by J P Nelson
Seedle’s words broke the air, “Alright fellows, we have been hurt and hurt bad. But we are still standing.” He pointed east, “There will be no stopping till we get to the Point. You will have to piss and poop as best as you can.”
He looked around to the group, his team, “I do not have great words like Commodore Jha’Ley. I am just a grunt like you. We got a job to do and it is not done ‘till we get home.”
Seedle pointed to his pack, a pack that held personal letters, pieces of pottery and two bone tubes, “This is our mission, to get this home. We do this for Vedoa, for our mates,” he hesitated, “and for the commodore.”
He hesitated for a moment, “I am proud to be with you fellows.”
He put his hand out and fifteen hands laid their hands upon his. Together they yelled, “Hu-u-u-A-AGH-H-H!”
Chapter 60
ACCORDING TO SEEDLE’S chronograph, it took just over twenty hours to travel hundreds of miles to Stair Point. It was the fastest any of the men had ever been, or had ever dreamed of going, and it was not easy.
About one and a half miles from destination, they left hard for soft-water. The lagoon was fluid and a bit warmer than the outside water, but still cold.
Nobody had slept, all were tired, yet there was no time to lay back and rest. They had trained for this, however. Seedle had led them on a physical regimen until eventually the team was running ten miles a day, six days a week, with fifty pound packs, across the curtain wall walkway. The team spent hours pulling at ropes on wenches with weighted sacks, and standing with backs to center in a circle handing forty-pound sacks around and around.
Dessi would hold fencing classes and at random call, the whole team would stay up for three days straight at hard duty.
These men were hand-picked for skill, heart and dedication. Each team member knew this as a last ditch rescue mission. They each were ready to do what they had to do.
Seedle and Dessi were sure they were not yet clear of the trolls. They wouldn’t have tried so hard to stop them only to quit now. Caroll mentioned having a feeling once, maybe twice, as if they were being watched.
Of them all, Caroll was the one with experience around magic and things he referred to as Divinations and Scrying Effects.
Seedle asked, “If the trolls know where we are …”
Dessi finished his thought, “We have all eaten and taken drink while in journey. Let us get dragging.”
There was no discussion as to order of tasks. The decision had been made months ago. One might think the smaller craft should be taken up first, as it was lighter. But Sheila had been designed for the specific purpose at hand … she was priority.
A metal rod was embedded in the ice to secure all craft, and then the men began climbing up the stair-like connecting ledges with supplies from Sheila. Then the sixteen uninjured men latched rope to the craft and hauled her up.
It was a toss-up for exertion to reload Sheila and have everyone drag the weight across five miles of snow and ice … or … drag her empty and drag supplies split up among smaller craft.
After analyzing the ground again after nearly a year, they mutually voted to try the second idea with twelve men. The rest stayed to guard supplies and remaining boats.
Each man pulling loaded their personal canteen and the boat’s mast with canvas, but in essence it was kept light. Seedle tossed in a sack of Sean Dodgers explaining, “So we can have something to eat … it is going to be a long ten miles there and back.”
Crossbows and blades were kept on person.
Trudging across to the other side was much easier than expected. They found the lip and what Seedle called the ice flume, down the long slide the Meinkutt glistened in the light.
A stake was pounded into the ice for an anchor, then they positioned Sheila for launch. All she needed was a lift off the back side to get her started.
Nick made an inquisitive comment, “She will not get a fast start, will she?”
Seedle replied, “No, she will not. But once she goes over the edge, you better be in her, because that footing is slick as fresh shit. And once she gets down there,” he pointed a good distance along the track, “it tilts down pretty sharp. When she hits water I figure she will be doing seventy, maybe even eighty knots, what with her size, supplies and all.”
Nick’s eyes got wide, “Poseidon’s beard!”
They took a short break, then prepared to return.
Seedle brought them to attention, “Here is where we make the split. Telroy, you, Nick, Patterous and Leggett … you men will stay and guard Sheila.”
