Chapter 20

When we returned to Grams’ house, we found it empty. A young goblin warrior lingered out front and told us the others had already gone on to meet the council, his voice cracking as he delivered the message. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

Was that a power play? Sending their youngest warrior to fetch us? If it was, it was a lazy one. They clearly weren’t worried about our reaction - especially with Mirri and Serah already there.

I nodded to the boy and gave him a reassuring look. Then, without really thinking about it, I reached for Ashlara’s hand. My fingers closed around hers. She glanced down at our joined hands, then up at me, then back again. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t pull away.

We followed the boy through the village in silence.

They led us to another squat building set apart from the others. It was wider and deeper than the surrounding homes, but still unassuming - hewn logs, pitched roof, nothing ornate. Like Grams’ house, two carved poles flanked the entrance, this time shaped into goblin warriors, one male and one female. The double doors were broad enough that three people could have passed through side by side without brushing shoulders.

Two real goblin warriors guarded the entrance. Both men. Both armed. They looked us over, then stepped aside without a word.

Inside was a small antechamber and two more guards. Across from us stood another set of double doors, voices leaking through the wood - raised and sharp - unmistakably the council.

A rush of memories hit me. Conference rooms. Long tables. Shitty meetings. Angry clients. The blame game. Different world, same tension.

I released Ashlara’s hand and straightened my shoulders, reaching deep for that old, practiced mask - calm, confident, unbothered. Corporate armor. I hoped the skills were transferable.

Without sparing the guards a glance, I shoved the doors open and strode inside.

“Sorry we’re late,” I said, cutting cleanly through whatever argument was already in progress. “We had something important to take care of.”

The murmurs around the room spiked - anger, surprise, confusion all at once.

The chamber was large, taking up most of the building. In the center stood Mirri, her shoulders slumped until she saw me, shock flashing across her face. Beside her was Serah, wearing a thin mask of irritation, though I couldn’t tell who it was meant for.

Along the far wall sat five older goblin women. The matrons. They were dressed much like the others I’d seen - skirts, wool-lined boots, bare chests - but adorned with heavy jewelry. Rings stacked on fingers. Layers of necklaces. Power made visible in metal and stone.

Each matron was flanked by three bodyguards, all male, all armed with spears. Like the others, they wore little more than tight shorts meant to emphasize their manhood, their bare chests marked with scars and paint.

Other goblins crowded the front of the room nearest us, watching in intent silence, the way people do when they expect something worth remembering.

Off to one side stood Grams, separate from both groups, but unmistakably influential. Her expression was grim.

I stepped up beside Mirri and gave her a small, reassuring smile before turning back to the council. “No need to recap,” I said evenly. “I’ll catch up. Please, continue.”

I wasn’t sure what they’d expected to see. A handful of cowed adventurers? Loud, swaggering heroes? Hard-eyed mercenaries looking for a payout? Whatever picture they’d painted, I was fairly certain it didn’t include me - a former project manager who’d spent years sitting across tables with furious clients, figuring out what they actually needed, giving them enough to get there, and somehow convincing them they’d walked away satisfied.

One of the matrons shot me a glare, then turned back to Mirri. “As we were saying, you will travel to the mountains and stop the trolls from raiding our lands-”

“And I already told you,” Serah cut in sharply, “that going to the Peaks of Yveth is suicide.”

My eyes flicked to her and I raised an eyebrow. Yveth. The dragon queen Saint Aldric had fought for seven days? I didn’t like that coincidence at all.

“What can we offer the trolls?” I asked before the argument could spiral.

The matron blinked. “What?”

“If we want them to stop raiding, what are we offering in return?” I continued calmly. “What leverage do we have? What terms are on the table?”

“We offer nothing,” another matron said flatly.

“Then you’re not negotiating,” I replied, just as flatly. “You’re ordering a slaughter. And our answer is no.”

The room erupted.

“You are the Champion of Miralis!” one matron shouted as she stood, her voice cutting through the noise.

Heat flared in my chest. “You’re goddam right I am,” I shot back, my voice booming over the rest.

She hesitated, then pressed on. “Then it is your duty to stop the trolls!”

“My duty?” I snapped. “My duty is to protect the people I care about.” I gestured to my companions. “I would walk through fire for them.” My eyes met Serah’s. “I have walked through fire for them.” My gaze hardened. “But you? Why should we help you?”

I didn’t give them time to answer.

“You exile a young woman for something beyond her control.” I took a step forward. A guard lunged to intercept me, spear leveled at my chest.

I glanced at the spear, then at my staff. “Here,” I said, tossing it to him.

Instinct made him catch it. The magic did the rest - dragging him to the floor and pinning him there, unable to lift the weapon.

I stepped forward again.

“You ask us to kill without negotiation. Without offering anything. Without sacrifice.” More guards moved in, spears rising, points hovering inches from my face.

I didn’t flinch.

Instead, I turned my head toward Grams. “Madam Shaman,” I called, hoping it was close enough. “You told me that among goblins, if you don’t give, you don’t get.”

My gaze swept back to the matrons.

“So,” I said evenly, “what will you give?”

