Siege at Howling Rock
Part Three
The throne room of Blue Mountain was a massive vaulted structure, large enough to fit the Palace itself inside its walls. The much-smaller Ark barely took up an eighth of the floor space.
The aristocracy of Blue Mountain had come in all their finery to greet their cousins from Oasis. Lines of gold-decked trolls and trollkin parted with flamboyant bows to clear a path as Lord Haken and his Lady swept from the Ark, bound for the royal dais at the north end of the room.
The courtiers murmured approvingly over Haken’s long cloak of gold-clocked troll velvet, and the many gemstones that glittered at Chani’s throat and wrists. The couple preferred far simpler, almost austere styles at home in Oasis, but on their infrequent visits to their old home they always dressed to impress. Though King Smith had ruled over Blue Mountain for ten millennia now, the court was never allowed to forget who had first founded the great kingdom.
Ten thousand years of surface life and interbreeding with elves had made the average troll of Blue Mountain taller and slimmer than his Frozen Mountain counterpart; still Haken towered over them all, head held high with the aloof benevolence of an apex predator mingling with fleas. Only when King Smith himself rose from his throne to acknowledge the guests did real warmth appear in Haken’s eyes.
“Lord Grandfather!” Two-Edge cried, spreading his arms wide in greeting. “Welcome home!”
“King Grandson,” Haken replied with a hint of a smile. “It is good to be back within the old stone. Queen Aroree,” he acknowledged with a nod of the head. “I do apologize for the short notice – I hope you did not go to any trouble on our account.”
Aroree rose from her throne in turn. Her headdress and gown were encrusted with gemstones that flashed rainbows in the light of the torches. But her Glider powers buoyed her up effortlessly, despite the weight of her jewels.
“Your presence is always a gift, All-Father,” she said formally. “We–”
“Leetah! LEEEEEEEETAH!”
The solemnity was shattered as the Crown Princess spotted her sister stepping out of the Ark along with the party of Oasis elves. With a squeal of delight, Shenshen abandoned her post on the royal dais and raced past Haken and Chani to throw herself into Leetah’s arms.
“Oh, my little sister!” Leetah gasped into the hug, doing her best not to wince at the many points of Shenshen’s jeweled stomacher.
“Why didn’t you send that you were coming?”
“It was… a sudden impulse.” Leetah looked around uncomfortably, seeing all the eyes of the court fixed on their reunion. But no one seemed to mind the break in formality; in fact, half the court had burst into spontaneous cheers at the picture the two sisters made. Understandable, given that half the court was directly descended from Shenshen.
“Did Arshel and Teneniah come with you?” Shenshen pressed.
“Oh no. They don’t trust the Ark enough to fly in it. This was actually my first flight – if you can call it a flight! One moment we’re under the sky in Oasis, the next....” She looked up at the vaulted ceiling, far above her.
“I’m so glad you’re here – and you’re wearing that green velvet I sent you!”
Leetah smiled, glancing down reflexively at the tightly-laced gown. It pinched her waist so that she could scarcely breathe, and the skirts were uncomfortably long and heavy compared to the filmy moth-fabric of Oasis. But the long sleeves and thick pile were welcome inside Blue Mountain; the air felt damp and chilly to one used to the dry heat and drier cold of the World’s Spine.
Wearing her best gold diadem in her hair, and a heavy necklace and earrings of clearstone, Leetah felt as overdressed as one of Melati’s peacoos. Yet she looked positively dowdy compared to Shenshen, who wore heavy skirts of velvet and cloth-of-gold, sleeves as wide as an Oasis maiden’s feasting gown, and a bodice so densely jeweled she could have used it as a suit of armor. Leetah couldn’t imagine going through her days so restricted, yet Shenshen moved almost as lightly as Aroree.
Court protocol had completely disintegrated now, and Brightmetal came over to greet Leetah in the troll manner – a rib crushing embrace, and a wet kiss on each cheek. “Hello, sister. Good to see you again. And how’s that little mump of yours?”
Leetah raised an eyebrow. “Jethel isn’t really mine.” After a beat she added, “And if you mean Pool, he’s hardly a ‘little mump’ anymore. Older than both your children – who are how many times great-grandparents now?”
Brightmetal dismissed the comment with a wave. “And they’re still mumps as far as I’m concerned.”
