by Cody Loewen
“How long do we have?” I ask the elf. “I remember hearing about the bird call, but I wasn’t told what exactly it meant.”
“We should have about an hour,” he explains to me as we walk. “The three calls mean that the scout is three miles out, coming back this direction. The march of the trolls will be slower than the movement of a single scout, but they will still cover distance quickly.”
As we climb the slope out of the south end of the valley, the two veterans break away from us, turning right along the western ridge, while we move east, toward our assigned positions. We pass hundreds of other soldiers already in position. The ridge is a swarm of bodies all trying to prepare for the ambush. Finally, we reach our place among the army, near a small, twisted tree. Rocks and vegetation provide plenty of cover along the line, and once everyone moves back away from the edge, the entire army will become invisible to anyone looking toward us from the northern end of the valley, or in the middle of our killing grounds.
“Are you ready?” Rayfe asks me. I look over at him, to see that he already has his longbow in hand, an arrow notched to the bowstring, held loosely in relaxed hands.
“As ready as I am ever going to be,” I answer. My fear is gone, replaced by an icy calm. I am ready for this fight. I have thought of nothing besides this fight since the day I walked out of the remains of my village. My fingers run over the hilt of my sword on my belt, feeling the intricate details, sinking into the empty indention on the pommel.
Today I fight for my father, I tell myself. His death will be avenged today.
“Are you ready?” I ask him in return, coming out of my own thoughts.
“Oh yeah,” he answers with his customary grin. I don’t know how he can always be so cheerful. “Let’s kill some of these ugly idiots.”
I chuckle at his carefree attitude, taking comfort in it. The sounds of conversation and movement are quickly replaced by an eerie hush, silence falling down the line, as word travels that the trolls are close. Not wanting to take any risk of the ambush failing, no one makes a noise. A few minutes later, I can barely make out the thumping of boots. As we wait, the sound grows louder and louder, until it is like thunder in my ears. I drop to my belly and crawl forward, unable to resist a glimpse of the trolls. The drone of stomping boots fills my ears, and time slows to a crawl as I wait.
Finally, I begin to see movement at the northern edge of the valley. Huge bodies begin to come into my view at the top of the slope. As those bodies begin the walk down the hill, they are replaced at the top by a new line of trolls. I watch in a terrible fascination, as wave after wave of trolls march down into the valley. The huge creatures, wielding a wide variety of terrible weapons, don’t try to mask their noise, and the march is deafening now. As the last line of trolls begins the descent down the hill, I quietly move back from the edge, readying myself. Rayfe now holds his bow at the ready, down on one knee to stay out of sight until the command to fire comes. I draw my sword, taking comfort in the feeling of it in my hands. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself, waiting for the signal for the slaughter to begin.
Chapter 13
Another hawk cry pierces the air, and the battle begins. Rayfe immediately stands up, drawing back his bowstring as he rises. I follow suit, gaining a clear view of the valley below as he adjusts his aim and lets fly. I lose his arrow amongst the rain of death, but the swarm of trolls is so thick in the valley, it would be impossible to miss one. As the first volley meets the troll horde, hundreds of the monsters fall. Screams of pain pierce my ears, and I take a grim satisfaction at the noise. Immediately, a second wave of arrows flies from both sides of the ridge, bringing more death and pain from above. I adjust my grip on my sword, anxious to be a part of the killing.
Looking to the southern end of the valley, I watch the portion of our army that only fights in close combat suddenly appear at the top of the hill, springing from their hiding spots. A collective war cry rises above the sounds of the archers’ slaughter as the group charges at the chaos below. The archers ready their third and final volley, holding their shots to cause the most havoc on the battlefield. The trolls, struggling to regroup after the devastating arial attack, turn to meet the charge of the first wave of melee units. Stepping over their fallen comrades, they move toward the attack, the brutes not showing any signs of fear or defeat. As the two groups close the distance between each other, the archers release their arrows, wreaking devastation once more.
