The Quest for the Lost Shards of Power

by F M Andrews

  When the sun signalled that it was about mid-way through the afternoon, and just as Turrin’s backside was beginning to feel truly battered and bruised, a halt was called for a meal break. Dissan rode back to see how everyone was faring and, with a smile here and a jest there, he made his way towards Turrin. The only acknowledgment he made to Errin and Turrin was wry rise of an eyebrow.

  The break was too short. It was agony mounting again and Turrin couldn’t help a groan escaping as his backside and saddle were reunited, but it only took a few moments before the stiffness eased and he began to feel more comfortable. There was not much talking going on, everyone was tired and focused on getting to the barrier before the unthinkable happened. It was a race against unknown odds and the uncertainty of it was taking its toll on one and all.

  Gradually the shadows grew longer and the heat went out of the day. There were more insects hovering at head height and Turrin was inhaling his fair share. The birds began their evening chorus, eventually becoming quiet as the sun set and the first stars appeared. There had been wisps of cloud across the sky toward the evening and now the temperature was dropping and the wind was rising. Lanterns were lit and hoisted onto poles that riders at the front and sides of the troop carried. They kept moving at a ground eating pace with only a few stops to rest and feed the horses, until eventually night overtook them, the call of the night birds replacing those of their daytime counterparts. The wind continued to rise. Branches groaned and swayed and lanterns guttered, but as yet, there was no sign of the rain that Turrin could smell in the air. Gradually his heavy head dipped until he quietly nodded off, still sitting in the saddle

  Turrin awoke with a jolt. The sound of men shouting and horses squealing cut through the air, startling him. Suddenly he became aware that the horse in front of him had stopped and, pulling in the reins desperately, he looked for a way to avoid a collision. It was just by pure luck that he managed to slip his horse into a gap big enough to allow them to come to a stop safely. Others were not so lucky and several riders were flung to the ground beneath trampling horses hooves. It was chaos! The once orderly procession had turned into a jumbled mass of horseflesh and shouting riders. To add to the confusion the few lanterns that had survived were being swung wildly about as the men holding them struggled to gain control, causing hugely misshapen shadows to dance among the surrounding forest.

  Turrin knew that there were forward scouts that ranged ahead to make sure that there would be no surprises, so what could have caught the riders so unaware? He was desperately trying to look for any sign of Errin when the horn sounded. It was the signal to bear arms. They were under attack!

  Chapter Four

  Surrin groaned.

  This time, when she had surfaced from the sweet nothingness of unconscious, she had been surprised to find that night had fallen, the ground was sodden and she was drenched. It had taken her a few moments to make any sense of the nightmare scene around the bonfire and to remember that she was now truly alone. She had not only lost her precious Reina, but she had also lost her ability to mind speak. No one else was going to save her. She was going to have to save herself. Her first instinct had been to escape while the beast’s attention was focused elsewhere and that had been her undoing as she had forgotten about her arm. The resulting scream and movement had been the worst thing she could have possibly done because now all eyes were on her and by the leering tone of the unintelligible words and jeering laughter she could guess exactly what they had in mind for the next segment of this night’s entertainment.

  She was helpless. She could not even move. The only advantage she had, was that she knew the layout of the outpost intimately and she racked her brain to think of anything that she could use as an advantage over these animals. No, they were worse than animals. Animals would never enjoy the cruelty that these beasts seemed to thrive on.

  One troll – yes that is what she would call them – still clutching a piglet's head, idly poking a finger into an eye socket and then sucking it thoughtfully, began to make his way towards her. The look on his face told it all. Feeding was done, hunger appeased, now it was time for the entertainment, and it looked as if that was going to be her.

