“Arrah,” I said. “What now?”
“We wait,” she said simply.
“And he kills?”
“Let him kill elsewhere.”
I had nothing left to say. Whatever the politics of Goblins, it hadn’t extended to killing the Prince or protecting their own people’s lives. The Little Arukh and I walked away in silence.
My heart was heavy. I scuffed the ground as I walked. Of all the peoples, I thought, the Mothers should have revered life, should have said this thing should not be.
But in the end, they were just like all the others.
“Followed,” the Little Arukh grunted softly.
I nodded.
She slowed, drifted away from me.
A Hobgoblin followed, a hungry wary presence like a dog following after scraps.
We moved along, wary. Distance opening up between us, but not so far we lost awareness of each other. He followed, clumsy and obvious. There were no others. She slowed, falling back, until she was behind him.
Finally, I turned a corner onto on a narrow street. I picked a sheltered spot and waited.
He stumbled forth, blinking, rushing so as not to lose me. Hobgoblin, but young. Younger than I’d thought. Not armed. Not trained. A fool.
I stepped out, confronting him.
Behind him, on the other side, the Little Arukh stepped out as well. Mirroring my actions, not attacking. Good. At least she wasn’t completely murderous.
He stared from one to the other, his eyes wide.
“Arrah?” I grunted.
“I’m Tefikhatha... Tef...” he paused, as if waiting for us to give our names.
“We are Arukh,” I said simply.
It dredged a memory up from him. He nodded.
“I’m...” he struggled, “Vakhavlanka was my sister.”
We stared mutely.
Sister? Sister... from the same mother?
“She was killed. One of the ones killed...”
Ah. I thought, the body in the alley, the one I’d seen when the Brave Tohkzahli had trapped me.
“What’s a sister?” the Little Arukh asked curiously. I glanced at her.
Had she ever asked such an odd question before? I couldn’t recall such an event. And why this question? Why now? What was in her head? I had no idea.
He stared at us then, finally realizing the vast gap between the Totzaklinh and their progeny, the Arukh.
“Uh... we had the same mother and father, born from the same womb...”
The Little Arukh cocked her head, as if considering. I shrugged.
“I heard you speak,” he said. “I listened...”
Tears were running down his face, his voice hitched.
We stared.
“Thank you,” he said. “Her life mattered. We know... We all know... Thank you... for caring.”
We stared.
He turned and fled.
The Little Arukh and I turned to stare at each other.
Finally, I shrugged wearily.
I was tired of the strangenesses of other races. Let them have it all, the Arukh were not the only people who knew madness.
We returned to Iron Pants’ Lodge, tired and dispirited. There was no resistance, no challenge to our entry. The feeding drums still beat.
As we passed through the gateway, I headed towards the massive cooking pots. At the fires, Iron Pants looked up, staring at me, staring past me. At the same moment, the Little Arukh squealed.
I bolted. The next instant the head of a massive lance struck sparks from the spot where I’d been.
I whirled, hissing and drawing my knives.
At the other end of the lance, holding it, was a huge Troll covered from head to foot in gleaming bronze armour. He stepped forward, barring the doorway.
“The half races,” the armoured Troll rumbled conversationally, “have generally been a great disappointment to us. I admit, some of us were curious, even intrigued. Drawn to the half races as trivial, eccentric side projects. Diversions.”
He advanced relentlessly, using his lance to cut me off from escape, driving me back towards a corner.
Iron Pants and the other Trolls had left their places and were coming forward. For an instant, I imagined they might be coming to rescue me. That hope evaporated almost as soon as it was born. Trolls do not contend against each other for Arukh.
“We hoped for something new. Something interesting. Something perhaps greater than its origins. Alas, the Hobgoblins are only mischievous Goblins, grown large, but still clinging to the Mothers teats.”
Strike. I danced back as the lance scarred stones at my feet. Trolls circled about, hemming me in. Far behind them, Arukh gathered, watching.
“The Kobolds are lesser images of the Dwarves, reproducing in themselves, everything they hate. Ogres are mere cripples. The Dead Men, but sad imitations of their parents, cleaving to both, amounting to neither. Disappointments, hollow, imitations, each of them”
Strike. Sparks flew.
“And the Arukh...”
I feinted a dash to the left and when he moved, dove right, narrowly escaping the clutches of the Young Troll. The head of his lance again struck sparks against stones. Iron? He grinned, massive yellow fangs glistening through the bars of the helmet.
“Very good, you are clever and quick. It will not save you, but you are good. I continue: The Arukh...” he concluded, “The Arukh are simply monsters.”
Strike.
“Abominations.”
Strike. I skipped away. Angered, the lance struck again and again.
“Abortions.”
“Barren.”
“Mindless.”
“Worthless.”
“Vile.”
He paused, panting.
“But somewhat agile.”
The lance darted again and again, driving me back.
“Monsters need to be destroyed.”
“There are Arukh all about,” I said retreating and cringing, “why me and not them? I’m not special. I’m just a simple beast. I’ve done you no harm.”
Glowering faces watched us.
