The surface of each step was rough, not magically honed like the scythe blades of the levelers or the wings of the hover guard. These had been made by hand. It made Glissa’s back hurt just thinking of the amount of work it would take to scratch out such a feature in a solid metal tree. Judging by the obvious wear and tear and large patches of heavy tarnishing, this had been done a long, long time ago.
The group moved on in silence, finally reaching the top where the stairs opened into a large room. A set of rising bleachers edged the chamber, and sitting on them, three rows deep, were perhaps a hundred or more trolls. All of them resembled other trolls Glissa had seen. Their skin was green and loose, their hands and shoulders covered in warts and scars, and each was dressed in tattered woven-metal fabrics. Even to the elf, who had grown up in the Tangle living near such creatures, she couldn’t tell them apart. Now, seated here, they looked like the fungus or verdigris that grew on the base of fallen trees.
Opposite the stairs, in the center of the curved bleacher seats, a single troll perched on a stool. All the others had their bodies turned toward him and their eyes focused on his large frame. This one, unlike the others, wore newer clothing. He held himself more erect and seemed to have more energy than the others. His eyes darted around the room. This was not a contemplative examination or the sluggish struggle by a slow mind to understand. This was the intelligent look of a decisive creature.
The troll at the head of the room held a bone staff in one hand. With the other he waved the trio forward.
“Come in. Come in.”
Glissa and Slobad did as they were told, stopping amid the throng of trolls just before the bone-wielding chief. Bosh, though, had a difficult time getting inside the room. At his full height, his head was much taller than the ceiling. The golem tried to bend at the waist, but ducking didn’t provide enough room for him to bring his massive frame into the carved-out chamber.
After several attempts to fold himself in various different ways, each of which proved more ridiculous and less useful than the last, Bosh finally collapsed his legs and head half-way, telescoping them inside his body. The truncated golem waddled as he walked, but he managed to fit, if tightly, inside the room.
The troll looked them over. “We have been awaiting your arrival.”
“So we’ve been told,” said Glissa. “That disturbs me.”
“Why would that disturb you, young Glissa?”
“Well, to begin with, the last time I was here, Elder Chunth died in my arms.”
Drooge nodded, his eyes to the ground. “A tragic blow for us.” He took a deep breath. “You should know that we do not blame you.”
“You don’t?”
The troll chief shook his head. “No. The elder council has found you innocent, and the traitors among us have been purged.”
Glissa looked around at the trolls on the bleachers. They all hung their heads. “Traitors? You mean there was more than one?”
Drooge nodded. “I am afraid so.”
Glissa stood in silence. She was relieved that the trolls didn’t think she had killed their chief, but she was saddened as well. All of this treachery and infighting was due to her. If she had been at home that night, if she had been killed along with the rest of her family, none of this would have happened to the trolls.
The troll chief tapped his staff on the floor. “You have other reasons for being disturbed by our welcoming you back?”
Glissa swallowed then nodded. “Well, yes. Everyone seems to know where I’m going and what I’ll do before I even do it.”
“Yes,” replied the troll. “I see your point.”
“And since they know where I am at all times, I seem to be everyone’s favorite target for ambush.”
“A role none wish to play,” said the troll, “but one that falls upon the shoulders of a hero.”
“A hero?” Glissa stopped to think about that word. “Why would you call me that?”
The troll cocked his head, looking at the young elf. “Because your efforts are not just focused on yourself.”
“Wait a minute.” Glissa shook her head. “How do you know what it is I want or even that I was coming here?”
“A simple deduction,” replied the troll. “The last time you were here, you wanted to know about the Guardian. You did not believe us then. You have returned. Thus, I suspect that you have seen proof, that now you are beginning to believe that which Chunth believed, and you wish for answers.”
“What did Chunth believe?”
“That you have a destiny beyond the borders of the Tangle. That your path is far longer than you know.” The troll smiled, his stained, ground-flat teeth poking from his wart-covered lips, looking menacing yet warm at the same time.
Slobad pulled on Glissa’s arm. “Who this guy, huh?”
“That’s a good question,” said Glissa. She looked up from the goblin. “Who are you?”
The troll bowed. “Forgive my lack of hospitality. I am Drooge, chief teller of tales. These-” he waved his arm to indicated the collected trolls-“these are all that’s left of my kind.”
Glissa scanned the room. There were a lot of trolls here, more than she’d ever seen in one place at one time. Still, the thought saddened her. This was all of them. Every last one.
The group no longer seemed so large.
She laid her gaze again upon Drooge. “So you figured out that I would come back, but that still doesn’t answer my question about why you called me a ‘hero.’ What makes you think I’m not just looking out for myself?”
The troll placed his hand on his jaw, rubbing his bumpy chin. “Sometimes, a hero is not a hero by choice. Sometimes, a hero is just a hero because her actions make her one. Whether you know it or not, your quest is one that will benefit many people. Perhaps everyone on Mirrodin.” Drooge lowered his head. “Although the trolls have known about Memnarch, have known not only that he existed but also that he controlled the levelers and devices that plague the land, we …” His voice trailed off. The rumpled troll stared at the floor for a long while.
Glissa looked at him, bending her knees and trying to get down close enough to the floor to get his attention. “Yes?” she said, trying to coax it from him.
“We … We have been … afraid,” he said finally.
“But when last I was here, Chunth was very reluctant to talk with me. He told me very little and seemed quite … guarded, almost as if he would be punished for telling me what I wanted to know.” Glissa paused, watching Drooge stare at the floor. “Now you rush me inside and greet me as if I were one of you. Why such a drastic change?”
Drooge raised his eyes. “Chunth was the oldest among us and the wisest. Now he is gone, and a new fear has entered the troll tribe: the fear that we will all be gone, taken from this place as Chunth was. As you can see, there are only a very few of us left. We cannot face Memnarch and his armies of devices alone. We are too few.” Drooge paused, taking a deep breath. “We are too afraid.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Your destiny has been set in motion. There is no longer time to debate ‘if’ or ‘when.’ It has come. The time is now, and events will continue forward whether you are ready or not.”
“I still don’t understand.”
Drooge raised his bone staff. “We all have kin who have fallen to the Guardian’s armies. We want to see you succeed.”
“Are you saying you’re going to help me confront the Guardian?”
Drooge once again scratched his chin. “When the time is right. Yes.”
Slobad pulled on Glissa’s arm. “When that be, huh? We come back then.”