“Come,” Shenshen laced her arm through Leetah’s and began to lead her away. “I want to hear all about what’s been happening in Oasis lately.”
* * *
Shenshen took Leetah to her sitting room, overlooking the terraced gardens that surrounded the rebuilt Blue Mountain. One wall was a massive window of gold-tinted clearstone that bathed the room in warm light come the winter months. But in summer the window was folded open on iron hinges, letting in the cool breeze from the sea. Leetah sat at a table piled high with troll delicacies while Shenshen let her handmaiden unlace her gown. “So nice to get out of this shell!” Shenshen laughed, shedding her bodice and overskirt, then her detachable sleeves. “I feel like a butterfly – lighter than air!”
Leetah didn’t see much of a difference. Shenshen’s under-dress was made of the same heavy velvet as Leetah’s gown, and just as tight about the waist and wrists. Intricate designs were picked out in gold at the collar and cuffs.
Last of all Shenshen shed her heavy crown and laid it atop the folded cloth-of-gold in the handmaid’s arms. She was a young gray-skinned trollkin, with Shenshen’s nose and apple-cheeks, and dark auburn hair worn teased into a pair of great topknots.
“Thank you, Willa,” Shenshen said. “I don’t think we’ll be needing anything else for the moment.” She cast a quick glance at the fare set out on the table, and nodded that everything was to her liking.
“But you’ll call if you do?” Willa said with a note of warning in her voice.
“I will, thank you sweetheart.” Shenshen kissed her cheek. “You take such good care of me.”
“It’s what I’m here for, Gammy,” Willa grinned, returning the kiss.
She swept out of the room, carrying her precious cargo of jewels. “She’s such a dear,” Shenshen murmured. “Even if she does fuss over me like a brooding quail. What is it, Leetah?”
Leetah had an enamel cup of mint tea poised halfway to her lips. But now her hand was shaking and she was covering her mouth in a vain attempt to hold back a laugh.
“Nothing,” Leetah’s answer came out in a flurry of giggles “I’m only trying to imagine Melati ever smacking my cheek and calling me ‘Gammy.’”
Shenshen joined in the laughter. “It’s about as likely as my Gem putting on a dress, isn’t it? Oh, have a toadsnap,” she indicated the stuffed and roasted mushrooms. “I hope you still like them. ” She took a sip from her own cup of tea, then asked, “How is Melati? Have you spoken recently? What’s her latest project? Is she still working on growing elf bodies?”
Leetah hesitated. “I don’t know. But her latest project… was not a success.”
“Pity,” Shenshen said lightly. “I hope she’s not too discouraged. She’s made such wonders – I don’t know how we’d keep all our kingdom fed if it weren’t for her gigaquail and milk-zwoots. And what about Pool? How are things at the College since the Moment?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t sent…” her lower lip trembled suddenly and she bit it hard.
“Lads!” Shenshen scoffed. “Just like Smokewater’s boy Henrek – I swear, years will go by before he deigns to send us a word from Snow Vault. And then it’s always, ‘Oh, you know, life on the frontier, so busy,’ – honestly, how busy can a lad be that he can’t find the time to scratch out a letter or two to his own Poppa and Gammy? And don’t get me started on Ralo, mind!” she finished with a laugh. “Leetah?” Too late, Shenshen saw the grief written on her sister’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Leetah burst into tears.
“Oh, Leetah!” Shenshen left her seat to kneel at her sister’s side and embrace her. “What have I said?”
“It’s not you. It’s only… oh, how I envy you, sister! It’s wicked – shameful, I know. But I see you surrounded by family – eights upons eights of descendants – I see you so admired, so adored! And I burn with jealousy! I think, ‘Why? Why does she have all the happiness I am denied?’”
Shenshen drew back, astounded. “Leetah! Aren’t you happy in Oasis?”
Leetah laughed bitterly though her sobs. “How can I be happy? My granddaughter is a monster – a healer who causes pain to all those who know her! My son hardly sends to me anymore – and in truth I rarely think of him now. Did you hear what I said when Brightmetal asked about my ‘little mump’? My own son has become an afterthought!”
“I’m sure that’s not so. You just have Jethel to fret over now.”
“He’s not mine.”