  Desperately she tried to think of something to grant her a little more time, time that might give any would-be rescuer a chance to reach her. She needed another distraction, maybe something to take their attention off her, but what? Wild eyed, she searched the trashed compound that had been her pride and joy for so long, seeking any inspiration, anything to delay the inevitable. Her prayers were answered, ironically by one of the trolls themselves, as he swung a fence post at a window causing it to explode, showering him with glass, causing the rest to howl with, what Surrin could only guess, laughter. It was a terrifying sound and it sent shivers down her spine. It was the window to the room that held the still and there was enough home brew in there to make a whole village very drunk. It had just been stockpiling over the months, as she had not had time to take it to the village to sell. Maybe they wouldn’t find it? Maybe they would not know what it was? The last thing she wanted was drunk trolls. Sober was bad enough, but drunk would be unimaginable.

  The crow of glee as the first troll cracked one of the home brew barrels spelled out her fate as clearly as if it had been mind-sent by a friend. It would be better if she died now before they became drunk and came for her, but all her training prevented her thinking twice about this. If she died there would be a break in the barrier and the wild magic was ten times worse than these monsters would ever be. Horrendous as they were, they were still the lesser of the two evils.

  Surrin resigned herself to her fate and instead, she tried desperately to remember all the good things about her life. If it was to end tonight, at least she wanted one last chance to relive her important and happy moments. But her mind would not cooperate and as the uncouth noises the trolls were making became louder and more raucous, the harder it became to focus. She was paralyzed with fear. Carefully and painfully she rolled onto her back and looked up at the sky. The storm that had threatened must have blown over after dropping its cargo of rain as the sky was once again full of stars. Here at least was beauty.

  It was almost a relief when the first troll finally stood and began to stagger in her direction: the waiting had become a torture all of its own. In a moment of clarity she noted that the leering look of lust on the troll's face was almost human. Strange how these things are so universal, she thought, and then almost laughed at herself. Here you are about to die in the most horrible way imaginable and you are making observations on social behaviour. She looked up at the sky of black velvet with its sprinkling of jewelled stars and the closed her eyes. She wanted the stars to be the last thing she saw and not the grotesque face of a troll as it slobbered all over her.

  She waited, eyes closed, trying to breath, trying to be brave. But even with all her willpower it was impossible not to scream when the troll’s body crashed down on top of her legs, pinning her to the ground.

  Her screaming took on a life of its own and it was quite some time before she realized that the troll was not moving. He was just lying there. On top of her, making it impossible for her to move. Cautiously she tried to sit up but she was pinned in such a way that she could not shift without using her broken arm. She squirmed to get a better look at the troll and eventually turned enough so that she could see his face. He was not moving, and although his eyes were closed, he was still breathing, still alive.

  Strangely, the only sound she could hear was the crackling of the fire and the call of a lonely night bird. All had become mysteriously very quiet. Carefully scanning the outpost, she could not see a single standing troll. There were several large lumps on the ground, some in piles, but it appeared as if every single troll had just fallen asleep where they stood. What could have happened? Maybe they couldn’t hold their liquor, she thought ruefully, or maybe their bodies did not react to alcohol the way human bodies did? Whatever had happened it had given her a go
lden opportunity to get away. She tried to move, but all too soon she realized that there would be no escape out from under the crushing, dead weight of the troll pinning her lower body to the ground. The cruel irony was not lost on her.

  #

  Time seemed to slow down for Turrin, the action surrounding him almost turning into a graceful dance. Horses pranced, their manes flying. Men ran slowly as if they were running through water, grabbing their weapons as they went, all their attention focused on the road up ahead.

  Turrin peered forward trying to catch a glimpse of what it was they were running towards but immediately wished he hadn’t. Caught in the flash of a swinging lantern was an image of all his nightmares. The image of a troll, axe held high screaming as it ran towards him, matted hair flying and saliva dripping off its huge yellow pointed teeth. His heart stood still. He was sent straight back to that night so many years ago when his world turned to dust and he had lost everything he ever knew. Rooted to the spot he could not even force his body to breath let alone move.

  It was Hexrick’s deep voice that broke the spell.

