The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering (27 page)

A movement to
his left caught his attention, but by the time he'd looked it had stopped. His
quick glance had revealed a small outcropping of stunted trees and other
brush—small enough to be unobtrusive, but large enough for someone to hide.
Bending down to grab another bite of breakfast he took another look where the
movement had been. Within the trees he saw nothing, but kept his peripheral
vision attuned to the shadows as he turned away.

They had
chosen to camp in a small clearing next to a dry, rocky riverbed. With several
bent trees overhanging a section of flat, bare rock, it had appeared as an
ideal location to pass the night. Behind the ring of trees the stunted vegetation
grew thick. Tumbleweeds and other patches of brown grass somehow found purchase
in the barren soil.

Another side
look and a dark shape within the shadows began to emerge. A large head above a crouched
frame appeared behind one of the larger trees. Judging by the size, the thing
would be huge, at least seven feet tall if standing. Taryn calculated the
distance. Ten feet of bare ground stretched between him and the shape. He could
cover the distance in time, but a distraction would help.

As he shifted
his leg to make the leap he called to Trin, “Do you think you can get some
breakfast out of—”

In one swift
movement he turned and leaped into action, covering the ground in the blink of
an eye. His left hand snagged the tree beside the already moving shadow and he used
it to slingshot himself around it. Meaning to put his knee into the side of the
wraith’s head, he connected lower than intended as the thing straightened. Even
in the low light, he could see the huge form reaching for a weapon on its back.
As he straightened his body into the light, a towering rock troll came into
view. Realizing he was too big to take down with a single blow, Taryn let go of
the tree as he drew one of the blades from his back.

Twisting to
keep his front towards the intruder he bounced off the ground and arced his
sword in for a fast slice. He was faster than the troll, but not by much.
Speaking volumes of the troll’s skill, a massive sword was already swinging
close to Taryn’s neck when Mazer stopped just short of his opponents’ throat.
The troll’s enormous blade came to a halt as the huge troll saw that he would
be killed long before he could strike the smaller man.

For several
moments they locked eyes with each other, and in that second Taryn noticed
several things. The sand-brown troll was large, far bigger than they had heard.
Black curving tattoos crisscrossed his upper body, and his skin looked as hard
as the stone they stood on. Standing at over eight and a half feet tall, he
dwarfed Taryn in every way. Straight black hair hung free, nearly to his
shoulders, and framed a wide face that looked down on him with confusion. The
small black eyes peering at him were those of an intelligent creature, not the
dimness he would have expected.

Taryn sensed
the troll didn’t want to kill him, so he eased his katsana from the large neck
and sheathed it, but kept his weight on the balls of his feet to dodge just in
case. The troll appeared surprised and his monster sword didn’t move—even
though it hung a foot from removing Taryn’s head. Behind him he heard a sudden
intake of breath, and in his peripheral vision he saw other hulking shapes drift
out of the trees around them.

As they rose
into view and slipped into a ring around their campsite, he heard weapons from
his friends clearing leather. Surrounding their camp in seconds, they
congregated around Taryn and his immobile opponent. The standoff remained for
several intense moments until one more rock troll rose near Taryn.

Massive
muscles rippled under thick tough skin as he ducked a branch and rose to his
full stature—at least a foot taller than any of the others. The troll was
gigantic, towering at least twice as tall as a human and five feet wide in the
shoulders. Gliding in and out of the shadows, he circled the one facing Taryn,
blocking out the dawn as he passed the rising sun. When he came to a halt in
the light, Taryn swallowed against the urge to retreat.

 Black tattoos
resembling barbed wire spread across his right arm, bare chest, and face.
Barefoot, he wore a belt with leather strips hanging to the knees. A wide strap
stretched diagonally from shoulder to waist, providing a loop where his weapon
hung. Sticking above one shoulder, the hilt to the biggest sword Taryn had ever
seen extended. Protruding below his hip, the blade looked to be wider than an
outstretched hand. Intelligent brown eyes surveyed Taryn in what he took to be
a curious—and cautious—manner.

He stood
motionless as he evaluated the small group of travelers, but by his stance he
was ready to fight in a heartbeat. Frowning, his eyes flicked to the one facing
Taryn and the troll withdrew his weapon. The giant returned his gaze to Taryn
and said in the common tongue, “A true warrior does not kill without a reason.”
His voice was deep and rumbling, reminding Taryn of rocks tumbling down a hill.
“You did not kill Meer when you thought he was alone, even though you had
defeated him. You have earned my respect. My name is Tryton, and I am king of
the rock trolls.”

Taryn inclined
his head towards him, keeping his hands open and away from his weapons. “I am
Taryn Elseerian. We travel with the Oracle to defeat a great evil.”

Tryton’s brow
furrowed and he straightened out of his ready stance, “You will come with us
then, and we will speak more of this great evil.”

At some
unspoken cue, the twenty rock trolls moved to positions on all sides of them,
leaving no doubt that it had been a command, not an invitation. As Meer led
their horses away, Taryn threw a look at his sister, wondering if they should
go with them. Catching Siarra’s comfortable expression he managed to quell most
of his unease. This was also a chance to speak to another race, and perhaps an
opportunity to bring more to the gathering.

Beside him,
Taryn heard Jack curse. "I hate getting caught," he muttered, and
then raised his voice, "And we didn't even do anything!"

Without
responding Tryton turned and began working his way across the terrain. Moving
in sync, the barricade of huge trolls circled them, forcing them to follow. As
Taryn fell into step with the rest of his group, he couldn’t help but admire
the grace and discipline of the large forms. Each of the rock trolls moved in a
manner that screamed training, with each step quiet and purposeful. Constantly
rotating positions to compensate for changes in terrain or vegetation, they
left no opportunity for escape. Like a net of flesh, they worked as a single
unit to keep their prisoners inside.

Taryn caught
Liri's eyes and saw her uneasy expression. “Not like Sri Rosen huh,” Taryn said
in a low voice.

She shrugged,
but her worried expression made him think he’d guessed her thoughts. In the
entire time they had lived and trained on the island, he’d never seen the
supreme discipline being displayed here. Turning his attention back to the
intimidating trolls, he began to notice other details.

Without
exception, every weapon carried by the warriors appeared different, unique
even. Some bore staff weapons, with shafts as thick as a man's arm and blades
on one or both ends. Others wielded swords that from edge to spine were as wide
as Taryn's head. Notched or curved, each looked distinct—and as he examined
them further he realized the weapons mirrored their owners.

Mae slid up next
to him, interrupting his examination. “What do you think the tattoos mean?”

Taryn
shrugged, and for the first time noticed that the tattoos on each troll were
different as well. Although the style of the tattoos was the same, the quantity
and length of the lines varied significantly from troll to troll. As far he
could tell, all of them had at least a few on chest and back—but many had lines
spreading over their entire upper torso. On most of their forms, the tattoos
stopped cleanly before the shoulder, but a few had them spiking down one or
both arms.

Jack sidled up
to them, and for once his voice was serious, “Rock trolls are trained from
birth for a single purpose, war.” He paused and his voice dropped. “Every
tattoo signifies a kill.”

Taryn’s breath
caught in his throat as he understood the magnitude of victories being
displayed in ink.

“Why do only a
few have them on their arms or face?” Trin asked, worry creeping into his tone.

Jack let out
his breath. “A mark on their left arm or shoulder means defeating someone
considered weak, but a line on their right side means someone very strong, like
a hero. A tattoo on the face or neck signals that a leader fell to their
weapon.”

Taryn
remembered Tryton’s right arm, neck, and face had been carpeted with black
tattoos, but not a single one had marred his left arm or shoulder. Oddly, his
back and chest boasted fewer lines than many of the other trolls. He assumed
the demonstration of such prowess was meant to intimidate foes—a conclusion
easy to come to as it was already having the desired effect.

Welcoming the
distraction, Taryn reached the top of a small rise and got his first good look
at their destination. For the last hour the trolls had been heading towards a
solitary rock formation that towered over the landscape. Although it matched
the terrain in color, the sandstone monolith seemed out of place in the desert.

Turning onto a
curving path through the scrub trees, they soon arrived at its base. Tryton strode
to a section of smooth rock and lifted a curtain painted to blend into the
stone around it. Feeling a sense of mounting dread, Taryn followed him inside
to a large winding corridor that sloped upward into the rock. With smooth stone
underfoot, the walls had been left rough to maintain the flowing essence of the
earth.

While other
tunnels or rooms branched off the main path, Tryton led them straight up the
curving corridor until they turned and entered a massive bowl on top of the
formation. Open to the sky, training equipment dominated the space.

Taryn
estimated they stood a hundred feet off the ground, but it was difficult to
tell since the top of the stone had been hollowed out to leave natural
battlements. The oval of flat stone in the middle stretched a hundred and fifty
feet at the longest point, and a hundred feet wide. As they entered the bowl, many
rock trolls were either practicing with their weapons, or manning the
battlements.

Silence
resounded the moment Taryn and his friends came into view, and he felt like a
bug that had gone into the wrong kitchen. One of the rock trolls, almost as
large as king Tryton, began striding towards him. A double bladed staff hung on
his back that was so long it almost went to his knees. Black ink blanketed
every available spot on his chest and arms, more than any other troll in sight.
Although his face carried only a few tattoos, the darkening cloud of anger
brought a white scar into view. Running from his left temple, it curved down
the side of his face and twisted the black lines on his chest. Another set of four
evenly spaced scars marred his right shoulder all the way to the elbow. Thick
and ugly, they bent and pulled at the host of tattoos, causing them to look
even more fearsome.

“You brought
them into Astaroth!” the troll exclaimed, his voice more like a deep raspy growl
than anything else.

“Calm yourself
Kaber,” Tryton said in his gravelly voice, folding his arms. “We should welcome
the Oracle with her friends, and hear them out.” He looked sideways at one of
the trolls that had been sparring. “Kell, find Kythira and bring her here. She
will want to hear this.”

Bowing, the
troll raced down a corridor and disappeared from view. While they waited, one
of the other trolls separated himself from those on the battlements and moved
to speak in an undertone to Tryton. Similar to Kaber, he stood almost as tall
as the king, and had just as many tattoos as Kaber except for his left arm. Only
three black lines curved just above his bicep, fewer than any other except the
king. A wicked spiked greatsword hung on his back.

After a moment
Tryton shook his head and answered, “No Solus, there is no need for that.”

Another moment
passed in silence and Taryn wondered why Trin, or Jack, had not said anything. He
spared a glance, but it only augmented his tension. Their expressions were stiff
and they stood riveted, waiting. Taryn’s stomach clenched as he saw the
heightened awareness painted on their features, and wondered if he looked the
same.

Another minute
passed until Kell returned with a shorter rock troll in tow, this time a female
with long black hair hanging freely in the still air of the bowl. Shorter than
the males, she stood well over eight feet tall and wore a one shouldered dress
belted at the waist. Made from a single piece of rich, brown material, it
covered her bosom and hung to her knees with no adornments. As she strode into
the arena, even more graceful than the male trolls, she exhibited a fierce
beauty that resembled a wild lion. The deference the other trolls paid her revealed
the position of respect she commanded.

Stopping next
to Tryton she asked in a light tone, “Which one of you is the oracle?”

Siarra detached
herself from their group and moved to the forefront. “I am Siarra Elseerian.”

Without
warning a massive blast of wind flew from Kythira straight at Siarra. Strong
enough to crush all of them into the wall behind them, it closed the distance
in half a second—but Siarra lifted her hand and the tunnel of furious air
bounced skyward to dissipate above them.

Kythira smiled
and said, “Impressive, Oracle, but I had to be sure. I am Kythira, high wind
cleric of the Soulstone Clan. Be grateful for your lives, for few are permitted
into this place alive.”