The Scribe and the Sword
Part Three
Kit stretched out on the furs of her bower, smiling at the afternoon sun slanting through the trees. She ought to pull herself out of bed and get moving. There was always work to be done as new-green began to turn to longsun. But she felt too deliciously weary to move. Perhaps she would simply claim the growing life inside was draining her strength.
Littlefire lay with his ear to her belly, as if expecting to hear the cub’s heartbeat. Kit and Rainsong both had already explained it was still too early for the cub to be felt by anyone beyond mother and healer. But as with all admonitions, her lifemate paid it little heed.
Kit giggled as a stray lock of his hair tickled her navel. Littlefire shushed her.
“What are you doing?” she finally asked.
“Sending,” came his distracted reply.
“The cub can’t hear your sendings yet, Wesh. He’s still too little.”
“Course she can,” he mumbled. “Why do you keep calling her ‘him’?”
Kit propped herself up on her elbows. “It’s a girl?”
“’Course.”
“H-how do you know?”
“She told me.”
“The cub can’t send yet. He – she’s – no bigger than a little pebble. If that!”
“No. Can’t send yet. But she told me. Not sending, but something else. Mmnnh!” he blew the air out through his lips angrily as he often did when he could not express himself. “Can’t send yet. But she can listen. I want her to get used to my sendings. S-so she’s not afraid of them.”
Kit smiled indulgently. Sometimes even she could never quite figure out what Littlefire was trying to say. But she couldn’t argue with his reasoning.
He rose on his elbows, then shifted on the furs so he lay down next to her. He wrinkled his nose. “You smell different,” he told her.
“You have a nose to put a Wolfrider to shame. I suppose you can scent the cub in me.”
He nodded gravely.
“Does it bother you?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “I want you to smell like you again.”
“I mean the cub... coming into our lives like this... unasked for.”
He gave it serious thought. “Yes. But... it’s not important. I... y-you bother me. Y-you make everything all muddled and complicated. But I like you. The cub will muddle everything. But I like her too. I think.”
“You’ll make a good father, Littlefire.”
“No!” He drew back suddenly. “No – no – no... don’t want that. Don’t – too much. One-Eye’s the father. He’s got to do it. I’d make a muddle of it.” He thought about it a moment. “No. Not a father. I couldn’t. Could... I be something else?”
She touched his cheek. “You can be whatever you wish to be to this child.”
“I could be a Cheipar,” Littlefire decided. “I think I could do that.”
“Elder brother, then.”
They lay in silence for a time, before Littlefire asked, “Bothers you?”
Kit was surprised by the question. He was unusually perceptive today. Normally such subtleties buried in her speech were lost to him.
“I thought it would. I... didn’t look for it. Didn’t want it – and hated that I should want it. Hated that cursed Recognition. But now... I think I’m getting used to the idea.”
She winced. “What’s wrong?” Littlefire asked.
“Don’t know...” Kit murmured. “Something... something just didn’t feel right for a moment.”
* * *
“Get behind me, Shen!” Brightmetal shouted as he swung out with his sword wildly, trying to block hurled stones and whiplashing chains.
“What’s wrong with them?” Shenshen howled as she sought refuge behind his broad shoulders. The trolls were steadily driving them back up the stairs towards the sealed tunnel. They were trapped, and they both knew it. Still Brightmetal fought to shield his lifemate from their chains, and their greedy grasping hands.
“Treasure....” the trolls moaned. “Treasure...”
“Get back!” Brightmetal roared. “I am Brightmetal – son of Two-Edge, the Master Smith! We are lords of this mountain. You will obey me!”
The trolls gave no indication they understood his speech as they pressed the lifemates into the trap. They gurgled and drooled and pressed on, their sheer numbers overwhelming Brightmetal’s sword arm.
“I told you there were trolls in the tunnels!” Shenshen screamed over the mumbling.
Brightmetal struggled with the chain now wrapped about his wrist. “What do you want, you mindless–”
“I told you!”
“Shenshen... love... I – agh – appreciate that – but could you just – back, you! – SHUT UP for a minute?”
The sea of sweaty trolls overwhelmed them. Brightmetal’s sword was torn from his hands. As he teetered off-balance, the trolls pushed him aside roughly to advance on Shenshen. She screamed as calloused hands began to tug and tear at her clothing.
“Brightmetal!”
“Get your hands off my lifemate, you filthy savages–”
Shenshen kicked and scratched. But the trolls were merciless. They tore the gold ornaments from her hair. They ripped the gold hoops from her skirt and yanked her golden breastplate off with such force the clasps tore her skin. They stripped her half-naked as she fought them. But once she was left in tatters of simple cloth, the attack ended. Shenshen was left bruised on the steps, desperately trying to cover herself as the trolls turned on the restrained Brightmetal.
