It was a sacred place for all trolls of the Diamond Jungle. There was an absolute truce here, without exception, and a violation of it, even by a single troll, was severely punished and once even ended with the extermination of an entire tribe.
About 200 years ago, after the trollish blood feuds of the jungle had gotten out of control and the tiki had ordered them to do so, the larger tribes of the Diamond Jungle had built this architecturally moderately beautiful but practical ritual site. It was called the Circle of Tears because it lay in a valley beneath a 200-meter cliff. Its rocky formations resembled a nose and eye sockets and from these caves two crystal blue waterfalls fell into the depths. Above all, the site was used for fights, to settle disputes or to make a sacrifice to the tiki. The two were usually combined.
Unlike in Khuwix, this place was not an imposing arena. A deep pit had been dug and filled all around with self-cut stone blocks as seating steps. Only at the upper ends had the statues of the more important tiki, the gods of the trolls, been erected as ornaments and watchful eyes.
Tiki had once been trolls themselves, who had gained so much notoriety as mortals that they had become gods in afterlife. A lot of trolls knew the way to that godhood, but as simple as it sounded, it was hard to achieve. A name just had to be uttered by enough mouths and anchored in the mind. Tiki gained their status and power through this mental power. The more followers a god had and the more he was worshipped with rituals and sacrifices, the more powerful he could be or the weaker he could become and sink into insignificance. This had already happened, which is why quite a few Tiki were in constant rivalry with each other and were responsible for many conflicts among the trolls.
However, the three troll tribes in the Circle of Tears primarily just hated each other. They had set up camp in the nearby area, which was free of the otherwise lush, verdant growth of the Diamond Jungle.
They were medium-sized groups of trolls that had been around for well over a century.
There were the Baldslayers, where it was customary for everyone to shave their skulls and tattoo the tribal symbol in the form of a red bird of prey on them
Among the Venomsnakes there was also a physical, but clearer characteristic. As soon as their whelps reached the age of 12, a special poisonous mixture was dripped into their eyes. If they survived, all members of the tribe were given a permanent, bright green eye color.
Homemade jewelry was almost harmless and a sign of the Riverfangs. They were the strongest of the three tribes present. Their shoulders and upper backs were covered with a specially woven cover made of pointed teeth. They got these from king aligators, a gigantic river beast with hundreds of teeth in its mouth, which the tribe regularly hunted together. These monsters were almost impossible to defeat if one was on his own.
“At least Venomsnakes are pretty to look at,” Ine’kata pined in troll language. She was the female of the Riverfang chieftain and was currently walking around the ritual site with the female of the high priest and a few other respected troll women. “Their eyes are something like emeralds. Baldslayers are just disgusting.”
“Don’t let your Jatal hear you say that,” said the high priest’s wife. Jatal was the trollish word for the tribal chieftain. “Venomsnakes are as lowly as Baldslayers.”
“I just said pretty to look at, that’s all,” Ine’kata replied. Although she was of high rank and wore an elaborately crafted two-piece robe, her clothing was still plain, wild and revealing. “Once we’ve won the fight, I’m sure you could make a beautiful pearl necklace out of the eyes of the fallen, or we could sacrifice them to the tiki.”
The priest’s laughing wife was similarly dressed and wore some gold jewelry on her neck and head. “That’s more likely to meet with the Jatal’s approval.”
The rest of the females grinned in response. Even Ine’kata’s two servants smirked at the words as they silently followed along as appendages.
“First of all, it needs my approval where these bought warriors are concerned,” Ine’kata said. Of course she wasn’t serious. She had authority in her tribe, but her approval here was purely subjective. “Even if they are only there to die.”
“All the tribes have paid handsomely,” the priest’s wife remarked. This close to the top, she knew. “Accordingly, there are expectations. If they dont deliver, this was the pucks’ last deal.”
“Is that what your husband said?”
“Implied it. If the pucks offend us and the tiki, custom demands that we punish them and their pets.”
“Rightly so,” Ine’kata nodded. She left the area of the ritual site with her entourage, heading for a trail. It led to the pucks’ camp, ten minutes away. “Then again, that’s one of the reasons why few do business with the tribes. They fear for their lives.”
“Rightly so,” the priest’s wife added with conviction, before stopping abruptly and with the rest.
The best warrior of the Riverfangs had gotten in the way. “La’Jatal,” he bowed his head to the chieftain’s wife.
“Khojun,” Ine’kata replied informally after the male addressed her by her title. “Is there a reason why you are standing in our way?”
