The Prodigal Troll

by Charles Coleman Finlay

  "Yes, m'lady?" Romy answered beyond the door.

  "When you think of it, stick a bucket outside in the rain. A clean bucket, mind, and nothing that's been used for a bedpan. When it's full, bring it down here for the comfort of our guests."

  "Yes, m'lady."

  "Sebius," Bran said, very softly. "Food."

  Sebius released a long, exaggerated sigh. "Romy?"

  "Yes, m'lady?"

  "This rain so thoroughly soaks the ground that it drives the rats up out of their holes and they frighten the good ladies of the city. When it's convenient for you, take some men into the city and catch some rats. Some big, fat ones, mind. Be careful not to make them angry, or anything like that; then set them loose in the cell here. Alive, mind."

  "Yes, m'lord."

  Acrysy cackled.

  "There you go, Bran," the eunuch said. "If you continue to be so tiresome, I may reconsider my decision and choose not to spare you after all." He wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead with the middle finger of his left hand. "I'm so exhausted by this interview that I may forget to lay the groundwork tonight, and simply relax, and enjoy myself instead. Will you thank me three times for every rat you catch and eat?"

  Bran spit on the floor-Maggot wondered how he could with his mouth so dry-once, twice, thrice. "I thank you three times."

  "Insults, insults." He took the torch from the holder just outside the open door. "Come, Acrysy."

  Maggot jumped the guard in the corner, swinging his bound hands up to knock aside the spear. As his hands slid along the shaft, the guard turned it sideways and drove the butt against Maggot's temple, knocking him to the ground. Maggot heard his laughter, followed by the hard metal clunk of the door bolt.

  aggot inhaled. The air was heavy with the residue of smoke and oil, the eunuch's perfume, and the meaty stink of the soldiers. Bran was kneeling on the floor beside him.

  "Are you hurt?" he asked.

  "No," Maggot said. He had managed to scrape the ropes briefly on the blade of the spear, but not enough to slice clean through. "And you?"

  "Nothing important, only my pride. When you serve someone loyally, you expect that loyalty returned."

  Maggot rolled back to his feet and crawled over to the nub of broken stone to resume his attack on the ropes.

  "I misjudged her," said Bran. "Judging men has always been my virtue, one of the reasons I was made knight, then captain. But I misjudged the lot of them. I didn't expect Romy to follow Acrysy's orders over his loyalty to me."

  Virtue, Virtue, loyalty-more unfamiliar words. "Why do they do that, Bran?"

  "Do what?"

  "Why do your people do what other people tell them? Giants"He used the word from Sinnglas's language-"do each as they see fit, or vote for the common good. Even Sinnglas's people reach agreement or follow different paths."

  Bran paced, kicking the door. "The strong lead and the weak must follow; that is the way of the world. If they do not go willingly, they must be driven."

  "What willingly is there if they are to be beaten or killed? It is not good, Bran. I do not like the ways of your people. I do not think I want to stay among you." The rope abraded quickly against the stone, his wrists pulling apart.

  "You have not seen us at our best. Baron Culufre is a good, just man. He will set things right."

  "You said the same thing of the eunuch." The first strand of rope severed, and the rest fell loose. Tingling pain flooded into Maggot's fingers. "Here, let me untie your hands."

  "Give us a chance-What?"

  Maggot rose and went to Bran, and began unknotting his bonds. "Can you hold your hands a little higher?"

  "But how did you get free?" Bran asked, lifting his hands.

  "I cut the ropes on the stone, the sharp edges."

  "And said nothing?"

  "You didn't seem interested."

  "Al! I'm an awful judge of men!"

  Maggot's fingers, though numb, worked out the knots by touch. He started unwinding the rope from Bran's wrists.

  "By two gods, that hurts," said Bran. He shook his fingers, slapping his palms against his thighs. "But the hurt itself is a muchneeded balm. When Romy comes back with either our water or our rats-rats! do you believe that?-we'll jump him. You can stand over there on the far wall, where he can see you, and I'll hide in the corner there by the door."

