The magic would come easily again, would surround her and fill her and be like breathing.
Then, and only then, would she meet with Christine again.
And get her vengeance.
Chapter Sixteen
King Garethen didn’t want to meet with Manny the cambion. However, the demon had been most insistent, actually threatening to come and visit the king when he held open court. So he’d finally agreed to a meeting that night.
Not that the guard would have allowed Manny into the court. No matter what the cambion might say, the guard wouldn’t believe that he’d struck a deal with the king.
Were all his guards above being bribed by those shiny trunks of gold that the cambion gave out with abandon? King Garethen believed that his guard were honest, for the most part. He’d cleaned out the bad elements.
However, he didn’t want them tempted, either.
The king, himself, had never accepted a bribe. No, he was just helping his neighbors out of a bad situation. They paid him out of gratitude. Nothing more.
Instead of meeting at the palace, the king arranged for a night out for himself. He didn’t do it often, particularly now that the war had started. But he sometimes disguised himself enough so that no one would know who he was and he went into the city to indulge himself in some harmless drink, listening to the merchants and common, good trolls.
Kizalynn had shown the king how to better his disguise. So he now appeared to have a just a fringe of white hair trimmed shortly around his neck, instead of the full head of long hair he normally wore. He felt it made him look older and more distinguished. He’d toned down the green in his skin, making it similar to the earth color of most of the farmers. Gold caps now covered the ends of his two lower tusks, decorative but not useful. Wouldn’t stand up in battle. He kept the top of his right ear lopped off—that had proven to be the most difficult part of his disguise to maintain.
He wore a common-looking white shirt, with long sleeves that tied at the wrists, a fashion popular among the well-to-do merchants, instead of the sleeveless tunics of the warriors that showed off their scars as well as their muscles. His pants were plain gray wool cropped just below his knee, with sturdy sandals that everyone seemed to be wearing, which had actually proven to be quite comfortable.
At his waist, Garethen still kept a good knife, tucked into a finely made black leather belt. He’d never mastered the human trick of pockets of space in which to tuck more weapons. He couldn’t hide his ax someplace nearby, either. He considered himself a good enough fighter, however, that he would be able to give as good as he got in any brawl.
Not that he was looking for a fight. As much as he might want to join his troops on the battleground, he left the war and much of the day-to-day fighting to his adopted heir.
He’d thought, more than once, about calling her to the safety of the palace, making her direct more of her armies from a safe distance. However, that wasn’t the custom of any troll. By proving herself in battle, the rest of the trolls would be more than willing to follow her when it was time for him to abdicate the crown.
At his heir’s insistence, King Garethen did always leave a note about going out for the night so that no one would suspect he’d been kidnapped. He made sure to emphasize that he was leaving of his own free will.
And he always mentioned that Kizalynn was still his heir so that the guards wouldn’t try something foolish like backing some idiot from the court who decided to take over instead.
The guard was faithful to him.
Manny had suggested a tavern that the king had never visited before. It was a little too close to the tanneries for the king’s taste, as the stench of the vats of excrement and urine used to soften hides hung in the air. The buildings here were poor, made out of rough-hewn wood instead of solid brick or stone.
The darkness of the street didn’t bother Garethen—all trolls had excellent night vision, which came in handy when you were working in tunnels. The way the buildings lurched in close to the street, seeming to loom above it, did make him uneasy, as if he walked in a jungle beneath trees full of predators.
Light spilled out from the open tavern door, along with the sound of a boisterous crowd. It gladdened King Garethen’s heart to hear such gaiety. Too often the mood of everyone he met with these days seemed somber.
Or maybe he was just too used to his meetings with the treasurer, who continued to predict dire outcomes for the king’s vault, or Ozlandia, the head of the guard, who also only ever had bad news.
With a lighter heart, King Garethen stepped into the tavern. Though the walls were wood, the floor was solid earth underneath.
Lamps hung from every corner, as well as from long ropes strung across the ceiling, so the room seemed as brightly lit as day. To his left, a group of trolls cheered as one of their members scored a bullseye in the game of blind darts they were playing.
Generally, a troll could hit anything he or she threw at. It was why, as part of the traditional uniform of the guard, they had a string bag full of sharp rocks hanging from their belts.
In blind darts, the challengers were blindfolded, then spun around several times. It made for a fun party game, particularly if the contestants had been drinking.
In addition to being able to hit anything they aimed at, trolls also generally knew which direction they faced, another useful trait when working underground and not having any obvious landmarks.
However, the combination of drink, spinning, as well as being blindfolded, would confuse most trolls. It was why the entire wall behind the dartboard was full of holes from where darts had widely missed the mark.
Garethen wouldn’t be surprised if more than one troll in the crowd had also been struck by an errant throw.
Maybe later, after his meeting, Garethen would have to see if he could join the game.
Before Garethen could take another step into the crowd, his nose told him that not all of the beings here were trolls.
In fact, the crowd appeared to be mixed.
Unusual.
Garethen didn’t stare, or try to determine what other sort of beings were in the room, not until he got to the front of the room.
