that probably ran as deep into the mountain as it extended out from it. Trolls of all sizes and shapes were moving about, but there seemed to be little interest in theSkatelow's approach. No defensive maneuvers were being undertaken, and from what Pen could make out, there were few guards of any sort.
The boy knew almost nothing about Trolls. He had seen a few in his life, some of them had come to Patch Run to employ his parents. But his travels had not taken him into the deep Northland, where the tribes made their homes, and Trolls by and large did not venture south of their traditional homelands. He thought that he had heard his mother speak in the Troll tongue once or twice, but he couldn't be sure.
«Can we communicate with them?» he asked impulsively.
«I can speak a little of their language,' Tagwen ventured. He shrugged. «It won't matter, once we find Kermadec.»
If this is Taupo Rough and if Kermadec is here,Pen thought without saying so.
As he brought the ship slowly around toward the village, he called to memory what little he knew about the inhabitants. Trolls were nomadic by tradition, and frequently resettled themselves when their safety was compromised or their dissatisfaction with local conditions grew sufficiently strong. But because they were tribal, as well, they established territorial boundaries within the regions they traveled, and one tribe would never think of invading another's domain. Of such trespasses had the worst of the Troll Wars been born, wars that had died out years ago in the wake of the establishment of the First Druid Council. Galaphile and his Druids had made it their first priority to stabilize relations within the Races. They had accomplished that by setting themselves up as arbitrators and peacekeepers, developing a reputation for being fair–minded and nonjudgmental. The Trolls, who were the most fierce and warlike of the Races in those days, had accepted the Druids as mediators with surprising enthusiasm, anxious perhaps to find a way to put an end to the tribal bloodshed that had plagued them for so long. Trolls were creatures of habit, Pen's father had told him once. They embraced order and obedience within the tribal structure as good and necessary, and self–discipline was the highest quality to which a Troll could aspire.
There was more than one species of Troll living in the Northland, but by far the most numerous of the tribes were Rock Trolls. Physically larger and historically more warlike than the other tribes, they were found principally in the Charnals and the Kensrowe, preferring mountainous terrain with caves and tunnels rather than open encampments as safeholds. The Forest and River Trolls were smaller in size and numbers, and they were not nomadic in the way of Rock Trolls. The differences went on from there, but Pen couldn't remember them all. What he mostly remembered was that Rock Trolls reputedly made the finest weapons and armor in the Four Lands, and they knew how to use both when provoked.
«Someone's noticed us now,' Khyber announced, nodding toward a handful of Troll warriors walking out to meet them.
Pen let the airship settle to the earth in an open space at one end of the plateau, well away from the village and its fortifications. Whatever happened, he did not want to give an impression of hostility. He shut down the thrusters, closed off the parse tubes, walked to the railing, tossed out the rope ladder, and climbed down to set the anchors. The others followed, with Tagwen in the lead, looking bluff and officious.
The Trolls came up to them, huge and forbidding giants, their barklike skin looking like armor beneath their clothing, their strange, flat–featured faces devoid of expression, but their eyes sharp and watchful.
One of them spoke to Tagwen in deep, guttural tones, a query of some sort, Pen thought. The Dwarf stared at the speaker blankly, then glanced hurriedly at Pen. The boy shook his head. «You're the one who says he speaks the language. Say something back to him.»
Tagwen gave it a valiant try, but it came out sounding a little as if his last meal hadn't quite agreed with him. The Trolls looked at one another in confusion.
«Just use whatever Troll–speak you possess and ask him if Ker–madec is here,' snapped Khyber, impatient with the whole business. «Ask if this is Taupo Rough.»
The Dwarf did so, or at least appeared to do so. Pen caught the wordsKermadec andTaupo Rough amid all the garble, and the reception committee seemed to do the same. One of them nodded, beckoned for them to follow, and turned back toward the village. The other three fell into place about them like a stockade.