“Why not,” he said reasonably. “One does what one can. Your death will be a small thing, but it will improve the world. Should I be dissatisfied?”
“Coward,” I snarled.
Begging would do no good. I spat, as much at an obstinate and hateful world as at him.
He shrugged eloquently.
“Be respectful,” he barked. “This is an unpleasant and degrading task and best finished quickly. It has fallen to me to kill you. You should show appreciation, or at least courtesy, to those who assist you in your passing.”
He advanced.
“How is it that the Horsemen are your masters?” I asked.
He stopped.
I cocked my head.
“Is it gold?” I asked. “I have gold to pay you. Kill them instead and its yours.”
The Arukh laughed around us. There had been a day when an Arukh had gambled with the high gnomes, had somehow won, and then scattered their gold like water. They never tired of that story, no matter how many times they got it wrong.
I glared at Iron Pants.
“Tell me,” I growled. “Tell me what my crime is? Tell me who I’ve murdered or how I’ve offended the mighty Trolls? Show me your reason? The ‘reason’ you clever Trolls prize so.”
Iron Pants stopped and raised his hand.
The others waited.
“You have murdered the Horsemen’s Shaman,” he began, “assaulted their General, conspired to murder their Prince, stolen their horses, accused the Prince to friends, enemies and strangers alike, of heinous deeds. You sent the Brave Tohkzahli into battle against them, slaughter their allies in their own homes, shouted obscenities at handmaide
ns, defiled the sacred places of the Vampires and stir up war on every hand. You think perhaps they might, someone might, somehow possibly have taken offence?”
“What is it to the Trolls?” I asked. “Surely, you do not cringe and lick the feet of dogs as well as Humans.”
Far back there, was a raucous crowing laugh. They did not turn around.
There was an ear splitting yowl. The little Arukh advanced with hesitant steps, holding her ridiculously long bronze sword out, making little mewling noises.
The armoured Troll looked over his shoulder, and then turned to face her. Trying to take advantage of the distraction, I moved, but found Iron Pants blocking my way. He was not distracted.
“You raise a weapon,” the armoured Troll rumbled dangerously, “to me?”
“Begone,” he roared and turned away.
The little Arukh retreated several steps. Then, whimpering with terror began creeping back.
A rumbling began to grow among the Arukh through the Lodge.
The armoured Troll turned to her again and took a menacing stance.
“Not another step,” he warned, dangerously.
She keened continuously with fear, her eyes wide, her whole body shaking like a leaf. Yet still she held her ground.
Other Arukh, shadowy menacing figures shambled forward, to stand or lurk a few feet behind her.
The Troll glanced past her, and then stared at her.
He hesitated, nervousness showing through. Then he stiffened.
“If you take one more step,” he snarled, “I will take you and break all your bones, then I will set you up high for the sun to burn you and your tongue to swell from your mouth with thirst and for birds to pluck out your eyes, and then I will set you down in a dark wet hole for rats and maggots to gnaw upon your flesh even as you smell it rotting in your nostrils.”
The little Arukh keened in terror, but she did not back away.
“I will do all these things so that the Arukh may know that death is the smallest and least of the terrors and torments awaiting those who challenge Kakihish.”
He cocked his head, staring at her.
“Go away,” he snapped.
She held her ground, whimpering.
He stared at her, and stared beyond her, as if measuring the consequences of advancing on her.
“Not one more step. Not another step at all,” he said finally.
The rumblings behind her grew louder.
The armoured Troll seemed to glance at the surrounding Arukh and muttered something guttural that I did not catch.
Iron Pants sighed.
“Do you know the story of how the Giants’ Kingdom came to be?” he asked me, speaking loudly for all to hear.
I shook my head.
“What does it matter?”
“The first Kingdoms were of the Dwarves and Goblins, then came the Vampires.”
“What of the Selk?” I cocked my head.
He looked at me, both irritated with my interruption and curious as to its source.
“The trade speech is mostly Selk, they must have been first,” I explained.
The younger Troll stifled laughter.
The others glared at him. Then they glanced at each other, and for a second, I had the strangest feeling that I’d managed to surprise them, and perhaps somehow frighten them a little.
“She’s very clever,” one of them whispered.
“Cleverness is not a quality often seen or well used in the Arukh,” the armoured Troll said. “Docility would serve better, taming would suit them.”
“And if they can’t be tamed?” the younger Troll asked.
“Kill them all, cleanse the world of them again for once and all,” the armoured Troll spat.
He snarled at the watching Lodge.
He was frightened, I realized. He’d come in here expecting a quick kill without incident. He hadn’t expected them to gather at his back. It unnerved him.
My mind raced, looking for a way to turn it to his advantage.
“The Kingdoms grew rich,” Iron Pants interrupted, returning to his story, his voice emphatic and forceful, “trading with each other, there was peace and plenty.
“Then Giants began to appear. Like animals, they wandered about, digging in the garbage, attacking where they saw advantage, retreating where confronted by arms.
“The Giants did trouble the Kingdoms much as did rats and locusts. There seemed to be no end to them, and no solution to the problems they created.
