Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,133

face grew cold as the blood drained away.

Arrogan hurried to add, “They know how dangerous that is for humans, so they’ll allow you the use of fire to cauterize the wound, though. And you get to pick the limb. I’d choose your off-hand arm. People never realize how much they need two legs. Also—and they don’t have to know this—if we get back soon enough, you might be able to regrow the arm or leg if you can make the potions quickly enough.”

The ring’s words seemed to come to him from across a vast chamber, echoing in his ears. Will’s shaking grew more violent as he saw that one of the trolls had arrived with what appeared to be a massive cleaver. The iron implement was large enough to cut a cow in half. Glancing around, Will could see that there was nowhere to run.

“You don’t have to, though.”

“What?”

The ring’s voice was calm and even. “Clegg says you can leave if you want. You don’t have to accept the deal, but you won’t get the urine.”

“Really?” Will’s heart leapt at the news, and his voice emerged in a high-pitched squeak, but a second later, his fear returned. He couldn’t do it. A dozen justifications ran through his head, but they all lead back to one ending. “God damn it.”

“Should I tell him no?” asked Arrogan.

Will’s teeth chattered, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he answered, “Tell them to take my left arm.” He almost fell as he stepped closer to the table and put his left hand in the center.

The ring whistled. “Damn, Will, you may be dumb as a stump, but you’ve got balls the size of boulders.” Arrogan resumed his grunting, guttural conversation with the trolls.

Clegg barked something in return, and the troll with the cleaver stepped forward. Will’s legs grew weak, and he found himself sagging downward, until his shoulder was even with the table. Some helpful troll grasped his shoulder then, to keep him from sinking too low, and held him in place. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, so he couldn’t see the impending blow.

The trolls began to cough loudly around him, their sounds rising in an almost rhythmic beat while he waited for the blow, but Will didn’t dare look up. Almost a minute passed, and he felt his heart trying to leap out of his chest, but still the strike hadn’t happened. Eventually, he cracked on eye to look around.

The cleaver was gone, though the trolls around the clearing continued to cough loudly. Dimly, Will remembered the sound from his first visit, along with what Arrogan had told him it signified. Laughter. “This was a joke, wasn’t it?” he asked tremulously.

“Yes, little human. It was,” said Clegg in broken but still understandable Darrowan.

The troll holding him up stepped back, and Will fell on his ass in the mud.

Chapter 30

“You speak my language?” Will asked after gaping at the chieftain for a long period. It was a stupid question. He realized that even as he asked it, but his mouth wasn’t strictly tethered to the rational part of his brain at the moment.

“A little,” said the troll, squeezing two of his fingers together in a gesture that seemed far too human-like. “Long time.”

“Clegg is the one that taught me their language,” offered the ring.

Will glared at his hand as though he might cut it off himself, but it was the ring that his ire was focused on. “You! When we get out of here, I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“At least you’re not dumb enough to try that while we’re here,” said Arrogan approvingly. “Besides, I didn’t lie to you. Everything I said was the truth.”

“But you knew Clegg wasn’t going to insist on taking my arm!” A series of fresh coughs came from Clegg at that remark, fresh laughter. “What about last time? When they chased me out of here? Was that a joke too?”

“Lrmeg have bad temper. Always talk to Clegg,” suggested the chieftain.

“He’s right,” agreed the ring. “You probably would have been torn apart. That’s why this plan was so much better,