Stepping to the side while the men talked, Seedle took Caroll by the arm and spoke quietly, “I do not suppose I can get you to stay?”
Caroll leaned down and with smiling resolution replied, “As in thrice past times discussion of same nature, I am the larger and stronger of all in team. It is only of sound thought I should give service where service is best given.”
“I take that for a no?”
The big man shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head.
“And if I yell real loud in front of the men and order you to stay?”
“I-I-I fear to cause strife … and you will need render order of discipline at time of best convenience.”
“I figured you would say that.”
Seedle looked to the men, “Alright fellows, let us begone.”
Dessi walked up to Seedle, “What is the matter? Is he still refusing to stay?”
“He is stubborn as a mule-eared ox.”
Dessi chuckled, “He is stubborn …?”
Stepping up to Telroy, Seedle gave him his backpack, of which he alone brought with him, “Listen carefully … if we are not back within twenty-four hours … you push that boat off and hit the water. We have talked about this. You know what to do?”
“Yes, cob, I have it.”
“And you know what to do with this pack?”
“Aye, I will get the job done.”
“You have your teley and chronometer?”
“Right here.”
“Just in case, it has been my pleasure. There is a bunch of Sean Dodgers in there.”
“Thank you, cob.”
Seedle saluted Telroy and turned heel. It was time to get back.
___________________________
Rymon sat with left arm in a sling and surrounded by loaded crossbows. He was white with pain and sick, but he insisted on duty. He told Telroy he did not expect to make it home, he just wanted to do his part.
“You will make it my friend. You have that girlfriend, and there are the taverns we must visit.”
The Marine handed Telroy a locket he carried, “Give this to her, give it and tell her I kept my promise. Do that will you?”
“Yes, yes I will.”
“Thank you.”
The eight men had crossed beast sign on the way back … fresh, beast sign. Seedle remembered the moose-like remains he had seen a year ago, and the signs of passage back and forth across the ridge. Those fresh tracks made him think of something wolf-like, although he had never seen a wolf. But those tracks were big, like, really big, and Dessi said these creatures were walking on twos. Shit!
Unloading the Arnold, then dragging it up was a work of inspiration. Meaning, those men were really inspired to get the job done, and fast. Even worse, a storm was brewing and being on top of that ice was no joy.
Seedle had taken a walk to the edge of the cliff and looked down, beside him was Dessi.
“Even you are not that crazy …”
Seedle shook his head, “That is a long way down, two hundred and ten feet if twenty, probably a bit more.”
“Com’mon, that is making me dizzy.”
Seedle stepped further and pointed, “Look, I can see a fish …”
“SEED! Damn you!”
Seedle laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder, “You are a good friend.”
Dessi brought out his flask and took a quick swallow, “To penguins?”
S
eedle took the flask, swallowed and said, “To penguins.” He handed back the flask and grabbed a sack of Sean Dodgers.
Suddenly Rymon yelled, “TROLLS!”
How they got there without sound or warning, Seedle did not know, nor did he have time to deliberate the matter. It seemed the air was filled with them, and they were all human-sized dressed in the garb of barbarians.
From his vantage point, he saw Rymon shoot one square in the midriff, drop his weapon and roll while grabbing another. Up on one knee he tilted the crossbow and caught yet another in the throat. He followed the motion by drawing his blade as he stood in a right-wise spin slicing one in the hamstring, disarming a spiked cudgel from another before running it through, then withdrawing the blade in a beautiful snapping motion to behead a third … killing five enemy in less than ten seconds.
Seedle had his own cutlass out and giving it sling as he parried one troll weapon, then another, before laying edge upon a belly and drawing it clear. Did they know he was in charge? He was not sure, but it seemed every troll in the Uordak chose him as a target.
