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“What exactly does your ‘family’ need security for?” he growled, eyeing the males that rushed over from another wagon to lift his bike from the ground to load it into the back of their wagon.
They were certainly eager. Raskyuil couldn’t help but notice. Too eager and very numerous, which made him twitchy.
The princeling smiled then. It was a smile without warmth and yet broad enough that it showed the slightly pointed edges of his incisors and canines within his grin. There was a touch of madness to it that made Raskyuil regard him with caution. It was not enough reason to reject the job but one that would persuade him to watch out for himself and his own wellbeing first in whatever agreement he made.
Elwyn chuckled, the sound containing a hint of merriment despite how hollow it sounded. Raskyuil’s eyes narrowed in warning, and the aelf’s lips thinned in a tight smile, silencing his laughter as quickly as it began.
“For a thing of wonders that only a troll would truly suit to guard. A carnival,” he murmured, the words carrying despite how quietly he said them. “A Carnival of Monsters.”
ChapterTwo
The wagon was not made for a male of Raskyuil’s size. It groaned every time he moved. If he stepped off it to piss or shit somewhere, if he stepped back into it, or if he even so much as tried to shift to make himself more comfortable. Every one of his movements seemed to increase the pitch of the wagon until the driver, a male called Dwin, shouted at the disruption. He was, therefore, relieved when the wagon came to a clattering halt and he was able to remove himself promptly from the cramped conditions he was resigned to throughout the course of the entire day.
His large frame practically burst from the wagon as he gracelessly pushed himself free of the confines and dropped to the ground below. Smaller fae nearby scurried out of his way with a mild sound of surprise, but that was to be expected. Even among his own kind, he was larger and bore a more brutal appearance that had not softened any in the years since his self-imposed exile from Selvan’s court. Raskyuil groaned as he straightened to his full height and stretched his arms high above his head. Though he appreciated the ride, he grimaced at the aches in his back and limbs. The wagons were definitely not made for any creature as large as a troll.
Digging into the inside pocket of his large leather coat, he hunted out and closed his fingers around the cigar tucked in there. He grunted as he pulled it free and tucked it between his teeth. Although he had a small airtight container in his pack with a half dozen more, there were only two in his coat pocket. He would need to resupply soon at a human town if he did not encounter a supply caravan making its way north with their bolts of woven fabric and goods carried up from the south. It had not taken long for trade routes to spring up among the fae and humans both. Although much trading was done one on one with scrappers who braved the hazards of the crumbling cities, goods had begun moving from settlement to settlement. Salt, raw sugarcane, rice, wheat, fruit, wooden and stone-made trinkets, and with the tobacco, cigars.
Bringing his claws close to the tip of his cigar, he snapped his fingers with a short burst of power just as his claws scraped together, bringing forth a bright little flame at his claw-tips. Minor magic, mostly useless unless one was a firebug, but something that all forest trolls possessed. He wasn’t a mage who could summon a fireball or truly use it on the offense. Just a tiny flame big enough to light his cigar or start a campfire with. Useful enough in that case. Touching the flame to his cigar, he dragged at the end, enjoying the curl of smoke filling his mouth as he watched the mishmash of various fairy-folk from the most delicate to the most monstrous rapidly work to set up camp.
“That’s a handy trick,” a male voice observed at his side, attracting his attention. A dryad, from what he could tell, given the faint whorl marks patterning his skin and the vivid green of his hair falling loose around his shoulders.
Raskyuil’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. Unlike many fairy races where it was common to find more males than females, dryads were among the few where the opposite was true. Among the water-dwelling folk, they chose their mates specifically among the human races, plucking them from the banks of their abodes or from the water itself. This was common among all dryads, but males were almost always exclusively claimed by a female dryad and yoked to her woods, or tree in the case of a hamadryad. To see a wandering male was unusual.
The male’s brows inched up in turn at his staring, a wry grin stretching slowly across his face as he lifted a beautifully carved wooden pipe not unlike the one that Raskyuil’s sire had puffed on in the long evenings.
“Got a light, troll?” he asked, a hint of humor in his voice.
Raskyuil grunted in reply and extended his claws. A please looked crossed the dryad’s face as he lifted his pipe to his mouth and leaned in. Raskyuil turned his hand, tipping the flame into the pipe as the male puffed and sweet, familiar smoke curled up from the bowl. Straightening, the dryad took a deep, satisfying puff on his pipe and released a small cloud of smoke into the air with a happy sigh. The smoke once again hit Raskyuil’s nose, bringing with it the memory of home. That was no human-grown tobacco but something straight from the aelven lands that smelled of spice and magic.