“It’s our metal they want!” Brightmetal managed to shout. The trolls were swarming him. In mere moments he was divested of his golden collar and his metal wrist-bracers. Then he was bound with the heavy chains. Shenshen tried to scramble to her feet. But with Brightmetal now subdued, the trolls had remembered her. The chain lashed out, and Shenshen fell back to the stone steps.
“Something’s wrong!” Aroree fretted as they sat around the stone table. “Brightmetal and Shenshen should have returned by now.”
Two-Edge covered her hand with his. “Shenshen ran off full of steam. I hope she did not get herself lost in the mazes.”
“Can you send?” One-Eye asked.
“They must be out of range. Every time I try... nothing.”
Clearbrook shrugged. She could not share Aroree’s worries. The disappearance of her part-time tutor and his lifemate could have any number of causes, all equally innocuous. Her sword held more fascination, as she carefully sharpened it on the whetstone.
“Maybe they wanted a little time alone,” she suggested. “Together.”
Aroree shook her head. “I don’t think so. There are precious few places in the caves exactly... welcoming for games of love.”
“You just need some imagination.”
“No. Something’s happened. I can feel it.”
One-Eye chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Can’t say I like it. What with Shenshen wound so tight... and those noises we still haven’t been able to place. My hackles are up too.”
Clearbrook wound the wrapping over the hilt of her blade. “I say they’re probably gnawing a bone between them. Don’t fret, Aroree. They’ll be back in time for supper. That son of yours never misses a good meal.”
One-Eye shook his head. “Something just doesn’t feel right.”
“You know sending’s no good down here,” Shenshen told her lifemate as he pressed his eyes tightly closed and tried to send his thoughts into the aether. “We’re too far down.”
Exhausted, Brightmetal opened his eyes. “I know...” He looked up at the sheers wall of the chasm down which the trolls had dropped them. They had easily shrugged off the heavy chains once left alone. But the walls of their deep pit were perfectly smooth, and nearly perpendicular to the floor. They would never climb out without help.
The trolls had lost all interest in them once they had taken their gold and brightmetal. Shenshen had managed to salvage her woven belt and crisscrossed it over her chest as a flimsy halter. Brightmetal massaged his sore arms and winced at the bruises already rising on his biceps. All in all, they had escaped lightly. If only they could escape from the pit.
“Have they come back at all?” Brightmetal asked.
Shenshen shook her head. She stared up at the lip of the chasm high above them, almost lost in the gloom. “What do you think they want?”
“Gold, for one. Brightmetal – any metal, by the looks of things.” He looked down at his tattered tunic. “They took everything that wasn’t shiny.” He gave her a crooked smile. “At least they weren’t interested in what they found after the gold came off. Guess you were too skinny for their taste.”
Shenshen hugged her chest, shivering in the cool air. She tried to jest. “Thanks High Ones for small mercies.”
“Cursed glassy-eyed things – they didn’t seem to see anything besides the metal. It’s like their brains... all their senses rotted away. Shen...” he took in her shivering, her fear. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If I had listened to you....” Words failed him, and instead he held out his arms. She ran to him gratefully. They sank back to the ground together, holding each other tightly. “We’ll get out of this,” he told her. “You’ll see. Father will find us... get us out of this mess.”
“How will he find us?”
“Aww... between him and Mother, they’ll be worried sick about us by now. Won’t be long before they start searching... they’re bound to get within sending range sooner or later.”
“They’re bound to...” Shenshen repeated tonelessly.
They heard scuffling in the darkness high above them. They looked up at the shadowed edge of the pit.
“Skinnies...” called a slurred voice above them.
“Watch who you’re calling ‘skinny!’” Brightmetal growled, getting to his feet. “Come down here and face me like a real troll, misfit! I’ll show you how a Prince of Blue Mountain fights!”
“You... have... treasure...” the voice called down.
“We had. Until you took it, you filthy thieves! I want my sword back!”
“Now... we have... treasure.”
“Wormwater you do! Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Skinny... troll...”
“I am Brightmetal! Son of Two-Edge, the Master Smith! Lord of Blue Mountain! Bane of Guttlekraw!”
“Guttle-kraw?”
“Oh, you remember him, do you? Well, my father brought down his entire kingdom once! You think he can’t handle a few misfit trolls? You let me and my mate go, or by Guttlekraw’s skull, my father will settle things with you!”
“Smith?”
“Yep, that’s right! Master Smith!”
“You... smith?”
“So I am!” Brightmetal shouted, full of bravado. “And Heir to Blue Mountain. So you think about what it means to kidnap a troll of royal blood – you scum-sucking wart!”
The unseen troll laughed. It was a sickening sound, more akin to air gurgling in a flooded windpipe. “Good. Smith. You make us treasure.”
