~

Chapter Five

~

The bull had been given two years of probation and exiled from the Range for five years. Probation for us is a threat to keep yar nose clean. More or less a meanin’less word to us. Not an iota of crime in the Range, so we don’t even have a jail cell. Never needed a judge or criminal attorney.

I remember a child’s tale, of a root cellar temporarily housin’ some miscreant while a decision was made. Pretty sure the evildoer was quickly escorted from the Range. Explained they weren’t welcome to return. Ever.

No human could appreciate the severity of exile for us. I hate Ike for drawin’ me from the Lake to work on the Plain temporarily. Ripped from family for five years? That’s as bad as the same period in a Northern penitentiary. Family is important to us. Not sharin’ ma’s vittles on a Friday evenin’ is near a capital offense.

Jam hadn’t appeared too conflicted about the humans wantin’ to take the bull North for human judgment. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t understand. He’s lived his life in the human fashion. In the North. Clearly no one north of the plains understands the gravity of bein’ called—beast.

It spews viscerally from an eon ago, the racism that spawned the war between the species to begin with. That humans can’t understand the vehemence of the slur proves they’re witless. Why they can’t be allowed to judge ogre, troll, daemon, or goblin.

A gnat gnawin’ on my ear brought me back to the discussion. No, it was just Nuel’s voice.

“What do these Northern marshals expect to accomplish?” Nuel asked.

“War, if they’re not careful,” Bliar answered.

“Are they truly tryin’ to search lakeside residences?” Jam asked.

“They’ve pulled guns on us.” Anger gushed from the bull’s every pore.

Jam was askin’ somethin’ about the council leader but my mind was workin’ more tactically. Somethin’ oozed out of my mouth. Somethin’ about destroyin’ their helicopters. Give ’em pause, when they realized they didn’t have a way out of the Range. Surrounded by ticked off beasts.

Bliar hit his brakes and pulled to the shoulder. My seat belt gave me a good pinch; gravel trundled the undercarriage. Uncle stared forward a good ten-beat, before laughin’. A sound right out of a B movie. He glanced at me hard, eyes a bit wild.

“No,” Nuel hissed. “That’ll escalate the situation.”

“They—the ones—”

“Steppin’ on our soil like they own the place,” Bliar continued for me, though that wasn’t exactly the words I had in mind. “Stompin’ on our sovereign rights, our border, as though we’re too stupid to handle our own affairs.” The volume inched up with every syllable.

Good response. A tad late. But appropriate.

I would have added, that any human enterin’ the Range better be prepared to adhere to our laws and judgment. That idjit got by easy with just a beat down. My personal opinion.

Bliar pulled his cell from his center column and speed dialed someone, who he initiated a conversation with in Ogrish. Not Standish. These days few of us regularly speak Ogrish. May hear Trollish now and then, but really— I hadn’t heard Ogrish since the last clan hoedown on the West Slope. When was that?

Though a bull may speak a bit raunchy in Ogrish now and then.

“What’s he sayin’?” Jam demanded. The Northerner should’ve learned Ogrish. Not as soft as Standish, but a beautiful language.

Nuel didn’t answer. I had too big a grin on my face to talk, which everyone knows I’m not good at to begin with. After a good minute, Bliar hung up his call I guess, sat quietly for a bit more, takin’ a bunch of slow breaths. Acceptin’ thin’s, maybe.

Acknowledgin’ what he’d done was both right, and unwise. Then he put the truck in reverse, backed toward the airport slowly.

“This doesn’t bode well,” Nuel murmured at least twenty times.

“What?” Jam shouted. Hurt my ears.

Bliar stopped the truck when he cleared the curve and the heliport was in view. He turned off the engine and stepped out. I considered lettin’ my imagination paint the picture, but as the moments passed, I opted to get out and watch with the others. It had been a while since I’d enjoyed the good smell of pine anyway, listened to their whisperin’ tease. Not a lot of trees of any kind on the Plain, except craggy thin’s along the piddlin’ crick near Ike’s place. More a dry gully.

A quarter mile away, it appeared an ogre stood on top of a tanker truck, black hose in hand. Couldn’t see the aviation fuel spewin’ across the body of the first helicopter, but my mind filled in the blanks. A few seconds later the truck moved to the next and the next. When it pulled away, someone could clearly be seen tossin’ somethin’ with a flame flutterin’ from it onto a helo before he sprinted for his life.