Timed to perfection, moments after the third volley hits the trolls, the humans and elves, formed into a perfect wedge even in the middle of a full charge, slam into the front line of trolls. Octavian, the tip of the wedge formation, hits the trolls first, and I am mesmerized by the devastation that he alone causes among the trolls. He cuts one troll down with a horizontal swipe of both of his swords. Not wasting any momentum from the strike, he spins and leaps into the air, bringing one blade down on another troll, which drops dead immediately. His other sword lashes out, scoring a minor hit on a third troll. A second strike lays it low, and Octavian continues his dance of death. I stand frozen on the ridge, just watching him in fascination, when Rayfe roughly shakes my shoulder.
“We have to go!” he yells so I can hear his voice above the fighting below us. “It’s our turn.”
I nod in return, bringing my focus back up to the ridge. Suddenly, my fear returns and threatens to paralyze me before I can move a step. The sights and sounds of the chaos below me remind me of how insignificant I really am in this giant conflict. Without any real combat experience outside of the one fight in the forest, I don’t feel ready to contribute to this war. I was pulled from training too early, unable to fully prepare and ready myself for a battle such as this. I stand there in horrified fixation, knowing the danger I will face among the warriors on both sides who are much more experienced and prepared than I am.
A heartbeat later, Rayfe yanks me into motion by pulling my arm in the direction we were commanded to enter the battle. With that simple movement, I snap myself back to the job at hand. That kind of fear has no place here.
You can do this you stupid girl. This is what we are here for, so go already!
We follow the line of other archers north along the cliff, moving as fast as possible to the slope leading down into the valley, where we all group together. Moments feel much longer as we stand there, waiting for the last of the line of soldiers to join us for our charge. The sounds of battle still fill my ears, and when I look down to the battlefield below, I can see our advantage on the field has ended. The fighting has evened back out, with individual battles underway across the valley. Far more trolls lay dead on the field then the humans or elves, but the fight has transitioned from an ambush slaughter to a true battle.
“Ready!” An elven soldier I don’t recognize yells to our group. He holds his sword up high, and weapons rise into the air around me. I join in, hoisting my longsword up over my head. “Charge!”
With that command, we take off on a full sprint down the slope to the valley and battle below. A war cry bursts out of my mouth as I run, joined by the voices of every other soldier around me. I sneak a glance over at Rayfe, and see his mouth open in a yell, his ever-present smile wide. By the time we reach the valley and come within a few strides of the melee, my lungs burn from exertion and my legs feel heavy. I can feel my heart beating hard, but the excitement and adrenaline drowns it all out. I focus my attention on a troll with his back to me, locked in combat with a human, and swipe my sword across the back of its knees as I run past, taking it to the ground.
Rayfe takes the head off another troll beside me, and I can’t help but let out a dark smile at the sight. Mesmerized by the site of the headless corpse as it crumples to the ground, I am brought back to reality as troll in front of me cuts down a human with a savage roar. It turns swiftly in our direction, looking for its next kill. Before it has time to strike, I plunge my sword into its chest and watch its eyes widen in surprise. As life drains from i
ts ugly face and it falls to the ground in a heap, I think once again of my dreams of killing Kromm. Renewed purpose spurs me forward, our group of Reavers cutting through trolls with abandon. As we free up humans and elves from their fights, they join us, quickly overtaking more and more of the trolls on the field.
Caught up in the swarm of bodies moving to finish off the trolls, I don’t get much opportunity to strike, but I catch one troll in the neck with my sword, and I see Rayfe stab it in the heart with one of his own weapons as well.
Just as quickly as we came onto the battlefield, the fight is over. Looking around, I watch as the last few trolls are cut down. I see humans and elves among the dead around the valley, but the bodies of trolls vastly outnumber those of our allies. We mill around the field, searching for wounded soldiers who need attention and showing mercy to any beyond assistance. We spread out, moving through the entire valley, covering ground quickly as we work. Rayfe and I come upon a wounded elf lying on the ground, bleeding. Blood runs freely from the backs of his legs, and he has a deep gash across his chest. His face is white as a ghost. I can tell that he has lost way too much blood, but he is still conscious. Stooping to cut a strip of fabric from the shirt of a dead man lying near him, I clean his chest as well as I can before wrapping fabric tight around his chest and back to try to stop the bleeding.