Kizalynn had taken him to a human bar once. He hadn’t enjoyed it, despite the number of good stouts and hoppy beers he’d tried that night. Seemed that humans enjoyed a lot of different types of alcohol and had rows of bottles filled with liquor behind the bars there.
Here, two solid kegs were stashed behind the counter where the barkeep stood. Each was about five feet in diameter and probably five feet long. The one on the left had a dark charcoal mark just above the wooden tap. The other was unmarked. Garethen assumed that meant that one of the beers was darker than the other.
That was much more sensible. So many choices of beers and hops and flavors had just confused him. Dark or light. That was all the choice he needed.
“Dark,” he told the barkeep when he finally got her attention.
“Three pieces,” she told him as she snagged a solid wooden mug.
Garethen knew better than to protest. He might have tried bargaining—surely the beer only cost half that.
But he wasn’t a local. No one here could vouch for him. He was going to pay tourist prices, at least until the third or fourth round.
Only after reluctantly paying the exorbitant fee for the beer (and really, the beer wasn’t worth it, though it did have a smooth, chocolatey aftertaste) did Garethen look around the room.
No tables or booths lined the edges of the room, which surprised Garethen. Not because it was unusual, but where the heck did the cambion expect to meet him in this noisy, crowded space?
There weren’t any humans here, which made him breathe a sigh of relief. He understood that while Kizalynn was a changeling, and had grown up around them, Garethen just couldn’t be comfortable around them. They all seemed too whiny. Plus, you could never trust a human. They might turn on you at any time.
There were a few orcs there, tucked into
one of the far corners. They appeared to be haggling hard with a troll merchant. There were also a couple of the bright folk, half-elves or something, who harmonized a quiet ballad with two surprisingly good troll voices.
Then there were the demons. That was the smell that had struck Garethen first.
Why were there demons here, in Trollville? What were they doing?
That wasn’t right.
Garethen was about to put his beer down and go to fetch the king’s guard when a hearty voice called out to him. “Yonarik! Over here!”
It took Garethen a moment to remember the name he’d chosen to travel under that night. He turned and spied Manny standing close to the door.
Garethen’s nostril’s flared. That was where the smell of the demons was coming from. It was Manny and his friend.
The king himself was why there were demons out that night.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “They friends of yours?” the barkeep’s low growl sounded from behind him.
“Acquaintances, only,” Garethen assured her.
“Find another place to meet next time,” she told him firmly. “I try to serve all types here, and keep the king’s peace, but they’re pushing their luck.”
“I’ll let them know,” Garethen told her.
“Yonarik!” Manny said as Garethen came up. “So good to see you!”
At least the demon hesitated and didn’t give Garethen a hardy slap on the back, though it appeared that Manny wanted to.
The demon had done an adequate job on his own disguise. His skull was still mostly bare, with mere patches of greasy hair growing out of it. But he’d shrunk his nose down to more human proportions, though it still dripped yellow snot. He’d hidden his eyes as well, making the color lighter, to that of a cloudy night instead of the stuff of nightmares. His hands bore six fingers, with shorter claws, and sandals covered his four-toed feet.
His companion, if Garethen had to guess, was probably a cambion as well. He also had a vaguely human appearance. Seriously ugly human, with oversized, rotting teeth, warts, and dirt encrusted creases on his neck and arms.
Manny introduced his “cousin” Jack. Garethen nodded politely in his direction, but didn’t bother to shake hands.
He’d already have to take a long, hot soak in order to remove the odor of the room, as well as wash away the presence of the demon.
“What did you want to talk with me about?” Garethen asked, cutting directly to the chase. No matter how nice the beer might be (and, all right, he was starting to enjoy it more) and how delightful it had been sneaking out of the palace (and no one believed that trolls could be sneaky!) he still wanted to cut down the time he spent with demons.
“We thought we could maybe do some more work with you,” Manny said. He seemed taken aback at how the king was responding.
Had he really believed that the king would just come out drinking with him? They had strictly a business deal. Nothing more.
“And?” the king said when Manny didn’t continue.
“We’ve got some good equipment for sale,” Jack said. “Sturdy.”
“What sort of equipment?” Garethen asked warily.
“Swords. Axes. Helmets. Like that,” Jack replied. “We’re willing to sell it to ya cheap.”
“New?” Garethen asked. The war was, actually, costing him a lot in terms of equipment, making sure that his troops had the best.
His guard still seemed to resent the refurbished swords and axes that he sent to them. Stupid superstition that if an ax had failed once, it would do so again, even if it was merely the handle that broke and the metal head was still fine.
“Barely used,” Jack assured him. “Like new.”
“You know that I’m outfitting troll armies, right? The weapons I need must be crafted specifically for trolls,” Garethen said emphatically, figuring that would derail the conversation quickly.
Demons only made equipment for demons, right? Not for trolls.
“These are!” Manny told him. “Troll made, for trolls.”
