Debra L. Rollins - Revenge For the Huntsman

Cierce awoke with a groan and went to raise her hand to rub her sore head, but for some reason couldn’t. She had to blink a few minutes before she realized that it was dark and that she was inside some sort of small room with her wrists bound. She shook her head and focused hard. No…not a room…a carriage. Carriage?

“Hounds tooth!”

Frantically she searched the vehicle’s small confines, accepting the undeniable. Her prisoners were gone…as was the key to the handcuffs.

She could barely make out the door above her. Thank goodness for her night vision or she would have not been able to do that much. The forest was nearly pitch black.

She pushed on the door with her head. It wouldn’t budge. She tried with all her might but the most she got from it was a creak of displeasure. She tried yelling for the driver but he either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. Even the younger wolves were gone. Now what? The mistress would be furious with her, that is if she ever got out of here. There was not much more she could do. She lay down, curled up against the night chill and waited for help to arrive.

She dozed as time passed, waking wide when she heard the sound of hoof beats echoing down the road. As they neared, she yelled at the top of her lungs, hoping to catch the horseman’s attention. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the horse slide to a stop and the rider dismount.

“Help me, please? The carriage overturned and I’m afraid I’m stuck in here. I think the door is jammed. Can you open it?” A second later, the sound of wood splintering above her head rang through her ears, sounding like sweet music. In a moment she would be free. The carriage was beginning to feel like a coffin, a feeling she found she didn’t at all like.

The door was thrown open and she could make out the forest canopy. Fresh air seeped in, bringing with it the smell of sweating horseflesh and…she sniffed deeper, a more familiar odor.

“Oh, no…!”

“Oh, YES!”

Burly grabbed hold of her collar, lifting her up, leaving her to dangle from his arm like a fish, floundering out of water.

“Well, well…what do we have here?” he said sarcastically. He kept his body a safe distance from her flailing boots. “Can it be? The predator has become the prey. What will you tell your mistress now, little she-wolf?”

“Let me down, you…you Troll!” She struck out with her legs but Burly was anticipating her move. She missed him.

“Don’t think you can get one over on me again. I’m becoming wise to your little tricks and…”

Cierce swung again, this time at lightning speed, hitting him square in the chest. The force of it loosened the Troll’s hold on her jacket, knocking him backward into a bush, while she fell with a hard jolt to the ground. In an instant, she was up on her feet and running through the woods, Burly not but a few yards behind her. Even bound, she was fast but his stride was long. He was quickly catching up.

“You stay away from me, Burly Troll or I’ll…I’ll…” Swiftly she ducked behind a large tree, circling round its circumference as he did the same on the other side.

“You’ll do what? Bite me?” he laughed. He made a grab for the crook of her arm, snagging her.

“HAAAAOOWWWW!” He yelled in triumph then in pain. “You bit me!”

“Hah!” she gloated, until she realized that he still had ahold of her arm. She could taste the saltiness of his blood where she had broken through his skin. Any other human would have recoiled in pain. But then, Burly was not a true human…Trolls were made of a more sturdy stock. Unfortunately, she had forgotten that small detail too late.

Burly saw red. The little vixen had gone too far this time. Not only had she lost him the chance to win the Troll throne with the loss of the witch, she had also taken away his ability to return to his handsome Troll self by the loss of the half-wolf.

“I should take that pretty little neck of yours and snap it in two. Do you know what you have lost me?” he complained, wrapping his hand around her long, soft neck. He could feel her swallow nervously, her breath, escaping in short pants, was warm on his face. She bit down on her bottom lip nervously and closed her eyes.

“If it makes you feel better…then do your worst. I have nothing to live for now anyway.” Accepting the inevitable, she ceased her struggle.

Burly ground his teeth as he fought against her enticing aroma at such close range.

