Bearers of the Black Staff

All at once the Lizard began shouting at them, so furious that he was spitting. His words were indecipherable, although it seemed that he was asking them questions, demanding that they answer. Both pulled back in the face of his wrath, unable to respond in any other way. Furious, he kicked Pan in the ribs, glared at them one last time, and turned back to the other Lizard, shouting now at him.

The taller one walked over to join him, taking his time. The build of his body and the definition of his facial features suggested he was older, more mature, and he did not seem angry like the other. He was calm as he studied them, standing with his still-furious companion, his dark eyes taking in everything about them.

Then he spoke, a few words only in their own language, and the other, after a moment’s hesitation, walked away. They saw him move over to the gimlet-eyed beasts and reach down to ruffle their ears. The beasts growled appreciatively.

The newcomer knelt next to them, bending close. “Can you understand me?” he asked, speaking their tongue in something that approached a mix of a growl and a cough.

Pan and Prue exchanged a surprised look. “How do you know our language when we don’t know yours?” Pan asked quickly. “We have Lizards where we live, but they don’t speak like you.”

“Keep your voices down!” the other snapped, glancing back over his shoulder. He paused. “We’re not Lizards. We don’t call ourselves that anymore, or allow others to call us that. We call ourselves Trolls, as in Faerie time. Call us that. Remember. Trolls!” He sounded angry.

“Trolls,” Pan repeated quickly. “Sorry. But how did you learn to speak like we do? How did you learn? Are there Men living out here?”

“Men, others. But I speak your tongue because my family kept the old language. Others mostly didn’t; they only speak Troll. But there were always two languages in our history, old and new. I can talk to you, but Grosha and the others, no.” He paused. “Who are you? What are your names?”

They gave them, speaking them in turn. “Arik Sarn,” said the other, the name all rolling, guttural sounds run together.

“Arik Sarn,” Pan repeated carefully.

“Where do you come from?” the Troll pressed. “No! No pointing! Hands down! Just answer.”

Pan hesitated. “From inside the mountains behind us.”

“Your people? A community?”

Pan nodded.

“Are there others?”

“Yes.”

“Trolls, you said. Elves, too? Other Races?”

Pan nodded again, exchanging a fresh glance with Prue. “Why do you want to know?” the girl asked impulsively.

Arik Sarn ignored the question. “How long are you in the valley?” he asked instead.

“A long time,” Pan answered. “Hundreds of years. We were brought there after the Great Wars and before the last destruction.”

The Troll caught his breath sharply. “Brought there? You were led by someone?”

“Yes.”

The Troll leaned very close, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “A boy? He was called Hawk? It was Hawk who led you?”

Panterra stared in disbelief. “How do you know about the Hawk?”

Sarn shook his head. “Later. Other things first. I am allowed to speak to you because I know your language, but Grosha will not allow it for long. Grosha Siq is my cousin. He is the son of the tribe Maturen, Taureq Siq. The tribe are Drouj, but they are not my tribe. A game of chance captured you. Grosha plays this game when he hunts. Now you belong to him. Mostly, after his Skaith Hounds have trapped prey, he gives the prey to his hounds to let them do with it whatever they want. But Men are scarce in this part, not found much. I persuaded him you must go to his father to be questioned. His father has first claim on you.”

“Skaith Hounds,” Prue repeated softly, shivering.

“Hunting beasts. Very dangerous. You would be dead, but the game requires you be alive for Grosha to view.” He glanced over his shoulder anew. “We must finish this talk. No time left. I am not so much freer than you, understand? I am part of an exchange between Maturens to assure peace between their tribes. Taureq’s eldest is with my father; I stay with Taureq. Five years I have to stay. I can do some things, but not much. I mentor Grosha, so I go along on this hunt. Good thing for you. I kept you alive, but maybe not for long.” He paused, his black eyes fixed on them. “The truth? I don’t know why I did so. Not for sure. A hunch, maybe. A foolish risk, too. But I did.”

Grosha Siq had finished playing with his pets and was coming back over to them. Arik Sarn stood up. “We’ll talk later.”