"Well, looks like something changed those plans."
"You joke," she spat, her eyes full of venom, "but this is serious. War might have already spread to the East and blocked the gate there. Ever since the sign appeared in the sky, one omen after another has sent Oya sliding into chaos. There are rumors that the Torn Ocean heals, and some say it means the Ebon Robes come again. Not even trolls are safe when black wizards walk the land, leaving burning skies behind them."
She stared into the dark ceiling with memories in her eyes. "I still remember crossing the hills and seeing the mighty arch of the West Gate set before the Ridge, its keystone sculpted into a grand griffon with wings spread, ridden by the likeness of High King Travandyr in the Battle of the Flame and Feather when he scattered the hordes to Oya's darkest fringes and deepest dens."
Grump rolled his eyes. Humans and their boring histories. He imagined more than a few trolls were part of the horde their high king slaughtered. His gaze flicked to Boil, who still slept calmly in his cage like it was made of silken goose feathers. More than a few greenskins like them both probably died in that battle. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Many of them fled to the West. Others, like Grump's people, fled to the swamps in the East while the fair folk claimed the fertile lands for themselves.
"Well, go on," Grump said with a sigh, rolling his hand. "What happened to your pretty gate when you got there?"
There was a great battle. Wren took the upper hand after trapping the Vosh cavalry behind their storm shields. For a moment, it looked as if Wren would win the day, but the Vosh wouldn't have it. Their mages collapsed the gate. Crushed it, completely sealing the road through the mountains." Her eyes watered from the memory as her fists tightened. "Travandyr's head lay cracked and broken on the rubble, more like a relic of the Wizarding War than a monument to the horde's defeat."
"Well, I can tell you that your human wars have infected the East, along with those blackthorn fellows. They drove me from my home. They're painting the Grey Plains red. All you fair folk talk about this silly star sign while your assassins and knights kill each other. You would've been no safer on my side of Oya, that's for sure."
The rage in her eyes softened, and her shoulders drooped. "So it's all been for nothing, then. The gears of war turn, and I fear the hand that turns them is no ally of the good people of Oya."
"You thought the old stories about these cursed haunts might be more fable than fact, so you scaled the Ridge with your people and hoped to make it to the other side. You knocked the wrong cairn over, and now here you are." Grump spread his arms to the prison room. "Well, now you know there's truth to the tales."
Elyse slowly shook her head. "I told them they were just that—fables. We would be safe in the Ridge. I would lead us to the East with their peace and prosperity and chance for a second life."
Grump smirked. "There are no second chances for a rotten life, believe me. The rot follows you wherever you run."
The little girl sharing Elyse's cage grabbed the woman's hand. "Is it true? The East isn't safe for us, either? The monster must be lying, just like the others do."
Elyse bit her lip. She looked at the girl and smiled, then shifted her gaze to him. "Has war truly spread across Oya? Is there nowhere safe for us?"
His lips parted while his eyes washed over the sad, bony slaves. He doubted even his kind back in the swamp would want to make a meal out of these folk. Why, then was it so hard to tell the truth? Visions of the human who blackened his own garden and burnt his life's work to a cinder flashed through his mind. He saw the man's gaze burning into him from the base of the treacherous slope, the wind tossing the human's hair like a horse's mane behind him. Grump's Hunger flared, and his heart hardened.
"Saw it with my own eyes. The Grey Plains are red and every little human town from my woods to the horizon was throwing up smoke—and not from chimneys. You'll find just what you left in the West if you go to the East. Nope, you'll be in just as desperate straits as all the warring fools over there, too. Sorry about your bad luck. We've all got a bit of it these days."
The little girl sobbed. Elyse bent and embraced her, cooing sweet things in the round of her sooty ear. After the girl quieted her crying, Elyse straightened. "You don't have to be so cruel with your words."
"I'm not the one ruining both sides of the damned world! Put your swords away and try talking for once."
"Rich, coming from a troll. You were never really going to help us, were you?"
