Chapter Thirty
They waited until late in the night when Star’s power would be at its fullest. The moon had risen and though it was only at half wane, it lit the mountainside with a soft glow. Deathclaw and Hilt were perched behind a boulder high above the creature, Hilt with a smile stuck on his face.
Beth had wanted to wait a few days and solidify their plan before they attacked, but the named warrior had pressed for them to attack that very night. The troll farm they had burned was far too close to this one. Mellinda would surely increase her troops in the area, but she wouldn’t expect another attack within a day of the last one. They had never hit two in a row that fast before. But Deathclaw knew it was more than that. The man wanted to fight the beast; itched for it.
Hilt and Beth had encountered the troll behemoth once before, in a cave high on the mountain. Beth had hoped they’d killed it. They didn’t know how Mellinda had gotten it out of the cave, but they were sure it was the same one.
“It’s a monster of legend, Deathclaw,” the man whispered. “You may never get another opportunity like this. Killing this thing will be hard, but once we’ve done it, we’ll have done something only a handful of people have done in the history of the known lands.”
Don’t listen to him, Beth said sourly. She was hiding in a cluster of rocks higher up the slope, waiting for Charz’ signal. Him and his glory. He’s never forgotten finding this thing. He’s been talking about going back ever since.
Deathclaw nodded, but said nothing. He didn’t care about glory. He saw only the necessity of killing the thing. He still wasn’t sure how they were supposed to do it. None of them knew. Hilt had explained to them what a troll behemoth was and how to defeat it, but it sounded impossible.
The behemoth’s healing ability was so out of whack that it couldn’t stop growing. It simply got bigger and bigger, sprouting more and more body parts, until it died of starvation. Sword attacks were useless. It healed too fast and any pieces of a behemoth that broke free turned into more trolls. The time before, Beth had set the thing on fire, but somehow it had survived. Now, if their suspicions were correct, it had eaten so many modified trolls that it had become like the trolls they had encountered the day before. Its slime would burn slowly and the fire would be even less effective.
Deathclaw shifted his weight, looking down on the beast intently. Star was letting out a low hum and he felt an itching at the back of his mind as if it were begging to be used against the thing.
The gorcs had stopped cutting at the behemoth once it got dark and had moved to camp near the orcs a short distance from the troll clusters. There were very few fires in the camp and those were carefully maintained to assure no troll slime got anywhere near them.
The Behemoth sat languidly, surrounded by four moonrats with green eyes. Every once in a while, one of them would let out a chittering moan that would be answered by the others controlling the troll clusters. Orc watchmen patrolled the area in pairs, scanning the trees below. The orcs watched the foothills intently, but none of them seemed to fear attack from the slopes above.
Charz is almost ready, Beth announced to both of them and then added for Deathclaw’s ears only, Listen, Deathclaw, I have a strong feeling and I need you to heed me.
I will, Deathclaw promised.
Good. I need you to watch Hilt. She swallowed and Deathclaw could sense the fear in her thoughts. Keep him alive. I have seen many visions of this moment, the time when Hilt would face this beast again, and in most of them he is killed. There are fluctuations . . . variables that could change the outcome, but I have never been able to see what would keep him alive. All I’ve known is that I would be here.
I will try, Deathclaw said. Of course he would. A raptoid always protects the pack.
You must. Otherwise we will all die. She paused. I think so anyway. Maybe it’s just me and Hilt, or maybe even Charz, but I think this is why you are here. This night is your purpose for coming with us.
I know, Deathclaw replied. He had understood when Hilt explained what the beast was. This was why he had come with them. This was the purpose for which Star was made. There was a certainty about it that sat on his shoulders.
“Tell Beth to stop telling you what a fool I am. She’s been nagging me for a year about this thing,” Hilt whispered. He loosened his swords in their sheaths and patted Deathclaw on the shoulder. “We can do this.”
