The Troll's Trove Ch. 26

Chapter 26 - The Hunt for the Horn

Turls sneezed. He rubbed his nose and pulled the hood of his stolen cloak lower over his bad eye. The ragged thing smelled of horse and worse, horse manure.

Despite the smell the crowd pressed about him. It seemed the whole town, male, female, young and old had turned out for King Trygg's proclamation. The event had turned into a celebratory sendoff for those fool enough to hunt for the Horn of Ragnar.

"My friends, my countrymen, my fellow citizens of Whitewall," the thrice-cursed spawn of Wilhelm cried, "this day heralds a grand quest. Today begins a hunt for an heirloom of this city, the horn of my forefathers, the treasure of Whitewall, the heraldry upon our very banner, the Horn of Ragnar!"

Cheers erupted. Several heartbeats passed before Trygg raised his hand. The crowd silenced slowly.

"This is a glorious quest, a quest with a great reward, not just for the one recovering the horn, but for all of Whitewall. This horn proclaimed a hundred victories for Whitewall. If it had not been for my Grandsire's untimely demise, it would've signaled our victory at Meadows. Now, its recovery will cement our position there!"

More cheering. The King's voice dropped a few measures.

"This quest is not without its dangers. My Grandsire lost his life to the troll, Raum, when he marched on the beast after its assault on Gejsern where it lairs to this day.

"My Sire reported the monster took my Grandsire's horn with it there. Some say it was recompense for the horn it lost. Some say it was from this beast's very head from whence the Horn of Ragnar was hewn.

"If this is indeed true, you brave souls face a far more difficult challenge than mere theft from an impartial monster. Rather, you face the hazard of a vengeful beast."

The King went on, expounding upon the virtues of the hunters and their promised reward. Turls turned away. He scratched his scarred cheekbone.

So, Wilhelm never recovered his Sire's horn. His whelp thinks Raum took it.

That complicated things. That horn was to cement King Mangar's victory over Whitewall. Blackrock's armies overmatched Whitewall's as it was. Trygg had little hope of fighting a war on two fronts. Turls would have his revenge.

With the horn unavailable, neither Kingdom's position was as formidable. Without the horn, Endris would stay out of the war.

He looked up at the mountains. The earlier snow clouds had fled making the mountains visible against the storm-tattered cerulean sky.

So what, by Gudrun's putrid breath, was Wilhelm's bitch-whelp really up to?

Did she, did the King, know what had been in that treaty he'd burnt? Did they know the horn could be used to summon four companies from Endris or was she begging Endris's aid without the benefit of the horn?

Wilhelm hadn't known. Neither had Arild. Not when Turls had been living in the castle. He'd've bet Audhild's once-virginity that King Lorn hadn't either. The horn's function as an accessory to a treaty had been trumped by its legend. Ragnar's Accord was pointless without it. His fire had been a precaution.

Gudrun take that girl! Married to Prince Halden or in possession of the horn, Wilhelm's bitch-whelp was jeopardizing his plans. Either way the witch needed to be removed.

With or without the horn Wilhelm's bitch-whelp must not reach Endris.

So thinking Turls shoved his way from the crowd. When the press of bodies abruptly let up Turls staggered. His path through the crowd closed as though it had never been. Beyond him a smattering of youngsters stood on porch rails or scaled steeply pitched roofs.

A score of strides took him beyond the gawkers. Ahead streets packed with snow trampled by a thousand boots wove through a city as empty as a beggar's purse. As his purse. If he'd had one.

Gear, guide, money. Gudrun's tits. How was he supposed to get those? Theft?

He strode up to a shop. Osin's Outfitters Trading Shop. The barred door rattled. He kicked it and splintering pain shot through his foot. The door remained impassive.

He peered through the window. The interior was dark. Osin, or whomever, was out, likely at the rally. He pushed on the window. It did not budge.

Turls wrapped his dirty cloak about his fist and glanced about. A tapping noise drew his attention. Across the street and a store down a young woman rapped on a seamstress's window a second time.

A score of heartbeats passed. Then another. The girl peered into the shop's darkened window. She tugged at her rosewood pony-tail and shuffled her feet. Clearly dejected she turned to go.

Turls's good eye narrowed. The girl's dress was simple. Her purse was heavy.

Turls followed the woman for a hundred paces before dodging onto a side street. He broke into a run.

Sides creaking like the wheeze of a weary frog Turls slid into a narrow alley. He scaled a low wall and jumped down into a small courtyard between homes. Firewood faggots and forgotten barrels littered the small space. The crowded structures had kept snow-drifts to a minimum.

He slipped out of the narrow alley onto the young woman's street. Turls found her mere paces beyond him. A quick glance showed him the street was still empty but he could only hope the windows were as well.

Turls freed his belt. It cracked. Two quick strides brought Turls behind the girl. She was a full head shorter than he. Alerted by sound or scent she started to turn.

