About Expiring Covenant

~

The Covenant ended generations of war between the races (little people, humans, giants, and the majical kind), separated the combatants to the points of the compass, and set the Range as a buffer between them for two hundred years.

Now the rich highlands draw adventurous pioneers to stake claims, watch their neighbors with a wary eye, care for their flocks, and hope to store away enough reserves to survive the brutal winters. The majical waters of Black Lake evoke fear, but the gorges teem with game, which draws the dreaded orcs and goblins from the eastern desert.

Expiring Covenant unfolds as slices of many of the explorers’ experiences, chronicle the people setting down roots to become a community, mix tales of shenanigans, tragedy, duplicity, tolerance, friendship, love, and personal growth. The settlers learn their neighbors might not be the monsters of legends told ’round winter hearths.

~

Chapter 1
Birs
~

The night breeze thrust the smoke of the pyre into my face. Eyes watered and snout burned from the acrid stench. I longed to escape. If I heard one more ogre bull or hen say, “It was for the best,” I might be inclined to firmly grasp the speaker’s throat and squeeze.

Papa and Mama dyin’ within hours of one another was not for the best.

Best woulda been both recoverin’ from the black cough.

If they were meant to die, why did they have to suffer through the entire winter? Reach the promise of spring, only to— It wasn’t fair.

The ogre who would replace Papa as clan leader stepped in front of me. At least the bull gave me somethin’ to look at, other than the flames and smoke.

“Birs, yar papa, God rest ’im, helped forge strong alliances for the clan. He had a spine like no other I’ve ever met. He’ll be missed. Yar mama was an angel. She gave comfort when few could see good on dark days.”

The ogre’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder.

My papa was a bully, mama a witch who could manipulate a snake to dance. Why do people lie at funerals?

“The council will meet at the full moon.”

It does every month.

“Be there to take yar seat. That is what yar papa would want ya to do.”

Ya just want me to be yar lackey too. I served my papa’s whims my whole life. I’m done with that. “I believe,” I said instead, “I’ll be goin’ a wanderin’ for a bit. I’ve been tied down all winter. They were ill so long. I need time to calm my mind.”

The bull’s eyes narrowed. “What of yar place? Yar stock?”

“I’ll be movin’ what I can into the hills to forage through the summer. Have a couple ogrelin’s picked out from a northern village relishin’ the task. I’ll sell the chickens and such for coin.”

The elder opened his mouth to speak, but another ogre thrust his hand at me. I took the new ogre’s fist and gripped it solemnly, listenin’ to the stale words of condolence, wishin’ the new clan leader would move away. The interlopin’ ogre’s mate embraced me. She sniffed in my ear to prove her tears. I didn’t believe it for a moment.

When she let go, the stinkin’ elder, stubborn to a fault, grabbed me by the arm, led me away from the others, hissin’ in my ear, “I know ya were behind every move yar papa made the last ten years.”

“I— I hardly owned my papa’s agenda,” I said.

“When he insulted those who woulda followed him, ya came behind and smoothed hurt feelin’s and brought them around. The clan needs ya. The clan respects ya like no other.”

“The clan will do fine without sire or son,” I said.

“There is no ogre who works as hard, or as smart as ya. When ya were only fifteen, I knew ya would one day replace yar papa as clan leader. It’s in yar blood. Ya owe it to the clan.”

“Where was the clan when the two of ’em coughed up their lungs?” I found my tone harsher than intended, but continued, peltin’ the surprised elder. “I saw no one tendin’ to my parents, visitin’, helpin’ with naught. Ya appeared only when ya needed an approval for one thin’ or another, and ya were promptly off on yar way.

“I had to leave my folks alone in the middle of the night to search out the healer time and again, ’cause no one was ever there to console them in their pain.

“My mama was not a kind ogre hen, but she stepped forward any time there was a sick member of the clan. She washed soiled linens, mopped fevered foreheads, stoked the fire, and cooked.

“Don’t speak to me about what I owe the clan, or I may throw ya on the remains of that fire.” I pointed at the flickerin’ embers.

The soon-to-be leader cleared his throat, looked at the ground a moment, before slippin’ away into the gloom.

~

No urgency pressed me to reach the highlands. There would still be snow on the peaks and shadowed crevasses. My heart remained heavy, despite the beauty of the weather. The weight of my pack, with half my belongin’s tied to it, far from encouraged me to rush. Besides, my favorite goats Bert and Twitty strolled behind in no hurry either. As the day progressed, they showed more interest in tryin’ out the local grasses than keepin’ up. So I allowed myself to take frequent breaks.

“I’ll be there when I’m there,” I mumbled, again droppin’ my pack to the ground.

Bert and Twitty rushed forward to see if I’d found somethin’ especially delectable to stop for. When they saw I hadn’t, they ambled away from the trees, where the sun better encouraged the grass.

I sat on my sleepin’ fur and plucked a sweet stalk of grass of my own to chew, mind wanderin’ as freely as my goats. Breathed in the aroma of the forest, the pine needles, crisp air strangely different from the lowlands. I thought of the elder’s words two days earlier, the friends I would miss, the home I abandoned, position in the clan.

My plan to live on the bank of the majical Black Lake made me shiver, if I was honest with myself. Was this an unwise endeavor? Many feared the waters of that lake. Spoke of the spirits that lived within, the danger of her depths.

My mind returned to what it tends to focus on most, the ogre hen who owned my heart. She’d no doubt accept my proposal—sooner if I remained in my parent’s home. The place was established, able to support a brood of a dozen. Why then did I traipse off where hardly a soul ever tread, consider strikin’ a new stake, far from any settled clan?

“I’m probably a fool,” I said aloud.

Thirty paces away, Bert belched.

“Ya didn’t have to agree with me so readily,” I called after the goat.

Billy and nanny glared my way as though I intruded upon their dinin’ pleasure. I wrenched a snarlin’ face at ’em. They remained unimpressed.

~

I skirted the shore of the lake for a full day, Bert and Twitty continually makin’ our progress painfully slow, before settlin’ upon a place to camp. The stinkin’ goats were in heaven with the lush, spring growth near the water. The valley I chose was a mile wide, sloped gently toward the water a hundred yards from the tree line, the grass so rich it held a purple hue in the afternoon light.

The wind would sweep across the shorefront harshly in the winter, but it was a magnificently beautiful place, with miles of the meanderin’ lake in view east to west, the stark crags of peaks stretchin’ across the entire breadth of the north shore. To the south, a single, massive, snow-capped pinnacle pointed up at the sky like one of the god’s raised hand demandin’ I go no farther.

I entertained myself for a bit watchin’ the two goats greedily gorge themselves. “Yar gonna make yarselves so stinkin’ sick.”

Movement at the tree line caught my eye. A gang of elk a dozen strong peered back. An enormous bull snorted a challenge, before leisurely leadin’ his harem away.

“A good sign,” I said, lookin’ back at Bert and Twitty. “Maybe not too many big cats, or wolf packs who might think two fat, lazy goats might be a tasty snack. I’ll still need to keep a close eye on ya two though.”

~

That night I saw the light across the water, an illuminated cabin window. I’d heard rumors a mean warlock dwarf lived on Black Lake’s shore somewhere. Never thought much about it. A bit embarrassed to admit I may have shivered. Not from the cold, but I threw another stick on the fire. Looked at the eyes of Bert reflectin’ the glow of the flickerin’ flames.

“Stay close, ya two.”

~

Bert woke me with a worried whinny. The sky in the east held a tinge of a glow. A herd of deer thirty strong traipsed between us and the edge of the water.

I’ve never in my life seen a herd that size in the lowlands.

I eased from my fur and reached for my bow. Before I managed to fix the string, my motion set them leapin’ away. I sat watchin’ the beauty of their aerobatics.

“Huntin’s gonna be better here than even the stories boasted. Won’t even need stock up here.”

Bert belched.

“No offense. I’ll need ya for milk and cheese.”

Bert belched again.

“Well maybe ya don’t provide that, lil’ bull, but ya help Twitty keep happy, so she can.”

The billy rose stiffly and walked into the gloom, his tail high in the air, sharin’ what he thought of his ogre friend that moment.

~

That first day, found my busy mind wouldn’t allow me to idle about, to rest from my recent turmoil, as I planned. Intended to explore more of the lakeshore, but decided I’d find no better site than right here. Besides, I might have to cross the path of that warlock dwarf. Just the thought of that made me shudder. Any hikin’ must include Bert and Twitty. Couldn’t leave them alone. Besides, in their new grass haven, they were far from motivated to budge.

I knuckled into first-light-to-dusk endeavors. Found a rockslide an elbow crook away, the perfect source for the thirty-odd boundary markers I’d set out to mark my stake. There was forest and shoreline to claim.

By the second day of effort I had grown tired of eatin’ jerked meat and honeyed oats, but didn’t dare yet leave my pets alone to hunt. It was time to try the Black Lake fishin’ of lore. First for some bait. I cut two, good-length ash poles, carefully unwound my precious seine, attached it to the two shafts, and sank one firmly into the ground at the edge of the water.

I walked into the lake with a smile on my face, but lost it with a shriek. “How can it be this cold?” I struggled to hold onto the end of the seine as a wicked shiver wracked me. I stepped deeper to avoid a clump of stones. In the slick muck I found myself slidin’ farther from the shore. I lowered the nettin’ and groaned as the water crept higher up my thigh.

“Cold!”

Gets deep fast, too.

Cramps gripped me, doublin’ me over in pain. Lost my balance and toppled forward, face plungin’ into blackness. The icy water penetrated my flesh like daggers, stole my breath. A force pressed me downward. Slipped deeper, and deeper, limbs suddenly useless weights.

The realization my predicament wasn’t an inconvenience but life threatenin’ helped me propel my arms to thrash, legs to search for the silt-covered earth. The cold was absolute, robbed me of every bit of energy.

I thought of Mama, and Papa.

It wasn’t time to greet them.

I broke the plane of the water, but the lake pulled me back down. I thrust hard with all my might only to be yanked farther from the shore it seemed by an invisible hand. I stretched to catch a breath, but drew in more water than air, and choked. My thrashin’ turned as painful as the cramps grippin’ my muscles. I sank, the sky above darkened. My lungs burned for air.

The water turned black as pitch.

A new pain jabbed me in the shoulder. I grabbed at whatever it was, clasped onto it, a pole of some sort. It pulled away. Did it draw nearer the shore, or farther away? For good or for bad, I held on. The glare of day made its way through the blackness.

I broke the surface of the water and tried to take in air, but all I could do was choke, to expel the water I’d already inhaled. One knee struck rock, then the other. I gouged numb hands into gravel and slowly pulled myself toward the shore, hand over hand.

Inches from my face, gentle creases of waves folded onto the shore. Could see safety, but my body bent frozen, unable to move. A new pain. Somethin’ pulled at my dreadlocks, propellin’ me forward.

“Don’t give up yet!” a deep rasp commanded.

Somehow my arms moved with the motion. Edged forward. Booted feet drew into focus. No ogre’s feet. Ogres don’t restrict their feet with unnecessary leather bindin’s.

“Move, ya over-sized imbecile!”

