Once inside the city, Kael kept to the streets less travelled. The troll continued to kick and struggle, grunting and squealing inside the bag.
“Hush,” Kael whispered the command, hoping the troll would hear and understand, but it persisted in thrashing about.
From inside the sack came the squeak, “Fane.”
“No,” Kael groaned. “Now is not the time to be speaking the language of Man. Keep quiet, will you?” He pulled the sack from his shoulder and gave it a firm shake, frustrated at his inability to communicate with the beast within it. How could he make it understand he meant it no harm? How could he make it realize it needed to keep still and silent?
Several folk who passed by gave him a scrutinizing eye. Let them wonder, Kael thought. He was a warrior. No one would stop and question him except perhaps another warrior, and he prayed he’d not chance upon one.
By the time Kael reached a secluded inn, his jumbled nerves had set every muscle in his body to ache. The troll had settled slightly, for which he was grateful, and he hoped there would be an empty room at this inn. He didn’t want to have to search for another deeper into the city.
Clutching the sack tightly, he took a deep breath and stepped through the door. Please keep silent, he pleaded unspoken to the troll.
From the doorway, he spied an elderly gentleman who he assumed to be the innkeeper, and two young merchants from Donnel, their foreignness apparent by their mode of dress. The three of them were in the midst of supper.
“I require a room,” Kael called out. “A private room.”
The aging innkeeper raised his eyebrows and looked Kael up and down, eyes drawn to the squirming, snorting sack held in the warrior’s arms.
Reading the unspoken question upon the man’s face, Kael said, “It’s a pig,” hoping the explanation would satisfy the innkeeper’s curiosity.
“Indeed.” The innkeeper raised his lean frame from his seat and lifted a fat lamp from a shelf, lighting it with the flame of the one upon the table. “Come. I have a room at the back that was vacated just this morning. I hope it will be sufficient.”
Kael followed the innkeeper as he shuffled down the short hall toward a small room at the far end of the inn. They entered, and Kael was grateful the room was clean. This man was obviously one who cared for his business and the welfare of his guests.
The old man set the lamp upon a shelf on the wall. “There’s a dunegan and a barn out back.” The innkeeper looked again at the wriggling sack.
“Thank you.” Kael surveyed his surroundings. The single window was shuttered and the bed, though perhaps a bit short for him, boasted a soft, straw-filled mattress and two clean coverlets. A wash basin and pitcher graced the tabletop beside the bed, a chamber pot upon the floor. Across the room was another small table and chair. Though it lacked an ingle for warmth, this room would suffice.
“Sir,” the innkeeper repeated, “there’s a barn in the back.”
Kael eyed the man in disdain. “The pig will stay with me.” He fumbled for coins within the kidskin purse that dangled from his belt while attempting to clutch the squirming sack in his arms.
“Will you be wanting supper?” the innkeeper asked as Kael paid him for the room.
While the idea of a nice, hot supper was tempting, Kael knew he must forego it for now. “Not tonight, good sir. And I do not wish to be disturbed.” He tried to hurry the man on his way. He didn’t want to appear rude, but feared the wretched troll might speak again and how would he possibly explain that?
The innkeeper stood in the doorway. “If you require anything, let me know.”
“Certainly,” Kael said. “Good night, sir.” He forcibly closed the door between them, effectively shutting the man out, and only then could he feel the tension begin to drain from his legs. He set the bag aside and sank back onto the bed, allowing that tension to ease out.
The bed was comfortable and it felt like paradise to just lie there and rest, but he knew he could not relax yet. It was not time. It might never be time! This pestilence he had sworn to bear had only begun.
After a moment, he dragged himself back upright and untied the twine that secured the sack. The troll popped its head out of the sack, tears staining her cheeks. Sniffling and trembling, she peered wide-eyed around the room.
The creature had been crying and Kael felt a passing twinge of compassion for the beast. “I guess I’d be frightened too, if someone had locked me inside a sack and carried me off into a strange place.”
