Grump & Rose

by Aaron Burdett

  What I wouldn't give for some thimbleweed right about now, he thought as he passed a small haunt chewing on a leg of meat.

  They passed beyond the statues and came to a central pillar isolated from the rest of Getshabal. Steep, shallow steps lined by granite haunts draped in tattered, scarlet banners ascended to a soaring doorway in the column. Another enormous ram skull held an iron lantern at the entrance. The haunts pushed him up the stairs and shoved him through, a chill shiver passing down his spine as the lamp's heat kissed his cheeks as he stumbled beneath it.

  Grump entered a long banquet hall. Skulls hanging from ropes held flames behind their eyes that cast ghostly pinkish light. Bones and bits of meat covered a long table dividing the room. Grease stains spotted the tabletop's worn wood. So did bloodstains. He tried not to cringe at the sight, instead imagining ripe tomatoes, carrots, radishes, and onions all diced and cooking in a salty broth.

  The thought of a good stew eased his nerves, despite the bloody table slowly wakening the Hunger within him. He ignored its gentle whispers and set his gaze upon the haunt sitting in a massive rusted iron throne padded with exotic furs.

  Unlike the guards, this haunt was large and broad-shouldered like a bull. Grey flecked his dark fur. Pale scars crisscrossed his chest. A collar of shimmering blue feathers ringed his neck. Beneath that collar, he wore a necklace of yellowed finger bones and crow skulls. He gazed at Grump with a single, wet eye. The other was clouded and unfocused. His tongue flicked from between two fangs more like a serpent than a wolf.

  Welt had a bad eye, too, Grump thought. They look so much alike.

  The thought brought little comfort and pulled one too many bitter memories to the surface. He blinked them away, lifting his chin to the haunt.

  "Many winters have come and gone since trolls walked the halls of Getshabal," the haunt rasped, his voice rolling slowly as if fighting to be more than a mere growl. He dipped a hooked nail into a chalice and slowly drew circles in the thick, crimson drink.

  Grump stiffened. He glanced nervously at the other haunts, now standing a safe difference from their leader. "Chief Rahl, I am Grump Bulderbag from the Russet Woods. I've seen your fires from my home and heard your calls at night. When rumors of your wine came to me I thought—"

  Rahl raised a claw scarred with odd runes. "Report."

  The lead haunt bounded before Rahl and prostrated with a whimper. Rahl growled. The haunt vaulted to his feet and straightened, the deep, rumbling growls of the haunt tongue rolling from his slathering jaw. The chief's good eye never strayed from Grump as he listened to the guard speak, and not once did it blink.

  The guard completed his report. The chief stopped stirring his drink. He pressed his claws onto the throne and lifted from the seat. He was a full head taller than the rest, although even then he was a good deal shorter than Grump.

  "So you are more than just a troll," Rahl said. "You are a ... a gardener?"

  "Yes. I am Grump—"

  "I heard your name the first time you spoke it, troll. Generations have passed since greenskin voices echoed in these halls. Your ancestors came to mine in the old days, begging for protection from the fair folk armies as they slaughtered your hordes and drove you from these peaks. We denied them then, because they never lifted a hand to help our kind when it was us who took the brunt of human steel.

  "So we watched, and we waited for the fair folk to drive you from the city. Then, we took it for ourselves, as is the right of the strong who supplant the weak. We watched from the hidden spaces in the Ridge as your people died by sword and arrow and mage's fire. Now here you stand in my hall, thinking you have a friend among us? Why? Because the humans war? You think them weakened, and so maybe you think us weakened and Getshabal ripe for the taking?"

  "No, I didn't think that at all. I'm a troll who gardens and nothing more." He straightened, pinching his shoulders back. "And when I heard of the haunts and their delicious wine, I thought there might be something we could teach one another."

  "Hmm." Rahl clasped his hands behind him, his gaze drifting to his guard. Slowly, he paced around his guard. Once he came to the haunt's back, he paused.

  Silence weighed the hot air. Grump's Hunger whispered sweet violence, igniting his senses. He tensed and locked his jaw.

  Rahl's claws lanced out and slashed across the guard's stomach. The chief ripped his fingers back in a spray of slick scarlet. The guard shrieked and twisted to the side, swiping madly at the chief's face. Like a viper on a mouse, Rahl's hand latched around the haunt's throat. His wrist twitched, and the guard's neck crunched.