“Where did you get them?” the king asked warily. Were the demons coming in and stealing weapons from his blacksmiths? He’d have to set up extra guards and wards around the smithies and storage rooms, just in case.
“Oh, here and there,” Jack said. “Amazing what you can find if you keep your eyes open. Always looking for the right opportunity.”
“Where do you keep these weapons?” King Garethen asked. It wouldn’t hurt to look, right?
He didn’t like the smile the two demons exchanged. This wasn’t a trap, right? They wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually try to kidnap the king of the trolls?
Besides, there was no telling what Christine would do if they actually killed him. She might decide to storm Hell itself for him.
He gave them a cold, cruel smile in return, suddenly confident where he stood.
The demons looked puzzled, as they should. They thought they had him over a barrel. Ha!
“Let’s go, boys,” King Garethen said. “Oh, and we’re never meeting in public like this again,” he added before he turned away, placing his mug on the counter.
He caught the barkeep’s eye and gave her a nod, letting her know that the demons wouldn’t be returning.
Though he might.
That had turned out to be really good beer.
The two demons led King Garethen to a dark alley, just a block away from the tavern. The smell of the tanneries was stronger here. Without thinking about it, King Garethen called up a good stiff breeze to blow the scent away from them.
What good were magical powers if you couldn’t use them sometimes to make yourself more comfortable?
The demons didn’t seem to notice the smell. Figured. They were probably used to such a stench.
When had Garethen decided to get so friendly with demons? It was this war. Once it was over, he could cut all ties to the cambion. Never have to see Manny again. Even if that meant fewer trunks of gold in his private vault.
It didn’t surprise Garethen that Manny pulled out the first weapon from a pocket of space. The humans had perfected that trick and the cambion were supposedly half human.
The sword the demon pulled out was good quality troll work. No nicks or scratches on the blade. It had a nice heft to it as well.
“Where did you say you got these?” King Garethen asked as he sighted down the blade. His troops really would be happy with such a weapon. As long as they didn’t know where it came from.
“Here and there,” Jack insisted.
That answer still set Garethen’s back up. Yet, it was a high quality blade.
“What else do you have?” he asked, handing the weapon back.
Even in the dark he could see Manny grin.
Stupid demon had never bargained with a troll before. Ha! He’d learn quickly that he wasn’t going to get the better end of this deal.
Manny pulled out an ax this time. The haft had been broken, but the blade itself was newish. There was a single long scratch on one side.
Garethen sniffed the broken end of the handle. It smelled mostly of demon, but there was a hint of troll underneath. Not only had the ax been made by a troll, for a troll, it had been wielded by a troll at one point. He put the ax down next to his feet, his unease growing. “What else?”
Manny pulled out two more axes, along with another sword.
King Garethen reached for the sword. While his hand remained steady, he felt his insides quaver.
This sword had belonged to one of the king’s guard.
Bile filled the back of his throat.
He suddenly knew where “here and there” was.
The demons were trying to sell his own equipment back to him. The equipment of trolls who had fallen in the war.
“How dare you?” King Garethen roared. He wildly swung the sword at the pair of cambions.
The demons had been expecting his reaction, however, as they both had already moved out of the way.
The king didn’
t try to attack again. Though he was certain he could take them if it came to that, he didn’t want to have to explain how he’d met up with them in the first place.
“Why on good earth did you think that I wouldn’t recognize what you were doing?” Garethen growled at them.
“We counted on you figuring it out,” Jack said. Manny nodded.
“Then why did you think you could just sell them to me?” Garethen asked, confused.
Suddenly, four more demons materialized out of the darkness. “We knew you’d require some persuasion,” Manny added.
The king gulped. Two demons he could easily take. Probably three as well. Four was more iffy.
Six? He wasn’t a young troll anymore.
“But why?” the king asked. What was the full plan of the demons?
Manny shrugged. “We actually need another favor. More passage through Trollville. We got a lot of refugees coming through, now that the war’s started.”
“And in exchange, we’ll give you all the weapons we grab,” Jack assured the king.
“All of them?” the king asked, running his finger along the cool edge of the blade. It was fine work. Maybe he could say the weapons came from his own team who’d scoured the battlegrounds after each conflict.
It was technically true, after all. He just didn’t have to say that the team was composed of demons.
And to get all those weapons, and not have to pay any more gold for them…
“Just cambions, right?” King Garethen said, wavering.
Jack and Manny looked at each other. The four other demons melted away into the darkness again.
“Mostly, yes,” Manny said after a moment.
“Just cambions,” King Garethen insisted.
The two demons sighed, like a merchant conceding a point. “Fine. Mixed human demons,” Manny agreed. “Cambions.”
“Then I agree,” the king promised. Funny, that ringing tone that echoed after his words, deep in the earth where such promises were recorded, sounded a little tinny this time.
King Garethen gathered up all the weapons that the demons handed him and marched back to the palace. He was looking forward to surprising the blacksmiths in the morning with his haul. They’d be able to clean and refurbish everything, put them into the waiting hands of his fighters.
The Troll-Human War Page 11
