Voices louder than the rest catch my attention. I spy a hand-pulled cart on the edge of the cobbled road, three trolls beside it. One of them catches my attention in particular. I know I’m gawking at him, but I can’t help it. He’s unlike any other creature I’ve seen in this place.
He’s short, and by short I mean a hand’s width taller than myself. His skin is ashen, not gray or green, but something different altogether. His features definitely lean troll, but they lack the same thickness and width as those near him. His nose is longer, his widow’s peak less severe.
I quickly realize the trolls near him—one dark as charcoal, the other green as a sapling—aren’t friendly. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but the first spits at the ground as the second shoves the smaller troll’s shoulder. “Just a . . . Nethens . . . fodder.” I can’t make out the rest. Laughing, they take up their cart and wheel it away.
The troll scowls and picks up a satchel from the ground. I think I recognize the name they used: Nethens, the second on Azmar’s list of castes, though I could be wrong.
Perhaps it’s my foolish gawking, or because I am a pale contrast to the city around me, but the troll’s gaze finds me. He looks surprised. We stare at one another for several seconds before I adjust my bag and continue forward, searching for the food handlers. But as I near, he speaks to me.
“You’re the monster slayer.”
I stop and turn back. “You know that?”
He eyes me from head to toe, slowly. I push away feelings of self-consciousness. “I overheard a few people talking about it.”
I twist the strap of my bag in my hands. “Is it so strange?”
“Yes.” He’s incredulous that I even asked. “Humans are trade workers only. Monster slayers are Montra.”
I hadn’t realized . . . but that does make Troff’s reaction more understandable. I shrug. “The council ordered it.” Seeing that he has yet to scowl at me, I ask, “What’s your name?”
“Perg.”
“Lark.” I offer a smile. “I’m staying with Unach.”
He whistles. “I don’t envy you.”
“She’s been kind.” I study his face. His skin has slight hues of green, making me think of a human who’s terribly ill. He is broad for a man, but not for a troll. His ears are rounder than a troll’s, his hair a little thinner. His tusks look more like large teeth than anything else.
“Do I look so strange?” He wipes a hand down his face in a wholly insecure gesture.
I step back. “N-No! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I’m just . . . I’m not accustomed to your people yet.”
“My people,” he repeats. “Just as much your people, if you must know. That’s why they treat me the way they do.”
He looks past me, to the path the other trolls had taken upon my arrival.
My heart thumps in my chest. “You . . . You’re part human?” Half? Was such a thing even possible?
Perg glowers, but he tips his head in the affirmative. I think I should apologize for the question . . . but he said it first, didn’t he? Instead I try “It must be hard here.”
He chuckled. “It would be hard anywhere.”
I have to agree.
He shakes his head. “Why would you come here? They hate humans.”
I wring the strap of my bag. “It hasn’t been . . . terrible.” Wishing to make a friend, I allow myself honesty. “I’m not well loved among my own kind. I thought I could try a new life here.”
His expression is so incredulous that I laugh. He hesitates. “What was your name again?”
“Lark.” After seven years, I don’t even think twice about the name.
“Lark.” On his lips, it’s the strangest-sounding name I’ve ever heard. “Lark,” he says again, then sighs. “Stay out of the way, Lark. You’ll live longer.”
Our amiableness lost, he pushes past me and heads down a side corridor. Only then do I notice a great war axe strapped to his back. I wonder where he’s going, and what he plans to use it for.
Part human. But troll enough to carry a weapon, apparently. I peer around the marketplace, wondering if I’ll see another like him, but every creature in sight is pure troll.
I ponder this as I follow Azmar’s map and find a large building with what looks like a lamb shank and a potato painted on it. Several trolls stand in line. I stand behind the last one, but another arrives and butts me out of the way. Holding my tongue, I move behind him. The line moves fairly quickly, but two more trolls enter and push me aside without comment, taking my place. I remind myself that I am not in a township anymore and pull on my patience. I’m nearly to the front when another troll enters and, again, cuts in front of me.