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They form an armored circle around me that narrows and shrinks.
Fear bubbles within me, reacting to my own. It presses against my skin, eager to be released.
Before it overwhelms me, I peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth and screech the oath I repeated a thousand times on my journey here: “By sun, earth, and shadow, and as Regret forms on my lips, I am of trollis and am bound by its words!”
The blades stop. Heat pummels me like a hammer. Sweat slicks my skin. The air feels so arid, I struggle to breathe.
The first troll says, “You dare speak an oath to us?” His language is my own, but his accent is hard around the edges, otherly.
I dare to meet his gaze, pressing down my inner darkness. I don’t understand the meaning of the words, but they’re all I have. Fistsclenched, I repeat, “By sun, earth, and shadow, and as Regret forms on my lips, I am of trollis and am bound by its words.”
One of the trolls behind me spits. Another grumbles, “It is law.”
The first troll growls, turns his spear around, and jabs its head into the wooden plank he stands on. He pulls a cloth from around his waist.
Large hands grab me, a hard knuckle grazing my arm.
The cloth, a bag, jerks over my head, smelling foul. But it is more than a sour smell, because my head starts to spin. I struggle to focus, only to feel weightless, the air punched out of my lungs.
All is black. When I come to, my hands are tied tightly behind me, and I bounce as though carried over a shoulder. A bony protrusion presses into my ribs. I try to squirm away from it, but the thick, muscled arms around my legs only tighten, holding me in place. The bag clings to the sweat of my temples. I try fruitlessly to spit out my own hair. Panic flashes cold across my skin, but I remind myself that although I’m being taken by trolls, they have not hurt me yet. That must mean something.
Still, I am carried for a long time, shaken as though descending stairs, then weightless again as though slowly falling down holes. The air around me cools significantly. No light peeks through my bag.
How far into their city have they carried me, and how will I ever find my way out?
By the time I’m roughly deposited on a smooth stone floor, I’m shaking, and not from the chill. My stomach threatens to upturn, my mouth is dry, and when the sack is yanked off my head, it takes me too long to orient myself. I stare down at the dark cobbled stone under my hands. I stare and stare, trying to make sense of it.
“She spoke the oath,” a low voice says behind me. The first troll from the bridge.
“Another one?” spits a hard baritone. A beat passes. “I’m going to find this singing louse and rip his tongue out. Well, what is it?”
The words dance around me like drunk fairies.
A low woman’s voice barks, “Oh, for Regret’s sake, give her some water.”
My thoughts catch on the use of that word,regret, but my mind pushes forward to the more crucial offering.Water?
My dry eyes struggle to blink clear. Something hits the stone beside me with a tinny ring. It takes a moment for me to recognize it as a pitcher of water.
A soft squeak escapes me as I grab it and drink, the water stale and metallic and wonderful. Some of it sloshes down the front of my dress. I drink until the pitcher is empty and my stomach aches.
“Thank you,” I wheeze as I set the pitcher down.
I try again to survey the room. It’s about three times the size of my father’s sitting room in Lucarpo, with a higher ceiling and higher doorways. It’s lightly furnished, with wide swaths of fabric hanging from the ceiling and connecting to the walls, reminding me of a bed canopy. An enormous fur rug swallows the center of the floor—it comes from a monstrous creature I cannot name, for it is all one hide. I sit only a couple of paces from its edge. On its other side sit five elaborate chairs made of stone, each cushioned, each bearing a terrifying troll. Their skin varies in shades of gray and green. They all sport wide features, though the one on the farthest left throne is a little narrower than the others, with shorter tusks and longer hair—the woman who demanded I be given water. If they have the same bulges of strength as the trolls who brought me down here, it’s hidden beneath their robes.
“Thank you,” I repeat.
Her heavy brow lowers.
The troll in the center throne leans forward. He’s the largest of the bunch, with enormously broad shoulders covered by a fur stole. His hair is short and slicked away from his face, emphasizing the bony nubs trailing back from his forehead. His tusks—or feasibly large lower canines—are massive.
“Do you even know the words you speak, human?” he asks. His is the baritone voice.
I nod slowly, though in truth, I can’t possibly understand the oath based on a single story told when I was thirteen. Remembering myself, I reposition onto my knees and bow.
The troll snorts. “A polite human, at least.”
“We’ve enough of their kind, Qequan,” the troll to his right says. His voice is so low it reverberates through the stone. Qequan must be the name of the center troll. Judging by his position and size, I assume him to be the leader. The bass continues, speaking now to me. “Sniveling humans who can’t work their own land come crawling across the desert to take what is ours. The trollis kingdom grew in the cracks of the earth to avoid your kind. And the moment Regret no longer favors you, you beg for help.”