  “Best you stay out of this little ruckus, my friend,” he said as he effortlessly plucked Turrin off his nervous horse, carried him to the side of the road and put him down next to Errin, well out of the way of any danger.

  Errin didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to, he knew she understood exactly what he was going through, so instead, she just quietly wrapped him in her arms and immediately he felt safe. This time there was someone to save him, and someone to turn to that loved him. This time it would be different.

  For the briefest of moments he just wanted to stay there with his eyes closed and pretend that nothing was happening but, as usual, his curiosity took over and he could not resist the urge to take a peek.

  At first it looked like a tangled mass of swirling bodies and horses, with no rhyme or reason but after a moment he could make out that the trolls were being slowly pushed backwards by a united front of knights on foot. It looked as if there were only four trolls all told, but they were twice the size of a man and they had twice the reach. An enemy not to be taken lightly.

  As he watched, Turrin saw the prince take his turn engaging one of the biggest and ugliest trolls to try to keep it from moving forward. Turrin held his breath. The prince was a skilled warrior but these trolls did not fight clean and they were incredibly strong.

  Time and time again, Turrin had to hide his eyes as the huge axe the troll was wielding impossibly missed the darting prince by a fraction of a hair. If it were to find its target it would cleave the prince in two. It was a contest of might versus agility and Turrin was not really sure who would win. Who was going to tire first?

  The men engaging the trolls became more and more bold, frantically trying to keep the trolls from breaking through. Turrin gasped. This was the moment when the battle would be won or lost and for a few moments it looked as if the trolls were gaining the upper hand.

  Once again Turrin was tempted to hide his eyes but instead he looked away, and as he did so he saw a group of mounted knights line up across the road preparing to charge.

  Turrin allowed himself a smile. This had been the plan all along, engage the trolls, keep them cornered whilst the knights who had escaped the initial melee regrouped, recovered their mounts and prepared to charge.

  There was no signal, yet, as one, the horses leaped forward, and by the time they reached Turrin, they were at full gallop. The ground shook as they thundered past and the knights’ battle cries were blood curdling. Turrin leapt into the air punching his fist high and screamed his own defiance to the wind. The Trolls would not win tonight!

  In the end it did not take long. A troll on foot was no match for a mounted knight at full gallop, and although the prince said later that it would have been good to keep one alive to get some answers as to who they were and where they came from, the heat of the battle overtook everyone and not a single troll survived.

  It took a moment for everyone to realize that it was over. Weary men collapsed to sit where they had been standing, taking off helmets and gauntlets to run their hands through sweat-soaked hair. Horses shook their heads and snorted as their knights dismounted, absently patting necks and fetlocks, uttering soothing sounds.

  The prince, leaning on his sword, looked around, gathering everyone’s attention. They had found the bodies of the two scouts, carelessly tossed to the side of the road, and had hastily given them shallow graves. “Much as I would like to take the time to honour these two fine men with the appropriate burial, we do not have the luxury of time at the moment. Hopefully we will be back here very soon and we will be able to set this right, but at the moment we must push on to the boundary and hope that this delay has not been critical.”

  It was obvious that the men were weary, a long ride followed by a gruelling battle and now they were being asked to do it all over again. However, apart from the odd sigh and groan as weary muscles were stretched, everyone quietly got on with preparing to mount and ride on.

  Turrin found his horse waiting patiently with the others, as it had been trained to do, and a quick check showed that his saddle bags were intact.

  “Glad you are okay, boy; it would be a long walk without you,” Turrin murmured into the horse's ear as he gently patted its quivering neck.

  The order came to mount and once again the troop moved forward almost as if nothing had happened.

  Turrin found that Hexrick was now riding between himself and Errin, a fact that made him feel very reassured. Hexrick gave the impression that nothing would ever surprise him and that he would cope with any situation in the same calm manner, no matter what it was. He was like a caring big brother really. [CL2].

