The robbers didn't even bother to hide as I limped to them on a stiff leg.
"Your valuables or your life, crone."
I allowed myself a moment of pride. It was nice to know my act was working.
The bandit prodded me with a knuckle. "Can't you hear, old woman?"
"I heard you."
I raised my head enough to see the troll. He was standing back, seemingly disinterested in the robbery.
"Then give us what you have. Otherwise, I'll have to have Gwurm tear you apart. I don't like that. Leaves a terrible mess."
The troll spoke up. "He'll have me kill you anyway, miss. You're better off running for it."
"Shut up, Gwurm." The robber folded his arms across his chest. "Well, hag. What's it going to be?"
Newt fidgeted in my arms. "Let me kill him."
"I'll handle it," I replied.
The bandit stepped back. "Your duck talks."
"Quite a lot actually. Too much perhaps."
"Oh, please let me kill him. I'll be quick about it."
I boxed his snapping bill. "I said I'll handle it."
"Yes, mistress."
"A talking duck," the bandit said. "It must be magic."
"It certainly must," I agreed. "I know of no ordinary talking ducks."
"It's worth a fortune. Give it to me, crone."
"I think perhaps you overestimate his value."
"Enough of this." The bandit twisted a ring on his finger. "Kill her, Gwurm."
"Oh, hell, Pik, can't you kill this one yourself" Despite his reservations, the troll moved toward me mechanically.
I could have killed him quite easily, but I was reluctant to do so. His body was clearly not his own. Any harm he might inflict on me wouldn't be of his own doing. He was merely the weapon, and it seemed a terrible shame to break a fine sword just because it happened to be in the hands of a bandit at the moment. More importantly, Gwurm was not a sword. He was a victim of magic, and it was my duty as a good witch to correct this. Not just my duty, but my pleasure. Helping this troll would be my first true act as my own witch, and eager magic tingled in my toes, ready to do its work.
It came to me to do something dramatic like commanding the roots to rise from the ground and drag Pik screaming into the earth. But it seemed too showy for this situation and a waste of magic too, since no one was here to witness the gruesome demise other than Gwurm, Newt, and myself. And Gwurm would be impressed enough simply by being unburdened.
"I must apologize, ma'am. I don't like killing old women. But Pik is such a lazy bastard, and he wears the ring of command to my ring of servitude."
"Oh, just shut up and kill her already, Gwurm."
The troll's reluctance showed in slow, ponderous steps. "I'd really rather not do this, ma'am. You understand."
"Quite all right, Gwurm."
I tossed my broom over the troll's head.
Another interesting fact about trolls is the magic that holds them together can be disrupted when the proper blow is struck with just the right force in just the right spot. This is not widely known among men, but a fact every witch learns. My broom rose in the air and took aim at that exact point between the troll's shoulders.
Gwurm wrapped his hands around my throat. "I'll make this quick."
The broom struck true. It bounced off the troll's thick skin, not even leaving a bruise. He gaped as if he might vomit, belched once, and fell to pieces. His fingers popped off, knuckle by knuckle. Then his hands jumped from his wrists. His forearms slipped from his elbows. His arms fell from his shoulders. And so on until he was a collection of unassembled troll parts before me. It took but a few seconds. His head was the last thing to topple from his shoulders and come to a rolling stop at my feet. His face crinkled, he sneezed, and his eyes, nose, and ears fell off.
Pik's eyes widened. "Sorcery!"
"Witchery actually."
"You're a witch?"
"The hat. The broom. The cloak. The talking duck. I expect it would be obvious. Well, perhaps not the duck."
"Can I kill him now?" Newt asked.
"Hush."
Pik, being unarmed and clearly overmatched, wasted not another moment. He ran away.
"Go get him, Newt. But don't kill him."
The duck was disappointed but jumped from my arms and dashed after the bandit.
"Wud nu mine steppun uf mee node," Gwurm requested.
"Oh. Terribly sorry." I picked up the nose and dusted it off. I found one eye. It resembled a rotten, yellow grape. I wiped it clean with my cloak and stuck it and his nose back on his face. He wiggled the nose and blinked the eye.
I found the section of finger with the ring of servitude.
"It can't be removed until I'm dead."
The enchantment on the ring was potent but sloppy. It had all the marks of shoddy commercial magic. A competent apprentice might crank out a dozen in under an hour to pay for his education. But such a flawed magic always has a loose thread, and I yanked on this one as an afterthought. The enchantment unraveled. The now ordinary ring slipped off the finger.
"Thank you. I can't tell you what a relief it is to be free of that. If I could trouble you for one last favor, might you help me locate my other eye. I can pull myself together eventually, but my eye is delicate. I'd hate to accidentally sit on it."
By the time I'd returned the second eye to its socket, Newt reappeared. He was alone, head bowed. Blood dripped from his bill.
"Well?" I asked, already knowing the explanation.
"I . .. uh . . . sort of killed him."
I shook my head and fixed him with a disappointed look.
"It wasn't my fault," he protested. "I was chasing after him, and I grabbed at him. Just so I could bring him back as you commanded. And his spine just sort of... came out."
"They'll do that," Gwurm said.
"See? It's almost like they were designed that way. He'll back me up, won't you?"
"It's very true. Men are rather fragile. Their heads practically fall off on their own, and their bones snap under any pressure at all."
Newt kicked the dust. "Sorry, mistress."
"It's all right," I replied, "but you must be more careful. There will be more people in the future, and I would like some assurance that you won't kill them all."
"I'll work on it."
"You'll get the hang of it," Gwurm reassured. "I find it best to treat them as if they're made of dry straw."
"I'll keep that in mind."
The sun was below the treetops. Early dusk settled on the forest.
"Newt, fetch some firewood and something to eat. We're stopping for the night."
He was so embarrassed by his spine-ripping blunder that he did so without uttering a single complaint.
I began the task of reassembling the troll. Given enough time, Gwurm could put himself back together, but that would take hours. I saw no reason he should suffer the indignity.
"You're too kind," he said as I returned his head to his shoulders. "I must say, you're being a very good sport about this."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Still, I did almost kill you."
"I don't die that easily. No harm done."
The hands were a difficult task. So many knuckles. I could have just thrown them together, but I wanted to do it right. The real trick was remembering that a troll's pinkie was longer than his ring finger.
After I'd finished his left arm, Gwurm was able to complete the rest on his own. Newt found enough wood for a small fire and a pair of rabbits for dinner. I spat on the wood, and it burned with a soft yellow flame. Then I sat by the fire and cleaned the rabbits. Another gift of my curse is that while my fingers are not clawed, I have a special knack for ripping flesh. I tossed Newt some intestines. He wolfed them down greedily.
"Your duck eats meat," Gwurm observed.