  A long, pink tongue lolled from the guard's loose lips. Rahl tossed him onto the table, and the body landed with a thud.

  Grump watched blood pool at the haunt's feet while his Hunger sang such a sweet song. Kill. Break. Bleed. Break this chief's legs and listen to his screams. They will make you chief, and all will fear you. Release me. Become me. Show them.

  His heartbeat thundered in his temples. His veins bulged. Show me to them, the Hunger roared. Show them, troll!

  Grump clamped his teeth together and took deep breaths through his nose, edging from the blood. The Hunger was a dizzying force; Grump's knees weakened with the joyous sight of death seeping slowly toward him.

  No, I will be more than troll. For her. Grump swallowed the Hunger. He would be its master, for now.

  "Do you fear me, troll gardener?" Rahl asked.

  Grump blinked away the sweat stinging his eyes. He barreled a laugh that practically shook the ground. "I am troll. I know no fear. That's why I came here."

  "And the sun?" Rahl's lip curled in a snarl. "All trolls know fear, because they fear the sun."

  "Then I suppose I'm glad Getshabal isn't open to it."

  "And why should I take a troll beneath my roof, when my ancestors before me who knew your kind wouldn't do the same? We all know what's in that...." he licked his lips and eyed Grump like an oversized turkey leg. "What's in that blood of yours. The Hunger. I see it in your eyes now, hiding just where the light dies, waiting. You would have my throne if you could. You would bring your wretched kin back to my mountains. No, troll gardener, I don't think you'll be my guest. I think you'll be my dinner."

  The other haunts howled and slapped their thighs. Rahl wheezed a hideous laugh and slid his tongue across his fangs. Grump resisted the urge to step back. keeping his feet planted firmly where he stood. "I didn't come here to be your dinner. Besides, ours is a bitter meat compared to fair folk. I'd hate to give you stomach cramps."

  Rahl howled, and the violence in the air dwindled. "A troll with a sense of humor? There's something the stories didn't say. It's too bad I don't need a pet to make me laugh. The humans already supply more than enough of my ... amusement. Goodbye, Grump Bulderbag. Kill him. We'll feast tonight on troll tonight and worry about the cramps tomorrow."

  The haunts circled. Their spit splatted on the floor. Beady eyes glimmered in the dim light. They wanted blood, and they drove his Hunger to an ecstatic wild. The power loosened his muscles. It sent a beautiful shiver curling down his spine that nearly rolled his eyes in ecstasy. What violence, what glorious death their fight would bring.

  Grump caught himself smiling. He snarled, reaching for his shovel. "But, Rahl, you've got a problem."

  "I'm not scared of a troll wedged deep in the heart of my lands. We'll make good magic from your blood. We'll make even better food from your flesh. You might kill a few of my guard. So be it. The weak deserve death. The strong will survive."

  "No!" Grump's roar vibrated through the floor and shook the walls. Rahl's chalice crashed to the ground. The haunts around Grump hesitated, if only for a moment.

  He took the chance and whipped the shovel out, brandishing the thick, dull blade like it was a deadly spear. "You've got a bigger problem than a troll in your caves. You've got vine rot, and without me, you'll be lucky to ever have a good drink again. You can't just let the crops die. Vine rot will persist, and you will never enjoy yo
ur wine again. This I swear on every ancestor watching in the sky!"

  Rahl halted the guards' approach. His good eye narrowed. "You lie to save yourself."

  Grump snorted and shook his head. "Did I tell you trolls know no fear? You know my Hunger. I want this fight, Rahl. It sings to me now, begs for your blood. Why would I lie? You've got vine rot. All those grapes'll be dead soon enough, from stem to root. You might try planting a new crop, but funny thing about vine rot. It's not on the plant. It's in the air. No matter how many seeds you've got sprouting, soon enough, they'll show the white. The grapes get pale first. Then, that pale turns as thick and hairy as a spider's egg sac. Last, the fruit withers and goes and never blooms again."

  Rahl eyed him with a witch's brew of curiosity and hunger. "We can replant."

  "Oh, you can replant. As long as you've got seeds, you can plant and plant again. They'll sprout, and then they'll die. And it'll be the worst wine you've ever tasted. Bitter as boar's milk. Maybe even worse. Get you drunk? Hah! Forget about it. Those grapes will be nothing but lava out your—"

  "Enough!"