Perhaps he should have left her in the carriage, at least she would have been out of the way and unable to create mischief. But kill her? Even in his anger he knew he would never be able to do such a thing… not to her. Relish would have called him weak, a sissy Elf, but he didn’t care. His dad was dead and no longer there to berate him in his decisions, right or wrong.

“You need to be punished,” he said menacingly.

Before she knew what he meant to do, Burly swung her up and hefted her over his shoulder. He strode back to the awaiting stallion while she struggled wildly, kicking and cursing to be let down. Instead, he heaved her over the horse’s rump, draping her on either side in a most unbecoming fashion, then stood there before her smiling with satisfaction.

The moon came out from behind the clouds, allowing enough light for her to look up and see him gloating over her.

“How dare you treat me this way!” she demanded, furious with him. “Either kill me or let me go!”

He lifted her head up by her long silver hair, twisting it in his fingers so that she could not turn away.

“You are in no position to demand anything!” he snapped in a loud voice, then crushed her lips in a vengeful kiss, breaking it off only when he felt her gasping desperately for breath.

Before she could respond in word, he leapt on the steed, setting the animal in motion. He grimaced as he listened to her cries as she was jostled in what he was sure was a most uncomfortable way. Kissing Cierce was becoming way too pleasurable of a pastime for his own good, a pleasure that was not part of his future. Trolls did not kiss, nor mate with little she-wolves, no matter how captivating. It would do him good to remember that and stay away from temptation.

Marjorie awoke to a strange bleating in her ear. She moaned and turned over, stiff at having spent the night under the overhang of a local farmer’s haystack and walking miles the night before. The hot, unpleasant odor of Tony’s breath blew in her face and she frowned, blinked, and then opened her eyes, squinting against the morning sun.

“Anthony! Please turn away, your breath is atrocious!”

The bleating continued.

“That’s not me Margie,” said Tony, waving at her over a pot of hot coffee. The farmer, on whose land they’d stayed the night, was only too happy to share with one of the Four Who Saved the Nine Kingdoms.

She focused her eyes and saw the unusual rectangle pupils of a fat goat staring back at her. She let out a little squeal and backed away swiftly, joining Tony who was preparing breakfast over a small campfire.

“What the hell was that?”

Tony smirked, then poured her a cup of coffee.

“A goat. Don’t you know what a goat looks like?”

“Well…of course I do!” she sniffed haughtily. “I just didn’t realize that they smelt that bad.”

“If you think that’s bad, wait till you get a whiff of a real Troll. Now there’s a smell for you.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory.

“Here.” He threw some bacon slices into a tortilla and handed it to her. “I made you some breakfast. We may have a long walk ahead of us today. You better eat up.”

Marjorie looked at the grease dripping from the bottom of the bread distastefully.

“You expect me to eat this?”

“It’s delicious and it’s the only thing we’ve got,” he looked at her and said wryly with a tight smile. “Wolf loves it.”

“Well…I suppose…if Wolf likes it,” she replied, still not quite sure, taking a small bite anyway. “But all that cholesterol…!”

Tony shook his head. The woman could swill booze like a fish for years and she was worried about clogging her arteries? Go figure.

They finished eating, then packed away sandwiches and cheese for later. The farmer was nice enough even to send them off with a few sweet, juicy apples, which they happily accepted.

“You two be careful,” the old man warned. This here road forks off about a quarter hour’s journey past Little Lamb Village. Whatever you do, stay on the main road from the village. If’n you turn left you’ll be on the Troll road. You may be a pay’n a perty high price to use that road. Many is the folk who has used it and never was heard from again.”

Tony shuddered. Little Lamb Village was not necessarily one of his most favorite stops in his and Virginia’s adventures through the Nine Kingdoms. Way too much murder and deceit happened there for him to stomach, although the food had been excellent.

“Thanks…I’ll take that into consideration,” Tony replied, then left the farmer to join Marjorie, waiting for him by the roadside.

