Winds of Torsham (The Kohrinju Tai Saga Book 2)

by J P Nelson

  Only a moment later the same thing happened on the other side of the gatehouse. This time, Toagun saw the exchange from top of the gatehouse and shot the second adversary before they could disappear.

  The crossbowmen on the wall let a barrage loose in direction of the forest, but hits were never determined. From this point, however, the gates were closed and sealed. War with the trolls had officially begun.

  Chapter 59

  FOR TWO MONTHS the attacks came sporadically. When all was said and done, it looked as if the castle defenders were coming out ahead. Yes, there was some magical stuff going on, but nothing way out there incredible. At least, not yet.

  At a war-room meeting Jha’Ley said, “If we can just hold out two more months, we can set sail and make a run for it.”

  S’Getti offered, “If but we claimed more knowledge of our adversary …”

  Dessi shook his head, “But we do not. Chief Sealer, me, a couple others, our knowledge all runs to same. Bosun Caroll knows history of intelligent trolls, but if this is the best they have, now, we can hang in there. But if they are stalling until something really bad arrives … we are in deep shit.”

  Lieutenant Mantel said, “We are well stocked with supplies and we have a good source of water. The barges are not an option at this point. I say ride it out. I mean,” he looked from person to person, “is there any real choice?”

  Rahno suggested, “We could take it right out to them. So far they know nothing of our missiles, how could they? We have not fired the Balders or trebuchets. We could coordinate attack patterns. What do you think sarge?”

  Dessi was not fond of the thought, but he wasn’t going to shoot his man down before the council. Rahno was a good man, but still young and needed experience. He toyed with his mug as he answered, “It is a thought …”

  Dalton was thinking, “The horseshoe-trap might work, although I do not relish it.”

  S’Getti tilted his head, but it was obvious letting an unknown number of trolls inside, to unload a barrage upon them from the surrounding walls, did not meet his fancy in any manner.

  Jha’Ley looked to the quiet cob, “Thoughts, Mister Seedle?”

  Seedle had pursed lips and was deep in thought.

  Toagun spoke up, “Fellas, I think they are setting us up. I got no proof or experience, but it’s what I think.”

  Seedle said, “Yeah … but we are not in position yet to do anything …” he looked to Rahno, “… that will work as of the moment. We are limited to water recourse. They know this territory. I think the safest thing is keep holding out.” Looking to Jha’Ley he added, “We wait to the very last minute …”

  Mantel asked, “To do what?”

  “To do whatever it is we must do. Then we do it hard and fast.”

  Dessi made comment, “I think they may be thinking; if we could get out we already would.”

  Jha’Ley said, “I would agree with that, sergeant. At the worst, if necessary, I think we should lay plans and supplies in the hospital for possible last-ditch barricade. Even if they succeed in breaching our defenses, they will not be able to breech that door or the stone walls.”

  ___________________________

  Two months … anyone who has taken up their weapon, engaged in combat, seen people die by your own or another’s hand, knows a matter of minutes can be a long time. Two months … it can be equal to an eternity. There was something even worse … the ice and snow did not begin to thaw … at least … not in proximity of the castle.

  ___________________________

  Telroy was sound asleep when he was abruptly awakened by the slamming open of the door and yell of cob’s voice, “Now, let us go!”

  The five rooms in tunnel closest to the boathouse had been converted to bunk-rooms for the respective Mission X Teams; that was the name for Seedle’s mission. Two jonboats, the Waddles and another new craft of the same design, the Barkley, and three barges, existing craft Kimble and Arnold, and a modified V-hull barge with a deeper drop-down keel was built, the Sheila. Seedle was betting on the Sheila, she was special designed for this purpose.

  Each craft’s team was housed together and drilled together. The jonboats had four-man teams, the barges had six, except Sheila which had seven.

  Telroy often made joke, “I am not a morning lad, mates, and I prove every day I can do my job in my sleep. The noon bell rings afore my eyes truly open.”

