Paul Bronson
Elder Grimzork was in a troop of six Kormarken hunters searching for big game in the heart of the Darkhallow Fens. Crocodiles and swamp serpents were good hunting, and the tracker, Melazog, had found the trail of a sizeable beast. This was important as there were hungry mouths to feed, and the cold breath of winter was making herself known on nearby peaks. Grimzork tested the air and detected the odour of steel and sweat. But there was something else on the wind—a taint of a bitter nature, foul and cruel. Today spelt ill tidings. I better inform the others, he thought.
Suddenly, a human male in dark garb appeared, and yelled, ‘Cut them down!’ He had a short black beard, cold eyes and raised a flaming orange trident. Dozens of shrouded figures emerged from brush to the hunters’ left flank, arrows nocked.
‘Destroy the intruders!’ Grimzork commanded. But it was too late. Fire blazed all around, and a swarm of biting arrows rained down. Deep cries of pain thundered, and a booming shout broke through, ‘Retreat!’—a word rarely spoken by his people. Grimzork launched himself forward, eyes stinging with heat and smoke, and embraced a tree in a dance of desperation. The tree, over thirty feet tall, with a trunk wider than a man’s chest, fell. He wrestled another tree down, then another, blocking the path of the enemy. A second volley of arrows followed, but most missed their mark, disappearing into smoke and the newly formed wooden barrier.
Melazog hesitated, scanning, waiting. The other Kormarken looked to him, eyes burning, rippling muscles tense in anticipation. He noted the barricade of trees had appeared, which had saved them from further pain, but the commander was nowhere to be seen. ‘Elder, where are you?’
‘Go, Melazog, back to the tribe! I’ll meet you there!’
The tracker clenched his jaw, then pointed his hand to the northeast. The Kormarken moved, a reluctant shuffle at first, then a loping run. Despite their injuries, they moved quickly, fading into the distance.
Grimzork emerged through the smoke, now with a heavy axe in hand. The humans will pay! He lunged toward a line of archers, some hurriedly changing to spears at his sudden approach. With a claw, he smashed one aside like a children’s toy, and cleaved another in two with his weapon. Yet he felt slower than he should be, sluggish even. A ring of spears now surrounded him as his vision blurred and he dropped to his knees.
‘I’m impressed. It took ten flash venom arrows to bring you to heel. You’ll make a fine addition.’ The figure with the flaming trident looked into Grimzork’s eyes and grinned.
***
Grimzork awoke in a stone walled pit at least twenty feet deep, with thick metal bars overhead. The walls were almost sheer, and other than a small pond and a barred gate in the corner, the enclosure was sparse. His vision still swam slightly but he was otherwise hale. His wounds had healed, not unexpectedly since his people recovered quickly from most injury. Exotic hooting, grunts and chittering found his ears, and the scent of earthy dung permeated the air. What is this place?
A figure appeared up above. Scowl lines marked his bearded face and cold blue eyes pierced downward. ‘The specimen stirs. You’ll certainly bring in the customers, troll.’ He threw down a hunk of meat through a gap in the cage and waited.
Despite hearing mostly gibberish, Grimzork’s eyes flickered at the last word, but he didn’t move. He knew that “troll” was a human word for his people.
‘So you do understand something? One of the loremasters told me that you’re capable of communication. No matter, you’re going to make me rich.’
Grimzork moved, eying off the man above. He picked up the meat and sniffed it, then suddenly threw it upwards. It deflected off the bars, causing the captor to jump back slightly. Then the human smiled as he held aloft the orange trident the Kormarken had seen earlier. Fist-sized flames, like miniature suns, appeared, then dropped between the bars into the enclosure. Soon a half dozen were floating a yard away, and sweat broke out on his thick skin.
‘You are resilient beasts, but I know your weaknesses. Raylem always finds a weakness.’
One blazing ball sizzled as it scorched his leg, and Grimzork gritted his teeth, not wanting to give his captor the satisfaction of displayed vulnerability.
‘Behave and you won’t have to suffer. Much… haha!’ Raylem snapped his fingers and the remaining spheres snuffed out. He then walked away, the sound of cruel laughter following him in the chill night air.
Grimzork waited several minutes before moving. He tested his leg, which was painful, but still responded to his commands. He retrieved the chunk of meat he’d thrown earlier and sat by the pond eating slowly. The water was murky but refreshing enough given that his people were accustomed to consuming swamp sludge. Now was the time to think, which was always easier on a full stomach.
