Bearers of the Black Staff

He paused. He was struggling with his words now. “My family’s bloodlines are Panther’s, come down to me through generations. Others gave up caring about their ancestry. It is enough for them that they are Trolls. Not my family. Not me. I know the truth. I know that to be related is a difference. It is not meant for people to be apart and not care. The world is not a place where no one should care for anyone. It is a place where all are part of one family, all are related, all belong to what remains of what is long past, of what was lost to the wars.”


He looked at them in turn, measuring them. “It is my belief, but maybe not yours. But I think so.” He paused. “You say you know the story of Panther and the girl. Tell me if I am right. Were your ancestors called Ghosts at one time?”

Panterra and Prue exchanged a long look. It was hard to know what to do here, hard to be certain what should be revealed. Pan wanted to trust this Troll who had done so much to help them—or so it seemed, anyway—but was afraid that anything he gave away might come back to haunt him. In the end, he went with his heart.

“There is talk within our families, a claim made by those who feel most strongly about it, that both of us can trace our ancestries back to those who were called Ghosts,” Panterra ventured, choosing his words carefully. “Prue’s own claim is the stronger. She has the sight, the ability to sense danger when it cannot be seen. One of those children who traveled with the Hawk also possessed that sense. But there are no written records. No one can do more than make the claim. No one knows for sure.”

“Still, whether we are direct descendants or not doesn’t matter,” Prue added quickly, indicating the three of them. “You are right, Arik Sarn. We are still family. We come from the blood of the same small group of travelers. We are here because of them. We share a common history, a common story. Perhaps that is enough in a world where everyone is starting over.”

“Not for everyone,” the Troll said quietly. “Not for Taureq Siq. Or for his tribe. A year’s time among the Drouj taught me this. It is not the same with my people or the other Troll tribes. The Drouj think they are a people of destiny, meant to dominate the rest of us. Taureq’s private ambitions are these; I hear him speak of it many times. I listen, understand, say nothing. But there is no mistaking. His army will do to your people what it has already does to other Troll tribes. His conviction is that he must rule, and he follows that path.”

Panterra grimaced. “Where have we heard that before? That was the fate of the old world, the fuel that fed the fires of the Great Wars. Has no one learned anything? Those who ignore the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them in the future, but no one believes it.”

Sarn glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure they were still alone. “I choose to help you because the Drouj are wrong. My people are not strong; they give way to him. Maybe all the tribes together are not strong enough to stop him. But your people should not be destroyed. Maybe they can flee, maybe hide. They should be given the chance.”

“If we can get out of here and warn them, they will,” Panterra promised, wondering at the same time just exactly what they would do.

“We should start by finding Sider,” Prue started to say, stopping as she heard the sound of voices approaching from without.

The tent flap was thrown back, and Grosha stood in the opening. Arik Sarn was already on his feet and had assumed a position of dominance over the prisoners, as if he were in the act of questioning them. A fierce exchange took place between the cousins, the meaning of which the boy and the girl could not understand, but the tone of which was unmistakable.

“Stay here until I return,” Sarn advised them abruptly. “Do what you are told.”

He went out through the open flap without saying more, close on the heels of his cousin. Panterra and Prue felt their frail hopes of freedom go with him.



MORE THAN A MILE AWAY, safely removed from the sprawling Lizard encampment, Phryne Amarantyne crouched in the concealing shelter of a cluster of rocks atop a ridgeline that allowed her a perfect view of the camp below. The barren depression in which the Lizards had settled themselves was flat and wide and empty of any sort of cover. It told the brothers Orullian, who were familiar with this sort of thing, several important facts about the Lizards. First and foremost was that they considered themselves safe in an unprotected position, so they believed either that no enemy force large enough to challenge them was anywhere close, or that no such force even existed. Second, but of equal importance, this was an army on the move; even if something unexpected did threaten, the Lizards felt they were equipped to deal with it.

So any attempt at getting closer would be foolhardy, especially in daylight, which it now was and had been for the better part of six hours. A clear view of what was happening—of comings and goings that might involve their friends, in particular—was as much as they could hope for until it got dark.