Rayfe cradles the elf’s head in his hands and offers him some water from the skin at his waist. He gratefully accepts, grimacing with the effort of swallowing. As I tend his wounds, I am glad for the lessons my father taught me in treating injuries. Back in our village I had only experienced much more minor cuts and scrapes, but the same concepts apply to larger injuries as well. I can tell the blood flow is slowing with the pressure on the wounds. My ministrations are working. He might just live to fight another day.
As I kneel on the ground, watching and monitoring the wounded elf, a low rumble shakes the valley. Glancing over at Rayfe, I can tell he is just as confused as I am. Another rumbles rips through the air as I rise to my feet.
Rayfe grips my arm and turns me to face the northern end of the valley, where a line of trolls is coming over the horizon. A third rumble shakes the battlefield—war horns, and I spin to find another line of trolls ascending the ridge at the other opening to the valley. One troll stands a full head above the others, in the center of the second group. Hair flying in the wind, massive long sword on his back, black of the tattoos covering his neck and face above his armor, and a wicked smile I would never forget.
“Kromm.” I can’t take my eyes off of my father’s killer.
He is here.
I grip my sword tight as I pull it from its sheath, trying to still my shaking hands.
“That’s him?” Rayfe asks beside me, his swords also back in his hands.
I nod, unable to speak, rage burning in my face. Instinctively I move in Kromm’s direction, visions of vengeance dominating my thoughts. A fourth rumble sounds, and the trolls, who haven’t moved from their spots on the slope, let out a collective roar and break into a charge down toward our position.
“Soldiers, to me!” Octavian’s voice carries through the valley over the cries of the charging trolls. Their advance is carrying them onto the battlefield at an alarming pace, and we scramble to regroup in the center of the field. Forming a battle circle, we face out from the center to prepare for the two-sided charge. Rayfe and I stand side by side several rows back from the outside of the formation.
“Archers, fire at will!” Octavian yells, working furiously to create some order among the chaos. The front lines of both troll charges reach the valley and are quickly covering ground. Arrows begin to trace their deadly flight into the troll horde. Unlike the organized volleys released during our ambush, the damage caused by these arrows is minimal. Several trolls fall under the barrage, but the charge hardly slows. The frequency of the arrows quickly dissipates as the archers drop their bows and ready their close-combat weapons once more.
“Steady,” Octavian commands. “Reavers, remember your training. Fight as a team. We are stronger together!”
With an animalistic ferocity, the charging trolls slam into our defensive circle. Many of the monsters die immediately, impaled on weapons outstretched in defense, but the trolls keep coming, stepping over their dead to join the battle. With the fighting focused on the outer ring of the circle, for now all I can do is watch the chaos unfold. I see an elf with two swords holding off a pair of trolls. He moves his weapons furiously to stay in front of the attacks, not gaining any momentum, but not losing ground either. Suddenly, a battle seasoned human, who I assume to be his partner, ends the battle with two well-placed thrusts of his huge trident. The victory is short-lived, though, as another troll immediately takes the place of its fallen comrade.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a human in the interior of the circle, like Rayfe and I, still utilizing his bow to deadly effect. He fires off arrow after arrow into the faces of the monsters locked in combat with our allies, trolls dropping with every shot. Unfortunately, his supply of arrows dwindles quickly and he is forced to draw his sword when he fires the last one. Once the initial onslaught of the trolls is repelled and more individual fights dominate the field, our circle begins to expand, allowing more of us to join the fight. Rayfe and I move in unison outward from the center of the circle toward the epicenter of the fighting. Right in front of me, an elf is felled by an ugly troll with a battleax, and I rush forward to take his place, punishing the killer with a thrust to the gut.
