Apprentices of Quark: Two

Two: Living With Trolls

Garadun was woken a little before dawn by Mokk’s sister, whose name was Prang. As trolls went, he thought she was kinda cute. “Time to get up, huh?” he said, smiling. Prang said nothing, but smiled back at him and pointed towards the rear of the wagon. Mokk was there.
     “Prang not speak human words yet,” the teenage troll informed him. “Come, little brother. Time to eat, and then pack.”
     “Right, gotcha,” said Garadun and hopped from the wagon. Most of the troll community was up and about, re-rigging the harnesses of the animals, eating, or securing their gear for the day’s journey. He sat down to a quick meal with Mokk, then helped the troll and his family get prepared.
     The draft animals he learned were called kom’cha, and were highly prized for their strength and endurance. An adult kom’cha could probably pull at least several of the largest troll wagons, Garadun decided, so large and powerful were they. By the time they were finished attaching the rigging the sun had risen, allowing him to see the troll cavalcade in all its glory. Colour was everywhere; from the pennants to the hides of the animals to the gems which glittered in jewellery. He noted that the sun, while a G-type star like Earth’s, was a touch more yellow than white.
     When the preparations were complete he climbed up on the front of the wagon with Mokk, who commanded the reins. Prang and Mokk’s mother, Sculla, rode in the wagon, and his father, Teg, was mounted on one of the riding beasts, which were called hal’cha. Teg’s saddle was a masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship, and in addition to the large knife on his belt and the massive double-bladed axe on his back he carried a huge spear almost twenty feet in length.
     “Father is outrider,” Mokk stated proudly.
     “Scouts ahead for trouble, eh?” said Garadun.
     “That so. Good! You learning troll ways already!” Mokk seemed quite pleased. A horn sounded at that moment, loud and clear, and the trolls got underway. They left the plaza in an orderly fashion and were soon winding their way through the valley. They followed the course of an old road, and within a couple of hours reached the summit of the ancient crater. Garadun looked back on the lush green valley below him and, now with it being day, could easily see the lake and the abandoned town. Both were far larger than he’d originally believed.
     “Say, Mokk… who used to live there?”
     “Humans from long, long ago,” the troll replied. “This we call Sal-foor-paun,” he said, motioning to the entire valley. “That mean Bowl of Life in troll words. You lucky, little brother, to land here.” He pointed towards the greenery ahead of them. “This best spot for many, many leagues. Green, filled with life. Beyond is great plain. To north is desert. To south is more plain, little water.”
     “Anybody live out there?”
     “Just beasts and old empty cities,” Mokk replied. “Sometimes we meet other trolls. If friend, we trade. If enemy, we fight.”
     “What about the humans? Where do they live?”
     “In cities far away. Trolls and humans sometimes fight, sometimes trade, otherwise ignore. They stay in cities, we wander.”
     “There a lot of humans in the cities?”
     “In cities, many. But not many cities. Long, long ago Ancients have war and great many humans die. Trolls also die,” he said sadly. “So do many others. Many races of Quark no longer. Was very bad thing, War of Ancients.”
     “Earth’s had some nasty wars as well,” Garadun told him.
     Mokk nodded. “War is natural thing but Ancients take too far. Wizards start war and most die. Now only very few wizards, that good thing.”
     “I hear that,” said Garadun in an agreeable tone. “So where we headed?”
     “Across great plain, little brother,” said Mokk, pointing west. “Far away is great, great city of Ancients. Trolls come from all over for Trollmoot. Much trading, games, telling of stories.” Mokk smiled. “Trolls also find wife at Trollmoot sometimes. You need wife, little brother?”
     “Uh, no, I’m fine on my own, thanks,” said Garadun quickly.
     “I not ready for wife yet, too,” said Mokk. “I need win many more fights, earn honour and treasure to show I can keep wife.”
     “What about Prang? She looking for a husband?”
     “Old enough, but father must say yes if troll ask for her. Troll must prove he strong and honourable. Prang not ask for husband, but we see at Trollmoot.”