  On this early morning, however, he was fully awake. Literally within one minute he was dressed and had snatched his prepared pack from his bunk side. There was no checking for articles or things to remember … it was done by checkpoints before hind-hit-hammock, and his mates were of same accord.

  Into the tunnel running and to the boathouse, there was no time for dalliance. Each man knew his part and they were working with a precision one would have to see to appreciate.

  Quips could be heard flying about, Telroy could not, and did not try, to put them together, “There be thousands …”

  “I swear, I saw commodore take hit …”

  “… Balls of fire flying over the walls.”

  “Heyo … it is a mess out there …”

  “… toss me that line …”

  “Here be Sarge Dessi …”

  “… I think Sealer is dead.”

  “… another sack, quickly man …”

  Five minutes from call, Telroy was in Waddles strapping his pack and two men, no, make that all three were now with him. It was not fast enough. He wanted to run forward and help lift the huge bars bracing the double door … but no … each man to his job. A quick glance behind and he saw the craft were almost ready … any second now … come on … where is … there he is … he is in … he is …

  Cob had given Telroy the power of word. Telroy was barely twenty years of age, and a late bloomer. He could actually count the tiny hairs on his chest and did well to coax his beard into shaving length once a week, but his maturity and power of responsibility was far beyond his years.

  The men at bars had door unblocked and men to the sides were positioned with poles to open them quickly. To each vessel, side men were poised as well. The sailors were ready to raise mast and fly sails, Marines numbering one for each craft were ready with weapons locked and loaded. Sergeant Rymon was his Marine, they had been friends since back at the Igloo Island.

  Now … if the wind was where it should be … they just needed a bit of luck.

  Telroy gave the word, “Go!”

  The doors opened wide and the howling whine of the wind was strong in Telroy’s ears. It was still night, but light from tall blazes within the castle walls lit the sky. They were out the door and in seconds the mast was up and secured, sail catching wind, as they began scooting on the frozen lake surface. There was nothing he could do now, except drive.

  A glance behind showed everyone was succeeding thus far. Cob was out in the clear, yes-s-s. Around the bend of the peninsula he thought he was clear, then one of those large nine-foot-tall trolls came from behind the rock and made a play for their bow.

  Rymon was already in motion as he nailed the troll with a well-placed barbed bolt, then sliced with his blade. The troll hit the ice, but the Waddles slid about out of control.

  There were two rudders, one for water and one for ice. Telroy was calling orders and giving muscle to steer for all he was worth. He could hear the skating sound of the runners on the ice, and then a human-sized troll launched forward to grab the stern.

  Claws were in the wood right beside Telroy as he stared into the evil jagged tooth grin of a green troll. He released his grip for an instant as the metal rudder slapped the troll. Telroy grabbed cutlass and swiped hard at the creatures knuckles. Falling away, it could be heard squalling as Waddles was brought back under control.

  Rymon yelled, “They all got by but Barkley.”

  The other jonboat was now ten feet away, but around them they saw bodies, thankfully bodies of trolls. One had been, what, severed? They could not know Seedle, commandi
ng Sheila, had aimed that steel shod V-bow directly into a troll while yelling swear words.

  The Waddles was not back up to speed as Barkley was pulling away. But another nine-foot troll rose up, this one grabbing Barkley from behind and ripping the transom out.

  It saw Waddles and made a lunge, but then stood up on toes and spun to the ice.

  Rymon had sword in hand and called back in excitement, “Two shafts, parallel, right in the neck. Nobody shoots like that but Sealer, he is not dead, yes-s-s …”

  Telroy knew Toagun was popular among the Marines. What about Barkley? He could see trolls trying to run to head off Waddles, but it wasn’t happening. He could do nothing for those men and he felt sick inside. He thought to himself, ‘Focus, Telroy, focus.’

  Now if they could make the gulf, but it was over thirty miles.

  They were almost at the small island in the bend when Rymon said, “We are gaining on them … but what the hey?”