“What? I will not! I’m nobody’s slave! You let us go, or I swear–”
“You make us treasure!” the misfit troll ordered. “We... masters... here.”
With that vaguely coherent threat, the troll shuffled away, leaving Brightmetal and Shenshen alone in their prison.
The candles had burned down to pools of melted fat. Dark shadows crept into the corners of the room, and even Clearbrook began to grow nervous. Supper had been cooked, forgotten, and cooled on the table before them. It was growing late indeed.
“I can’t stand it any longer,” Aroree said, springing up from the table. “If I’m wrong and they’ve snuck off to be alone, I’ll glad be laughed at.”
“Maiden!” Two-Edge called, but Aroree was already flying down the tunnel towards the forges. Two-Edge seized up his hammer and hastened after her. One-Eye looked to Clearbrook. Now she looked up with equal concern in her eyes. She nodded.
“It might be a mother’s baseless fear,” he said. “But my gut tells me to trust her. And if Shenshen was right...”
Clearbrook rose, examining her blade. “I used to dream of chasing shadows through Blue Mountain, sword in hand. I thought... Kit thought... I was dreaming of the past. Perhaps I was dreaming of the yet-to-be.”
“We don’t know the danger yet,” One-Eye said. “But there’s no better time than now to give that sword a good beginning.”
Clearbrook gave the sword a testing swing. “It feels good to have one in my hand again.”
**Brightmetal!** Aroree sent desperately as she flitted down the corridors. **Brightmetal, son, answer me!**
“Aroree!” Two-Edge caught up with her and took her by the arms as she tried to dart down another passageway. “Wait! Slow down – you’ll never find him like this. There are countless tunnels under the mountain. You know that.”
“He’s in trouble, Two-Edge!” she wept. Exhausted, her legs gave out beneath her, and she dropped to her knees. “I know! I can feel it! He’s hurt... or trapped... or – I don’t know! But he’s in trouble. Or he would be here. He’d never stay down in the depths without telling us. He knows better than that.”
“Call on the Palace. As we’ve done before. Even a world away, the Master’s power can lend us the strength–”
“Oh, Two-Edge – I cannot think straight. My thoughts could never reach it–”
He took her tiny hands in his. “Then I will lend you my strength, beloved.”
He bent his head to hers and they touched brows. His clumsy sending powers added to hers, their thoughts stretched out into the depths of the mountain, battering against the empty air in search of a reply.
For long moments, nothing. Then a faint reply.
**....Mother – **
**Brightmetal!** they redoubled their efforts, their combined sending growing stronger as Aroree was fortified by the sound of his voice. **Brightmetal – what has happened? Where are you?**
** – Trolls – ...dozen... – caught... can’t... misfit... rotten... help....**
**Are you hurt?**
**– No... not... just... bruised... cold....**
**Shenshen?**
**....Here... she... right... should... listened to... her...**
**We’re coming, son,** Two-Edge sent. **Keep sending... we’ll find you both.**
By now One-Eye and Clearbrook had caught up with the distraught parents, and Aroree breathlessly explained the garbled sending. “Trolls. Crazed trolls. They have Brightmetal and Shenshen. Oh, my poor daughter – she tried to warn us – they’ve been under Blue Mountain all this time.”
Clearbrook shuddered. She could almost smell the sickly scent from her dreams. Her newborn sword felt very heavy at her hip.
“They’re beneath us,” Two-Edge said. “In the eastern passages... near Mother’s old chambers.”
“What do they want with them?” One-Eye asked.
“Does it matter?” Aroree exclaimed. She clutched at the talon whip at her waist.
“No,” Clearbrook said evenly. “Let’s go.”
Shenshen squealed and scurried for cover as something dark came whistling down through the air. The toadstools rained down around her, one smacking her soundly on the head.
“Is this your idea of hospitality?” Brightmetal shouted up.
“Eat,” the jail keeper commanded. “Eat. Sleep. Then you make us treasure.”
“Wormwater! You want treasure, you make it yourselves!”
“You smith. You make us treasure.”
“What is wrong with you, you pus-filled slug?”
“He can’t understand you, Brightmetal,” Shenshen said. “He can’t understand anything but ‘smith’ and ‘treasure.’”
“What happened to you?” Brightmetal shouted up. “How did your kin become such dull-witted lumps? You were proud trolls, once! You must have been. You knew King Guttlekraw. You knew that name at least!”
“Guttle... kraw.”
“Yes!” Brightmetal exclaimed. “Guttlekraw! Were you Guttlekraw’s trolls? Or Picknose’s?”
“Guttle... kraw.”
“Augh!” Brightmetal clutched his temples in exasperation.