“Of course he is! You were there when he was conceived, weren’t you? And there when he was born, and there every day since. Did… did Teneniah put that thought in your head?” she asked suspiciously. “Is she trying to deny you–”
“Oh no, Great Sun! She was the one who taught Jethel to call me ‘Mother Leetah.’ No, sharing love is Teneniah’s nature. As it is Arshel’s. Believe me, they would have made me their lifemate long ago if I had wanted it.”
“But you don’t?”
“Part of me does. Part of me longs to be as free with my heart as they are. Their love is so… so pure, uncomplicated. But it’s not enough. I will not let it be enough. I hold them at a distance. When we join – their souls reach for mine, but I deny them.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I see how it hurts them. But all I know is that I gave another my heart long ago, before either of them were born.”
“Leetah! But I’m sure Scouter would never begrudge you finding love again!”
“Oh, I know he wouldn’t. He told me so himself, just before he died… and even now, when his spirit visits me in dreams. Just as it was no betrayal to Shushen for us to cling to each other, so it would be no betrayal for me to cling to Teneniah and Arshel. ‘Love is never the wrong choice,’ he said once. But he was wrong. Sometimes… sometimes love is the worst choice you can make!”
“What do you mean?”
“Melati – if you knew what she’s done–”
“What? What has she done?”
“She resurrected him – Yosha – that boy she loved as a child. He died – his body was an empty shell – I remember washing it for burial. And she took that body... and... and I don’t know what she did, but she made it breathe again!”
Leetah stammered out the whole story, beginning with the Palace’s sudden appearance at Oasis, and ending with the half-healed Melati’s exile to the Great Holt, with the Shapechanged elf at her side. “He calls himself Beast. Maleen calls him a monster. I truly think she would have killed him if Haken hadn’t sent him away with Melati. Oh, it’s horrible, sister! He barely even looks like a real elf anymore! All scales and claws and grunts, and he nearly strangled his own mother! And yet Weatherbird calls him Melati’s lifemate, and he clings to her like a baby tuftcat! And to hear them tell it, his is the only face she can remember from one day to the next!
“All of Oasis is torn apart by this – the Sun Folk could accept fleshvines, we could even put up with the peace-hounds. But not this! Klipspringer’s trying to keep the peace, but Maleen and Arshel are calling for Melati to be banished forever. Lady Chani said Haken had to get away from it all before he said or did something he would regret. And I…” fresh tears ran down her cheeks. “I am so ashamed… did I cause this?
“I loved Scouter with all-consuming passion, even though I knew I would always come second to his Wolfrider Way. Even though I knew I would never be enough for him. I gave him my heart and he returned it broken. I knew he would, and still I can’t bear to replace him. I crave his dream-visits like dreamberry wine. And I watched as my Pool fell victim to the same destructive love. I saw how he let Ruffel’s death cripple him just as Scouter’s crippled me – but I couldn’t save him – I didn’t know how to save him! I could only love him… and try as hard as I could not to judge him. But would Melati have turned out so sick in spirit if she had only known a scrap of her father’s affection?
“And now see what love has driven her to do! Bound to a living corpse! Mind broken by trying to steal the knowledge of the High Ones! Yet part of me wishes I had fought half that hard to keep Scouter with me. Why? Why? He abandoned me, and I should hate him for it! But he was my soul!”
She crumpled forward in her seat, sobbing on her sister’s shoulder as Shenshen stroked her hair gently. At length she recovered her composure enough to choke out, “Haken wants to leave Abode. He said he made the Ark to protect us from the Moment, but I know he plans to use it to take his followers to Homestead. He thinks this world has become too small – and he cannot bear to be challenged by the Circle! Now that he has his own Palace, who is to stop him?”
“Would it be so bad, for our kind to take the stars again?” Shenshen asked.
“But not everyone will follow him! And it will tear our nation apart! Families, lifemates – who will choose to stay behind and who will choose to go?”
“And you? I remember how you spoke out against the Homestead Scheme all those years ago. Are you still determined to stay on Abode?”
“I cannot leave! My heart is firmly planted in the soil of this world! Scouter… the souls of all immortal elves are bound to the time and place of the Palace. But Wolfrider souls are bound to the World of Two Moons! I cannot lose him – not again!”
* * *
Half-troll and High One descended a long spiral staircase deep into the bowels of Blue Mountain. “I am glad to hear you are still open to the idea,” Haken said as they passed a stout trollkin who crushed himself against the wall in his haste to give way.
