“Neither do we. What do you know about Fox?”
“That’s their filthy den. We’ve snuck up on ’em a couple of times and done in a few of ’em.” Clyde cackled delightedly.
“So you’re familiar with Fox?” Blade pressed him.
“I’ve seen it from the outside,” Clyde said. “I’ve never been inside. No one goes inside and ever comes out again.”
“At least you know the area. Here’s my offer.” Blade lowered the Carbine and stepped over to Clyde. “You help us rescue some friends from the Trolls, and after this is over you can come and live with us at our Home.
What do you say?”
“I don’t know…” Clyde bit his lower lip, his brow furrowed.
“Oh please!” Cindy exclaimed, excited at the prospect. “Please! These are nice people, Papa. You said so, yourself. Please!”
“How do we know we can trust “em?” Tyson asked suspiciously.
“You don’t trust ’em?” Clyde asked his son.
“Nope.”
“Then I know they can be trusted.” Clyde beamed at his own wit and nodded twice. “You got a deal, mister.”
“Good,” Blade smiled.
“Say, pard.” Hickok was grinning at Blade.
“What?”
“If these fine folks are coming with us,” Hickok said casually, “don’t you reckon they can lower their arms now?”
Chapter Nineteen
Their testing was about to commence.
The Trolls, approximately five dozen, most wearing the usual bearskin tunic and cloak, were assembled on a small field at the east edge of Fox.
The area had been cleared of rocks and debris, and the grass and weeds were cut within six inches of the ground. The Trolls surrounded the center of the field, enthused over the imminent entertainment, talking loudly and making wagers, bartering over the projected outcome of the tests.
In the middle of the cleared tract, nervous and frightened, stood the Family women. Saxon and Nadine stood nearby.
“I’m so scared,” Angela commented.
Jenny hated to admit it, but she was too. She studied the other women, gauging their state of mind, assessing their stability. Angela, the youngest and the smallest, was obviously petrified and would require watching.
Daffodil, the Artist, seemed unconcerned. Lea, the Weaver, was absently fussing with her long black tresses, scowling at the Trolls. Ursa, the Librarian, was thoughtfully preoccupied. Mary, the tanned young Tiller, was in the best physical condition, the result of her long hours in the field.
Saphire was glancing this way and that, her brunette hair bobbing, dismay plainly etched on her features.
Nadine joined the clustered women, limping painfully.
“Be brave,” she encouraged them. “I survived this. You can too.”
“I meant to ask you,” Jenny said, hoping to divert their attention from the impending tests. “What happened to your right leg?”
Nadine grimaced and jerked her right thumb in Saxon’s direction. “He did it, the slime!”
“What?”
“He wanted information about the Home,” Nadine said wistfully. “I refused, so he tortured me.”
“The prick!” Lea voiced her opinion.
“Indeed,” Nadine agreed. “He broke the bone and it reset improperly. I’ve had this limp ever since.”
“Oh, you poor dear!” Ursa said.
“He wasn’t so smart.” Nadine grinned. “I didn’t tell him everything about the Home. Was he surprised to find so many guns?”
“He mentioned that, yes.” Jenny laughed.
“Good.” Nadine giggled. “I just wish our Warriors had killed all of them.”
“They may yet,” Mary reminded her.
“Do you think Joan reached them?” Nadine asked. Jenny had told her about Joan’s escape the night before.
“If anyone could do it, Joan could,” Jenny assured her.
“It’s so far, though.” Nadine squinted at the morning sun. “The only reason the Trolls waited so long to attack the Home was the distance involved. Too many mutates and other creatures. They usually confine their forays to a twenty- or thirty-mile radius, although sometimes they do make longer trips. Once, years ago, they went north, deep into Canada.”
“Canada?” Jenny wanted to ask further questions, but she was prevented by Saxon’s approach.
“Hope you all had a good rest.” Saxon, in a cheerful mood, laid his expansive right hand on Jenny’s left shoulder. She moved away. “Did you like your morning meal?”
“That slop?” Lea sarcastically cracked. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Sorry to hear that. I told them to make an extra effort, to make something you’d like. I’ll need to punish the women who made your meal.”
“No need for that,” Jenny told him. “The meal was fine. We all like rabbit.”
“You lied to me?” Saxon frowned at Lea. “It’s not nice to lie to Saxon.”
“The tests!” one of the Trolls yelled. “The tests!”
Saxon swiveled, scanning the encircling Trolls. “My brothers, it is time! Life to the strong and death to the weak!”
The Trolls responded in chorus: “Life to the strong and death to the weak!” Over and over and over.
Jenny remembered a conversation with Nadine in the early morning hours concerning the origin of the Trolls. Apparently, after Aaron was killed by a mutate, the criminals were left to their own devices. All of them were men. Naturally they wanted women. One of the brightest apparently found a paper Aaron wrote, detailing the wisest course to pursue with respect to mating between the retarded criminals in his charge and possible wives. Aaron knew his charges were genetically inferior. He realized their only hope of sustained existence as a viable community depended on finding women of normal or superior capacity. Aaron never advocated abducting women; he fully expected the criminals to die out in due course.
“You will stand over there,” Saxon told Nadine, pointing to the sidelines.
“I only let you come to show you that Saxon is not all bad. I want another lesson later,” he added as Nadine dutifully shuffled away.
The Trolls were quiet now.
“We begin!” Saxon declared. “Line up here.” He pointed at a wooden stake in the ground near his sandaled feet. All of the Trolls wore sandals constructed from deer hide. The exposed skin was caked with grime, blistered and gouged.
The seven women did as they were ordered.
“See the stake over there?” Saxon indicated another stake imbedded in the dirt twenty-five yards distant. “When I say go, you will run to that stake, around it, and come back to this one. Any questions?”
“What do we win if we’re first?” Lea quipped.
“You stay alive,” Saxon said somberly.
The assembled Trolls were waiting.
“Get set,” Saxon prepared them. “Go!” he shouted.
The women ran, swiftly covering the distance, Mary in the lead. Jenny, Lea, Saphire, and Daffodil in a pack behind her, followed by Ursa and Angela.
As they rounded the far stake, Jenny glanced over her shoulder and saw Angela trip and fall, smashing her elbows as she came down. The Trolls were cheering and boosting their favorites. Jenny ignored them and wheeled, running to Angela and assisting her to stand.
Some of the Trolls began booing.
Saxon advanced across the field.
The other women slowed, apprehensively watching Saxon.
“Are you all right?” Jenny asked Angela.
“I think so,” Angela answered. “My elbows hurt.”
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Saxon queried as he reached them.
“I was only helping…” Jenny turned to explain, completely unprepared for the fist Saxon buried in her stomach. She doubled over, wheezing.
“You don’t help the others!” Saxon leaned over her, glowering. “That’s not the way it works! We only want the best. You let the others worry about how they do, and worry about yourself. Understand?”