A solid plank bridge spanned the deep canyon of the Roaring River. Gabriel Cullen stood at the center of the span, more than a hundred feet above the tumbling waters below. His stomach fluttered as the structure swayed gently in the sharp spring wind. He’d grown up on the plains of the Uplands, and the notion of hanging in the air over a vast chasm still chilled him. In the months since the announcement of peace with the trolls and the building of a temporary crossing, he’d been back and forth across it many times. The bridge, he hoped, was a tangible link between the once warring races. It stood as a testament to the trust he had in Gheen, the powerful young shaman and Holy One of the Three Valleys clan.
A year ago, if someone had said he’d be working to reconcile with humanity’s ancient enemy, he would have laughed—or punched them—in their face.
Not everyone welcomed the change, not even his own daughter. Isabo was among those who opposed the peace. She had led a small army into the troll lands to rescue him, unaware that he had chosen to assist the trolls. Many on both sides had fallen in skirmish after skirmish, culminating in her final attack on the troll village high in the mountains. Now Isabo stood against him as he worked to build on a fragile hope for something better.
Some, at least, were grateful for an end to the raids and shared his hope for lasting peace. A ramshackle trading settlement had sprung up at the western end of the bridge. Hastily erected shops, drinking rooms, and stock pens now stood along the edge of the canyon. Locals were already calling it Bridge Town.
On the eastern end, a similar group of buildings arose. In the troll’s tongue, it was Gham-ush Tor, which meant, Gheen had said, The Gateway. But few humans cared to learn the foreign name, so it came to be called just Troll Town.
Cullen glanced toward that village and saw the lumbering form of a young troll in polished leather armor stepping onto the bridge and coming toward him. Like most trolls, this hulking creature had pale, gray-green skin and thick tusks. It moved with nervous, halting steps, its focus intense, as though it were undertaking a critical task it was desperate not to botch. Beside the troll walked a human. Cullen recognized the man as Aydin, the servant of the previous shaman of the Three Valleys clan. That shaman was now dead, and Cullen’s friend Gheen had assumed that position. Did this troll bear a message from his friend?
Aydin walked with a bowed head, keeping a respectful two paces behind the troll.
As the pair neared Cullen at the center of the bridge, the troll quickly turned its head to whisper a question to the servant. Aydin glanced at Cullen and murmured something he couldn’t catch over the wind and roaring waters of the river below.
The troll stopped, faced Cullen, tugged its armor into place, and cleared its throat in a low rumbling growl. It swallowed noisily as if gathering its nerve. “Greetings to the pakh-hu Gabriel Cullen. I am Koraya, daughter of Khun, niece to the Holy One of the Three Valleys clan, who was once called Gheen, the son of Ama. The Holy One asks that Koraya be permitted to serve Gabriel Cullen, son of…, son of…”
The creature—a female troll, apparently—hesitated to find the correct words. Cullen hadn’t met many troll women, or hadn’t recognized them when he had.
This one bowed awkwardly, at a loss for how to regain her composure. The wind whipped thin, straggly hair into her eyes. She reached to brush it away, then jerked her hand back to her side, unsure whether she dared to do such a thing.
“My father’s name was Asher,” Cullen said helpfully, stifling a faint smile. Why had Gheen sent this troll to him? He was tempted to give the creature a reassuring pat on the arm, as he would a child painfully repeating its lessons, but he didn’t want to embarrass the thing further. He’d never seen a troll nervous before a human.
“Urm, yes,” she said, shifting from side to side. “Koraya asks to be permitted to serve the Pakh-hu gor-Nakanh, Gabriel Cullen, son of Ashhher.”
She drew a thick black dagger from a sheath at her side, and Cullen stepped back quickly. Raising the blade over her head, she ran a thumb across the blade, drawing a thin trickle of dark blood. Switching the blade to her other hand, she drew a circle in blood on her forehead. “As Holy One is bound to his ancestors, so Koraya is bound to Cullen, son of Ashhher.”
Cullen started at that. He knew just how tightly Gheen was bound to his shaman predecessors. Far under the distant mountains, he and Gheen had completed an ancient blood ritual, giving the troll access to the memories and magic of his ancestors.
“In token of peace between our people, Koraya will attend you and act as hostage.”
“Hostage?” Cullen asked, not sure if he’d heard correctly.
She nodded diffidently. “The Holy One and our clan are in your debt. Koraya’s blood is yours, to do with as you wish.”
Interesting. Great writing.