“It seems… a possible solution to our difficulties,” Two-Edge replied.
**There’s been no relief, then?** Haken asked in sending, mindful of the ears hidden in the honeycombed walls.
Two-Edge shrugged. **It’s the way of the stone. Pressure builds, plates scrape against each other, grinding, cracking – the tension can only hold so long until a fault line slips.**
**Stagnation is a threat that stalks us all, when we cannot grow.**
“Pft. That’s elf-speak, Grandfather. Stagnant water turns sour because mold grows in it.”
“Stagnation favors the mold, then. But we are the water, child. We need to keep running free.” They took a few more steps in silence, then Haken sent, **Which fault line is most likely to give way? Henrek?**
Two-Edge gave a dismissive wave. **His games with Picknose are nothing new. It’s Smokewater’s other boys I worry about, Odwal and Lisko especially. And Sarazen gnaws at our southern borders – but how can we go to war against our own kin? There’s no room, Grandfather! No veins left untapped, no fresh stone unclaimed! Picknose holds the north, the Strykers have taken the east, and the humans have claimed everything south of Port Passage!**
**I feel your pain, my grandson. Our walls and our Thorn Fields will deny Oasis to the humans for many more years. That may be enough for the Sun Folk – stars know it’s long been good enough for me. But I am growing sick of walls.**
**Smokewater wants to take the south by force. ‘There’s nothing like a proper war to sharpen up a troll’s soul,’ he says! Idle child! He’s played at war against Strykers and Shrieks and he thinks he’s ready to take on the five-fingers. And he has an army of mold-suckers who’ll follow him – who’ll heed his word over mine!**
**Does he want your throne?**
**No… not yet. But there are those who would put him on the throne. And Smokewater…**
**Is the kind who would let it happen. I understand. What about Brightmetal?**
Two-Edge shook his head, his brows knitted with worry. Haken understood that too. Brightmetal would never allow himself to be made a figurehead. He would never allow his father to be toppled as King Smith. That made him an obstacle to Smokewater’s faction, and trolls and trollkin alike did not tolerate obstacles.
“The plates are grinding, Grandfather,** Two-Edge emphasized. **I can feel the tremors underfoot. Sooner or later, the stone will crack. **
**Then if it must break… let it be on our terms.**
They came at last to their destination: a small cell at the base of the serpentine stairwell. The firelight of many flickering candles brought a warm glow to the damp stone. A trollkin maiden knelt on the flagstones, replacing burned-out candles with fresh tapers. At the sight of the visitors, she scrambled to her bare feet and dropped a quick curtsy.
“Majesties.”
“Thank you, Gari,” Two-Edge said. “We’d like a moment alone.”
The handmaiden nodded wordlessly, before retreating up the stairs. In her haste, she had left a candle on the floor. Haken knelt down and picked it up. He stared at the wick until it caught flame then he gently placed it into one of the metal holders.
“It is good of you to indulge me.” Haken gazed up at the statue, the marble maiden so lifelike it almost seemed to draw breath in the flickering candlelight. A crown of stone feathers adorned a long mane of marble hair that spilled over one shoulder and rippled down to pool at sandaled feet.
Truly, Two-Edge had captured her beauty as well as any rockshaper. But Haken spared the statue only a fleeting regard before he turned his attention to the modest stone casket at its feet. In contrast to the smooth polished marble, the box was rough and pitted, showing its age. Haken placed his hand against its side and reached out with his magic, sensing the humble remains within. Mineralized tissues, brittle and crumbling, yet still recognizable after ten thousand years.
“After all that’s happened recently… I felt the need to visit her again.”
“She’ll be pleased you came,” Two-Edge said.
Haken looked down and saw recently-withered flower petals amid the splatters of tallow the servant had not had time to clean. A moment in an eon of faithful worship. “I see you remain a devoted son.”
“I could never hold her in life. But now she will always be with me.” He hummed a tune under his breath. “Hmm-hmm… Winnowill, sits so still… she’s always still now. Her spirit has gone far away, but a part of her remains here. I can feel it, with what little magic I have in me.”
He was right. As Haken pressed a little deeper with his senses, he could perceive the psychic imprint left behind, a soul-echo lingering ten thousand years after Winnowill’s death, linking her spirit to the traces of organic matter left inside the dusty bones.