The yank of my hair ended as I cleared the water. I collapsed, curled up, overwhelmed with a convulsion, a single cramp that encompassed my entire body.

I may die yet. Never felt such pain before.

Bert and Twitty were next to me, nudgin’ me, but I didn’t want to open my eyes. Lay huggin’ myself, tremblin’ with the cold. A noise farther up the shore made me steal a peek, though. Struggled to tilt a stiff neck so I could locate what the sound might be. A peculiar shrimp of a bein’ bent over, stirred the embers of my campfire. The hip-tall creature muttered and shook his head.

A little brute as wide as tall, long unwieldy beard, hair danglin’ in a single thick thread, wearin’ boots. Humans wear boots. What other bein’s encumber themselves like that? The warlock. Dwarf.

A new fear shook me. The dwarf pulled me from certain death, I reasoned. Maybe it wasn’t as terrible a creature as the stories told. But he was goin’ through my thin’s. Maybe not all bad, but he’s lookin’ to steal me blind while I’m crippled.

The dwarf turned and walked toward me. Bert and Twitty skittered ten feet away, turned and watched with interest. The dwarf held clothes in his hands.

“Get out of those wet thin’s,” he screeched in Standish. “Hurry now!”

I tried to work a clasp of my shirt, but my stinkin’ fingers wouldn’t do as I wished, just trembled. The dwarf bent over me, yanked the shirt unkindly over my head, unlatched my belt and dragged my pants off as well. He barked somethin’ I didn’t understand, most likely in his own language, and Bert and Twitty ran back to us. The dwarf picked up the nanny, which was nearly as big as him.

“Wrap yar arms around yar goat, there,” he said.

I laid on the cold water-smoothed stones with my face pressed against Twitty’s hide, smelled her ripe scent, felt the dwarf rubbin’ my legs, dryin’ me, massagin’ my muscles.

“Get up now! Get yar blood movin’. The fire is what you need.”

I was lifted to my hands and knees.

“Up! Up!”

Every muscle ached as though pierced by an arrow. But somehow I made it up to the camp. Out of the breeze, under my furs, the agony worsened. Body jerked.

~

“Drink this!”

I opened my eyes and peered into an overly long face with a bulbous nose. Gray beard. Hadn’t dreamed up the short little creature.

“Take it!”

I rolled over, raised up on an elbow, and took the brass cup as commanded, sniffed at the musty aroma. The dwarf had scraped willow bark into sweetened tea.

“Drink it. Tisn’t scaldin’. Down fast. Warm up yar innards.”

I did as I was told. The dwarf refilled it from the kettle and handed it back. I ached too much to complain, drank down the second dose.

“All I can do for ya, fool. Stay out of the lake, ya idjit. Next time ya could be a feast for the water beasties. Drink more as ya can.” He pointed at my kettle.

The dwarf turned and walked away. His boots whisked through the tall grass, rasped against rock. The sweet scent of cut wood slowly diminished.

A woodsman. A noble trade. A neighbor not to fear. No warlock, maybe.

~

Chapter 2
Drazy

~

I swatted at Verner, one of the fairies that claimed me and Kelza as their personal pets. There was little chance of hurtin’ the tiny sprite. Easily flit to his home in the ethereal, but I intended to remind the majie I didn’t appreciate the buzzin’ about my ear, like an annoyin’ gnat. The fairy Keen, Verner’s mate, dived at my nose, givin’ me her own message. I snuffed at Keen as though she was an insignificant fleck of pollen.

“I swear,” I whispered, “I’m gonna flee the south to get away from these blasted fairies.”

Kelza grunted, but didn’t take her eyes off the elk edgin’ its way up the mountain toward us.

“Don’t dismiss me,” I said. “Would ya care to go north? I hear the mountains around that Black Lake teem with game.”

“Oh, so ya’re includin’ me,” Kelza whispered. “Does the brood get to come too, or do we abandon them with the clan?”

“Of course we’ll take ’em with us,” I said.

“Lower yar voice, or that elk bull down there won’t be the clan’s dinner.”

“I hear ya can pull pike from the cold waters of the lake as fast as ya can bait a hook,” I said.

“Ya don’t even like fish.”

“I don’t like the bony trout ya find in the streams around here,” I said.

The majie Verner reappeared and perched on my twelve-foot-long spear, which I’ve never used as anythin’ other than a walkin’ stick my entire life. I flicked a finger at the fairy, who disappeared for a moment, only to buzz directly at my face. I shook my dreadlocks to swat the tiny majie away.

“If ya wouldn’t torment ’em, they’d let ya be,” Kelza said.

“Me, torment them?”

“Shush. The elk’s gonna hear, ya dolt.” Kelza pursed her lips and glared at me a long moment, takin’ her eyes off the game for the first time since we spotted it an hour earlier.

“Why do they have to fly about my face?” I asked. “I hate that.”

“Ya sound like a pitiful orclin’.”

“Ya don’t have to be mean.” Maybe I turned my bottom lip out at her. A twitchin’ chin never helped. Long gave up on that one.

My mate shook her head. “Ya’re a bull-daemon, a giant among the giant races. Act like it.” Kelza turned back to study the elk.

“Don’t compare me to a pissy little orc,” I demanded.

Kelza shook her head again slowly, and Keen fluttered off her locks for a moment, before settlin’ down again. “Ya’d rather I measure ya to a dwarf or ogre brat, I will.”

I had to concentrate to hear her, she whispered so softly. I leaned forward to see how near our prey had ambled, takin’ its sweet time.

An hour—if I can read the sun! I groaned. The elk munched on the brush fifty yards below. “Ya’re the best shot in the clan. Put an arrow through its heart and be done with it.”

“I’m the best hunter,” she whispered, “because I don’t waste arrows by rushin’ the shot. Why doncha ya make yarself useful, and shut yar mouth?”

I wrinkled my nose at her, but managed to keep quiet a few minutes, allowin’ my mind to wander. Oh the stories told ’round the campfire at night, of the forests and highlands to the north. They spoke of the abundance of game, and the fishin’ at that lake. When the Range is mentioned the speaker’s tone never fails to lower. It’s been a forbidden place for all of us alive today.

The Covenant, which brokered the peace between the races two centuries earlier, was oddly worded to imply after two hundred years, we could begin to mingle again in the Range—except for the orcs and goblins.

The Covenant’s plain enough about their plight. They were forever damned to the desert and mountains to the east. The savagery of the orcs and goblins in the wars rankled even the daemons, so the tales tell, though their deeds were done to the elves, humans, and dwarves, which were never the daemons’ favorite folk.

Savagery? Or their kind simply held the weakest hand at the negotiatin’ table. That could have just as easily been the case. History is written by the victor, as the sayin’ goes.

Kelza slowly notched an arrow, and I let out a deep sigh, leaned forward, relieved the long wait would soon be over. But movement overhead caught my eye. I twisted and searched the sky. Kelza’s arrow began its soft song as the bow arched, but a multi-hued shadow flashed from above and struck our elk. A scream echoed up the crag, as the elk spent the last moments of its life in terror.

I leaned over the rocks we hid behind to watch the bull-dragon settlin’ beside the felled elk. The creature’s long talons punctured the neck of what was meant to be the clan’s dinner. This was a disappointin’ development, in the extreme. The shout next to me made me jerked.

Kelza bounded down the mountain toward the dragon and what should have been her first prize in four days.

“No!” she screamed. “Nooooo!”

I scrambled to follow, my mate careenin’ off boulders on her rush, gravel cascadin’ in front of her.

If the dragon doesn’t kill her, she’ll kill herself.

“Kelza!” I shouted. “Stop! Please, Kelza.”

She reached the dragon before I hardly got off the ledge we’d been hidin’ on. She held her huntin’ knife above her shoulder ready to strike. “That’s ours!” Kelza screamed at the dragon.

The giant fluttered its wings and shifted away from the elk, scramblin’ to turn and face Kelza, bearin’ down on him. For an instant the dragon’s unprotected breast lay open to the daemon hen. She thrust her blade, but the dragon twisted, raised a taloned claw.

I screamed, searin’ my throat. Kelza fell backward. In my mind’s eye I saw her body slashed open from shoulder to hip. I raced to her side and dragged her away from the dragon as she continued to scream, “No!”

I drew Kelza far enough up the escarpment hopefully the dragon would lose interest and return to his first feast. I dropped Kelza to the ground, lookin’ for the wound that had to be drainin’ the life out of her, but all I could find was a single nick across her cheek. Blood from that splattered her jerkin, but she otherwise looked unhurt.

Impossible!

I pulled at Kelza’s clothes in search of the gash I had to have missed in my anguish. But found nothin’ more.

“Get off of me, ya oaf!” Kelza shouted.

She clubbed me in the chest with a clenched fist, and pushed me hard. I tumbled off of her and rolled onto my side beside her, looked up to see the teeth of the dragon loomin’ over the two of us.

“Be still,” the bull-dragon said.

All was quiet, except a scratchin’ noise. I looked for what caused it. The elk’s hooves kicked awkwardly against the rocks. Maybe only the ghost of the thin’s nerves, until its chest heaved. The dragon hadn’t yet been able to put it out of its misery.

Poor creature.

“We’ve been stalkin’ that.” Kelza pointed at the terror stricken, paralyzed elk. “For over an hour. It’s ours.”

The tiny Verner and Keen sped about the dragon’s head, screamin’ at the beast. The dragon batted its brow ridges at them, blinked at their irritatin’ tirade. The dragon must have seen my eyes followin’ the two fairies’ aerial assault.

“Can ya make ’em stop?” the dragon asked. Its chest rumbled.

I almost laughed. Maybe it was the loomin’ fangs that stopped me, or the beast’s hot, rancid breath. The dragon’s soft request allowed me to stop shakin’, though. Kelza did laugh. The dragon turned his head slightly to glare down at her. He didn’t look amused.

“He can’t keep the thin’s out of his own eyes,” Kelza said.

“Then we have two thin’s in common,” the dragon said, with slow, drawn-out words. “A hunger for elk and a dislike for gnats.”

“Our elk,” Kelza hissed.

I clouted her in the shoulder. “We aren’t exactly in a position to be makin’ demands.”

“I was thinkin’ the same thin’,” the dragon drawled.

I was struck by the unexpected calm of the flyin’ creature. The soft leather of its hide sparkled against the mornin’ sun, like the crystals I fondly search for in the gullies. I marveled at the way the purple, blue, and red faded and mixed, and glowed anew. I sniffed at the heavy musk comin’ from it. My eyes locked onto the thin’s talons, each over a foot long, tipped as sharp as any knife. The beast could have torn Kelza in two with a single swipe, if he’d been inclined.

Amazin’—he only pushed her away to protect himself.

“Ya didn’t mention a hunger for daemons,” I said. “Can I take that as a positive sign to our little impasse here?”

“I would not call this an impasse,” the dragon bull hissed. “I would call it simpletons thinkin’ they can bully their superior from his kill.”

I felt the emotion vibrate from Kelza. Before she could spout off somethin’ not likely to help our present circumstance, I reached out and grabbed her arm.

“This yar mate, daemon?”

I nodded.