The room exploded into shouting, arguments flying in every direction - most of them aimed squarely at me. It took the matrons several long minutes to hammer the chaos back into something resembling order before they finally called a recess. We’d reconvene at dusk.

I snatched up my staff, spun on my heel, and stormed out of the hut without looking back, letting the noise and fury boil behind me.

“Fuck! That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen!” Mirri shouted as she hurried after me, her grin stretching impossibly wide. Ashlara followed close behind, silent as ever. Serah brought up the rear, her expression carefully unreadable. “I’ve never seen anyone talk to the matrons like that!”

I made it across the road before my stomach gave up. I doubled over and puked.

Mirri’s excitement evaporated instantly. Once the adrenaline drained away, my hands started to shake and sweat broke out along my spine. That had been more intense than any corporate meeting I’d ever survived - and not a single one of those had involved someone leveling a spear at my chest with **** in their eyes. I sucked in a deep breath, spat out the bitter remnants in my mouth, and wiped my sleeve across my lips, grimacing at the mess.

A hand appeared in my vision, holding a cup of water. “Not bad, kid,” Grams said calmly.

I took a mouthful, swished it around, and spat it out before drawing another steadying breath. “Thanks,” I managed.

She gave a short nod. “Let’s hope you can keep that up tonight.”

I nodded back, drained the rest of the water, and straightened - unsteady, but standing.

* * *

Grams ushered us back to her house and put together an early dinner. While she cooked - and again as we ate - I pressed Mirri for everything she knew about trolls. Grams chimed in where she could, filling the gaps. By the time we were done, the picture that formed in my head was… unsettling.

Physically, trolls were massive - easily eight feet tall. They were known for their strength, their unending endurance, and their magic. Most were described as having thin white hair, small pale eyes, and arms a little too long for comfort. Their skin ranged from ice-pale to the gray of weathered stone, their faces blunt and indistinct, as if detail had been worn away by wind and snow.

Living high in snowbound peaks, they were adept at ice magic, but what concerned me more was the other thing whispered about them - some form of mind magic. People who encountered trolls didn’t always die fighting. Sometimes they simply… stopped. Gave up. Laid down their weapons and waited. Trolls were also said to be shapeshifters, most often taking the form of enormous bears made of stone. Since bears were common in the mountains, the assumption had long been that any bear you saw might not be a bear at all.

Culturally, they were described as primitive. Some wore tattered scraps of clothing; just as often, they wore nothing at all. They had few tools and usually fought barehanded, though they could hurl boulders with terrifying accuracy. They practiced no known agriculture and lived in caves, yet there were signs - strange markings carved into rock faces or etched into standing stones - that suggested a written language, or at least something like one.

In the deepest winter and the height of summer they stayed in the mountains. But in spring and fall, they descended into the hills to raid settlements. They took food and livestock. Sometimes they took people. They ate it all.

As if traveling into hostile mountains to negotiate with distrustful giants - who might not even speak our language and very much wanted to eat us - wasn’t enough, there was also Yveth to consider.

Serah made it clear that the mountain range’s reputation wasn’t coincidence. The dragon queen - no, the goddess - dwelled somewhere among those peaks. Yveth, the Frozen Mourner. Goddess of sorrow that never fades. She was not kind to mortals. Serah dismissed Jackob’s stories outright: Aldric hadn’t defeated Yveth. He had survived her. And he’d returned a broken man.

Entering the domain of a god was not something people did willingly. Most who tried never came back.

None of this inspired confidence. Still… maybe there was something here. Some angle I hadn’t seen yet. But I needed more. And to get it, I needed to meet the trolls - not as monsters, but as people - and find out who they really were.

* * *

We returned to the matrons as the sun brushed the horizon, painting the sky in copper and red. Goblins packed the street around the council hall, their voices low but charged, excitement buzzing like a living thing. They parted as we approached, watching us pass through the double doors, the antechamber, and into the council chamber beyond. If anything, it was more crowded than before - as though everyone in Reedwatch had gathered to witness the outcome.

The negotiations were strained from the start. Winter loomed, and the village had little to spare and less still for those who had been raiding them. There was anger, fear, and no small amount of bitterness. In the end, we scraped together a meager offering - a couple dozen animals and some jewelry that could be traded for other goods. It wasn’t much, but it was everything they were willing to give.

In return, I laid down my one condition - nonnegotiable. Mirri would be welcomed back into the village. Permanently. No children required. No caveats, no future tests of worth. She would belong here again. What she was offering - safety - was something none of them could provide on their own.

That demand landed like a stone in still water. To me, it was an obvious trade. To them, it was a fracture in tradition, a precedent that threatened the bones of their way of life. Voices rose. Tempers flared. But in the end, they swallowed their pride and agreed.

Whatever danger lay ahead, whatever uncertainty waited in the mountains, this was now something I could not fail. Something I would see through, even if it cost me everything. For Mirri.

We were granted one last night in the village before leaving at dawn. Mirri and I made love again, not in urgency or fear of what might be our last chance, but slowly, gently. There was no rush this time - only warmth, closeness, and hours spent lost in one another.

Grams saw us off the next morning with a heavy breakfast, tight hugs, and a promise wrung from us all to come back alive.