The Rook’s Roost, Pineholm
After taking Figg’s horse back to its owner, Cullen returned to his inn. He was weary and sore from the ride to Sylvora and back. He found Aydin and Koraya waiting in the common room. The troll and the temple servant sat at a table near the door. Aydin’s face was placid, but the troll eyed the other customers in the bar warily. Despite the crowded room, people left the tables near them empty.
The owner, a round, sweaty man called Pratt, hurried to the table when Cullen arrived. “Begging your pardon, Master Cullen, but are these guests your friends?”
“They are, and you haven’t served them. Why not?”
The man wiped his hands on a well-worn apron. “Well, rightly, sir, I didn’t know I was allowed.” He glanced over his shoulder at the pack of grim, disapproving faces gathered at the bar.
“You will certainly serve them,” Cullen said tightly. “Whatever they wish.” He looked to Aydin and Koraya. “What will you have? Have you eaten?”
“We have not,” Aydin said, “but we have urgent news to share.”
Cullen raised his hand. “Order food. Then we’ll talk.”
Aydin inclined his head slightly and smiled at the proprietor. “In that case, I will have a small portion of stewed mutton, some good brown bread, and ale.”
“And you, uh, Miss?” Pratt asked Koraya.
She cast a fearful eye at Cullen, who nodded. “Koraya will… I will have same, only a larger portion.”
“Mister Pratt,” Cullen said with a solicitous smile, “you still have that barrel of old wine from Stype, don’t you?”
“I do, thank ye for rememberin’, but it’s powerful strong. Not many here like it much, because it tasted rather sharpish.”
Cullen glanced at the troll. “I think my companion would appreciate that more than your fine ale.”
“Your…companion. Yes. Yes, sir. Right away.”
“I’ll have the stew as well, and ale.”
As the man bustled away, Cullen pulled out a chair and sat gingerly. “Now what’s your urgent news? Did you speak with Durukh?”
Koraya nodded and pulled her chair forward. “We did. Durukh has received a bird from the Holy One.”
Cullen eased back and eyed the troll. Was she jesting? “Is that a good thing?”
Aydin smoothed his robes. “What Koraya-ush means is that the Holy One sent a communication. He has trained kukupa to carry messages.”
“Kukupa? What is that?”
The troll brightened. “Kupuka is…pig hens.”
“Pigeons,” Aydin corrected softly.
“Pigeons,” she said, repeating the word carefully.
Ah. Cullen had heard of such things being done, but that had been far away in the south. Could such a means of communicating be reliable? Surely the birds would fly away.
“What did the Holy One say in his…bird message?” he asked.
Koraya cleared her throat and shifted nervously. “The Holy One—both Holy Ones—are coming. They left Druzh as soon as they heard of the Stone Breakers’ attack, and…that Isabo Cullen took action against them. They ask that the council meeting to discuss the Trade Wardens be delayed until they arrive.”
Well, that was news. He wasn’t worried about Gheen. He and the troll both understood the need for peace and stability, but Isabo now threatened that peace. He’d half-hoped her words and attitude were mere bluster. She had always been a potential threat, though, given her hired fighters and her hatred of the trollim. What he’d seen at Sylvora showed him how foolish he’d been to discount her: her small following had somehow swelled to an army and was preparing to march on the Stone Breakers. She would not relent or see wisdom. True, the Stone Breakers were spoiling for a fight. The poisoned meat in the marketplace was likely a deliberate provocation to flush out her fighters. He doubted whether either side knew what it was getting into.
He looked up to see that no one was near enough to overhear, then laid out the state of Isabo’s preparations to the others.
Pratt finally returned with their meals, placing the trays on the table. “Will there be anything else, Master Cullen?”
“Yes,” he said after a moment’s thought. He nodded toward Koraya. “My companion will need a room.”
The man’s lips tightened. “We don’t get many visitors of her kind. I don’t have rooms.”
“There are two empty rooms near mine. She’ll take one of those. I believe number six is a little larger. That’ll be fine. She’ll likely need it for some time. Please see to it.”