"All you humans do is take and destroy, you know that?" Grump struck his fist against the cage floor, and it rattled violently. Even some of the other cages shook from his strike. "I told the chief I'd cure his vine rot. He said he'd let me live. I'll probably be able to convince him to set Boil free since he thinks greenskins are bad omens, but I don't know what you think I can do about all of you."
Elyse's throat reddened as veins bulged on her temples. "So you think he'll really free you? Are you that much of an idiot!"
"I fought his blood magic well enough," Grump lied. "He's scared of me. As he should be. I am a monstrous troll, after all."
She folded her arms and shook her head. "You really are a troll. Only a monster with a brain the size of a peanut would believe Rahl will free him once he's cured the vine rot."
"And why wouldn't he? He's got more than enough slaves."
"Because if you truly fought his blood magic, you would've done what no one in his domain ever could—stand up to his power. For some reason, I don't think you did, and I don't think he fears you. Sure, he's locked you tight in an enchanted box. But he didn't even take your shovel. That's not what a chief who fears an enemy does. He's flaunting his power over you, showing everyone around him that even he can break the will of a troll. What he'll let you do is cure his crop, and then he'll kill you and turn your skull into one of his disgusting hanging lanterns."
Grump snarled, instinctively bringing his hand over his satchel. His Hunger rippled through him and sang a song of sweet violence. "I'd like to see Rahl try."
"You'll never see Rahl coming, fool. They're called haunts for a reason. Rahl will claim your life, your friend, and all that you carry as trophies. Think he won't? They paraded you through Getshabal, let all the other haunts see you when they just as easily could've taken you through one of the slave tunnels that circumvents the city. All the haunts are muttering to one another about the return of the greenskins to their old home. Rahl absolutely must make a show out of your death, or he risks his entire kingdom falling into chaos."
Grump's eyes flicked to Rose and back. He harrumphed, wrapping his hand around an iron bar and testing it. He sheared iron before. Maybe he could shear it again. Knowing what it required, giving in to the terrible Hunger—could he? He squeezed the bar and glared at Elyse. "I have no other choice."
"You always have a choice. Haunts are powerful, and they're arrogant about it." She grabbed the bars and pressed her cheeks between them. "Cure the vine rot, but gather me ingredients for a sleeping draught. I serve Rahl at his feasts. If you could make the tincture, then I could mix it with their wine. With the unnatural sleep upon him, his hold on the cages would break! It would be a simple thing, and you could free us when you freed your friend. We know the slave tunnels that avoid the city. We know the exit to the West and could collapse it so they couldn't follow us. Please!"
"I only use herbs to help. I've never made a sleeping draught before. Wouldn't know where to start."
Her brows knitted together. "You know how to cure vine rot but not make a simple sleeping powder? Gods, who was your teacher?"
The low growl that rumbled through the prison silenced her for a long moment. She raised her palms and backed off her cage wall. "I didn't mean offense."
"Every offense was taken."
"Then I am deeply sorry, and you have my solemn vow it will never happen again."
Grump scowled, staring at the cage floor. Elyse didn't speak.
Good, he thought.
The silenc
e persisted. He lifted his chin, glancing at the human from the corner of his eye. There was no anger in her wide, wet stare.
With sigh, Grump unfolded his arms. "What's your plan?"
A relieved laugh bubbled from her lips, and she leaned forward. "When I was young, I had wicked night terrors. My father enlisted the help of a practiced herbalist, and I learned from him how to put myself in such a sleep not even thunder cracking outside my window would wake me. I'll tell you what to gather and in which proportions."
Grump arched a brow as he rubbed a tusk. "If there's war on both sides of the Ridge, where would you go when I free you?"
"I'm not without friends in the West. If war is fresh in the East, I'll have to pray to the gods for quarter in the lands I know rather than risk putting my people in further harm. They deserve that much, after all the suffering our journey has caused. I've ... I've failed ... but there may be ways to make amends if we can reach home."
