Towering over the wizard, V'drall quite literally talked down to Maldoch. “You glossed over that in your latest reporting."
The spellcaster shrugged. “It was no big deal. Parndolc and the boy here, slung beneath an oversized kite, jumped off a perfectly good rooftop."
Garrich put Maldoch right. “The tower was collapsing and the glider happened to be powered by technical magic. We did actually fly."
"Crash-landings don't count."
"It was an historical event,” interceded the Keeper. “Magnificence, you are perfectly aware of the chief records rule ... the usual is news, the unusual is newsworthy."
"I'll give you an exclusive later on, V'drall."
"Will that be around the same time you get around to showing me the White Grimoire?'
Maldoch pretended not to hear.
"You've been promising for thirty years,” pressed V'drall. Ancient languages were his passion and the fabled book of magic a storehouse of antediluvian dialects warranting a dedicated scholarly investigation.
"I appreciate the use of your copier,” thanked the wizard, pushing Garrich out of the library toward the archway. “But we have a lunch date."
Tapping him on the shoulder with a bruising finger, V'drall cautioned the youth, ‘Watch him, boy. He's a bad one for keeping promises,’ making the easternized Goblin wonder if Maldoch ever planned to reveal his bloodline as he pledged years ago when they struck their one-sided bargain.
Back out on the street, the unbearably dry desert heat suffocated Garrich after the relative coolness of the library. The merciless sun was reaching its noon zenith, turning the Troll capital into a giant kiln. Sweat evaporated on the skin the second it was secreted, any exposed moisture sucked skywards by that boiling globe of fire. The blistering day barely slowed the wizard down, Maldoch displaying two walking speeds: flat out and stop. His mind fixed on reaching the shade of J'tard's hacienda, Maldoch's lanky legs acted accordingly.
Garrich puffed alongside the spellcaster. “I should've guessed the Library of Histories holds copies of the three prophecies. That's why you didn't throw a fit when I told you I'd lost the Ode."
"Always have a backup. It spares you a lot of headaches."
"The head librarian wasn't happy with you."
"V'drall's love of words blinds him to all else."
"Must you always use people so callously?"
"Better to be the user than the usee."
J'tard's place reflected his prosperity as a premier unihorn breeder and dealer. A low slung, sprawling affair with wide arches supporting the sloping tile roof that projected over a paved veranda, the sumptuous dwelling housed the elder's extended family of sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, plus assorted cousins, including the sundry in-laws accompanying those mixed relatives. Maldoch and Garrich had scarcely removed their cloaks in the open plan courtyard when K'hanti accosted them. The indisputable lady of the manor, J'tard's youngish wife possessed a tongue pricklier than a cactus needle and sharpened it every day without fail on anyone unlucky enough to upset her.
"Don't the two of you dare track sand through my nice clean house!” she scolded, waggling a finger in warning at the pair.
"Remind of you of anyone?” Maldoch muttered slyly to Garrich.
The Goblin sniggered. “Parny, with breasts and a tan."
K'hanti resented the comparison and crossly joggled the clay pendant dangling from her neck to get a hold of her crabbiness. The wizard and Goblin prudently skirted that wicked temper of hers in case she came up with an ear-bashing rejoinder.
In olden days, Troll culture considered women a commodity, collected and traded as an expression of wealth much the same as unihorns were amassed today. It therefore made sense back then not to carry the practice of tribal tattooing over to the womenfolk, since a female could conceivably change hands between various owners in her lifetime and a tattoo was impossible to erase. One innovative male accordingly had the bright idea of adorning his harem with clay necklaces displaying the glyphic inscriptions of their current status. Seeing the advantage of removable nametags, his buddies quickly followed suit and soon every Trollop was wearing identifying clay jewelry that could be swapped as easily as personal ownership.
Times change as they do and Troll polygamy gave way to monogamy, the women fighting for and gaining improved—though far from equal—rights. Fashions proved stagnant and the neck accessory stayed. To remove the ornament, for any cause, became a deed punishable by expulsion into the deep desert without provisions. Bereft of food and water, a wayward woman's lifespan was measured in days. Perhaps K'hanti's sourpuss nature stemmed from the constant and unpleasant reminder posed by the trinket, and the archaic, unrevoked law that went with it. She and her generic sisters were still considered property.