  Maggot's hand found the rawhide pouch at his throat. He had been saving it to give to the woman-to Portia-but she wasn't here, and if he didn't get free, he might never see her. He could find another gift to show his interest.

  "Perhaps we need not wait so long," he said. "What will happen if I break the wizard's charm? Perhaps the walls will break if the earth shakes again."

  "Again? Romy mentioned an earthquake-"

  "I had two charms like this one. I broke the other in Damaqua's village when I wanted to take you away from Sinnglas. The earth shook, knocking us all to the ground."

  Bran whistled in the dark. Then quietly, "The worst that could happen is nothing."

  "And then we could still use your plan," Maggot said.

  "Maybe you should save it. We'll have other chances to escape, if we are patient. If our hands weren't tied, we could have taken Sebius hostage and bargained our way out."

  "No," Maggot said. His fingers shook as they unknotted the bag and withdrew the teardrop charm. He closed his fist on it, watching it glow through his skin. "I am tired of letting others choose the path I follow."

  He held it up, needing to close both hands on it to make it snap. The big, wet pop sounded like a stalactite falling in an underground lake. The glass dissolved, flaring up in a bright green flash, lush like a hillside in spring, illuminating their little cell with a lightning's flash. Maggot saw Bran very clearly, for a split second, his face worried, rubbing feeling into his hands. And then nothing.

  Neither man said anything for some time.

  Bran cleared his throat. "Did you do it right?"

  "I think so. How else should I have done it?"

  "You're the wizard."

  "I'm not a wizard."

  "Well, you have the wizard's charm."

  "Wait." Maggot wrinkled his nose. He smelled something new, something fragrant with fresh earth and vegetation. His ears caught a tiny humming sound.

  "What?"

  "Over here, where the wall leaks," Maggot said. He took one step in that direction, and his feet splashed. When he bent down on his knees to search for the trickle in the wall, he discovered stones jutting inward, out of place. "What's this?"

  Bran knelt beside him. "It's buckled from the water. We should get back. If it caves in, the rocks will crush us."

  "But it will also give us a way to escape."

  "Perhaps." Bran pulled at Maggot's arm, laughing as he dragged him to the far wall. "Come, wizard. When Mother Bwnte does her work, mere mortals step aside."

  The tide of water soon stretched all the way across the floor to lap at their bare feet. The trickle turned into a fountain of water, gushing and splashing, rising as high as their ankles.

  "How much longer do we have to wait?" Maggot asked.

  "You're the wizard," Bran said again.

  "I'm not a wizard."

  There was a sound of Bran scooping and sipping a handful of water. "Ugh! Too muddy to drink."

  "Then don't drink it."

  Still locked in the murky darkness, the water soon swirled around their calves. The icy cold numbed Maggot's feet. "How high do you think it will rise?" he asked.

  "Reach up and tell me what you feel."

  The ceiling was barely a foot above his head. He ran his hands over the surface. "I only feel the stone roof."

  "About that high then, I'd guess," Bran said. He turned and pounded on the door. "We'll be treading water soon unless Bwnte gives us a little more help first."

  Maggot sloshed over to the collapsing wall. There was no breeze or stirring of the air to show a gap to the outside.

  "What are you doing?"

 
"Perhaps Bwnte waits for us to help ourselves." His fingers probed the wall for purchase in the buckled stones. He tugged, but the stone didn't budge. He braced his shoulder against the wall, grunting as he pulled. Suddenly the stone shifted, pinching his fingers against its neighbor. "Ow!"

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing," Maggot said, gripping the stone with his free hand and ripping it loose. It splashed into the water as he danced his toes out of the way.

  Bran shuffled over to his side. "I guess I'd rather be buried in rubble than drown. Where-ah, here. Do you feel the mortar between the stones?"

  "The what?"

  "The mortar. The gritty, crumbling stuff. Like sand. Scratch it away and the blocks fall out easier."

  Another splash announced his success. The two of them worked side by side, one stone after another falling into the water in slow succession. The water sprayed out of the wall, rising over their thighs. Gravel and then mud began pouring in through the gap. Suddenly, Maggot felt something like rain fall across his back. It splattered in the water all around them.

