Soon the sun burns high and hot, and Azmar hands me a rope and swings down beneath one of the girders, shaded from the sun. He helps me down, and I settle next to him. We open our lunches and let our feet hang.
“We’ll have to use cables,” he says halfway through his meal. “The canyon wall is strong, and the existing connection to it was overdesigned, but we have added so much that we really need additional connections. If the council wants continued expansion with the same protections Cagmar has now, we’ll have to use cables.”
“You don’t sound happy about that.” I pick at a piece of flatbread.
“I would prefer a straight steel connection to the canyon wall.” He shrugs. “Cables are better than nothing, but they’re also easy to besiege.”
I consider this. “Is Cagmar at risk of besiegement?”
He glances at me, his eyes warm. “Humans are not the only threat.”
I think of the aerolass raiders, of the monsters below.
Azmar finishes his food first. Before he rises, I ask, “Azmar, why are you kind to me?”
I can tell the question takes him off guard, for genuine curiosity limns his usually carefully guarded features. “I don’t think I am, particularly. Unach and Perg are also kind to you.”
I shake my head, looking down toward the city. “Not in the same way. Unach is . . . reasonable. She sees use where there is use. And Perg . . . Perg is so desperate for belonging, for understanding, that he would be kind to anyone who was first kind to him. But you, Azmar, you’ve always been kind. A little blunt at times . . .” I remember our first meeting. “But always kind. You’ve never scowled at me or ignored me the way the others do, even from the beginning. Why is that?”
I peek through loose strands of hair at him. He regards me in a way that makes him look younger. He looks out across the length of the canyon. Enough time passes that I think he won’t answer me, and my question will be left hanging. But then he speaks.
“All trollis must enroll in military training for seven years, from ages twelve to nineteen.”
I don’t see what that has to do with my question, but I remain quiet and listen to the cadence of his voice.
“When I was sixteen, I was in a raiding party that attacked a human township,” he continues, his voice low, like he doesn’t want to be overheard. I lean closer to hear him. “We were a small band, overconfident, and most of our numbers were youth. I suspect a scout from the township saw us coming, because the humans were prepared for us when we arrived. The battle was brief but intense. One of the men picked up my fallen comrade’s sword and ran me through with it.”
“The scars,” I say before I can think. I pinch my lips closed.
Azmar regards me and nods. “I fell, and the others retreated. I was headed for the eternal black.”
I presume that’s their name for the afterlife, but I don’t ask. Later.
“But I didn’t die. I woke up in a house, on a pallet on the floor. Someone, a widow, I believe, had taken me in. I didn’t understand it. She took no risks. My arms and legs were securely tethered to the floor, not that I could have moved anyway. My injury was deep, but her husband had been a surgeon and taught her most of what he knew.”
Quietly I ask, “She told you this?”
“Yes. She knew I was young. Felt bad for me, being left behind. I couldn’t fight her. I could barely move, and half the time I was unconscious from whatever she gave me for the pain. I spent a week and a half there, slowly healing, and I learned that not all humans are savage ‘troll’ haters. We’re taught that your kind ravage the world like roaches and breed like feral rabbits.”
My skin warms. “Only partially accurate.”
His lip quirks, but somberness quickly overtakes it. “My band returned with reinforcements and completely brutalized that village. They killed her, the woman who took care of me. Aleah, her name was. They didn’t ask questions, just came in and killed her and took her supplies. Dragged me out, burned the house.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh no.”
“In our culture, women and men both train as soldiers. It is not so with yours.” He looks to me as if to confirm. Mortified, I nod. “I protested. I tried to fight—she’d taken off my restraints by then. But I was still too weak. And, admittedly, I feared them seeing my weakness. I feared losing my caste.” He pauses, looking down into the canyon. “I was happy to take the demotion when I became an engineer. I’d lost my taste for battle.”