“Yar evenin’s must be as delightful as mine. Dragon queens aren’t known for their sensitive wiles either. If she were here, she would snap ya both in two without a second thought. She’s a prideful beauty.”

“Prideful? Ya’d call killin’ two daemons prideful?” Kelza asked.

I shot her an angry glare. Didn’t know how effective my countenance was, lyin’ here in the dirt. She’s the one after all who practices the dagger eyes, since she has to keep me in line. I may be the less than serious one between us.

A gravelly sound came from the dragon’s chest, which made me catch my breath. An irate trumpetin’ echoed from high in the sky. I looked up to find what the bull-dragon already seemed to have caught sight of.

“Speakin’ of my temperamental mate.” The dragon’s head wobbled a little from side to side. “Is she not a beautiful creature?” He paused a long moment, gazin’ into the bright sky. He turned back to face us. His eyes narrowed, ears flattened. “Ya should hope she chooses not to try to land between all these boulders. Ya better go. Hurry.”

“We aren’t leavin’ without that elk,” Kelza said.

I closed my eyes and dropped my chin, but she wasn’t finished speakin’. Of course. Not my mate.

“We have a clan to feed. A hunter doesn’t go stealin’ another’s game. Tis not how thin’s are done.”

I glanced up at the queen spiralin’ nearer. Even hundreds of feet in the air she looked twice the size of the bull-dragon. She trumpeted repeatedly. A funny noise escaped my throat, like the sound of a younglin’ drinkin’ from a flask without properly allowin’ air to flow inside. Maybe that’s called a wheeze. The bull’s head lowered to look down on us again, bringin’ my attention to the more imminent threat.

“Ya have a brood to feed?” the dragon asked.

“Yes,” Kelza answered.

The dragon cocked his head to the side for a very long moment. Multifaceted eyes danced. Without a partin’ word he launched into the air. The down thrust of his wings rocked us. Dust swirled, gravel stung, and the fairies fluttered against the torrent before they disappeared. The dragon trumpeted a reply to his mate. Though already several dozens of yards away from us, the din still hurt my ears. The queen’s reply thundered across the canyon.

I found the nerve to stand, though my eyes remained focused on the sky, at the two dragons. Tried to swallow, but it took a couple tries before I managed it. I turned to Kelza who stood next to me now, face turned up at the sky, mouth dropped open. Blood seeped from the scratch on her cheek, which brought my mind to earth.

“Oh, sweetie,” I said, “that looks like it hurts.” I pulled my sleeve out to dab the blood away.

“What hurts?” She jerked as I touched her. “Ouch. Where’d that come from?”

“When you first tried to get us killed,” I hissed.

“Don’t be melodramatic.” Kelza reached up, found the blood that oozed down her cheek and dripped off her chin.

“I hear there’re no dragons North,” I said.

Verner reappeared, landed on my shoulder, and dug under my dreadlocks to snuggle. Keen appeared a moment later, landin’ on Kelza’s shoulder.

“Even if there are, if there’s as much game as they say—” she mumbled.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I snapped. Fool. Challengin’ a dragon. What was she thinkin’?

She looked over at me, a thin smile crossin’ her face. “Ya’re soundin’ like an orclin’ again. If ya’d stood beside me we could have taken him.”

“I must have been seein’ a different creature than ya.” I held up a thumb in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holdin’ up, ya old hag?”

She slapped at my hand. “I’ll old hag ya. Go dress the elk, or I’ll be cartin’ a two-legged carcass to the clan this evenin’.”

“Ha. As I suspected. It’s a good thin’ the dragon felled it for you. Yar sight is so poor in yar old age ya never woulda gotten an arrow into that elk.”

“Why doncha turn and start yar long hike to that fairy lake now and save me some aggravation,” Kelza muttered, walkin’ to the still elk.

“I’d miss yar sensitive wiles,” I said, bumpin’ her hard with my hip.

She staggered. “Ya oaf. A daemon afraid of a little dragon. Act more like an orclin’.” She picked up her knife off the ground.

“Little dragon, ya say?” I shook my head. “If I left, I’d miss yar sweet talkin’.”

“Are ya gonna help me, or talk all day?” She turned the knife around in her hand, holdin’ it by the blade, wacked me hard on the forehead with the hilt.

“Ouch. Hag.”

“Orclin’.” She gave me a big shove with her hip.

~

Chapter 3
Estn

~

I turned my face into the cool, mountain breeze. The sun hugged the peaks to the west. Through a break in the thick pines I stole my first glimpse of the sky’s reflection off what must be the infamous Black Lake, far below. As an elf, born with that innate connection with the land, I should appreciate the magnificence of the view. But the ache pushed it aside. The shame refused to share my heart.

I had been right. Needed to start over. Get away from the clan, the faces of those who knew.

I hiked seven days until I exited the elven realm. When I found myself on roads struck by humans, their wary eyes made me push on—not that I intended to settle among their kind. I always had my sights on the Wildes. Once there, no soul aware of the scandal would ever find me.

The Wildes. Land of few folk regardless of race—elf, human, troll or ogre. I shuddered, considerin’ what other races might dwell there—those who might regard my kind a dandy snack.

“If I meet my end, no one will care.” I lifted my chin. “Not sure I do.”

I stretched. Guess I had two hours of walkin’ before I reached the valley, where I could camp on the shore of the majical lake. The weight of my pack, containin’ what’s left of my previous life, all that I brought to start over, weighed heavily on more than my shoulders.

“No remorse, elf. What’s done is done. No goin’ back.”

I slid my thumbs under the straps of my pack preparin’ to pull it off, to sit a spell to rest. But an eagerness nipped at the edge of my mind, to reach the lake below, to explore the lake of lore, home of gnomes and water beasts that dragged unsuspectin’ anglers to the deeps to feed upon them. No other lake on Earth is supposed to be as deep, as dangerous.

“No gnome or fairy I heard of ever ate a soul,” I mumbled. “No troll or ogre ever snuck up on an elf unheard.”

That moment I decided to camp on the lake for a full day, two nights. That would be the proper rest for my old, tired body. I trudged forward, ready to face the lake.

~

The sky blushed purple in the few open gaps overhead, but it was dark under the forest’s thick canopy. I thought of the ancient limbs my ancestors once dwelt in the far north, at the very edge of the world—trees whose trunks were said to be so grand thirty elves hand-to-hand couldn’t reach around. That was before the wars, before the sacred conifers were burned to bring the elves to Earth where they could be slaughtered.

The image cemented in every elflin’s mind flooded upon me, addin’ to my private despair—of goblins ignorin’ the rain of arrows from the limbs above as they piled logs twenty feet high against the base of the elven homes, fodder for the fire required to set the ancient bark aflame.

I picked my way between these much younger trees, unworried about my footin’. Though the ground was black, the thick pile of pine needles made the walkin’ easy, no stones or pesky roots to stumble over.

A good hike later, the sky opened overhead and a half-moon lit the land that flowed away from me. The dew-covered spring grass glimmered silver. Below, the breadth of the frightenin’ waters of Black Lake stared back, like a glarin’, challengin’ black eye.

The skin of my arms prickled, nape tingled. Not from the infamous water. A fire flickered to my right, too close. I stared for a moment, searchin’ for movement. Could discern none, nor sound from the camp. The night held only the call of crickets, the bellow of frogs, and the faint rustle of water lappin’ on a gravel bank far below.

I stepped back into the trees. Once upon the pine needle floor I stopped and removed my pack. Had no stomach for explorin’ in darkness to find a better place to sleep, even with half a moon. Whoever camped nearby likely slept, probably stay that way, for the flame of their campfire faltered.

Rubbin’ my shoulder, I peered back toward the lake, and sucked in a breath. A pinprick of light interrupted the black. It had to be on the other side of the lake. Regardless of the threatenin’ lore, others had made their way to the shore.

I unrolled my night furs, shiverin’ against the droppin’ temperature. If there was light to see it, my breath surely woulda billowed. I pulled the rim of my cap over my ears, low over my forehead. Took a chunk of dried meat out of my pack to chew, and settled between my furs. If only I had arrived early enough to make a real camp, to have collected wood for my own fire. What about my neighbor? Friend or foe?

~

I wasn’t sure if the gatherin’ light in the eastern sky woke me, or a sound. I lay listenin’. It was indeed a footstep, and no browsin’ elk or deer. The shlush of feet pressed aside dew-soaked grass. I sat up, turnin’ my head to get a better feel for where the sound arose. Whoever camped below, to my west, made their way into the edge of the forest.

I eased my bow and quiver from the loop on my pack and backed silently over the pine needles farther into the forest, to wait and watch. I leaned into the shadow of a tree trunk split by age and rot, and followed the heavy footfall.

No elf. Even a human creeps with more stealth.

A knife slid out of a leather sheath with a soft shh. I bent my bow, grimacin’ at the faint creak of the ash, fitted the string, pulled an arrow from my quiver, notched it—and waited.

Another noise. Sniffin’.

A giant lumbered through the trees, shoulders shiftin’ left and right. It faced my belongin’s, but looked left—directly toward me in the gloom. The creature lifted his chin, and sniffed, constantly sniffin’. The giant stopped, and glared. A bull. Tusks glinted in the early, angular light. The giant had to see me, but no recognition registered in his demeanor.

Sniff. Sniff.

The giant raised his hand a bit, looked down, and slid his knife into its sheath. The sshh ended with a chhh as the hilt struck leather. The bull stood erect.

Sniff. Sniff.

It turned, and walked the way it had come.

I remained still as the thin’ returned to his own camp, the creature’s bare feet slidin’ through the grass, and the clinkin’ of a pan as the bull prepared breakfast. He couldn’t see me maybe, but he definitely scented me.

Great. An ogre.

I had never seen an ogre before, in person, but no other race claimed a flatish snout or tusks like that. Wasn’t that surprised to find one at Black Lake. Had heard they weren’t above wanderin’ about. Why had this one left his realm in the west? A tinker once told me they were common in the Wildes.

There’s a lot of everythin’ in the Wildes—if the rumors are correct.

I made my way to my belongin’s and gathered them up. As I walked toward the lake, the ogre stood and glared at me. I considered givin’ the giant a wave, but decided against it. Even with the distance that separated us, I could hear the thin’ snort.

Sniff. Sniff.

I walked, not too near, but near-enough the edge of the lake until I came to a shallow lea where heavy rain deposited coarse sand and polished gravel, makin’ a pleasant little beach, soft on bare toes, convenient to level for a place to sleep—a nice temporary spot to camp, as long as it didn’t rain.

The sun felt good against the chill of mornin’. I looked over my shoulder at the ogre, still well in sight. The bull stood as though I called to him, and peered back. The ogre was too far away for me to hear the sniff-sniff now, but I imagined it, nonetheless.

The impasse isn’t ideal, but at least the giant isn’t attackin’ me.

~

I passed the day mostly in slumber, recuperatin’, doin’ little else than collectin’ firewood and buildin’ a campfire, throwin’ a line into the water. We elves aren’t big fans of water, considerin’ we model our swimmin’ technique after large rocks, so no surprise my fishin’ skill left a little to be desired. But I didn’t feel up to huntin’. If venison was what I wanted, I had perfectly good, smoked venison in my pack to gnaw on.

