by Tara Grayce
Several of the trolls rushed him as the rest by the boat dropped what they were doing and raced down the wharf toward Farrendel. He counted ten trolls in total.
He flared his magic at them, making all but one stumble back. The remaining troll lunged, raising a sword made of stone flickering with magic. Farrendel blocked with a burst of magic, flinging the troll backwards. The troll landed hard and did not get up.
Farrendel grimaced at the numbness in his fingertips. If he remained cold and emotionless, he would not be strong enough to hold them off. He released the iron grip he held around his emotions, letting himself feel the pain of Melantha’s betrayal. Her words sliced deep inside his chest. You are not my brother.
Not her brother. Not her family. Unwanted by those who should have loved him.
Did any of his family actually love him? Or did they all, deep down, feel like Melantha? Did they wish they could go back to a time when their family was whole and happy before he was born?
Unwanted. Not her brother. Unworthy.
Something in him shook, and he let it, unleashing the pain in a wave of magic. The trolls stumbled back, and one of them cried out.
A shield of troll magic burst around them. There were only eight trolls left, but one or more of them were powerful. With a power Farrendel had not felt since he faced the troll king in battle.
He should have expected the trolls would send a skilled warrior to capture him. Last time, they had thought sheer numbers and Escarlish weapons alone would work. And they might have, if not for Essie.
Essie. Essie loved him. He clung to that simple truth as if it was the only thing keeping his magic from consuming him. Even with all the magic crashing through him, he could still feel the bright connection of the heart bond warming deep in his chest. His entire family might secretly hate him, but he would not break because he could be certain Essie loved him.
He fought for her. To give her time to escape. To make sure her kingdom did not fall even if his did.
Magic burst from him, swirling higher, crackling with power. He cried out at the agony tearing through his wrists and arms, but he sank deeper into the magic. If it destroyed him, it would not matter as long as Essie survived.
The trolls crowded together. A wall of rock burst from the ground, rising higher.
Gripping his knife, Farrendel dashed toward the rock wall and leapt. He pushed off, the troll magic burning even through the leather of his boot. He shoved past the pain and flipped onto the top of the wall.
Troll magic burst upward, a hurried attempt at a shield. Farrendel wedged his magic into the gap before the shield grew large enough to shelter the trolls beneath. Flipping off the wall, Farrendel landed on the shoulders of one of the trolls.
The trolls were built more solidly than humans, and Farrendel’s weight, even dropped from the air, only staggered him rather than knock him down.
Still, Farrendel drove his knife into the troll’s chest, using the knife as a pivot to launch from the dying troll’s shoulders to the ground. Farrendel kicked a troll’s wrist on his way down, shoving aside a swinging sword aimed for his head.
A few feet away, one of the Escarlish traitors hunched behind a box, looking about ready to vomit. Farrendel did not see the other one. Had he chased after Essie?
Melantha huddled behind one of the wharf’s pilings, as if she feared he would lash out at her next. But even if his heart ached, he was not about to turn his magic on Melantha. He still loved her as a sister, for all she hated him.
Thanfardil, the other Tarenhieli traitor, dashed to shelter behind a crate not far from the human traitor Lord Bletchly. Now there was an elf Farrendel would not hesitate to take down if necessary. He, more than Melantha, was responsible for Escarlish weapons in the hands of the trolls. Melantha only wanted Farrendel dead. Thanfardil betrayed his entire kingdom, knowing the death and destruction it would mean for his own people.
Farrendel sent a blast of magic in Thanfardil’s direction. Thanfardil scurried deeper into the maze of crates with something like a shriek.
The air stirred behind Farrendel, and he whirled, ducking a swinging sword and plunging his knife into another troll’s chest.
Troll magic flared to Farrendel’s right. Farrendel raised a hand, meeting the flare with a blast of his own magic. The two magics met, exploded. Farrendel braced himself as the ground shook, and the air shattered.
When the debris settled, Farrendel found himself facing a tall troll wearing a thin, gold circlet. Something about his face was familiar, though younger and less lined than that of the troll king Farrendel had killed fifteen years ago.