Dessi was wielding his long blade and that wicked, wonderful, twelve-inch serrated edge Vedoan Dirk as if he were born to it. A parry here, slice there, an arc of blood around his body drawn by his sword and through two necks at once. His sword caught in the chest of one adversary but he did not stop. As if it had been his intention all along, he drew his other Vedoan Dirk and it looked as if they were as butterfly wings colored with crimson. One opponent paused in mid-fall and in one gliding motion Dessi sheathed his right dirk, then took his opponent’s weapon and continued the fight.
Seedle bore skill well beyond the average with blades, but this was not his forte. He made his cuts and saw opposition go down, but then he faced something nine feet tall with a sinister sneer that took thrust in belly, closed muscles upon it, then backhanded the man hard to the side of the head.
Lights went off in Seedle’s skull as he heard a sound like shells of chicken eggs crushing. Into something solid he landed as his skull bounced against the hull of the barge.
Get up … he had to get up … what was the count? Where was he? Who was he fighting?
He felt claws grip his shoulder to spin him around. Off the knee the man reached out with his left hand and touched a hairy belly, then he let fly with a driving right uppercut. Seedle still couldn’t see, but his instincts drove him on. Again he struck the behemoth. He could feel with his hands he had struck the creature solid and against expectation. Where was that sword?
Yelling with pent up fury, the man drove relentlessly, giving no time for his foe to regain his footing. Driving against the troll’s knees, Seedle shot in with a double-leg takedown, then taking the mount he grasped the creature’s throat, smashing blow after lightning fast blow until he felt no more struggle.
Rolling to the side he shook his head vigorously until vision came back, but he was seeing double. Grabbing a sword from the ground, he looked quickly for another foe. He saw his men looking about as one other tall troll dropped to knee, then forward on face.
Caroll gave him quick glance, his two-handed scimitar glistening with red. He began to speak, then his look became one of alarm as he walked over with hand outstretched, “Mister Seedle, make to hold.”
Seedle wavered, but held his stance, feeling a violent trembling within his core. They needed to get moving, fast.
Caroll put the palm of his hand to Seedle’s face, then brushed it up and onto the top of his head and paused. There was a burning up there and Seedle started to push away when Caroll commanded, “Do not make to move.”
Then Caroll breathed loud, almost sobbing, to catch his breath, “Your scalp was nigh torn from bone.”
Corporal Sefry, the Marine assigned to Seedle’s boat, asked in concern, “Cob, are you alright?” He was looking at Seedle’s hands … they were shaking violently.
Caroll offered quickly, “He has sustained harsh wound to head,” turning to the Marine he added, “but he will be well.”
Seedle could not sheath the blade, so Caroll did it for him with a nod of his head.
Looking to Sefry, Seedle squinted as he still was seeing double and asked, “How are we?”
“We lost Narrol, Elton, Sergeant Rymon … and …”
“Speak up son---”
Caroll broke in, “Sergeant Dessi is lost to us.”
Seedle spoke as if he could not believe it, “Dessi-i-i?”
Haeg explained, “He was going it with one of those big ones, had a sword in its side and he climbed on it with a dirk … then the ground just gave out. It took sarge, the big one and two other trolls down low. The ice just caved in atop itself.”
Sefry added, “Sergeant Rymon got a total of seven, when the big one Sergeant Dessi was fighting knocked his sword out of hand and ripped his head off.”
Caroll said, “If I may suggest, all were not vanquished. Some few made retreat.”
“Great! Okay,” Seedle was trying to think, “we got to go.” He glanced about, distraught. Then he saw something in the trampled, red snowy ice. Reaching down to pick it up he said, “Forget Waddles and anything else down there. Let us seize ropes and move.”
Brushing ice from the article in hand, Seedle put it in his pocket and said out loud, “Here is to penguins.”
The nine men hauled and pushed with all speed. There was no doubt in their mind they would be attacked again, but when and where. Seedle now figured for three deadly enemies; the trolls, the weather and whatever those beasts out there were.
No … make that four; now they had to worry about the ice collapsing under their feet.
They became excited when after a gust of abrading ice, they moved around an outcropping and could see the outline of Sheila. A whoop of joy was sounded by one of the men, and right out of the wind stepped one of those big trolls and ran a lance through three of the men at once.