  Trolls were trying to fell a pair of great trees. The Arnold was in front and got through as the first began to fall, then the Kimble---

  Wait! The trees caught Kimble as she tried to get through. The splintering of the mast and ripping of sails could be heard echoing through the air.

  The Sheila was next, but she veered hard to port and skimmed across that stream as the trolls split attentions and tried to catch her.

  Telroy quickly yelled instructions as Rymon looked at him as if he were crazy. Making use of tacking maneuvers, memory and what he had learned from G’Tabb, suddenly Waddles heeled hard to starboard just in time to slide under the downed trees.

  They could hear the embittered cries of the men of the Kimble as they dealt with trolls, but again … there was nothing to be done. This was something understood from the beginning. It was one reason for five craft … and it wasn’t over.

  For miles it seemed they were in the clear, they the remaining three craft. Seaman First Class Patterous was taking a swig of water when he pointed; swallowing he asked, “What is that?”

  Looking starboard, all four men saw six human sized objects flying hard in their direction. Patterous yelled to Seedle, who was twenty-five rods forward, as Rymon looked through a spyglass.

  “You will not believe this,” the Marine reported, “trolls flying on Y-shaped sticks, or branches.”

  Telroy said, “We are moving as fast as we can. It looks as if they are quicker by two, maybe three knots.”

  “Yeah, but they are having trouble.”

  After a moment of study Telroy answered, “It is the turbulence. When you shoot, shoot into the wind.”

  Rymon stepped to the port-side of the sail and tried yelling at the Sheila, indicating to fire into the wind with an arc.

  It rode the nerves, watching the flying trolls inch closer. Really … what is one supposed to do? There is no intense orchestra music playing as in a grand theatre, you cannot roll the scroll or turn book pages further to avoid what may be too horrific to comprehend, waking up from a bad dream is not an option.

  The music is the beat of your own heart, sounding loud into your throat and behind your eardrums. You hear the wind as it pummels the canvas of the sail. The smell of ice spray mingled with the rotten leaves which lay upon the river as it froze is pungent in the air.

  Will these next few moments be your last, and are you satisfied with your life as you have lived it … because you probably will never get to change a thing. Did you say, ‘I love you,’ to that special someone? Is there someone you parted ways with in harsh manner, and now you wish you could fix it? Do you wonder how steel will feel should it enter your belly? Will you scream like the person you just heard die? This is how your next few minutes go by.

  Patterous was tense as he asked, “What are they waiting for?”

  “Range …” answered Rymon, “They need range if they are going to do that magic thing.”

  The Marine started lining up his target and estimating wind. The boat was not steady, as some might think skating across the ice might be, but she was quick and responding well to Telroy’s hand. He chose his moment and squeezed the trigger.

  He believed those in the other craft had chosen his own sense of timing, as two of the trolls suddenly left their flying sticks in areal rolls. Had one of his mates missed, or did two chose the same target? Rymon refused to believe one of them missed their mark.

  Quickly exchanging weapons for a loaded one, a hissing streak of purple light flew passed him … f-f-fs-s-s-st-t-t … burning across his leather armor and going through the sleeve under Nick’s arm … barely missing flesh.

  One of the trolls was just behind the Sheila and to their starboard by only a few degrees. Another was lining up beside them thirty rods away as Rymon fired again … damn … a miss … or did it deflect away? The troll got closer and aimed a rod of some sort at their hull.

  Rymon was up and swearing as he took a harpoon with a cord tied to it. In his hand was a weight tied to the other end. He saw the rod glow, and at same time a troll on the other side of his mark flying in a wing position. Rymon threw as the purple light flashed.

  Telroy saw a momentary look of glee on the troll’s face as the harpoon missed him by a foot to the front. But the look of surprise was priceless as the troll to his side fell from his stick, and the weighted cord yanked him off his seat as he tumbled through the air.

