Troll Mountain: The Complete Novel Read Free Page B

the old man. He was, quite simply, the oldest person Raf had ever seen, far older than any of his tribe’s elders. This man had a long graying beard, oddly pointed eyes, and he wore a curious hat made of wicker. In his hands he held the now-reloaded crossbow, poised and ready.
    “Who are you?” Raf asked.
    “I am Ko,” the old man said pleasantly. “I live here in the Badlands on my own, in the tranquility that only solitude can provide.”
    As a child, Raf had heard the older boys speak of a hermit who lived in the Badlands, a stranger from the East who worked magic and evil spells. Perhaps this was he.
    Raf said, “Hello, Ko. My name is—”
    “You are Raf, brother of Kira. Occasionally, you hunt at the periphery of these lands and sometimes you fight shadows using weapons of your own devise. I have watched you often.”
    “You have?”
    “Oh, yes, and I have enjoyed doing so.” Ko smiled. “You are a keen inventor. You create a weapon and then figure out how to use it by experimentation. It is nice to see one so young trying to create new things.”
    Raf cocked his head. “When I showed one of my weapons to my chieftain, he laughed and called me foolish.”
    Ko sighed. “I have seen other members of your tribe in these lands. It is they who are the fools. Your ideas are novel and clever.”
    “You’ve seen my people?” Raf said with a start. “Did you happen to see a six-man party come through here about sixteen days ago? Three warriors and three porters?”
    “Of course I did. How could I not? They made no attempt to travel in silence. They spoke much about the trolls before they ventured into the mountains.”
    “Did you see them return ?”
    “No. I did not.”
    “You say you heard them,” Raf said, “but you did not speak to them?”
    “Often, I shadow folk who pass through these lands. The ability to move silently and unnoticed is a skill my people value highly. When I was a younger man, if I may speak immodestly, I was very good at the art of silent movement.”
    Looking at the old man, Raf decided that that must have been a very long time ago.
    “How did you know my name?” he asked.
    Ko smiled again. “Your sister calls it when she comes searching for you at the end of the day. And you use hers when you rejoin her. She frets when you go out alone.”
    “Oh.”
    “And what causes you to be venturing this far into the Badlands, young Raf? This is beyond your usual range. You seem prepared for a sizable journey.”
    “My sister is ill with the sickness. I am going to Troll Mountain to procure the Elixir for her.”
    “You plan to trade your life for hers?” The old man seemed surprised. “To grant the trolls their cruel bargain?”
    “I plan to procure the Elixir for my sister,” Raf repeated.
    “Oh. I see.”
    The old man examined Raf closely, as if he was deciding whether or not to say something.
    “Raf,” he said at last, “you are a clever boy, brighter than any of the others I have seen from your tribe. But cleverness is not wisdom. To be clever is to be able to think of new things, methods, ideas. This is most commendable and, indeed, the young can be clever. Wisdom, however, comes from experience, from seeing things happen again and again, which is why the young are rarely wise. Would you allow an old man to impart to you some hard-earned wisdom?”
    “I would welcome it.”
    “When you go in search of elixirs, be sure you know exactly what an elixir is,” Ko said simply.
    Raf frowned. “An elixir is a cure. A liquid one drinks that heals one from a disease.”
    “I have said what I have said.” Ko blinked once and slowly. “I hope it aids you in your quest. I would be saddened if your sister died. She always struck me as a sweet girl who cared for you deeply—”
    A wolf howled somewhere.
    Raf turned. The old man did, too.
    “That,” Ko said, “is the howl of a mountain wolf. They are coming down from the mountains to hunt.”
    Raf stared fearfully out into