Oh, just tell him to shut-. Beth’s thoughts intensified. Charz is ready. He’s making his move!
Deathclaw looked down at the glistening pond of slime at the bottom of the slope and saw Charz slide quietly into it. He covered his body completely with slime and rolled out the other side. From this distance it looked like one of the boulders on the slope had just rolled out of the pond.
So far none of the enemy had noticed his movements. The giant crept up slope towards the troll clusters. The magic of his boots worked well, keeping his steps silent even when wet. He moved as stealthily as he could, knowing that the moonrats couldn’t smell his scent under all that slime. His only worry was the orc guards.
Charz made it all the way up the slope to the first troll cluster before a guard saw him. Then as soon as the guard cried out, he set himself on fire. As before, the slime burned slowly, but the effect was impressive. To the orc guards, Charz waded into the troll clusters looking like a ten-foot-tall giant made of flame.
Charz made sure to set fire to every troll he could reach, spreading the blaze from cluster to cluster. Then the orcs arrived. He laughed as they charged and yanked the weapon out of the first attacker’s hand. He grabbed the orc and as he lifted its struggling form over his head, Beth cut Mellinda’s power from the area.
Screeches echoed across the mountainside as fiery trolls ran in all directions, some running straight for the orcs. Charz laughed. The flames against his rocky skin were little more than an annoyance. He charged the orcs, smashing them with his enormous fists, finally seeing some real action.
The moment Mellinda lost control of the behemoth, Deathclaw and Hilt attacked. Hilt threw a flaming branch onto its back and swung his swords, using the air magic in the blades to send a gust of wind to fan the flames.
Deathclaw drew Star and the blade was already glowing a dull red in anticipation. The feeling he was getting from it was something akin to joy. The behemoth let out a wail, hundreds of heads along its surface screeching at once. The sound hit Deathclaw’s ears with deafening impact. He stumbled, but kept his balance and as he reached the creature, he had to wonder how they could possibly defeat it.
The behemoth’s sheer size was overwhelming and as Deathclaw reached its enormous center, he had another problem enter his mind. Where should he strike it? Dozens of arms reached for him. Torsos stretched towards him with snapping mouths full of jagged teeth.
He ran as close as he could to the beast and swung his sword. Star ignited the troll pieces reaching for him and the side of the creature erupted into fire. The blade brightened and the behemoth let out another wail. At this range, the intensity of the sound nearly dropped Deathclaw to his knees.
The pepper! Use the pepper, Beth reminded.
Deathclaw backed away from the blaze and reached for the pouch tied at his waist. There was a ripple in the behemoth’s central body and several large eyes opened in its surface. A vertical line appeared below the eyes and opened into a large fanged mouth, big enough to swallow him. A long tongue rolled out, reaching towards him, a pair of grasping hands sprouting from the end.
Deathclaw grabbed a handful of the pepper and threw it at the tongue. The powder hung in the air, much of it floating to the ground or sticking to the various troll appendages reaching for him, but a small portion did land across the tongue and where it landed, red welts began to swell.
Sir Hilt slashed with twin swipes of his swords, carving deep slices in the flesh of the beast. Wherever his swords cut, torsos and heads and grasping arms would grow from the wounds.
The fight looked lost before
it had even begun, but Hilt knew this wasn’t a sprint of a battle. This would be a long race. Every wound the behemoth recovered from meant more of its energy used. The more energy it used, the weaker it would get. Eventually it would begin to starve and its ability to regenerate would weaken.
That was the theory anyway. He had read a book on the ten legendary monsters in the Mage School library. Only two warriors had claimed to kill a troll behemoth and that was the technique they had used. The difference was that those men had attacked it with a team of skilled warriors and the battle had taken days.
Hilt didn’t have days. He would be lucky to have hours. The mother of the moonrats definitely knew they were there now. She would be sending every goblinoid in the area after them.
How are you doing, Beth? he asked as he sent another deep cut into the beast, his swords’ reach extended by sharp razors of air that extended from the blade.
