by Ben Hale
“Call in the first reinforcements,” he said, unable to keep the sadness from his tone.
Thacker stared at him, his eyes wide. Braon simply nodded. “I know what I said, Thacker, but we have no other choice. If the road falls, we die anyway.”
Braon watched the fisherman’s lips tighten and he looked away. Unable to bear the crushing disappointment in that expression, Braon looked back at the map and closed his eyes.
“—Wait!” Thacker said, his voice full of . . . hope?
Braon turned to see the telepath with his eyes wide as he received distant communication.
“Well?!” Braon demanded.
Finally Thacker said, “Golic reports that reinforcements are entering his camp from the north.” Focusing his eyes on Braon he added, “The rock trolls just arrived!”
***
King Tryton trotted into the tired camp of barbarians, amazons and other humans that had been tasked with keeping the Lake Road from falling, leading his warriors towards the clearly marked command tent. At over eleven feet tall, he towered over the humans, who nervously shied away from him.
He couldn’t blame them.
Each of his people bore the marks of hundreds of kills, recorded in barbed tattoos whose location showed the strength of the opponent slain. Bare-chested to reveal the fearsome ink, and carrying enormous oval battle shields as tall as their shoulders, the tight column of rock trolls would have caused even the most stalwart to fear.
Arriving at the tent, Tryton stopped and addressed a guard that looked like he had just wet himself. “Who is the general?”
“Er . . ., he is close to the front line,” the guard stuttered. “The last wall is about to fall.”
Without answering, Tryton resumed his pace and soon came into view of the battle. With experienced eyes, he spotted the epicenter of the defenses. Although not marked by any visible cues, the attitude of the surrounding soldiers told him all he needed to know. In seconds, he stood in front of General Golic.
“King Tryton, of the northern tribes of rock trolls,” he announced. “We are here to aid the gathered races.”
Golic's eyes widened as the men and women around him twitched, betraying their fear. Tall for human or barbarian, Tryton doubted the man had ever felt intimidated in his life. Worry, stress—and fear—flowed through his face, but the general recovered quickly.
“We are glad to have you,” the general said. “How many did you bring?”
“Five hundred and sixty-three warriors, plus seventy-six clerics,” he said. Then he asked his own question. “We heard the last wall is about to fall, is that accurate?”
For a moment Golic appeared disappointed that there weren’t more of them, but the impression vanished when he answered. “Yes, we are just now preparing to retreat into Azertorn.”
Tryton gave a curt not. “If we clear the road, do you have the capability to re-fortify the wall, or perhaps raise temporary fortifications further down the road?”
Taken aback, Golic replied, “Yes, on both counts. Commander Braon placed dwarven masons and magi with us to strengthen our defenses. We also have sections of wall prepared that can be put into place, but . . .” He shrugged. “We have just given up too much ground to use them.”
Tryton reached to his back and drew his massive, six foot blade, causing several of the humans around him to suck in their breath and step back. “Prepare your walls. We will clear the road as far as we can.”
Golic’s eyebrows shot up, “How are you going to do that with so few?”
Behind Tryton, his lieutenant Kaber laughed, and the low menacing sound chilled the air like ice, followed by the scraping of leather as other enormous weapons cleared sheaths behind him.
Tryton met the general’s gaze and said, “Open the gates.”
One of the amazons behind Golic coughed in surprise. “But they will overrun us in seconds!”
Tryton didn’t move a muscle, but kept his eyes locked on General Golic’s surprised features. Then Golic nodded and threw a glance at the wide-eyed youth beside him. “Ask Braon.”
The young man didn’t hesitate. “I have already reported the entire conversation. He says to do what Tryton asks.”
Golic gave a resigned shrug and said, “Follow me.”
Striding downhill he led the rock trolls towards the wall. Tryton took advantage of the time to assess the situation at the shuddering stone defenses. Men and women climbed the wall and struck at the unseen opponents on the other side, fighting for their lives.