Pushing aside the wall hangings, they seated themselves in the hall-like dining room off the main courtyard on cushions spread before low tables of imported wood. Trees were unbelievably scarce in the desert and timber bartered for at great cost from the Sea Elves. Garrich constantly felt nervous surrounded by the hulking Trolls at mealtimes, but Maldoch nodded politely to the chatting menfolk when glances passed their way as the female family members served lunch. A cousin of K'hanti, plus one of J'tard's many pretty nieces, directed hungry stares at Garrich that had nothing to do with lunchtime appetites. Squirming from the attention, he hoed into the plate set before him but stole peeks at the topless waitresses in between mouthfuls of piquant food.
Troll cuisine was hot in more ways than one. After polishing off a platter of triangular pies filled with spiced cheese, Garrich doused the fire in his throat with a cup of valued water before rounding off his noon meal scoffing a fistful of date cookies. Retiring afterwards to a private recess curtained off from the main lounge where the men were taking their siestas, Garrich flopped beside the wizard on the velvety floor cushions carpeting the bricks of yellowy loess. K'hanti entered moments later bearing a tray laden with steaming ceramic cups and offered the selection to the pair. Maldoch reached for a cup of piping hot tea.
"Chai is a woman's drink, Magnificent One,” an old man-Troll with a patronizing smile denounced, slipping through the partitioning blankets to join the wizard and Goblin.
"Then call me the bearded lady, C'marl, and I'll run away to join the circus,” rejoined Maldoch.
The geriatric Sandwalker lifted a cup off the tray and handed it to Garrich, before taking one himself. K'hanti removed herself from the alcove. Chauvinism was alive and kicking in the Great Desertland. Women ate only after serving their menfolk.
"Get that kahwa down you, Garrich. It'll make a man of you,” advocated C'marl, delicately positioning his own cup between his grand tusks to sip the aromatic beverage.
Garrich complied, fast developing a taste for the spicy coffee. Not for the first time since tasting the flavorful black liquid the thought crossed his mind: had he found Parndolc's elusive remedy for the almighty hangover?
Maldoch questioned C'marl. “Any word yet on J'tard's return?"
"That's why I've come over,” said the elder, selecting a large cushion to rest on cross-legged opposite Garrich. Modesty was unknown to the Trolls, the Goblin dismayed to discover in a flash of exposed crotch that Sandwalkers did not bother with underwear. Firmly put off his coffee, he listened in to C'marl saying, “A runner came in early this morning bringing word that J'tard is a night's jog away."
"I presume he's got the leaf."
"Indeed he has.” C'marl took another sip of his coffee, then said, “Maldoch, I would not presume to second guess your way of thinking."
"But you're going to anyway,” butted in the wizard.
"Tahriana's Leaf hasn't left the desert since the Elves gifted it to us."
"Don't any of the national talismans originate in their home country?” cut in Garrich.
The wizard disregarded the interruption. “Yet you had it shifted from its age-old resting place atop that stone pedestal in the council chamber."
"That was different. It was removed to the shrine on the shore of the Lake of Thirst in the hope that its curative powers might miraculously turn the saltpan into a body of drinking water."
"Has it worked yet?"
"Not so far."
"It won't. The leaf heals people, not the land. Look on the bright side, C'marl. Rohal Ak Jubai keeps its chief source of salt unspoiled."
"There was another reason for moving the Sacred Cure. We didn't want a repeat of the theft of the Elf relic happening on our sands. The leaf's usual place of enshrinement here in the city is well known to any with an interest in talismans. Relocating the national treasure to an out of the way, poorly accessible part of the country seemed prudent."
"The Elves took the same precaution and a fat lot of good it did them,” said Maldoch judgmentally. “Your fears were unfounded. Carnachian thievery that time was bent on obtaining artifacts of mass destruction, not resurrection."
"Are you certain it must be taken out of the homeland?"
"I am, as are you. Otherwise you would not have persuaded the council, on my behalf, to hand it over."