“The Jatal was clear,” Khojun said sternly. La’Jatal or not, he was just as highly regarded in the tribe and his chieftain’s word was absolute and above her. “Neither you nor the rest shall leave the ritual site without protection. Therefore, I will accompany you.”
“You could have sent others for that,” Ine’kata said. She suspected that the troll had other reasons for being here. “You just want to see the goods your brother and the rest are getting as a test.”
“One thing comes with another,” Khojun countered. He had been chosen as the champion of the Riverfangs for this fight. That’s why the proud 2.75 meter tall troll didn’t have to take part in the trials. “Not that it makes any difference to me. I’m just curious to see what all the gold I scavenged with the warband in the ruins will be used for.”
“Khojun the Stingy,” Ine’kata giggled, along with the other females. “As far as I know, it wasn’t even half of the enormous haul.”
“Still a lot, though,” Khojun said, crossing his burly arms. The jagged, slightly curved two-handed sword on his back emphasized his stature. “So let’s take a look at what we paid the little kicks for.”
The pucks of Khuwix, led by Nukzos himself, had set up camp a few days ago and cut down all the trees on the spot and nearby. A circular wooden palisade made from the tree trunks and with spike traps made from sticks on the underside was to serve as protection. It was perfect against the wild animals. However, everyone knew that it would only be of limited help against the trolls.
Each tribe had also deployed scouts in the dense trees to keep a close eye on the strangers.
Nukzos had brought around 25 workers and twice as many guards. A good three dozen roders, humans and a few Setek provided protection. Their only advantage was that they had simple gunpowder rifles and pistols. It gave many an extra sense of security.
“When will the trolls bring the payment?” Nukzos assistant rubbed his hands nervously. He was also a puck. “And when do these games start? The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”
Nukzos sat at his desk, in his comfortably furnished private tent. “The trolls still had to wait for one of the tribes,” said the puck. He wasn’t entirely comfortable either, but as soon as he imagined the masses of gold, all doubt was dispelled. “We’ll get a half tonight and don’t call it a game in front of them! These are sacred battles for them and if our fighters put on a weak performance, not only will we not get any gold. They’ll roast us all over a spit, I’m telling you.”
“As if our gladiators are that weak,” the assistant shook his head. “Cecil, Abaroth, Blood Tusk and the Swordmaster will more than earn us the gold, even if it’s a pity that it will be their last earnings for us.”
“Don’t underestimate the four of them,” said Nukzos calculatingly. He was aware that the odds were not in his favor. But these investments were not yet dead to him and even if they were, he was already looking to the future. “If anyone can survive, it’s them and if not, we’ll get so filthy rich from these fights that we can go shopping and find new crowd pullers. And the best thing is, we’ll still have a mountain of gold left over afterwards!”
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“I’ll drink to that!” laughed the assistant happily, raising a matching tankard of foaming beer. He clinked glasses with his boss and drank.
“Hey boss,” one of the roder guards stepped into the tent.
Nukzos smacked his lips refreshed after his sip. “What is it?”
“I’m supposed to tell you when the trolls are here.”
“So what?”
“The trolls are here.”
“Gods praise you that you’re pretty, because your head’s missing,” joked Nukzos grimly. He and his assistant pushed themselves off the chair. “Well then, let’s not keep them waiting.”
“So many pigs,” said the high priest’s wife in disgust, obviously wrinkling her nose. “It smells worse here than in a dung pit.”
“Yes, they smell and taste much better grilled,” said Khojun, remembering the taste on his tongue. “Mhh, long time since I killed a roder.”
“Not today Khojun,” Ine’kata denied those thoughts. “Unless someone gives you a reason. Then have a feast.”
“I can smell their fear,” Khojun’s nose wiggled as he looked around the camp. The humans, setek and pucks were trying to avoid eye contact, but the roders weren’t as shy, albeit tense. “No, no one dares to do that here. Too bad.”
“Then look around this camp more,” Ine’kata said. It was more of an instruction, for she wanted to feast on the goods with the others, without male ears. “Maybe you’ll find the fight you’re looking for.”
“Possibly,” Khojun nodded and left.
“Welcome, welcome, ha ha!” Nukzos greeted his guests. He had a passable command of the trollish tongue and everyone’s heads bowed to him. “A visit from one of the La’Jatal herself. We are most honored.”
“We’re here to see the fighters,” Ine’kata got straight to the point. She wasn’t interested in lying puck talk. “And we don’t want to be here any longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Of course, of course, a La’Jatal has many duties,” Nukzos bowed his head. “Please, follow me.” He realized that Ine’kata didn’t really have more important things to do and that she disliked puck and his camp.
