by Gavin Green
Chapter 33
At the base of the sought low mountain haven, the spriggan guards told Aldritch that his redcap companion was not welcome, so he allowed Lorcan his freedom until once again called for. The tall dryad followed one guard up the winding, steep path to the plateau above. That wide landing, surrounded by a cave entrance on one side and sheer cliffs on the others, was where he would be met by one of the elders of the last Circle gathering.
While on the rocky climb, Aldritch had time to study the spriggan who escorted him. Having only met a few of that low-caste race, he assumed all of them shared similar traits. Spriggans were affiliated with or distant kin of trolls; much like nymphs were to dryads, or harpies to Drommen.
Spriggans were stout and short, normally only four feet tall or so, but could expand their size to near Aldritch's height and many times his lean girth. All Spriggans could be described as having heavy bellies, broad shoulders, with braids of dull brown hair on their heads and barbaric faces, and ugly noses hanging over thick mustaches.
Under fealty to a high-borne, spriggans were fiercely loyal. They were also dim-witted and could only follow simple orders. The majority of their race roamed freely in packs and often caused mischief; many war parties had been assembled to keep those packs in check. Spriggan's limited gift of self-transformation, usually into barriers or tower shields, proved the wild ones difficult to bring down, but excellent for guardianship if one had a master. A fae's prestige was heightened if a retinue of spriggans were in service. The elder he came to see had many.
Reaching the broad, flat plateau, Aldritch saw more spriggan servants tending a large fire with a Verden pig on a spit over it. Two other servants were setting two huge, sturdy rustic chairs nearby, facing each other, with a low stone table between them.
Aldritch stood off to one side and waited for his host while he looked out on the vast panorama that this haven enjoyed. A higher-ranked retainer approached, formally stated that his master would come soon, and that Aldritch was invited to sit and enjoy spring water or Lore wine while he waited. Following his own high standards of etiquette, the dryad elder was thankful but remained in place until his host arrived. The view of wild fields with its roaming cattle and distant ranges as dusk settled was pleasantly distracting until then.
A low, rumbling voice, deeper than Aldritch's, came from the direction of the cave entrance behind him. "Welcome, Aldritch of the Old Wood." He turned to see a gigantic troll, easily head and shoulders over his own formidable height, approaching with a subtle smile. His dusty plum skin stood in contrast to the rocky background, and his rich purple hair shined in the firelight. Many battle scars were evident outside of the troll's simple, off-white toga. Stopping at a polite distance, Aldritch's host added, "Be at ease on my land."
With a simple bow, Aldritch replied, "Greetings, elder Ragnar of the Red Rock. My appreciation is given for this audience."
Ragnar gestured to the chairs and they both sat. While servants silently served drinks in stone mugs, the huge troll commented, "I have heard of your name from many Verden-faring fae; your reputation precedes you."
"Not an altogether favorable reputation, I suspect, while I have heard your name and title mentioned with respect and fear from many warriors for long and long."
"Well enough, then," Ragnar stated with a pleasant expression. "We knew of each other, and now we finally meet. I've not heard of you offering challenges for havens, nor do I see you as the recruiting type for the latest call to battle. So, what brings you to me?" Ragnar kept his eyes on his guest, but took a swig of wine with one hand and gestured to his servants with the other.
Glancing to the side, Aldritch saw a spriggan servant slicing meat from the roasted pig while another held a stone platter to catch the cuts of pork. Looking back to his enormous host, he answered, "You know I am not here to challenge you, else why would you graciously serve me hospitality and food?"
Ragnar grinned amiably, "As a last meal, perhaps?"
Aldritch returned the grin with his own, one without malice or dark intent. In single combat, he wasn't so proud not to admit to himself that Ragnar would be the victor. "And, if I may ask before I state my reason for being here... What 'latest call to battle'?"
Leaning forward as the heap of meat was set on the table, Ragnar said, "One of your own, the Lady Saraid Moon Maiden, is calling for warriors to meet against several rebellious fae in some remote locale of the Eire. Her messengers spout words of 'defiant glee' against the Circle, and unresolved breaches of Enigma."
While Ragnar began eating succulent cuts with his fingers, Aldritch sat back with heightened distress, his hand resting absently on his chin. He waited until his host swallowed a bite, and asked, "Is this with the consent of the Circle of Prudence?"
Shrugging, Ragnar replied, "If you're able to convene a gathering in time, then tell me what they say and we'll both know. But," the troll elaborated while he chose another chunk of meat, "knowing Saraid and her passions, she'll look to have that area cleansed of fae, and any humans in breach along with them, before a Circle can discuss it. By then, the matter will be done with. As you know," he pointed to Aldritch with a dripping slice of pork, "most fae see more reason to look forward than back. Elements help us, we are a selfish folk."
Not wanting to offend his host in not sampling the proffered meal, Aldritch sat forward and chose a piece of meat. Before taking a bite, he asked, "And what is your position on the situation?"
Ragnar took a sip of water to cleanse his palate before answering, "I hope you don't await my answer to help influence your own decision. Besides, I didn't think that matter would hold much interest for you. I thought you were coming to me with another issue."
Still holding the warm piece of meat with his fingers, Aldritch said, "I fear my issue and the one you mentioned are one and the same." He looked at Ragnar with somber eyes. "My decision on the matter of the impending attack cannot be influenced; I believe I am one of Saraid's targets."
The admission caught Ragnar off-guard, and it showed on his war-scarred face. He slowly set his cup down and leaned back in his chair. "By all means," the curious troll said, "regale me with a story."
Aldritch swallowed his morsel of meat and scooted forward in the oversized chair. He then reached into a deep inner pocket of his long coat and pulled out a simple wooden bowl with a roughly circular tree bark lid, held secure with a live vine. He set it down, saying, "I'll begin with this." He touched the vine and it recoiled. Aldritch then removed the lid, revealing what looked like a dense pile of ash.
Ragnar craned his head forward to look at the contents. "And that is?"
"A promise kept. You'll need a new magistrate."