C'marl finished his coffee. “It wasn't easy. Just because I'm the senior member of the Rahnos Golm Shugak doesn't automatically mean they listen to me. I haven't the autocratic powers of a monarch. Majority rule runs the Council of Elders, not my opinion alone."
"Yours is the voice of reason,” applauded the wizard.
"Or insanity. I'll not sacrifice Troll neutrality to perpetuate western warring."
"Nobody likes the prospect of a general race war, least of all me,” said Maldoch. “But the Desertlanders can't sit on the fence forever. It'll collapse one day and then the Trolls must choose which side to land on."
"Won't too the Elves?” opined Garrich. The black looks he received from the two oldsters made him feel like a child who had spoken without leave.
"Elven neutrality and Troll impartiality aren't the same thing, Garrich,” C'marl patiently explained. “Though the Lothberens promote the facade of non-alignment, they harbor an abiding hatred for anything western. My people, on the other hand, are not so prejudiced. We tolerate all races."
"Which explains why I haven't gotten one funny look since our arrival,” the Goblin finally worked out. He did not count the wanton lustfulness of certain Troll ladies.
"Evil, badness—call it what you will—is not a racially inherited trait, my boy. It is learnt behavior. You are a prime example. Goblin-born you may be, yet you exhibit none of your race's worst attributes. Why? You were raised not to. Trolls have never taken sides in the scuffles out on the western borders for the simple reason that an enemy is merely an uninformed brother. Whatever bigotry taught him can be unlearned, so long as you don't bash his head in doing it."
"I'd like to see how far reasoning gets you with a Goblin aiming to turn you into a knife rack,” disputed Maldoch.
"Brother J'tard might just answer that for you. He's been approved as the bearer of the leaf."
The wizard arched his shaggy eyebrows in mild surprise. “A council elder won't be accompanying us? Aren't we privileged enough?"
"Don't be so asinine, Maldoch. My colleagues, and I agree, would feel far more comfortable if one of our own goes with you as minder of the relic, rather than an ordinary citizen. But J'tard volunteered and we didn't refuse him."
Maldoch noticed C'marl looked troubled by the selection. “You unhappy about that?"
"J'tard has been bitten by the travel bug. That's highly unusual for a Troll and, to be perfectly frank, disturbs the Council and me. It was decided by popular vote to empower him to journey with you for reasons not of the quest alone. Elevation to the Rahnos Golm Shugak comes about from the acumen that derives from a long life. J'tard still exhibits the unwise wanderlust of youth. By granting his desire to travel with you to the Outside Lands, we're counting on the experience to rid him of his itchy feet and settle him into council routine when that day comes.” C'marl sighed. “My good friend displays potential to be an influential vote in council, which is why he has been entrusted with this errand."
"Everyone has ulterior motives,” Garrich muttered to nobody in particular, though Maldoch filled his gaze when he said it.
"You can't escape politics,” C'marl told the youth.
"If you move house you can,” contended Maldoch. “How are things over at Kha-Sebaalch?"
"Rebellious as ever,” C'marl said contritely. “Reports are always sketchy from across the Forsaken Erg, but the latest news is unsettling. H'mandl was forcibly removed from office..."
"Assassinated,” threw in Maldoch.
"...about three or four months back. Some young reprobate dry behind the ears called D'foarg now runs the show."
That eye-opener was an unneeded worry for the spellcaster. The Troll nation was a thousand years into its civilizing history when it suffered an irreconcilable division that smarted still to this day. In 1236 of the newborn First Epoch, a splinter tribe of radicals rebelled against the old values and, led by their instigator B'naal, founded a rival colony 250 leagues northeast of the capital, severing all ties with Rohal Ak Jubai and her baby sister city Kha-Rell. Disunity, previously unknown to the harmonious Sandwalkers, was even today, twenty-five centuries on, impossible for the mainstream Trolls to come to terms with. That antediluvian family spat had not bothered Maldoch until now.
"H'mandl was no saint, but Better the Goblin you know, than the Ogre you don't."
Affronted by the quotation, the look Garrich got back from Maldoch was less than caring.