The third juvenile trout that threw itself upon my hook thrilled me—not totally incompetent at this, maybe. I grinned and slapped my hands together in celebration for a tasty little dinner. I scaled the water-beasties, diced them into cubes, and set them in a tin with a slap of lake water by the fire to simmer for the afternoon. It wouldn’t make a magnificent soup, but it would differ from my diet the past fortnight.

Any kind of change can be pleasant when ya’re in a rut. Otherwise without a lot of alternatives.

I lay back, crossed my hands behind my head, and closed my eyes, enjoyin’ the battle between the cool breeze and the warm sun. Within ten minutes I heard the slow patter of eight hooves against the soft loam. I peeked west. A pair of hobbled goats, a billy and a nanny, made their way toward me, grazin’ on the grass as they went, their curiosity obvious. Every few moments they looked up at me—judgin’ my nature. Goats aren’t a large element of elven life, but not unheard of. Knew them to have a curious nature.

Nibble, nibble. Peek. Nibble, awkward steps forward. The minutes passed and the goats neared. When I coulda thrown a pebble and hit them, the thunderous steps of the ogre pounded the grass. I leapt up and studied the approachin’ giant.

Does he suspect I’m tryin’ to steal his animals?

As afraid of gettin’ forced into the water as an attack by an ogre, I ran several yards up the embankment. The ogre looked up. His expression seemed to turn from concern to confusion. Thankfully his hands were open and empty, but the bull looked left and right, turned and trotted up the hill as well.

I locked my eyes with the ogre’s, to the ripplin’ surface of the lake, back to the ogre. The uncomfortable sensation of bein’ pinned against the water made me take another step toward the forest. The ogre did the same, and froze, as though mimickin’ me.

Are we to dance? Is this a game?

The goats neared my camp and my fear of losin’ my dinner momentarily overpowered that of bein’ boxed in. I stepped toward the goats, hissed, and waved my arms at them.

The ogre moved forward, toward his beasts.

I backed up.

The ogre backed up. Definitely a dance.

The billy sniffed at my simmerin’ fish.

“Shhhh! Get away!”

“Why are ya scorchin’ yar bait, anyway?” the ogre asked.

The words spoken in perfect Standish, except for the hint of a slur, no doubt due to the tusks, startled me. I returned the giant’s glare. “Tis my dinner.”

“Doncha have any sense of smell, elf? I’m surprised it hasn’t gagged the goats.”

The image of a goat sickenin’ over the smell of my dinner nearly made me laugh, but I stared into the ugly snout of a giant that could crush me with his bare hands. Decided it wasn’t an appropriate time to even smile. I studied this neighbor.

“If ya’re such a good cook, ya can supply my meal, then.”

“I’d be happy to,” the ogre said, jammin’ an overly-long finger toward my cook fire. “If ya’ll bury that.”

“I can’t very well throw away perfectly good fish,” I said.

“Perfect nor good are words I would use for that. Ya’re stinkin’ up the whole lake.” He pointed again, this time at his broad snout. “This makes me an expert with thin’s that reek. And I tell ya that reeks.”

“I never knew ogres to be such—” I searched for the right word.

“We have decorum,” the ogre offered.

I couldn’t help himself. A chuckle escaped. I clamped it down.

“What’s so funny, elf?”

There was a clank and a hiss. The billy had knocked over the tin. I let my shoulders droop as I watched the goat smell the concoction soakin’ into the fire’s ashes. The goat snuffled, and walked away quickly.

“There ya go,” the ogre said. “I’ve seen goats eat muck that would disgust a slug. He seemed in rather a hurry to get away from yar meal.”

“Well, what do ya have in mind for our dinner then, ogre?” I asked.

The ogre stood up straight. “Suppose I did give ya an invite. Considerin’ Bert spread that stench over yar camp, I guess I owe ya. Bury that stench and join me.”

The ogre turned and headed for his own camp. I watched him walk away. The bull was obviously no longer worried about the whereabouts of his two goats. He must have assumed his claim had been properly demonstrated, or figured by my less than outstandin’ culinary skills, the goats had no worries. I smiled. An ogre with personality. More than I woulda expected.

~

As the sun fell, I sat on my furs next to the ogre’s elaborately arranged fire, within the initial outline of a cabin, I figgered. Piled stones created a heated space that acted as an oven, where the ogre baked biscuits. In a well-blackened cauldron, Birs was his name, stirred a venison stew that smelled better than anythin’ I had ever smelled—at least since my mate left. Definitely better than the fare from the odd tavern I’d rested the past two weeks.

“Ya have a sad story there, elf,” Birs said. “So she skedaddled after another, a minstrel, he was, eh? So where ya headed now?”

“The Wildes, I think.” Can’t believe I told him. Perhaps, it’s because he shared about the recent deaths of his sire and mama. Desire to mate a hen he knew well of, back on the western plain.

“Hmm. The Wildes, eh? I hope to have a respectable home carved out here in a couple seasons.” He pointed at the ground. “Hope to draw me a mate. Have my eyes on a beauty from my old clan,” Birs repeated, then paused. “They say ya learn from yar mistakes. So what do ya recommend a sort like me do, to avoid such a tragedy as ya experienced?”

It was indeed amazin’ I shared my painful story to begin with. I left my kind to get away from anyone who knew my scandal. First person I meet, an ogre no less, I blabbed like a younglin’.

I looked into the pale contents of the mildly fermented barley that swished in the wooden cup the ogre gave me. Could the brew be majical, conjurin’ my life story out of me? No. The ogre was an open soul, easy to talk to. Didn’t seem the sort to make judgments.

I mumbled, “Never take ’em for granted. Love ’em with equal zest every day, as the first day ya started courtin’ ’em.”

The ogre didn’t speak for a moment. He studied the fire and moved his jowls left and right as though he tried to swallow a critter that fought back. It made his snout twitch a bit comically.

“Doesn’t sound that complicated,” Birs said. “Must be why it’s so important. Like ignorin’ yar big toe until ya stub it.”

“Hm,” I grunted. “Perhaps I shoulda stubbed my toe more often.”

The ogre chuckled—a rumble deep in his chest. More a growl, which startled me the first time, until I recognized it for what it is.

“I thought ya elves were smart. So how’d ya ruin it so badly?”

It was my turn to smile, at the ogre’s fresh honesty. “Ya may be aware we elves are long lived.”

“That ought to be convenient for redoin’ what ya mess up.” Birs stirred the stew solemnly.

I appreciated the ogre intended no sarcasm. “Unfortunately ya don’t get second chances on the important thin’s in life. I thought my mate and I had plenty of time. I spent time workin’ my way up in the elder council, and explorin’. Before I knew it, I ran out of time.”

“Then start over.” The ogre leaned over, grabbed a chunk of rock the size of an elf, and plopped it in front of me. “One of my property markers. Got two more to stamp out. Cold up here in the highlands durin’ the winter, but it’s mighty pretty.

“Good grazin’ for any kind of stock in the valleys. Short growin’ season, but enough grows wild here ’bouts, ya can find berries, celery, tubers, mushrooms and such. There’s fish aplenty, and the huntin’ can’t be beat. My mate and I’ll raise a brood of a dozen, if I get my way.”

I stared into the fire for a long moment.

Perhaps I don’t need to go as far as the Wildes to find my place.

“I’ll bet ya’ll be a fine neighbor, too,” I told the ogre.

~

Chapter 4
Yoso
~

I rolled out of my night furs and squinted at the eastern sky. The glare didn’t burn my eyes as much as it had the day before, which had been less than the day before that, but the purple glow forced me to look away after a moment. Eyes born to the black of the mines took more than a few days to acclimate.

Regret not bein’ able to share the view with my mate, or one of my brood. But they’re home, enjoyin’ their dark, damp, granite ceilin’.

I dragged my old troll self into a reasonable vertical with more than a groan and a grunt each, leaned over to stretch, and to shake my dreadlocks out thoroughly. Good practice first thin’, to ensure no critters decided through the night that a mat of hair is a good place to set up housekeepin’. A horrid faux pas, to share tea with a neighbor, chortle at a joke, and have a roach fall into yar cup. What was one to do? Wait till it drowned and drink it down, or skewer it and fish it out? A situation certainly to intrude upon a conversation.

I rolled up one of my furs and knelt on it, chewin’ a handful of my mate’s dried mushrooms. They left much to the imagination. I longed to visit an ogre hamlet in the west. Them ogres can cook. Meat. Ah. No rat or snake, but pork, lamb, and goat, spitted over coals for half a day. I could almost smell the wispy smoke, hear the spatter of fat drippin’ into the fire.

Certain clan members would gag, listenin’ to my thoughts. How’d our kind grow to limit our menu so?

I grimaced, reached into my bag and pulled out more shrooms. How any troll worked a full day with a pick or sledge with little more than that kind of fare boggled my mind. Livin’ above ground, where pigs, sheep and goat could be raised held advantages impossible to ignore.

I caught sight of a fallen log thirty feet away I hadn’t noticed when I camped the previous evenin’, leapt up and ran to it ready for a smorgasbord. Flippin’ it over I was rewarded with a pair of giant centipedes, a scorpion, dozens of grubs, and a handful of slugs. This is the way to start a day.

~

I worked my way around a huge outcroppin’ that jutted into the gully I followed out of the spiny hilltops and spied the black surface of the lake. I hadn’t visited since the previous spring. Sniffin’ the air, I let out a long breath, before pushin’ on with an excitement I hadn’t expected.

Smoke from a fire lingered along the treetops a half-mile to my left. Did the old dwarf still live there? The curmudgeon threatened to take his axe to me the last time I wandered near the lake. I smiled at the memory. A brave bugger, for a creature that stood knee-high to a pine root.

I don’t care for any kind of conflict. Isn’t my nature. Much easier to make a friend once, I figger, than keep an enemy for life. The rewards of a friend a cornucopia, an enemy a sad failure. I turned north, and followed the water’s edge as it curved west.

The chill, highland breeze felt good to a soul not used to the warmth of the sun. Place is beyond beautiful. Serene. Origin of grand dreams. A sin not to push aside the dreadlocks and take it in. Disregard the glare, troll. I scrunched up my face against it, flipped my hair over my shoulders, took in the ripples across the water, the pipers frolickin’ near the waterline. I tilted my head and listened to the chatter of jays and blackbirds. Just heaven.

I stopped abruptly, starin’ at the property marker. A momentary sense of dread struck me. I’d wandered upon someone’s stake? There could be a human, or some other lesser race with enough malice to kill a troll bumblin’ upon their property.

I whirled around and studied the ground I’d crossed. Found no duplicate chunk of Earth’s rock, a mate to this marker. I raised my fist and peered between my curled palm to block out the glare. Emerald-green grass folded to the breathy gusts. Eon-smoothed gravel and the blackness of the lake lay before me as far as I could see. Most likely I was on the outside of the claimed property. I took a short breath and blew it out hard.

So. Someone had settled on the north shore. After all this time. I felt a smile pinch my cheeks, chest fill. Time folk returned to the Range. I scanned the scooped valley. A quarter mile ahead I saw the telltale sign of a fence bein’ erected, a cabin of ancient pine logs nearer the tree line.