  "The ceiling!" Bran cried. "Get under the doorway fast!"

  Maggot never lost his sense of direction underground, having learned a long time ago to keep a mental picture always in his head. He dived for the right spot, through water and mud as high as his thighs, and pressed hard against the wood.

  Bran splashed around the wrong wall. "Where is it?"

  Before Maggot could answer, a rush of little splashes crescendoed with several big ones. Bran gasped in pain and Maggot jumped for the noise, taking hold of his friend's arm, dragging him back to the doorway.

  Thick, muddy water rushed in, swirling past their waists, sludge settling in over their feet.

  "This is a stupid way to die," Maggot said.

  "You would rather-"

  A section of the ceiling fell, slamming into the water, splashing it up to their heads, as the roar of a thousand stones crashed somewhere. The outside wall buckled and folded like a big thunderclap, followed by the rush of the wind, not strong but biting cold and filled with the scent of rain, and sharp air, broken up by the cries of people elsewhere in the castle, and muted light, a dark gray luminance in the air that not even all the clouds in the world could wholly extinguish.

  "How are you?" Maggot asked.

  Bran grinned foolishly, blood flowing from a long raw scrape on his cheek. "I'm alive," he cried. "And free! Let's run while we can!"

  They scrambled up the pile of stones, through a cascade of water, and out of the gaping hole in the castle foundation. Maggot looked up and saw the rain pour off a broken section of the roof and fall straight down where their cell had been. A low spot by the wall had caught all the water running down the hillside too. Bran kicked up water as he ran through the remnants of the pool, heading downhill toward the river.

  Maggot hurried after him.

  "Where are we going?" he asked. He thought of the hills behind them, the shepherd's path into the wild country.

  Bran stopped, turning to grip Maggot's arms. The air was so thick with rain it blurred the features of his face even at that short distance. "Into the city to see the Baron."

  "Why? Let us go into the mountains."

  "I'll go to the Baron and throw myself on his mercy. It's the Dance of Masks tonight. Between midnight and dawn, he'll take on the guise of Verlogh and dispense justice to all petitioners. I'll attend the dance, and go to him, and ask for his mercy, another chance to serve."

  "But why? They mean to kill you. Come with me!"

  Bran lifted his face into the rain. "This is the only life I have, friend Claye. If I cannot continue as I am, it has no meaning to me."

  "I'll go with you, then," Maggot said.

  "You don't need to do that. It would be better for you if you go to the mountains. If you climb between those hills-"

  "No, I will go with you and will tell the Baron what I know, what I have seen." If Portia was not here because of Acrysy, he would leave and go back to the place where he had seen her last and find some way to talk to her. "And then I will follow my own path away from your stupid people."

  "You've saved my life twice already! I beg you-"

  Another man came slogging toward them, up the path that led to the damaged palace. Bran tensed. Maggot prepared to fight, but the stranger leaned into the rain, the hood of his cloak pulled down over his face, and hurried quickly by without a word or glance in their direction.

  "We can't stand here," Bran said.

  "I'm coming with you," Maggot answered.

  Bran nodded and resumed his journey with Maggot beside him. The two men slipped, rose, fell again, sliding down the muddy slope toward the torrenting brown river. Across the water, behind the city wall, the steep-roofed houses and narrow streets looked abandoned. On the nearer bank, boats were pulled up high on the shore and there were no demons to be seen. Downstream, the bridge made a black scar across the gray skin of the day. Little figures rushed across it toward the city, stopping outside a guardhouse built atop the span.

  Skidding to a stop, Bran looked up and down the river. "We have to cross. We could use one of those boats. The demons'll be buried in the mud, hiding from the currents and-"

  "There's a bridge," Maggot said, pointing.

  "It's guarded," Bran said. "They'll recognize us."

  "In this rain, I can't tell you from my mother."

  Bran lifted his head to the sky and laughed. "Yes, the Empress declares that all bridges must be guarded, so this one, under the Baron's own nose, stays guarded. But bridge guard is a dull duty saved for dullards. The bridge it is, then."

