wasn’t certain I’d actually be fit to deal with it. But those two had saved my life. I didn’t want to return the favor by sitting in a cart while the old man got himself killed.

  So, resting my axe on my shoulder, I ignored the worried eyes on my back and pressed forward. There was a bend in the road ahead, the trees obscuring my view of what lay beyond it. I moved until I reached the corner of the bend. Only then did I see the bridge.

  It was an ancient structure, as most troll bridges are. Three arches twenty feet tall each framed the stonework, every inch of it engraved in intricate geometric runes. Moss and ivy grew over the green-gray stone. The plant life had taken on a subtle glow from the magic bleeding off the bridge, giving the whole scene a starkly unreal quality, like some scene right out of a dream.

  I suppose it was, in a way. It always is when the Sidhe were involved, and trolls are as much Fae as elves.

  Someone had taken steps to turn the scene into a nightmare.

  They had cut the bridge’s builder into ten pieces, and left each on a separate spear on either side of the structure’s entrance. Its head, like an enormous toad’s, had been displayed on the tallest of the pikes, the eyes already eaten away by the cloud of buzzing insects to leave two sightless, accusing pits.

  Other parts of the dismembered body were harder to tell apart. Both arms and both legs had been displayed, but the rest looked like little more than dripping chunks of green-hued meat, much of it covered in warty protrusions and growths of horn sprouting like keratin tumors from the troll’s flesh.

  The spears were wood and steel, modern make. This had been human work. Or something predisposed to using human weaponry.

  “Forsaken Throne,” Olliard swore from behind me. I sighed.

  “I told you to stay with the cart.” I glanced back and saw the old doctor staring at the butchered carcass. He’d left the cart, chimera, and his apprentice behind, at least.

  He didn’t seem to hear me and began to move closer. I held out an arm to stop him.

  “Don’t,” I said. “Trolls lay curses on their gates.”

  Olliard blinked at me through his spectacles. “Curses?”

  I nodded. “Hold on a moment.”

  Then I stepped forward, concentrated, and reached for the golden fire resting within me.

  It is difficult to describe, using one’s aura. The way I understand it — and understand I am no magus — it is different for every individual being. This I believe, for every soul is different and unique, each marked by its own scars and hopes.

  As I burned my magic, it emerged from my eyes as a pale golden light. The shadows of the forest did not fall away so much as they shifted, like everything in my vision, into abstraction and allegory.

  I saw the world not as it seemed to mortal eyes, but as it truly was. Past, present, the lingering echoes of all who’d crossed this place, the perceptions and beliefs of every mind who’d directed its attention to this haunted wood. I could see it all, and make sense of very little of it.

  But I only needed to understand one thing, and that was what had happened to this guardian. Trolls are sacred beings, feared by mortals for good reason but respected by us too, at least if we are wise. To elves, they are honored cousins and occasionally rivals.

  To me — to the man I’d once been — this death was profane. I focused on its echo.

  I regretted it as a wavefront of sensation passed into me. For a moment, I was no longer Alken. I was—

  Fear. Pain. Rage. Betrayal. A collection of nerves and sinew bursting with stars of agony as cold steel punched into me, over and over. The sleeping forest alive with the sound of laughing, shouting men, of weaponry, and of my own guttural howls. Huge, blocky yellow teeth appear huge in my vision, set in macabre grins beneath eyes that glint like those of beasts.

  Even cautious and knowing what to expect, the wavefront of psychic trauma hit me hard. I realized, dimly, that Olliard was speaking to me.

  “I’m fine,” I gasped. I had fallen to one knee, and cold sweat covered my face. I wiped some of it away and stood on unsteady legs.

  “What just happened?” Olliard’s expression was tense with worry and confusion. “One moment you stepped forward, and the next you fell. You really shouldn’t be standing with your injuries. Let’s get back to the cart.”