“A sin to skin trees that could never properly protect flesh from wind and cold. Good Earth is the only proper home.”

I studied the land through my pursed paw. There was another property marker near the fence.

“Two stakes?”

I stood a moment to decide what to do. Turned right and made my way through the tall grass, toward the forest.

“Best to reconnoiter where ownership is claimed, first off.”

~

I camped fifty yards from the nearest property line. Arranged a dozen of the small boulders that littered the lake’s edge to form a block from the night breeze, collected wood enough for several days, and settled in. Would anyone from the two homesteads stroll down to present a friendly face?

Right away the shape of a giant sort neared the fence, an ogre likely, by his size. He remained too far away for me to be sure, though. The creature stood quietly for a long bit. I imagined he studied me.

Not a friendly face, that I could make out.

Not fair the gods didn’t grace us trolls with better vision. Perhaps why we took to the mines in the first place. Or maybe we lost our proper vision once there.

~

The next day, a little person scampered out of the forest and visited the ogre’s place. I made out the two standin’ in the far field, no doubt glarin’ my way, but they chose not to come near, to introduce themselves. Best not to tread on their property to push a meetin’.

“Best to let their fears ease. At least they’re not greetin’ me with pitchforks and clubs. Or worse.”

The days passed as I celebrated the freedom of sky overhead. My fishin’ failed me, so I finally trekked into the forest to gather what I could. So’s not to get my neighbors panicky, I traveled east, and then south in a leisurely manner.

I found marvelous berry patches, one I had to tussle a bear over. We parted company with equally shrill growls, neither too worse for wear. I wore a gash on my wrist that would take a bit to heal. The bear bounded away with boxed ears and a bruise or two, from bein’ hurled into the creek by the nape and buttocks.

I grinned, watchin’ the adolescent bear lumber away. Had to admit I enjoyed the wrestle. Was invigoratin’.

The bear walked past a log without showin’ interest.

“Ya blind thin’. Blinder than a troll. Didn’t think that was possible.” I waited. “Don’t want ya interested in one more of my finds.”

With the bear out of sight, I hurried toward the log.

Kwokk.

An axe flyin’ inches before my face embedded in the trunk of a tree to my left. The implement resonated, an itch in my ear. As soon as my heart dropped back into my chest where it belonged, I turned, searchin’ for the grumpy dwarf who threatened me the year before.

The dwarf stood in the shadows, nearly as wide as he is tall, gray beard nearly to his waist, the end of his red sock cap danglin’ over a shoulder, beady little black eyes, bulbous nose.

“That was downright rude!” I said. “Shouldn’t let loose yar weapon without ensurin’ yar deed, dwarf. I might feel entitled to ring yar scrawny little neck now.”

The little person didn’t speak, but he shifted his posture, enough I caught the eight-inch sheen of another axe blade ease out from its hidin’ place behind the dwarf’s leg.

“For one so free with his attacks, yar not much for words.” I relaxed a tad, though I figgered the confrontation wasn’t over. “So what’ll it be, dwarf?”

The dwarf stood motionless.

“Brass enough to hurl an axe at a peaceful troll, but not bright enough to speak, is that it?”

The little person grimaced. “This place isn’t for yar kind. Return to yar mines if you wish to keep the peace.”

“Writin’ yar own law, dwarf? Not aware of any that sets this place as yar special domain. Best I recollect, the land of dwarves is a fair hike north of these parts.”

“And yars is south,” the dwarf blurted. “Ya should return there.”

“What gives ya the right to settle in the Range, dwarf, while forbiddin’ my kind?” I grinned at the thin’’s expression, the dwarf’s lips protrudin’, eyes narrowin’.

“Ya think ya get to choose yar neighbors?” I continued. “I see ya allowed an ogre to build a cabin on the north shore. An elf is livin’ in the forest nearby. I’ll be stakin’ my own claim.”

My last remark startled me as much as it obviously annoyed the dwarf. The words flowed from my mouth as though majically conjured. Standin’ near Black Lake, that figgered very possible.

Why couldn’t I make this my brood’s home? Why should I only enjoy it here once a year when I go a wanderin’?

I glanced over my right shoulder, toward the lake, though I couldn’t see it through the trees. Seein’ the blue sky every day appealed to me, though I doubted my mate would be so inclined. Would she even follow me?

I turned to the dwarf, who shifted his weight, hefted his axe as though readyin’ it, scowled in the direction I had looked.

He thinks I’m expectin’ troll friends.

“Ya better have lots of axes, my friend,” I said. “Or, learn how to live with trolls as neighbors as ya have ogres and elves. More will be comin’. The two centuries have passed. The Covenant intended we come together one day when we’d gotten used to peace.”

The dwarf glared with eyes that could wither a delinquent younglin’. But I was disinterested in a silent standoff.

“Try as ya wish. Ya won’t be findin’ a loophole in my words.” I reached out and yanked the thrown axe. The tree groaned in pain as the steel eased out of its grain. The dwarf lifted his remainin’ axe in preparation to defend himself. But he needn’t. I turned the axe around and gripped it by its head, walked to the dwarf, axe handle extended.

“Either accept me as a good neighbor ought, or stay out of my way,” I said.

The dwarf took the axe, but didn’t change his expression. I turned away and walked to the log, returnin’ to my original business, though my skin tingled. Could I have misjudged the character of the dwarf? The axe blade could well plunge into my skull yet. With each step the fear eased, pushed out by a new thought.

Livin’ above ground. Blue sky. Wind. Fresh air caressin’ the face. The scent of forest, lake, and water beasties. Milk. Meals harvested from the earth. Voices of neighbors not echoed off granite.

It might be time to drop by a certain ogre’s home. That’s the neighborly thin’ to do.

Before rollin’ over the log, I glanced back where the dwarf had stood, but found nothin’ but shadows.

“So ya choose to stay out of my way, eh, dwarf? So be it. Better than one of us dyin’ for no reason.”

I rolled the log, picked the grubs out of the detritus, droppin’ them one by one into my other palm. I fought an urge to rush to my camp. Need to find a nearby outcroppin’ for the stone I’d need, to stamp my markers. I imagined the simple design I’d chisel to make them unique, so my ownership stood out.

~

Chapter 5
Estn
~

I spit out what I coughed up. Didn’t expect the crimson phlegm that splattered the railin’.

Didn’t look good. None at all. More than a bit frightenin’.

I tried to convince myself my throat was merely raw from the coughin’. Maybe my lungs hadn’t turned black. I stepped out onto the narrow ledge I whimsically call my veranda and took in the early blue sky, peered over the rough banister at the ground thirty feet below.

My elevated shelter woulda surely embarrassed my ancestors. They lived in complete cities hundreds of feet up in the giant conifers. Before the goblins torched them in the wars. Even by my own reckonin’, my home isn’t what I envisioned. But I got a view without havin’ to be near the lake, out of the wind that swept over it, which could freeze a daemon’s spine.

“Attemptin’ to live in the trees like yar ancestors was a mistake, ya fool, up here in the highlands. Fool indeed.” The wind’s sharper than a witch’s wit up here. What gave me the croup.

Be lucky to see another winter. Or even the end of the comin’ summer.

Suddenly I didn’t want to be alone. It was early in the day. Ogre Birs might not be into his main chores yet. I thought of how quiet the ogre’s young mate once acted around me. She warmed extraordinarily quickly, the sweet hen.

“A hot tea with at least one friendly face would be a blessin’ today.”

I covered the hearth with my big kettle to make sure no stray sparks encouraged me to build a more reasonable home on the ground sooner than I expected, and descended the ladder.

~

Long before I walked out of the trees, I heard our newest neighbor singin’. Assume that’s what the troll calls it, though sounds to an elf’s ears more like a patient rockslide meanderin’ its way down the side of a mountain.

I hadn’t shared much more than a hello with the troll or his cranky, nearly-grown offspring since they started showin’ up the previous fall. The elder troll didn’t seem that industrious, in no hurry to complete his homestead.

When I learned the troll wasn’t gonna come stalkin’ after me, I relaxed, mostly. But ogre Birs had nothin’ flatterin’ to say about our neighbor’s race. Funny that an ogre and troll, their kind once somewhat aligned, now warier of each other than of an elf, a past enemy.

I figger, an ogre should have a better grip with what the fellow giants are about, so I wasn’t motivated to spend much time tryin’ to get acquainted with the troll family.

As always, the troll was in his field with his goats. He held up a long arm that looked as though he held a club, but it was all arm. He waved the tree-ish thin’ in greetin’. I raised a timid hand to reply, but another coughin’ fit bent me near-double. I spit when the torture concluded.

I trudged on toward Birs’ place, through the dew-soaked stubble with its fine filaments of new spring growth. A welcomin’ spish of smoke escaped from the ogres’ chimney before the breeze dispersed it. I didn’t see Birs about. Odd, that.

The bull is always workin’, either on an extension to their modest cabin, the barn, fences, or pullin’ rock to extend the garden or pasture. A wonder he ever slowed down for a cup of tea. How did the ogre bull ever manage to get that mate of his a soon-to-be mama?

I raised a foot to plant it on the first step of the cabin’s landin’ and heard the sniff sniff through the door, which swung inward with a rush. The ogre bull held his axe at the ready. He lowered it and his face turned like a page, flippin’ from a drama to a comedy.

“It’s the elf,” he roared.

Why’d the giants have to talk so loudly? I’m not on the other side of the lake.

“How’s that cough doin’?” Birs shouted.

I didn’t need the remindin’, as it took me again.

“Not good, I see,” Birs said, wavin’ me to hurry. “Come in out of the wind.”

I struggled up the tall steps. “I’d accept a hot cup of tea,” I said, when I finished my coughin’.

The giant closed the door behind me with a rigorous thump.

“Sounds as though ya require more than tea,” Birs said. The ogre turned toward his mate, but I saw Tiff’s answerin’ expression, and nod. She grabbed a pot off the wall above the fire, poured in a tall amount of spirits, and scooped a glob of honey into it, before she hung it on a low hook in the hearth.

“In the meantime, tea will warm ya up.” Birs set a mug down before me, where I struggled to climb into a blasted troll-sized, rough-hewed chair. “From ten steps away I feel the cold comin’ off ya.”

“Spring comes late up here,” Tiff said. Her snout twitched as though she smelled the cold.

“She never misses a chance to remind me,” Birs bellowed. A big grin etched his face though.

“Why,” Tiff said, “should I be remindin’ ya there’s plenty of open land to claim in the lowlands?”

“I don’t know, why is that?” Birs asked.

“Because yar a dolt, that’s why, and a waste of my time,” Tiff barked in that loud, giant voice.

“Then why’d ya find yarself a matin’ me then?” Birs challenged.

“Been askin’ myself that every day this winter,” she said.

The ogre bull grabbed her roughly, pullin’ her to him. He wrapped her up with one arm, and rubbed her distended tummy with a rake of a hand.

“Stop it, ya nasty savage. If ya haven’t noticed, we’re havin’ proper company.” She slapped at his arm, but her eyes danced with a delight she couldn’t hide.

“Good to have a reserved mate,” Birs said, winkin’ at me. “And I indulge myself with the courtin’ yet.” He extended his knowin’ smile across those tusks.