“He can’t understand,” Shenshen insisted.
Brightmetal slumped down to the ground next to her. “Like talking to a treewee. He can’t do anything but mumble back the same sounds.” He picked up a toadstool and examined it. “At least they don’t plan to poison us. Probably don’t have the wits for that either.” He sighed. “How do good trolls rot into misfits like those, Shen? I’ve spied on the trolls of King Picknose... they’re noble folk, by and large. A little... slow sometimes. A little... rough around the edges. But they’re good folk. Like my grandfather, rest his bones.”
“What about Guttlekraw?”
“Well... he was cruel, but he was no fool. If he had ever stumbled on trolls as twisted as this lot, he’d kill them all before letting their stupidity infect the rest of the folk.”
Shenshen considered it. “Whatever happened to Guttlekraw’s trolls?”
“They became Picknose’s, when he took the crown. Then they became Slagg’s when he bested Picknose... then Picknose won them all back, and they’ve been his since then.”
“All of them? No... old trolls who stayed loyal to Guttlekraw?”
Brightmetal shrugged. “You only stay loyal to your king if he’s worthy of staying king. But... I suppose there might have been a few old warriors... ones Picknose wouldn’t trust... ones thrown out – ahhh!”
Shenshen smiled patiently, nodding. “Ah.”
Brightmetal beamed. “You’re so smart, Shen.”
“One of us has to be, lifemate,” she replied smoothly, then squeaked as he tugged a hank of her hair playfully.
**Son?** Two-Edge’s sending was closer now. **Where are you?**
**Here,** Brightmetal sent. **A pit. We’re being guarded by at least one misfit.**
**Have they hurt you?** Aroree’s concerned sending broke in.
**A few bruises, that’s all. Though they didn’t leave my maiden with much to wear. They’re barking mad. All they can see anything with even a glint in metal in it. Treasure, treasure – that’s almost all they can say. They mean to keep me as their new smith. They’re gone rotten, all of them! They can’t make metals themselves so they expect me to do it for them.**
**They know of old King Guttlekraw,**Shenshen added helpfully.
**Aye. Shen thinks they might be leftovers from the Palace War. Could they go that rotten in so short a time?**
**‘So short a time’ is a forest’s age, Brightmetal,** Clearbrook interrupted.
Even as they sent to their captive friends, the elves and the half-troll crouched in the shadows, overlooking the three misfit trolls. **Thank High Ones for all your crawlspaces, Two-Edge,** Clearbrook added.
**We’re almost there, son,** Two-Edge told Brightmetal. **Hold fast.**
**Can they smell us?** One-Eye asked.
**Trolls noses aren’t the sharpest,** Two-Edge replied. **Stay low. It’s their night-vision we have to worry about.**
They clung to the rock shelf, spying on the nearly unintelligible conversation. The trolls seemed to be debating the fate of the prisoners. As Aroree and Two-Edge scowled at the trolls’ alien manners, One-Eye and Clearbrook quickly sized up the power hierarchy at work.
“Should we...?” the smallest of the trio asked. “Smith... strong... master–”
“I am master!” the largest misfit growled in his slurred speech. “Smith make treasure for us!”
“Smith... stronger than Guttle-kraw...” argued the second one.
“Smith make us stronger than Guttlekraw!” the leader intoned, thumping his fat chest for emphasis. “Smith make us weapons... make us treasure. Smith make us strong!”
**That one,** Aroree sent. **The one with a barrel for a chest.**
**Aye, he seems to be chief wolf here,** One-Eye sent.
**Well... we know what to do,** Clearbrook drew her sword.
**No...** Two-Edge sent. **Wait. We have to find the children first.**
Clearbrook squinted in the gloom. Even with her night-vision, it was hard to distinguish the shadows from the rocks. The trolls did not use torches, and the pitch black was only broken by the faint glow of the phosphorescent moss growing on the rocks. But she could discern a doorway beyond the three arguing trolls. The captives were being held in the next room.
Aroree and Two-Edge went to work even before Clearbrook could guess their plan. The former Chosen Eight floated high above the trolls as she hugged the curving ceiling of the cave. Two-Edge was behind her, scaling the walls with the nimbleness of a Wolfrider. The trolls never looked up; why would they? Aroree was on the other side in a heartbeat. Two-Edge followed more slowly, carefully picking his way across the crumbling handholds and footholds. But soon he too was on the ground, tiptoeing around the doorway while the trolls continued to bicker.
“Why you master?” the second-largest troll challenged in a rumbling murmur.
“I am strong!” Barrel snapped, backhanding the other one with a blow so slow and uncoordinated, any healthy creature could have sidestepped it. But not the shorter troll, who took it and stumbled under the weight of it.
