Troll Shaman

Chapter Three

Previous Chapters

(I somehow posted Chapter Four early. Sorry about that…)

Cullen pushed through the crowd of shoppers at the north end of the settlement with Koraya and Aydin in tow. The rising pitch of human and trollish voices assaulted his ears, and the rotten apple and old cheese tang of troll scent was compounded by a sour note he recognized as rising anger. Figg led him quickly to a tight group gathered before his stall, only to find Isabo twisting a boy’s arm behind his back.

“Ow, let me go!” the lad cried. “You were the one who did it; I saw you! You killed two of them trolls and pushed them into the canyon.”

“Take your hands from him, blast you!” Figg shouted. “You can’t do that to my boy!”

A monstrous troll lowered menacingly over Isabo, its fists clenching and unclenching. It was Gurim. He was a hothead, but usually held his tongue among the humans. In a deep, throaty voice, he bellowed, “You dare to kill trolls? I will avenge every one of my people you kill by killing two of you worthless pakh-hu.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Human shoppers and traders drew back. More than one gripped the hilts of their knives or swords, their eyes suddenly alive with old hatreds. Trolls in the mix shuffled menacingly, one spitting a guttural warning that set a baby’s wail piercing the air.

Three of Isabo’s fighters stood at her side, weapons drawn.

“I’ll put a shaft through your eye if you touch any human here!” announced the one called Hupp.

Cullen thrust himself between the trolls and Isabo, his heart slamming. She shifted her weight and swung the boy, nearly knocking her father off his feet, and catching Figg’s jaw with her elbow.

“Ounwe’s teeth, Isabo! What’s this about?” Cullen hissed, steadying himself.

Gurim loomed, drawing back a clawed fist the size of a ham.

Another troll ripped a plank from an unfinished market stall and waved it at Isabo.

“Put it down, you great beast,” Hupp shouted, “or I will—”

Cullen placed two fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle, splitting the air like a lash. The trolls flinched as if they had been bodily assaulted, their ears flattening, while humans fell into a stunned hush. The air fairly crackled, as if a single spark could ignite the entire town.

“All of you, weapons down!” he said. “Let the boy go, now!”

Isabo shoved the scruffy lad to the ground. He winced and stood up, rubbing his shoulder.

“It was her, and them,” the boy said, pointing at Isabo’s fighters. “I saw it all. They chased two trolls north and shot them dead. Then they pushed them into the canyon.”

“They went north?” Cullen asked. “Not across the bridge?”

Even the big troll paused at that. It looked to its companion, muttered something in Trollish, and said, “Gray Face live west, across Truce Bridge. Same with Three Valleys trollim. Stone Breaker, Crow Hearts, and other clans live north.

Isabo shook her head in frustration. “That’s what I said, but you pig-headed monsters don’t listen. They were Stone Breakers, blast your eyes. We tracked them through the market and followed them.” She cast a piercing eye at her father. “One of them was with the band that killed the Pinchbeks.”

Cullen tensed. Last summer, he, Isabo, and Arden Luck had been too late to save the murdered homesteaders.

“So you chased them down to kill them?” the troll Gurim roared. “You use stupid treaty to hunt my kind.”

“Which is what you did to us for generations, you stupid, hulking—”

“Stop it, I said!” Cullen said, glowering at his daughter. “One of those trolls was here?”

Isabo reached in her pack and pulled out a rough cloth sack. “Smell that.”

Even before he raised it to his face, he could smell that a troll had touched it. He sniffed deeply, his brain breaking the scent into its constituent parts, categorizing it as something he’d smelled before. It was certainly troll smell, but it wasn’t a Gray Face or Three Valleys troll.

Through whatever mechanism his scent-gift used, he knew beyond doubt which trolls had used the sack. Isabo was right.

“It was a Stone Breaker,” he said.

“They did not agree to treaty,” the troll said. “Why were they here?”

Isabo glared at Figg. “Ask that one. He was doing business with them.”

“Now, now, Miss,” the butcher said defensively. “How was I to know who they was? I don’t have your magic nose to tell one bloody troll from the next. They brought in a very nice haunch of auroch. Killed and dressed it themselves, they said.”

“And you bought it from them blindly?” Isabo growled.

“Isabo, please,” he said. He glared at her, but she refused to meet his eyes.

“They probably poisoned the damned thing, and this lunatic helped them do it!”

Gurim gave a low growl. “You accuse trollim of poisoning meat? My clan has no love for Stone Breakers, but why would they do such a thing?”