«I hope we haven't made another mistake,' Khyber muttered to Pen as she glanced about uneasily.
Pen took Cinnaminson's hand and held it firmly in his own. The Rover girl did not pull away, but moved closer to him. «It doesn't look it, but this village is heavily defended,' she whispered to him. «We can't see most of it. Most of it is hidden inside the mountains. I can feel the heat of furnaces and forges. I can feel movement in the earth radiating out from the rock.»
The boy exhaled sharply. «Are these Trolls enemies?» he asked. «Are we in danger?»
She shook her head. «I can't tell. But they are prepared to do battle with something, and whatever it is, they mean to see it destroyed if it tries to attack them.»
Pen nodded. «If we have to flee, I will stay right beside you.» She said nothing in reply, but squeezed his hand tightly. They moved through the heavy stone walls that formed the outer fortifications into the village itself. Trolls turned to look at them, Trolls of all sizes and shapes, but their gazes were brief and didn't linger. A few young Trolls, barely five feet tall yet—though big when compared to Tagwen, who was not much more than that himself— fell into step beside them, casting interested glances at the outlanders. No one tried to speak to them, and no one did anything threatening. Pen studied the buildings as he walked, comparing them with those of Southland villages. The biggest difference was in the construction, which was almost entirely of rock and suggested that every building provided its own defense. Each unit had heavy iron–bound wooden doors and shutters, and weapons ports had been cut into the walls for use by the defenders. It had taken a lot of work to build the homes, and it seemed in direct contradiction to the nomadic tradition of the people who occupied them.
«We didn't do anything to protect the airship,' Khyber whispered to him suddenly, a frown crossing her dark features.
Pen nodded. «I know. But what could we have done?»
«Sent Tagwen on ahead alone until we knew what to expect,' she replied. «We aren't being very smart about this.»
Pen didn't respond. «I don't sense any hostility,' Cinnaminson said quietly. «We aren't threatened.»
Khyber rolled her eyes as if to suggest that a blind Rover girl might not be the best judge but didn't pursue the matter.
They had just rounded the corner of a massive building that looked to be a storehouse rather than a home when a huge Rock Troll appeared in front of them, arms outstretched and voice booming out in familiar Dwarfish.
«Bristle Beard, you've found your way!» the Troll shouted, reaching down to pick up Tagwen and hold him out at arm's length as if he were no more than a toy. «It's good to see you safe and sound, little man!»
Tagwen was incensed. «Put me down at once, Kermadec. What are you thinking? A little decorum would be appreciated!»
The big Troll set him down at once, drawing back. «Oh, well then, sorry to have distressed you. I was only expressing my great joy at finding you in good health. It hasn't been a good time at Paranor, Tagwen.»
«This does not come as news to me!» the Dwarf snapped. He cleared his throat officiously. «Here, let me introduce the others.»
He did so, giving a quick explanation of who his companions were without yet getting into why they had all come together. Kermadec nodded to each at the mention of their names, his flat features somehow reflecting the pleasure he took in meeting them. There was an exuberance and expansiveness to the big man that transcended what Pen had heard of the Troll character, and he found himself liking their host right away.
«Penderrin,' Kermadec said, taking the boy's hand in his own. It was like shaking hands with a rough piece of wood. «Your aunt and I are great friends, friends from as far back as the coming together of the Druid order, and I regret what has happened deeply. Your presence indicates that you intend to join me in doing something about it. You are most welcome.»
He turned to Tagwen. «Now you must tell me all about what has happened since our parting at Paranor, and I will do the same. Come with me to my home, and we will have something to eat and drink while we talk. Is that an airship you flew in on, Bristle Beard? I thought you hated airships!»
Dismissing the Trolls who had guided them in from theSkatelow, Kermadec led them on through the village until they were almost to the cliff face against which it was backed. At that distance, Pen could see clearly the sophisticated network of walkways and ladders connecting the village to the caves and tunnels that riddled the cliff.
