Komier nodded, wheeled his horse and rode back toward the army. The rest of them pushed on as it started to snow a little harder. Komier was laughing uproariously when he returned with the travel-stained messenger who had chased them down.
‘What’s so funny?’ Bergsten asked him.
‘We have good news from home, your Grace,’ Komier said. ‘Tell our beloved Patriarch what you just told me,’ he instructed the messenger.
‘Yes, my Lord,’ the blond-braided Thalesian said. ‘It happened a few weeks back, your Grace. One morning the palace servants couldn’t find a trace of the Prince Regent anywhere at all. The Guards tore the place apart for two straight days, but the little weasel seemed to have vanished entirely.’
‘Mind your manners, man,’ Bergsten snapped. ‘Avin’s the Prince Regent, after all—even if he is a little weasel.’
‘Sorry your Grace. Anyway, the whole capital was mystified. Avin Wargunsson never went anywhere without taking a brass band along to blow fanfares announcing his coming. Then one of the servants happened to notice a full wine barrel in Avin’s study. That seemed odd, because Avin didn’t have much stomach for wine, so they got to looking at the barrel a little more closely. It was clear that it had been opened, because quite a bit of wine had been spilled on the floor. Well, your Grace, they’d all worked up quite a thirst looking for Avin, so they decided to open the barrel, but when they tried to pry it open, they found out that it had been nailed shut. Now nobody nails a wine barrel shut in Thalesia, so everybody got suspicious right away. They took some pliers and pulled out the nails and lifted the lid—and there was Avin, stone dead and floating face down in the barrel.’
‘You’re not serious!’
‘Yes, your Grace. Somebody in Emsat’s got a very warped sense of humor, I guess. He went to all the trouble of rolling that wine barrel into Avin’s study just so that he could stuff him in and nail down the lid. Avin seems to have struggled a bit. He had splinters under his fingernails, and there were clawmarks on the underside of the lid. It made an awful mess. I guess the wine drained out of him for a half an hour after they fished him out of the barrel. The palace servants tried to clean him up for the funeral, but you know how hard wine-stains are to get out. He was very purple when they laid him out on the bier in the Cathedral of Emsat for his funeral.’
The messenger rubbed at the side of his face reflectively. ‘It was the strangest funeral I’ve ever attended. The Primate of Emsat kept trying to keep from laughing while he was reading the burial service, but he wasn’t having much luck, and that got the whole congregation to laughing too. There was Avin lying on that bier, no bigger than a half-grown goat and as purple as a ripe plum, and there was the whole congregation, roaring with laughter.’
‘At least everybody noticed him,’ Komier said. ‘That was always important to Avin.’
‘Oh, they noticed him all right, Lord Komier. Every eye in the Cathedral was on him. Then, after they put him in the royal crypt, the whole city had a huge party, and we all drank toasts to the memory of Avin Wargunsson. It’s hard to find something to laugh about in Thalesia when winter’s coming on, but Avin managed to brighten up the whole season.’
‘What kind of wine was it?’ Patriarch Bergsten asked gravely.
‘Arcian red, your Grace.’
‘Any idea of what year?’
‘Year before last, I believe it was.’
‘A vintage year,’ Bergsten sighed. ‘There was no way to save it, I suppose?’
‘Not after Avin had been soaking in it for two days, your Grace.’
Bergsten sighed again. ‘What a waste,’ he mourned. And then he collapsed over his saddlebow, howling with laughter.
It was cold in the Tamul Mountains as Ulath and Tynian rode up into the foothills. The Tamul Mountains were one of those geographic anomalies which crop up here and there, a cluster of worn-down, weary-looking peaks with no evident connection to neighboring and more jagged peaks forested by fir and spruce and pine. The gentler slopes of the Tamul Mountains were covered with hardwoods which had been stripped of their leaves by the onset of winter.
The two knights rode carefully, staying in the open and making enough noise to announce their presence. ‘It’s very unwise to startle a Troll,’ Ulath explained.
‘Are you sure they’re out there?’ Tynian asked as they wound deeper into the mountains.
Ulath nodded. ‘I’ve seen tracks—or places where they’ve tried to brush out their traces—and fresh dirt where they’ve buried their droppings. Trolls take pains to conceal their presence from humans. It’s easier to catch supper if it doesn’t know you’re around.’
‘The Troll-Gods promised Aphrael that their creatures wouldn’t eat humans any more.’
‘It may take a few generations for that notion to sift down into the minds of some of the stupider Trolls—and a Troll can be fearfully stupid when he sets his mind to it. We’d better stay alert. As soon as we get up out of these foothills, I’ll perform the ceremony that calls the Troll-Gods. We should be safe after that. It’s these foothills that are dangerous.’
‘Why not just perform the ceremony now?’
Ulath shook his head. ‘Bad manners. You’re not supposed to call on the Troll-Gods until you’re up higher—up in real Troll country.’
‘This isn’t Troll country, Ulath.’
‘It is now. Let’s find a place to camp for the night.’
They built their camp on a kind of stair-stepped bench so that they had a solid cliff to their backs and a steep drop to the front. They took turns standing watch, and as the first faint light of dawn began to wash the darkness out of the overcast sky, Tynian shook Ulath awake. ‘There’s something moving around in the brush at the foot of the cliff,’ he whispered.
Ulath sat up, his hand going to his axe. He cocked his head to listen. ‘Troll,’ he said after a moment.
‘How can you tell?’
‘Whatever’s making all the noise is doing it on purpose. A deer wouldn’t crash around like that, and the bears have all denned up for the winter. The Troll wants us to know he’s there.’
‘What do we do?’
‘Let’s build up the fire a bit—let him know that we’re awake. We’ve got a touchy situation here, so let’s not move too fast.’
He pushed his blankets aside and rose to his feet as Tynian piled more limbs on the fire.
‘Should we invite him in to get warm?’ Tynian asked.
‘He isn’t cold.’
‘It’s freezing, Ulath.’
‘That’s why he’s got fur. Trolls build fires for light, not heat. Why don’t you go ahead and get started with breakfast? He’s not going to do anything until full daylight.’
‘It’s not my turn.’
‘I have to keep watch.’
‘I can keep watch as well as you can.’
‘You wouldn’t know what to look for, Tynian.’ Ulath’s tone was reasonable. It usually was when he was talking his way out of doing the cooking.
The light grew gradually stronger. It was a process that is always strange. A man can be looking directly at a dark patch in the surrounding forest and suddenly realize that he can see trees and rocks and bushes where there had been only darkness before.
Tynian brought Ulath a plate of steaming ham and a chunk of leathery-crusted bread. ‘Leave the ham on the spit,’ Ulath told him.
Tynian grunted, picked up his own plate, and joined his friend at the front edge of the rocky shelf. They sat and kept watch on the birch forest that ran down the steep slope beneath them as they ate.
‘There he is,’ Ulath said gravely, ‘right beside that big rock.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Tynian replied. ‘I see him now. He blends right in, doesn’t he?’
‘That’s what being a Troll is all about, Tynian. He’s a part of the forest.’
‘Sephrenia says that we’re distantly related to them.’