The thick gates were bent inward, allowing Tryton to catch glimpses of the snarling fiends on the other side. Beside him Kaber chuckled in anticipation, but Tryton felt only sadness at the death around him.
Golic threw Tryton a hesitant glance. The king nodded at him and slid his fearsome helmet onto his head. “Open them, and get ready to strengthen the wall. We will give you two hours, no more.”
Without waiting for a response, he began to trot towards the closed gates, picking up speed. Ten feet away the defenders slid the locking bars out of place, and the doors burst inward. Leading with his shield, Tryton crushed the first friends with the force of a rockslide. Behind him, his warriors knew what to do, and they stepped in to cover his flanks. In seconds twenty rock trolls were on the other side of the gate and formed a phalanx of overlapping shields. Fiends threw themselves against the barricade, only to die as huge swords and spears struck them down.
A second later, the shields reformed. Starting at the cliff, the last troll angled his shield, covering the one next to him. Locking themselves together from the cliff on the right to the drop on the left, the shields formed an impenetrable arc of metal, backed by iron sinews and unflinching muscles.
“Drive them from the cliff!” Tryton roared, and the rock trolls began to press forward.
Like a farmer’s plow, the charge pushed the fiends away from the cliff and funneled them to the fall on the left. Gradually the massive trolls picked up speed, forcing countless fiends over the side with every step. Soon the press accelerated into a driving trot . . . and then became a full sprint.
The fiends didn’t stand a chance.
Black forms cascaded off the road in a stream of snarling flesh, unable to break the line of trolls. Quare, kraka, and the dog-like sipers all tumbled to the rocks eight hundred feet below. And the charge kept going. A quarter of a mile passed, then a half a mile, then a full mile. Thousands of fiends died from their advance, until finally Tryton spotted a counter-attack.
Through a small gap in the shields, Tryton saw a tight knot of krakas gathering further down the road, bracing themselves to stop them. Sensing a shift in the battle, Tryton called a halt and the plow formation reformed into the impenetrable phalanx. Enraged, the fiends charged at them, furious at the lost ground.
Just as they reached the wall of steel, the entire formation took one step forward, pounding their shields into the faces of the snarling fiends. As more jumped over, Tryton called another command and the formation parted, allowing him and several others, including Kaber and Solus, to step forward.
Each of their weapons cut a massive swath through the roiling horde, striking them down before they could close. Trained for battle his entire life, Tryton allowed his instincts to take over. Leading with his shield, he darted forward and leveled several of the smaller quare. Sweeping his sword low, he cut through sipers and quare alike. In seconds the pile of bodies began to grow around him—
—An obsidian blade streaked for his head. Tryton countered with his own weapon and stepped inside the swing of the kraka. The snarling fiend was a foot shorter than him but better armored, so Tryton ducked under his outstretched arm and came up beside him, trapping the fiend’s arm between his shield and his shoulder. Even as the kraka tried to withdraw his arm, Tryton used his leverage to break its arm.
The black sword fell to the ground as the hulking fiend bellowed in surprise and pain. Spinning, Tryton brought his sword down across the fiend’s back. Bone shattere
d from the force of the blow, and his weapon split the fiend's flesh from shoulder to waist.
Turning away from the crumpling form, Tryton brought the top of his shield up to meet the face of another charging kraka, crushing his skull and leveling him to the ground so fast that a siper and two quare were trapped underneath the huge form. Then he leapt behind a fiend raising a weapon to the back of one of his trolls. Plunging his sword into its back, he let go of the hilt. Grasping one of the horns protruding from black skull, he wrenched it down—and then twisted it. The kraka's bellow of surprise was cut off as its neck snapped, and Tryton casually withdrew his blade as it fell. Grunting in satisfaction, he turned to other foes as the slain fiend thudded to the earth.