"There's more. D'foarg is rumored to express Goblin sympathies,” supplemented C'marl.
"So Trolls do take sides, only the wrong one. You know this for fact?"
"D'foarg seized his office through murder and holds that power by force. It has made him unpopular at home. Strange as it may be, there are those at Kha-Sebaalch whose wish is to remain peaceably divided from us. They quietly oppose the new philosophies imposed upon them. A plucky small number have proved themselves reliable informants and secretly keep the council current."
"Will J'tard report straight to the meeting hall upon his arrival?” the wizard asked the Troll.
"He had better. He is on council business."
"Warn him not to wake me when he comes home afterwards. I can't bear having my beauty sleep interrupted. Tell him from me that he has a day to rest up before he hits the yellow sand road out of the desert."
"That soon?"
"Time waits for no wizard, C'marl. I have a bad inkling that events are speeding up. The quicker I can get Garrich and J'tard to Gwilhaire, the sooner we collect the Elf champion and be on our way to putting an end to Omelchor conducting the first major western uprising."
"One thing, Magnificent One."
"Yes?"
"Your mission of rounding up talismans and champions."
"What of it?"
"It smacks into a dune with the Elves, does it not?"
"What are you driving at, C'marl?"
"Queen Merainor can provide you with a guardian, but not the charm to go with him. The Goblins possess the Horn of Dunderoth, remember."
Maldoch felt embarrassingly silly. He had overlooked the obvious and been caught out. Instantly becoming the infallible spellcaster of antiquity, he gruffly stated, “Not to worry. It's all part of my master plan."
—
That evening found the downcast wizard stargazing from the flat rooftop of J'tard's house. Garrich was downstairs drilling with his sword, leaving Maldoch free to contemplate his stupid oversight. The night sky blazed gloriously with the brightness of inestimable star fields. At least they appeared numberless to the uninformed. 3,000 of the 7,000 stars visible with the naked eye worldwide can be counted on any given night.
Astronomy was as passionate a pursuit for Troll men as pottery was to their women. When darkness fell the unclouded desert skies roofed the world in illimitable black, superbly contrasting the whitely lit constellations religiously mapped by the
star-watchers. But in this day and age where the boundary between science and occultism blurred, stargazing was no different and astrological lore went hand in hand with charting seasonal calendars and keeping time with a night-clock.
Maldoch, inarguably more enlightened than most, drew the distinction between astral fact and fantasy. Terrestrial changes were not dictated by star movements, but resulted from the forces of nature and people. Loafing on his back, bathed by the ghostly starshine silvering the roof, the wizard saw the funny side of thinking that way. Weather and whim were the provenances of the gods and they, as the faithful popularly believed, dwelt in the celestial halls of the starry heavens. Maybe there was something to be said for astrology.
That irony lightened Maldoch's perturbation, if only for a moment. Another trip to Draesdow might be in order to address his discord, though he could not spare the time for such a jaunt. He must fall back to his implicit trust in the Maker without speaking directly to Jeshuvallhod. Somehow, somewhere along the way of their imperative quest, the God of Light and Goodness would guide the stolen talisman of the Elves into the hands of Gwilhaire Wood's defender and so complete the circle of power required to defeat Omelchor, if that was indeed His game plan. Though an incomparable master of the impromptu, the wizard despised leaving important issues to chance ... a distasteful feeling that made him crosser than he already was.
"I hope I'm not intruding, Magnificent Maldoch."
The spellcaster turned his head in time to see the shiny dome of a tusked Troll bobbing up the flight of stone steps from the floor below. “It's just plain Maldoch, son,” he untiringly pointed out.
"My name is N'tolth.” When his introduction did not prompt recognition on the wizard's part, the male added, “I am J'tard's son-in-law, married to his youngest daughter."
Maldoch sat up to regard his visitor. N'tolth sported shortish tusks, marking him about thirty years old. By Troll standards he was barely a man, equivalent in age to Garrich. The wizard lay back down, resuming his watch of the dazzling firmament. “N'tolth, did you know that the night sky we're under now differs from that seen by stargazers tens of thousands of years ago?"
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