~

Chapter Twelve

~

The cushion inside my boot helped a bit. The hike back to the Hamlet would still be uncomfortable. The trolling escortin’ me didn’t have much to say. I should take the opportunity to ask questions of a troll without an agenda.

“Ya make it to the East Slope often?” I asked in Trollish. Cool. No pauses disconnected my thoughts.

She looked up with an expression screamin’ that I’m as stupid as a slab of granite. What was that about? Don’t trolls teach their younglings to respect their elders? I’m not an old fart, but really. I tried it again. “Just wonderin’ if the average troll got to see the blue sky very often.”

She gave me another scowl.

O—kay.

She pointed to a granite sheet, what they consider a door, ten feet away, turned and left me standin’ alone. Guess she got me close enough to my “suite”. Suites outside of the mountain usually include a TV, full bath, desk, armchair maybe, and more importantly, a real bed with sheets, blankets and a couple pillows.

The scooped-out, twelve-foot-long plank covered in smooth river gravel lacked a sense of civilization I cared to often repeat. At least it was drier and less lumpy than sleepin’ under a tree wrapped in a poncho.

Truthfully, lyin’ on my sheepskin made it feel reasonably comfortable. But, one thin’ that must be true about trolls, they don’t spoil ’emselves with creature comforts. That attorney’s office chairs were pretty comfy, though.

I stood considerin’ a nap on that gravel when my suite door pushed inward and a new trolling waved me to follow him. We collected Nuel in a library that shocked me some, and the trolling headed out again.

A few carved granite stairways later we entered a cavernous chamber lit by chandeliers danglin’ thirty feet in the air above us, and faced the breadth of the Troll Council. Had never seen so much white in dreadlocks at once in my life, jowls danglin’ below chins, earlobes like droopy goose eggs.

“I still say they don’t belong here,” an angry troll voice rumbled.

I counted another dozen uncivilized remarks, odd since only nine ancient trolls sat behind the archin’ granite altar facin’ us, peerin’ at us from behind those old-style gold desk lamps with the green shades. Ha. They sat in nice, comfortable, human-style but troll-sized leather executive armchairs.

More than a score of attorney-lookin’ folk lined the wall behind them at their own executive desks, in ergonomically sculptured rollin’ chairs. So some legal barracudas didn’t want us here either.

We weren’t welcomed to sit. There were no chairs facin’ the council. Guess they don’t like petitioners gettin’ overly comfortable.

“Yar proposal doesn’t disgust us,” a less-than-ancient troll hen to the left began, quietin’ the grumblin’. “We’ll want to see a contract in writin’ before we progress. Yar kind in the past haven’t proven to be incredibly trustworthy.”

That was rude.

“But since yar proposal today is only to acquire contacts to communicate with our Northern brothers, the council has narrowly voted to move forward. Our attorneys will contact Ike son of Bliar. Please find yar way out of our home before sunset.”

Hard to tell where the sun is, inside this mountain. I found myself lookin’ at my watch. Two PM. No wonder I’m hungry.

Another voice boomed from the council. Made me jerk. “If the documents ya shared with us turn out to be bogus, yar Black Lake Council will find itself defendin’ a suit that will bankrupt ’em. And place ’em at odds with the humans it claims to thwart. Be embarrassin’ in the extreme.”

“Really,” a softer hen voice hawed. “Are threats appropriate here?”

The other troll answered quickly, with a tad of volume, maybe irritation. “Best they know we’re not gonna accept any subterfuge.”

Another bull to the right said, “No mistakin’ we resent the overhanded way yar council has treated the entire Range as their private little sanctuary.”

No way I was gonna respond to any of that. Let the bureaucrats deal with it. Before I could escape, a troll wearin’ a staid suit—for a troll—strode toward me and maybe a little sweat beaded my forehead. But oddly he reached out his hand in the human way, which I shook.

Uh. What?

I got over my surprise and grabbed at Nuel’s wrist as her lips separated to allow her blabberin’ to commence. I squeezed hard to get my point across.

I rushed to say, “We appreciate ya hearin’ us on this matter and look forward to positive and successful cooperation goin’ forward.”

~

Nuel

~

The idjit physically dragged me from the chamber. He may have only pulled me by the wrist, but it would have been humiliatin’ if I’d openly fought him. I didn’t know whether to scream at the rude councilors, or punch Kriz in the throat. How dare he keep me from talkin’. I got us here, the twerp.

“Seethe all ya want, hen,” he whispered near my ear. “But the deal is done, as are we. Time to get on the trail.”

“Hen? Ya misogynist horse’s patoot. I’ll—” Uh, didn’t know what I’d do to him. “I’ll—” Still nothin’ came to me. I’d get him back, though.

The trolling escortin’ us to wherever, hopefully our suites to gather our kits, chortled, I guess enjoyin’ our discord.

I got out, “Would it have hurt to ask if we could leave first thin’ in the mornin’?”

The idjit said, “Don’t want to sleep on gravel another night.”

“Why are ya speakin’ Trollish?” After a pause I added, “And why aren’t ya stuttering?”