“Smith make us treasure...” the smallest one murmured. Clearbrook could almost hear the thought process slowly forming in his slurred words. “Smith make us strong. We... strong... too.”
Barrel cuffed him too. Second saw a chance to redeem himself in his leader’s eyes and punched Third on the side of the head.
The beating might have continued, but for the bloodcurdling wail that came from the other room. The three trolls looked up in horror.
**Waiting’s over,** Clearbrook sent she dropped down from the ledge. One-Eye was close behind her.
Barrel was quickest, and seeing the little creatures race towards them in a blur, he staggered back to safety. Third cowered, and Clearbrook bounded over his trembling frame. But Second stood his ground, and slowly brought up the crude rock hammer at his side. He was too slow, and Clearbrook’s flashing blade was just a whistle in his ear as it slit across his throat.
Two-Edge silenced the screaming guard with a hammer to the jaw. Aroree had already dispatched the other one with her talon-whip to the back of his neck. But Two-Edge had been slower to strike the second guard, and he had gotten off a warning to his friends before Two-Edge crippled him.
**Father!** Brightmetal sent from the base of the pit.
“Take it!” Aroree shouted as she threw her bloodied talon-whip down into the pit. “Your father will pull you up.” She handed the end of the cord to Two-Edge, who quickly wrapped it around his wrist-bracer. Aroree dove into the pit, floating down to the base to retrieved Shenshen.
“No time for greetings,” she announced as she plucked the terrified elf off the floor. Shenshen wrapped her arms tight about Aroree’s shoulders and her legs about her waist as the Glider bore up out of the pit. Out of the corner of her eye, Aroree caught sight of Brightmetal winding the slack of the talon-whip’s cord around his own wrist before Two-Edge yanked it tight.
Aroree dropped Shenshen on the edge of the pit. Two-Edge was slowly hauling his son up out of the pit, and Aroree and Shenshen hastened to help him, and lend him their added strength.
One-Eye and Clearbrook burst into the chamber, blades drawn and bloodied. “We got one,” Clearbrook gasped out. “But chief wolf and the second one knew enough to get out of our range. They’re faster than they look.”
“We’re going to have company, I think,” One-Eye said.
In confirmation, a great murmuring war-cry echoed along the passageways.
Brightmetal and Aroree helped haul Brightmetal the last few inches out of the pit. Bruised and bloodied, he scrambled to his feet, instinctively reaching for his own sword. “Slugs! They’ve got my sword somewhere!”
“I’ll make you a new one,” Clearbrook said. “We have to get out of here.”
“Wormwater! I say we clean house!”
“We can argue later,” One-Eye barked. “Let’s go.”
They ran down the corridor into the next chamber, only to find a dead end. The room was empty, the walls bare of handholds, the floor smooth save for one lumpy stalagmite near the far wall.
“Double-back,” Brightmetal said, out of breath.
“Not likely,” One-Eye said, as he cast a glance back into the prison pit chamber. Ten large trolls were shambling through the door, grunting and gurgling in slow-burning rage.
Shenshen looked at the stalagmite sitting by the war. She looked up at the ceiling and saw no accompanying stalactite above it. In fact, the wall was completely smooth.
“Not even bothering to hide it,” she grumbled, stalking over to the mineral column and yanking on it with all her might.
The stalagmite tipped over under her slight weight and a grinding sound was her reward. Her family and friends turned around at the sound and gasped as the entire wall of the chamber slid away on old worn tracks.
“By my father’s bones...” Two-Edge breathed. “I’d forgotten we ever built this deep.”
The wall opened up, revealing the second marvel. Beyond it was a great chamber filled with priceless gems and precious metals. The light of the glowing moss bounded off the gold nuggets and diamond fragments, momentarily blinding them. The two trolls inside the chamber, their attentions formerly fixed on the treasure, turned about to face the intruders, mace and axe at the ready. Shenshen drew back at the sight of the misfits, but Brightmetal’s eyes scanned upwards, to the troll-forged weapons adorning the top of the great pile, lovingly set atop a shirt of gold coins.
“My sword!”
“Brightmetal!” Shenshen cried, but he was already racing ahead. He ably sidestepped the slower brutes, who could only grunt and belatedly swing their weapons.
Brightmetal tripped on the rolling mound of pebbles and gems. The trolls chased after him as best they could. “Ah,” Brightmetal scooped up his sword just as the trolls reached him. He swung around and lashed out with his blade. One, then two, trolls went rolling back down the treasure pile, lame and bleeding.
“Shen!” Brightmetal held aloft her golden shirt. He threw it in the air, and she raced forward to catch it. Snatching it, she quickly wriggled it back over her head and settled it over her ribcage.
“Treasure!” the leader of the misfit growled. “They have our treasure!”