“She’ll sleep forever here, safe in the heart of her mountain,” Two-Edge went on.
Haken smiled. “No… not forever. Sooner or later, everything that sleeps must awaken.”
* * *
“I can find nothing wrong with you – in mind or body,” Winnowill pronounced after her examination. Swift had sought out Weatherbird and Sunstream shortly before her departure for Undermount, and Rayek had reluctantly confessed his infirmity to them.
“But I cannot feel my magic!” Rayek protested. “I cannot float, I cannot command the Palace walls. I cannot even send properly!”
“It is nothing I can remedy. You are in perfect health.”
“Your aura, it’s very… disordered,” Sunstream said delicately.
“I believe it is a matter of will,” Winnowill decided. “Some primal fear is keeping you from tapping into your magic. And that is a wound which you alone can heal.”
“That cursed red-haired wolf,” Rayek snarled. “I hope she’s satisfied! When I offered to share with her, I did not mean her broken spirit!”
Weatherbird’s voice rose in pitch slightly, making it clear it was the host who spoke. “Perhaps you fear losing control, now that you have seen the consequences?” she suggested.
“I am the Master of the Palace! I cannot afford fear!”
“I could consult with my sister Melati–” Winnowill offered.
“Under no circumstances! No one must know beyond this room. Not even Cholla. Swear to me you will keep this between us.”
“But why, Father?” Sunstream asked. “Perhaps Aurek and Timmain can–”
“No! I cannot afford to show weakness now. If the others learned I have not even the power to float a goblet, they would–”
“What’s this?” Winnowill challenged. “Despair? Think yourself so indespensible? We do have two other masters, as I recall. Oh… no, I see. You think Ember would hold it over you. Yes, I can see how that would please her. She probably would crow it to everyone she could: the villain undone by his own guilt–”
“–Winnowill!” Weatherbird snapped, shaking her head. “That’s enough!”
“I will not let this undo me,” Rayek protested. “I am the Master of the Palace. My people need me now more than ever. I cannot fail them!”
“You won’t,” Sunstream promised. “We’ll find a way to revive your magic, Father. And in the meantime… there are other ways to serve.”
Rayek sneered. “Without magic – trapped in this crude shell – how? I feel deaf and blind, hands bound and legs hobbled. I cannot send to anyone beyond this room! I cannot even sense my own lifemate!”
“She’s fine, Father. If I reach out, I can feel her aura on the edge of Undermount – right where it ought to be. Do you want to send to her? I can help you–”
“I shouldn’t need your help!” Rayek snarled, before bowing his head and murmuring, “Forgive me, son. I am… unused to weakness.”
“A weakness can become a strength,” Weatherbird insisted. “We’re used to throwing magic at anything in our path. But the corruption feeds on magic. We need a different sort of weapon to defeat it.” A grin lit up her face. “You might be just the sort of blade we’re searching for!”
Rayek turned to his granddaughter, and a flicker of hope appeared in his hollow eyes.
* * *
“Good to see you again, elf,” Queen Drub announced grandly as Swift and Savin approached the throne. “You and yours are always welcome in Undermount. I heard how you pulled Ralo’s rump out of the fire at Port Bane.”
The troll queen smiled slyly, flashing her gold tooth. The years had been good to Drub since she had first come to the New Land, an exile from Picknose’s kingdom. When Swift had first met her, she had been chained and covered in grime. Now she decked herself in gold and wore a massive crown atop her auburn braids. But there was no doubting she was a warrior queen. Instead of the flamboyant gowns favored by most troll matrons, Drub wore a polished breastplate over a surcoat of somber velvet. Her throne room was spartan compared to the great halls of Blue Mountain, but the precise discipline of her courtiers and the copious troll technology on display spoke of Undermount’s comparable wealth and power.
“I also heard your mump got herself a fine share of booty out of the adventure,” Drub went on. “So you’re not here to collect on a debt, and your swords don’t look any the worse for wear. You elves aren’t ones for pleasure visits. So... what d’you need?”
“A way through rock without magic,” Swift said, and began to explain the situation at Howling Rock.
