“They’re trolls, Sarge,” said Murray. “Sings-to-Trees talked about them. I think they’re friends of his.”
“Graw!”
“Where’s Blanchett?” whispered Nessilka. “I don’t want an elf shooting him if he’s wandering off!”
“Haven’t seen him, Sarge. Maybe he’s on the other side of the tent?”
Finchbones managed to get the crossbow loaded and raised it up. “Sir,” he said with a heavy accent, “must move back from her. Now.”
Nessilka felt a distinct stab of pleasure that the elven captain spoke this dialect rather worse than she did. Now who sounds unintelligent? Ha!
Wizard and girl both ignored him. The wizard said, “Lisabet…what have you done?”
“Nothing!” said the girl. “Well, I shouldn’t have had to do anything! They shouldn’t have taken you away!”
Finchbones tried again. “Sir. Move back. Now.”
John not only didn’t move back, he held Lisabet more tightly. Any crossbow bold would go through both of them, and Nessilka was pretty sure the wizard knew it. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “Did she do something bad?”
Finchbones looked tired and grim. “Killed. Killed…village, entire. Many killed. Move back.”
“Lisabet!” The young wizard looked down at her.
“They wouldn’t bring you back! I told them I’d do it if they didn’t bring you back, and they didn’t listen!”
Sings-to-Trees put his hands over his face, looking grey.
“I had to go away, Lisabet! It’s—It’s so much better. They explain things and nobody’s scared of me. You shouldn’t have done this.”
Finchbones said something to one of the other elves. The elf said, “The captain is warning you. You must step away from the girl. She is extremely dangerous and we cannot guarantee your safety.”
Lisabet glared up at her brother. “So you’re glad you went away?”
The boy was a poor liar, Nessilka thought. She was another species, and even she could see the answer on his face.
“Fine!” yelled the girl. “Fine, if that’s how it is! I’m sorry I ever wanted you to come back!”
The girl pulled back. Finchbones jerked the crossbow up.
She opened her mouth and made the noise again.
Nessilka had to give it to Captain Finchbones. His hands were shaking badly and the shot went wild, but it went past her left shoulder with only inches to spare. And he did all this while everyone else was slamming their hands over their ears. The only reason that Nessilka didn’t cover her own ears as well was because her arms were firmly pinned to the troll’s side.
The trolls didn’t seem bothered by the noise. They were looking at the humans with baffled expressions. “Graw?” said one uncertainly.
Sings whimpered, and the troll holding him picked him up and cuddled him, saying worriedly “Grah! Grah-grah-aaah?”
We have got to stop doing this, thought Nessilka wearily, we know there’s no conversation, we know there’s nothing to understand, my head is going to come apart if I hear much more of this…
“Graaaah?”
Finchbones crawled, inch by agonizing inch, toward the girl. He was still clutching the crossbow, perhaps planning to bludgeon her to death if nothing else presented itself.
John, closest to the source, had gone to his knees. He reached for his sister but she stepped out of the way. Her eyes narrowed, and the voice, if anything, got worse. Nessilka felt as if a mule were kicking her repeatedly between the eyes.
Our brains are gonna melt. There’s going to be blood coming out of our ears soon. It wasn’t just trampling—those people died of this.
“Grawww…” said her troll. It fidgeted, crushing her more tightly against its side.
Nessilka’s vision filmed with red mist.
Something moved.
It strode past the fire, past the torches, and even through the film of red, Nessilka thought it moved like a goblin.
…Blanchett?
Blanchett was wearing his helmet. He took one more step forward, reached up, and plucked the bear from his helm.
The voice redoubled. The girl had seen him. It focused, concentrated, and Nessilka began screaming because it drowned the sound out just a little and that was good and anyway, everybody else was screaming, too.
Blanchett wound up, took two running strides, and flung the bear across the sea of screaming elves.
It hit the girl square in the face.
Blanchett always did have good aim.
The voice ended in a very unmagical squawk. Nessilka considered how long the bear had been in battle—months—and how often it had been washed—never—and just how foul it must be.