The fromm was discernible from our vantage point. We stood silently watchin’ the fire leap from one craft to the next, until an enormous explosion filled the sky with engine and body parts, fragments of windshield, a giant cog. A second explosion and a propeller-thin’ arched through the air.

Forest fire. Struck me. We’d had a fairly dry autumn.

“Holey moley,” Jam muttered. Yep, quite the conflagration.

The fuel tanks of the last two craft ignited, I guess. Black soot spiraled into the otherwise clear blue-blue sky.

“That’ll be visible throughout the range,” Nuel muttered. She sounded sad about it.

I said, “Yeah,” and laughed.

My eyes continued to watch the near woods. Please don’t light up. Please don’t light up. Ogres aren’t crazy-crazy about trees like elves, but— Every tree is next to another, leadin’ to the Hamlet and beyond.

~

Nuel

~

The fire entertained the simple-minded bulls. The idjit even mumbled somethin’ about marshmallows. My stomach twisted a bit more every minute. The smoke billowed. The soot circled. The fire’s intensity etched my eyes. We should leave. There would be repercussions to deal with. I continued to jab Bliar with looks, urgin’ him to get us out of here. He seemed more interested in takin’ in the party environment surroundin’ the terminal where more than a few fists pumped the air.

Dancin’ commenced in earnest. Music had to be blastin’.

The idjit focused a lot on the trees near the fires. Oh, yeah. That would be bad. But as the connected fires burned, there weren’t embers flyin’ about, as ya’d watch above a campfire. Appeared there was plenty buffer between the inferno and the forest. The only thin’ good about this. There was certainly an acidic, sour bite in the air.

I stepped close enough to Bliar to blow in his ear. “This was a bad idea. Insult aside, those thin’s have to cost a half million bucks apiece.”

He looked up at me. Funny how the patriarchs of Ike’s clan are almost diminutive. His face graced a grin.

“And more,” the idjit said.

Bliar continued to smirk as a rush of vehicles neared. Olive green. Airport rentals. Each pulled up, not botherin’ to edge onto the shoulder. But then there wouldn’t be any fire engines speedin’ here from the Hamlet to help put out the fire. Even the airport’s fire marshal didn’t bother to open the doors of the station.

Humans exited the OM vehicles, like clowns from circus cars. Could they even see over the dash of an OM? No way the rental place had been out of human-sized cars, especially this late in the season—which is its own hilarious joke.

There was an even scatter of black-suited gents and gray-uniformed officers with small cannons hangin’ from the belts across their hips. Blair must have been well known among ’em, because they all proceeded to descend upon us.

Uh oh.

As a cannon drew from a holster, Jam jetted forward. I didn’t know trolls could move that fast. They mostly sling along with those long legs of theirs. Pretty sure a hand got mauled together with fancy blued steel, before Jam backhanded the poor gent, who flew a good twenty-five feet, into the edge of the forest. Another and another officer met the same fate before what looked like the elder of the black suits raised his hands in the air and shouted about a hundred rapid-fire nos.

I found myself protectively standin’ in front of Bliar. Didn’t remember movin’, and I’m certain Bliar didn’t. To my right, the idjit, lookin’ more fearsome than I’d ever expect. Jam cleared his throat, the only sound for a good ten-count. Head twisted left and right, almost invitin’ another human to draw a weapon.

A half-screech half-groan emitted from the trees.

“You. Have. Gone too far,” the human black-suited elder screamed. I first thought he directed his ire at me, but I stood in front of Bliar, so the much shorter human probably couldn’t even see the bull.

Bliar stepped between me and Kriz. He pointed a long finger at the human who shook with anger.

“Ya’re talkin’ to the ogre that will help ya get home. Avoid a lynchin’. Don’t say anythin’ ya’ll regret.”

“You can’t imagine the destruction I will bring down on you—people.” He didn’t say beasts, but the intent painted his face.

Jam must have been sorely offended.

And cops are trained to contain their ire, I think. I didn’t see the troll’s long arm stretch, hand reach the human’s head, but it, just the head, flew over the other humans a moment later, scatterin’ blood over everyone. Everywhere.

It was gross. I may have gacked. Pretty sure the head bounced pinball-like against several trees before the chaos continued among our little confab. The four of us were on the remainin’ humans like stink on a two-week carcass. Heads crunched together. Bodies bounced.

Five seconds, no more, the only noise was the groans of one partially conscious human at our feet. Maybe another out in the woods.