  I waved the doctor off. “I’m fine. It’s not that. I just…” I wasn’t sure how to explain, and before I had the chance to say anything more I felt a sudden queasiness rise up through my gut. I barely made it to the edge of the road before vomiting.

  When I could speak again, my voice emerged hoarse. “This bridge might not be usable for months.” I grimaced. “Maybe years.”

  “Who would do this?” Olliard pressed a sleeve to his nose against the smell, his attention wandering back to the dead troll. “Why? He’s been living here peacefully for generations.”

  “Maybe someone didn’t want to pay his toll,” I suggested, studying the scene. I wiped my mouth and nodded toward the head.

  “See that? Its horns were removed. Elfhorn is a valuable commodity in a lot of places. They didn’t take the buds,” I noted, studying the smaller growths of pale, slightly shimmering horn on other parts of the troll’s corpse. “It grows even after death. Probably they intended to come back and harvest it in a few weeks.”

  Olliard’s face twisted with horror and disgust. “Barbaric.”

  I hummed softly, keeping my own thoughts to myself. I looked for more clues as to the identity of the eld’s murderers.

  “They took trophies,” I noted as I paced through the scene, “but left this as a warning. Those weapons are good quality, but I’m not seeing any House signet or knight’s mark.”

  I tapped my axe against a shoulder, thinking. “Mercenaries, I’m guessing, or bandits.”

  Or something else, I thought, remembering the huge yellow teeth in my vision, the too-pale eyes. That could have just been the troll’s perception, panicked and afraid, coloring the event over. Even still…

  I glanced at the doctor and waited until he returned my attention. “The village nearby.” I jerked my chin toward the remains of the troll. “You think they hired some sellswords to chop up your friend here?”

  Olliard looked affronted at the suggestion. “He’s practically a member of the community! Defended them during the Fall, and was living here near two centuries before that. They would never.”

  I sighed and turned back toward the cart. “World’s changed these past ten years, doc, and not for the better. Not the first time I’ve seen the friendly local monster getting torn apart because the crops turned bad or a kid got dragged into the woods by something nasty.”

  Olliard just shook his head, eyes hard. “They wouldn’t. I know the preoster who counsels the villagers well, and he would not condone this.”

  I didn’t much feel like arguing with the old man. “In any case,” I said, “we need to find a way through. You know another path?”

  Olliard’s expression fell as he shook his head. “No. More than thirty miles of wilderness in either direction, and no path I know of that we could get Brume and the cart through. Caelfall is an isolated country.”

  I ran my eyes over the darkening forest. “I’m not about to suggest going through those trees. The beings who dwell in these woods aren’t going to be happy about the troll’s death. We need to get moving, and quickly.”

  Olliard followed my eyes nervously. “What do you suggest?”

  I directed his attention back to the carcass. “We bury your friend there and hope that appeases his spirit. It won’t lift the curses placed on his bridge, but it might give us a chance to get through them safely.”

  I met the doctor’s eyes and held up a finger. “That’s not a guarantee. It’d be safer to turn back the way we came.”

  I didn’t much like suggesting it, since back the way we came was a hostile demesne where I’d be executed if caught.

  “No,” Olliard said firmly. “I must press on.”

  He didn’t elaborate, even when I lifted a questioning eyebrow.

  “Who are you, to know so much about curses and troll ways?” Olliard’s eyes had narrowed as he regarded me.

  Smooth, I thought. Old man wasn’t quick to give an excuse as to why he wouldn’t turn back. It seemed like we were both hiding things from one another.

  “Do you care?” I asked.

  Olliard’s lips twitched in a small smile. “I am curious. But I digress, and we are wasting what little light we have left. So we should bury the troll?”

  I nodded, inwardly grimacing at the task ahead. “We’ll need to make a grave of river stones and make sure it’s in sight of the bridge. Does your apprentice know any wards against disease? Troll corpses rot fast.”

  Olliard shrugged and sighed. “I have no idea. I suppose we will find out.”

  “Then let’s get to work.”