“He wants to know what we are doing here, High Lord,” Questor interpreted the response. “He sounds irritated.”
“Does he understand what I’m saying?”
“I do not know, High Lord. Possibly.”
“Speak to him in his own language, Questor. Tell him again who I am. Tell him that because he failed to attend the coronation when summoned I have come to see him instead, and that now he must give me his pledge.”
“High Lord, I don’t think…”
Ben’s face was hard. “Tell him, Questor!”
Questor spoke briefly to the troll, and there was a rumble of discontent through the ranks of those gathered behind him. The troll lifted one arm and the rumble ceased. The troll said something more to Questor.
Questor turned to Ben. “He says that he knows nothing of any coronation, that there is no King of Landover and hasn’t been since the old King died. He says that he will give his pledge to no one.”
“Wonderful.” Ben kept his eyes on the headman. Slowly he extracted the medallion from beneath his tunic and held it out where it could be seen. There was a murmur of recognition. The Crag Trolls glanced at one another and shuffled back uneasily. “Tell them I command the magic, Questor,” Ben ordered. “And be ready to give them a show of proof if I call for it.”
Questor’s owlish face tightened sharply as he glanced an Ben, hesitating.
“Do it, Questor,” Ben said softly.
Questor spoke again. The trolls mumbled among themselves, still shifting about. The headman looked confused. Ben waited. The heat from the fires washed over him; sweat soaked through his clothes. He could feel the faces of the G’home Gnomes pressed up against his pant legs, peering past them at the trolls. The seconds slipped by, and nothing happened. He knew he had to do something quickly or he would lose whatever small advantage he might have gained.
“Questor, tell the headman again that he must give his pledge to the throne. Tell him that he must give over to me as a show of good faith the G’home Gnomes he has taken so that they might serve me instead. Tell him he must do so immediately, that I have little time to waste on him, that I go next to the witch of the Deep Fell. Tell him not to challenge me.”
“High Lord!” Questor breathed in disbelief.
“Tell him!”
“But what if he challenges you and I cannot summon the magic?”
“Then we fry in the fire with the gnomes, damn it!” Ben’s face was flushed and angry.
“Caution, High Lord!” Abernathy warned suddenly, his muzzle shoving into view.
“The hell with being cautious!” Ben wheeled on him. “Bluff or no bluff, we have to try something…!”
Abernathy cut him short with a hiss of warning. “High Lord, I think he understands what you have both been saying!”
Ben froze. The headman was studying him, his yellow eyes suddenly cunning. He had understood everything; Ben knew it instantly. The troll gave a quick command to those behind him and they began to fan out about the little company,
“Use the magic, Questor,” Ben whispered.
The wizard’s face was gray with uncertainty. “High Lord, I do not know if I can!”
“If you don’t, we are in big trouble!” Ben kept his eyes fixed on Questor’s. “Use it!”
Questor hesitated, his tall, rainbow-colored form a statue against the fires and the night. Then abruptly he wheeled on the Crag Trolls, his arms lifting. The trolls shrieked. Questor’s arms windmilled, words poured forth from his throat and the air exploded with light.
It began to rain flowers.
They showered down from out of nowhere — roses, peonies, violets, lilies, daisies, chrysanthemums, orchids, daffodils and every other kind of flower under the sun. They descended on the little company and the Crag Trolls in buckets, tumbling off them and bouncing to the ground.
It was difficult to decide who was the most surprised. It was certain that everyone had expected something else, including Questor, who made a valiant effort to recover after his initial shock, arms lifting a second time as he tried again to engage the magic. He was far too slow. The Crag Trolls had already recovered. They launched themselves at the members of the little company somewhat in the manner of linebackers in a full blitz. They looked monstrous. Ben shouted in warning to the others. He saw the kobolds leap up, heard them hiss, heard Abernathy’s teeth snap, felt the gnomes Fillip and Sot grappling at him for protection, and smelled an instant’s mix of charred ash and smoke.