  At same time the troll trailing cob’s boat caught their foresail afire. Three bolts hit him and bounced off, but Corporal Sefry heaved and spun a bola which wrapped his neck and caused him to foil his flight. He collided into the sixth troll and both skittered through the sky, one slamming into a tree with a sickening thud, the other hitting the river bank and rolling violently across the ground, his Y-shaped stick shattering against the ice.

  Patterous suddenly shouted, “Telroy … Rymon is---”

  Turning to face his friend, Rymon weakly said, “We did it …” then fell to his knees, then almost overboard as Patterous and Nick heaved him in.

  They were slowly passing Sheila, the men quickly changing out one sail for another, when cob yelled, “You alright?”

  “No! Rymon is hurt, I do not know how bad …”

  Nick looked up with his teeth gritted, “He is in a bad way.”

  Patterous added, “It is cauterized, Telroy, that much is in his favor, but it looks like his clothing is fused into the flesh and bone. It went right through the left shoulder, a hole big as my fist, but it did not go through the back of his armor.”

  Telroy wanted to yell, to scream, to kill every troll in the world … this, however, was not the time to lose control. He needed to keep his head.

  “Do what you can for him fellows …” he looked around, “… I think we are clear for the moment.”

  The Waddles was now abreast of Sheila as Telroy yelled over while shaking his head, “It is not good, cob.”

  “Keep your head straight. You done good. Now just think of touching gulf ice. This is just the first round and they are bigger than us … but we can win … remember that … we are going to win!”

  That thought stayed in Telroy’s mind as they slowly started pulling away from Sheila, “We are going to win … we are going to win …” He looked to his friend laying near death and shook his head, did he really want to be an officer? He was no longer sure.

  A mile past the encounter with flying trolls, the river’s state of being suddenly changed. It went from sheet ice to an advanced state of thaw. The ice wasn’t gone, mind you, but the boats were skimming along at remarkable speed one moment, and then forcibly slowed down the next as they splashed into water. The fact the river’s current was moving their way helped not at all. This variable in the plan was not expected.

  Waddles was close to Arnold and Dessi yelled over to Telroy, “It has to be some kind of magical effect … a way to keep the ships in.”

  Dessi was studying Rymon, “What happened?”

  “He caught one of those magic bolts, sarge. I do not think he will make it.”<
br />
  “Angle close, let us trade men.”

  Keeping speed, Caroll traded places with Patterous and began to examine Rymon. The wound carried by Rymon was ghastly and mortal in nature, but the young Marine simply refused to die.

  It was another twenty-eight miles to the gulf, but it appeared they were in the clear, at least for now. When they broke upon the gulf water they continued to the interior. Thaws were on and the gulf was sailable, but there was still plenty of ice and the bulk of the gulf was solid. Seedle was sure they would make much better time on ice, what was sometimes called hard-water.

  Their destination; Stair Point.

  They took break only when they had mounted the frozen gulf. Waddles skipped to the ice surface, but Sheila and Arnold had to be hoisted. It was a good opportunity to see how well the men would be able to pull the craft up those inclines.

  Seedle asked Seaman Leggett, “Wadda-ya-think?”

  The fellow was breathing hard a bit, but answered with a grin, “Once-ent we get ‘em going, they’ll drag like a stick in grease.”

  Ryman was barely conscious. He could open and close his left hand and bend the elbow slowly, but Caroll told Seedle, “I do not know how he makes hold to life. His wound is beyond my purview.”

  Seedle got close to the man and said, “Hang in there Marine. We are not out of the fire yet. I need you, understand?”

  “Aye cob, you can count on me. My trigger finger still works.”

  Seedle gave a firm grip to the man’s shoulder and turned to see Dessi standing there. There were no words, Seedle gave a gentle shake of his head, then walked back to his barge.

  Dessi knelt down and broke open a flask. For a few moments he talked with his Marine and shared a drink, then a salute. When he rose up there was emotion in his eyes.

  Nick muttered to Telroy, “He acts like a hard case …”

  Telroy muttered back, “He is. But he still cares about his men.”