  Grump cocked his head at the chief, lowering the shovel. "Unless you've got the cure for vine rot, rot's all you'll ever see. You know, if you ask me, you need the good and decent help of a gardener. Someone who knows the soils. Someone who knows the plants. Someone who knows the cure for vine rot."

  Rahl flashed his yellowed fangs. "And you can cure this vine rot?"

  "Each and every harvest of your grapes will bring a wine better than the last."

  The other haunts stood at the ready, but with less conviction in their eyes. Rahl lifted a clawed finger at Grump. "You're a good meal, troll. But I like wine with my meal. You get the rot from my vineyard, and you may yet live beyond the Ridge."

  Grump heard the lie on the haunt's tongue plain as he saw dawn on the horizon all those nights in the woods. As soon as Grump gave Rahl what he wanted, he would be roasting over a fire, and Rahl would be enjoying a rich glass of wine and a laugh about the whole thing.

  But instead of speaking a word of his doubts, Grump simply smiled and nodded. "You'll have a vineyard that would make elves jealous. Give me a few days."

  "That's all you need?"

  "All any good gardener needs to cure vine rot."

  "You've got three then."

  "Well three might—"

  "Make you good and plump on my food? Yes, it will. Three days. Cure my rot by then or you die, Grump the troll who never should've come here. You don't belong in Getshabal. I doubt you even belong with your own people. After all, who ever heard of a troll who gardens? Pansy thing to hear a troll doing, using all that strength to rip up roots and not men. You're odd. You're different. The haunts have no home for things such as you. Get the rot out and then follow it."

  "But I'm—"

  "A gardener, and we've got some use for you like we've got use for slaves. You've got three days. Now take him to the cages, and if he lets that Hunger out, you know what to do with this freak greenskin."

  Grump tried ignoring the heartbeat thrashing in his ears. "Do not call me a freak."

  The words flew out like a rogue wave on a black ocean. The haunts stepped back in unison, save the chief, whose lip upturned in a fanged snarl. Rahl raked his claws across the blood pooling on the table, then flicked his wrist, spraying scarlet droplets across Grump's cheeks. Words flew off Rahl's tongue and flitted around the room like shadows come to life.

  The blood hissed and sunk into Grump's body. His muscles froze. His Hunger flared, and for a long moment, he fought the pull of the haunt's blood magic. But the chief clenched his claw, and what strength remained in Grump vanished. He stood as a statue, sweating as Rahl slowly smiled.

  "You are in my home. You cannot fight my will here. Blood magic is stronger than any troll Hunger." His dark eyes flicked to the guards. "As I commanded, show this freak to his cage."

  "Should we take his things?" a guard asked.

  Grump's knuckle whitened on his shovel. "I need my things to garden. This shovel's no weapon."

  Rahl eyed the shovel. Then, he eyed the satchel.

  "Tools," Grump said. "And herbs for gardening. You can take them if you like, but my hands are the only weapons I've ever needed."

  "I'll let you keep your things on one condition."

  "And that is?"

  "Admit that you're a freak." Rahl folded his arms and grinned. "Just admit it, and everything that's yours stays so."

  Grump's jaw tightened. Rahl snorted and motioned for his guards. "Very well, take the troll's things."

  The haunts stepped toward him. Grump growled, passing his tongue along a tusk. "I am a freak. A freak among trolls. A freak on Oya."

  "And a freak in Getshabal." Rahl laughed and waved the guards back. He snapped his fingers, and the blood magic vanished.

  He kept his chin high as he flipped the shovel on his back. Rahl retook his seat, kicking the dead guard off the table. "Enjoy your stay," he growled before howling for food.

  The guards lead Grump back through the city and into the tunnel. He didn't say a word along the way. He couldn't. If he spoke, the rage boiling in his blood would topple the mountain. And so, like all those terrible nights alone in the blackwoods, Grump silently stewed in his shame and bore the insults that cut deep into his heart.

  It's for her, he thought. Remember, it's all for her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Plans and Such

  Bitter rage swirled in Elyse's eyes. "When I told you the haunts loved their wine, I didn't think you'd offer to cure their crop for them! And you got nothing from the bargain but a flimsy, foolish guarantee for your own safety?"