I retract my sword, stepping to the side to avoid the downward chop that the troll counters with, and slice across the front of both of his knees, taking him to the ground. Finishing him with a quick stab to the chest, I barely have enough time to look up before the next troll takes its place. Back on my heels, I parry a massive swing of a sword as tall as I am, and the jolt almost rips my own blade from my hands. I take a step back and narrowly avoid another strike of the weapon. As he readies a third strike, Rayfe charges forward, cutting an X into the beasts massive chest, followed by a deep crimson line drawn across its throat. I regain my neutral fighting stance, and Rayfe gives me a nod followed by a grin, and we look for our next fight.
With the brief pause, I chance a look around at the fighting, trying to gauge the outcome so far. From what I can see in the quick look, more trolls are dying than humans and elves, but we are outnumbered. Our army is tiring, and I can see that any momentum we may have had before is gone. We are on the defensive, just trying to hold our lines, kill by kill. Rayfe and I quickly dispatch another troll, the two of us making easy work of it, and I catch a flurry of movement coming from outside of the circle of fighting. A beastly roar rings out and I crane my neck to see where it came from. Suddenly Kromm, easily recognizable among the trolls, bursts through his army to crash against the circle of humans and elves.
He swings his great sword in a massive horizontal sweep, cutting through three of my allies, and he is suddenly inside our circle. Humans and elves converge on the break in our line, surrounding Kromm, but he bats them aside easily, every swing of his sword killing more than one enemy, decimating our ranks around him. I am forced to take my attention off him as a pair of trolls with clubs rush toward Rayfe and me. I bring my longsword up to block a diagonal chop of a club, stepping to the side to get out of its path. At the last second, I will my sword to shorten, and the club sails past me, the momentum of the heavy swing stealing the balance from the troll. I counter his strike with a short stab into its side. The troll roars in pain, and I transform my weapon back into a longsword, sweeping it across my enemy’s chest and then back across his throat. Before the troll could ever regain its footing from my feint, it falls dead, bleeding from three wounds. I see Rayfe finish off his own enemy with a double thrust into its stomach, before I pull my eyes back into our circle, where Kromm is still wreaking havoc.
My thoughts shift to my father, and red-hot rage burns through me placing a red haze on the scene before me. Everythin
g else fades into the background as I turn and move toward the murderous monster, determined to end him. A troll appears in my path, and I dispatch him without even a thought. A mere inconvenience in my way to achieving my greater purpose. I catch a glimpse of Octavian, spinning and leaping through trolls, cutting through them with abandon, also headed for Kromm in his path of death. Every move he makes seems to cause a troll to die, and the bodies pile up around him as he moves forward. Kromm chops a human in half with a mighty swing, as Octavian slices through two trolls in a dazzling display of swordsmanship. And just like that, the two are face to face.
I step forward, still trying to reach Kromm, but am frozen in awe at the sheer ferocity of the fight between the two of them. Kromm swings his great sword horizontally at Octavian’s waist, but Octavian leaps over the strike, spinning around in the air and bringing his own blades in an arc at the giant troll’s head. Kromm ducks the attack and thrusts forward again with his sword, massive arms bulging with the strain of controlling the weapon. Octavian’s blades drop to deflect the sword aside, but the momentum of the strike never slows, the sheer power of the troll keeping the blade on track. Octavian is forced to dive aside, rolling when he hits the ground and instantly bouncing back to his feet, swords at the ready once again.
I pull my eyes away from the fight to scan the field for any enemies who may be taking the opportunity to strike me down while I am preoccupied. Many fights are still being waged around the field, but many have disengaged, eyes are drawn to the battle between our two champions. Octavian closes the distance between them, coming forward in a flurry of strikes. Kromm parries the attacks with his sword. The few times that one of the elf’s blades finds a hole in his defenses, the injury seems like no more than a bee sting to the massive troll. Eventually, Octavian’s momentum begins to slow, if only slightly, as he utilizes much more energy against the incredibly powerful troll, and Kromm senses the shift, choosing to go on the offensive. He swings his sword in a diagonal sweep, barely putting any weight behind the attack. Octavian is forced to stumble backwards, losing his balance to avoid the weapon, and Kromm immediately reverses the strike, stepping forward as soon as Octavian moves back, and cuts the elf from shoulder to hip, leaving a wide gash.
