yraf frowned and turned from the examination slab. He'd let his anger rob him of valuable information; his study of the Westmarch Troll had revealed that there had been an unusual form of magic buried deep within, a rare fire-spell which (he thought) had some basis in the variety of sorcery usually associated with dragons. In the process of interrogating the subject to determine how the spell was triggered, his innate dislike for Trolls had surfaced, with the usual result. He gestured curtly to Jacyn; the lieutenant signalled to the Human attendants, who began collecting the pieces and mopping up the blood.
"We're running out of subjects." Jacyn offered. "Maybe that would be the most, ah, expedient solution to the problem; when we don't have any Trolls in our prisons, we won't have a security risk." Inwardly, Jacyn was quite content to live and let live – he had nothing personally against the Trolls – but when in Pyraf's presence, he knew which opinions to express and which to hide.
Pyraf shook his head curtly. "There's something here which purports to elude me, and I'm not fond of the notion that the Westmarch Trolls are trying to make fun of me. It's not... polite." Pyraf stalked to the far side of the room, hands behind his back, to examine a map showing the territories the Elves had claimed from the Trolls in recent months. "Hmmm... the Westmarch Keep was the last one we took, correct?" Jacyn made a vague sound of assent. "Would you say that it was a particularly easy conquest?"
"Can't say, sir. I was with the Eastern Battalions." Pyraf stood, lost in thought. He had an inkling as to what might be going on, but it implied a degree of cunning and magical skill on the part of the Trolls that he couldn't reconcile with his low opinion of them. "No... they just aren't that clever..." he muttered, then he froze. His eyes narrowed, and he snapped his fingers. "A-HA!"
"Sir?"
Pyraf turned, his raised index finger quivering. "Zarrow – the Red Sorcerer of Cerbia. He was known to be acting as a consultant for the Trolls, just before they finished with the Humans... and it's known that he has a penchant for fire spells." Pyraf turned away, lost in thought. "I should have killed that pompous Human fool while I had the chance..." Jacyn approached, trying to think of a way of interrupting his captain without getting any closer than necessary.
There was a knock at the door. A page entered and handed a message to Pyraf. "From the King." The page bowed and made his exit. Pyraf opened the scroll, read the contents. His face was completely blank; he tossed the scroll into the fire and watched as it burned. Suddenly, he snatched up a brightly polished bronze shield, turned and ran from the room. Jacyn paused only for a moment before following, at a distance.
Tryssa straightened Kulyar's tunic and brushed a few specks of lint from his shoulder. She stood back, regarded him and sighed. "It's no good... you still look like a Troll."
Kulyar protested, "But, Mistress... I am a Troll."
"I know that... my father has never been what you could describe as partial to Trolls, and I'd like you to make a good impression when I present you."
Kulyar's eyes widened. "The King of the Elves is coming here?"
Tryssa turned back to her mirror and allowed Kulyar to continue brushing her hair. "He will be here in less than half an hour."
Kulyar had an odd glint in his eye. "I've never met an Elven King..." he said absently.
Tryssa patted at the flowing silver glory of her hair, and stood. "Well, you're about to. Come along, Troll... we'll watch from the upper gallery as he rides by, and then descend to the courtyard to welcome him."
Jacyn knocked on the door of Synda's work-rooms. The Elf appeared after a short delay, desultorily rubbing her sleepy eyes, brightening when she recognised her visitor. "Hello, Lieutenant," she offered as he pushed past her and closed the door behind him. She gave him a quizzical look as he bolted the door behind him and ushered her over to her work-bench. "Tell me what you know about the works of Zarrow the Red." he asked curtly.
Synda said nothing for a moment, absorbed in thought. Then, her eyes narrowed. "He's a pioneer in the field of Dragon Sorcery. The first to successfully encapsulate Dragon-fire in a living subject, for later release, as a weapon. It proved too time-consuming to be used as a general battle-field weapon –"
"– But not too expensive for assassination." Jacyn finished.
Synda snapped her fingers in exasperation. "I should have recognised it! The reason Tryssa's slave can't perform magic – his mana is tied up in containing a large quantity of Dragon-fire. It's probably held with a subconscious compulsion to release if he ever gets near his target."
Jacyn clenched his fists. "That filthy Troll... and to think, I trusted him."
Synda gave the Lieutenant a dour look. "I don't think Kulyar is aware of it. No-one – not even a fanatical assassin – would willingly become a container for Dragon-fire. It's worse than suicidal... it's the sort of thing a Human would do."
Jacyn paused for a moment, then said slowly, "Pyraf knows this... but he didn't command a large force to capture the Troll... he went off by himself. With a copper shield."
Synda snorted. "That won't stop Dragon-fire..."
"...but it will look as if he tried..."
"...tried, and failed?"
Jacyn gulped. "I'll summon the guard."
Jacyn found Pyraf in the courtyard, glancing about with an experienced eye. He joined the Elven Captain, following a few paces behind, trying to establish what he was looking for. Pyraf was staring up at the upper gallery.