  The little girl sharing the prison bit her lip and pressed her back against the iron bars. Elyse reached over and gently patted the girl's head. "He'll just kill you once you do it. You're not so witless as to be blind to that fact. Haunts have no honor. They care for no one but themselves, much like trolls, apparently."

  Grump squatted in a suspended cage that creaked and groaned with the slightest twitch of his muscles. The iron prison swung over the void surrounding the platform. Dust and pebbles from the shadowed ceiling clattered around him. He frowned, cradling Rose's satchel in his arms, her warm body hidden in the woven reeds of his makeshift bag. "I'll think of something. Don't you worry your pretty head, human."

  Boil's cage jostled as the little goblin turned to his side. Drool snaked its way down his jaw. He muttered something incomprehensible and yawned. How the greenskin got such good rest in such a foul place was beyond Grump. He didn't know if he envied the goblin for it or just wanted to add it to the growing list of things about Boil that annoyed him.

  Across the platform, the humans clustered together in their cages, too tired to care about the monster sharing their prison, save for Elyse. When Grump had told them what happened in the chief's hall, the hope in their eyes dimmed to a sad acceptance. Not Elyse. Those eyes of hers burned bright enough for the rest.

  "Well, if it's anything like your last brilliant plan, I'm terrified what it would mean for us," she snapped.

  "They've got bad vine rot," he mused. "Easy enough to cure. Ridge poppies grow this high. Bet I could find some grey clovers, too. Then all I'd need is a good mix of moonshine yarrow root and some crushed fair feather sage to make sure the grapes didn't turn bitter, and that'd be that. Where did Rahl get these seeds from? How'd he get them to grow so high?"

  "Are you seriously wondering about his damned grapes? You're just going to cure them and that'd be that?"

  "In exchange for my freedom, yes, that'd be that. He wasn't too keen on keeping me alive otherwise, and I had to think fast. Nearly took my things, too, but thank the ancestors that never happened. If he found...." Grump's voice trailed off. Better not let these humans learn about Rose. He could only imagine what wild theories they might conjure up if they knew he carried an infant.

  Elyse leaned closer to her bars, and the chain holding her cage creaked. "Found wh
at?"

  Grump tapped his fist against his chest, clearing his throat. "If he found my gardening supplies, it might've given him clues to the cure. How's a haunt with a vineyard that size not know the cure to vine rot?"

  "Because he didn't grow that vineyard." Elyse's jaw flexed. She looked to the side, grabbing a piece of her matted hair. "Haunts know their caves and their blood magic and not much else. I—we grew the vineyard for them, once they enriched the soil with their spells and built the mirrors to warm the earth with sunlight. Rahl set the task to us."

  "You grew it, huh? Not a bad job, even if the setup is amateurish." Grump idly ran a knuckle down an iron bar. It'd been a long time since a cage held him at bay. Maybe this one with its blood magic could hold the full force of his Hunger. He hoped—prayed—he would never have to test the theory.

  His scar tingled, and he blinked away the memories. "Why'd you go about making these haunts into a bunch of drunks?"

  "It was a good plan, don't you think? If they're drinking, they're not killing. If they're drinking, they're not about their wits." Her knuckles whitened as she balled her hands into trembling fists. "They killed so many of us in the beginning. Their screams ... Sometimes, I still hear their screams in my dreams."

  The humans wallowing inside their cages nodded solemnly. A little boy wrapped his arms around a sickly man stuffed in the cage with him. The girl in Elyse's prison tucked her knees against her chest and buried her face between her legs.

  Grump ran his tongue up one of his tusks. "How'd a bunch of fair folk come to be slaves of haunts? Even I know the Winding Road's the one safe road through the Ridge. And your people bloody control it!"

  "War came to the lands of the West," Elyse said. She dipped her chin and stared at the patchwork cuts and bruises on her feet. "The alliance that held the West Gate crumbled when an archduke of Wren was assassinated by the blackthorns, and a few small skirmishes quickly escalated to open war. The armies of Wren and the Vosh Empire captured or killed anyone who tried to take the road, fearing it might be a trick by the other to gain the upper hand. It's easy enough to catch a trading caravan or soldiers marching on horseback, but I thought a small group of us on foot, under cover of night, might make it to through the gate unmolested by knights and mercenaries."