The trolls had not just sent a strong warrior to retrieve Farrendel. They had sent their prince.
The troll prince gripped a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. He stepped toward Farrendel, five more trolls at his back.
Farrendel could launch himself at them, even armed as he was with only a knife. But he needed to continue to draw them away from Essie. The farther he took this fight away from her, the better.
With a leap, he pushed up and over the rock wall again, dropped to the other side, and dashed several feet closer to the wharf and the steamboat.
Behind her piling, Melantha curled in a tighter ball, eyes wide.
Besides Melantha, there was no one here who should not die. Farrendel blasted his magic against the rock wall, leaning into it with all his strength. Cracks appeared in the rock even as troll magic scalded against Farrendel’s. With a shout, he let his magic explode outward.
The top and sides of the wall shattered, sending debris hurtling into the trolls behind it. Two of the trolls went down, clutching sizzling wounds in arms and legs. Only the center of the wall held, the troll prince coating it with a layer of frosty magic, three trolls huddled behind him.
Farrendel braced himself and fell deeper into the crackling storm of his magic. It pulsed beneath his skin, burned behind his eyes, flickered to the ends of his hair even as it seared against the stone in his wrists.
With a twist of his hand, he sent a bolt into the box that Lord Bletchly sheltered behind. The box detonated with a roar of fire and smoke. Lord Bletchly went flying, blood coating his face and hands. Dead or badly wounded, Farrendel did not know.
Shards of wood and shrapnel from the weapons inside that box peppered the shield protecting Farrendel from being blown off his feet.
The weapons. He glanced toward the steamboat waiting at the dock. The trolls had been loading boxes onto the boat before they had arrived. More boxes stacked around them and on the wharf, waiting to be loaded.
He could not allow these weapons to reach the trolls. Even if he blew himself up in the process, the weapons had to be destroyed.
The trolls rushed him again, the troll prince leading the way. Farrendel poured a torrent of magic in his direction, forcing the troll prince to pour his magic into a shield.
With the troll prince occupied, Farrendel dashed toward the rest of the trolls, launched off one of the stacks of crates, and flipped over their heads. He shoved aside a sword aimed for his stomach and plunged his knife into the troll.
The troll prince shoved, and the magics exploded outward. Since he was in the air, Farrendel was blown backwards, landing heavily and rolling.
Leaving only a portion of his power directed at the trolls, Farrendel blasted the boxes stacked around them, forcing the troll prince to use his magic to protect himself and his remaining two trolls. The roar of explosions filled the air, ringing in Farrendel’s ears, as shrapnel and splinters burst against his magical shield.
He staggered a few more steps toward the wharf. Had he bought enough time for Essie? He did not dare delay any longer to destroy the steamboat. Though as soon as he took his magic from the trolls, they would attack him. They would fill him full of stone and magic. Maybe they would kill him. Maybe capture him.
As long as not one more weapon reached Kostaria, it would not matter.
Hopefully Essie was far enough away. She wou
ld ensure that whatever sacrifice he made today would not be in vain.
He gathered his magic until everything inside him crackled. Then, with a deep breath, he drew the sizzling bolts of magic from the trolls and channeled everything he had toward the steamboat.
Blue lightning engulfed the boat, tearing at the boards, seeking the volatile ammunition, even as footsteps crunched on the gravel behind him.
Troll magic dropped the temperature around him. The moment the trolls stabbed him, the power of his magic would be cut off.
Bolts of his magic burst through the steamboat, touched the crates stacked in the boat’s hold. He sensed the ignition a second before the roar, the eruption of fire.
Farrendel reached for the last of his magic and shoved it into a shield around Melantha.
A shockwave picked him up and tossed him. He slammed to the ground, gravel tearing his hands, his cheek. His ears rang, the breath knocked from his lungs.
Shrapnel and burning splinters of wood rained around him. He managed a few, weak sizzles of magic to keep the worst of it from stabbing him. Gasping for breath, he craned his head, finding Melantha crouched in the protection of his magic.
