Regdar had no time to ask what they'd done. The troll before him, despite its horrid wounds, managed to dislodge Tasca's rapier and toss it to the ground as if it were a toothpick. The beast flailed its arms in a frenzy, nearly catching Whitman in the chest and sending Tasca sprawling out of the way. Regdar ducked under a poorly aimed blow and stepped inside the creature's reach.
With a well-placed jab, the big fighter rammed his sword into the soft flesh between the creature's ribs. Dropping to one knee, Regdar lowered his shoulder and put all of his strength behind an upward thrust. His blade disappeared up to its hilt inside the creature's chest, devoured entirely by slick, green flesh.
The troll's arms fell to its sides, and it raised its head to the sky. A stinking, fang-lined mouth opened wide, as if it were cursing whatever god a troll might worship or despise. With a tremendous shudder, the giant leaned forward and vomited on Regdar. Dark green bile, punctuated with shiny, black gobs, rained over the fighter.
Finally spent, the monster toppled back and landed with a thud on the hard ground.
Regdar stood motionless, his hands out at his sides, breathing from his open mouth. His sword jutted at an angle from the fallen creature's chest. Behind it, Krunk and Clemf danced around the second, flaming troll. The little dwarf threw fistfuls of fire at the burning monster while the human splashed it with lamp oil. Both bobbed and weaved, staying out of reach of the very angry creature that was thankfully blinded by the flames and the pain.
Regdar felt a hand resting on his shoulder.
"You okay, chief?" Whitman asked.
Regdar shook himself back to reality and focused on the slowly healing wound in the troll's ribs where it was transfixed by his sword. His lip curled in disgust.
"Never better," he spat. Stepping forward, the fighter grabbed his sword and sawed it sideways through the troll's body. More green liquid spilled out.
Regdar ignored it.
Lifting his sword over his head, Regdar sliced it across the monster's neck. The blade cut through rubbery flesh and found the cartilage between two vertebrae before hitting the hard-packed dirt. The troll's head rolled free, flopped awkwardly as it rotated once, twice, then came to a stop, nose in the air. The body convulsed.
"That's one way to do it," commented Tasca, looking down at the dead giant.
"Indeed," agreed Whitman.
A loud screech brought Regdar's attention to the other troll. Its flesh bubbled and cracked in the flames. Dark smoke rose toward the sky, and a heavy stench, like burning feces, filled the air. Flames encased every inch of the beast, making it look like a fire elemental.
Squawking out its pain, the troll collapsed to its knees. It flopped onto its face, and its burning hand came to rest on the other troll's decapitated head. Then it finally stopped moving, and the whole mass continued to burn.
Regdar sat back on his heels. "I don't know about any of you, but I vote we find a place with flowing water and no trolls and camp for the night."
5
Regdar hissed as he lifted his chestplate from his shoulders. He let it fall to the dirt with a loud crash. His tattered and torn undershirt was stained crimson in a long oval from his shoulder to his belly and all down his torso. He lifted the ruined garment gingerly from his body and tossed it into the slowly growing fire Whitman tended.
Regdar examined himself. Along his left side, three large puncture wounds weeped a clear, yellow liquid, dotted with flecks of dark red. Jagged pink stretch marks ran across his body from his ribs, past his belly button, and down onto his right hip. He poked at them with his finger and drew in air between gritted teeth. The scratches burned. The pain wasn't as bad as when the troll made them, but they burned nonetheless.
Sitting down on a mossy stump, Regdar doffed the rest of his armor. His right thigh had a huge bruise from hip to knee, but it was otherwise intact. The fighter sighed. He was glad most of the injuries were superficial. Bruises hurt but would heal, and he could fight without too much trouble. His ribs, however, were a different story.
"Let me look at that." Krunk pointed at the holes in Regdar's side with his stubby fingers.
"Be my guest." With considerable effort, Regdar lifted his arm and twisted to his right.
"Hmm." Krunk scratched at his long, white beard.
"How is it?"
The hair on the front of the dwarf's face moved. Regdar assumed Krunk was either smiling or cringing.
"Well, it's not diseased," replied the dwarf.
Tasca coughed out a laugh from the other side of the fire. "That the best you could come up with? Your words inspire confidence in us all."
Whitman elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut up, elf."
Krunk's moustache moved again. "I think I can patch you up good as new," he said. Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a finely crafted cross with the symbol of the sun emblazoned on it. The cross was made from what looked in the flickering firelight like silver or platinum, and the reaching bands of the holy sun were obviously gold.
Wrapping the thick fingers of one hand around the religious artifact, Krunk placed his other palm on Regdar's chest above the weeping wounds. The dwarf closed his eyes and recited a prayer under his breath.
Regdar felt Krunk's fingers tighten on his skin, then the familiar, healing warmth flowed into his frame. He leaned his head back and rolled his eyes deeper into their sockets. He loved this sensation. It was almost worth getting hurt just to be healed again.
Lost in the warm rehef provided by Krunk's spell, Regdar flinched when something touched his leg. Lifting his head, he looked down to see the dwarf cleric preparing to heal the bruise there.
"You should try to not get hurt so much." Krunk pushed on the soft, purple tissue on the big fighter's leg.
Regdar squirmed and gritted his teeth. The euphoria from the previous healing spell was all but gone.
"One of these days," Krunk continued, "I might not be around to fix you up, and then where will you be?" He pressed his palm again into the fighter's flesh and mouthed a few short words.
Regdar felt the healing warmth again, though much weaker. He moved his left arm and squeezed his thigh. Both felt better.
"Thanks, Krunk," he said, standing up from the stump and walking to his pack. "I owe you one."
The old dwarf stomped to the fire and sat next to Clemf. "Don't start counting now," he said. "You never have before, and you'll never be rich enough to pay your debts anyway."
They all laughed.
Regdar drew a new shirt over his shoulders. "You're probably right about that." Then he, too, sat by the fire.
Tasca and Clemf held long, carved tree branches over the fire. On the end of them, each man had a row of punctured mushrooms roasting above the flames.
Whitman pulled a package wrapped in a handkerchief from his pack and returned to the fire. He lifted the cloth and began tearing off large hunks of bread and handing them around. Tasca pulled his mushrooms from the flames and pointed the stick at Regdar, who used his hunk of bread to pull a bubbling fungus from the branch.
"Thanks," he said, putting the impromptu sandwich to his hps and blowing on the hot meal.
Whitman did the same. "So," he said between cooling breaths, "you really think we'll be able to find this woman?"
Regdar looked up over his mushroom. "I wouldn't have asked you to come here if I didn't."
"How did you lose her in the first place?" asked Tasca.
Whitman elbowed Tasca again.
Regdar raised his hand. "It's all right, Whitman. Telling you the story is the least I can do."
The other men looked up, and Regdar began.
"Have any of you ever heard of the City of Fire?"
"The mythical City of Fire?" asked Krunk.
Regdar nodded. "I thought it mythical too until I walked its streets."