The trolls advanced on the four elves and two part-trolls. They retreated into the treasure chamber, their weapons held high.
“Fight to wound,” One-Eye said. “They’re no honour in slaying creatures like these.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Brightmetal growled.
“Skinnies!” Barrel raged as a curse. “Death to skinnies!”
Two-Edge stepped forward. “I am the Master Smith!” he challenged. “Blue Mountain is my kingdom.”
Second shuddered, and drew back. But Barrel was not moved. His thick lips curled back in a grimace, baring yellow teeth covered in brown fuzz. “I am master!” he howled indignantly.
“Two-Edge – air!” Clearbrook called from the other side of the treasure hoard. “Fresh air. There’s a shaft angling up towards the surface. It’s just big enough,
“Let’s go!” One-Eye said. “No point in shedding blood needlessly.”
“Wormwater,” Brightmetal growled, but Two-Edge was already pushing his son behind him. “Go!” he barked. “We’ll hold up the rear.”
Clearbrook waved Shenshen and One-Eye over the shaft. She went first, sword drawn at the ready. Shenshen scrambled up the shaft after her, while One-Eye followed. Aroree shoved Brightmetal ahead of her and urged him to keep climbing every time he slowed his progress. Two-Edge brought up the rear as promised, squeezing his bulk through the crack in the rock while the trolls raged behind him, a little too broad-shouldered to followed up the shaft.
Barrel roared and beat on the rocks with his fists. His quicker-witted lieutenants deduced what he wanted, and began to chip at the opening with their old maces and axes. Little by little, the rock flaked away, until one great swing by a troll armed with a pickaxe dislodged a slab of stone, and the entrance open up.
“Treasure!” Barrel shouted, a war-cry, before squeezing through the gap in the rocks and scrambling up after the fleeing elves.
“Smooth as a rockshaped tunnel,” Clearbrook whispered in the gloom as she climbed higher.
“It is rockshaped,” Aroree said in between coughing fits brought on by the dust in the shaft. “This must have been one of the old air shafts of Blue Mountain... during the great expansions.”
“How did you know there was a secret door?” Brightmetal asked Shenshen.
“I haven’t lived as a troll all this years for nothing, you know.”
The growls of the trolls beneath them chased them up the air shaft. “Puckernuts,” One-Eyes cursed.
“They’re coming,” Two-Edge said. “I can feel the rocks humming – they’re chipping away the shaft to follow us.”
The air grew sharper, clearer. But still not fresh enough to be the dew-laden air of a clear night. Clearbrook reached the shaft’s terminus and scrambled up into another great chamber. The floor was worn smooth, as were the walls. Lying broken in each of the four corners were the remnants of great bird-shaped statues.
One by one, they pulled themselves out of the shaft. The two Wolfriders looked up about helplessly, and Shenshen and Aroree were just as bewildered, but Two-Edge beamed as he recognized the chamber.
“We’re in Mother’s den,” he murmured. “I help Father build this place.”
“There’s still coming,” Brightmetal said, peering down the air shaft. Then he spat into the shaft.
“I know where to go,” Two-Edge said, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “I know...”
Barrel grunted as a dollop of sticky saliva struck his bald pate. He heard the skinny troll above taunting him. “Come on and get me, you slug-brained lump of clay...”
Barrel and his misfits scrambled out of the air shaft, grimacing and moaning from the aches and pains of squeezing their corpulent bodies through the tiny passageway.
“Skinnies!” Barrel shouted challengingly. They were standing in plain sight at the far side of the chamber, in a great arched doorway. As the misfits began to lurch towards them, they took off, disappearing into the shadows beyond the arch.
Barrel looked around furtively as he lead the attack. They could not outrun the skinnies. Their poor diet in the deep caves left them laden with useless fat and devoid of any animal quickness. But they had stamina. They had the patience of stone. And they could track the skinnies until the passages dead-ended and trapped them like flies.
But now Barrel felt unease creeping into his sluggish thought process. This room made him nervous. It smelled of old trolls like all the passages, but it had the look of something else. Skinnies... and something else entirely. It felt wrong. He couldn’t find the words to admit as much to himself. But he knew something wasn’t right.
They had to take the two smiths. Everything would make sense once they had a smith working in the forge and creating treasure to add to their hoard.
They stumbled after their prey. They chased them into another chamber, this one long and narrow and filled with strange new scents. One entire wall was carved in elaborate patterns which held enough glowing moss to bring a soft glow to the chamber. Dried, decayed plant life wrapped around the great pillars that held the ceiling aloft, and wound over their heads like a spider’s web. Two skinnies and the two smiths stood on staircase at the other of the chamber. Two of the females skinnies were perched on the columns, clinging to the dried vines.
“Grrrrrrrummmmm....” Barrel slurred, taking a step forward.