“Excellent,” the male said, blowing out another puff of smoke. “After being cooped up all day with the lot I travel with, I needed that.”
Raskyuil grunted again in acknowledgment, his claws curling inward as he extinguished the flame. Although he had been alone in his wagon, he could not imagine being packed into such a confined space with a half-dozen other beings. He watched as poles were pitched in the clearing and colorful tents rose rapidly. They were scattered around like butterflies clinging to the yellow autumn grass.
He regarded them thoughtfully as he puffed on his cigar. He rarely bothered with anything so extravagant. He had a sleep roll containing a simple, thick blanket and a large leather hide treated with concoctions to make it water resistant. He used the hide to protect himself from the heat of the sun and the worst of the elements when there wasn’t an abandoned building that he could make use of. His eyes lingered on the males doing the lifting. Ogres and orcs mostly, their heavy builds distinctive even at their distance.
The dryad gestured in the direction of the camp. “Don’t worry about accommodations. That there is the usual setup and breakdown team. They do odd jobs like this for their keep as they aren’t inclined to performing or are too dangerous to have unsupervised around humans. They will already have orders to set something up for you, so I suspect you will be shown your tent once everything is finished.” He looked over at Raskyuil thoughtfully, one clawed finger tapping lightly on the bowl of his pipe. “I don’t think we’ve had a troll with us before. You are able to be around humans, I presume? I can’t imagine a security job going to anyone who wasn’t.”
“I am for as long as I need to be here,” Raskyuil muttered, answering both questions with a simple statement that said all that needed to be said.
He would play nice with humans and fairy alike and perform the security duties assigned to me while he was there repairing his bike. It was a reasonable price to pay in exchange for access to tools that he could use, a place to sleep, and hot food to fill his belly. His gaze shifted and fell on several twergs hauling marked sacks of what appeared to be food provisions to a large tent erected at the far corner of the camp. He blew out a cloud of cigar smoke in their direction as he tipped his head toward them.
“Where do you get the food supplies? That looks like human script. You raid?”
The dryad followed his gaze and laughed softly. “We’ve been known to scavenge for some things and trade for others. But a lot of our food provisions come from human farmers who barter with us, sometimes for assistance in pulling in a harvest. A large portion of our donations are from what is paid for our performances. Coin has little value in this world when it is food and necessities that everyone needs, including us,” he added.
“Seems like a step down for aelves and some of the folks here,” Raskyuil commented, having a difficult time imagining the likes of Elwyn enjoying such a crude existence.
The male shrugged, a rueful smile curling his lips. “But it’s freedom, yes? Even Lord Elwyn understands and clings to it rather than returning to the lofty halls of his family home where he would be obligated to mate in accordance to his family’s choosing and be beholden to whatever fate is crafted for him. He gathered the first of us from the great forests, fairies and creatures struggling to survive or wishing for a new life. Others just joined us as we came across them.”
Raskyuil raised a brow. “And what allure would all of this have for a dryad? Unless you carry a tree with you for company,” he added as an afterthought.
“Ah, yes,” the dryad chuckled. “No tree, although I did have this fashioned from the wood of my mother’s tree.” He lifted his hand to show a wooden bracelet on his wrist. “It provides a small connection, but I suppose the answer is that I’m still looking for my woods. I haven’t found one that has had the allure to call me home to its embrace. So I wander in search of it like my kind will do. The name is Nathiel, by the way.”
Raskyuil took a drag on his cigar, his tail flicking pensively. He could appreciate that. Wasn’t that what he was also looking for? Someplace that called to him to put down roots and defend. It was a strong desire, one that kept him moving from place to place. He hadn’t stayed among the vampire nest, though he had been invited, nor had he returned to the Eternal Forest. He did not see making his home among this strange carnival either, but for now the allure of having someplace warm would keep him there.
At least it seemed that he would have some small amount of company for a while. Trolls were family oriented enough that even mountain trolls would feel the pinch of isolation in a lone migration. Wood trolls were even more clannish and the ache for family not easily dismissed. The thought of having a sort of kinship among the monsters of the carnival was one positive thing he could enjoy for a while before he moved on.
From the corner of his eye, he noted that Dwin was waving him over, and he smothered a sigh. Hopefully the male meant to show him to where he would sleep. He could use some actual rest. Adjusting the weight of his pack, he glanced back over at the dryad, Nathiel, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lumbered away.
