Daughter of Azeroth

22 | TO CATCH A TROLL

After the first failed attempt to capture a troll, Idira found out VanCleef had sent Papa to lead the second party. Papa had chosen trackers, hunters and a half-dozen rogues expert at using stealth and paralysing poisons. Lanira said to Nin the men were probably more afraid of Jac than the trolls. They laughed a little, but neither of them sounded amused.

Two weeks later the message arrived. Papa had been successful. A captured troll waited for them at Klaven's Tower. A few days passed and nothing more was said, although VanCleef was absent from dinner for two nights. The day before the Holy Day, Idira woke to be told her lessons had been cancelled. After taking breakfast in her room, Lanira took Idira down the stairs to the entrance hall, holding her hand tighter than usual. Outside the open front door, a closed coach drawn by four sturdy black horses stood waiting on the cobbled stones of the square. One of the horses shook its head and pawed the cobbles, restless.

Arinna waited by the table in the entrance hall, wearing a dark cloak over her white dress, its hood pulled up over her hair. A leather satchel filled with books sat on the floor by her feet. From within the shadows of her hood, she smiled as Idira arrived, though her smile did nothing to conceal the anxiety tingeing her features.

Booted footsteps approached from the inner courtyard. VanCleef came into view, his black leather armour gleaming in the morning light, a red silk scarf tied tight against his neck. A pair of curved swords hung from the belt strapped to his hips, the swords' grips wrapped in strips of red leather. Four men followed him, covered head to toe in leather armour, their arms, legs, backs and hips bristling with bladed weapons.

'Let's go,' he said, gesturing to his men to move out. Upstairs, a door opened. Myra came halfway down the stairs, watching him leave, her expression enigmatic. He glanced up at her as he passed, his eyes losing their hardness just for a heartbeat. He turned and swept out the open door, his men filing out after him, silent but for the soft creak of their leather armour.

Lanira knelt beside Idira, her face tight. 'You are in good hands,' she said, tucking away a stray hair from Idira's ponytail. 'Go with Arinna. I will see you at dinner.'

Idira trailed after the priestess into the carriage, uneasy. She still didn't know what was happening. She thought about asking Arinna, but the priestess had withdrawn into the shadows of her hood, her lips moving as she whispered prayers for protection. VanCleef remained outside for several moments conferring with his men and the driver before joining them in the coach, his face hard as he looked out the window, surveying the quiet square.

Two of his men climbed up with the driver, the other two jumped up onto the ledge at the back of the coach as it pulled away. The horses moved at a smart trot until they cleared the outer limits of Moonbrook. Then, the driver cracked his whip and the horses surged forward, cantering, the coach rocking rhythmically, like a doll's cradle. VanCleef sat on the edge of the facing seat, his hands on the grips of his swords, vigilant. Idira looked over his shoulder out the back window. The road's dust mushroomed out in thick billows, obscuring what was left of the town's skyline. No one spoke. Idira sat back and gazed out the window beside her for awhile, curious, but there wasn't much to see. The landscape was much the same as at the farm, desiccated, barren. Boring. She leaned her head against the cushioned head rest and tried to sleep. She must have dozed, because when the horses slowed it felt as though only minutes had passed. When she asked, Arinna murmured they had been travelling for just over two hours.

Idira rubbed the sleep from her eyes and peered out the window. Looming over a dusty plain, in front of a range of steep, dry hills, a great solitary tower stood, constructed of massive blocks of stone. Octagonal in shape, it looked to be at least three stories high, the eaves of its sloping tiled roof crammed with deserted rook nests. Outside the stone steps to its narrow entrance, wagons, stacks of supplies, tents and fires betrayed the evidence of a large camp. The coach pulled to a halt. VanCleef's men jumped down and prowled beside the coach, alert, defensive. A tall, lean man came out of the tower's doorway, dressed in black. Papa. Idira quailed, uneasy.