Elyse clung to a fraying thread of hope, and he saw it in her eyes. She sucked in a breath and glared straight at him. "We are doomed if we stay here, troll. I will not blame you if you only seek to help you and your companion. We are strangers, and in any place beyond Getshabal, we would be mortal enemies. But we stand in the belly of a ravenous beast, and I hope that if there is any kindness in a troll's heart, he calls upon it now. We are at your mercy. Do this, and we may all be free. Don't, and heed my warning to watch your back. Trust me when I say you will never hear the haunts coming. I wish you better luck than us just the same."
Grump's gaze drifted to the satchel in his lap. He rubbed a thumb over the weave, feeling the rough texture on his skin. He closed his eyes so the rough reeds felt that much more vibrant to his gentle touch.
"I am more than troll," he whispered. "I must be more than troll. I must be more for you."
He glanced up from the satchel with a firm jaw. "Elyse?"
The woman and all her companions looked to him. "What is your answer, Grump? Will you help us escape?"
He gave her a quick nod and rolled to his knees. "Ancestors save me. Go ahead. Tell me what I need."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A Toast to Grump
Chief Rahl inspected a third grapevine. Each one he turned in his enormous black, scarred claw, carefully rubbing a hooked and cracked thumbnail over the leaves and across the swollen grapes. As he had with the prior two vines, he nodded his approval. But this time, instead of moving to another plant in the vast vineyard, he ran his thin, pink tongue over his fangs and turned to Grump with a hungry smile.
"You've cured my grapevines, gardener. I can't believe you did it, and in just three days. Maybe trolls missed their true calling. Obviously, their talents are better used in digging soil than man-flesh."
He wheezed a laugh that the nearby guards echoed. Those farther from them trained their arrowheads at Grump without so much as cracking a single chuckle.
Grump readjusted Rose's satchel and forced a smile he doubted even his goats would have believed. "It was nothing, Chief Rahl. Now at least I can say I've seen the wondrous vineyard of Getshabal. The other trolls'll be jealous, no doubt."
"And the grapes? Will they make good wine even though they were infected with this rot?"
"If your slaves cut the shriveled and darkened ones from the vine, then what's left will make a mighty fine wine indeed. I figure there's about a tenth ruined since we caught it in the early stages. You'll still have a decent crop for your flagons."
"Excellent." Rahl rubbed his hands together. "Already my throat begs for a drink."
"Does this, uh, please you? I hoped to feast at the table of the chief, and not be feasted upon if I did my part."
The sleeping powder was tucked safely in Grump's front pouch where he kept his pipe and bit of thimbleweed. The draught's ingredients were easy enough to gather between the mountainside and what stores the haunts kept stocked.
He hoped he gathered enough. If Elyse spoke true, a little would go a long way. But Grump had a habit of not trusting humans. Their tongues were as slippery as buttered eels.
Rahl met Grump's gaze with his good eye. A hunger different than Grump's own brightened it. It was the primal hunger of an animal, not the Hunger of a troll. The haunt blinked, and the look vanished into a well of wet black. Even then, Grump noticed the chief's eye briefly linger on his satchel. There was an eagerness in that eye that curdled Grump's blood even while it boiled.
He tightened his grip on the heavy shovel, ready to launch it like a spear through the chief's chest. Or maybe he could use that black necklace Boil gave him, whatever magic it might do.
No, I'm not fool enough to mess with magic. A shovel's all I need for this, he thought.
Six guards surrounded the chief, each one carrying curved blades splotched with rust. Another six stood back with bows. Grump's Hunger woke and slithered up his spine.
"Yes, I did agree to a feast," Rahl said. "You'll sit at my table, and all of Getshabal will honor the troll gardener!"
Grump's Hunger faded, and he lowered the shovel. "Then I won't deny the hospitality of the mighty Rahl."
"Come!" Rahl clapped his hands and turned toward the city. "I'd begun to think I'd never drink wine again, so I saved a barrel of my finest for a special ... occasion. I think saving all these vines of mine qualifies."