I studied my unlikely friend over my mug for a moment before avertin’ my eyes as the two ogres wrestled, Tiff tryin’ to get out of her mate’s clutch. I took the moment to look out the plate glass that covered the cabin’s window. How many cords of wood did the ogre have to haul to the lowlands to pay for such an extravagance?

“Did ya hear a troupe of goblins was spotted south of the lake?”

I choked on my tea, which caused a long coughin’ fit. “T— Tis agin’ the Covenant.”

“Don’t seem to matter much,” Birs said, “if ya got no one patrollin’ the borders.”

“W— what’s yar ogre council gonna do?” I asked.

“Ogre council.” He snorted. “Them from the western plain don’t care what happens up here. Maybe flap their lips. Otherwise takin’ a wait and see attitude for the moment.” He studied the timbers in the floor. “More interestin’ to see what the humans will do.”

“Are the passes clear yet, ya suppose?”

“If not, they’ll be most any day,” Birs said. “Nothin’ to stop good horses, no how.”

“The humans have several villages reachin’ near these parts now,” I said. “Suspect there’ll be some anxiety simmerin’ in ’em.”

“As if they have any right to settle on the Plain, so near the Range.” Birs actually said that in a restrained voice. Eyes barin’ some discomfort.

“Memories die hard,” Tiff said.

I thought of the ancient conifers, the elven ancestral homes, long gone from goblin fires. No love lost among our two races. Those giants deserved their place in the dry, eastern mountains.

“Wouldn’t be surprised to see yar kind,” Birs said, “showin’ up with the humans.”

I looked over my mug at him, and coughed again. Was almost glad, for the pain pushed away the memories of the epic stories the elders told around the fires at night.

“Try this,” Tiff said, settin’ a new mug in front of me.

The hand of a female. A gift from the gods to the male, for those smart enough not to run ’em off.

I thanked her and slowly tipped back the mug to measure how hot the concoction was. A whiff of escapin’ alcohol tickled my nose and almost started a new fit, but I managed to swallow it away. The sweetness soothed and burned my throat at the same time. It felt as though a dollop of fire dropped into my empty stomach. Should have eaten somethin’ this mornin’.

As if Tiff read my mind, she delivered a plank of bread slices and chunks of goat cheese. “Ya’re lookin’ a little pale even for an elf, Master Estn. Eat somethin’.” The ogre hen growled at me, pointin’ a finger at the food as though I might not notice it settin’ there otherwise.

~

Later that mornin’, a far-off rumble roused me from my cot. I set down my favorite book of poetry and listened. A bit like far-off thunder, but I knew what it was. Hooves. A lot of them, echoin’ through the valley pass. I jerked on my boots and heavy overcoat.

By the time I reached the edge of the tree line, a small army congregated at the eastern shore of the lake, on hard-ridden horses. Barely midmornin’. They had to have left the most southern human village very early.

Elves among ’em, as Birs predicted.

More than a hundred riders. Birs and the troll walked toward the arrivin’ contingent. I made my way to join my neighbors, to greet the newcomers.

“Good day, elf,” the troll greeted me with a smile crammed between his tusks.

I nodded, and worked to conclude a cough, a convenient impediment to strikin’ up a conversation, though I fell alongside the giant as we strolled, waitin’ for Birs to catch up. When the ogre joined us with his own silent nod, we crossed the half-mile of meadow, and searched out the commander of the force.

An elf ran toward us. “Master Estn?” The near-younglin’ held out his hand. “There was much talk of where ya might have ended up,” he said, eyein’ the loomin’ troll and ogre closely. “Consortin’ with our cousins now, are ya?”

The ogre and troll shared glances before lookin’ back at the smilin’ elf wearin’ the heavily laden quiver.

“The name’s Yoso,” the troll said. He pushed out his long arm toward the young elf.

“Liad,” the elf said, allowin’ the giant’s paw to envelope his hand. “Pleased to make yar acquaintance.”

Birs introduced himself.

“Ya’re here to search for goblins, I ’spose?” I asked.

“It stirred a mob as soon as word reached North,” Liad said. “Will ya join us?”

I watched the expressions of the two giants takin’ in the horses that were led to the lake to drink. The two giant races held no love for the beasts, and vice versa I believe, not that they could ride them if they cared to. I almost smiled, imaginin’ Yoso’s long legs draggin’ the ground as he sat a saddle.

I snapped my attention back to Liad. “No horse,” I said.

“We have several backup mounts,” the lad offered.

“With yar cough, ya shouldn’t,” Birs mumbled. By his bearin’, I could have guessed he was less than thrilled about the bevy of humans gatherin’ near the water.

I’m not dead yet. Goblins are treadin’ west. If I’m gonna die, might as well be keepin’ them where they belong.

~

The ride was fast, but thankfully short, before the little army came upon a goblin huntin’ party. There were only five of them. The tall lanky giants, near as tall as any ogre, stood together in a tight circle as our force surrounded them. The sad-lookin’ creatures, slumped shoulders, skinny limbs, wore resigned expressions, as though recognizin’ they were likely to die any moment. There were dozens of notched arrows pointed at them.

But the human who led the force spoke to them calmly. “If you wish to live, turn for home and don’t look back, and tell your kind when you get there not to come near here again. This’ll be our only warnin’. We won’t hesitate to put down every goblin we find tomorrow. Do you understand?”

The five nodded, their expressions not changin’.

“Don’t return,” the man said. His voice boomed this time.

Slowly, a break formed in the mob of horses, and the five goblins made their way through it with jerky movements. Their obvious terror made me feel a tad of sympathy for them. Why would they dare come west to hunt? What kind of greetin’ did they expect? Surely no welcome.

All eyes studied the five lope away, carryin’ the venison they had already collected.

Rather anti-climactic.

I bent over in my saddle, wracked with another cough. The human leader reined his horse toward me. “Elf. Get yourself home. We have many valleys to search. I don’t choose to be diggin’ a grave for you on this march.” He waved Liad to come forward. “Escort him home, son.”

The man turned back to me. “We appreciate your will, but it’s clear you aren’t gonna be able to keep up, no matter how tough and stubborn you elves are.”

Without an apology, the man put his heel into his horse to get to the front of the army. Scouts fanned wide left and right. In minutes they all were through the trees and out of sight.

Liad peered over at me. The lad didn’t wear an expression of disappointment. Maybe he realized after several days of ridin’, and this first encounter, the endeavor wasn’t the excitin’ odyssey he expected.

~

Birs met us near the lake’s eastern cove. It was evident by his long expression the ogre wasn’t here to chat about the weather.

“Bad news,” Birs said as we reined up. His eyes glared at the two beasts we rode.

I looked west along the bank of the lake. Squinted into the last arc of the sun that hung above the far peaks, but couldn’t see anythin’ out of place. The troll’s dugout, as well as Birs and Tiff’s cabin seemed to be in order. Their critters grazed on the meager shoots the new spring offered.

“This mornin’ after ya left.” Birs pursed his face. “I should have paid attention to the smoke scent earlier, I might have saved some of yar thin’s. But when I got to yar, yar little home, it was fully ablaze.”

I closed my eyes and worked to swallow yet another cough.

Now what? Does it matter? How long do I have? No energy to rebuild.

“I’m sorry, Master Estn,” Birs said.

The two of them remained silent until I recovered from another cough. When I finally cleared my throat, Liad said, “Let me take ya home, back to our clan, where we can care for ya, and ya can get over this croup.”

We all fell quiet again for a long moment.

“It may be the best thin’, my friend,” Birs said. “I would put ya up—”

“No. Ya have a new mate ya need to be courtin’,” I said. “One younglin’ on the way, and a brood of a dozen to work on.”

The ogre grinned, before his expression turned serious again. “The two of ya sleep before our hearth tonight. Too late to be strikin’ north.”

“Most kind of ya, sir,” Liad said. He peered at me. “Will be no time before ya’re well again, back to rebuild yar homestead.”

I caught the ogre’s doubtful glance at the elflin’. The young are optimistic. Fools for their lack of life experiences. Live in a world of nothin’ but sunny futures.

If I survive the journey north, a big if, at least I have a bed there to die in. Kin to bury me in the elven fashion.

~

Chapter 6
Braes

~

I didn’t expect to find Uncle Estn’s property marker by breakin’ my toe on it. The pain bolted through my foot. Hopped on the other as though that would majically help. My ankle caught in the weeds and I fell, face first into the algae-coated bedrock juttin’ out of the lake.

“Aaaahh.”

I pulled my hand away from the bridge of my nose. Blood smeared my fingers, wrenchin’ my face into a shameful grimace, I’m sure. The whimper emittin’ from my face further humiliated me, even without an audience.

“Trek has been nothin’ but one pain after another.”

Mud squished between my toes. Every attempt to raise one foot made the other glide for the open water of the lake. I fell forward and crawled up the face of the giant slab of rock. The ever-wet outcroppin’ was as slick as a tinker’s hard sell at the end of a long summer day. As though shoved by an invisible hand, my elfen self slid for the water.

“Eeeeeeeeek!”

Ice cold! No, colder, as cold as anythin’ I’d ever felt in my life. Breath-stealin’ cold. Every muscle cramped and I let out a long, piercin’ scream, as much from the surprise of it as the pain. I slapped at the water to keep my head above the surface since my legs refused to extend to search for the silt-covered bottom of the shallows.

I went under and sucked frigid water into my lungs. Only the sense of impendin’ death allowed my feet to find the slick floor. I pushed up to find air, choked, lost my footin’ again, and slid farther from shore.

My legs refused to work, which didn’t matter since I was too deep now to stand. Barely got my face above water one last time, but caught little air before sinkin’ back toward the bottom. I was doomed, I knew, yet continued to fight, to reach the fadin’ light above. I was so cold I couldn’t even thrash.

A new pain gripped me. The top of my head burned as though it'd been ripped off, but the black of Black Lake faded. I rose toward the surface, through the murky gloom.

“Ahhhghhhh!”

A most horrible-lookin’ beast pulled me straight up by the hair, before grabbin’ me by one arm, then the other, liftin’ me until we were face to god-awful face. I stared at the ghastly grimace a half-arm’s-length away. Free to breathe, fear kept me from it. Saved from one death only to find a grislier means of expirin’.

An ogre!

Long tusks protruded between the thin’s parted lips reachin’ up besides its snouted face. It opened its mouth.

I hoped the end came quickly, that it would take my head off with a single chomp. The beast emitted a repetitious gruntin’ sound, perhaps thankin’ its favorite god for a timely feast.

“I’d been told ya queerly little elves couldn’t swim a lick. Must be true, eh?”

My uncle told me before he passed, the land he bequeathed had characters of questionable demeanor livin’ nearby. He never said the characters were bloodthirsty ogres.

“What? Rats got yar tongue, little one? The hen has a fix for that,” the giant said.

It—he, swung me into the crook of his arm face down and trudged out of the water and up the shore. The bull’s voice continued to boom, perhaps braggin’ about a wonderful meal I was goin’ to make, but the blood rushin’ to my ears as I hung upside down made it hard to distinguish the words. All I heard was a bangin’ drum. Maybe that was my heart. All I could see was the tall grass glidin’ past my face, ticklin’ my toes.