“My brothers,” Koraya said, raising her voice, “listen to the words of the Holy One of the Three Valleys clan. The pakh-hu Gabriel Cullen is named Troll-hu zur Anush, the Strong Hand of the Trolls. He holds the trust and honor of our clan.”

Cullen stared at the young troll. Likewise, Gurim and his young companion froze, wide-eyed.

Koraya continued. “He will investigate whether these things are true. If the pakh-hu warriors have slain trollim unjustly, they will be judged by their own laws. If they acted correctly, and the Stone Breakers have done this foul thing, then by our law, they are no more than beasts of the field and may be hunted without fear—and without mercy.”

Gurim bowed his head. “I do not wish to dishonor Cullen-thing. The Gray Face will honor his words likewise.”

Isabo laughed. “What in Ounwe’s Seven Hells is this stupid troll on about?”

“Isabo,” Cullen said warningly.

“Come on, you lot,” she said to her fighters. “Let’s get back to camp. It stinks here.” To her father, she said, “We’re going to hunt and kill the rest of the Stone Breakers—and any other beast that gets in our way. You do whatever your troll masters tell you.”

She stalked away through the crowd, leading her entourage. Cullen noted that quite a few in the crowd called out to her, shouting encouragement. That would be a problem. What had happened to his Iza? She’d always had a character of steel, especially since losing her mother and sister to the creatures. But now….

He sensed rather than saw Koraya’s imposing figure standing beside him.

“Isabo is your daughter, yes? Grimmun, chief of my clan, said that you—”

“I know what Grimmun said. He was there when she attacked your village to rescue me. He knows what she thinks of all this.”

“She has great spirit.”

Cullen ground his teeth. “Let it go, Koraya. We will talk another time.”

He looked up to see everyone looking at him. “Where’s the meat you bought from them, Figg? Do you have any left?”

The butcher looked startled. “Yes. Uh, some.” He waved people away from his stall and motioned for Cullen to see the items on display.

Cullen turned to address the crowd. “As Koraya said, I will investigate. Get on with your business and leave it to me.” He leaned to the troll and said, “Watch my back. Keep people away for now.”

Tomas Figg’s shop was little more than a large booth with a canvas awning to keep the sun off the displayed cuts of meat. Even so, flies buzzed thickly. The boy Isabo had confronted now stood with a large fan, unsuccessfully trying to wave the worst of them away.

“This is what’s left,” Figg said, showing Cullen several large cuts of meat. Smaller portions from local cattle hung to one side. Even in the shade of the awning, he could see that something was off. The auroch cuts were an odd gray color. He fingered a large hock, and his fingers came away sticky. Leaning closer, he caught an odd, bitter scent.

“It’s poisoned,” he said, his voice low. “Koraya, tell your kin not to eat any of the meat they bought here.” He rounded on Figg. “How much have you sold?”

Figg paled. “Ounwe save us. Half of what they had. There was a whole hindquarter. But I’m sure it’s fine. They told me—Umek it was, the younger one—they took it a few days ago. It was plenty fresh.”

Koraya rubbed a finger across the slab of meat that Cullen inspected, then sniffed it and tasted the residue on her finger.

“What in blazes are you doing?” Cullen snapped. “That’s–”

“Is kumish paste,” she said, arching an eyebrow. She glanced at each of the other cuts. “All have it.”

“It’s not poison?” Figg asked hopefully.

Koraya shook her head. “Not to trollim.”

The butcher heaved a sigh of relief.

“But is deadly to pakh-hu. Is used in…hunting, sometimes.”

“Hunting,” Cullen said curtly. He would have to revisit what that meant, but it would have to wait. The Stone Breakers had, apparently, attempted to kill humans while leaving the “treaty trolls” untouched. Besides the fear such a thing would engender in the human population, it would strain the already fragile trust between the two races.

Isabo had been right–accidentally. She’d gone off after the two Stone Breakers out of sheer hatred because one of them had been part of a raid that slaughtered humans. A year ago, he’d done the same. Now he knew that not all trolls were the bloodthirsty marauders. Somehow she had to learn that, too.

“If I were you,” he said to Figg, “I’d throw what’s left in the river. And you’ll need to make good what you sold. Who did you sell to?”

The butcher thought, then ticked off sales on his fingers. “There was that troll Lugush or Lubush from across the river. He bought most of it. And Rossa, the cook from the Rook’s Roost, and…” He looked up fearfully. “I don’t remember them all.”

Cullen fought the urge to laugh in the man’s face. “You need to think who else you sold to. And send a runner to catch up to Rossa. If he was buying for the inn, he’s probably still in the market. I’ll have Koraya here speak with the trolls.” He ran fingers through his thinning hair. “Ounwe’s toes. I need to talk to Alastor Faulken. Is he in the village today?”

