Chapter 4: War Party
Sylvora Camp
“It’s time to march on those beasts, peace or no,” Isabo announced, making the turn off the Dimwood road into the deep shade of the forest. “If we sit on our thumbs, the fecking trolls will only get bolder.” She glanced at her companions. “And I’m not just talking about the Stone Breakers. We’ve got to wipe out all the northern clans. Then we can come back and clean up these ‘traders’ my father’s so in love with.”
“Aye, Miss,” Hupp said, tramping beside her. “It’s been good to heal up and bring in new recruits, but folks are antsy to get at it. We promised them they’d get to kill trolls, and all that most have done is drill with weapons.” He looked over his shoulder at the rolling green plains of the Uplands disappearing through the trees. “You also promised farmland, free of trolls. We’ll have to deliver that.”
“Stone Breakers first, then everything else. I want to be out of camp and moving north in less than a day.”
Garnay and Messick didn’t speak. Messick gave a thin smile.
Ahead, the guard post at the edge of camp appeared, and then the log palisade they’d built over the winter.
In a moment of clarity following the fateful battle in the mountains, Isabo and her remaining fighters had determined that once they’d buried their dead, they had to rebuild and strengthen their army. But it had to be kept hidden from prying eyes–like her father’s. At the proper time, they would unleash fury upon the wretched trolls. The time had come.
She nodded at Durum, a recruit from the south, who stood at the guardhouse outside the encampment.
“I’m to tell you that Master Cheven needs to see you, Miss,” the man said.
Like Bridge Town, the camp at Sylvora had grown up from nothing following the foolish treaty with the trolls. At first, it was little more than a jumble of tents. Now, it was as close to a military camp as anyone in the Uplands had ever seen. Rather than traders seeking small profits from former foes, the Troll Slayer’s deeds attracted volunteers from the south, all wanting to avenge the slain or to prove themselves in battle.
Eldo Cheven had been one of those volunteers. The grizzled, onetime Under-Lieutenant of the City Guard in Harrun had left the Guard last fall. While visiting family in Stone Bow, he heard Isabo’s call to arms against the trolls. He’d made his way north along the little-used forest road with a dozen men and women eager for the fight. Thanks to his ability to recruit willing fighters over the next months, the army grew steadily from just a handful to nearly sixty. The southerner also had a gift for training and organization. He worked closely with Isabo’s lieutenants to bring structure to the camp and the army. Eldo was a likable man. Because he could teach well, she appointed him Chief Trainer.
“I’ll see him soon enough,” Isabo said to the guard.
The heavy gate swung easily on well-oiled hinges, emitting only a faint creak. The scene inside the walled encampment heartened her. Two low barracks stood near the southern wall. They replaced the tents that had housed her growing army through most of the wet, rainy winter. Now, groups gathered outside the buildings and along the walls. Some practiced with wooden swords against tall, bulky scarecrow figures painted the gray-green of troll skin. Others loosed arrows at targets near and far. Another group worked to finish the western wall of the stockade. That side of the camp backed onto a deep ravine. No one expected trolls to attack through dense forest and then up a steep valley, but it made sense to enclose the whole camp.
Other buildings, including the armory, stores, and officer quarters, stood under the walls.
Isabo surveyed the scene with satisfaction and then turned to an iron bell mounted beside the gate. She gave it two sharp strokes with a hammer and then repeated the signal. Around the camp, several figures looked up, waved, and jogged toward her.
Within minutes, her leadership squad of Hiram Tanner, Lim Voss, Katya Bromlin, Filip Homah, and Eldo Cheven stood before her. With the exception of Cheven, all had been part of the attack on the troll village in the mountains. Tanner, Bromlin, and Homah had been with her from the very beginning of the quest to find her father.
“How ready are we to march north?” she asked without preamble. “Hiram?”
“We’re mostly ready,” her friend and senior lieutenant replied. “Everyone, even the new recruits, has at least two weapons and is reasonably skilled in them. Each Sword,” he said, nodding to the other leaders, “has at least one archer, and some have two. Everyone in First Sword can put an arrow in a troll’s eye at fifty paces.”
They’d been unsure what to call each of the squads and had settled on First through Fourth Swords. It took some getting used to, but each trooper knew which squad and leader they belonged to.
“I don’t want ‘mostly ready.’” Isabo said with a huff. “Tell me if you’re ready to march out the gate tomorrow and fight the twice-damned trolls.”
“We are. Sorry, Isabo.”