“You will obey me!” the larger of the two smiths commanded. “I am Two-Edge, Bane of Guttlekraw.”
Several trolls shrank at the sound of Guttlekraw’s name.
“I defeated Guttlekraw!” Two-Edge said. “He played toss-stone with me and he lost dearly. I am king here. You wish treasure? Then you will submit to me.”
“I am master!” Barrel insisted again. “You will make us treasure. You... will... submit!”
“I destroyed Guttlekraw,” Two-Edge said. “I am stronger than Guttlekraw. I am stronger than you. And I will destroy you if you challenge me.”
**Anything else?** he asked his son in sending.
**Just keep telling them you’ll make them treasure if they obey,** Brightmetal coached. **All they want is treasure.**
Two-Edge glanced at his son. Then he looked down at the lumpish misfits. He decided to try a gamble. “Obey me and I will teach you to be smiths,” he promised. “You can make your own treasure.”
Second stopped his stride. “Make... our treasure...?” he asked.
“You make us treasure!” Barrel commanded.
“You can all be smiths!” Two-Edge boomed.
“Smith... all smiths...” Third considered it. “All strong...”
“I am master – king!” Barrel said, delighting in the remembered word. “You... submit to me...”
Still the trolls advanced across the chamber, but their pace was slowing. Only Barrel continued to march forward unafraid.
“I built this kingdom,” Two-Edge said. “I can teach you to build your own.”
Still Barrel shambled towards him, his mace raised.
**Think we’ve waited long enough?” Brightmetal asked.
**Another ten paces...**
“You... not strong...” Barrel charged. “You... run. We... strong. We masters here.”
**Not just yet,** Two-Edge sent. **Hold...*
Barrel broke into a limping trot to cross the last distance between them.
“Now!” Two-Edge shouted.
Brightmetal pulled down on the concealed handle in the left-hand wall. One-Eye pulled down on the matching handle on the other side. The ceiling door trap opened up, and a great din of tumbling stone filled their ears. Great hollow obsidian balls rolled down atop the trolls, shattering into countless shards as they struck the stone. The globes struck trolls over the head, while their shards lodged in arms and legs as the trolls feebly tried to shield themselves. Clearbrook and Aroree sawed through the dried vines of strangleweed, and the net strung over trolls collapsed. The strangleweed was desiccated after nearly a thousand years of neglect, but it was not yet quite dead, and possessed enough strength to tighten around the trolls and pin them all thrashing to the ground.
Two-Edge leisurely strolled down the steps and crunched black shards under his boots. “You are masters of nothing,” he sneered.
“Master...” Third mumbled. “Master... smith...”
Barrel growled, fighting against the net.
“Smith!” one of the misfits suddenly shouted with a burst of mental clarity.
“Smith!” another shouted. A murmur spread through the misfits. “King... smith... strong... master... master smith... Guttlekraw... stronger than Guttlekraw... smith... king... smith!”
“King Smith!” Third howled suddenly. “King Smith!”
“King Smith!” the cry went up. “King Smith!”
“I am king!” Barrel roared. “I am king! I am–”
And he was silenced suddenly as Third struggled to his knees and plunged a spear of broken obsidian into his back.
Barrel roared. He coughed blood. And with a death rattle, he fell to the floor. Third and the other closest trolls struggled through the net to pile blows upon their former leader.
“You only stay loyal to your king if he’s worthy of staying king,” Brightmetal said to Shenshen as she stared aghast at the spectacle.
“King Smith!” Third shouted again. “King Smith! Submit to King Smith!”
All the trolls fell to their faces, grovelling in abject obeisance. The elves exchanged completely baffled looks. Two-Edge, however, surveyed the misfits calmly.
“I am your king?” he asked.
“Yes!” Third whined. “King... king. You are strong. We are not. Make us strong, King Smith!”
A chorus rose from the grovelling misfits. “Make us strong... make us strong...”
“What do we do with them?” One-Eye asked no one in particular.
Brightmetal looked over the misfits, and as Shenshen watched, the contempt slowly waned from his eyes, replaced by a dreamy sort of hope.
Clearbrook bundled up her new forge tools in soft cloth for the trip home. Death-sleep was beginning to encroach over the land. The deer were in rut, and the burrowers were racing to gather nuts for the long sleep. They would have to hurry to reach the Holt by first snow.
The longsun had been spent honing her craft and making her own hammer and tongs, her pickaxe and other tools of the trade. Her silver sword was sharpened to a fine sheen and strapped to her hip.
“Don’t expect to be a master at once,” Brightmetal warned her. “But we’ve given you the skills you’ll need to set up your own forge at your Evertree. A few years of practice, and you should be able to make some fine swords and spearheads for your tribe. I gotta say... I’m impressed. I didn’t think a Wolfrider could learn as much as you did in one month.”
