With a twist of thought, Eli dropped both sparks into his outstretched palm. He felt two feather touches and he saw his fingers cupping the sparks and his own face, looking down.

He felt the warmth of his hand, too, and the faint scent of his skin. The sparks provided more than vision.

The sparks chased each other around his wrist then wove through his fingers. He enjoyed the new heft of them but ... he didn't know if that counted as feeling the weight of the mountain. Yet not even Mist-Beneath knew about the sparks; this couldn't be what she'd meant by 'carry the mountain with you.'

So while the sparks flashed apart then zoomed together--as ethereal as a dream then as solid as a teardrop--Eli wondered what lessons he was supposed to learn there.

He didn't have a clue.

All he had was more boredom.

So he decided to leave.

"I'm done here," he announced. "Okay?"

The mountain didn't respond.

"I'll take that as a yes."

He crawled from the chamber and stretched--surprised for no good reason that his troll blood kept him from feeling any stiffness after sitting in a cramped cave for so long. He crossed through the stalagmites and found three exit tunnels and didn't know which to choose.

Well, as long as he headed upward, he'd get home.

He picked an exit at random, then crouched through a winding tunnel to a well of crystals. The hole was lined with geodes as deeply as he could see through a spark hovering a few years below the surface.

He didn't remember passing that on the way in, but he'd been a little distracted at the time. As he continued on his way, he wondered about the crystals. He wondered about gemstones, too. Trolls didn't care about gems or gold or silver ... but Eli could use a sack full of rubies when he returned to Rockbridge. Or maybe amethysts? The only thing he knew about gems was that they were expensive. Well, and nobles liked them.

Selling gems to nobles to fund his revenge appealed to him.

He made a mental note to ask Mist-Beneath for jewels when he saw her. And for a change of clothes. His gambeson and breeches--his second pair of each--were too filthy for human company. And nobody 'meek' dressed like a soldier caught in a mudslide. He needed his hair cut, too. And a shave. If he hadn't blunted the fighting hatches on Armored-in-Frost's hide he'd use one for a razor.

At least cutting himself shaving wouldn't be a problem any more.

What else?

He didn't need much. As long as he looked non-alarming, he could easily slip into Rockbridge. Sell some jewels. Maybe call himself a miner, returned from the hills? Then he'd study the Marquis's movements. The Marquis never went anywhere without a guard, but that didn't matter if Eli got close enough.

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Ideally, he'd strike then immediately throw himself off the Keep wall or something, where the fall was obviously fatal to any human ... but not to him. That way he'd avoid a manhunt.

Except they'd want to collect his body, and while he healed perfectly, he didn't heal fast. Not compared to a troll. If he broke his spine diving onto cobblestones, the militia would reach him long before he recovered. So ... what should he do?

Well, no reason to dwell on that yet. First he needed to scout the Keep--and the city. Sure, he'd lived there for years, but ... not this him. Not the new him. The junior scribe had never planned ambushes and assassinations. Neither had the militia trainee.

He needed to reconnoiter the city with his new eyes ... and his sparks. Maybe he'd start a fire as a distraction. Or bait the Marquis into the open. Maybe attack his children to draw him out.

Eli wasn't much good with a bow, but he could draw twice the weight now. With a little practice--and perhaps poison--that might work.

He'd heard rumor of herbalists in the slums who offered a frightening variety of services. Though a 'little' practice was probably optimistic, considering his lack of--

A faint chiming from higher in the tunnel interrupted his thoughts.

The sound of trolls. Eli grunted in satisfaction and followed the sound through a maze of chambers, across a boulder-bridged stream, then alone another twenty minutes of passages until he stepped into a proper tunnel.

He didn't recognize the area, but he recognized the smell: mushrooms and herbs and meat. The kitchen!

He'd been meaning to visit. He'd never eaten so well in his life--or nearly so much meat. Part of his appetite and enjoyment was no doubt due to his being part-troll, so even rancid meat tasted good. Still, after days of eating cold kebabs from a sack, Eli was dying for a different meal. Maybe even a hot one.

He followed his nose through the pink stone hall to a domed room with stone tables and rows of cauldrons, where sheets of moss and mushrooms dried on racks.

"Little brother," a troll greeted him. "Are you looking for a snack?"

"Er, well, uh, of course not!" Eli frowned at the empty tables. He'd clearly come at the wrong time, because there was no food prepared. "I just wanted to say hello."

The troll guffawed. "And to grab a snack? Smooth-skinned or rough, I know hunger when I see it."

"Well, I don't want to be rude by refusing your offer ..."

"I would consider it a personal favor," the troll assured him. "If you'd grab a snack."

"Okay, but you'll owe me."

The troll guffawed again. "I just finished cleaning. There's plenty more in the pantry, though."

Following the troll's nod, Eli headed down a steep ramp. Cold air blew at him, probably chilled by water from deep in the mountain, though a thick curtain of fur kept the pantry insulated.

Eli opened the curtain and stepped inside. It was a square room with shelves of lizard eggs and fruit and dozens of gutted carcasses hanging from hooks, some partially carved and others mostly intact, with ...

Eli stopped.

The sparks froze in the air.

No.

His blood froze in his veins.

No, no. He wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing. He couldn't be seeing what he thought he was seeing.

His mind scrambled to make sense of ... of the obvious. His breath stopped, his pulse slowed, his thoughts tied themselves in impossible knots.

He stood there, as if nailed in place, until the troll from the kitchen pushed through the curtain and said, "Not liking anything you see?"

"I--" Eli lifted a trembling hand to point at the carcasses. "The meat. The meat I've been eating..."

"Only the best for a young one," the troll told him happily. "Makes you strong."

"Ever ... ever since I came here ..."

"Of course! What're you after now, little brother? Fresh-grilled steak? It's no trouble."

Eli didn't answer. He couldn't answer. He felt something rising from his bowels into his stomach and then his chest. Acid bubbles corroded him, melted him from inside because--

Because the carcasses were trolls.

And a few humans.

Trolls and humans.

That's what he'd been eating. For weeks now. Every meal. That sweet, tender meat. All the bowls of stew. Trolls from the mountains and humans from the Marquis's militia.

Trolls and humans.

The bubbles burst in Eli's chest and he started to laugh. He pushed past the troll, laughing and laughing. He scrambled through the kitchen and into the passages. Crying with laughter, he crossed a boulder-bridge stream then lost himself in a maze of chambers.