It seems they have thought of everything. The gate was incredibly sturdy, hardly moving even when Grimzork applied his significant might against its metallic frame. Magic, most likely. He paced out the enclosure, and jumped, noting that his arms fell short of the barred roof by at least a half yard. He considered that even if he could touch the bars, then they would be as unyielding as the gate, so escape seemed unlikely. Impossible even. He wasn’t afraid to die—but if he perished, humans could be emboldened to attack his lands again and take more of his people. He couldn’t live with that prospect.
On the second day, Grimzork stirred to a soothing feeling on his leg, and noticed that his burn was being healed. A silver robed figure standing at the edge of the bars above had their hands outstretched, and pulsing energy, resembling ripples in the wake of a river barge, flowed into his ankle. Within a minute the pinkish burn marks had repaired to his natural muddy green. He thought to thank the individual, who gave a small nod, and left. They were replaced by the unpleasant return of Raylem. This time he had an emerald amulet around his neck.
‘Good morning my beastly friend. No need to thank me for organising healing. I must have you in fine shape for our visitors. They’ll marvel at what a specimen you are… yes indeed! Swamp trolls are very rarely captured, so the fact that I’ve procured one will make my menagerie all the more appealing.’ For some reason Grimzork could understand every word perfectly.
‘Leave me alone human, it’s humiliating enough that you captured me,’ Grimzork mumbled to himself. A puzzled expression crossed his face as he noticed the amulet glow with each word and Raylem started to smirk.
‘That’s Master Raylem to you, and you had better do as I say or you know what’ll happen. I’m surprised that you can speak at all, not that anyone else would know what is said in your guttural tongue. I wouldn’t know either if not for my newly acquired talisman. I thought I better remind you to act like the monster you are. Fire isn’t the worst I can offer you,’ he said.
Grimzork nodded, a slight nod, enough to signify understanding, but not enough to denote respect. If I ever get my claws on him, he’ll hope his end is swift. The Kormarken got up and started growling fiercely. Best to act the part, at least for now.
A crowd of finely dressed men and women, as well as a sprinkling of girls and boys, soon gathered to view the enclosure. Eyes wide—some with fascination, others with fear.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, children and youth! Behold the wild and monstrous troll captured from the depths of Hinterbanark Swamp.’ People were open-mouthed, and some gasped. ‘This deadly creature is a savage denizen of the frontier lands, a creature of unmatched strength and ferocity. It’s nearly ten foot tall and as strong as a dozen men. Its hide is as thick as a boar and thrice as resilient. Its teeth and claws can outmatch any wildland’s bear or tiger. Yet here it is, for your entertainment, out of the storybooks and your nightmares.’
He started passing out darts and rocks to those gathered. ‘Don’t worry, its hide will shake off any serious injury, and it’ll heal up in no time.’
What followed was more humiliating to Grimzork than hurtful. The projectiles that hit did little damage, but the simple fact that people were willing to inflict pain on him was a seeping wound in of itself. Why harm something that hasn’t attacked you or your kin? Why target something you don’t want to eat? These thoughts occupied his mind.
***
For the next few weeks, the crowds gathered as they had before, and Raylem gave much the same speech. Whenever Grimzork didn’t perform to his satisfaction or attempted to throw anything, the brandishing of the enchanted trident soon changed his mind. Night was the only real relief, and it was on one night that a voice was heard coming from the gate. Raylem rarely emerged at night, in fact he hadn’t been seen for several days.
‘Aye troll, how did you get in here?’ a raspy voice said.
Grimzork lumbered over to the gate, and noticed a large lizard-like humanoid, standing two yards away behind their own barred gate. They would have come up to his chest, and while not as broad, were heavily muscled. He had seen lizardfolk before—they were usually rivals, even enemies—but this one seemed different. She spoke his language well, albeit with an accent, but he felt that this was someone who he could trust. Finally, someone he could relate to. They shared stories and he learnt that the lizardfolk’s name was Yenthul, and that she’d recently been caught not far from where his tribe ventured. Although she hadn’t been subjected to the pelting of rocks and other projectiles, she’d had to show daily feats of athleticism by running and swimming within her prison.
‘I feel for you Yenthul, and miss my people too.’
‘Well, you’re tough. I can’t imagine having to stay here for more than a few days, let alone weeks.’
‘I am at least comforted by the fact that no other Kormarken have been captured.’
‘Maybe not, but it’s probably only a matter of time. Other bounty hunters have been spotted in the Fens.’
‘No… not more. I have to warn them. I have to get out of here!’ Grimzork said.
‘On that I agree.’
‘When the time is right, we escape.’
‘Do you have any plan?’ Yenthul asked.