The arena fighters’ pens were near the large, central campsite. Thick logs had been gathered together for a fire, but they weren’t currently burning, while a few workers and guards had gathered around it, spooning up a meat broth for sustenance.
“Mhh some of it looks serviceable, but some of it doesn’t,” Ine’kata admitted as she sifted through the ranks of common fighters. She didn’t realize that the pens of the best were behind them and covered, making them look like tents. “I have my doubts about the promised goods, little puck.”
“Understandable,” said Nukzos and he wiped his forehead. The humid jungle air was getting to him more than mere fear. “But that’s only because I keep my most prized butchers separate from the pack. A good trader feeds his most industrious animals plenty and at the same time doesn’t put them out for everyone to see. After all, all trolls can come here and I hadn’t counted on the honor of seeing one of the La’Jatal here.”
“Mhh, at least you pucks make up for your physical weakness with a thick mind,” Ine’kata commented as she took notice of the supposed tents. “Not that trolls gain an advantage before the test by studying their opponents.”
“Well, eh, hehe, thank you, dear La’Jatal,” Nukzos bowed exaggeratedly low. “But I’m sure no troll would do that. That would be very dishonorable and the tiki eh, see everything.”
Ine’kata walked past the puck warningly. “Don’t speak of the tiki as if you know them or your head will grace my hip tomorrow.”
“Forgive me!” Nukzos apologized immediately and waited until all the troll females had passed him and he followed with his assistant and a roder. “Nothing would be further from my mind than insulting any troll or your gods.”
“Then you’d better keep quiet about it now, little doormat,” the high priest’s wife also admonished. “Four tents. Do the fighters have their own pen?”
“Oh, yes, yes! Like I said, you have to keep your pr-”
“Enough of this,” Ine’kata interrupted impatiently. “Majanie, Uba’nura - remove those cloths. The puck is too slow.”
“Of course, La’Jatal,” the female chieftain’s servants nodded, and they hurried forward to pull off the cloth of the first pen.
“Well, that’s, I mean,” Nukzos murmured uncertainly. However, he had no choice but to let the trolls have their way. “I mean, here we have the swordmaster!”
Sitting on a reasonably comfortable cot was an extremely dark-skinned, bald-headed human. In his pen he had everything he needed and his eyes were engrossed in a book, but only a few seconds after being revealed, he put the leather volume aside and rose wordlessly.
“As you can all see, he comes from the western steppes,” Nukzos explained. It was not the color of his skin that gave away the origin of the swordmaster, but the stars sewn into his cheeks with silver. “The special thing about him is that he voluntarily became a gladiator three midsummers ago to pay off his village’s debts. If he survives this, he still has 1 midsummer to go.”
“I’ve never heard of the western steppes. Are they important?” Ine’kata said, unimpressed. She wasn’t exactly knowledgeable, but of course she wouldn’t say that so openly. “But I’ll admit, he’s in very good shape. Better than the meat in front.”
“He’s not just good-looking!” Nukzos affirmed, giving the sword master a knowing look. The trained human wore nothing on top. His upper body was covered in scars from healed lashes, but Nukzos didn’t go into that. “Just wait until you see how he cuts the throats and heads of unworthy examinees with his two scimitars.”
Half-satisfied, Ine’kata nodded. “Go on.”
Cecil had noticed the commotion outside her pen even before it was aired. She was an extremely wiry human woman and was taking a nap. She didn’t change that when she was revealed and remained lying with her back to the spectators.
“A ... female?” the high priest’s wife marveled skeptically. “And she’s so small and fragile.”
“But she’s quicker than any monkey in the jungle! Come on, show yourself Cecil!” demanded Nukzos in his mean tongue, but all he got was a dismissive wave from his fighter. He became nervous for a moment and switched back to trollish. “Ehm yeah, hehe ... the downside is that she’s cheeky as anything, but, BUT, she makes up for that with her talent in the arena.”
“I think I speak for all of us,” Ine’kata grinned, but her mirth had a serious background. “Any examinee who loses to that one will more than die in disgrace. This could be really interesting to watch if this Cecil is that good. I’ve never seen other females fight that weren’t trolls.”
“See, see?” Nukzos clapped his hands in relief. “From the pit of flesh, come the best gladiators on this side of the sea!” This time, Nukzos led the way, skipping one pen to go straight to the last. “And the best, come last!
“What’s this?” asked Ine’kata, pointing to the abandoned pen. “We’re here.”