“But you see here, Master Cullen. I’m sticking my neck out even serving her. I’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”
Cullen smiled, holding the man’s gaze. “You’re right, Mr. Pratt. Lines are being redrawn. That’s not a bad thing.”
The man didn’t speak, but turned and made his way back to the bar.
“He was not happy,” Koraya said at last.
“No,” Cullen said, reaching for his stew. “It’s not easy for people to change their ways, but sometimes they have no choice. Pratt will have to get used to it. And you’re a part of this world now, for better or worse. That won’t be a bad thing. I’m confident you can handle yourself against any of the locals.” He gave a half-smile. “Just don’t kill anyone.”
She picked up the goblet of wine, sniffed it, and tasted suspiciously. Her eyes lit up. “Where did this Pratt find trollish wine?”
Cullen chuckled. “I don’t think it is, but I thought you might like that. Your Holy One once gave me wine that tasted like that.”
She nodded and placed the glass on the table. “What must we do with the news of the Holy Ones and of your Isabo’s army?”
“After we eat, we need to pay a diplomatic visit to the mayor and your friends across the canyon.”
***
The next evening, the air grew chill, and the sun hung low as the entourage of the Holy Ones of the two clans emerged from the forest road into Gammush.
Alastor Faulken stood at the eastern edge of the bridge wearing his forest-green mayor’s robe embroidered with crossed tree boughs. His skin was paler than it had once been, and he leaned heavily on a knobby walking stick. The loss of his daughter in Isabo’s raid on the trolls was a blow he’d not recovered from, and his health was failing. Mika Span, his assistant, stood beside him in an unornamented robe of the same green. He carried a thick rod wound with ivy, which he said was his staff of office. Cullen felt only slightly out of place in his doe-skin jacket, scrubbed as clean as it had ever been. Koraya and Aydin stood at his side, next to the trade emissary Durukh, Lubush, and a small circle of trolls from the village.
To Cullen’s surprise, Gheen appeared nearly as aged and worn as Alastor Faulken, as if the troll hadn’t had a good night’s rest in months. When Cullen clasped his friend’s hand, however, a thrill of power surged through their bond, and years seemed to lift from the troll. Though he looked weary, Gheen’s eyes brightened with an almost visible light, and the lopsided grin Cullen knew so well spread across the broad, tusked face.
“It has been far too long, Gabriel Cullen. We have much to speak of.”
Cullen nodded and returned the smile. “We do. Will you stay in Gammush? I don’t know if they have quarters for esteemed figures like you.”
Smiga Longtooth, the hunched, elderly troll shaman of the Gray Face clan, interrupted with a growl. She gave a curt greeting and urged the group to move indoors. She paused long enough to sniff and cast a sharp eye on the sprawling huts and shanties of Bridge Town across the way.
Durukh led the party into the trollish trading house, a tall, single-story building beside the bridge. Servants bearing torches lit the way against the darkening sky.
Cullen had been in the trollish trading house a handful of times. It was usually filled with containers of goods destined for, or purchased from, the shops of the trading villages. Now, the baskets and boxes were arranged in neat stacks along the walls. A large, high table with two ornate chairs at one end occupied the center of the space.
Gheen and Longtooth took their places at the head of the long, narrow table, with Faulken and Span to their right, and Durukh and Lubush to their left. The other guests were shown to their seats. Cullen was surprised to be seated in a single chair at the foot of the table, with Koraya to his left and Aydin across from the young troll.
When everyone was seated, Longtooth hawked and spat on the floor, then called for wine. As glasses were poured, she peered down the table and said, “Gabriel Cullen, you are honored by the Holy One of the Three Valleys clan.” She nodded to Gheen. “Your assistance in dealing with the Lost King was timely. Not to mention your part in facilitating his ascendance to the role of Holy One.”
Cullen wasn’t sure who the Lost King was–Azuk, presumably–or what his own role had been in making Gheen a shaman. It was related to being a sniffer, but his friend hadn’t given him a direct answer when he’d asked. There was clearly a link between sniffers and shamans. In fact, when he’d first been captured by the Three Valleys clan, the slave Wogan had let slip that Cullen was revered as a kind of Holy One to the trolls. Was that just him or all sniffers–those who carried the scent gift?
