One: CONTRACT
Beware of open-ended contracts. They are hell to support.
Torches flickered and smoked, casting fitful light through the cavern. Tosig Longbeard, King of the Dwarves-or at least the Mid-Northeastern Dwarves of the Southern Forest Range-shifted on his carved alabaster throne and eyed his visitors with distaste.
It was, he had to admit, a most unusual sight. Three Troll Kings in the same room and not fighting. The sight and stench would have been enough to gag a human; but dwarves have a somewhat different aesthetic and King Tosig’s attitude owed more to the delegation’s demands than their looks or smell. He drummed his fingers on the throne arm as he tried to figure a diplomatic way out of this mess.
The smaller troll in the center did the talking. He was unusually intelligent for a troll and their host had no doubt he was the one who had organized this meeting. Pox rot him! Tosig thought as he waited for him to run down.
"This is not a matter for me or my people," Tosig broke in at last. "If this new human wizard bothers you, then destroy him."
"We cannot," the troll king replied. "This magic is too strong." His face split into a snaggle-toothed grin. "But dwarves have powerful magic. Dwarves can kill this new wizard."
His two companions nodded and growled assent. King Tosig glowered back and felt a tiny burning sensation kindle somewhere up under his breastbone. At that moment he truly wanted to kill the new wizard who had brought him all this trouble.
At that moment the new wizard wouldn’t have been at all averse to being killed.
Like King Tosig’s hall, the chamber was underground and dimly lit. But instead of rough stone, the walls were fine mosaics in subdued and tasteful patterns. There were no smoky torches here, only a diffuse radiance that seemed to emanate from everywhere in the room. And while the creature that faced the two humans across the table might be decidedly odd, by no stretch of the imagination could it be called either ugly or stinking.
But that did not mean the wizard was enjoying himself.
"Okay, look," William Irving Zumwalt said. "If the dryads mark their trees our woodcutters will leave them alone. But in return our people can cut other trees and use the forest without being harassed."
The being across the nacreous table cocked its head, as if listening to far-away voices. It was manlike, but then so is a gorilla if you stretch the term far enough. Parchment skin stretched over delicate bones. Fingers so long they were almost tentacles. Enormous dark eyes that slanted at the corners. Ears blood-pink and pointed. The thing was at once inhumanly beautiful and deeply disturbing.
The silence dragged on. Wiz shifted and fidgeted while the creature sat with its head to one side and its eyes focused on things far beyond its visitor. Elven magic could warp time to make centuries pass in a single night. But Wiz was finding that non-mortals didn’t need magic to make a night drag on for centuries.
"It will be done," the creature said finally. "The trees will be marked."
"But when?"
The other lifted a delicate hand and waved it airily. "Soon," it fluted.
Wiz took a tighter rein on his temper. "Soon" to a non-mortal meant any time in the next geologic eon-if then.
"But precisely when? I can’t go back to my people and tell them just ’soon.’ We’ve got to be able to go into the forests to cut wood and gather food."
"You wish it done soon. I say it will be soon. That is enough."
"Fine, but we need…" Wiz was talking to empty air. The being had vanished, leaving Wiz and his companion alone in the gently glowing chamber. Slowly and inexorably the light was dying, a none-too-subtle hint that the meeting was over.
"Well, then…" Jerry Andrews put his palms on the opalescent table and heaved himself up from the low chair. He had lost weight in the year or so he had been in this world, but he still outweighed Wiz by nearly 100 pounds just as he overtopped him by a head.
"Next full moon," Wiz agreed and got up as well.
I hope they will be here then, he thought as he followed Jerry through the fading light of the corridor and out into the clear frosty air outside the hill. There was no door or other obvious exit. One step they were within the enchanted hill and the next step they were outside, with the forest looming up behind them and the gently glowing magic barrier that cordoned off this place in front of them.
Reflexively they both inhaled deeply. There was nothing wrong with the air inside, but the air outside seemed sweeter. The smell of freedom, Wiz decided. It was just a few more steps along the moonlit path and they were past the barrier and back in the forest that belonged to men.
"Mortals drive us from the forest," the troll king’s voice echoed off the walls of the cavern. "We cannot hunt where we did."
Meaning you can’t hunt mortals, King Tosig thought sourly. Well, what did you expect, you silly nit? You go around eating people, even mortals, and naturally they’ll object. The burning in his stomach was stronger and he knew he would be up all night, walking the floor and drinking ground chalk.
He understood the trolls’ problem in a general way. For time out of mind trolls had roamed the marches of the human realms, devouring human travelers and occasionally daring to attack mortal farms and villages. Then three or four seasons ago a new magician had arisen among the humans. Brought from outside the World, or so the story went.
At first this alien wizard had only used his power in human quarrels. But before long his vastly more powerful magic had begun to spread among mortals. Suddenly the humans had respectable magical powers and the trolls, who had almost none, had lost a major item in their diet.
Tosig tugged his beard. This was a pretty problem indeed. So far there had been little contact between humans and dwarves and he would just as soon keep it that way. His realms were far from the lands of mortals and his people had not suffered from the humans’ new magic. However he had heard stories and they were not the sort to encourage him to stir up trouble in that direction.
Well, maybe he wouldn’t have to. The king had been talking for nearly a day-tenth and hadn’t yet…
"I call debt-right!" the troll king thundered. "Blood for my people."
A stillness settled over the hall. All the dwarves present knew that the troll kings’ claim was legitimate. Tosig sighed and inwardly cursed the day he had contracted a debt to a gang of trolls. But contract it he had, and now the troll had made a formal demand. Debts must be paid.
There were practical considerations as well. The dwarves traded salt and iron to the trolls for hides, some forest products and the odd bit of booty. It was not a terribly profitable trade, but if the truth be known the Mid-Northeastern Dwarves of the Southern Forest Range were not a terribly wealthy tribe. They didn’t need complications with the trolls now.
As if I didn’t have enough problems! Tosig thought as the pain in his stomach gnawed and the silence stretched on. As if… Suddenly he stopped short and thought furiously.
Ignoring the burning inside he nodded to his visitors.
"It pleases me to grant your request. The thing shall be done." He waved dismissal. "Now go."