All around him, his trolls continued slaying the fiends with skill and speed, carving through them with an almost effortless ease—but Tryton new better. The enemy’s numbers would eventually overpower them, so he barked an order and his men began to retreat.
Howling for blood, the fiends followed them as they withdrew, feigning injury. Half a mile back they reformed into the plow and struck. Once again, the black bodies screamed in rage as they were forced from the Lake Road, unable to stop the solid charge of the rock trolls. Reaching their earlier stand, they repeated the same maneuvers, striking back and slaying many, before retreating once again.
Two hours passed, and when the report reached Tryton that two temporary walls had been erected, he called for a retreat. Evaporating uphill, the rock trolls slipped through the gates in the new wall even as dwarven masons worked feverishly to finish the fortifications. Seconds later the fiends struck.
The wall held.
Tryton found Golic standing beside him, his jaw working as he fought for words. For the moment Tryton ignored him and turned to Solus. “If any were lost, I will be disappointed captain.”
Solus gave a curt bow and said, “No losses or serious injuries. The clerics are already working on the minor wounds.”
Beside him, Kaber flexed his muscles and added smugly, “Only two hours with the enemy so weak? What else did you expect?”
Tryton nodded at his captain's report and faced Golic. He honestly would have been disappointed if they had lost any—and not just because it would mean losing his men. In such a surprise attack, the trolls strict discipline and attack should have been decimating.
“What took you so long to get here?” General Golic sputtered.
“Most of our people fled into the mountains north of our homeland. We brought the bulk of our army and arrived as quickly as we could. There is also some additional information for your commander. Can your forces hold the wall for half an hour?”
Golic threw a look at the men and women fighting from the top of the newly erected wall. To a man they fought like lions, inspired by the first taste of victory in days.
“After what you just did, I think they can do more than that!” Golic exclaimed.
Tryton nodded. “But let’s not make them try. Your men are exhausted and need a rest. Thirty minutes should be sufficient for us to prepare for the next drive. I will split my forces in two, with one fighting now and the other will relieve us in twelve hours. Is that acceptable, general?”
Golic glanced at the youth beside him who bobbed his head, his eyes bright with excitement. “Braon agrees.”
Golic grinned, the expression looking odd on his tired and dirty face. “Then it’s settled. Now, didn't you mention you had something else to report?”
***
Braon listened to the stream of information from Thacker, trying not to put too much attention into the report.
“. . . and the rock trolls have not lost a soldier yet. Also, there is more that King Tryton wishes to report.” Thacker paused and blanched before continuing, “The fiend army has spread across the northern deserts. When the trolls passed through the dwarven citadels, the fiends were just a few miles behind them.”
“How long did the dwarves think they could hold out?” Braon furrowed his brow, grateful for the first time that the king of the dwarves had decided to stay behind with a small army.
Thacker held up a finger and concentrated. “Tryton thinks they can hold out for a day, no more.”
Braon did some quick math, and then jerked his head. If the dwarves had held for a day after the trolls had passed, then that would mean that a northern fiend army would arrive at Azertorn sometime at the end of day six.
Then they would be surrounded.
Chapter 17: Family
Trin trudged behind Taryn and Siarra, listening to their muted discussion on where to go. Throughout the night, they had shared their tales after separating to find Siarra and distract the dragon. The loss of Kell had hit everyone, and even Jack had little to say.
Finally Trin could stand it no longer, and fell into step next to Mae. “You ok?” He asked in a low voice.
She glanced at him, her blue eyes piercing through him. “My plan failed.” Her flat tone left it obvious she felt responsible. “I should never have suggested we split up.”
“Maemi,” Trin said, “it’s not your fault. If anything, your plan was the only thing that got us out of there. You even found the orb that held Siarra’s magic. If we hadn’t gotten hold of that . . .” He shrugged and looked away, unwilling to finish the sentence.
After a moment, he felt a soft touch on his arm. “I never thanked you for catching me on that balcony.”
He turned back to see her somber expression. “You saved me too you know—twice if I recall.”