I bounced up and down with the ogre’s long strides. I focused on the beast’s feet tryin’ to keep from hurlin’. The ogre’s humongous feet, long archin’ talon-spiked toes surrounded by thick fur, flattened the tall rye.

Oh merciful gods, don’t let them cook me alive.

The grass parted and the ogre marched up a gravel path. The bull roared on, but I felt too frightened to even attempt to make out his words. The path led to enormous blocks of granite—steps. What they had to be. Perhaps the beast took me into a temple. What kinds of rites did ogres follow, preparin’ for—whatever I faced?

I’m gonna be a sacrifice of some sort. After hikin’ a fortnight, I’m a beast’s dinner. How apt life is.

A screechin’ noise jolted me. The planks of a door swung perilously close to my head. The ogre shouted, hailin’ others to join the feast, most likely. My face swayed over a threshold, and a bang reverberated—the door hittin’ the wall behind it. I woulda lost my bladder but figgered I’d already emptied it in Black Lake.

The ogre lifted me up and plopped me down hard. In front of me, nose-high, lay a flat wooden surface, the sacrificial altar, held aloft by four thick posts. To my left and right lay even lines of—looked like chairs, five times bigger than they should be.

“What’ve ya brought me, ya lug?” thundered through the temple. “Another lost critter?”

I attempted to quiet my tremblin’, unsuccessfully, peerin’ over the beam I was surely to be butchered on. Across from me stood another great beast, an ogre of the feminine variety. The snout quivered, no doubt estimatin’ my freshness. The ogre bull walked over to her. My view was blocked, but I assumed they shared a ritual to prepare for my dismemberment.

So sure of their physical superiority, they never even tied me up. Lookin’ over my shoulder, the door stood ajar. Could I make it? I slumped, disheartened. They must have hoped I would run to give them sport. Why the bull turned his back on me.

“The clumsy little thin’ slipped and fell into the lake,” the ogre said.

“Did it now?” the hen boomed. “It makes a fine icicle.”

“I saved him from surely drownin’,” the bull bragged.

“And what’d ya brin’ him here for,” she demanded. “Look at the thin’ shake. Is he sickly?”

Right! I’m sick. Ya shouldn’t eat bad meat.

“He’s chatterin’ from the cold. Look at ’em. Drippin’ wet.”

“All over my floor.”

“Oh hush, hen. Pour him a hot bowl of soup.”

“I’m tired of feedin’ yar tag-alongs. Next thin’ ya know, their kind will be buildin’ a cabin on the next property.”

I caught most every word. They spoke Standish, but with a guttural slur. Prolly from their tusks. I managed to understand I was to be made into a soup. The ogre hen growled, no doubt more of the ritual, before turnin’ toward the cookin’ fire behind her. She fiddled about preparin’ for my death. A moment later she set a wooden bowl upon the altar—perhaps to collect my blood. She also set down some kind of implement—to slice my throat? She pointed for me to move.

I wrestled rather indignant, bein’ told to get myself into position to be slaughtered. Even sheep are led to their deaths. I turned up my nose. Defiant. I would go as a proud elf bull. I didn’t have to be led. Would take death bravely. I moved over and crawled up the several rungs into the higher pedestal. Looked down, as though I sat in an elven younglin’s highchair, lookin’ down at a dinin’ table.

“Eat,” the female demanded.

A last ritualistic meal. These ogres have odd ways.

I picked up the spoon I assumed earlier was to be used to sever my jugular, and sipped at the broth. It was hot, and good, meaty—simplistic recipe, but a good standby. Could have used more vegetables. Salt. Pepper.

“Not much of a talker, is it?” the hen muttered.

“Give ’im time to warm up.”

The ogre bull lay a blanket that had been lyin’ near the hearth over my shoulders. The heat felt wonderful radiatin’ through my wet clothes. I began to accept my imminent demise as I warmed up. If I had to be done in, at least I would pass, seein’ ogres had a civil way with their prey.

I looked about and decided I wasn’t in any form of temple. It looked very much like any elven home, save for the scale of the place. Shelves lined both sides of the hearth with a broad variety of preserved foodstuff. Cookware hung above the fire.

Younglin’ ogres burst in with a din, four of them, one a smallish thin’ about my size, bein’ carried by a middlin’-aged hen. They all chattered at once in that accent I struggled to make out.

“Baby-Ike isn’t keen about ya sittin’ in his chair,” one of the younglin’s told me.

I am in a highchair. Good grief.

“Papa says he watched ya walkin’ the property next to ours,” the elder ogrelin’ said. “The owner was a sickly elf. Left these parts before I was born. Have ya bought the place?”

“No,” I said hesitantly. “Inherited it.”

“Ahh. The old elf, Estn, has gone to meet his maker, has he?” The papa snarled, though I realized, maybe a little late, it may have been his normal voice. “May the gods bless ’im. Ya be buildin’ a home on the place?”

“Aye. I was thinkin’ about it.”

“I can see why ya would re-think the thought, after seein’ yar neighbors,” he said.

I contemplated that. Realizin’ I wasn’t on their menu for the evenin’, I was reconsiderin’ what I thought about ogres, and said as much.

The ogre howled, what I had determined was laughter, watchin’ the bull play with his younglin’s.

“I don’t mean us. Are ya daft? I mean the trolls. Now those kind will skin ya and have ya for dinner as quick as ya can say boo. They’re a grimy lot they are. Don’t ever turn yar back on ’em.”

“Don’t listen to the fool,” his hen gushed. “He’s havin’ fun with ya.”

“Then there’re no trolls livin’ nearby?” I asked. My heart may have skipped a beat, hopin’.

“Of course there are,” the hen said.

“Nasty critters, they are,” the ogre bull said.

“Don’t tease the icicle,” the hen blared.

“If ya wantin’ to build a cabin out of them trees in yar slice of the forest, ya got some dwarves as neighbors too. They’re wonderful at swingin’ their axes, they are. Likely help ya fell as many trees as ya need, trim and even put up the walls, if ya allow ’em to have at yar forest for a time. They respect the woods like the gods themselves. Never over harvest.”

I was stammerin’, before realizin’ I didn’t know what I was gonna say. Trolls, ogres, and now dwarves. That’s not characters of questionable demeanor. Had Uncle teased me? This ogre is defined by his sarcasm, evidently.

“Those dwarves are hard bargainers,” the ogre continued. “Come off rather gruff, but ya’re safe as long as they’re not showin’ their teeth.”

The hen wicked a hard glare back at her mate. So, this ogre bull, just likes to tease? What can I take seriously, if anythin’?

Meanwhile, the six ogres got busy talkin’ about family matters. I dried out by the fire tryin’ to observe the giants subtly. Decided ogre-kind were much, much more demonstrative than elves, considerin’ the teasin’ banter between mama and papa, and if the special care the eldest female younglin’ lent to the youngest is typical.

I found the baby my favorite. Perhaps it was the absence of any tusks as yet. Made him look less giant-like, less fearsome, with that round face. Though not even walkin’, the ogrelin’ appeared a stern one. Eyes never relaxed, pierced whatever it was he studied, lips pursed into a natural scowl.

Another good hour passed almost unnoticed. I finally excused myself. But not before the “little hen of the house,” with shoulders as broad as four elves standin’ side-to-side, prepared me a sack of food to keep me goin’ while “I settled in.”

I thanked them and wandered away toward my new property. Almost reconsiderin’ the offer to sleep as many nights as I needed in my new neighbor’s barn. But a good neighbor is maybe one not under foot.

I stood in the middle of what would be excellent grazin’ for most any kind of livestock I wished to raise. Looked out over the spooky lookin’ Black Lake, said to be bottomless, with unknown beasties livin’ in its depths.

What sorts of neighbors will creep out of it?

I turned north, facin’ my uncle’s ancient forest, now mine, and figgered that moment was as good as any to search out the dwarves. Summer didn’t last long in the highlands I’m told, so gettin’ a cabin started early would be better than later.

I hiked for the whiff of smoke I could make out comin’ from the edge of the trees off on the southeast edge of Black Lake, the general direction in which the ogre, Birs, had pointed. I nibbled on one of the biscuits the ogre hen gave me.

“It’s proper to introduce yarself to the landowner before traipsin’ through his field.” The gruff voice sounded like raked gravel, made me jump.

“I saw ya come from the home of them ogres. I’m surprised ya survived it. How’d ya manage? Use some of that elven majic, did ya?”

I stared at the troll. Had to be a troll, though I’d never met one in my life.

Survived it? The troll didn’t glower as though he believed I’d been in danger. He actually grinned the tiniest amount as though enjoyin’ a private joke. So, trolls are as bad at teasin’ as ogres?

The troll could have been a cousin of Birs’, though taller and a tad leaner, and instead of a snout, the face toted a bulbous nose. The giant owned arms longer than nature required. Knuckles hung nearly to his knees, though in truth he slumped, it seemed from old age, considerin’ all the gray hair which squirmed out of the top of his shirt and his sleeves, as though it fought to escape. Dreads hung deep across his chest.

Havin’ lived through two adventures very recently, maybe I leaned cocky. “That is exactly how I did it, majic,” I said, and lifted my chin with much more bravado than I deserved. Such a fraud.

This new giant walked near and sat gently in the grass, so we were as close to eye-to-eye as we were likely to get. He extended his hand and introduced himself. I swallowed hard and allowed the hand to surround my own as the troll asked me question after question. He practically had my life story, without slowin’ down. Trolls, very curious creatures. Who knew they’re so good at conversation, too. We chatted right there in the field over two hours.

“We’re losin’ our sun,” the troll, Yoso is his name, said, pointin’ casually at the splintered star squintin’ through the far, tree-ridged horizon. “That bedroll won’t give ya enough warmth up here in the highland. Where’s yar bed fur?” he asked.

“This is all I have,” I said.

Yoso shook his head. “The breeze comin’ off Black Lake will have ya shakin’ all night long. Our brood are grown and moved on. Ya come join the hen and me. We’d enjoy the company. Plenty of space. Not that ya’d take much space,” he teased.

My mind spun. I’ve lived a life of dread of ogres and trolls. Oh the stories told. Today found me sharin’ stew with one, and an opportunity of beddin’ down with the other. Goin’ out into the world was not what I expected. Especially since enterin’ the Range.

“Yar offer is very kind,” I told my neighbor. “But don’t wish to intrude.”

A troubled look clouded the troll’s face.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

“I—I was tryin’ to think how to calm the hen,” Yoso said. “She’ll be a might scared I suspect, me invitin’ one of the majical kind into our home.” He paused. “Ya’ll need, need to let, let me go in first and prepare her. Please don’t be offended.”

I smiled. Imagine. A giant troll fearin’ an elf.

~

Chapter 7
Braes

~

The door squawked open two inches on homemade hinges. The sound reminded me of an eagle’s challenge. A face peered out of the gloom within, long, pepper-colored beard, broad nose, dark, beady eyes like marbles nearly buried in the sand.

“What?” the dwarf barked.

“Master Coedwig, my name’s Braes. I’m the new owner of the land across the lake.”