Little more than an hour later, they crested a knoll, looking down on the village. It appeared as pristine and perfect as before. White fluffy lambs scampered in the surrounding fields while every building sparkled and shone proudly. Even the fields surrounding it were planted in perfect rows with delectable fruits and vegetables growing aplenty on each vine or stalk.

As they drew closer, Tony saw that each denizen now had perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect clothing, perfect…everything. The young maids were well endowed while the young men were virile and strong. Even the older folk, the few that could be seen, seemed youthful and vibrant. He frowned. What was going on here?

They turned the corner of the main street that led to the square and were stopped dead by a mass of people yelling, pushing and shoving at others ahead of them.

“What’s going on up there?” Tony asked, craning his neck. If this didn’t open up soon they would have to find another way around.

An old woman missing all her teeth save one heard him and turned around.

“This here’s the line for the magical wishing well. Hear tell throughout the whole of the Fourth Kingdom that if you drops a gold Wendell in, it will make your greatest wish come true. I’ve come to wish fer me teeth back in me head so’s I can chew a tasty steak. Haven’t had me a steak in years, not since…”

“All right! Okay!” Tony said quickly, backing away. “Thanks for the information.” He turned back to Marjorie.

“Gees…where do these people come from? I’m beginning to think it’s me!”

“What’s going on, Anthony?”

“It’s the wishing well. The last time Virginia and I were here, the Peeps had control of it for decades. Now it looks like it’s back where it is supposed to be and everyone can wish for anything anytime they want to. It’s causing pandemonium and one hell of a roadblock. No wonder everyone looks great. They’ve wished themselves that way.”

“Why don’t we just wish them back then?” Marjorie suggested. Her feet were growing sore again, plus she’d like to get a look at that wishing well. She had been a beauty in her day, perhaps…?

“No way,” Tony pooed her idea. “Look at that line! We’d be here for days waiting. Virginia and Wolf may be dead by then. What good would that do? Here, let’s cut through this alley and get out of here.”

Marjorie glanced back regretfully for a moment and followed her son-in-law. Perhaps on the way back? Time would tell.

The route through the alley led to what Tony thought was the main road out of town, so they followed it a few miles until they came to a wood sign, faded with age. Beside the sign was a locked gate, on either side of the gate sat a high fence, too tall even for Tony to climb over. He looked for the end of the fence, but it appeared to stretch on for miles around the forest. At the entrance to the gate sat a wizened Troll too old to be much of harm to anyone, thought Tony.

“Is this the entrance to the Disenchanted Forest?” Tony asked him.

“Yes,” the old Troll answered gruffly.

Tony waited for further information. None was forthcoming.

“Well, can we go inside?” he asked impatiently.

“Sure.” The Troll still sat there, not moving.

Tony had had enough. He blew up.

“Do you think that maybe…just maybe you could unlock the damn gate so we could get through?” he yelled.

The old Troll didn’t budge except to grab his cane and tap it against a worn sign half hidden by clinging vines. It read: DISENCHANTED TROLL ROAD: TWO GOLD WENDELLS OR GOOD LEATHER PIECES.

“I don’t believe it!” Tony stood there flabbergasted, his mouth hanging open.

“What? What’s going on?” Marjorie asked, alarmed.

“It’s a toll road! A Troll toll road. Get it? This old geezer wants to charge us to use this road! I won’t do it…its highway robbery!”

“Don’t be such a cheapskate, Anthony. Pay the…er, man…” She peered at the Troll closer. “Or whatever its gender is. No wonder Christine complained so much about not having hardly any clothes. You don’t even want to pay a little toll.”

“What! But, he…it’s not even his road!” he complained.

“Pay the man, Anthony!”

“Oh, all right! But it’s highway robbery.” Tony flipped the Troll two coins. “And don’t think for a minute that King Wendell won’t hear about this!” He flung in for good measure.

All the old Troll did was yawn, looking bored as he shuffled to unlock the gate. A moment later they were through and traveling into the dense forest with Tony grumbling most the way.