Chapter 17 Your First Vanquishing #2
“Oh, shut up.” Sage scowled. “You don’t know anything about my darkened soul. You’re the berk who didn’t recognize a siren call for what it was.”
“She’s right. It’s not very chivalric of you,” Casimir laughed. “Given the whole knighthood thing, aren’t you supposed to be fair and true, not chasing after mermaids?”
“He’s neither of those things in a pub quiz; he’s not going to be either of them for the realm.”
“I couldn’t help it,” Patrick whined. “They were…They were really pretty! Their voices…And their hair was doing a nice, swishy thing in the water. Before I knew it, they’d pulled me in, and I couldn’t stay afloat in my suit.”
“Pathetic,” Sage sneered, enjoying the tragic, soggy sight of him. “What were you even doing parading around in full armour before you were distracted by the seashell bras and shiny tails?”
“Good question, Specs. And do we know where said mermaids went, Pat, just out of curiosity?” Casimir asked. “You know, for thorough research purposes, more than anything. It would be good to get to know them, find out what makes them tick. And if they are interested in a drink with m—”
Sage gave him a well-earned shove.
“I was on my way to the dell,” Patrick said, straightening up to puff out his chest. “ ’Tis my duty to vanquish the monster that lies within.”
Great. Sage thumbed her brow and clenched her jaw. “Monster, Patrick? Care to tell us any more than that?”
“It’s actually Sir Gamble of the Port’s Tower, if you don’t mind.”
Casimir snorted. “Only if you call me ‘baby.’ ”
Patrick stamped his foot with a loud clash of metal from his suit of armour. “You heathens mock the sanctity of knighthood! I shall have no further part in these childish guffaws.” He pushed between them to get past, starting a determined robotic walk in the direction of the dell.
Sage sighed. “We’re going to have to follow him, aren’t we?”
Casimir nodded miserably. “Plenty of great characters around, but we are seriously short of villains thus far. It’s not improbable that there is indeed some form of monster present, given the way everything else is unfolding. Could even be the giant from your garden if we’re really unfortunate.”
“Giant might be one of the more favourable options, considering the possible alternatives. Bloodthirsty evil queens? Malevolent tricksters? Dragons?” Sage said, summoning the strength. “Come on, then. Better be ready; unsheathe your sword.”
“Steady on, Specs. At least take me for dinner first.”
It was a miracle that Casimir did not land headfirst in the stream.
Keeping an eye on Patrick was not a difficult task.
They simply followed the faint sound of rattling metal through town and the trail of bewildered-looking women from whom the knight had insisted on taking some form of hanky or neck scarf as a token, promising to win their favour.
He was the most incomparable fool Sage had ever come across.
When they made it back to the greenery of the dell, all was unnervingly still.
Patrick was doing a terrible job of remaining inconspicuous as he clanged and clattered along the pathway, which didn’t seem like a great tactic when there was apparently a monster in their midst. Sage and Casimir kept more than a fair distance to avoid whatever lay ahead, as well as the way the knight was frantically wielding his sword above his head.
“He’s got absolutely no control over that thing,” Casimir muttered. “Embarrassing.”
“Oh, and you’re such a professional, are you?”
“Obviously. I am the handsome prince. There are plenty of knights of the realm but only one of me, and his armour isn’t even particularly shining. I could take him without even breaking a sweat.”
“Luckily, I don’t think you’ll have to bother.
I think that thing is probably going to do the job for you.
” Sage pointed to the left side of the bridge ahead, where, with a rustle of the dense bushes and a lot of swiftly flattened shrubbery, what she could only describe as a collection of rounded boulders with feet emerged.
Sage rushed to pull her notebook from her satchel and plucked the pencil from behind her ear to throw together a quick sketch of the beast.
A genuine troll before her very eyes. There’d been no proven sightings in Europe since the mid-sixties.
Once common in the more remote parts of Scotland and Wales, global warming had sent them all to more secluded, colder parts of the planet, and they generally avoided being seen at all costs.
The troll’s huge, hulking form was almost the entire height and width of the bridge, and it plonked itself directly underneath to prevent Patrick from going any further.
The troll gave a heavy, hard-worked sigh as it took a seat, sending a crack down the pathway under the vast weight.
It scratched absent-mindedly at the thick knotted carpet of moss and ferns that trailed all the way down its back and up both arms and yawned.