  The mud squished in Maggot's toes as they followed the drowned road past some smaller buildings toward the bridge. "And if they do not let us pass?"

  "If we fight, you take whoever I don't." He made his left hand into a fist. "Then we run like greycats into the city. Stay close to me."

  "Fight, run, stay close."

  "But just keep behind me, so that I'm between you and the guards. Don't meet their eyes."

  Even on an ugly day like this, the bridge was a thing of amazing beauty. Its curving stone reminded Maggot of a wind-smoothed arch he had seen high in the mountains, only this had eleven broad arches instead and was wide enough for two mammuts to walk across abreast. A stone railing ran along both sides, and it widened slightly in the middle, above the central pier, to form two broad platforms that looked up and down the river.

  As they stepped onto the bridge, Maggot heard the river surge and bellow underneath them though the stone stood still. A large pillar marked with carvings occupied the center of the bridge, between the two platforms. But just past this halfway point Bran broke into a jog, his head bent forward, arms folded over his head against the rain. Maggot scrunched down, copying the posture. He ran along behind Bran like a shadow if the guardhouse were the sun.

  A soldier appeared in the doorway. "Who goes there?"

  Bran slowed but didn't stop. One arm was draped across his face while the other flapped in the general direction of the river. "The new palace! "

  "What about it?"

  Maggot balled his fists.

  "The north wall collapsed," Bran said. "Caved in!"

  The soldier stepped out under the eaves to look at the massive shape that crouched on the hillside. "We heard that it was sagging-"

  Any other words were lost as Bran kept on running across the bridge and into the city. He took a sharp left at the first street, turned right and went past several side streets along a curving road, then made several more turns in quick succession. Maggot ran at his heels, trying to orient himself to the city the way he would in the forest or the mountains-he thought they were headed somewhere with the goldendomed building and the river to their right, and the castle ahead.

  Bran slowed down now, picking his way more carefully through a neighborhood of small houses, mostly constructed of logs, with tiny patches of grass or garden in front. The streets were chewed-up mud and sewage. Every step su
cked at their bare feet, and the soupy mess oozed between Maggot's toes. They came to wider, straighter streets that didn't smell as bad, with stone houses, and then to a wider street again, with stone houses rising two and three stories high, where the streets were filled with large stones instead of mud, and lined with trees.

  The trees comforted Maggot, who grew tenser the deeper they penetrated this strange maze. His eyes darted constantly around, as they had when he first left his mother's side and ventured into the forest in the daytime. Once or twice, he glimpsed people passing in the distance, along cross streets or at the side doors of houses. The drizzle became a dreary mist.

  "It's somewhere around here," Bran murmured.

  "What do we seek?" Maggot asked.

  "We'll need costumes for the dance. I only know one man big enough to trade places with you, another knight. About your age, too. He might be willing to help me-he wasn't with Acrysy when we were captured. He lives near here...."

  The street ended in a large paved square, with a circular pool in the center, a small dun-domed building on one side, and an arched building shading a deep porch where small birds huddled in cages.

  "He lives there!" Bran pointed across the square.

  The second house in from the corner was a plain two-story stone building with wide steps leading up to a double door. The steps were framed by life-sized statues of collared hunting cats, one sitting upright, the other stretched out reclining.

  "Just be careful of his pets," Bran said as he walked toward the steps.

  tanding in front of the double doors, Bran loosened his shoulders, rubbed his hands over his arms, kicked his legs loose. "Be ready. Tubat's young and unpredictable."

  "Un-pre-what?"

  "I don't know in advance what will happen."

  "We never do," Maggot answered.

  Bran grinned. "We escaped Sebius's palace and crossed the bridge without a fight. Let's praise two gods."

  He lifted a large brass knob shaped like the tongue in a lion's mouth and knocked it against the wood. When no one answered, he repeated the action. A moment later, the left-hand door cracked open.

  A plain-looking woman peeked out. She had white hair and a face shaped like an onion. She took one second to look at the two men's faces, their clothes and feet.