Rogue's Report and Reflection

[Occhidiangela]

Part III in the travels, trials, travails, and reflections of LeeVanCleef, dwarf rogue and beer lover.

Chapter 3: When Trolls Read

Sit back down, friend, I'll get this round. A gnome will buy a round o' beer when trolls read, I reckon. Don't let that overeducated gopher rile ye: he's a gnome, in love with machines but at a loss for what to do with folk. The real opposite of a troll, mind ye: short, funny, intelligent, nimble and scatterbrained, where yer troll is illiterate, clumsy, tall, focused on feeding his maw and without a trace o' wit.

"Ye be seein' yer brother under this roof when trolls read, woman."
"Ye be huntin' with a musket, Lee, when trolls can read."

That's how Pa said it, a sneer in his voice, whenever he'd opine ye'd as well wish to breath water as try whatever fancy he saw askance. I'd hae ne'er figured a troll could read, which is why me mission to the ice caves was so curious.

Stolen a dwarf's messages and books, did a troll? What fer? Like as not to start a fire, or the mission would nae call for haste. Mayhap books makes tasty bait. Trolls have a powerful hunger fer fish, they say, and be master fishermen. Mind ye, I prefer me fish cooked, not raw like trolls eats 'em. Anyways, off I scurries to the caves. Me bein' a dwarf I figured I'd have an advantage, as I near grew up in caves. Ye might say caves were me second home.

After Uncle Tukratt left, things got better for a while, then worse. Ma and Pa could nae pass a civil word, vittles was gettin' scarce, so I hunted more and slept at home less. I learned how to get me hands on things that folk weren't careful about tyin' down, which helped make me huntin' caves comfortable enough. Caves is quiet, mostly out o' the rain, and usually full o' interestin' things miners leave behind. Were I a gnome I coulda made a fine machine, but that aint me gift. Caves is a good place to smoke boar meat, or varmint.

I'd haul home such smoked meat as I could carry, and arrive no sooner than I had cured it: sleep's easier when there's little screamin'. Pa and Ma seems to have thought it good that I was out on me own, both for me future and so I'd not see the donnybrooks.

But timin' is all, the wizun's say, and I fell into a fine mess. 'Twas all about them young nobles and "curiosities" made of fine leather. And Ma.

When I got to the house with a pile o' smoked boar, there were horses out front with the rams. Big folks, like yersel, and dwarfs o' high standin', to judge by the harness and tack. Hearin' laughter, I figgered 'twere better to come in 'round the back. Drinks and laughs with Pa's tavern mates would oft turn to tears, and I had no stomach for spare bile.

I come in the back and musta dropped the load o' meat loud in me shock. A dozen sets o' eyes were a starin' at me, to include Ma turnin to look at me with red, red cheeks and red, red eyes.

I'm not sure what that man said about "the buxom model" nor what in tarnation that halter and harness lookin' rig with it's straps and rings was for, but I knew it weren't right for me Ma to be standin' atop her own dinin' table with naught on but that passle o' leather and them strangers drinkin' and laughin'. Pa was starin' at me strange like, twixt guilt and hate I'd guess. 'Twas a bag held frim in his hand, heavy with coin from the look of it. A few more piles o' leather was on the table at Ma's feet.

Samples of curiosities, I'm guessin', for I'll know what they were when trolls read. It seemed for ever I looked at this sight, tho' it musta been a moment in truth, then I was on him with dagger an' fist. His forearm and the coin bag blocked me first two thrust 'n slash. Gold and silver flew around me head, then me arm were grabbed, and then the rest o' me. I dinnae stop a cursin' and kickin' til they had me tied up, stuck in the corner: it took all twelve, and they each bled. Dad's blood on the floor, and on the coin, showed the wound he'd earned. His arm were bein' bound by some "noble" dwarf, Ma had disappeared. Of a sudden, everyone was gone.

Pa looks at me, all tied and fumin', and slowly he picks up the coins.

"Ye'll be mindin' yer tongue, lad, or there will be trouble. A father an' husband must make ends meet." Then he looked away and lit his pipe.

Arguin' with Pa had rarely been thought clever, I reckoned, then the heat in me blood went cold. Where were Megant? Were she wearin' harness too? All the words I were gonna say to Pa died, to be spoke when trolls can read. I yelled fer Ma to come untie me, as Pa weren't budgin': understandable, seein' blood puddle on the floor.

Ma untied me, now wearing her house coat. She picked up me knife, with a harsh look at Pa, and gave it back to me. Megant I heard weepin' upstairs. I asked Ma "Why-?" and she just looked at me with those red rimmed eyes and shook here head.

"Not fit to be talkin' o that, Lee, best put it outta yer head."

When trolls can read, thinks I.

I spent the next two weeks at home. Food got short with me not huntin', Pa drinkin' up every cent of an evenin', not to mention his gamblin'. Ma would nae speak to me, but she seemed glad I were home with me blade out each night. No more nobles, nor bigfolk, nor "curiosities."

At the end of the fortnight Pa dinnae make it home. After a couple o' more days, I went lookin' fer him. The taverns had nae seen him for some days. It took a while, but I found him. He were trussed up outside me rabbit huntin' cave, though I be glad Ma dinnae see. Someone did him professional like, fer certes, and left him to me as a gift.

His throat were sliced neat as you please. His heart were cut out and stuffed in his mouth. His hands were cut off and his feet, and stacked up afront his body, which were trussed up in a piece o' fancy leather harness. The runes on his forehead, cut straight and clean, spelt "Drunken Scum" as clear as dawn. What's queer is that no trace o' beast nor scavenger were within a hundred paces o' the cave. Unnatural it were, though I found sign that someone had been about.

I'm guessin' 'twere me Nuncle: he's handy with a dagger, but I'll know when Trolls can read. I left the body there and came home to tell Ma. She took it hard, she did, and I knew what had to be done. I sent word to Cousin Klint that she'd need o' him, and I took the week to sell the place and pack up what could be fit on a wagon, then took Ma and Megant off to his place.

I tried tellin' him what happened but he'd hear no word of it.

"Talkin' won't fix the hurt, boy, I don't need particulars. Leah needs me, and bonnie Megant. Ye needs to be far from Cleef, I reckon." He spat, as were his habit. "Sherriff o' Cleef told me they'll not press charges if ye stay clear o' town."

Struck near dumb, I was! "But I dinnae kill him, Cousin Klint," sez I, "I found him!"

"We dwarf's frown on patricide, and fratricide," sez Klint, with a hard look at me and emphasis on the last, "so I'll give ye me blessin' and look after Leah." I dinnae reckon he was up for an argument. I was off with the next sunrise.

Yer lookin' dry, shall I buy another? Good, then 'twill be yer turn for a tale, when ye've moistened that dry throat. From the desert, are ye?

Funny thing, this life. When I took that book back from the Ice troll chief, there in his cave, I carved "Illiterate" in runes on his forehead afore I left him. Ya figger them other trolls will get the joke?

Sure they will, when trolls can read.

To be continued

Occhi