"Lieutenant... if you were going to attack the King as he rode by, where would you be likely to station yourself?" Without waiting for an answer, Pyraf drew his sword and strode off towards the gallery steps. Jacyn made to follow, but was stopped by Prince Sephayr as he rode in through the open gates. The prince reigned up his horse, jumped from the saddle and greeted the Lieutenant.
"The King arrives momentarily."
"Captain Pyraf suspects an assassination plot," Jacyn informed him breathlessly. Sephayr looked about him and immediately spotted the upper gallery, where Kulyar and Tryssa were emerging from the far entrance just as Pyraf attained that level.
Pyraf strode towards them, his sword drawn, shield to one side, eyes glittering with hatred. Kulyar automatically moved in front of Tryssa and folded his arms, an impassable barrier. "I should have done this long ago, Troll... but there's something I need you to do for me, first." Pyraf hissed, his tone conveying the depth of his antipathy. Just then, a fanfare sounded from below, and the Elven King's retinue rode into the courtyard. Kulyar's attention jerked to the right, and a golden-red gleam flickered behind his eyes. As the King rode in, Kulyar's body went completely rigid; Pyraf stepped forward with the obvious intention of separating the Troll's head from his shoulders, but with a titanic effort Kulyar turned back to face him, a ferocious grin distorting his features. Pyraf snarled and raised the shield. The Troll's fanged mouth yawned wide, and with a roar, a stream of golden fire issued forth, hit the shield, passed straight through it and struck Pyraf in the chest, forcing him back. Tryssa protected her face from the intense heat and retreated to the stair-well; stiff-legged, Kulyar strode forward, playing the stream of fire up and down, from Pyraf's head to his knees. The Dragon-Spell reached a peak and then suddenly faded; for a moment, Pyraf stood wrapped in a wreath of golden-red flame which leaped in streams from his sides and back to his body; then, he shrieked and leaped from the balcony, falling to hit the courtyard stones with a broken thump. He kicked for a few moments, but fell motionless as the energy ate the flesh from his bones. The King's horse rode up and stepped over the smoking remains.
Tryssa ran up to her father as he dismounted, closely followed by Lieutenant Jacyn, Prince Sephayr and a company of Elven guards. The King held his arms out and embraced her, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around, laughing. After she had been set down again, she nudged Jacyn in the ribs and muttered to him, "You've been promoted, Captain." The King exchanged greetings with Jacyn and the other Elven courtiers that now joined them. "That was an interesting fireworks display just then," he commented wryly. "Pyraf's doing?" Tryssa giggled.
That evening at the feast, Tryssa dragged Kulyar into the banquet hall, over to the head of the table where her father was discussing recent political events with Sephayr and Captain Jacyn. The Elven King looked up in surprise. "What's this?"
Tryssa smiled proudly. "He's my pet Troll, daddy!"
The King frowned and shook his head. "I'm afraid you won't be able to keep him, dearest," he replied gravely. Tryssa's face fell; she was about to launch into her prepared speech when the King continued; "not since King Gargamon of the Trolls sued for peace. We've signed a mutual non-aggression pact, which, in part, calls for the release and exchange of all prisoners."
Kulyar's jaw dropped. "Does that mean... you're going to kick me out?" he managed.
Tryssa threw her arms around him protectively. "You can't do that! He's mine!"
Kulyar glanced down in surprise, and then found his voice. "That's right, I'm hers!"
Sephayr grinned, and then had an idea. "You held the rank of Captain with the Trolls, didn't you, Kulyar?" The Troll nodded. "Then, you could be accepted as an Ambassador..."
Jacyn glanced at the prince in surprise, and then caught on, "Oh, of course," he put in, "Minister Plenipotentiary... diplomatic immunity, and all that... he'd be admirably suited to comment on the conditions of the former prisoners in our dungeons," he added with a grin. Kulyar stared at Jacyn, and then Sephayr, who winked at him. They all waited as Kulyar absorbed the idea.
"I suppose..." he began, "I'd have to learn how to read and write..."
The King waved his hand in a gesture of polite dismissal. "Not at all! That's what clerics are for! Right, Captain?" he laughed, nudging Jacyn, who turned red.
Tryssa put on her most hopeful expression and asked, in her best little-girl voice, "So – can I keep him, daddy?"
The King gestured magnanimously. "He's yours.' Tryssa yelled with glee, jumped up and hugged Kulyar, almost knocking him over. She dragged him back to her place at the table, where kitchen staff brought a large wooden stool over for him. Kulyar sat next to Tryssa and poured a goblet of wine for her; a servant placed a platter with a smoking haunch of meat before the Troll, who licked his lips.
Tryssa regarded it dubiously. "I don't want to know."
The banquet lasted well into the night, as Elven banquets do; however, just before the hour of midnight, Tryssa took her slave by the hand and led him away. "Come along, Minister,' she said, `there are some matters of state I wish to discuss with you."
"Yes, Princess," he replied meekly.
All work on this site is © Nikolai Kingsley unless otherwise stated.