He set that question aside and watched the servants pouring wine. They poured from two different pitchers: one for their kind and one for the humans. As a troll filled his glass, Cullen caught the scent of a sweet local wine. He relaxed slightly and sipped. Thankfully, someone recognized the difference in human and trollish tastes in wine.
The grizzled Holy One pushed what stringy hair she had behind a pointed ear and glared at him down the table. “You used whatever pakh-hu wiles you possess to convince us to cease hostilities. This has come at great cost to our two great clans, and to those lesser clans deeper in the mountains who rely on us.” She sneered at the piles of goods along the walls. “I cannot deny that all this…trade has been beneficial to us, but you took our labor force.”
Gheen began to object, but Longtooth raised a clawed finger. “I do not say this to disparage you, Gabriel Cullen, ‘Strong Arm of the Trolls.’ We would not be where we are without you. And yet, you have allowed the Stone Breaker clan–may their bones truly break–to enter your marketplace to trade, though they have not signed the River Crossing Accord. They even threatened your people.”
Before he could respond, she turned to Faulken. The man was far from tall, and the oversized table seemed designed to reduce his stature even further. “Mayor Faulken, I propose a cadre of trollim to police compliance with the treaty. These ‘Accord Keepers’ will be armed to prevent the unfortunate incidents which Gabriel Cullen has allowed.”
To his credit, the mayor raised his head and gave Longtooth a barely respectful glance. His voice faltered at first, but grew stronger as he spoke. “We welcome the…gracious Holy Ones of the two clans back to the crossing. It has been far too long since you graced us with your presence. Had you returned more often, you would have seen the two communities grow and prosper. I–we–regret the intrusion of other unsavory elements into this place.” He raised a hand to indicate Durukh across the table. “Your trade emissary has worked with Mika Span to ensure fairness in all our dealings.”
Cullen had to chuckle at that. Both the troll and Span took a significant cut from all the business transacted in the villages.
The aged troll shaman nodded politely, but Gheen’s expression was unreadable. He sat back in his chair, as if a great weariness overtook him once again.
Raising his cup to Longtooth, Faulken continued. “Indeed, I thank you, Holy One, for your kind suggestion. I drink to you. It has already been proposed to us–by Master Cullen, no less–that we form an association of Trade Wardens, both human and trollim, for this task. We will work with Durukh to make it so.”
Longtooth raised her glass slightly in return, and a low rumbling of conversation arose around the table.
Maybe it was splitting hairs, but Accord Keepers seemed to imply a broader mission than just protecting the markets. An armed force of trolls supposedly enforcing the treaty would upset the delicate balance they had reached.
He nodded thanks to Faulken for clarifying their position and peered at the old shaman. What was the cause of her change in attitude? He had spoken with her at length during the treaty signing. She was certainly a gruff and overbearing old creature, but she’d never been overtly hostile to him, nor to the aims of the treaty. Now, it seemed as if she was trying to undermine everything they’d worked for.
And then there was Gheen. His friend, before he had become shaman of his clan, had been an affable, even likable creature. Had the burdens of his new office–and the weight of all those memories–sucked the very life from him? Or maybe Longtooth had something to do with it. She had offered to help him learn his duties.
The old troll cleared her throat and again spat on the floor. “Bring food,” she barked at a servant.
Durukh gave her a sneering look of disapproval, but then immediately looked away.
Cullen chewed on that. The old shaman was from the trade envoy’s clan, after all, and shamans wielded the true power over their people. But that didn’t mean that they were universally loved or respected. Was there dissension in the ranks? That was a big leap to take based on a single facial expression, and these creatures could be very hard to read.
Longtooth gestured to Gheen, who leaned forward in his chair. “Gabriel Cullen,” he said, his words slow and measured, “explain the actions of your daughter, Isabo Cullen, who is called the Troll Slayer. Did she kill the two Stone Breakers who entered the markets in Bridge Town, and then throw their bodies into the canyon?”
