Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,132

a soft spot, but Will knew better. He’d read some of his grandfather’s journal, which was considerably more honest.

He almost ran into the back of the troll leading them when it stopped suddenly, pointing with one gnarled and twisted arm to indicate they had arrived. Will saw a clearing ahead of them, and in it was a cluster of large shelters constructed of the limbs and the trunks of fallen trees. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting.

On one hand, he couldn’t see that trolls needed much protection from the environment, but on the other, building homes out of the rotting remnants of fallen trees did seem to fit them. If anything, it was sometimes hard to see where the moss-covered houses ended and the trolls standing in the doorways began, as they tended to blend together visually.

The fact that they built houses also made it harder for him to see them as simple monsters. “We’ve arrived,” he said quietly for Arrogan’s benefit.

The troll he had been following stepped into a central clearing between the homes and cut loose with a loud, guttural bark. Within moments the doorways filled as trolls large and small (relatively speaking) looked out to see their strange visitor. Over a span of minutes, a crowd grew around them, making Will feel ever more nervous. If things went badly, he wouldn’t be able to escape. There were at least a hundred trolls around him now, fanning out in every direction from the center of the village.

Despite the chaos, he could eventually tell that two of the trolls seemed to be more important than the others, though he had no way to identify them. His guide spoke loudly to those two, making sure everyone could hear him. “What is he saying?” whispered Will.

“He’s talking to the chief, Clegg, along with his second in command, Lrmeg. Incidentally, Lrmeg is the one you stabbed in the dick last time.”

“Do you think he holds a grudge?”

“Probably, but Clegg is making the decisions today, so don’t worry too much. Oh, he’s repeating my apology and offer to them.”

“You offered them the ale already?”

“No, something else. Not to worry, it’s merely a formality.”

The way the ring said it made Will nervous. “What formality? Tell me what you said.”

“It’s a traditional troll apology. To make up for your former transgression, you offer the village one of your limbs as a meal.”

“A limb?” Will’s voice pitched higher as fear.

“Yeah, like an arm or a leg. You know the expression, ‘I’d give an arm and a leg for such and such.’ The phrase actually originated with trolls, so we owe them for that little piece of our culture.”

“That’s not all right!” hissed Will. “I don’t want—”

“Shhh, I’m trying to listen,” said Arrogan. “Oh, he sounds angry.”

“Who?”

“Lrmeg, shhh!” A few seconds later, Will was nudged forward to stand before Clegg and Lrmeg. There followed a long series of grunts and coughs in which the ring spoke back and forth with the elder troll. Eventually the conversation paused, and the crowd pulled back slightly. Another troll appeared with what looked like a section cut from a massive tree trunk. The enormous piece of wood was deposited in front of Will with the flat side up, creating a table of sorts.

Arrogan spoke up. “I have good news and bad news.”

“Fuck me,” whined Will.

“You want me to tell Clegg that?”

“Just give me the news!” barked Will, already beginning to shake.

“Well, the good news is that Clegg has granted your plea for clemency and will agree to the trade of ale for urine, but there are a few conditions.” Will was already sweating from the heat, but he began to sweat more. “First, and probably worst of all, you have to stay for the party.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Will.

“Spoken out of pure ignorance. Remember, trolls don’t cook anything. They’re afraid of fire, and that’s just the beginning. Anyway, the second condition, which Lrmeg is insisting on, is that you honor the offer of an arm or a leg.”

“What?” His