‘Yes, the trident. The orange trident is what gives him the power to dominate me. If we can somehow grab it, he could be forced to let us go,’ Grimzork said.
‘How would we get our hands on it? We can’t get out of our cages, let alone get our hands on him.’
Grimzork gestured upwards, ‘If I can somehow convince him to let us fight, during the battle I’ll look for a chance to hold you up near the roof. Your tail should be able to fit through the bars and grab the trident.’
‘Hmm, I guess that would be possible. My tail should be able to reach but convincing him is another matter.’ The lizardfolk waved her tail around, then presented it in one hand. It was about a yard in length and a few inches thick. ‘I’ll let you do the talking.’ After another hour of conversation, the newfound collaborators settled back into their enclosures, and slept soundly under beams of hope from a bright moon.
The next day, the sinister form of Raylem loomed from above. A smile verging on a sneer cut his face. ‘My hunting has been productive. I’ve found one of your kinsman— Melazog.’
A ripple of emotion crossed Grimzork’s face, but he quickly stilled it. I must proceed with the plan, he thought. He explained how a battle between himself and the lizardfolk would be a good show and bring in bigger crowds. At first, Raylem only listened, and the silence acted like a sickening emptiness in Grimzork’s stomach as he waited.
Then Raylem’s face split once more with a grin. ‘You’re not as idiotic as you look. This will be splendid for business! Nobles and wealthy benefactors will be practically throwing coins at my feet. You better make it entertaining.’
***
The day of the event came a week later. A crowd swarmed like never before, with such finery of gems and fabric it was dazzling, almost painful to behold. Raylem started with his usual speech introducing Grimzork, inviting gasps and the occasional cheer.
‘And now we have a lizardman champion from the swamps, ready to vanquish the dreadful troll. It’s a fight to the death!’ People at first prattled, then clapped, cheering loudly.
A clanking sound resonated as the adjoining gate lowered, and Yenthul came forth in shining mail armour with a flamberge almost as tall as she was. Grimzork swallowed and hoped that Yenthul was still on his side. Both combatants growled and circled each other, people jumped in excitement at every strike, dodge or counter. Blood erupted within the first minute, but neither the Kormarken nor lizardfolk seemed seriously injured.
A voice from above called, ‘Finish the troll!’ It was a small boy who had crept several yards across the roof. Before anyone could react, he slipped. People gazed in horror as he slid between the bars, flailing desperately.
‘Open the roof!’ a woman shouted. Meanwhile Raylem summoned burning suns from his trident.
The boy plummeted and an explosion of movement amazed all those in attendance. Grimzork launched back from melee and landed just in time to catch the boy with outstretched palms. He then gently placed the boy into the safety of the mother dangling her arms downward, who cried, ‘He is no beast!’
Silence followed. Yenthul dropped her sword.
‘Get back to the fight!’ Raylem said. The Kormarken and lizardfolk didn’t move, and the burning suns drifted dangerously close to both of them.
‘Free them!’ the mother said, then others repeated the call. Raylem sneered.
‘Now!’ Yenthul cried, and leapt into the air towards Grimzork in one swift motion. She pirouetted like a flying simian, and once at the roof her tail darted towards the trident. Six flaming spheres shot into her body, sizzling and blackening flesh—but she held on long enough to grab the trident, then fell.
Tears appeared on Grimzork’s face as Yenthul hit the ground, unmoving. Lifeless. ‘I will return you to your people, my friend.’
Meanwhile, Raylem drew a wand from a pouch, that he proceeded to point at the Kormarken elder. Before anything baleful occurred, a silver robed woman with golden tresses materialised, and the wand flew into her grasp. ‘That’s quite enough, Raylem. I hereby arrest you in the name of the Crown and the Silver Sanctum. Mistreating beasts is bad enough, but deathmatches and murder of sentient beings goes too far. Release the noble captive and any others that don’t belong in this wretched place.’
The roof opened, and an avalanche of onlookers and guards pinned Raylem down. As Grimzork was brought up he carefully placed Yenthul on his shoulder, and looked at Raylem once more, claws clenched. He grabbed the amulet, then continued walking as people parted, some muttering, but mostly cheering.
He was no longer a monster.
Paul Bronson is a full-time lecturer at Victoria University, Melbourne, who teaches and coordinates Writing (creative writing and professional writing) and Communication Studies. He particularly appreciates fantasy and science fiction, as well as roleplaying games, that he’s played and hosted for many years. He encourages students to engage their creativity and experiment with different genres and styles of writing. In his free time, he enjoys writing short stories, poems, and RPGs.
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