Turls snaked the belt around her neck. A garbled cry erupted from her throat.

"Quit your caterwaulin'." He cinched down on the makeshift garrote. Her fingers flew to her throat as she gagged.

Turls wrestled the girl's head against his chest. Sapphire eyes bulged and purple painted her flesh.

His victim's feet went out from under her. He yanked. Letting go of the garrote he hurled the girl into an alley.

The girl slid to her hands and knees upon the ice. Her breast heaved and air rasped in her throat.

Turls grabbed the bodice lacings between the girl's shoulder blades. He hauled her further into the alley.

The girl twisted in his grip. Pain lanced Turls's side. The girl drew back a pair of bloodied, stiletto scissors to stab a second time. Fortunately, her angle of attack was poor and the first stab had only penetrated a finger-width of flesh.

Turls hand caught the young woman's wrist and squeezed. "Gudrun, take you, girl!" He levered her arm and she cried out. The scissors fell.

"Get in there!" He slammed her bodily towards a forgotten courtyard pinned between buildings.

The young woman whipped around. She yanked and her wrist tore free of Turls's hand leaving shreds of flesh under his nails. Her arms wheeled for balance. Turls slugged her. She fell.

The young woman rolled to her knees and crawled. Choking, gasping sounds erupted from her throat. Her stomach emptied.

Turls tackled the girl. They skidded several paces through snow and slime. Turls wrest her over on her back and swept up the fallen scissors. The point sliced a hole in her bodice betwixt her breasts. At icy steel's prick, she flinched and tried to shrink into the pavement. A small spot of red blackened her bodice. Her gaze locked upon his.

"Scream and it'll be the last sound you ever make, girl!"

The young woman's gaze hardened. Her breath whistled from her throat. "Jannar'll kill you."

"Jannar? The guard? At the gate?" Twisted mirth rose within him. "You're his girl?"

Sapphire fire blazed in her eyes. She nodded.

"Then you should know I already cut him."

"That was-no."

"Your name, girl?" She shook her head. Her eyes going wider with every heartbeat as the defiance bled from them.

Turls twisted the scissors into her breastbone. They were wicked things sharpened both inside and out. They even had a hilt beyond the finger rings. They were really a dagger disguised as scissors.

Pain stiffened the girl's body. A tear tracked down a cheek.

"Now."

"Bryn—" Sniff. "—Brynis."

"It seems, Bryn, you've coin and I not. Give over."

Brynis fumbled at her purse. Heartbeats kept pulse with the passing time. The threat of discovery grew.

Turls slammed his free hand over her mouth and cut loose the purse with her scissors. He tore a necklace from her throat although his practiced eye knew it to be of little value.

"Your ring."

She shook her head. Tears spilled in earnest.

"Jannar's?"

Bryn nodded.

He ripped it from her finger. She sobbed and clutched her hand. Skin had come off at the knuckle.

Turls levered himself to his feet and kneed Bryn in the groin as he rose. He awkwardly clutched his bloodied ribs with one hand and the girl's dagger-like scissors in the other. He kicked her hard enough to get the crying woman's attention.

"If the guards come for me, girl, by Gudrun's black mother, I'll come for you and—" he held up her promise ring for emphasis, "—your man. I'll gut him with your own blades while you watch." He snipped the air with her vicious scissors.

Bryn spit at him. "The King will kill you!"

"Right," he growled. He whipped the filth from his shirt. He flicked it back at her. "And how will he hear of it? Your man? Wilhelm's boy-spawn hasn't the time to go chasing the ghosts of his soldiers' wenches right now. He's too busy with the horn."

"I'll tell him! He'll listen to me. I grew up with the Queen. And Adalayd! "

The scars on Turls face pulled taut. Fire erupted in his chest. Bryn must have seen something. Her eyes grew wider. She crab scuttled away.

"The Princess?" Turls said. "You know the Wilhelm's bitch-whelp?" His voice was dangerously low. His fingers knotted about the hilt of the stiletto scissors. "Gudrun's tits, you shouldn't have said that." He took a step towards Brynis.

Brynis threw herself over and lunged to her feet.

Turls grabbed Brynis by the back of her neck and threw her forward. His hand caught her neck a second time. He slammed her face down onto an upright barrel. The rim gouged her cheek. She cried out.

The apex of the scissor-blades picked Brynis' betwixt her shoulder blades. A spot of blood darkened her garment. Turls held the weapon rock steady. If she moved, the blade would go through her back. She yelped and went still.

"I have a message for the Princess. You get to deliver it. I'm going after her. If she is in Endris, if she is in Gejsern, if she is making trouble for me, I'll find her. When I find her, it's going to be so much worse when it's her turn!"

Turls's pants were already loose. He lifted the unfortunate maid's skirts.

Bryn sobbed.