During the fight, Holger's hood had fallen back, revealing a beard of fiery orange laced with rough silver and grey. Gold bands hung from the braids of his beard and clattered against the breastplate glinting beneath his ratty cloak. Sweat stained his hairy face while dirt gave his fair and freckled skin a filthy coat.
The captain stepped back and heaved the hammer over his head. One assailant slashed, barely missing Holger's ribs. Another landed a cut against his shoulder. The man grimaced and swung a sloppy arc that missed all three.
"I could help him," Grump whispered, tapping his fingers on the trunk. "He will die, and you will have to learn to sleep knowing you let it happen."
Grump swallowed. So much death in so few days. It brought more than his Hunger back. It brought memories of his past, his home in the swamp and the family left behind. Grump's thoughts darkened, and his heart hardened.
Why was he even considering helping a stupid human? They hated his kind. Lift a finger for that fool and he could kiss his home here goodbye. His scar itched, and he snarled at the feeling. "Curse them and their violence and their wars. The human brought this on himself. Should've been a farmer, Captain Holger. Wheat doesn't wait in the woods bearing poisoned blades."
Grump shook his head and turned his back to the clash and clang of a dying battle. And without another thought, he launched himself toward home. The sun would rise soon enough, and he had stew to cook and goats to feed before bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Visitor
Although Grump couldn't see the sun's rays from within the black confines of his cave, he knew it still shone. Its heat permeated the rock, warmed the mottled granite with a light that gave life to all but trolls.
Sleep weighed heavily on his thoughts. Trolls slept hard as a quartz brick while the sun shone. It kept them safe, made them still. Only when something harassed their home did their waking senses stir.
And so Grump stirred when the branch cracked. His ear twitched. He rolled onto his side and faced the back of the cave. "Damnable goats. I'll walk you once the sun's out. I swear...."
Hushed voices slid through the nearly airtight crack between the boulder sealing his cave and the cave wall. So quiet those voices were, to any other they might have gone unnoticed. Not to a troll.
Adrenaline lanced through him like a thunderbolt thrown from a summer storm. Grump's eyes shot wide, and what dreariness lingered evaporated. He rolled onto his stomach and slapped his palms onto the ground, his muscles tensing and ears twitching.
Fair folk. Outside. In his home. His garden.
Breath rolled from Grump's thick lips, pushing dirt on the floor from his face. Maybe he imagined the sounds. Maybe….
They came again, soft as a kitten's purr. Grump dug his nails against the ground and swallowed his snarl.
It took a single powerful, terrifyingly silent leap to reach the boulder wedged before the cave mouth. A jagged breach no wider than a blade of grass teased the world beyond his cave, lit as it was in the dying ambers of a tired sun. Even then, the light blurred his sight when he pressed his face against the gap, and a burning chill rippled across his cheeks.
Grump blinked, and the world refocused. Two men appeared, cloaked in black. Metal studded their leathers while the hilts of steel-tipped weapons protruded like monstrous spikes running from their backs to their thighs.
One of the men threw back his hood. A dark-haired fellow with a crooked nose and matching frown sported a beard that hid his weak human chin. His pinkish fingers fondled the plump crimson bulb of a tomato. He ripped it from the vine and took a deep whiff of what was rightfully Grump's. "Who do you think grew all this?" he asked his partner.
Hunger rip-roared through Grump. He recognized that voice. It was the same man in black from the ambush, the one who hid on the branch just within arm's reach. The one Grump did nothing to stop.
"And now he's eating what's mine." Grump pressed his palms against the wall and bared his teeth. "Mine."
The second man lowered his hood, revealing a perfectly bald head riddled with odd tattoos. Metal spikes weighed his ears, and he wore a sneer that reminded Grump very much of the trolls back home.
"It's a right blessing," the man said. "Gods, I'm hungry. That a tomato? I haven't had one of them in ages. They don't grow too well in these parts. The ones we had in town were barely bigger than rat's balls."
