Bearers of the Black Staff

There was a sudden flurry of activity from just outside the chamber’s closed flap, and Arik Sarn stood quickly and turned. A moment later a Troll’s flat-featured face poked through, and the Troll spoke quickly to Sarn in their by-now-familiar guttural language. The latter nodded and gestured the messenger away. “They come for you. Stand up and meet them as equals. Show no fear; do as I told you.”


Panterra had no idea how they were supposed to avoid showing fear when they were captives in a camp of thousands of Trolls, any of whom might choose to kill them with not much more than a momentary thought. But he took Prue’s hand in his own and stood with her, facing the tent flap, holding himself erect. Sarn gave them a quick glance and then stepped to one side, distancing himself by doing so. It seemed an ominous sign.

“Watch me closely,” Arik Sarn said quickly.

The sounds of footfalls and voices entering the outer portion of the tent froze them in place. Seconds later the tent flap was thrown back, and a clutch of armored black bodies strode through the opening and came to a halt. Panterra knew at once which of them was Taureq Siq just from the obvious deference paid him by all but one of the other Trolls who accompanied him. It was in their body language and their silence, but mostly it was in the way he dominated the room. Trolls were large to begin with, but Taureq Siq was a giant, standing fully eight feet tall and weighing well over three hundred pounds, all of it looking to Pan as if it were muscle and bone. Only Grosha, dark-browed and cold-eyed, standing at his father’s right hand, showed no hesitation at crowding forward and then launching into a diatribe that was accompanied by angry gestures toward Panterra and Prue and his cousin. His father let him go on for a moment before backing him away with one massive arm and a single sharp command that turned the furious boy silent.

He took a step forward so that he stood at the forefront of the little assembly and close to the boy and the girl. His huge body was layered with scales as thick and rough as bark looming over them like a tree trunk, and his flat, empty face was ridged with scars. He studied them, letting the silence build for a moment before he shifted his gaze to his nephew and asked a quick question. Sarn answered briefly, and then there was a further exchange.

“Taureq says to tell him where you come from,” he said quietly.

Panterra took a deep breath. “We come from deep in the mountains east of these plains. Those mountains are our home.”

Another quick exchange among the Trolls followed. “Taureq says to tell him if you are a nation of Men only or of others, too.”

“We are a nation of mixed Races. Men, Elves, Trolls”—he was quick to remember that the word Lizards was not to be used—“and Spiders.”

Another exchange followed this translation. “How many?”

“Hundreds of thousands,” Panterra lied.

There was a pause after his answer was given, then a flurry of words from the Maturen. “Taureq never heard of you. Why not, if your people are so many? Why live in the mountains and not in the grasslands south?”

Again, Panterra answered, embellishing the truth where it was needed. They had not come out of the mountains until now because they did not know if it was safe to do so or if the rest of the world had been destroyed. They were happy isolating themselves. They had found a home that could sustain them and that they could protect. He went on from there. He made it sound as if they were self-sufficient and well fortified against intruders, a united community of friends and neighbors deeply entrenched inside mountain passes only they knew how to navigate. He had no idea if he was saying the right thing; he only knew he needed to give the impression that an intrusion or attack of any sort would be a mistake.

Then, abruptly, the questions stopped. Taureq Siq stood quietly, looking at Panterra. He seemed to be considering. Pan waited, keeping his face expressionless, trying to convey a sense of calm. But as the seconds passed, he sensed in the spaces between their soft, slow fading that he had made a mistake.

As if in response to his fears, Taureq Siq made a quick, dismissive comment, and Arik Sarn turned to Pan and said, “He says you are lying. He wants to know why.”

Panterra felt his throat tighten as he struggled to find the right response. “I don’t lie. But I am worried that he intends to use his army to invade us and want to make clear that we are a poor choice for an attack.”

A further exchange between Trolls followed. “He says no harm will come to your people, but you should not lie to him because if you do he will take his army into the mountains and find your people and kill them, but first he will kill you and the girl.”