Clearbrook smiled gently. “Well then, if there’s hope for me, then perhaps there’s hope for the misfit trolls.”
Brightmetal laughed. “We’ll do our best.”
“How are the misfits?” Clearbrook asked as he escorted up from the forge towards the cave’s exit.
Brightmetal shrugged. “Too soon to tell. We’re going to keep them in the lower caves for now. They’re starting to let Shenshen tend their wounds now, but they still can’t stand seeing Mother. Too ‘skinny.’ But they’re learning. They’re starting to pick up more words... starting to remember that we always come back the next day, and they don’t need to try to dig their way out of the caves. Maybe in a few more months we can give them back their picks without worrying they’ll try to stab us in the backs for our trouble.”
“One-Eye’s not especially hopeful,” Clearbrook said.
“Neither is Mother. Sometimes I’m not so sure. But... there were honourable trolls once. If we can help them remember what they used to be... we have a duty to them, don’t we?”
“And you’d like to be prince of a kingdom of more than four, wouldn’t you?”
“Well...” Brightmetal flushed.
Two-Edge, Aroree and Shenshen were waiting above with One-Eye and the wolves to bid the travellers farewell. “You come back whenever you want,” Shenshen told Clearbrook as she embraced her. “Sometimes I really wish I had more than Aroree for female company. And I have a feeling having those misfits around won’t help much.”
“Will you miss Blue Mountain?” One-Eye asked her as they began their long journey away from the broken rocks.
“You know me better than that. No... it was a new way of seeing things, to be sure. But it will never take the place of clear air and cool leaves. Wherever I found my forge... I will need fresh air and starlight.”
“There’s some nice overhangs of rock near the stream,” One-Eye suggested. “You could hollow yourself out a nice workshop under there.”
Clearbrook smiled. “I need not ask if you are anxious to be home.”
“The thought of spending white-cold denned in rock does not suit me.”
“I’m sure it’s a warmer sort of denning than at the Holt. Great hearth fires and heated stones.”
“I’ll take my furs and my lifemate.” One-Eye reached out to touch her hand, and smiled to see he could still make her blush.
The journey home was shorter. They hastened to cover more ground with each day. Even the wolves were visibly eager to return to familiar territory. They nuzzled the elves awake when they slept too long in the afternoons. The first frost had not yet come to the land when the tribe welcomed them back to the Evertree.
The tribe had been busy preparing for winter, and Kit had recently finished tanning a great hide from a large shagback. The hair was already scraped off to use as boot liners and pillow fluff. But the hide itself was stretched out on a great A-frame in the council chamber, so One-Eye and Clearbrook could see the title already painted upon it. Neither of them could read it – they had never learned to decipher Kit’s ever-evolving writing system. But Kit happily translated for them.
“We howl for Clearbrook Silversmith, first Wolfrider metalworker...”
“You know, I think Kit’s howling hides are to blame for all this,” Clearbrook said later that night, after the howling and feasting had waned and all the elves retreated to their dens to bed down until the following afternoon.
“Hmm?” One-Eye stroked her long hair lazily. “To blame for what?”
“My hunger. My need for this quest.”
“Why, lifemate?”
“I... I don’t know exactly. Somehow... it was different long ago. When we were young memories never lingered long. Only the howlkeeper and the dreamberries could resurrect the old tales. Even the great chiefs’ deeds could easily be forgotten in the Now.”
“We had little need for memories then.”
“Yes. The world was smaller. Now... now everything is so much larger. Now we need our memories. Now we have the Scroll of Colours and the Egg... and Kit’s lovely hides. Things cannot be forgotten now. They exist... as fixed in the Now as this moment. The Now has become Forever. The last few turns I’ve been thinking a lot about Forever. How will my cubs’ cubs remember me? What howls will they sing... when this world becomes too old, and the Palace takes for the stars once and for all? Will they remember us? When... when I lie down forever, I want to know I gave something to my children... something more than a strong sword-arm and wise counsel. A gift all my own.”
“You speak like someone who plans to lie down soon.”
“No one can see their own tomorrow.”
“I know you will see many to come.” He kissed her hand.
She smiled gently. “We may have Forever. But that does not mean we should squander the Now.”
“You never do.”
They snuggled together under the furs to escape the night’s chill. “Hmm...” Clearbrook murmured. “I wonder if Kit’s little girl might take to metalwork...”
“Might want to wait until she’s actually born before you start dreaming,” One-Eye said, cheered to hear her speak of the unborn child without resentment.
“I don’t think I’ll be dreaming of trolls anymore...”
“Hmm... Silversmith...” One-Eye whispered, and Clearbrook laughed softly before sleep took her.
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts