Page 13 of Enslaved

“Go for it.” The Prince spreads his arms wide, his chin lifting. “But let Khas and the others go.”

Anj brandishes his blade.

“No!” I cry and take a lunging step, entirely without plan, only knowing I cannot stand by and watch whatever is about to happen. Before I can take a second step, however, a hand falls on my shoulder. A very large, stone hand, which anchors me in place. I wrench around, stare up at the formidable figure of Umog Grush.

The priestess steps out from the cave like a rolling boulder, massive, covered in lichen, but otherwise naked save for her necklace of crystals and skulls. She plants herself squarely in front of the temple and surveys the gathering from beneath the deep ledge of her brow. Her eyes spark like blood diamonds in the crystals light.

Then she looks straight at Anj. “Stand down, boy.”

The pale man takes a step back before throwing back his head and declaring, “All that I do, I do in the name of the Deeper Dark! I want only—”

“It’s high time you stopped worrying about the needs of the Deeper Dark and started worrying about the needs of your fellow trollfolk.” Grush’s voice swallows up any further protests. She’s simply too big, too old, too ugly, and terrible. Anj’s followers draw back several paces. Several drop to their knees. She sweeps her gaze across them and raises her sapling staff. Its crystal flashes a sudden brilliant red.

“We are trolls,” she declares. “Trolls live with the advent of coming doom looming over our heads. So we have lived since before the Sundering, back in the days of kings. So we have lived ever since the breaking of our world. The doom poised over our city of Valthurg is no new thing. Only the form which that doom takes has changed. We will survive. As we always have. But.” Here she brings her staff down, cracking sharp against the ground. “But I would rather see us thrive. Let us not revert fully to the stone before our time.” She points the crystal at the end of her staff straight at Anj, illuminating his white skin in harsh, crimson glow. “If you wish to become stone, Anj, you are free to go and do so, and take your friends with you. Meanwhile, the rest of us shall work toward a more prosperous future.”

Anj looks as though he wants to protest. But in the face of his priestess, he dares not speak. Instead he bows his head.

Grush grunts and turns to the Prince. “Do you speak the truth, elfkin? Will you turn the rule of this city over to trolls within the next ten turns of the cycle?”

“So long as the Noswraiths are contained and my work in the library is not interfered with. Yes.”

“And you have the means by which to honor this promise?”

“Not at the moment I don’t.”

The old priestess’s lip curls. “And will you ever?”

He swallows. His complexion is paler than before, almost green around the edges. But he nods. “I can make no guarantees, greatumog.I can only swear that I will work tirelessly to bring about the liberation of Vespre by whatever means are within my reach.”

Slowly, Grush nods. “I suppose that will have to be enough. For now.”

She turns then back to Anj and barks in trollish, causing him and his people to jump. They exchange wary glances before backing away. One by one, their crystals go out, and shadows obscure their great hulking forms. Soon, there is none left save for Anj himself. He remains where he stands, his gaze shifting from the priestess to the prince and back again. Finally, with a bitter curse, he turns away and melts into the darkness.

“I have told that brash young fellow,” Grush says, addressing the Prince once more, “that if his people offer any further threat to you and yours for the next ten turns of the cycle, I will personally see them thrown from theVagungadand madeva-lakfor the rest of their lives. That is your deadline, elfkin. Should you fail to live up to your promise, I will not interfere with Anj or his Hrorark again.”

“Understood, greatumog,” the Prince replies and offers a solemn bow.

Grush snorts. Then she turns and, without a glance for either me or Sis, stumps back into her temple, vanishing back into her world of darkness and stone. I watch her go, heart in my throat. I know for a fact she saved our lives just now.

“Come, Darling!” The Prince’s voice draws me spinning about in time to see him pull Khas’s arm over his shoulder and assist her to her feet. “We’d best be on our way. I don’t know about you, but I fancy a cup of tea after all these doings. What say you, Khas, my friend? Tea? Crumpets?”

“Guthakug jirot,”Khas growls, and I don’t need to know the language to hear the expletives. The Prince merely chuckles, however, and starts back up the long road to the palace. I follow at his heels, Sis still cradled close in my arms.

Sis is snoring softly by the time we reach the palace, exhausted from her adventures. Her little head lolls on my shoulder, her soft hair tickling my nose.

My footsteps are heavy, stumbling. Carrying the child all that long way up from the low temple is no mean feat. I’m not used to this kind of physical effort, spending my days hunched over a desk as I usually do. The Prince, by contrast, doesn’t seem to have broken a sweat supporting Captain Khas. Possibly because the captain herself, despite her wounds, at least attempts to walk on her own, whereas Sis is a dead weight in my arms.

We reach the front steps of the palace at last where Lir and the three boys anxiously await our return. Lir spies the Prince and Khas first and immediately shouts for guards to come lend their assistance. Khas’s loyal men hasten down the steps to take her from the Prince, carrying her away despite her growling protests.

“Don’t forget!” the Prince calls after them, pausing a moment to rest his hands on his knees. Perhaps he’s more winded than I thought. “Tea and crumpets! It’s the best medicine! Slathered up with extra butter, that’ll do the trick.”

“What happened, Mistress?” Lir asks, as she and the boys crowd in around me, and she takes Sis from my exhausted arms. The girl opens one eye to grumble a protest before tucking into the crook of Lir’s neck and letting out a satisfied snore.

I try to smile. After everything that happened, I’m still not sure whether to be triumphant or terrified. “It went well. I think.” My words are a little breathless. At Lir’s concerned expression, I add quickly, “I’ll tell you all about it. Later. I promise.”

Lir nods, unsatisfied, but willing to be patient. “Give yourmarkisses, boys,” she tells the children, “and come help me put your sister to bed.”

I drop to my knees, allowing myself to be comforted by the feeling of stony arms wrapped around me and stony lips pressed against my cheek. Calx demands to know whether or not the Prince will still be dining with them that night. “It might have to be tomorrow,” I admit. At his crestfallen expression, I plant an extra kiss on his forehead. “Be a good boy now and help your sister. I’ll be along shortly, I promise.” Calx heaves a sigh but allows himself to be ushered away by his brothers.

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