Belying her awkward position, Hhaak swiftly extricated herself from her confinement. She looked about the room, terrified, wringing her hands together. The lamplight cast her odd shadow in waves upon the wall.
“And you’re certainly not going to like what I’m going to do now.” Kael grabbed onto the troll’s scrawny arms, pushed her down onto the mattress, and quickly tied the creature to the bedstead with the twine.
Hhaak began to squeal madly, kicking and thrashing about the bed, and Kael clapped his hand over her mouth. “Shhh,” he warned, hoping the wretched beast wouldn’t bite. Why couldn’t it keep quiet? The troll began to still and he slowly removed his hand. Immediately, the shrieks began again.
Kael reeled around, swiftly ripping a strip of linen from the bed sheet and gagged the troll with it. A firm knock sounded on the door. Kael froze, staring back at the door in horror.
“Is everything all right in there, sir?” the innkeeper called through the closed door.
“I let the pig out of the sack and it’s a little excited, that’s all,” Kael called back.
“Perhaps the pig would be more comfortable in the barn, sir,” the innkeeper said. He really didn’t approve of animals in his rooms—they were dirty. They belonged in the barn. But then, this was not an ordinary guest. This was one of the king’s warriors and rules would be bent. Rules would be bent no matter what he approved of or not.
“The pig is fine now,” Kael yelled. “And I do not wish to be disturbed anymore, so leave me be.”
The hallway was silent. Kael could not ascertain if the man had departed or if he was still standing outside the door. This nosy innkeeper could be trouble and the last thing Kael needed tonight was any more trouble. He had enough to contend with already.
He sat at the end of the bed, held his head in his hands, and groaned, “Wae, Fane, I am only doing this for you, much as I loathe to.” He gazed over at the bound and gagged troll. He had to find it a midwife. That would be the most dangerous part, for what midwife would agree to tend a troll? If he left the inn, would the troll be safe? Or would the nosy innkeeper come in and discover this grisly secret?
Groaning again as he rose to his feet, he knew what he had to do. What he had to do for Fane. For the bestial child.
He double-checked the shuttered window, making certain it was secure before turning down the lamp until it emitted only a faint glow. Glancing back at the moaning, grunting lump upon the bed in the shadowed lamplight glow, he stepped out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him.
He strode toward the three men at the table and pointed back at the door to his room. “In the name of the king, good sirs, do not go into that room lest that wretched pig get loose.” Kael stood firm, glaring at the men while thrumming his fingers against the hilt of his sword. “Should I return to find any of my belongings have been tampered with, my wrath with be swift and painful.”
The innkeeper gave a hard swallow and nodded. “Your pig is safe, sir.” This assent was doubled silently by the two foreign merchants as well.
Satisfied that he’d properly intimidated the men, Kael ducked out the door and pushed his way down the street. He had heard some of his fellows speak of a midwife named Margda here in Fead and it was said she was discreet. But discretion in matters of the misbegotten bastards of wayward warriors was one thing. The misbegotten child of a troll was an entirely different situation, yet he knew of no one else to turn to. His staunch credo sorely limited his experience in untoward matters.
After making several inquiries, he finally located the house of Margda, a nondescript cottage in the seedier depths of lower Fead. After expelling his revulsion, he pounded upon the door.
Momentarily, the door cracked open to reveal an aging, round-faced woman, quite ample around the mid-section.
Nervously, Kael rubbed his fingers together. “Would you be Margda, the midwife?”
“Aye.” She opened the door a bit wider. “That’d be who I be.”
“It is said you are discreet. Is this true?”
Margda eyed the warrior before her, trying to size him up. Did he need help or information? He seemed a bit flustered, so she deemed it was likely help he sought, and she relaxed a little. “If I couldn’t be discreet, sir, I’d not be in bloody business very long now, would I?”
“I have need of your services, good woman. I will pay you handsomely for your discretion.”
Margda smiled. It was a warm, knowing smile. Yes, these warriors always did pay well and she made a tidy profit from their indiscretions. “Bring the girl to me. I will take care of her.”