Grump followed Rahl, eying the guards trailing them. "I'll share a glass, though I'm afraid I haven't got the tongue for fine wines. Thimbleweed, though. I do enjoy a good puff of that. You don't happen to have extra, do you?"
"Never heard of the stuff."
"Eh, I had to try."
They walked into Getshabal, more like a funeral procession than heroes coming home from war. Haunts glared from their fur-lined balconies or the shadowy recesses of their cave doors.
When they passed the two enormous fountains before the steps to Rahl's feast hall, Grump's nerves began to get the better of him. "Don't you need to prepare this feast? I could go back to my cell while it's being cooked."
"Oh no, my friend, no preparation necessary. I've always got good food ready. Always. We'll let the wine flow. Maybe you can tell me of your home? You've seen mine. I want to know what brings a troll so far from his."
"I hope you've got a few years," Grump muttered.
"What was that?"
Grump blinked, heading up the first stairs to the hall. "I really don't mind telling you about my home, but I'm afraid tales of turnips and wild onions might bore you. Are you sure your servants are ready to serve us?"
"The ones I need, yes. I pride myself on being prepared."
Grump stepped into the hall. This chief would throw a great feast indeed, and the wine would flow like water. Rahl wanted a celebration to ease his guest, to make Grump smile and laugh and drink until the world swam in burgundy. Then, the chief would make his move. Maybe Rahl would use blood magic. Maybe a guard would use a sword. They might even use poison, although poison seemed too delicate a weapon for a haunt. Whatever method, they would try to kill Grump that night.
He knew it in his heart, because he knew monsters. He was one, after all.
In the great hall, the lantern skulls hanging from the ceiling stared at him with their flickering pink eyes. Rahl strolled to his throne and slid into his seat, throwing a foot on the table and barking for food.
Nervous slaves trailing clinking chains scurried from the back, heaving heavy trays full of suspicious, steaming meats. The platters thudded on the table and filled the hall with the rich scent of roasted animal and blackened fowl.
Slaves darted this way and that, their gazes locked onto their toes for fear of drawing even the slightest bit of attention from their masters.
Boil darted into the room, looking thoroughly dejected and overworked in his irons. When he spotted Grump, a hint of a smile appeared, but a sharp glance from Grump quickly wiped the look off the greenskin's face.
"I think a good cup of wine might be just what I need," Grump said.
Rahl ar
ched a furry brow as he picked dirt from one of his long nails. "I think we could all use a good cup."
Grump scanned the room as quickly and innocently as he could, but if Elyse was there, he didn't see her. Blasted humans all looked the same. "So who do we ask for your wine?"
Rahl motioned for the table. "I've got a slave to do it. Pretty thing, if you like humans."
Grump sat awkwardly in a stool made for a haunt and not a troll. The wood creaked under his weight but held. He smiled at the chief and motioned at the servants. "Give me a good look and I'll judge for myself."
"Wine!" Rahl bellowed.
A woman melted from the darkness carrying a clay pitcher, and relief washed over Grump. She passed beneath a lantern, and all that relief twisted into fright. The human was definitely not Elyse. This woman had fiery hair and pale skin seasoned with freckles, and she carried herself like a seasoned maid, completely unlike Elyse.
Grump pressed his toes hard against the stone floor. "This is your servant? Seems plain to me."
The woman winced at his words while she poured wine into Rahl's chalice. Grump wished he could apologize, say he didn't mean it, but he held his tongue. For now. She turned to him and filled his chalice before rushing from the table.
"I know, she's not the prettiest of the bunch. I've got another, but she's being punished. The woman's chained up good and tight for tonight."
Grump squeezed his knees to keep from hurling the table. "And why not get her out here serving on such a wonderful occasion?"
"Not tonight. She spoke ill of me to one of her kind and was overheard by a guard. I am god of these halls, troll, and those who speak ill of me feel my wrath. A chief who lets a human woman lash her tongue isn't fit to serve milk to pups. She'll learn her place tonight. I plan to cut that tongue from her and hang it around her neck. None of the slaves will slather me with anything but kindness then."
Grump & Rose Page 28