All around was smoke and fire. He coughed, gathered his strength, and pushed to his hands and knees.
Essie must be well on her way out. Maybe he could escape, like she had asked him to.
He sensed a presence behind him. Reaching for his knife, he rolled and batted the troll prince’s sword to the side.
The troll planted a boot on his chest, pinning him to the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs again. Magic iced the troll prince’s sword a moment before he stabbed Farrendel through the shoulder.
Pain lanced to Farrendel’s bones even as he lost feeling in his fingers. All the stones of the gravel beneath him stabbed into his back.
With a growl, Farrendel gripped the troll’s ankle with his good hand and sent sparks shooting up the troll’s leg.
The troll cried out and stumbled backwards, the leather of his boot smoking.
Farrendel rolled to his knees, dodging as one of the other trolls leapt for him. He needed to get to his feet. If he did not, he would have no hope of surviving.
The troll prince recovered. He and the other trolls rushed Farrendel.
Farrendel reached for his magic, but he could only get one of his hands to work. Blood slicked warm and wet down his back, pain lancing from the stones stabbed into his skin. He pushed onto one knee, lashing out with his magic at the two trolls behind their prince. The trolls were blasted from their feet, landing on the dirt.
The troll prince stepped forward, a knife of stone and ice growing in his hand.
As the troll prince stabbed down, Farrendel grabbed his wrist and used it to yank himself to his feet. He lunged at the troll and stabbed with all the force of his momentum.
The knife stopped an inch from the troll prince’s shoulder, even as Farrendel halted the troll’s knife with a crackling shield of his own.
They both shoved, magic crackling against magic, neither giving an inch. Sweat poured down Farrendel’s back and under his hairline. Agony flared through his wrist as the stone there lengthened and burrowed deeper into his body. His hand on the knife shook while the bolts of his magic sputtered around his other hand.
Behind him, the other two trolls clambered to their feet, but Farrendel could not divert any of his magic or attention away from the troll prince.
The troll prince’s snarl showed his teeth. “Murderer. No wonder your family turned on you.”
It was a stab that shook Farrendel to his core. His magic faltered. It was only for a second. But it was enough.
The troll prince drove the stone knife into Farrendel’s shoulder. Stone and troll magic grew down his arm from his shoulder, pinning that arm to his side. A wave of intense pain tore through him. The last bolts of his magic fizzled out. The knife dropped from his numb fingers.
One of the trolls behind him clapped a rag over Farrendel’s nose and mouth.
That same, overly sweet stench choked Farrendel’s nose and burned in his eyes. This was the might of the humans. They did not have the magical or physical strength of other races, but they had their inventions and their chemicals that even magic could not fight.
He could try to keep fighting. Maybe he could force the troll prince to kill him.
But, strangely, he no longer wanted to fight to the death. He wanted to survive, as Essie had begged. It was time to conserve his strength, bide his time, and put his trust in Essie.
As darkness closed in around him, he clung to the warmth of the heart bond. She was still alive, and she would come for him.
ESSIE DIDN’T LOOK BACK. She raced the way they’d come, thankful her dancing shoes were flat, not the heeled shoes that were coming into style.
Footsteps pounded behind her. Too heavy to be Farrendel’s.
She risked a glance over her shoulder. Mark Hadley sprinted after her, long legs eating the distance between them.
Essie dodged around crates and swerved around some of the smaller sheds in the dockside complex. The crackle of Farrendel’s magic buzzed through the air. The ground trembled with the force of his magic unleashed.
Something exploded, shaking the ground and rattling the windowpanes in the abandoned guard shack as she raced past it.
As long as the explosions and fury of magic continued behind her, she’d know he was still alive.
“Princess Elspeth! Stop!” Mark Hadley shouted, only a few yards behind her now. “There’s no point in running.”
Wasn’t there? Lord Bletchly had flat out told her he planned to kill her. Why would Essie just give up to Mark Hadley knowing that?