“No.” Kael shook his head. “You must come with me. I cannot bring it … her to you.”
“Is she ready to launch?”
Kael frowned and nodded. “I believe the time is near.”
Margda stepped back inside and grabbed a bundle of small, clean blankets and her birthing kit. “It’s just as well,” she said, returning to the door. “I needed a spot of exercise tonight. I had quite a large supper.”
“Supper,” Kael groaned inwardly. Would he ever see supper tonight himself? It was doubtful.
In silence, he escorted Margda back to the inn, wracking his brain for a plausible story. Before they entered, he instructed her to fold and carry her blankets as if they already held a child, his mind on the edge of the concoction of a convincing lie, for once this midwife got a look at her charge would she still agree to help? Could she truly be trusted? How was he to ever explain to a rational woman how the troll came to be in its condition and in his care?
As Margda complied and folded her kit inside the blanket before nestling the bundle in her arms against her bosom, Kael grabbed hold of her arm and locked her within a steely gaze.
“I must warn you, good woman, that the birth you are about to attend is not your ordinary birth, and it is to be handled with utmost secrecy.” His thoughts grasped for an explanation. He was not adept in the art of deceit. Even if he could conjure a story, could he actually convince her to believe it? “Your charge is not an ordinary woman.”
Margda’s eyes widened with interest. “And just what kind of birth am I attending sir?”
“I will tell you more once we get inside,” Kael said. “But I need your word that you will attend the birth and keep your silence, no matter what.”
Had this handsome young warrior been knocking his boots with nobility? Margda’s interest was thoroughly piqued by now and she nodded her head in affirmation. “I will not betray your trust, sir.” She’d never attended nobility before, and was growing excited at the prospect.
They entered the inn and Kael hurried the midwife toward his room. The merchants were gone, but he could not help noticing the dubious eyes of the innkeeper laid keenly in his direction. Oh yes, Kael knew this man would surely be trouble. Stories would circulate. Speculations would be made. Questions would be asked. But there was no time to deal with that right now. He had more urgent business to attend to.
He hurriedly ushered the midwife into his darkened room.
“Can I truly trust you?” he asked.
“Completely, sir. I swear in the name of the king, you can. And I’m nothing without my word.” Across the room, soft moans issued from her charge in the dark.
She had given a solemn oath. Kael knew he had no choice, and he prayed she was as trustworthy as she claimed. He was loathe to dispose of her should she prove to dishonor him with a lie.
Reaching up to the shelf, he turned up the light of the lamp, and behind him in the flickering light, he heard the midwife’s sudden gasp.
“It’s … it’s a bloody troll!”
“Shhh,” Kael warned, coming beside her, hand gripping the hilt of the dagger upon his belt. “It’s a very special troll. I have been on a mission with the king’s wizard and he cast a spell upon the beast to see if he could have it give birth to a man-child.”
Hookee walker, Margda thought. Why would a wizard try to conjure men from the wombs of trolls? What good could come of it? And why was that wizard not here to witness the effects of his so-called spell? But let the man tell his tale if it pleased him. And though she was a little disappointed that this warrior had been knocking his boots with a troll and not nobility, a new curiosity arose inside her.
She hurried across the room toward the moaning troll. “Why is it tied to the bed?”
“It’s a wild thing. I couldn’t have it running freely about the inn.”
She supposed he was right. Taking a seat upon the bed beside the troll, she stroked its sweaty brow and Hhaak stared fearfully up, her wide, dark eyes conveying her unspoken pain and terror.
“Poor thing,” Margda murmured. “So scared.” She spoke softly to the troll. “It’s all right, poor, wee thing. Mother Margda’s here to take care of you now.”
She examined the troll carefully, then spoke to Kael. “Yes, it’s nearly time to see what kind of creature your wizard friend has created.”
“You understand the need for secrecy in this matter. If word of this ever gets out, you will be put to death.” One hand deliberately lingered upon his dagger, the other upon the hilt of his sword.