She is confused for the moment I think, but she is already putting a lot of pressure on my magic, Beth said. I don’t know how long I will be able to hold her off before she breaks through.
I’ll try what I can, he promised, making another deep cut. Chunks of troll parts littered the ground around him and many were already forming tiny bodies. He wondered why the fire he had started on top of the behemoth hadn’t spread to its sides.
Why aren’t you idiots using the pepper? Beth complained.
I was waiting for the right moment, Hilt snapped.
The behemoth let out a screeching wail. Hilt winced. His ears ached. Much more of that and he might lose his hearing for good. He danced back and slashed again, putting more air magic into it this time. The wounds stretched longer and deeper than before and it finally happened.
Eyes opened up on either side of the cuts and the wound opened up into an enormous fanged mouth. It snapped at him and Hilt hurled the pouch of pepper inside. The moment it landed in the back of its throat, he slashed again, sending a blade of air to cut the pouch in two.
The troll’s jaws slammed shut and the pepper disappeared within.
Charz hunched over and grabbed the unconscious orc by its feet, then swung it about him. He smashed several of its companions to the ground, using the orc like a floppy club. They screamed and died. Bones broke and blood gushed while he laughed uncontrollably.
This was the feeling he’d missed since leaving his cave; the power and dominance that battle gave him. These orcs were nothing to him. Even if one of their swords chipped his skin, the wound healed before they could take advantage of it.
A part of his mind warned him of the danger of this way of thinking. His conscience reminded him of the promise he’d made to put his bloodthirsty nature behind him. But Charz pushed the nagging thought aside. He remembered what Alfred had told him before he had left the school with Hilt and Beth. His hunger for battle was a weapon that, if honed, was a powerful tool. He could fight when fighting was needed. He just had to be able to let it go when the battle was over. He couldn’t let the hunger control him.
As it was, he didn’t know how much longer the fight would last. The flames covering his body had died down and the trolls that hadn’t burned to death were fighting the orcs alongside him. Well, perhaps not alongside him really. They were just trying to eat the orcs while ignoring him. For some reason, he must not have smelled like food.
One of the orcs, a large and brutish beast, knocked a troll aside and got close enough to swing a greathammer onto Charz’ foot. The weapon was four-feet-long and the hammer on the end wide and shaped like a wedge. Pain shot up Charz’ leg as the skin on his foot cracked open. Blood seeped from the wound and he could feel the bones in his foot crunch. Charz winced and grabbed the orc by its ugly head. He squeezed, crushing its skull, then shoved it aside and picked up the greathammer.
The hammer didn’t look quite so great in his hands, more like a warhammer maybe, but he made good use of it. He swung it into an orc’s chest, smashing its insides to jelly. The other orcs backed away and Charz threw the hammer, thumping one of them in the face.
The troll behemoth let out a screeching wail that jolted the mountainside. The fighting stopped momentarily as everyone staggered and Charz spared a glance over his shoulder.
Half of the behemoth’s body was on fire and he could clearly see Sir Hilt dancing about the thing, swiping with his swords. The beast shifted and raised one of its massive limbs in the air, then brought it down in an attempt to crush the named warrior. Hilt dove out of the way just in time.
Charz let out a whoop of joy at his friends escape, then swore as something sharp pierced his side. He swung back around as a large orc sitting astride a giant spider pulled the tip of a trident from his side. From his perch on the spider, the orc was about at equal height to the giant. Charz couldn’t believe the thing had managed to approach while his head was turned.
“Cheater!” he shouted. He took one look at the wound and knew that it was a bad one. He’d had a lot of those over the years. He shifted to mage sight as Master Oslo had taught him so long ago. The trident glowed a deep blue. Yep that was bad. He had seen that kind of magic before. Water magic on a weapon usually meant it was designed to either penetrate armor or slow healing. By the way this wound felt, this trident was made to do both.
