by Karen Frost
Chapter Fifteen
The Immortal
"What are they after?" Mirrin demanded to no one in particular.
She paced up and down the floor of her tent, her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her white hair flowing behind her. He eyebrows were drawn tightly together over her black eyes. She growled, "What is in the Hall of Heroes but bones and centuries of dust?"
She stopped abruptly in front of the half deer, half man monster that was her lieutenant, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing. She hissed, "Why are they there, Blackhorn? Why do they delay returning to the Green Forest?"
"Perhaps there is no reason," the creature remarked blandly. "The child has demanded it. Who knows what fantasies she has dreamed up? They will eventually return to their previous path."
The monster was sharpening a long, curved sword with a whetstone and did not look up. The sound of stone against steel rang out loudly in the silent tent.
"You think there is nothing there, then," Mirrin said.
"I think nothing. You would know better than I," the creature said evenly. "Why do you trouble yourself with these questions? They can do nothing to stop your plans."
"No," she agreed. "And yet, not knowing vexes me."
At that moment, the flap of her tent was thrown open and a satyr, a short, stocky creature with the hairy brown legs of a goat and the body of a man, stalked in. His horns were long and black and curled in two large circles around its pointed ears. His nose was large and bulbous, with a wart on one side, and his eyes were yellow with the black, oblong pupils of a goat. He made a short bow to Mirrin, balancing carefully on his legs.
"Lady, there is a disturbance in the camp," he announced in a voice that bleated like a goat.
"What is it now?" Mirrin snapped.
"The trolls have begun to fight," he replied.
"And?" Mirrin asked impatiently.
The satyr blinked, confused. He looked to Blackhorn for help. The monster set down his sword carefully.
"They must be stopped or else the fighting will spread," Blackhorn explained smoothly. "For now the army is content with burning buildings and tearing down Tarah's walls, but without a true enemy to fight, soon it will begin to fight itself. These creatures are not accustomed to being yoked together and kept in one place. They will tear each other to shreds without constant supervision."
"Foolish monsters!" Mirrin exclaimed in exasperation. "Can they not see that their patience will be rewarded by far greater things? Only a few days more and then they may drink their fill of enemies and destruction. I will give them the King of Tarah and all his men. There is no greater prize!"
"These monsters are impatient. They live to fight and destroy," Blackhorn said blandly. "Trolls cannot see an hour ahead of them, much less several days. It is the nature of trolls."
Mirrin's mouth quirked into a frown. She said, "I will see to the trolls. It is only a short while longer and I will have no more need of them anyway."