Grump turned away from the crack and blinked, the burning chill slowly fading in the shadows of his home. He pressed his back onto the boulder and slid to a seat, closing his eyes and burying his head in his hands. They were in his garden. Men. Eating, stomping, tearing, laughing, and Grump could do nothing about it while the sun still shone.
"Whoever lives here's got goats, too," the second man said.
Grump's head shot up. His jaw locked.
"Maybe we should kill one and roast it up? They look good and fat. Whatever nutter hermit lives out here's gone for the day it seems."
Hunger sang its violent song. Kill. Bleed. Bend. Break. Touch one of his goats, and Grump would sing it, too.
"Nah, we don't have time for it. That blasted Holger couldn't have gotten far and we need what he's got to fulfill our contract. Take what you can, eat your fill, and we get the search on before sunset. I got him good in the side. He'll never make it out of these woods with a beating heart."
A chill vise tightened over Grump's heart. If he had just helped the human, these men never would have found his garden. Now he could do nothing but endure their trespass, hiding in a cave while they took what he worked so hard to grow.
The men laughed and chatted about nothing and everything as they plowed through his good vegetables and teased his goats. Every so often he would turn to the crack and peer at them. One star blinked into the purpling sky. Then another. Soon now, he could walk free.
Grump tucked his knees against his chest and watched, waited. The conversation between the men died too, and soon, only silence and the barest twinge of daylight kept them company.
He watched as the bearded man slipped his hood over his brow and motioned for the trees. "We'd best get going. Who knows how long before Holger's friends in the Order show their faces. I hear they've got a mage in their party this time. Don't want to be around when that harpy's arse starts singing his songs."
The bald man wiped his mouth and snorted. "Not like it'll matter. Our time's come, my friend. The sign in the sky doesn't lie. They'll return, and then not even those bastards will keep us back. All the wrongs'll be righted."
"You speak like a priest," the bearded one chuckled as he strolled between the redwoods. "We're men of business. Hopefully the sign means business'll be good again and we'll be wiping our asses with all the contracts coming through the guild."
"We'll live like the damned kings of Old Carrika soon enough. Screw the priests. I'll leave the holier-than-thou ox dung to the Order."
They shared a laugh and melted into the forest's shifting shade. Grump huffed. He waited, anxiously glowering at the sky.
The last hint of the sun faded. Grump's jaw went slack, and he bounded to his feet, ripping the boulder aside so fast he almost fell over. "Damned sun! Go to bed and never come back!"
He ripped his shovel from the wall and pounded into his garden. Left he looked. Right he scanned. Into the forest he peered, narrowing his eyes to angry slits.
No sign of the men in studded black remained, save a few messy rows of vegetables dotted with the juicy corpses of half-eaten tomatoes and squished grapes. Grump squeezed his shovel and speared the earth with its wide, steel tip. "And stay away!"
He took one last, long look between the redwoods before dropping the shovel and darting to the pen. He fell to his knees and hugged his goats, patting Patches lightly on his snout. "You're all safe. Daddy's here, don't worry. I won't let the bad men hurt you anymore. You'll sleep with me in the morning. I'll make a nice draught that'll give you sweet, quiet dreams, and you won't have to worry about nasty fair folk trudging throu
gh our home ever again."
Patches bleated and cocked his little head.
Grump leaned back and exhaled, pressing his palms against his legs. "They're safe. Everything's fine. Everything will be okay. Don't be such a worry-wart, Grump. You'll be—"
"Please, help! Is someone there?" a voice called.
Grump snarled and lurched from his seat, whipping around to face this stranger. A human stumbled from the bushes and fell to his knees at the first rows of Grump's garden.
Grump reared back when he saw the man. "Holger?"
The name fell from his lips before his tongue could catch it. No doubt lingered in Grump's mind that this was the human: beard of angry red streaked by greying wires and weighed by gold bands. Pale, freckled skin, and an air of authority even in his current sorry state. He no longer carried his weapon, and dried, flaking blood-stained beard, breastplate, and filthy cloak.
"You know my name?" he asked, stumbling back. "You are one of the blackthorns!"
