The Frostling

By Tommy Baggins

A feudal lord is in need of an heir. He finds a distant relative who might fit the bill. There's just one problem; the heir doesn't want the job. This is an entry for NaNoWriMo 2016.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tommy Baggins
• Release date: Nov 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370077373

Tommy Baggins

Who am I? I'm a lover of sci-fi and fantasy fiction as well as a fan of classic movies. I'm a self-proclaimed royal historian of Oz as well as the self-proclaimed emperor of Canada and, yes, I'm completely full of it. I like to think that I'm a sterling example of person with Asperger's syndrome. It may be more trouble than it's worth but it lends me and my writing a distinctive perspective. I live in the real-life fairy country along the border between Delaware and Pennsylvania. Although, during the summers, I like to throw on a backpack and go walking among the mountains.

Book preview

The Frostling

by Tommy Baggins

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 by Tommy Baggins

Autumn had come to the mainland and with it came cooler temperatures and chilly breezes. The wyverns had begun to migrate. Tropical wyverns, which had come north for the summer, were heading south in search of warmer climates. Meanwhile, arctic wyverns, which had spent the summer in the far north, were coming south.

People went about their business as groups of wyverns flew overhead like flocks of birds. Occasionally, a wyvern would swoop down and catch a groundhog or a rabbit or maybe even a deer and fly away with it. Make no mistake; these were deadly and terrifying predators. Fortunately, however, wyverns rarely bothered humans except, perhaps, to kill livestock from time to time. Unlike dragons, which are said to be their cousins, wyverns didn't collect treasure, never kidnapped princesses and showed little interest in battling knights. Although related to dragons, wyverns looked more like velociraptors with wings.

This is how things were in the town of Backwater Gap. Local farmers harvested their crops. Travelers rode or walked along the roads into or out of the town. Traders sailed along the river that flowed along the edge of the town. All of them tended to their business and kept half an eye on the sky.

One of the residents of Backwater Gap was an absurd fellow with a bluish tint to his skin and silver hair. He had the body of a wrestler and the fingers of a pianist. He stood a little more than five feet tall. His name was Eldric Dargon but no one called him that; instead, everyone called him the Frostling. The reason for this was simple; he was part frost giant. Curiously, he was also part halfling. Therefore, one of his parents would be one of the largest people in the world while his other parent would be one of the smallest. How exactly that had come about was anyone's guess. The Frostling's parents had never said. Most folks didn't even know who they were. The Frostling himself insisted that he didn't know either.

Presently, the Frostling was walking on one of the hills that stood just to the east of Backwater Gap. This particular range of hills stretched to the north all the way to the north coast of the mainland 700 miles away. These same hills stretched farther than that to the south. Trees and bushes covered these hills. Most of those were deciduous and were in the process of winterizing themselves by changing their leaves from green to every other color imaginable. Here and there, however, were conifer, both shrubs and full sized trees. Although these would stay green, they, like their deciduous cousins, would go into the arboreal equivalent of hibernation through the winter.

Evidence of wyverns littered the forest: tracks, nests, broken bits of egg shells, scratches on the trees and the occasional pile of poop. Wyverns lived on these hills. Since these hills ran north and south, the wyverns also used them as a migration route. That made them the perfect hunting ground for someone like the Frostling.

The Frostling walked along. Small plants swished aside as he brushed past them. His boots crunched over soil and half buried rocks and the occasional patch of sand.

Why, the Frostling asked no one at all, is there sand on a hilltop? I thought sand was a beach thing. I'll have to find out sometime.

The Frostling stepped on a jagged rock that laid loose on top of the ground. Such a rock could easily have tripped a person unaccustomed to them but not the Frostling; as the rock rolled underfoot, he rolled with it and kept going.

A wyvern's screech cut the quiet of the hills. The Frostling looked. A tropical wyvern that had not yet gone south for the winter was on the warpath. Its red scales shimmered in the sunlight. It wasn't, fortunately, looking at the Frostling. Its wrath was directed at a second wyvern. A newly arrived arctic wyvern with scales the color of snow, glared back at the angry red wyvern.

The Frostling stood still and watched. The wyverns snarled at each other. They circled each other like a pair of prize fighters. Perhaps they were prize fighters; the prizes being a bit of respect and a patch of turf. Then they struck with a flurry of teeth and claws. The fight was over in only a few seconds. Both wyverns flew away in different directions. Both were bruised and bloody but, other than that, neither was injured.

Hmm, the Frostling said to no one, they were mostly just posturing.

The Frostling moved on. He had a job to do and his job was a dirty one. He carried a shovel in one hand and a wicker basket strapped on his back. The basket had a cloth liner inside it and was nearly as big as the Frostling himself. He searched the ground as he walked along. Whenever he found a pile of wyvern manure, he scooped it up with the shovel and dropped it into the basket. The Frostling didn't hunt wyverns; he hunted their manure. It made great fertilizer if nothing else and it was said to contain a variety of valuable minerals that could be separated out.

The Frostling also pocketed the occasional mushrooms that grew out of some of the piles of manure. He had decided that he didn't want to know for sure what these mushrooms were used for. He had also never gotten around to asking whether or not those uses were legal.

The Frostling encountered lots of wyverns in these hills. That was why he was here collecting their manure. Wyverns flew overhead. They walked along the ground. A few roosted on some of the larger tree limbs and watched the Frostling. They looked like draconian buzzards.

Walking and shoveling continued. The wyverns mostly took no notice of the Frostling. They hardly cared about him at all. To them, he was just another part of the forest. A few of them snarled as he passed but that was about all the reaction they ever gave him.

When the basket was full, the Frostling walked into town with it. He walked straight for a vast building that was referred to as the auction house. The building wasn't much to look at. It was just a rectangular building with stone walls and a leaky sheet metal roof. The Frostling walked up to one of the side doors and, with the help of an employee of the auction house, he placed his basket onto a scale to be weighed. After that, they emptied the contents of the basket into a big wooden barrel that already contained several basket loads from throughout the day. The employee filled out several sheets of paperwork regarding the deposit. He also gave the Frostling a check from the sales of yesterday's load of wyvern manure.

The employee took a quick look around before quietly paying the Frostling in cash for the bag of mushrooms.

The employee asked, I have to know. How do you do it?

The Frostling asked, How do I do what?

The employee asked, "Those