  He glanced sideways at the craggy face and plucking up courage, asked, “Do you know what happened?”

  To Turrin’s surprise it turned out that Hexrick was more than willing to share all he knew along with a few of his own thoughts about the situation as well.

  “It looks like those bastards[CL3] ambushed our scouts and, after killing them and their horses, were settling down for a hearty meal when we arrived and spoiled their supper.” Hexrick turned and with a wicked smile added, “Now they are just worm tucker. Ugly arseholes really, wonder where they came from? Still this has been a useful exercise because if we run into any more of them we now know that they don’t fight as a unit. It looks as if they fight as individuals, each out for themselves. Did you notice that they never looked after anyone else’s back? Useful to know that, very useful indeed!”

  This would be the last conversation in the long, hard night spent focusing on trying to fight of sleep and stay in the saddle.

  #

  Surrin startled awake.

  Despite everything, or perhaps, because of everything, she had fallen asleep. A sweet oblivion where she wished desperately she could have remained but, of all things, it was a full bladder that had woken her. Woken her to a world of pain and misery. A world of loss and a world of guilt. If she was to be the break in the boundary, all those many lives of dedication would have been for nothing. A break would allow the wild magic storms to swoop into the breach and it would take many generations to reclaim the land they would lose. Many would lose their lives, their homes, and their loved ones, all because she had failed to stay alive and to keep the boundary intact.

  It was nearly morning and the autumn dew was beginning to form on the grass and the air was crisp and still, holding its breath waiting for the sun to peek over the horizon. The sun was already announcing it’s coming with a pale mauve introduction defining the edge of the world and the beginning of the sky. So beautiful. Too beautiful to leave.

  Surrin looked down at the troll spread-eagled across her lower body, his huge, disproportioned leather-clad torso effectively preventing her from bending her legs and the grotesque head too far away for her to reach without sitting up. Looking around in the dim light she searched for some sort of weapon she could use, but of course there was no
thing.

  Without thinking she automatically searched for the presence of another mind to talk to, forgetting the knock she had taken to the head. There was only silence. It was like being deaf and blind and for the first time in her life she was truly alone. Despite herself she could not prevent a single sob escaping and silent tears from sliding down her cheeks.

  She lay back, sighing. The best thing she could do was conserve her energy in case she would get a chance to use it. At least the troll was keeping her warm. It seemed crazy that the world was still turning and that another day, just like any other, was beginning. The sky lightened and first one bird began to sing, then another until a whole chorus was greeting the new day, raucously proclaiming their place in the world, and still the trolls slept.

  A tiny shard of hope edged its way into her heart. The longer the trolls slept the more chance that someone might come; that is, if her cry for help had been sent, let alone received.

  As the first rays of sun pierced the land, bestowing colour as it passed, this hope began to take a firmer hold. But just as she had almost talked herself into believing that things might be all right, she felt the troll move, a shuddering breath followed by a loud, long fart and then, excruciatingly he turned over flinging his arms over his head.

  Surrin bit her lip to stop from screaming. Her legs were so used to being in one place under pressure that when that pressure was changed it was like bones breaking. She nearly blacked out, but something she glimpsed as he had moved kept her in the here and now. Peering through nearly closed eyes she first made sure that he was still asleep, and then she scanned his upper body. There it was! She had not been mistaken, the hilt of a sword was protruding from his belt. As he had rolled over he had released one of her legs and this meant that she could bend forward much more than she could have before. Gingerly she inched her way into a semi sitting position and reached out toward the dark hilt so tantalizingly close. Her fingers could just touch it, but she could not get a grip. Straining with all her will she reached just that little bit further, just far enough to hook a finger under the leather and gently begin to drag it out of the scabbard. It was heartbreakingly slow work but she nearly had it now. She held her breath not wanting to make a sound, willing the sword to slip free easily, willing it not to fall down the far side of the troll and be forever lost to her.