The parade of troll wagons soon left the lush valley behind and entered the wide, rolling plain before them. Here the green grass was replaced with a yellow-orange plant which resembled small, tightly coiled springs. It was very resilient, bouncing back unharmed after the trolls had rolled over it. Now and again large boulders could be seen; some bare, some covered in yellowish vines covered with brown thorns an inch long. The only animal life Garadun saw was Quark’s equivalent of insects – some like the little armoured dome he’d seen, and others in different, alien shapes. Some of the crawlers were quite large, reaching almost two feet in length.
     As the days passed Garadun was accepted by the majority of the troll tribe. Mokk taught him their ways and he worked hard to learn them. The lifestyle of the nomadic people was not an easy one, and as Mokk had predicted he began to lose the tire around his waist and grow stronger. The first couple of weeks were particularly gruelling as he hadn’t done really heavy labour in some time and his muscles had to get used to it once more. But in addition to the physical work, Mokk taught him how to handle the kom’cha and he was shown the basics in riding the hal’cha. This was cause for great amusement among the trolls because he was so small in comparison to his mount. But his natural affinity for animals helped and they responded well to his touch and voice. Mokk and his father also instructed him in the use of the troll knife he’d been given, which to Garadun was the equal of a sword.
     He also began picking up the troll language, learning a few words here and there, and Mokk was pleased to see he enjoyed woodworking when shown how to do it. Without modern entertainment the trolls amused themselves with crafts, games, and storytelling. The women of the tribe were the best artisans since they had the most time on their hands because they weren’t warriors. Garadun learned a great deal from Prang and Sculla, and whittling away at a piece of wood helped him pass the time while he rode alongside Mokk. His first few attempts at wood sculpture in his mind completely sucked, but Mokk’s family treated them with honour.
     And whether it was a side effect of his magical transportation to Quark, or something in the water or atmosphere, or even the food, he wasn’t sure; but he was starting to notice physical changes. In his early forties, he had a good dose of grey in his hair. With the small mirror he’d been given to aid in grooming he noticed the grey was fading. The numerous small scars he’d accumulated over the years were also fading. And finally, the rate at which he was losing unwanted weight, along with the subsequent increase of muscle tone and strength was increasing, also seemed quicker than normal.
     When he inquired about these changes to his troll friend, Mokk simply replied, “I say on troll food you get strong.”

                                                            *****

It was almost six weeks into their journey when Garadun was given a display of troll fierceness in battle. The tribe was working its way up a low hill when outriders returned to announce the presence of one of Quark’s long-abandoned cities. Mokk informed him that this had been expected because the city was on their route to the Trollmoot and was known to them, having camped there on a few occasions in the past. The procession continued on, reaching the summit of the hill and then making their way down towards the city. The sight took Garadun’s breath away.
     It was a walled city perhaps a mile or more across, and great stone buildings could be seen rising well above the top of the wall which was some sixty feet in height. What also caught his attention was the presence of a wide riverbed, now long dry and covered with the yellow-orange spring-grass which dominated the plains. To cross this and enter the city was a huge stone bridge which spanned the riverbed in a gentle arc. It was so wide the troll wagons could pass over two abreast with room to spare.
     “Man, that’s impressive,” he remarked as Mokk guided their wagon over the bridge. “Is this where Trollmoot is?”
     “No, little brother, that still many days journey away. But here there are wells that sink deep into Quark. We get more water, rest, then move on.”
     They rolled under the grand entrance and entered the dead city. As with the much smaller city at Sal-foor-paun, there was little weathering to be seen. Either the buildings were particularly well-made or Quark had a much milder climate than Earth. Garadun was guessing the latter. In his time with the trolls there hadn’t been a single bit of bad weather, with very few clouds in the sky. Inside the wall he could see the tallest buildings were located near the centre of the city. Most others average two to four storeys in height, and many streets branched off from the main avenue they were following.
     “Mokk, if there was a huge war and so many people died, why are all the buildings still intact?” he inquired.
     “Stories say Ancients use great magics in war. Some magic roll like wind, turning people to powder and bone but buildings stay up. Ancients like to conquer and move into new homes. Other magic hit like blazing of sun and nothing left but big smoking hole. Holes now covered by grass.”
     “Can wizards still use magic like that?” he asked, troubled by the descriptions. The last sounded too much like a nuke.
     “No. Magic of Ancients long gone. Wizards shadow of past. I hear stories of things Ancients leave behind, things of power, but never see myself.”
     “Could that be what brought me here?”
     “I not wizard, so don’t know. But maybe if we find wizard, you ask. I make sure he tell you truth, little brother,” said Mokk, smiling wickedly as he made a fist.
     They eventually reached the city centre, which like the city at Sal-foor-paun had an open plaza, but this one was much larger. The trolls spread out with each driver moving his wagon into its usual spot by its neighbour. But Mokk had barely brought the wagon to a halt when numerous fell cries filled the air and another tribe of trolls came pouring out of their hiding places from within the surrounding buildings.
     “Bloodrock tribe!” Mokk yelled, and drew his huge sword. “Stay with wagon, little brother! I go and fight!”
     Springing off his seat, Mokk cleared a good fifteen feet before he landed in a run. Bellowing a war cry, he ran straight into the melee and immediately came to blows with a much larger enemy troll. Garadun looked at the mayhem around him, shocked and bewildered by the intensity of the scrimmage. This was no movie he was watching, this was the real thing. Hoots of challenge and pain filled the air. Limbs were cut off, bellies and heads split open, Stonewind and Bloodrock trolls battling with a ferocity that would have left the toughest Highland warrior far behind.
     He drew his small sword, sure in the knowledge that if a troll attacked him he would most likely be killed swiftly and brutally. He didn’t have long to wait, unfortunately, as a Bloodrock troll came into view, and seeing him atop the wagon’s seat charged him with his spear. Garadun let out a yell and jumped out of the way, just managing to avoid being run through like a kabob. Clinging to the heavy leather of the wagon’s top, he hacked at the spear to keep it away. The troll pulled his spear back for another thrust but was suddenly run through himself as a lance sank into his chest and emerged out the other side. As he fell to the ground, Mokk’s father rode by on his hal’cha, pulling his axe out as he went, neatly hacking off the head of an enemy troll and screaming in victory.
     I gotta get outta here, he thought, but before he could retreat the wagon was rocked by a tremendous blow and he fell onto the seat. Glancing up, he saw Mokk fighting another troll. Weapons clashed and danced. Mokk’s opponent disarmed him with a skilled twist of his sword and punched him in the face, spilling blood and knocking him to the ground. He raised his sword for the killing blow.
     Garadun, in what he would later describe as a monumental feat of stupidity, let out a yell and pounced on the troll’s back, stabbing down with his sword held in both hands. The blade sank deep between the troll’s shoulder blades and stuck fast with Garadun holding on with a death grip. Howling in pain, the troll dropped his sword and tried to grab his attacker, twisting his torso back and forth. It was the opening Mokk needed, and he retrieved his sword and slashed the troll’s neck open wide. The troll collapsed face first to the ground, hauling Garadun down with him.
     “Well done, little brother!” Mokk cried, and helped him to his feet. He yanked out the short sword and returned it to him. “That twice now you safe life! Come! We fight Bloodrocks together!”
     Caught up in the moment (something else he later considered to be monumentally stupid) he ran off into the square at Mokk’s side as the troll looked for more enemies to fight. Fortunately for Garadun the rest of the battle was short-lived. Despite the surprise attack the Bloodrock trolls were much fewer in number than the Stonewind trolls; brave but apparently not as bright. They only engaged one other troll before it was over, and Mokk did most of the fighting.
     Groans of the wounded and dying filled the air along with the stench of blood and death, and the Stonewind trolls systematically put down any of their surviving enemies who hadn’t managed to flee into the surrounding streets. Chief Haarg quickly organised his outriders to hunt down the remaining Bloodrocks, and had the women loot the bodies of the dead, adding to the wealth of the tribe. The bodies were then hauled off and piled together, and burned as a matter of tradition. Of the fallen Stonewind trolls, their bodies were taken by their family members to be later buried in a mass grave with a large, carved stone to mark their brave passing. The wounded were tended to, and those too far gone were mercifully put to death.