“Ahhh…” Drub said once Swift was finished her tale. “We’ve seen the dead land, of course. From spyholes at a safe distance, mind! Nasty bit of work, that. Always took care to tunnel well clear of it. Never could be sure just how far down the rot went – or what digging into it might do. Seems we were right to give it a wide berth. So ol’ Guttlekraw’s Bane is still alive, eh? And she and you lot woke up the death-making stuff in the ground? Serves you right for mucking about with all that flashy magic. How many thousands of years have you been flying that Palace around, using it to do whatever you fancied? Like mumps playing with blast-rock – sooner or later someone’s gonna lose some squishy parts!”
“This isn’t just our problem,” Swift said.
“Nope, sounds like it’s the humans’ problem too. But we’re safe down here. You said it yourself, the magic guck stops once it hits the bedrock. Right now we’ve got a nice shield wall between us and it. I don’t really see a good reason to be hacking into that.”
“There’s always the Pact,” Savin chirped.
“Pft! Don’t you try waving that double-knotted contract in my face again!” Drub wagged a finger. “You might have written it up, but I’ve got a lawkeeper I’ll wager knows the thing back to front better than you do!”
Savin raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“Bookworm!” Drub barked over her shoulder. From among the assembly of trolls in the throne room, one relatively scrawny velvet-clad courtier stepped forward. He wore a monocle screwed into his right eye, and held a massive vellum tome in his hands.
“Someone came prepared,” Savin remarked dryly.
“A good troll is an armed troll,” Drub smirked. “Go on, Worm.”
The troll opened the tome and intoned nasally: “Section Three, Subsection Twelve, Paragraphs One through Eight. ‘Her Gracious Majesty Queen Drub agrees to respect the following overland treaties, and to lend support to the Plainsrunner and Great Holt nations, in the event of human incursions on elfin territory.’ Human incursions,” he repeated meaningfully. “Paragraph Nine specifically exempts Undermount from participating in any inter-elfin conflict, and Amendment Seventeen expands ‘inter-elfin conflict’ to include any and all magical threats within elfin territories. Howling Rock falls clearly within Plainsrunners territory and thus is legally a Plainsrunner matter.”
Savin drew herself a little taller. “Pursuant to Section Three, Subsection Twelve: Addendum Five specifies the definition of ‘overland’ to one hundred cubits. The corruption has infested the soil to a depth of thirty cubits already. This is going to be your problem soon.”
“Irrelevant,” Bookworm countered with a sneer. “We are discussing the present situation.”
Swift sighed. “You know, she was giving you a chance to save face. But if you’re set on it.” Swift glanced at Savin. “As Gypsy likes to say: give ‘em both barrels.”
“Section Three, Subsection Twelve, Paragraph Seven, Footnotes Ninety-Four through Ninety-Nine: the timeline of what may be considered a separate human incursion is extended to no less than a cubic eight of years. The corruption at Howling Rock owes its roots to the Battle of Djaar Mornek, three hunded years ago. Thus it may be considered collateral damage.”
Bookworm flipped through the book, trying to find the relevant citations. “But Addendum Twenty-Three of Paragraph Nine limits ‘incursions’ to armed conflict, malicious poisoning, trade embargos and–”
“Malicious poisoning. That’s the one.”
“You poisoned the land, not the humans!” Drub protested.
“Irrelevant,” Savin replied snappily. “Third Amendment to Footnote Ninety-Nine.”
The troll lawyer growled. He turned pages furiously. “Ah. Section Four, Subsection Nineteen, Paragraph Five. ‘The Articles of Non-Aggression–’”
“We don’t need any troll swords, just a some steam shovels. That clearly falls under ‘Fair Use of Mechanical Innovations.’ Section Five. Turn to Subsection Eight.”
He followed along with a stubby forefinger, scowling. “But – but! – if you look at Addendum Three, you’ll see we’re, ah, we’re protected from committing any action ‘that might incur magical damage on the property of Undermount.’”
Savin huffed out a breath. “Doesn’t anyone read footnotes properly anymore? It says we will protect you from any magical consequences. And Amendment Nine to Addendum Three of Paragraph Seventeen specifies our legal obligations to provide shielders and healers. Which we intend to fulfill.”
“Wait… are we still in Subsection Eight?” Bookworm asked, struggling to separate two pages.