Cullen winced inwardly, but kept his expression blank. “She did. The Stone Breakers sold auroch meat poisoned with kumish paste. By the Accord, this was an act of war by that clan against my people. My daughter and her men hunted them north and killed them.”
“Who told you this?” Longtooth asked. “Who told you the poison they used?”
Koraya stiffened in the chair closest to him. “It was Koraya, daughter of Khun,” she said, not meeting the Holy One’s eye. “I tasted the poison myself.”
“There is more you should know,” Cullen said, before she could say more. “My daughter Isabo has raised an army and is marching north to battle the Stone Breakers.”
The room erupted in angry conversation.
“When did this happen?”
“Does it mean war?”
“Who is to blame for this?”
Tensions ratcheted higher in the room. There was little love here for the Stone Breaker clan–or Isabo.
Longtooth turned to the assembled trolls, ignoring the mayor and Span, and launched into an impassioned speech in Trollish. She didn’t bother to translate for the pakh-hu present. Her tone grew increasingly strident, and she slapped the table to emphasize her points, nearly upsetting the wine goblets. Faulken glanced uneasily at Cullen, who caught his eye and raised a hand. Be patient. The mayor nodded.
Through it, Gheen fixed Cullen with weary eyes. Occasionally, the troll’s glance shifted to Koraya, but it always returned to Cullen. The other trolls in the room, especially those of the Gray Face, fidgeted and looked away from their shaman.
Cullen’s right foot suddenly throbbed. He glanced down. Koraya’s heavy boot pressed down on his foot. She watched Longtooth attentively. When it was clear that the old shaman wasn’t looking at them, she leaned toward Cullen, holding her wine glass in front of her face.
“Gabriel Cullen, you must speak,” she said quickly. “She is accusing you of breaking the treaty by using your daughter to bring a war between us. She says Isabo’s aggression proves humans intend to wipe out all trolls, not just the Stone Breakers. She says my uncle is weak for trusting you and says they must invoke a conclave of Holy Ones from all clans to prevent war.”
Ounwe’s righteous tears. What does that mean?
Cullen pulled his foot free and stood, again raising his glass. “Holy One,” he said, pitching his voice to cut through her guttural, chanting rant. “You honor us all with your presence. Now honor those of us who do not speak your tongue. These are grave times. I would not see the progress we’ve made in Gammush and Bridge Town thrown aside by those of your race–the Stone Breaker clan–or by the actions of my daughter.”
He looked to the faces of Durukh and the other trolls. Most nodded at his words. Longtooth might be trying to drive a wedge between humans and trolls, but not everyone was buying it.
He continued. “We must be united in purpose and build on what we have started.”
Longtooth tossed her cup to the floor. “You are insolent! You say ‘our race’ has done this evil thing. Do you think that all of the trollim can be judged by the actions of one foolish clan?”
“Do you think all humans can be judged by the actions of my daughter? She acted in anger after generations of attacks that have slaughtered my people. But, but I agree, we must stop her–and the Stone Breakers.”
Longtooth hacked and wheezed. “Your daughter marches to war, and you have done nothing! If you are unable to keep the peace, perhaps stronger measures are necessary.”
Gheen climbed heavily to his feet and laid a hand on Longtooth’s shoulder. “Friend Cullen, my clan honors you for your service to us and to me. Now honor us further. Go to your daughter and to Muraz Tol, chief of the Stone Breakers. Intercede and stop this horrible thing from happening. As Troll-hu zur Anush, the Strong Arm of the Trolls, you speak for us. By our law, they will recognize that.” He looked to Koraya and Aydin. “My niece, your hostage and servant, will attend you. Aydin must return with me to the temple of my clan.”
Though he had no claim on Aydin’s assistance, Cullen regretted that he might lose someone with deep insight into the Holy Ones.
Longtooth gave Gheen a thin smile. “In the meantime,” she said, “our clans will prepare ourselves in the event of your failure.”
Cullen shivered. He had to stop Isabo, but he suddenly feared the war wasn’t just happening in the north. It was also happening right here.