Sefry managed to place a heavy bolt through his neck, but then off to the side a human sized troll aimed a staff at him and a string of green light wrapped around the Marine, then squeezed until it cut him into pieces. Once more the ground was filled with chaos, but this time there didn’t seem to be as many trolls.
It was Caroll who took out the magic-wielder. Was Seedle imagining things, or did he speak some words after which the troll seemed to choke, then Caroll’s scimitar blade suddenly began to glow? Everything he hit with it seemed to be touched with fire, for a few moments anyway.
Seedle was to busy fighting, but then he heard a horrendous call of some beast. This was not getting any better, and then here came Telroy and his three.
Seedle yelled, “Damn it Telroy …”
But then the fellow deflected an enemy strike to Seedle’s head and dispatched the foe, “Thanks Telroy …”
Those big trolls were bad enough, but the three beasts that joined in were even worse. They had large goat-like legs with wolfish paws instead of hooves, reptilian arms and claws and wolf-like heads, all covered in mangy fur … and they didn’t like anybody.
The new adversary made Seedle think of the teerex when they moved, only smaller and hairy and stank. They didn’t seem to move on their feet very fast, but their jaws and front paws, or hands, or whatever they were, struck with alarming speed.
Seedle was facing down one human-sized troll when its head suddenly left its body in the mouth of a beasty. He didn’t mind, until said beasty whipped the head over to one direction, slapped the fumbling body in another, and then lunged for Seedle.
A sword into the mouth was the man’s response … hey … what else could he do?
The fight was bad, blood everywhere, but when it was over it was Seedle, Caroll, Haeg and Nick who were still standing.
Seedle glanced about in unspoken panic, where was the kid? Where was Tel---?
On the other side of the barge was Telroy on his hands and knees, head down, cutlass imbedded in a troll beside him, a slowly growing stain on his side. Then a groaning, splintering sound erupted beneat
h them.
Seedle yelled, “Caroll … grab Telroy, Haeg and Nick, grab something out of---”
They were already on the move. Haeg was a big fellow who seized two casks of water, Nick grabbed one. As Caroll scooped Telroy onto his shoulder Seedle fumbled with a big sack of Sean Dodgers, his right hand again shaking badly. Tossing it as far as he could, he reached back and grabbed another.
The second sack he got over his shoulder as the ground beneath the barge gave way … a little … making Seedle fall and smashing his head once more … again the flash of lights within his brain.
The others were running. He had to get up, he had to answer the bell. To himself he screamed, ‘Get UP damn it … one more round!’
Seedle’s foot slipped as the ice beneath him rumbled again, he thought it was growling at him like one of those beasts. He got a solid foot under him as he felt the purchase give way and he leapt … hard … landing on the edge of crust as Arnold disappeared into the ice below … only the sack of dodgers caught hold as he scrambled to get footing, holding dearly to the sack.
Again, he thought the ground beneath him was growling in an angry rage … furious it had failed to catch the man.
He dug in deep with his fingers upon the edge, ice cutting into his flesh and raking the bones of his knees, a searing pain now in his left foot, but he managed his way out of the hole. Staying on hands and knees, he wormed his way across to the sack he had tossed.
Dropping the sack he carried upon the other, he angled both upon his shoulders. Where were the others? The wind was blowing snow in gusts and he could barely see through the patches.
Did he hear more fighting? Seedle ran toward the sound with the two one hundred pound sacks of food upon his right shoulder.
There … the view cleared for a moment! Three men down … Caroll dispatching what was apparently the second of two more of the beasts, another was squirming in death from rods away.
Caroll quickly put his blade to side as he scooped up the prone Telroy, gingerly placing him in the Sheila.
As Seedle came up Caroll hastily said, “These men are gone … but look toward yonder ridge …” he pointed off in the distance where the ice-filled wind was momentarily clear, “… three more of these from beyond half mile. They come hither.”