Patrick yelped and stumbled backwards. “I am here t-to vanquish you!”
The troll gave a deep, ground-rattling groan before its mouth cracked open to speak. “Take one of me and be sure you shall leave more behind.”
Patrick faltered. “P-p-pardon?”
Sage could have sworn she saw the troll give an impatient eye-roll. “Take one of me and be sure you shall leave more behind,” it repeated in a gravelly voice that sounded as though it might well split the earth wide open if it shouted any louder.
“Well, I…I don’t know what you mean! And you deserve no mercy, fell beast!” Patrick brandished his sword and charged at the troll as fast as he could, which wasn’t particularly fast under the weight of armour hanging from his shoulders.
The troll barely even flinched as the tip of the sword dinged against the boulder that shaped his chest. Patrick, meanwhile, rebounded backwards with such force that he fell flat on his back with a crash. He hurried to pick himself up again.
“This is highly embarrassing. Entertaining, though,” Casimir said, throwing a lazy arm around Sage’s shoulders while she stood with her arms crossed, observing with a twisted sort of glee. She would step in and help in a moment. Probably.
“Arrgghhhh!” Patrick let out another war cry and tried again with another charge, this time throwing out a very ill-calculated high kick at the troll’s giant foot.
Again, the troll simply gave a grunt while Patrick did three backwards rolls from the rebound impact and landed in the shrubbery.
Sage had to give it to the man: He was a blockhead but a determined blockhead nonetheless.
“I’m assuming you have a brilliant plan?” Casimir murmured into the top of Sage’s hair. She turned to face him, confused.
“I did the honours at the stream. Aren’t you the one who keeps going on about how easily you could take him?”
“I could fight that moron,” Casimir said, pointing to Patrick, who was fumbling his way out of the hedge. “But I’m not sure I like my odds against that thing,” he said. “That’s going to require some of your magical handiwork.”
“Funnily enough, I’m not sure I have many troll-vanquishing spells in my limited repertoire, Casimir,” Sage said, annoyed that he would assume she was so endlessly capable.
Come to think of it, though, she couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been able to solve anything that was ever brought to her, whether insignificant or urgent, so perhaps he had good reason to assume.
“Although we have researched them thoroughly. Remember? That essay in third year, on their historic penchant for…”
“Riddles,” Casimir finished.
Sage nodded, surprised but impressed that he remembered.
“Luckily for you, we don’t need to fight him at all.
We just need to solve his word games.” She methodically rolled up her sleeves and pushed up her glasses, gathering her focus.
Magic sent a flare of something sharp between her index fingers, but for once, rather than panic or fear of what was to come, the sensation sent a rush of confidence through her blood.
She did her best to repress a secret smile.
“Advanced-level brain teasers,” Casimir laughed. “This is your idea of a perfect date, isn’t it, Specs?”
But Sage had already stridden off in the direction of the troll. Patrick was hopping from one foot to the next in what seemed to be an attempt to pump himself back up for one more attack.
“Patrick, hold on a moment,” Sage called impatiently. “Don’t do anything—”
But it was too late. Patrick, with an on-the-spot dance like a footballer taking a penalty, ran full pelt towards the troll’s rotund, rocky stomach.
This time, the troll had evidently had enough.
Finding the incoming flash of silver nothing but an irritating inconvenience, the troll gave a deep, guttural roar as its right hand flew out and batted Patrick away like a fly.
Even if Sage did loathe the man, she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.
It was the closest thing she’d ever seen to a cartoon in real life—a spinning whirlwind, tweeting birds and flashing stars practically circling his head.
Patrick skidded along the ground in a bewildered heap of limbs and metal, the impact knocking the breath from him with a highly undignified “oof.”
Sage winced as he landed and curled himself up into a ball, but she couldn’t think about him yet. She had to face the troll first.
“Now, look here,” Sage said firmly as she approached the creature, who had been happily distracted by a speckled thrush landing on its shoulder. He turned his attention back to Sage with a grumble.
“I’m certainly not here to fight you. Look, no sword.” She gestured down to the buckled belt of her high-waisted trousers. “I’m only here to solve your riddles, so do your worst.”
The troll grunted, intrigued. “Take one of me and be sure you shall leave more behind,” it repeated.
“Footsteps,” she said simply and waved him on. “Next.”