Chapter Nine
The Stone Troll did not speak for near an hour. Once he had been gently escorted into the structure of Paren-Rothe, he had seated himself near a window and stared out in silence. Hagan and the others sat near him but did not prod. His face held a look that they had never seen, one of extreme sadness and loss of hope. His brow seemed more deeply furrowed and his eyes seemed near to overflowing as he wrestled with something inside. All along his stone flesh were raw and blackened patches; the scars of wizard’s flame. His leather tunic had been torn and dried blood was caked in the crevices of his hands.
They were all startled when his deep, booming voice began.
“My brothers would have turned the keep to rubble. Pounded each stone to dust. They would have rescued her. Hmmm.”
“Even a Troll from Rathnok cannot withstand the mage’s attacks for long. You have the strength of mountain rock, but even a mountain can be broken. Nothing is eternal.” Hagan said as he took a step forward.
“The Wind.” Gorin answered.
“I am not even sure that I believe that.” Hagan said. “I would like to think that when I die, the Wind will gather me up and take me to that heavenly place of perfection. Part of being alive is dealing with the imperfections.”
Gorin only grunted.
“Hagan,” he started, his voice beginning to crack. “I give you my solemn word that I tried. Wind help me, I tried. I could not find her. She simply vanished. Until I could no longer stand, I drove myself inward into the castle. Through walls and iron doors, yet ... “
“I know, Gorin. I know.” said Hagan.
“Windenn. I am so sorry ... ” Gorin said and the others stepped back as he wept. It was indeed an unnerving sight, such a giant in the throes of grief.
Many uncomfortable moments passed and Gorin gathered himself. He turned toward the group once more and smiled as well as he could.
“The Talon have come, eh? Hmmm, never did I think to see this event. With them, we will certainly overtake Khienen.” he said.
“Yes and I am sure that Windenn will be fine once we reach her. You know her power. I am not sure that they could really hurt her. Her magic seems to have its own will.” Hagan said.
Davaris entered the room then, somewhat hunched at the shoulders from lingering pain and supported by his staff. The others parted as he drew near Gorin and placed a hand on his back.
“So, Gorin Grimandin, it is you that gave us fireworks in the night. Such a display we have not seen in some time. The council sat in discussion as you assaulted the keep and wondered what manner of creature could cause such destruction. Now we know. It could only have been one of Rathnok. You honor your race, friend.” Davaris said.
“I thank you, Crest.” Gorin said quietly.
“Would you follow my steward to the upper levels of the tower? Your wounds can be tended and a place to rest can be provided. Before you disagree as you and your kin are wont to do, consider it an order from the head of Councilcrane. There can be no argument.” Davaris said with a smile.
The Troll nodded and reluctantly followed Davaris’ assistant toward the stone stairwell. He turned to glance once more at Hagan in apology and left the room. Hagan could only frown.
“Did you get a look at his fists?” D’Pharin exclaimed. “To cause that much damage to himself ... ”
Vasparian nodded. “I can only imagine the amount of destruction he has left behind him. I fear that many now lie dead within the Councilkeep. They have surrounded Windenn with the most powerful of magics and Troll’s fists, though they are nearly indestructible, cannot defeat sorcery.”
“Davaris has said that it was Windenn’s magic that protected us at the Keep, yet Gorin has wounds from sorcery…” Hagan pondered. “Perhaps her magic grew weaker after all of that chaos.”
“Should Gorin not be dead?” Shindire asked. “In all of my studies of the Stone Trolls, I have found no mention of immortality. How can he still be standing?”
Davaris chuckled slightly as he turned to her.
“There are many things in our world that cannot easily be explained. The children of Rathnok are some of the most difficult. I have witnessed the most incredible feats involving the Trolls. Things that should not be possible. Yet, somehow they are. No, Graelund, the Trolls are not immortal but they are not altogether mortal either.”
“This makes no sense. Where is the logic in this?” she asked with a frown.
“There is none.” Davaris said, taking a seat near the open window. He rubbed his beard, smoothing it against his chest. “Does everything need an explanation? The priests of Faith have only one explanation for every event, large or small.”
Shindire looked at him questioningly.
“The Wind has made it so. Simple, isn’t it? Is it true? I do not know. I do not think anyone within this room knows. No matter how we try to understand this world around us, there are things that fall outside of our scope of reason. We tend to place things on shelves within our minds, to group them together as we see fit. When something will not fit upon a shelf, we want to force it. Be content in the fact that all things will not fit. Relish that.”
She nodded, the wheels of her mind already turning. She brushed a strand of black hair from her face.
“My people live by logic. There is always an explanation. There must be ... ”
Davaris smiled. “How long have you been Graelund, child?”
She raised an eyebrow and did not answer.
“The longer you walk upon the mainland, the more instances such as this will you encounter.” Davaris said. He held her with his eyes for a moment then turned to address the others.
“We of the council have arranged a celebration to begin at sunset. Tomorrow brings battle and surely death, yet we must rejoice. We will raise our spirits and our cups and we will sing to the stars of Kirkaldin. It will be our battle call. In the lower halls we are preparing such a feast! The Talon have brought us beef and venison and are now gathering fruits within the forests. Let us rid ourselves of the long faces and the worry. Tonight we will laugh. Yes?” he said, his eyes alive with excitement.
Hagan and the others answered in the positive and were indeed infected by Davaris’ enthusiasm, although Hagan could not completely hide his apprehension. War was war and he did not look forward to it.
A Dream of Storms, In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One Page 15
