moved, she let out a sigh of relief and turned to face her clients.
Anne was staring at her, wide-eyed, her hand raised to her mouth in horror. Derbich gazed at her with respect, one eyebrow raised. Bertwise, on the other hand, wore an eager grin.
“That was amazing!” the young noble said and spurred his horse forward to get a closer look at the downed troll. Tarah raised her hand and opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but she was too late. As his horse lunged forward, she heard a loud snap.
“No!” she cried and rushed past the confused boy. A lump rose in her throat as she picked up her bow from the ground where she had dropped it. The impact of the horse’s hoof had split the wood down the middle. She glared at the boy. “You see what you did?”
“I’m sorry,” Bertwise said, confused by her reaction.
“Don’t worry, Miss Woodblade,” said Derbich. “We’ll buy you a new one.”
“M-my papa made it for me,” she said, her lips quivering. “It’s . . . not replaceable.”
Tarah Woodblade doesn’t cry. Tarah Woodblade doesn’t mourn. Not where she can be seen , Grampa Rolf reminded. Tarah swallowed her sorrow and swung the broken bow back over her shoulder.
“I insist,” Derbich said. “We can make an arrangement of some kind.”
Tarah shook her head, but felt an insistent nudge from her grampa and said, “We can settle up when we arrive at the Mage School. For now, I need to burn these things. Come on. Follow me.” She led them down the road and stopped them at the body of the first troll she had downed.
“It’s moving!” cried Bertwise.
The troll raised its head and began to push itself up from the ground. It opened its mouth and gurgled, releasing a rivulet of slime. Tarah could see the arrow slowly being pushed out of the wound as the creature’s brain healed. She swung her staff in a precise strike, smacking the end of the arrow and driving it back into the troll’s head. The steel arrowhead popped out through the back of its skull.
Anna yelped as the troll convulsed, then laid still. Tarah grabbed it by the leg. The troll’s skin was slick and rubbery and she fought a grimace off of her face as she began pulling it down the center of the road towards the second one.
“What are you doing?” Anne asked from atop her horse. “Let’s ride on.”
“We can’t, Madam Furley. They heal too quick. If we leave ‘em here, they’ll just attack the next person that comes down the road,” Tarah said, dragging the heavy troll past their horses.
Bertwise didn’t believe it. “How can it heal an arrow through the brain?”
“They don’t have much to heal,” Tarah replied.
“Troll brains are simple, Berty,” Derbich explained. “All they think about is eating. Besides, even if you cut their head off, they’ll just grow a new one and walk around as if nothing happened.”
“And the head you cut off will grow another body if you let it,” Tarah added, grunting as she pulled its body on top of its friend. “Once saw a troll cut into ten pieces. Two weeks later, came back to find ten trolls.” That was actually one of her papa’s stories, but Grampa Rolf would say telling tales was a good idea, whether the story was true or not. That’s how you grew your legend.
“The best thing you can do is leave something stuck through its brain until you can burn it,” Tarah continued. She looked down at the troll whose head she had smashed. The bones of its skull were already re-forming. She set down her pack and reached into the front pocket for her flint and steel. “Now hold tight while I set these things on fire.”
“Right there in the middle of the road?” Bertwise asked.
“Don’t want to burn down the forest,” Tarah said.
“I don’t like standing around here,” Anne complained. “What if there are more of those things around?”
“This won’t take long,” Tarah said through gritted teeth. If these people weren’t clients she would have chewed the
Anne was staring at her, wide-eyed, her hand raised to her mouth in horror. Derbich gazed at her with respect, one eyebrow raised. Bertwise, on the other hand, wore an eager grin.
“That was amazing!” the young noble said and spurred his horse forward to get a closer look at the downed troll. Tarah raised her hand and opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but she was too late. As his horse lunged forward, she heard a loud snap.
“No!” she cried and rushed past the confused boy. A lump rose in her throat as she picked up her bow from the ground where she had dropped it. The impact of the horse’s hoof had split the wood down the middle. She glared at the boy. “You see what you did?”
“I’m sorry,” Bertwise said, confused by her reaction.
“Don’t worry, Miss Woodblade,” said Derbich. “We’ll buy you a new one.”
“M-my papa made it for me,” she said, her lips quivering. “It’s . . . not replaceable.”
Tarah Woodblade doesn’t cry. Tarah Woodblade doesn’t mourn. Not where she can be seen , Grampa Rolf reminded. Tarah swallowed her sorrow and swung the broken bow back over her shoulder.
“I insist,” Derbich said. “We can make an arrangement of some kind.”
Tarah shook her head, but felt an insistent nudge from her grampa and said, “We can settle up when we arrive at the Mage School. For now, I need to burn these things. Come on. Follow me.” She led them down the road and stopped them at the body of the first troll she had downed.
“It’s moving!” cried Bertwise.
The troll raised its head and began to push itself up from the ground. It opened its mouth and gurgled, releasing a rivulet of slime. Tarah could see the arrow slowly being pushed out of the wound as the creature’s brain healed. She swung her staff in a precise strike, smacking the end of the arrow and driving it back into the troll’s head. The steel arrowhead popped out through the back of its skull.
Anna yelped as the troll convulsed, then laid still. Tarah grabbed it by the leg. The troll’s skin was slick and rubbery and she fought a grimace off of her face as she began pulling it down the center of the road towards the second one.
“What are you doing?” Anne asked from atop her horse. “Let’s ride on.”
“We can’t, Madam Furley. They heal too quick. If we leave ‘em here, they’ll just attack the next person that comes down the road,” Tarah said, dragging the heavy troll past their horses.
Bertwise didn’t believe it. “How can it heal an arrow through the brain?”
“They don’t have much to heal,” Tarah replied.
“Troll brains are simple, Berty,” Derbich explained. “All they think about is eating. Besides, even if you cut their head off, they’ll just grow a new one and walk around as if nothing happened.”
“And the head you cut off will grow another body if you let it,” Tarah added, grunting as she pulled its body on top of its friend. “Once saw a troll cut into ten pieces. Two weeks later, came back to find ten trolls.” That was actually one of her papa’s stories, but Grampa Rolf would say telling tales was a good idea, whether the story was true or not. That’s how you grew your legend.
“The best thing you can do is leave something stuck through its brain until you can burn it,” Tarah continued. She looked down at the troll whose head she had smashed. The bones of its skull were already re-forming. She set down her pack and reached into the front pocket for her flint and steel. “Now hold tight while I set these things on fire.”
“Right there in the middle of the road?” Bertwise asked.
“Don’t want to burn down the forest,” Tarah said.
“I don’t like standing around here,” Anne complained. “What if there are more of those things around?”
“This won’t take long,” Tarah said through gritted teeth. If these people weren’t clients she would have chewed the
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