“Finally, the Kingdoms banded together and sent a delegation to the Giants, and they said: ‘You shall form a Kingdom of your own, that we can trade and parley with, and all the Giants shall be of the Kingdom, and shall be bound by the laws between the Kingdoms. You shall select those to be responsible, so that we know who to grieve against.”
“Thus was the Giants’ Kingdom made, and the Giants themselves made peaceable. The Giants were made to be civilised.
“Thus shall we take the Horsemen and make them civilised,” he concluded. “The Horsemen can be made to live in the city with others, to be bound to codes among others, as among themselves.”
I had a sudden feeling that he wasn’t just talking about the Horsemen, but about the Arukh as well. That his story was a silent plea to the others for my life? Or perhaps a warning to the rest of the Lodge? Or both?
“But not,” the armoured Troll announced, equally forcefully, “if some pissant little Arukh persists in trying to stir up the waters with blood.”
His posture was strange, as if he was trying to watch both myself and the multitude gathered behind him. He’d made a mistake, I realized. He’d just gone to the animal’s lair, expecting to kill it and be gone. He hadn’t expected it to be drawn out, or to be troubled by the other animals.
“Do you understand?” Iron Pants said softly. “The Giants were tamed. The Horsemen must be tamed. There are greater things at work, we are doing greater things, and the mad obsessions of a petty little monster cannot be allowed to interfere.”
I cocked my head, absorbing this. My eyes widened.
“You,” I said, “it was you that sent the Brave Tohkzahli into the battle.”
“What?” he asked, hesitating. I’d shocked him.
“Not you, but the Trolls. It was the Trolls that had the Handmaidens send the Brave Tohkzahli. The Mothers did not know, that was a Troll scheme.”
“The Mothers knew,” the armoured one said defiantly.
“Did the Handmaids tell you that?”
Iron Pants winced.
The Trolls glanced at each other. I was frightening them again, being too clever. They wanted us to be clever, but not too clever. I could not stop.
“I thought they went for the Prince,” I blurted, “but truth?”
Iron Pants rumbled in Troll speech, “the Horsemen had to be shown that they were not invincible. Their arrogance had to be wounded. This must have been plain to the Trolls... and to the Mothers.”
Khanstantin had defied orders to go after the Prince, I realized. That was why Khanstantin and his little band had separated from the main body of the Tohkzahli. So that the rest would not be punished for his deed.
Khanstantin had died for the sake of a... demonstration? I was appalled. The waste. I remembered what he was in life. I remembered how Vhoroktik had been at his death. Strange emotions coursed me.
I spat at them. My body trembled.
“Bastards,” I barked in Troll, “burrowers, scavengers, eaters of offal.”
The armoured Troll glanced incredulously at Iron Pants.
“She speaks our tongue?” he said aloud.
Iron Pants and the younger troll exchanged worried looks. All those times they’d spoken to each other in their tongue, in my presence...
“Damn you for teaching it,” He snapped at Iron
Pants. “You coddle them. You explain ourselves to this... thing! It’s vile.”
“You cannot tame them,” I said in guttural Troll. “They know no taming. Only life and death, only their own and all else is other. Your schemes are nothing to them. They are not tamed, only balked. They will wait and come again.”
The Arukh looked at each other, not following the words.
“Horsemen?” the younger Troll asked. “Or Arukh?”
“Then there’s little hope,” Iron Pants said, almost sadly. In that moment, I knew he was talking about me. I hissed at him, hissed at all of them.
“I like this,” the armoured Troll said sarcastically. “Thank you for your advice. I prize your wisdom so much, I think I shall carry your head about for a time.”
He drove hard with his lance towards me. The Lodge roared as I leaped, dodging the blow. The head of the lance struck sparks from the stone floor of the lodge.
“Arrah!” I bellowed, answering the roar of the Lodge.
Then I was flying through the air, landing heavily on my side. Something had hit me. Iron Pants. I felt like ants were crawling all over my body as my knife fell from nerveless fingers.
I tried to get up. But Iron Pants grabbed my leg. I kicked, but it was like kicking stone. The younger Troll closed in, getting in front of the armoured Troll and his killing lance.
Iron Pants swung, and I was flying through the air again. For a second, I tried to scramble and grab his hand. Then everything exploded in light and pain as I struck the wall.
And Iron Pants swung again, my body flailing. The armoured Troll cursing the younger for being in his way.
In gasping moments, I kicked and clawed futilely.
And Iron Pants swung again, my body smashing into the floor.
And again...
As everything went dark, I heard the Arukh roaring in the lodge and the little one keening, and cutting through it all, Iron Pants voice booming.
“I pronounce...” he began.
I thought I heard the Armoured Troll roaring angrily.
“You’ve robbed me!” he bellowed. “The Kill was mine!”
The voice of Iron Pants. I could no longer make out words.
Darkness.
I woke. Everything hurt. For a few minutes, I laid there, trying to breathe normally, trying to listen for the Trolls. The ground was damp and uneven beneath me, the air cool. I reckoned that I was outside. After a few seconds, I dared to squint.
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