“Ehm, hehe, no, I’d rather not,” Nukzos rubbed the back of his head and became a little meek. “This is the pen of Abaroth, my one and only Setek Gladiator.”
Immediately all the troll females drew in a sharp intake of air through their teeth. “Setek,” came the increased cry. Setek were primal enemies of the trolls, something Nukzos knew and Ine’kata reinforced. “Whoever kills the snake, on the other hand, will be a hero. Hopefully the last pen won’t disappoint in the same way or I’ll seriously consider advising my Jatal against the deal.”
Beyond the last pen, Blood Tusk had long since stood in position beyond the leather tarpaulin, but not because he wanted to greet the spectators. All the new smells, the sounds and the talk of Abaroth on the way here and between the pens, enticed the troll’s curiosity. For the first time, he would see something other than stone walls, wood and sand.
Nukzo’s nervousness was blown away this time when the trollish servants ventilated the pen. “I rather think all the Jatal will curse me for bringing this berserker of a troll.”
Not a single Riverfang female made a comment this time, and for the first time none seemed the least bit snide as their heads rose in disbelief. “Look at that,” came from the priest’s wife’s lips in fascination. “More than one tiki must have blessed this troll.”
Blood Tusk did not look at any of the females. This was partly because he was not a master of the trollish tongue. Instead, he looked up like a fascinated toddler, where trees grew so mightily that they almost stole his view of the sky and the waterfall of the high cliff dwarfed any rainstorm over the arena for him.
“Where did you get him from?” Ine’kata asked sternly, and she scanned every line, every tiny outline of the stranger troll’s body. She searched for tribal markings or other features that would reveal his origins.
“A long, long time ago,” Nukzos recalled with real pride. “We bought him as a whelp from a big auction and when he reached the age of 10, he started fighting and since then, for 11 whole midsummers, he’s been undefeated.”
Some of the females could barely contain their favors. “And I always thought Khojun was powerful, but that one.”
“Don’t stare,” another female giggled. “If your guy could see that.”
“Then let him fight that troll and try to kill him if he’s so bothered by my gaze. Actually, though, my guy will benefit more from this visit later.”
“Yes, I know what you mean.”
The priest’s wife and Ine’kata were more in control of themselves. “Why doesn’t he show us respect and look over us?” the Jatal’s wife grumbled. “Troll, look at me!”
The request fell on deaf ears and Nukzos tried to appease her. “He doesn’t understand trollish. Only the common tongue. In general, all troll culture is completely foreign to him, so please forgive his unintentional disrespect. He’ll more than make up for it at the trials.”
“Forget the Setek,” the priest’s wife whispered. “If ... anyone were to defeat that troll, it might end the feud first. Who would want to go up against the one who defeats that tiki whim?”
“You could be right,” Ine’kata agreed quietly at first. But then something occurred to her and she continued in her normal tone. “He doesn’t know anything about us? Nothing at all? That means he’s not familiar with the tiki? I’m not sure we should let such an outrage onto the ritual site. It could bring us the wrath of the tiki.”
Before anything could be said, Majanie sank to her knees in awe. She had been frozen the whole time because of Blood Tusk. “An ancestor,” she murmured to herself before she ran her hands reverently over her purple-painted face and half a dozen tiny bone earrings clacked. “A blessing, a sign.”
All the females looked to her. “What did you say, Majanie?” Ine’kata inquired. No one had heard the murmur.
“I-I mean,” Majanie tried to pull herself together. She let Uba’nura help her to her shaky knees, her thoughts having just been thrown overboard. She had to tell them about this encounter and quickly come up with an excuse. “Sorry, La’Jatal. I’m just overwhelmed by this troll and my legs have gone weak.”
Cheerfully, one of the females agreed. “You mean more like they’re wide open, but I think we can all understand that,” she said and many giggled wickedly. “And you’re not taken yet, so anything is possible.”
“Y-yes,” Majanie nodded and she stared steadfastly at Blood Tusk. But that wasn’t because she desired him physically, oh no. She possessed knowledge that was denied to the rest of them and she had to pass it on as soon as possible. “La’Jatal?”
“What is it?” Ine’kata asked, still smiling at her servant’s wobbly legs.
“I’m sure you’ll be out for a while, but would you like me to return to camp and prepare the food?”
“Mh, yes, that would be good. The Jatal will certainly be very hungry when he gets back from the meeting with the other tribal leaders. Go and make something hearty.”
“Of course, La’Jatal,” Majanie said, bowing her head before hurrying back to the ritual site alone.
