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"Green-eyed monster"

by John Payne

September 1998

Helga stepped back warily, sucking in big gulps of cool morning air as she held her heavy broadsword ready in front of her. The clearing was splattered with thick purple blood and littered here and there with child-sized chunks of troll.

Lor stepped out into the open from among the pine trees with a wry smile on his face and an arrow nocked on the string of his bow. He glanced around approvingly. "Well, darling, you seem to have taken care of things pretty well," he said.

Helga snorted. "No thanks to you." She sheathed her sword and began looking around for the helmet that the troll had knocked off her head some time during the fight.

"Be kind," Lor replied. He took his arrow off the bow string and put his bow under his left arm. He walked toward her, treading carefully to avoid soiling his boots in the mess that had once been a troll. "Didn't I help?" Lor gestured around vaguely with the arrow in his right hand. "Aren't some of these mine?" he asked, referring to the feathered shafts protruding from various bits of the troll's remains.

"They're all yours," growled Helga.

"Well then, love," said Lor. He put away his arrow and began to unstring his bow. "What have you got to grumble about? From the look on your face, you'd think I was on his side instead of yours."

"Arrows don't kill trolls. They just make them mad. You know that. We're just lucky it was small enough that I could take care of it by myself," said Helga as she walked around the clearing, turning over bits of carcass, still looking for her lost helmet.

Lor rolled his eyes. "Have you ever tried killing one with arrows?"

"No," Helga said over her shoulder, engrossed in her search.

"Then how would you know?" Lor picked up Helga's helmet, which he had been standing in front of since he walked into the clearing. The next time she turned to face him, he tossed it to her. "You're just angry because my way is easier and you can't do it."

Helga blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and replaced the helmet. "You are a liar, and the most infuriating man I have ever known."

Lor grinned wickedly. "And that's why you love me."

"What I would love," said Helga, "is to track down our horses and find somewhere to camp before it gets dark. And what I would really love is to get out of the Neverlands before winter sets in."

Lor scowled. "Always the practical one. You know, if you keep spoiling all the romantic moments, you and I will never get together."

"What spoils the romantic moments is your ugly face," Helga said with an accusing finger pointed at her companion.

"My ugly face?" demanded Lor as they walked out of the clearing to find their mounts.

He was a rascal, and a liar, but all the same Helga was glad for his companionship. The sparsely forested hills of the Neverlands are not a land fit to be traveled alone in any season, and with winter coming on soon, the dangers just got worse. And more than that, it was a novel change to have a man flirt with her. It was true that he flirted with every other woman he saw, and she was almost positive that it didn't mean anything by it, but Lor was the first man she had ever met who treated her like other women.

Like all her people, Helga was tall, blonde, and fair-skinned. Fair-skinned, but not fair, she thought to herself with a grimace. When she was still in the cradle, people used to joke that it was cruel to curse a baby with an ugly name like Helga. Then she grew into the name, and people started looking for jokes that didn't cut so close. It's not that her face was so hideous. True, she was plain, but there were women plainer. If she had only just been a bit closer in size to the pretty little girls that she grew up with, she might even have found a husband. But as it was, it hadn't mattered how prettily she had dressed, or how many flowers she had braided into her hair. No man was interested in a woman that could hoist him over her head with one arm. So, instead of tending a warm hearth with a babe at her breast, Helga found herself traveling through these desolate hills with a sword on her back.

She and Lor had been part of a company of mercenaries paid to protect a caravan moving north, but the whole thing had gone sour and they were left in the middle of nowhere with hardly a coin to their names. She and Lor had left the company and headed south through the Neverlands, trying to reach a port city before winter. The ports of the north bustled and teemed with ships in the warmer months, but were barren all winter. If they could just get to a port, Helga and Lor might be able to barter their services for passage on a ship headed south and find work for their swords there. But each passing day meant a smaller chance of finding a ship in port and a greater chance of a long, lean winter. . .

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