Figg shook his head. “The mayor doesn’t often leave Pineholm these days. Mika Span is his administrator for anything important going on in Bridge Town, not that he does much. You can probably find him at the New Day or at the candler’s shop. He’s sweet on the young miss that makes those nice tallow candles.”

Cullen nodded. It was about time Faulken appointed someone to keep an eye on things in Bridge Town, and Span wasn’t a bad sort. He’d need to know what the Stone Breakers were up to and that there was poisoned meat in the market.

He considered for a moment. He’d hoped to avoid it, but Bridge Town needed security, and that meant including the trolls. The Stone Breakers’ action was a major threat to the treaty, but something was needed for even day-to-day activities. It might have headed off Isabo’s rash acts.

The butcher cleared his throat and moved closer. “There’s something else you should know, Master Cullen.”

Cullen fought the urge to snap at the man. “What is it?”

In a low voice, Figg continued. “Before the peace, I showed your Isabo a better way to collect trolls’ blood, so they could use it on their weapons. It being a wicked kind of poison against the creatures, don’t you know.”

“And?”

“It’s just that, if she and her bravos really did kill those trolls up the canyon, she probably collected more blood from them.”

Cullen gave a low groan and nodded. “Yeah, I suspect she might have done that.”

“If she’s got more of that poison, she’s likely to use it, even if it’s on them nasty Stone Breakers. But these are new times, sir, what with the treaty and all.” He waved at the market and the mix of humans and trolls going about their business. “We have trade now. That’s good for everybody on both sides of the canyon, if you follow me. If she goes on a rampage with that troll blood, more will be spilt, and it won’t end well for any of us.” He took a large gray auroch roast off its hook and tossed it in the dirt. “I’ll take care of my business. That Isabo, she’s your business.”

***

They left Figg’s trading stall with the eyes of both humans and trolls on them. Figg was right: he had to deal with Isabo. There was a tenuous balance of trust and mistrust in Bridge Town, and his daughter was tipping the scales.

“Aydin, when are you going back to the troll village?”

The man began to bow, but Cullen stopped him. “Look, you made the decision to remain with the trolls. I respect that, but you don’t have to bow to me or any human.”

The faintest smile cracked Aydin’s wizened face. “But you are the ‘Strong Hand of the Trolls.’ I honor the title–and the orders of the Holy One.”

“Fine,” Cullen said with a grimace. “Then just nod your head or something.”

The old servant of the troll temple gave the most polite, almost reverential, nod that Cullen had ever seen. “I can return to Druzh immediately if you need me to.”

“Very well. Tell your Holy One what happened here. Unless the Stone Breakers–and Isabo–are stopped, this peace we’ve made won’t last very long. I didn’t want a council to oversee the provisions of the treaty, but it’s needed. We have to protect the trading villages. That means humans and trolls under arms. And I’d appreciate any wisdom he can share about dealing with his meddlesome northern cousins. So tell him no, I can’t join his expedition to the old city under the mountain just now.”

“I will do as you ask.”

***

Mika Span wasn’t at the drinking shop. Instead, as Figg had said, Cullen found him at the candler’s. The small shop lay close to the bridge, next to a rickety cabin with an “Administrator” sign out front. No one was home there, except workmen busy turning the temporary structure into a permanent one.

“Where’s Span?” Cullen asked a wizened old man stirring a great bucket of whitewash.

The man didn’t speak, but jerked his thumb in the direction of the makeshift shop next door. He gave Koraya a disdainful glance.

The troll returned the look with a growl, and the man dropped his gaze, suddenly showing great interest in his paintpot.

A colorfully painted sign outside the candler’s showed pictures of the goods for sale and the small images of a bee and a bull. Cullen had to think about that for a moment before realizing it meant beeswax and beef tallow candles. The shop itself wasn’t much to look at: a large wagon turned on its side, mounted with shelves to hold an array of candles. A thin canvas awning protected the goods from the direct light of the sun. An amiable-looking woman of about twenty stood to one side, chatting animatedly with the man Cullen sought.

“Span,” he called.

The couple looked up. Mika Span was a wispy, youngish man of middle height with a grim cast in his eyes. He glanced up to see who addressed him. “Ah, Master Cullen. It’s good of you to grace us with your presence. It’s not often we get to see the man responsible for bringing so many of our former enemies into our lands.” He bowed slightly to Aydin, ignoring Koraya. “Welcome. You are new here.”

Cullen introduced the two as emissaries from the Three Valleys clan.

“We’re honored to have you,” Span said, addressing Aydin. “It’s always nice when the lost return.”