“No, we’re going for a stroll through the woods!” Savin rolled her eyes. “This is your lawkeeper, Drub? You ought to write to King Bunny – I’m sure he’ll send you a trained one.”
“Bookworm!” Drub warned.
“Uh, yes, just a moment my queen….” He fumbled with the book, and in his growing agitation it slipped from his hands and landed hard on his foot, prompting a smothered yelp and causing his monocle to fall out.
“Look, if you want to break the Pact, fine,” Swift said with an exaggerated shrug. “The humans aren’t keeping to it, why should you? We’ll head over to Blue Mountain and talk to King Smith. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help. Might even have some better contraptions than yours.”
Drub leapt to her feet. “You would bring those Blue Mountain trolls into my territory?!”
“Oh, drukk no! I followed enough of that jibber-jabber. As long as they don’t tunnel a hundred cubits underground they’re still in Plainsrunner territory. That’s what, eighty elfspans or so? More than deep enough for what we need. And Blue Mountain is part of the Circle – one of the elfin nations. So any territory disputes would be between them and the Plainsrunners. Of course, Blue Mountain follows Delvers’ Rights just like you do, so I imagine they’ll consider any tunnels they dig to be legal property of King Smith, but I’m sure Two-Edge and Halcyon can work all that out.”
“You dare threaten me with foreign incursions?!”
“Oh, but they’ll be happy to stay at under a hundred cubits.” Swift blinked innocently. “Two-Edge has no need to establish another colony. Of course, Smokewater does have all those uppity cubs he can’t get to show throat… and if one of them decided to break off on his own – well, Two-Edge would have to declare him misfit, wouldn’t he?”
Drub grinned wickedly. “You’ve picked up quite the coat of slime since last we met. All right, all right. I’ll do it, just for the pleasure of knowing you’ll owe me one. Brother Flam has a new baby he’s been aching to test out. But it’ll take more than steam – it’ll take sweat and sinew on your part as well. I won’t have my folk dig themselves to death for anyone.”
“Agreed,” Swift said.
“And I expect a Writ of Gratitude, properly witnessed.”
“Savin?”
“I can handle that,” Savin said. “Need to brush up on my troll-script anyway.”
“I remember when we used to just spit in our palms and shake hands,” Swift quipped.
“Ancient history,” said Drub, settling back into her throne. “You wisps might be happy living like savages, but this is the modern world down here.”
* * *
An honor guard of heavily armed trolls led them down tunnels and lift-tubes until they reached Flam’s workshop. Swift and Savin stared at the monstrous steam-driven drill. It was the size of a mastadon, but looked more like some sort of beetle, sprouting multiple legs and a dozen long tails of tubing, and bearing a drill-head with overlapping shearing mouth parts.
Drub’s brother Flam showed off his masterwork proudly. As his workers fired up the boiler, the mouth parts whirred to life, flashing brightmetal teeth as water spat out over the jaws. Gurgles sounded deep within the belly of the beast as steam belched out of multiple stacks. Underneath the mouth, metal claws clicked like the forelegs of a praying mantis, shoveling the air into an open vent in the machine’s barrel-shaped torso.
“I’d like to see King Smith himself outdo this!”
“Looks like some deranged metal termite,” Savin judged.
“Aye, but this termite eats rock, not wood. See, the drill’s teeth cut into the rock, while the water keeps the parts from overheating. And the claws will herd the debris out of the way, right under the mouth and into the belly, then out the rear.”
“So… it shits rock too?” Swift continued the metaphor with a smirk.
“Uh-huh. And that’s where you come in, elf. My workers will keep this beast munching away, but I’ll need you and your lot on shit clean-up. Can’t have our new tunnel filling up with slag, can we?”
“How long will it take to dig to Howling Rock?”
Flam led them over to a table where he had laid out a map. “Well, we’re about a day’s steam away from where you left your Palace. And from there… if I can keep this baby fired at full steam all night and day, I’d say we could make it to the Rock in four, four and a half days. Assuming we don’t run into any… disturbances.”
**And they won’t start without a solid night’s sleep,** Savin sent to Swift. **So… six days to Kahvi. Should be more than enough time to come up with a real plan of attack.**
**I don’t think all the time in the world will be enough to prepare us for this.**
**Ah, there’s that Wolfrider optimism,** Savin replied.
Elfquest copyright 2015 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 2015 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2015 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts.