Jess Lebow - The Darksteel Eye

A voice brought her from her reverie. “Glissa.”

Glissa looked up from the ground. The figure before her wore the red ceremonial armor of the Tel-Jilad. For a moment, Glissa saw a different face.

“Kane?”

The elf looked at her sideways. “No.”

Glissa looked around. While she had been thinking of her best friend, she had walked right up to the front of the Tree of Tales.

The guard stepped to one side, indicating the side of the tree with a sweep of his hand.

Glissa stared at him, confused. “What’s this? You’re just going to let me inside the Tree.”

The Tel-Jilad nodded.

Slobad sidled up to her. “You sure ’bout this, crazy elf? Last time we here, they think you kill old troll, huh?”

Glissa nodded. “They haven’t attacked us yet,” she said. “Besides-” she looked up at Bosh-“we’ve got a golem.”

Slobad threw up his hands and the three of them headed toward the tree.

Glissa stepped between the roots, pushing through the rounded vines that hung down, obscuring the entrance to the Tree of Tales.

Inside the tree, the trio were greeted by a large, imposing troll. His face was round and covered in warts, and his shoulders were slouched forward, as if his head were too heavy to be held up by his thick neck.

“Young Glissa,” said the troll in a deep rumble, “we were expecting you.”

“Do I know you?”

“No,” said the troll, “but Master Drooge knows you . He is awaiting you upstairs.”

The elf eyed the troll. His manner was controlled and introspective, the exact opposite of threatening, and he appeared harmless-harmless for a troll. He carried no visible weapons and moved with a swiftness that belied his great size.

“Who is Master Drooge?”

“He is the eldest,” said the troll. “The newest leader of the trolls.” With that, he bowed his head and stepped aside, indicating with a flourish of his hand the stairway leading deeper into the tree.

Glissa looked at the other two. Slobad sighed but nodded, and they headed up.

The steps were cut from from the tree itself. Circular scoring, covering every inch of the tarnished steps, formed a pleasing pattern. It almost seemed as if someone had polished the shape of the stairs into the metal, leaving a series of tiny circles. None of the circles was complete, each having a vague beginning and ending that seemed to flow into the one beside it. At the top of each step, the linked swirls bent at the edge and continued up, wrapping from the side of one step onto the top of the next. The interconnected circles formed a collection of chains that led up and around the spiral staircase.

The surface of each step was rough, not magically honed like the scythe blades of the levelers or the wings of the hover guard. These had been made by hand. It made Glissa’s back hurt just thinking of the amount of work it would take to scratch out such a feature in a solid metal tree. Judging by the obvious wear and tear and large patches of heavy tarnishing, this had been done a long, long time ago.

The group moved on in silence, finally reaching the top where the stairs opened into a large room. A set of rising bleachers edged the chamber, and sitting on them, three rows deep, were perhaps a hundred or more trolls. All of them resembled other trolls Glissa had seen. Their skin was green and loose, their hands and shoulders covered in warts and scars, and each was dressed in tattered woven-metal fabrics. Even to the elf, who had grown up in the Tangle living near such creatures, she couldn’t tell them apart. Now, seated here, they looked like the fungus or verdigris that grew on the base of fallen trees.

Opposite the stairs, in the center of the curved bleacher seats, a single troll perched on a stool. All the others had their bodies turned toward him and their eyes focused on his large frame. This one, unlike the others, wore newer clothing. He held himself more erect and seemed to have more energy than the others. His eyes darted around the room. This was not a contemplative examination or the sluggish struggle by a slow mind to understand. This was the intelligent look of a decisive creature.

The troll at the head of the room held a bone staff in one hand. With the other he waved the trio forward.

“Come in. Come in.”

Glissa and Slobad did as they were told, stopping amid the throng of trolls just before the bone-wielding chief. Bosh, though, had a difficult time getting inside the room. At his full height, his head was much taller than the ceiling. The golem tried to bend at the waist, but ducking didn’t provide enough room for him to bring his massive frame into the carved-out chamber.

After several attempts to fold himself in various different ways, each of which proved more ridiculous and less useful than the last, Bosh finally collapsed his legs and head half-way, telescoping them inside his body. The truncated golem waddled as he walked, but he managed to fit, if tightly, inside the room.

The troll looked them over. “We have been awaiting your arrival.”

“So we’ve been told,” said Glissa. “That disturbs me.”

“Why would that disturb you, young Glissa?”

“Well, to begin with, the last time I was here, Elder Chunth died in my arms.”

Drooge nodded, his eyes to the ground. “A tragic blow for us.” He took a deep breath. “You should know that we do not blame you.”

“You don’t?”

The troll chief shook his head. “No. The elder council has found you innocent, and the traitors among us have been purged.”

Glissa looked around at the trolls on the bleachers. They all hung their heads. “Traitors? You mean there was more than one?”

Drooge nodded. “I am afraid so.”

Glissa stood in silence. She was relieved that the trolls didn’t think she had killed their chief, but she was saddened as well. All of this treachery and infighting was due to her. If she had been at home that night, if she had been killed along with the rest of her family, none of this would have happened to the trolls.

The troll chief tapped his staff on the floor. “You have other reasons for being disturbed by our welcoming you back?”

Glissa swallowed then nodded. “Well, yes. Everyone seems to know where I’m going and what I’ll do before I even do it.”

“Yes,” replied the troll. “I see your point.”

“And since they know where I am at all times, I seem to be everyone’s favorite target for ambush.”

“A role none wish to play,” said the troll, “but one that falls upon the shoulders of a hero.”

“A hero?” Glissa stopped to think about that word. “Why would you call me that?”

The troll cocked his head, looking at the young elf. “Because your efforts are not just focused on yourself.”

“Wait a minute.” Glissa shook her head. “How do you know what it is I want or even that I was coming here?”

“A simple deduction,” replied the troll. “The last time you were here, you wanted to know about the Guardian. You did not believe us then. You have returned. Thus, I suspect that you have seen proof, that now you are beginning to believe that which Chunth believed, and you wish for answers.”

“What did Chunth believe?”

“That you have a destiny beyond the borders of the Tangle. That your path is far longer than you know.” The troll smiled, his stained, ground-flat teeth poking from his wart-covered lips, looking menacing yet warm at the same time.

Slobad pulled on Glissa’s arm. “Who this guy, huh?”

“That’s a good question,” said Glissa. She looked up from the goblin. “Who are you?”

The troll bowed. “Forgive my lack of hospitality. I am Drooge, chief teller of tales. These-” he waved his arm to indicated the collected trolls-“these are all that’s left of my kind.”