“You needn’t resort to threats, sir. I told you I could be discreet and I’m a woman of my word. Besides,” Margda chuckled, “if I did speak of this, folks would think I was dicked in the nob and I’d be hurried off into the gaol of the lost.” She lifted the empty pitcher from the bedside table and handed it to him. “Now make yourself useful and go fill this with clean water.”
Kael relaxed then. He knew in his heart this woman would say nothing. All he could do now was wait.
2
Alyn
With some fresh water dipped from a barrel while under the scrutiny of the innkeeper, Kael returned to his room and sank wearily into the chair. The midwife was intent upon her duties. The air in the room was stale, the waiting nearly unbearable. He removed the talisman from beneath his shirt and the lamplight shot prisms about the room. A pang of remorse pierced his heart. This stone had kept his brother alive, such as his life had become. He had hardly recognized Fane, little more than a frail starveling, aged far beyond his mere seventeen years. What horrors had he endured within a year under the dragon’s imprisonment? What would have driven him to nub a disgusting, hideous troll?
Fane had become locked within his own gaol of the lost, Kael decided, and only in sacrificing himself had he been able to find redemption. But a part of him would live on—that part that now dwelt within the troll’s womb.
Kael slipped the crystal back beneath his shirt and rubbed his aching forehead. What was he going to tell Father? What was he going to do with this troll and its child? He couldn’t take them to Avar. What was to become of his life now? How could he perform his duties? How was he supposed to raise the offspring of a troll among Men? How could he raise it as a Man when surely it would be nothing more than a beast? Yet he had sworn to his dying brother this oath. Somehow, he would have to find a way.
From beneath the troll’s gag, the muffled wails of its launch wrested Kael out of his grim reverie. Margda hummed to herself, tending to the troll as Kael imagined she would care for any charge, and he admired her compassion for the beast, for he, himself, had none. It was nothing more than a contemptible thing whose presence was forcing him to betray his credo, forcing him to sneak about like a common thief, forcing him to lie to others, testing his convictions, and he cursed himself for not having been strong enough to keep Fane from ever leaving Avar in the first place.
When the squalls of the newborn broke the air, Kael leapt to his feet.
“Oh dear,” Margda whispered.
There was a knot in the pit of Kael’s stomach the size of his head and he strained to catch a glimpse of the child, curious to see but reluctant to step forward, fearful of what had just emerged from the troll’s womb. His view was obscured by the hefty midwife, intent only upon her duties, so he had to be content with impatient restraint.
“Your wizard did a fair job,” Margda finally said after the child was cleansed and wrapped warmly within a blanket. “She’s beautiful.”
Margda turned, cradling the crying child in her arms and Kael dared to take a peek.
He couldn’t deny she looked human. He could see Fane in her face and felt an immediate kinship with the infant, despite what her mother was. “I’d say he did a rather good job,” he said, unable to conceal his joy and relief.
Margda heaved a sigh and pulled the blanket away from the baby’s head. Kael took a horrified step backwards. Upon the sides of the child’s head were two large, pointed ears.
“Is she … is she Man or Troll?” Kael was stricken.
“It’s too soon to say for certain,” Margda said. “But, except for the ears and the fact that she’s such a wee little thing, she appears human in every aspect. Only time will tell, sir. Only time will tell.”
The baby began to cry madly, her little face wrenched in red anger.
“What’s wrong with her?” Kael took another fearful step back. “Why is she crying like that?”
“She needs milk, sir. She’s hungry.”
“Then give her to her mother.”
Margda shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. The troll did not survive. It is dead.”
“Oh no.” Kael sank back into the chair staring blankly toward the bed. As much as he loathed the creature, this untimely loss was most unfortunate. The child needed its mother.
Margda stood beside him. “Sometimes these things happen, sir. I did what I could, but the child came out wrong and the creature was weak and it lost a lot of blood. I couldn’t save it.”
The Legacy of Skur: Volume One Page 17
