Mal didn’t dare look at Griff, though the words could be explained away easily enough—trolls weren’t known for their cleverness, only their strength. He tried to arrange his features into a mask of calm and polite confusion as he took in the broken piece of tree trunk the troll was wielding like a club, the smattering of fish scales clinging to one corner of its pale mouth, and the unmistakable deep scars surrounding a gaping hole in its forearm that must have been made by a blade that had shattered.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you blabbering inconvenience,” Mal said firmly to the creature, keeping his eyes trained on that club—much as he really wanted to make sure Griff wasn’t about to pass out.
The troll didn’t seem to care about his insults, nor did it seem interested in having a conversation. It swiped at him with its club, the motion clumsy thanks to whatever tendons Rhun had managed to sever in its wrist before it shattered his elven blade years ago.
Mal dodged the first strike easily. The second, however, came close enough to blow the hair back from his face and would have easily shattered his nose if he hadn’t been quick enough to duck. It seemed to be focusing most of its attention on him despite Alys repeatedly striking it with her sword, which suited Mal just fine—this was still his mess—but in the process ofbacking him up against a wide tree hemmed in on either side by thorny brush, it also knocked Griff off his feet while lumbering past.
The sound of Griff’s maul glancing off its arm was like metal scraping stone.
They were so fucked.
Or at least, he was, because he had nowhere to go but up the tree at his back, and the troll would have no problem plucking him out of the branches. It also seemed to have forgotten any instructions it had been given about not actuallykillinghim while he was still within the bounds of the deal he’d made with Kage.
“Gonna grind your slow bones to pulp!” It gnashed its teeth, confirming Mal’s fears as he got his footing on a low branch. He quickly started hauling himself up, scrabbling at the bark like a rat on the run again until he was several feet off the ground.
As a gray hand roughly the size of his head reached toward him, Mal edged back behind the tree trunk as best he could, nearly losing his footing. Down below, he was amazed to see Griff back on his feet already, maul in hand. He managed to catch the other man’s eye for a second, nodding subtly at the branch beneath him and hoping Griff understood.
Strong fingers gripped the folds of his ratty cloak, struggling to get better purchase as Mal frantically tried to jerk free at the same time—while lacking anywhere to go. As he cursed and stabbed at the hands, the branch beneath him finally gave way.
He was falling, suddenly free of the troll’s grasp, his torn cloak fluttering around him as he plummeted several feet toward the ground and into Griff’s waiting arms.
Just in time. As Alys shouted something to regain the troll’s attention, Griff flashed a brief, shaky grin at Mal and cradled him against his chest.
Mal was still alive. Safe in the arms of someone he was starting to count on.
Wrapping his own arms around Griff’s neck, he licked his dry lips and finally panted, “This easier than chopping wood, you fuck? You’re unbelievable.”
“Just another feature of the Boyfriend Special. I could do this all day if you let me.”
“You get that line from a library book or something?”
A hint of color returned to Griff’s face. “Only original poetry here. You inspire me.”
Mal couldn’t help but laugh.
Griff’s grin widened for a moment, but whatever he was about to say became a worried murmur. “Alys! What the hell does she think she’s doing?”
The ground had finally stopped shaking. At first, Mal thought Alys must have cut the troll somewhere vital, as it was now sitting by their fire with its back to them, its club resting against its knee. There didn’t seem to be any blood whatsoever, and Alys wasn’t even holding her sword anymore—it had been discarded several feet away. But rather than trying to get back to it, she was sitting calmly across from the foul creature, holding up her orc’s head.
Bewildered, Mal crept closer once he was on his feet, keeping a hand on Griff’s arm as they crept toward the troll’s back together, maul and knives at the ready again.
“And then, if you can believe it, Bluebell told me I couldn’t have any more pie until I paid for the ones I’d tasted, whenIwas the one doinghera favor by making sure they were good enough to sell in the first place!” Alys was saying conspiratorially to Leo and the troll.
“Not fair!” the troll whined in response, making Mal’s teeth rattle.
“Exactly!” Alys said indulgently, her eyes wide and her smile gentle. “Say, Gossamer, I have an idea.”
The icing on top of Mal’s chaos cake had a name? One that Alys was speaking like they were old friends, no less.
“Would you like to hear my son’s favorite song? Maybe Leo and I could sing it for you while we take a little walk back to your cave, where it’s not so bright …?”
Mal exchanged a stunned glance with Griff, who looked equally confused and somewhat awestruck.
The troll wasn’t climbing back to its feet. But it still seemed to be listening to Alys, considering her words, much to Mal’s amazement.
“You know, my son gets mad sometimes too. Sometimes he gets so mad that he thinks about running away from home. Feelings are confusing, aren’t they? They can get your stomach all knotted up, like eating a bad fish. Especially when you’ve got someone telling you to do things you know deep down aren’t very nice. That really doesn’t feel good,” Alys continued, slowly and carefully rising and extending her much-smaller hand toward the troll.
When the creature reached for it, she didn’t flinch, her smile still in place. “That’s it, Gossamer. Let’s take that walk and learn a fun song, and I bet you’ll feel better,” she said again patiently. “And I’ll make sure I’m back by noon,” she added over her shoulder as she started to urge the troll back down the path of destruction it had created. “Ready to double the pace and make up for lost time.”