“Stop!” His voice was even closer now. He would catch her in a few more seconds.
Fine. She’d stop. She was backed into a corner, and she’d come out shooting if Mark pushed her.
Spinning, she planted her feet, facing him. Running until the last second would only delay the inevitable. Better to face him now, while she had some distance. She stuffed the troll’s knife into the knot of her dress at the small of her back and drew the derringer. When she pointed it at Mark, her hands were steady. “Don’t come any closer. I will shoot you.”
Mark slowed his pace, but he didn’t stop. “Now, princess. You shouldn’t play with weapons you can’t handle.”
As if he knew anything about her abilities. Her blood pounded in her ears, anger pulsing hot in her chest, but she shoved all of it away to keep her aim steady. “You just kidnapped me and my husband, threw us in a train without food or water or a water closet for an entire day, and then handed us over to his enemies to be killed. I dare you to take another step.”
She’d have to wait for him to take a few more steps than that. Derringers didn’t have a long range, and she needed accuracy.
He smirked and kept strolling forward.
A concussive boom tore the air. The force pounded Essie, the ground heaving beneath her feet.
She was on the ground, gasping for air, a ringing filling her ears. Burning shards of wood and metal fell from the sky. A metal shard stabbed into the ground a few feet away.
Rolling, she located her derringer a few feet away and grabbed it. Only when she pushed to her feet did she feel the pounding at the back of her head and the pain flaring all along her back.
In the distance, a plume of smoke and fire rose into the sky. Was that the steamboat? The cargo of guns and ammunition waiting to be loaded?
Had Farrendel survived?
As much as she wanted to rush back and check, she’d promised Farrendel. Her sole mission right now was to get away safely with the identity of the traitors in both Escarland and Tarenhiel.
A few yards away, Mark Hadley lay face down on the ground, blood oozing around a foot-long shard of metal jutting from his back. If he wasn’t already dead, he soon would be.
Some of the burning brands of wood had fallen onto the roof of the warehouse. If not put out, the wh
ole warehouse would burn, exploding the ammunition stored inside.
She might as well help it along. She couldn’t let those weapons fall into the hands of the trolls. Perhaps Escarland’s army would get here in time and recover them, but she couldn’t take the risk. Better to destroy them.
After gathering a few of the burning chunks of wood, she threw them into the warehouse’s open door, watching as they landed on the stacks of crates.
When the fire ate through those crates and sparked the ammunition stored inside, this warehouse’s explosion would make the previous one look small.
Hopefully Farrendel decided to escape by the river. If he was still here when this warehouse exploded, he most likely wouldn’t survive.
She couldn’t think about that. She needed to get herself out of there as quickly as possible.
As she rounded the end of the warehouse, she spotted the train, unhooked from the rest of the cars and now turned around to face back into Escarland. It even appeared to be shuddering with a slight vibration, as if powered up and waiting. Perhaps Lord Bletchly hadn’t intended to stick around long. He would probably want to get back to Aldon as quickly as possible to allay any suspicion when Essie turned up missing, then dead.
As he was most likely dead, given he had probably been near that steamboat and Farrendel’s magic, Essie was going to commandeer his train.
She dashed toward the train, then scrambled onto the engine’s cab.
The engineer started, his eyes widening at her appearance. “Princess! What...”
She would’ve thought him an innocent who hadn’t known his train had carried a kidnapped princess if he hadn’t lunged at her.
She raised her derringer, halting him in his tracks. In her entire life, she’d never had such furious heat coursing through her veins. “Get this train moving. Now.”
“If you shoot me, I won’t be able to drive this train.” The engineer eased closer, as if he still intended to jump her and wrest the gun from her fingers.
“I’ve toured enough trains and been given enough demonstrations, I’ll figure it out.” Essie kept the gun rock steady, pointed at his chest. The biggest target, as Julien had taught her. “Now that warehouse is on fire and could explode any minute. You can either die from a bullet or an explosion or you can get us out of here. Your choice.”