The orc drew the trident back again and Charz got a good look at the weapon. It was finely made. The two outer prongs were sharpened like sword blades while the center prong was shaped like a spearhead. Intricate runes were carved into the metal. He wondered how the orc had obtained such a weapon.
The spider charged forward, its fangs dripping with poison. Charz knew he was in a pinch. Even if he was able to avoid the thrust of the trident, the spider’s jaws could reach him. Giant spiders had the jaw strength to punch through skin even as thick as his.
Charz smiled. A century of arena fighting had taught him that a mounted warrior was only as good as his steed. Instead of trying to grab the trident or backpedal to avoid the spider, he leaned into the spider’s attack and brought his fist up in a stiff uppercut, smashing right into the spider’s jaws.
The resulting crunch of chitin was so satisfying, he barely felt the prong of the trident pierce his neck. He brought his right shoulder up under the spider, lifted the creature with both arms, and shoved, upending the beast on top of its rider. He stepped onto the belly of the spider before it could flip back over and saw the moonlight glint off the shaft of the trident trapped under its body.
He ignored the blood flowing from the wound in his neck and tore one of the legs of the spider free so he could get at the weapon. He reached down and ripped the trident from the hand of the trapped rider. With a satisfied grunt, he thrust down with the weapon, piercing through the body of the spider and spearing the orc underneath. Then he stabbed a few more times, just for good measure.
When the spider’s legs curled up, he stopped and took a step back. “Spiders are for eating!” he said, though it came out more like a croak. Not that the orc would have understood anyway. It was dead and that was an inside joke. Alfred would have found it hilarious. He yanked the trident out of his vanquished foes and looked around for another orc to crush. There weren’t any around. Evidently they had all fled or were eaten.
Charz felt at the wound in his side. It had stopped bleeding, but the hole was still gaping open and it hurt like the wound was fresh. The crystal hanging from the iron chain around his neck glowed a soft white, showing that it was working extra hard to repair him.
He clutched the trident and turned towards the behemoth with a smile. The blood was still pouring from his neck, but he wasn’t worried. He had plenty of blood and now he had just the right weapon to fight the thing.
The behemoth’s enormous limb descended on Deathclaw, the arms and legs that made up its bulk squirming as it fell. His battle senses had slowed time around him and Deathclaw knew he wouldn’t be able to dodge. He thrust upwards with his blade instead and accepted the stinging scratches from the clawing arms as the tip of his white hot
blade pierced the core of the limb.
The skin of the behemoth ignited on impact burning away as if it were made of paper. This time the fire didn’t burn him. The flesh of the behemoth turned into coals all around him, but all he felt was a vague warmth as he swept the blade down to his right, cutting a fiery exit from the interior of the limb.
He dove out of the wound, shocked at what had just happened. The sword had never expended so much power before, yet Star was getting stronger instead of weaker. The sword was exultant and new aspects of its power were appearing. He should have been badly burned, yet he was untouched. Somehow the weapon was feeding on this battle.
Deathclaw looked back. The limb was ablaze and the glowing opening was closing very slowly but the wound was still there. Perhaps the pepper really was slowing the behemoth down. He hoped the barrel they had would be enough.
The battle had been going on for over thirty minutes. Deathclaw’s pouch of the spice was empty and Hilt had gone back for more a few times. Charz had decided to make everything easier by bringing the barrel closer so it would be quicker to get to.
Deathclaw had exited the behemoth’s limb on the side where Charz was fighting. The giant looked tiny compared to the thing, but you wouldn’t know it by his attitude. Charz was laughing as he stabbed the behemoth’s eyes with the trident he had found. Each eye burst in a shower of slime, leaving an open hole. A mouth opened in the body of the thing and tried to reach him with enormous fanged jaws. Charz stepped back and jabbed and slashed with the weapon, fighting off the long grasping tongue that came out after him.
The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat Page 36