The way he peered at Grump, eyes unfocused, not quite settling on where Grump stood and always shifting left and right—it was unnatural. Grump slowly rolled forward and clasped his shovel. "I don't know who these blackthorns are, stranger, but I can swear to you I'm not one of them."
Relief loosened Holger's shoulders. He shook the look quickly and pulled his shoulders back. "Then how do you know my name, stranger in these ill woods?"
"Those blackthorns said it is why! They kept on blabbering about it while they helped themselves to my good garden. Ruined my good crops. Mine. And these woods aren't ill. They're my home."
An urge to break the man's legs hit Grump hard. He swallowed and held back. Holger looked so tired, so old. She stood like that once, so long ago. The memory twisted his heart and heated his blood. This human should not be in his garden.
"What's wrong with you, Holger?" Grump asked, burying the memories.
"I don't know if I—If I can trust you."
"Fine. Go. Leave my garden. Keep to the shadows, though, those blackthorns are flitting about the woods looking for you, and you don't look too hale for a fight, eh?"
A coughing fit overtook the man and lasted an uncomfortable while. Blood spotted his lips. Grump grimaced at the sight.
"They poisoned me," he eventually said.
"I heard them say so as well."
"The poison's ... blinded me."
"I gathered as much."
Holger winced and grabbed his chest. "Are you the monster of these woods, the one the farmers tell tales of?"
"No." Grump rolled his eyes and squeezed his shovel. "And do not call me monster. I wasn't the one who slaughtered all those men on the plains. I wasn't the one hacking away at others in the woods. You tell me who's more the monster here, me or you?"
The man's head dropped. "Forgive me. I'm just so tired. I thought I was supposed to come here. I was certain of the vision, so certain! But ... my men ... gone ... I ... I'll join them soon, I fear."
Grump sighed through his nose and rolled to his feet. "I know a thing or two of poisons and their cures. Tell me your symptoms and I might have what I need to clean your blood of it."
"My heart's in a burning knot. My eyes only see black. My fingers are—"
"Cold, and your cough wet. You've got a chill sweat and you've already spilled your stomach on the ground once or twice, haven't you?"
Holger fell to his hands and nodded. "I have. You know the poison?"
"I do."
"And do you have the cure?"
Grump looked at the poor man, shivering on his hands and knees, covered in sweat and blood and reeking of fear. Holger was such a proud creature in the forest with his mighty weapon and his men and his steady, proud stance. Grump shook his head and smiled even though the human couldn't see. "I do. I'll go make the draught. It will take away the pain."
Holger sat back and laughed, but it cut short. He winced and clutched his side. "You're a good man but a bad liar, my friend. This poison will kill me. But thank you for the kindness of easing the last hours of my life in the waking world. Tell me, what's your name?"
Grump considered a lie. What was a good human name? Truth be told, he could only think of Holger's. With a shrug, he turned to his cave. "Grump. You can call me Grump."
"Odd name, that, but then again you seem to wear it well."
"Calling me a stick in the mud, Holger?" he asked as he rummaged through his herbs. He found the ones he wanted and mashed them into a paste, adding a bit of wine to the mix because Grump pitied the fellow.
"You're a sharp one for a hermit in the woods," Holger said with a laugh. "A rarity if there ever was one."
"Maybe the smart ones are the best at avoiding those who bring trouble. Then again, maybe I'm not as smart as you think." He cocked a grin. "Or as I think."
Grump returned to the man, who had taken up residence against a rock at the edge of Grump's garden. Grump pressed the bowl containing his concoction against the human's chest. Holger took it and greedily poured it back, then dropped the container and exhaled. "Thank you."
"Least I could do," Grump said, quickly plucking the bowl from the ground and setting it beside him. He sat cross-legged just out of the human's reach and inspected his visitor, wondering if a man and troll had ever once engaged in this casual kind of chitchat with one another.
"Do you believe in signs?" Holger asked after a long pause.
"There's magic in the world. Why not signs?"
"There's been a sign, Grump. Something's coming. I'm just ... not sure what."
