A Muddle of Magic. Alexandra Rushe

and whole countries were swallowed by the sea. Mountains spat out gouts of fire and rivers boiled. Magog, seeing what he had wrought and stricken with remorse at the death of his twin, sank deep into madness. Xantheus’s people were orphaned at his death. Some found refuge in Shad Amar and became worshippers of Magog.”

      The boy clenched his fists. “They were stupid to worship Magog. He killed their god.”

      “They’d lost their home and their god, and they were frightened,” the troll said. “I suppose it seemed a reasonable solution.”

      “But all of Xan’s people didn’t do that.”

      “No, indeed. Most of Xan’s people refused to worship the Slayer. Some left Tandara and crossed the Strait of Gorza to the unknown lands beyond. They called their new home Torgal, meaning we abide.”

      “And the rest of Xan’s people?” the boy asked. “What happened to them?”

      “You know very well what happened to them.”

      “Yes, but I like to hear you say it.”

      “The Torgs weren’t alone in their rejection of Magog,” the troll said. “There were others among Xan’s people who chose exile rather than enslavement to the Mad God and the Dark Wizard, and they wandered, rejected and despised by the other races, without a god or country to call their own.”

      “Until one day, a boy was born,” the boy said, warming to the story. “Finn was special, wasn’t he?”

      “Very special,” his mother agreed. “For one thing, he was fair haired and blue eyed among a tribe of swarthy people, and he had the gift of magic.”

      “No one else could do magic, could they?”

      “Not among Finn’s people,” the troll said. “What’s more, his size made him remarkable. By the time Finn had reached his eleventh name day, he was tall and broad shouldered, a warrior among men, good with the sword, the bow, and the sling.”

      “Finn’s like me,” the boy said. “He didn’t know his father, either.”

      The troll brushed his dark locks from his brow with a gentle paw. “One day your father will come for you.”

      “When?”

      “When you are older.” The troll’s arms tightened around him. “You are but four, my precious boy.”

      “Will they like me?”

      “Who?”

      “The other boys at the Citadel.”

      “You are the rowan’s son. You are my son. They will like you.” Her rough voice deepened. “So help me, they will.”

      The boy yawned. “The story, Mor.”

      “Beg pardon,” the troll said, her black lips twitching. “One day, Finn was hunting in the woods when he happened upon a band of evil men torturing a troll.”

      “It’s funny to hear you say it,” the boy said with a chuckle. “Like you don’t know who the troll is.”

      “Are you telling this story, or am I?”

      “You, Mor.”

      “Outraged by their cruelty,” his mother continued, “he slew the wicked humans and bound the troll’s wounds, caring for her until she healed. The troll and the boy became inseparable, and she tutored him in magic, for she was a kolyagga.”

      “Kolyagga is Trolk,” the boy said. “It means troll sorceress.”

      “Really?” The troll arched a bushy brow. “I never would have guessed. Where was I? Oh, yes. One day, Finn came to her, sorely troubled. ‘My people suffer for want of a god,’ he told her. ‘I mean to challenge a god on their behalf. Help me in my quest and, if I prevail, I will protect the trolls from this day forward. Aye, and my people after me. You have my word.’ The troll agreed, on one condition.”

      “Finn had to promise to protect all the monsters,” the boy said. “Not just the trolls, and the monsters were bound by the oath, too. Any monster that attacks a Finlar without…without—” He frowned. “It’s a funny word.”

      “Provocation,” his mother murmured.

      “Provocation,” the boy said, “can be slain with um-plunity.”

      “Impunity,” she said. “It means that if a monster tries to hurt a Finlar without reason, the Finlar can kill the monster and not be foresworn.”

      “I know.” He made an impatient gesture. “Go on. We’re almost to the part about the bear.”

      “The troll and the boy traveled deep into the mountains to a cave where the Bear God Trowyn slept. If you’ll recall, I mentioned that Finn had talent. He was a shapeshifter. When they reached the cave, Finn took on the form of a young bear and bawled out a challenge. The troll used her talent to heighten the sound to a mighty roar. The noise woke Trowyn from a deep sleep. Furious, Trowyn lumbered from the cave and found, not a bear, as he expected, but a youth in the company of a red troll. Trowyn hated the troll. He raised a huge paw to strike her, and—”

      “Why did Trowyn hate the troll, Mor?”

      “I cannot say. As I was telling you, the Bear God raised his paw to kill the troll, but Finn threw himself in front of her. ‘Kill me, if you like,’ he said, ‘but leave her alone.’ The youth’s loyalty to the ugly creature—”

      “You’re not ugly,” the boy protested, patting his mother’s whiskered cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

      “Thank you,” the troll said, “but most humans find trolls unappealing, and Trowyn shared their distaste. Touched by the youth’s devotion to the troll, the god stayed his paw. ‘What do you want, boy?’ Trowyn growled.”

      “And that’s when Finn challenged him to three tasks,” the boy said. “A race, a contest where Finn got to choose the weapon, and a…um…”

      “A wondrous feat,” the troll said. “If Finn won, Trowyn agreed to grant him one wish. If he lost, Finn’s life was forfeit.”

      “That means Trowyn could kill him.”

      “That’s right. The first task was a race. Eight hundred leagues, from the fork of the River Shara and back again. Trowyn chose for his champion Raskfar, the messenger hound of the gods.”

      “Finn turned into a rabbit,” the boy said.

      “Aye, but Raskfar was quick as the wind, so the troll cast a spell that gave the rabbit the speed of thought. The rabbit won, and Trowyn was angry and demanded the second task, the contest at arms. Finn chose his sling. ‘Let us see who can throw a stone farther,’ he said to the god, and Trowyn pulled up a mountain by the roots and threw it twenty leagues. ‘Beat that, if you can, boy.’ Finn selected a rock from the ground with great care and placed it in his leather sling. Twirling the sling over his head, he released it. The stone flew as though it had wings and landed several leagues beyond Trowyn’s mountain.”

      “That’s because it wasn’t a rock atall,” the boy said. “It was the troll, disguised as a bird.”

      “Aye,” said his mother. “‘ʼTwould seem you have bested me a second time, tadpole,’ Trowyn said. ‘We have come to the third and final task. What wondrous feat will you perform?’

      “‘Fear not, Great Bear God,’ Finn said, ‘and prepare to be amazed.’

      “The god looked down on him. ‘Show me, impudent stripling, for I await your next marvel.’

      “Finn pointed to the ground. ‘I can put one foot on this mountain and the other in the Kalder Sea. Can you?’

      “Stung, Trowyn began to grow until he towered over mountains and lakes. Night fell in his shadow and the moons came out. Lifting one enormous leg, Trowyn set one