“Second Sword is ready,” Lim Voss said.
“And Third,” said Bromlin.
“Well, Miss,” Homah said with a crooked smile, “there’s none readier than us in Fourth Sword. ‘Fourth Sword, four times the meanness.’”
Bromlin rolled her eyes.
“There is one point, though, Chief,” Tanner said. “I’m worried about having enough troll blood to fight a whole group of them beasts. We gave the mayor a good bit of it, so they could defend Pineholm if we weren’t here. What we have left is old. We don’t know if it’s still potent.”
Isabo broke a thin smile and pulled three large vials from her tunic. Holding it to the westering sun for all to see, she said. “We just happened to get fresh blood this morning.”
She briefly recounted the Stone Breakers’ infiltration of the market with poisoned meat, their subsequent pursuit northward along the canyon, killing the things, and then the near riot in the market.
“And there’s something else,” she said finally. “One of them was kin to the ones we killed at the three hills last summer. It was probably with the band that killed Arden Luck.”
She peered at the dark liquid in the vials, turning it so that it ran thickly in the container. “We’re not going to run short of trolls’ blood, ever again. And that reminds me…” She turned to Hupp, who stood nearby with Messick and Garnay. “Don’t forget to clean your weapons again. You know how that muck stains.”
Hupp raised the blade he’d used on the troll, showing a darkened, but shining edge.
Cheven nodded thoughtfully. “I just wanted to say, Miss, that the last of our teams came back this morning. We have supply caches at three, six, and nine leagues to the north. There’s weapons and food enough to keep us in the field for a good, long campaign.”
“All the better,” Isabo said. “There’s a full moon tomorrow. We leave at dusk.” She glanced toward the gate. “Anything else? The guard said you wanted to talk to me.”
His eyes brightened. “Oh, so I did. Not long after you lot went to town this morning, a monk came calling. He said there was grave news, but wouldn’t tell it to anyone but you.”
Isabo groaned. She hadn’t thought of the wretched clerics in months. “Was he a short, skinny fellow who looked like he could scare himself to death?”
Cheven shook his head and chuckled. “Not this one. He was tall and broad like a tree. If he wasn’t a monk, I’d say he’d have been a good fighter.”
“Dunken.”
“That was his name, Brother Dunken. He looked pleasant enough, but seemed worried. As I said, though, he’d only talk to you. I told him you were away.”
“That’s fine. I’ve got no time for monks.”
A shouted challenge came from outside the wall, and Isabo raised her hand for silence. Over the noise of the camp, she couldn’t make out what was said, but clearly someone was out there.
She turned to Hupp. “Go see what’s going on.” To the others, she said, “The rest of you, get people moving. This is our chance to finally end these stupid monsters.”
Tanner and the rest went to begin preparations for the march.
In a few moments, Hupp returned. His expression was troubled. “It’s your father, Chief. Should I send him away?”
She considered, then said, “No. A long time ago, he told me to raise an army to chase the trolls that killed the Pinchbeks. Now he can see how well we did that.”
***
Isabo led her father up a set of ladders to the walkway that looked out over the wall. The trees had been cleared for thirty yards around. She watched him take in the surroundings, including the well-traveled road southward.
He turned to take in the camp, where men moved about, giving orders. “Iza, my little girl, what have you done? Where have all these people come from?”
“It was on your orders. You told me to do this, and I did.”
His face was more pinched and lined than she remembered, and his once dark hair had threads of gray. “That’s not what I meant. Things have changed. The trolls are not our enemies.”
“They’re not your enemies, and that’s the problem. Those creatures killed Ma and Amon and the Pinchbeks and so many others.” She clenched and unclenched her fists and found that she was shaking. “I’m only doing what you should have done–what you swore to do. Doesn’t it mean anything that those monsters killed and ate Arden Luck? How many have died? And now, they came into your own market and sold poisoned meat. You didn’t do anything about it, so I did.”
“Poppet, we’re dealing with that. We’re going to establish Trade Wardens, humans and trolls together, to guard the market.”
She snorted and waved his words away. “They were Stone Breakers, the ones in the market. We’re marching out of here tomorrow to go take care of that problem once and for all. We’re taking back the bridge at Tulum’s Fort. They’ll never come into our lands that way again.” She rounded on him and stabbed a finger in his chest, suddenly furious. “And then we’re coming back to take your precious bridge, and I will hunt and kill every single troll that moves on this side of the river. They will never hurt us again.”