Koraya gave another rumbling growl. “You will speak to me, Koraya, niece of the Holy One of the Three Valleys clan.”

Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll deal with formalities soon, and with Master Span’s disrespect.”

“I meant no offense,” he said with mock grace. “My apologies, er, Mistress Koraya.”

“Well, Span,” Cullen said, glancing at the sign on the building next door, “you’re Alastor Faulken’s administrator for Bridge Town, are you? Two Stone Breakers sold meat at the market specifically to kill humans, not trolls. While the mayor rests comfortably in Pineholm, you idle away the hours admiring candle wax. Neither of you has done anything to protect the two communities!”

“You must thank your daughter for her service to our community. She certainly knows how to get things done. Honestly, I didn’t know such a terrible thing had happened.”

He leaned forward and stabbed a finger in the man’s chest. “No, you didn’t. There’s too much at stake, Span. I don’t want to see what we’ve built come crashing down. Send a runner to the mayor, now. We need armed security–humans and trolls–on both sides of the canyon. And you’ll convene a meeting with Dorukh, the trade emissary, Lubush, and any of the senior trolls across the canyon.”

The little man straightened, as if remembering he had a spine. “Now, see here, Cullen. What right do you have to tell me what to do? I will not set foot in Troll Wind, and the mayor is a busy man; he doesn’t like crossing the bridge. He lost his daughter to our new allies.” He glared at Koraya. “Come to think of it, maybe next time keep your more imposing visitors for meetings outside of the candler’s shop? She seems rather frightening to those trying to conduct honest business.”

Koraya let out a ferocious, barking roar at Span that echoed off the canyon walls and drew startled cries from market goers. She shook herself and continued only slightly less forcefully. “You will not speak disrespectfully to Gabriel Cullen, the Strong Arm of the Trolls!”

Span staggered, but she continued, wagging a clawed finger in his face. “Gabriel Cullen is Troll-hu zur Anush. He is held in high honor by my clan. I will see that my people are prepared to meet. They will expect you and suitable representatives at dawn in Gammush.”

***

A chill, gusty wind blew over the canyon. Cullen stood with Koraya and Aydin at the bridge’s western end, watching market goers make their way through the narrow streets of the town.

Cullen gave a wry smile. “Koraya, for someone sent as a hostage, you’ve made a mark for yourself here. People won’t easily forget you.”

“Did I do wrongly?” she asked, suddenly timid again. “That pakh-hu brought you dishonor.”

“No, but you’ve certainly stirred the gornok.”

She frowned at that. “One does not stir gornok. Is a pastry made of–”

“That’s fine. It’s been six months since the treaty, and we have not prepared properly for what happened today. I let Mayor Faulken and men like Span handle things. I did wrongly in that. But you need to let me know before you lash out at someone or commit me to doing something.”

“Yes, Honored One.”

He shook his head. “And that stops right here. Call me Cullen.”

“Yes…Cullen,” she said sheepishly.

He looked across the way to Gammush. “Can you two speak to Dorukh and Lubush? Tell them what happened. Tell them to expect a delegation in the morning. I must see to Isabo and try to calm things on our side of the bridge.”

“I will do as you ask, ” Koraya said. She bowed her head and turned to follow Aydin toward the bridge. Her heavy boots thudded against the planks.

Cullen watched them go, the wind whipping his hair across his eyes. He turned back toward the bustle of Bridge Town. He’d better get moving if he was to make it to Isabo’s camp at Sylvora and back before dark. He took a step and froze.

Stuck into the soft wood of the bridge’s handrail, fluttering in the stiff canyon breeze, was a small, green square of woven grass.

Cullen’s breath caught in his throat. It was a tale-teller—the scout’s method of leaving hidden messages. He snatched it from the wood. It was fresh; the pale green juice from the prairie grass was still sticky on his thumb. He traced the intricate knots with a trembling finger, reading the language he had taught his daughter himself. Only she could have made this. He glanced quickly around. There was no one nearby, but someone had placed it very recently.

He read the weave. North. Many. Full Moon. Blood.

Curling his fingers around the weave in his fist, his heart ached. He was careful not to crush the plaited grass his grown child had made, but its meaning was clear. Isabo wasn’t just planning to hunt a few Stone Breakers for revenge. She was launching a campaign.

Cullen looked back at the tale-teller. Full Moon. That was tomorrow night.

“Ounwe’s mercy,” he whispered. A cold knot tightened in his stomach. He wasn’t going to Sylvora to have a stern talk with his daughter; he was racing to stop a war that had already begun.

He broke into a run.