"Something's always coming," Grump said, resting his shovel on his lap. "Something always comes. Just when you think you're happy, a bird shits in your soup. You can count on it."
"Do you ... do you care? About what happens...." Holger hacked again, and blood dribbled into his beard.
"I did once. Now? To be honest, I'm not so sure. I guess there's just not much in this world to care about." He snorted a laugh and stared into the sky. "Not like there's much in this world that cares about me anyway."
Holger groaned as he fumbled in his cloak. "Then let ... let me give you something to care about."
Grump's eyes shot wide as watermelons. "Oh, no, no, no, I don't need—"
"Here." Holger yanked his hand out and clumsily tossed something shiny before Grump. "I have failed in the mission given to me because I followed a vision. I doubted what I had seen when the blackthorns murdered my men. I doubted my faith when their poison took my sight. But now, I wonder. There is something odd about you, my friend. I sense the light of amber in your heart, and my doubt fades before hope. My walk on this road may end, but perhaps it was always meant to. Perhaps a cranky hermit will walk in my stead."
"I'm a hermit for a reason. I don't want any part in your war."
Holger laughed. He winced and coughed, shaking his head. "No one survives the blackthorns untouched. They'll find my trail. They'll return to this garden and destroy everything in it, including the hermit who tends it. And his goats, just to spite me."
"They came and left. They won't return." Grump huffed and glanced around the forest. "They'll leave me alone."
"They are blackthorns, you daft man. They'll never leave you alone now that you and I have spoken. Take my gift. Keep it safe. Find the wagon not far from your home … I've hidden something there beneath a stone growing grey lichen. I need you to take it. I need you to bring both to Glenloch. My allies should meet you halfway if you're light of foot. They … they can help."
Grump reached down and plucked the trinket from the grass, holding it before him. It was a key, nondescript enough, yet heavy for its size and obviously very, very old. "Holger, I'm not who you think I am. I can't take this."
"You must. Please. I...."
Sharp, wet coughs overtook him. The man doubled over, arms trembling violently. Without thinking, Grump reached for Holger and gently placed the human on his back. With the back of his knuckle, Grump gingerly wiped the blood from the human's lips.
> The man's fingers dug into the soil. His unfocused eyes reflected twinkling stars. "I'm afraid, Grump. I don't want to die. Not now, not when there's so much I have to do and so much hanging in the balance. I don't want there to be black, but I'm afraid that's what waits for me."
Grump didn't know why, but he patted the man's brow. "I was told we join the stars when we die. While the sky may be black, it's us who light it for those we leave behind. I will watch for your star tonight ... friend."
Foam collected in the corner of Holger's lips. "War is coming. When they return, no rock on Oya will be untouched. And if they succeed, no soul in the heavens will be safe from the demons of hell they raise. Oh gods, they have returned. I see them. I see them. They come for you. They come for all of us."
Holger seized. His fingers twisted into painful crooks. His mouth opened in a silent scream, and there it froze. He did not take another breath. Grump stared at the corpse before him for a long moment, hardly blinking at the sight. Then, he groaned and fell flat on his back, staring into the starry sky with its milky moon.
"Dammit."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Strike a Deal
Every so often, wind sighed through the dense redwood canopy and hushed the gentle song of nocturnal birds. Shadows cast alternating forms across the trees' wide, cinnamon trunks. In the distance, a wolf's low howl signaled a cascade of others from its pack.
Grump took a deep whiff of the pine-seasoned air and wiped his dirty palms across his overalls. He leaned on his shovel and frowned at Holger's grave.
"Nothing but trouble, you humans," he sighed.
Hopefully, those blackthorn assassins wouldn't spot it. Grump spent the better part of the night carefully covering Holger's resting place with stone and bush, and no one worked the earth better or with nimbler hands than Grump. It was as if Holger never existed in the first place. If the man had a family, they would never know where his body lay. Would they mourn his death? Would they wonder if he still lived, and pray to their human gods to bring their loved one home?
Grump & Rose Page 20