“So? How does that affect me, elf?”

“I hope to build a cabin before the snow comes.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, slammin’ the door.

I stared at the weathered planks, mouth agape, maybe. What a way to make a livin’, drivin’ away prospective business.

I knocked again, this time with more vigor. The door swung open wider than before. The dwarf now wore a red stockin’-cap, its tail droopin’ over his shoulder like a scarf. He dangled a short-handled axe in one hand, its head as big as any I’d ever seen. The dwarf swung it a tad beside his leg, the mornin’ sun glintin’ off its razor-sharp edge.

“I already made yar acquaintance. Did ya forget somethin’?” Coedwig snapped.

“Yes, indeed.” I sensed my own grimace. Where’d I go now? “Uh. My neighbor, the ogre, said I might be able to acquire assistance in buildin’ a cabin.”

“That nosy ogre never learned to keep to his own business. If ya’re indeed a new neighbor, I hope ya learn the lesson this day. I don’t appreciate anyone pokin’ around my business. Understand?”

“I’m hardly pokin’ around,” I said. “Care to discuss business, or not?”

The axe stilled for a moment as the dwarf glared. His little eyes twitched left-to-right as though watchin’ the left-right cut of a workin’ axe. “Business is it ya’re here to discuss? Why didn’t ya say so up front? I have no time to be dallyin’ about makin’ nice with the neighbor runt. The day is short. Speak up. What’s yar offer?”

Runt? Says the kettle.

I explained the ogre’s suggestion, of tradin’ labor for loggin’ rights.

“I’ll be needin’ more specifics,” the dwarf shouted angrily. “Return when ya’re a good mind of what ya’re intendin’.”

The door slammed in my face again. I stood a moment studyin’ the planks—not that they were extraordinarily interestin’, just lost in thought. Reached up and scratched my head.

Specifics. Specifics? What does he mean?

I trudged back to my temporary lodgin’ with the trolls. When I got there I explained to Yoso and Eina what the dwarf said. Their expressions fell empty.

Yoso repeated his thoughts from the previous night. “I don’t know why anyone would prefer to live above ground anyway, when dugouts are cool in the warm months and warm in the cold.”

“Elves lived in the trees for more millennia than we can count.” I sucked on the inside of my cheek. “We’ve gotten used to the ground, but I couldn’t live under it as ya do.”

“Ya got used to the ground, ya’d get used to livin’ under it,” Yoso said. “We could dig out a home for ya, have rye growin’ over the thatch roof in no time.”

“I need a window to look out, even if it’s night. The stars winkin’ at me and the silhouettes of the trees ticklin’ the sky is as important to me as the bright sun and azure sky durin’ the day.”

“Ya wanna look out over the frightenin’ blackness of Black Lake?” Eina asked.

I smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

She shook her head. There wasn’t much that didn’t seem to put fear in the timid troll hen’s mind.

~

The dwarf didn’t answer his door the next mornin’, but axe-work echoed far in the woods behind his cabin. I followed the sound until I found my neighbor, whackin’ meanly at wedges held against the spine of a log. A number of gnomes worked with the dwarf. I watched as the team efficiently split the log they worked.

“Mr. Woodsman. I have more specifics about our business arrangement,” I said, before they could start to work on the next split.

“I don’t have all day. Spit it out.”

I told him my new thoughts. “Master Yoso suggests a stone footin’. Windows would be nice. Nothin’ fancy mind ya.”

The dwarf glared a moment before he shook his head and returned to work.

What’ll it take to strike a deal with this nasty old dwarf?

I sat on a nearby stump and considered what the dwarf might want to hear. When the woodsman finished the next split, I walked to him and explained what more I had come up with. “With the granite quarries nearby, understand trolls split dandy slate for a roof.”

The dwarf shook his head. He said nothin’, as though discussion would be a waste of his time. I returned to my stump to cogitate. Continued my interruptions throughout the mornin’ until the dwarf broke for lunch. Still, I failed to come up with the detail the short little brute wanted. Smoothly planed boards to fit snugly together, and a fair-sized hearth was about all I added to my specifications.

“What more detail can I give ya?” I asked, as the dwarf gathered his tools, concludin’ his day.

The woodsman was obviously tired of hearin’ from me. Dwarf Coedwig stood and glared past me, before flickin’ splinters off his sleeve. “I can only use my imagination for what ya may wish to build. My vision may not be anythin’ like ya expect. I don’t want anyone I do work for talkin’ badly behind my back once the job is finished.”

“Fr—from what the ogre tells me, I trust ya’ll do right by me,” I said.

“Each day I work for ya, I work another in yar woods fellin’ timber for myself. Whatever I cut and split on my days will be my own.” The dwarf poked a fat, stubby finger at me, as though to challenge me to refuse the offer.

“I—I accept,” I said, not sure if I was acceptin’ too much on faith.

“I’ll be there at first light,” the dwarf said.

The gnomes chattered away, their high-pitched voices gratin’ on my nerves. Why do we elves have to have such good hearin’? Didn’t look forward to the irritatin’ little creatures crawlin’ all over my property.

~

I only saw the dwarf and his tiny comrades as they disappeared into my woods at sunrise. Later, far off in the forest, axe-work rang, but I had my own tasks to complete. I toiled on a chicken coop and a pen for livestock. The days passed and I saw nothin’ more of the dwarf. I went about my business. I had grass to cut for winter fodder. I fished, hunted, and smoked the meat, to be hung in a cold cellar Yoso helped me to build.

I found the troll didn’t appear to work energetically, but his stamina and efficiency made up for it twofold.

I left for a fortnight to buy stock, a pair of goats, pigs, and sheep, and a milkin’ cow, and herded them home. Half the summer was gone. I was beside myself when I saw not a single log in place when I returned. My good friend the troll was there though, with three others of his kind, diggin’ in the turf.

“What?” I shouted at Yoso. I walked into the pit which was five times deeper than I am tall. “What is this for?”

“No idea,” Yoso answered. “Assumed ya’d know. The dwarf staked off this area and told us to dig it so.”

I paced it off—two-hundred east-west, and seventy north-south. I climbed out, sat in the grass, and plunged my face into my hands. What? Was I bein’ taken advantage of? Had we been so discombobulated in our relative ideas of a cabin?

The next several days brought no improvement in my mood as the trolls carted in cleaved chunks of cliff.

Why did a wood cabin need a mountain of granite?

When the dwarf finally showed up one day draggin’ a log, I jumped up and down. “The snows will be here in weeks, yet ya haven’t laid two logs together. Ya promised to be complete by the time the cold came.”

The dwarf looked at me, silently seethin’ maybe, beady eyes twitchin’. “Ya told me ya trusted me! Now ya question my integrity as though I’m a convicted thief.” He hoisted his axe as though he considered usin’ it in less than a noble manner.

I puckered up my face and strode away, returnin’ to my own work. I looked over my shoulder from time-to-time and watched the dwarf directin’ the trolls in layin’ the huge slabs of granite as he wished, among endless measurin’ and scowls.

This continued for two days as a giant hearth formed and its flume rose into the sky. The sun fallin’, I returned to Yoso and Eina’s and cried.

What have I gotten into?

Yoso helped little. “I warned ya about dwarves, as did that ogre friend of yars. The dwarf is obviously a better bargainer than ya expected.”

~

“Master Coedwig. Can we have a word?” I called to my neighbor the next day.

The dwarf glared at me, pointed his axe inches from my nose. “I won’t be interrupted. Leave me be. I have work to do. Ya waste yar own time if ya wish.” He stomped away.

Trolls must have been endowed with all the conversation skills dwarves lacked.

~

The sun already rose late, and yielded the sky early. I stood by the long, granite-lined pit and shook my head. I held no clue what it was about. Not a plank yet rested in place. The trolls disappeared, their work done, maybe, but logs collected in piles nearby. Stack upon stack, higher than three trolls standin’ upon each other’s shoulders, split in ever-finer finish, appeared beside the pit.

I had enough. I was bein’ taken advantage of. The summer is done. The air never warmed as the sun rose and set. That day I was gonna tell the dwarf there would be no more wood cuttin’. I washed my hands of the affair. Of our agreement.

As I walked from Yoso and Eina’s home that mornin’, I found dozens of additional dwarves preparin’ to set to work. Gnomes popped in from nowhere by the hundreds.

I watched dumbstruck as they attacked the lumber, Coedwig pointin’ and gruntin’, but mostly followin’ behind his troupe, seein’ that every task was completed as he demanded.

That mornin’ the heavier logs were fit snugly together formin’ a foundation that quickly grew into broad frames. The next stack of timber disappeared as inner walls took shape. The sun lowered to the tree line, and only two stacks of lumber remained, the finest cut.

The workers disappeared quietly as they arrived, and I walked through the colossal structure. I had in mind a one-room cabin for himself.

Had I indeed failed so miserably to explain my wishes? What is this monstrosity?

I had agonized night after night thinkin’ I would have nothin’ in the end. I looked up into the joists far overhead, unclear if it was a good thin’ or bad. I wasn’t known within my clan for bein’ the most astute, or for havin’ the greatest imagination. At best I was an average student, midlin’ administrator for the council. I believe Uncle Estn bequeathed his land to me out of sympathy. I sat on the enormous, cold granite hearth, and my shoulders slumped with an unknown weight.

~

The axes worked long before the sun rose above the eastern treetops. By midmornin’ another stack of timber made its way into the construction. By mid-afternoon a grand staircase spiraled up through four levels. Tinkers showed up with wagon upon wagon of window casements, with beautiful, color-poured glass. Gnomes attacked the crates and swarmed about. By the time the sun set, it glinted off a hundred glazed panes facin’ Black Lake.

I found dwarf Coedwig standin’ between the lake and his design, takin’ it in with a critical eye. I stood beside him, in my own thoughts, overwhelmed by the sight.

“Is it not as beautiful as ya imagined?” the dwarf asked.

“I could never have imagined anythin’ so beautiful,” I told him.

For the first time, the dwarf looked at me as though he wasn’t disgusted. “Then I’m doin’ an acceptable job,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll be done with everythin’ but the finishin’ touches. Ya’ll have all winter to complete the rest, before yar guests arrive.”

“G—g—guests?” I asked.

“Black Lake is well known. Ya’ll need a good barn to house the horses and buggies carryin’ the folk who’ll be flockin’ to yar inn, yar cabyne.”

I felt the blood flood my face. Cabin. Cabyne? Inn?

“If ya’re satisfied with my work thus far, perhaps ya’d like me to strike yar barn?” the woodsman asked.

I struggled to find my voice. “If—if I—fail to give ya the detail of what I want, I know I can trust yar imagination.”

“That ya may, lad. Ya’re gonna be needin’ help with yar cabyne. I can make recommendations, if ya wish.”

“I’m sure I can trust anyone ya recommend, as well.”

Coedwig turned to face me, heftin’ his axe as he often did. For the first time since I met him, a smile crossed the dwarf’s face.

“I’ll send ya an ogre I know who can fire the earthenware ya’ll need. He’s a fine craftsman. But take care. Those ogres are crafty devils. They’ll steal the shine off yar axe if ya turn yar back on ’em.”

~