Her lips spread into a smile unlike Trin had ever seen on her normally inscrutable face. Soft and inviting, it left him wrapped in a blanket of warmth.
Impulsively, he decided to voice his feeling. “Mae . . . I’ve always . . .”—Blast it this is harder than I thought— “felt something different about you. Did you know that?”
She flashed him the same smile and flicked her long blonde hair, causing his knees to go weak, but her reply stunned him. “I have favored you for almost ten years, ever since I saw you color the bath water of the teachers.”
His eyes nearly bugged out. “You saw me do that?”
She grinned, and her fingers slipped down to entwine with his, drawing most of his attention to the new sensations caused by the contact. “I was in that village for some special training and I saw you sneaking towards the bath house. I have to admit I was curious, so I followed you. The next day when several masters woke up blue, I knew it was you.” Her smile widened, yet still managed to carry the same vulnerability it had shown before.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, curious despite himself. The feeling of closeness to her was one he’d never experienced with anyone.
“I didn’t have to,” she said. “When you were accused, you admitted your part.” She paused, her voice softening, “I thought it was one of the funniest things I had ever seen.”
“You, thought it was funny? I don’t think I have ever heard you laugh before.”
Her fingers withdrew in an instant and her voice hardened. “Sometimes people have reasons not to laugh.”
And with that cryptic comment the moment ended like the closing of a steel trap. Knowing it would be fruitless to try to cajole her to explain, he took solace in the fact that he’d cracked her armor. Brief as it was, their exchange represented the first genuine glimpse of her emotions that he—or anyone else that he knew of—had ever had.
What was it that made her so guarded? Back on Sri Rosen, he’d made a few discrete inquiries, but it had gotten him nowhere. As far as anyone knew, she’d always been a mystery. Then he recalled that one person had mentioned that she’d arrived for training two years early, an oddity that could not be explained. Traditionally, elves departed for their training at Sri Rosen at the age of twenty, which meant something had occurred that allowed for the exception. What had happened in her youth?
His brooding was interrupted as he realized that Taryn in front of him had pulled up short. Nearly running into him, Trin stop
ped and looked around for the first time in several minutes. Two hundred paces in diameter, the cavern they stood in was bowl shaped, and the tunnel had led them directly to the center. On all sides, the stone sloped upward, leaving the only way out the one they had come in.
“Well this is an odd dead end,” Jack remarked.
Siarra nodded, her eyes squinted around her. “Something . . . made this bowl, and it wasn’t human or dwarf.” She flicked her wrist and three more balls of light appeared, joining the one above her before they scattered, soaring away and brightening the odd chamber. “Whatever made it used magic to shape the ground,” she added, pointing to the smooth surface.
“Are they still around?” Liri asked.
“I don’t think so,” Siarra said, cocking her head to one side and half closing her eyes. “I can’t sense a presence nearby, but the entire chamber is made of a very dense stone, making it difficult to see past.
“Does anyone see a way out?” Taryn asked, looking around.
Several negative responses echoed back to him, so he shrugged. “I guess we need to backtrack then.” Taking a step towards the tunnel that had led them into the bowl, he stopped when a series of clicking noises sounded. “What was that?”
Jack spoke first, his tone irritated. “That my friends, is the sound of a trap.”
On cue, the stone rose up to close off the tunnel and a shimmering liquid began to fill the bowl.
“It’s stonesap!” Siarra yelled. “Everyone get close to me!”
Trin took one step closer and the next moment the ground below them rose upward, lifted by Siarra’s magic. Trin crouched and peered at the rising pool of liquid. “I thought stonesap was only handled by the dwarves.”
“Anyone with fire magic can handle it safely,” she said, distracted by her effort to lift them to safety.
Another odd rumbling sounded, and a moment later, a massive ball of flame exploded out of a hidden tunnel. Rolling down the bowl, it headed towards the bottom of the incline—towards the volatile liquid magic.