“How fare you, Mokk?” Haarg asked as he came by their wagon. As was proper for a troll chieftain, he dutifully checked up on his people after a battle.
     “I live to fight again, my chieftain,” Mokk replied proudly as his sister tended his wounds. “Four did I take down in battle, and little brother help me.”
     Haarg looked at Garadun in surprise.
     “Bravely he fought, my chieftain,” Mokk went on. “I was down, and little brother pounces on Bloodrock five times his size, like yethlok on kom’cha. Stab, stab, stab! His tooth is small but sharp. Twice now my life is owed.”
     “As I say, he have spirit of troll,” Teg added. “He learning our ways, becoming stronger. Not as much little human anymore.”
     “True,” said Haarg, eyeing Garadun closely. “Still small, but bravery not always match size. Will be good to see him fight foe his own size.” The chief gave him an approving nod, and then continued on with his rounds.
     “Mokk, you made it sound like I’m a great warrior!” said Garadun once the chief was out of earshot. “I’m not. I got in one lucky blow! You killed the guy.”
     “Not matter, little brother. You show courage.”
     “I was scared! I would’ve been killed if it hadn’t been for your father,” he said, then looked at Teg. “If anyone owes a debt, it’s me to you.”
     “I help you, you help Mokk. This troll way in battle. But I must go now. Bloodrocks have camp somewhere, wagons and animals.” Teg mounted up and rode off, calling to some of the other outriders who’d returned from their first patrol.
     “No worry, little brother,” said Mokk, placing a large, friendly hand on his shoulder. “You practice and become better warrior. You small like all humans, but have stout heart. I teach you.”
     “No matter how much you teach me, I’ll never be able to face a troll in one-on-one combat. If I had a bow I might be able to pick ‘em off, but–“
     “You shoot bow?” said Mokk in surprise. “Why not say so?”
     “It never came up.”
     Mokk laughed. “That true, little brother. But if you prefer bow, I find for you. We not have many archers, but make good scouts, good for ambush.”
     “I’m not very good, though.”
     “We teach and you become good,” Mokk told him. “Come! We speak to chieftain and find bow your size.”