Cullen shook his head. “Don’t do it, Isabo. This is madness. You’ll start a war that will devastate everything. You have to believe me, there are other ways of making peace.”
Isabo willed herself to draw a calming breath, but had to snort at his words. She turned and started to climb down the ladder. “You should go, but come look at something.”
At the bottom of the ladder, she didn’t stop to wait for him. She strode past the gate to a row of neatly finished planks affixed to the inner side of the palisade.
“Here,” she said, jabbing a finger at the list of names inscribed on the pine boards. At the top of the first plank were three carved in large letters: Magda Talheart Cullen, mother; Amon Bray Cullen, brother; and Selia Bean Cullen, sister. The list continued across four more boards.
“I don’t know why this means nothing to you. These are all the people killed by the wretched monsters. But it’s only the ones we knew about or could remember. How many hundreds of years have they been killing our people?”
“You’re wrong, Isabo,” her father said wearily. A tear slid down his weathered cheek. “This means everything to me. You and I, we’re trying to do the same thing. We’re trying to end it. But your way will add a lot more names to the list.”
She shook her head slowly, grinding her teeth. “You’re mad. You should go. After all, you don’t want your new masters to think you’ve betrayed them like you’ve betrayed us.”
She turned and walked away.
***
Preparations had gone well. Orders had been given and nearly all the gear was ready. Behind her, a pair of bonfires flared, and her fighters joked and sang. She expected at least some of them to be anxious about marching to war, and most probably were. They hid it well. She was tempted to send them all to bed, to rest up, but she didn’t. It was on the Swords to do that. She trusted Tanner and the rest.
No. Let them sing their songs and tell their stories.
She walked to the edge of camp, to the unfinished wall over the ravine, and sat, dangling her legs over the edge.
The spring moon hung high in the trees, just a fraction from the full. It was the planter’s moon, and far away west, the same moon shone over Haywold. Isabo knew that some who remained back there, at home, would be preparing their fields for the coming rains. That life and those people seemed so…distant, like they belonged to another world. She had helped her father in that world. Together, with young Amon tagging along, they’d worked their small flock of sheep, shearing, lambing, and preparing to move the hopelessly stupid animals to their spring grazing.
“Are you worried about taking the fight to the trolls, Chief?”
She looked up. It was Tanner–and Katya Bromlin. Bromlin’s hand rested comfortably on Tanner’s shoulder, and she leaned against him. Were they a couple? She should know about things like that and probably say something about it.
Isabo shrugged. That was their business.
“No. Just looking at the moon.” She glanced over her shoulder at the fire. “Everything okay?”
Tanner nodded.
“Don’t let them get drunk.”
Bromlin stiffened and then wavered a little, as if unsteady on her feet. “Yes, Chief,” she said.
I guess it’s too late for that.
“I’m fine,” Isabo said, turning back to the moon. “Bring Cheven, Voss, and Homah. I’m changing things.”
“Yes, Boss,” Tanner said.
They rushed away, Bromlin giggling stupidly.
Why did I promote her?
Because she fought well. When things got tough, the young woman from Haywold never flinched. She was always in the middle of it.
Still.
***
“My father is creating a security force to police the trading villages.”
Isabo’s lieutenants stood in a semicircle around her. Bromlin and Tanner were conspicuously not standing together.
“What’s that mean to us?” Lim Voss asked.
The breeze blew lightly through the trees, bringing the familiar camp scent of pine and wood smoke.
“I want everyone well rested tonight. In the morning, I want the names of five volunteers. They’ll stay here and join these ‘Trade Wardens.’ I want good people who won’t be easily recognized as being ours.”
Tanner protested. “We’re already leaving a force here to mind the camp. If we leave more, we’ll weaken the force that goes against the trolls.”
“I know that,” Isabo said, nodding absently. “But they’ll be in and out of Bridge Town and Troll Town. Before long, no one will notice them. They’ll send word to you, Cheven, because you’ll command the camp in my absence. You can send me runners if there’s any problems.”
“That’s fine,” the southerner said with a grin. “I can still swing a sword, but I’m getting old for long marches.”
“And if things go badly for us in the north, I’ll send you a runner to tell you to burn the bridge.”
Tanner’s eyes sparked in the reflected firelight, and he gave Isabo a broad smile. “You said you was going to do it.”
She nodded, recalling the day they had tramped over the bridge for the first time, returning from the troll village and their failed attempt to rescue her father.
“We’ll return,” she’d said, “and burn it to the ground.”