By the time night had fallen, Garadun had been given a bone bow which was normally meant for children but to him was a compound bow with about forty pounds of pull. To honour his participation in the battle, Chief Haarg presented him with a beautifully tooled quiver and a score of arrows with blue fletching.
     He was practicing shooting at a troll-sized dummy with Mokk at his side when the last group of outriders returned. With them were several wagons that the fleeing Bloodrock trolls had left behind. The Stonewinds cheered at the sight, for the animals and gear made the tribe that much more prosperous. The chief marched out to greet them, and from what he could make out from the tone of their voices the outriders were particularly excited about their find.
     The reason soon became clear when the wagons were brought into the centre of the encampment. Not only did they have seven new healthy kom’cha and accompanying wagons, but most of the wagons were holding a large quantity of clothes, sleeping furs, casks of water and ale and wine, weapons, and even a large chest of gold and jewels. The trolls cheered and hooted, but the final prize was still to be brought out.
     “See what we have found, my chieftain,” said Teg in Human (for Garadun’s benefit) and one of the trolls dragged out their acquisition for all to see.
     To everyone’s surprise (no more so than Garadun, who was flabbergasted) it was a woman. A human woman by the looks of her, but she was easily the most radiantly beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Soft, inky-black hair fell past her rear and her skin was a deep bronze colour. Exquisite blue eyes stared around in complete fear. She was scantily clad, wearing a silk tank top, a skirt which was little more that two pieces of cloth hanging to her knees back and front, and a gold torque around her neck. All this showed off her phenomenally curvaceous body to great effect. As a final touch she had a small rune-like tattoo on her forehead just above the bridge of her nose.
     “You have done well this night, Teg,” said Haarg, eyeing the voluptuous maiden. “Who might think Bloodrock scum catch such prize?”
     “Who is she?” Garadun asked Mokk.
     “Love slave,” Mokk replied. “See tattoo on head? That mark her as love slave.”
     “A slave?”
     “Not any slave. She nymph. Very, very valuable.”
     “What’s the chief gonna do with her?” Garadun asked warily.
     “Keep her safe, then sell for big price.” Mokk glanced down at his friend. “Trolls not play with her, understand? Too small, too weak. But very good catch.”
     The chieftain examined her a bit more closely, laughing at his good fortune. A nymph love slave! She would indeed fetch a great price! He gave a command and two women dragged the frightened girl away. As she passed by where Garadun and Mokk were standing, her eyes fell on him and she gave him a pleading look. She then vanished into the camp to be secured in one of the wagons.
     “They’re not gonna hurt her, are they?”
     “Fear not, little brother, love slave will be safe,” said Mokk. “She valuable.” He narrowed his eyes, studying his friend with a growing smile. “I think maybe you want her, hmm? Humans like nymphs very much.”
     “She’s gorgeous,” he said, then shook his head. “But I don’t believe in owning people, Mokk. Slavery is wrong.”
     “Trolls not keep slaves. Humans and others keep slaves. But she no use to us, so we sell and make tribe richer.”
     “You accepted me,” Garadun reasoned.
     “You little brother, troll warrior in spirit,” said Mokk. “You fight for tribe. Even troll women fight if needed. Love slave only good for play with humans.”
     “She could do other things, like making clothes or cooking food.”
     “More valuable to sell.” Mokk eyed him. “If you want her, buy her.”
     “I don’t have any money.”
     “Not so, little brother. You fight, help tribe. Get share of loot.”
     “Would my share be enough?”
     “No. She worth many, many shares. But you say you don’t like slave.”
     “I’d free her,” said Garadun. “Let her go.”
     “Why? Other tribe just find and sell again. And she not survive in wilderness of Quark alone. She love slave, belong in city.”
     Garadun frowned. He wanted to see the girl set free but he couldn’t think of any way to make it happen. If he could buy her, then at least he could make sure she was treated well and not abused. But that was out of his reach. The trolls considered her to be nothing more than a commodity, and a damned valuable one at that. From the way they talked, getting hold of a nymph love slave was a rare event. The chief was too pragmatic to hand her over without being paid.
     “You think I could talk to her?”
     “If you want, little brother, then ask chieftain,” said Mokk. “I think he allow it. Might let you play with her too,” he added with a wink.
     “That’s not what I had in mind,” he said, although privately he had to admit that making love to such a woman would be a dream come true. But as much as his body desired her, his heart knew it would be wrong, that he’d be no better than anyone else who owned her and used her for their pleasure.
     “Come, we find chieftain and ask if you can talk to nymph,” said Mokk. “I show you we not hurt her, keep her safe.”