He had no idea how long he’d been held captive. His stomach growled, threatening to cramp. He felt weak from dehydration. But were they effects of his march across Sadith Oom or from prolonged confinement? Whatever his captives had in mind he figured they needed to do it fast before his body started to consume itself.
The heavy groans of a cast iron door opening roused him from broken sleep. Pale light flooded the room and he cringed away. Large hands fell on his shoulders, hauling him to his feet before dragging him away. A burlap sack was placed over his head. He growled, tried to fight and was rewarded with a punch to the gut. The blow sent him to his knees before he was thrown over a shoulder and carried off.
“Set him down,” ordered the deepest voice he’d ever heard.
The ground rushed up much faster, and harder, than he anticipated.
“Where did you find this one?”
“Snooping around the outer walls.”
“Take the hood off. I want to see this miserable goblin before we eat him.”
Laughter, guttural and foul.
Valk at last saw his captors. They were massive with iron skin the color of slate. Long, cruel fangs protruded from their bottom lips. All wore large hoop earrings and had savage, black hair tied off in topknots. They were monsters of men, much larger than normal trolls. These, Valk knew instantly, were the fabled Dagger Trolls. Yet another of the long lost races of the past.
“Tell me, little goblin, why have you intruded upon us?” their leader asked.
Valk struggled to a seated position. “My name is Valk and I have come to enlist your aid.”
The trolls gathered around him laughed.
“Why should we help you? We kill goblins for sport.”
“I can help you break free of this prison. Regain your past glory,” Valk cringed as he spoke. He truly had nothing to offer.
“I am listening.”
Thousands of years ago, the Dagger Trolls had complete control over all of Sadith Oom and the surrounding lands. A coalition of elves, dwarves, and wicked men beat them back, nearly rendering the clans extinct. They were reduced to a vanishing breed, without allies or interaction with others. Alone and unexpectedly, they’d turned Mordrun Hath into a home.
“Don’t you wish to regain control of Sadith Oom?” Valk pressed.
Another round of laughter.
“The wizard owns these lands, little fool. Not even we are so foolish as to face him.”
“Everyone dies,” Valk protested.
“Including us,” the troll turned to his guards. “Throw him in the pot! I want to dine on goblin tonight!”
“I can take you to the humans!”
The troll held up a staying hand. “So, there is something to you after all. I am Mard, son of kings. Perhaps we can speak after all.” He looked to the one eyed troll standing to his right. “Prepare the feast. I shall hear what this thing has to say.”
Mard settled back on his cut stone throne and let his mind wander to days when his kind once again were dominant.
Libek Tug watched with his naturally sharp eyes for signs of recent activity. Gnomes were especially known for their abilities of scouting and spying. Crouching beside him was the surly Dom Scimitar. The old dwarf had been sent along in the event Libek ran into more trouble than he could escape.
The rest of the ten man party was an hour behind. Their objective was to avoid enemy contact, while locating the surviving goblin and discerning his intentions. Thus far, the journey had taken them halfway across the Plains of Darkpool and out into uncomfortably open country. The flames from the Towers of Perdition turned the northern skyline pale orange, even from this great distance.
Libek wiped the sweat from his high forehead and took a sip of water. “Tracks are getting harder to pick out.”
Expecting no less, Dom said, “That makes sense. He has to know he’d being tracked. What I want to know is what happened to the rest of our men. They should have reported back by now.”
“Could be they all ran into a goblin column and were captured,” the gnome suggested.
Dom shook his head. “No. We would have seen signs of struggle. There’s nothing here, just a few tracks off on the plains. I don’t think he’s headed for any safe haven.”
“Then where?”
The dwarf pointed to the east. “Mordrun Hath.”
“That’s crazy,” Libek gulped. “There’s no one there but… trolls.”
The dwarf gave him a soured look.
“It still doesn’t make any sense. Trolls don’t like anyone, especially goblins. They’d kill him.”
“And our men,” Dom finished.
A slight wind kicked up particles of sand. Much of Sadith Oom had been reduced to a wasteland after the fall of Ils Kincannon, much like the ravaged southern expanse of Eiterland to the north.
“What do we do?” Libek asked. He didn’t like the idea of men he called friend being murdered at the hands of the trolls.
Dom rose and stretched his legs. It was a difficult decision, but one he had no doubts on. “We keep moving. Keep laying a trail for Poros to follow until we can find out more. Maybe we might even be able to take down one or two before our time expires.”
Libek resisted the urge to cry. “You do realize these are Dagger Trolls?”
“Yes.”
“And we have no idea how many they number or where they are.”
The dwarf’s smile was more of a glare. “If we die, let us ensure we do not do it alone.”
Hefting his axe over a shoulder, he resumed the trek across the dust choked plains of Darkpool. There was an enemy awaiting.
Poros Pendyier wasn’t the one to sit back and wait while others went into harm’s way. He knew from lessons taught by his father when he was a young boy, that the only way to earn respect from others, was by leading by example. It was a lesson well learned after witnessing the horrors of war firsthand. Pride and determination forced him to accompany his dearest friends as they marched into danger.
His usual group rode with him, along with the additions of Matis the traitor goblin and Sharna Dal. She remained an enigma he was determined to figure out. These were the men and women he felt most comfortable being around. Ones he knew would sacrifice their lives for his and vice versa. They had a long, hard war ahead and he needed all of them.
“What was your village like?” Sharna Dal asked, once they paused to rest the horses. She managed to get him alone.
Poros struggled with what to say, the question catching him off guard. “It was quaint as far as villages go. Easy going. The people were friendly. But that was long ago and many leagues away. There is no way I can ever go home again.”
“Not even after the war?” she asked, with a pleasant smile.
He admired the way she wore her hair, pulled back just tight enough to form a long tail swishing halfway down her back. “Who is to say it will end at all?”
“Good point.”
He sighed. “My home was torn apart and burned to the ground by goblins and trolls during a slaver raid. Few of us managed to escape. Those who did comprise the majority of the men and women you saw back at camp.”
She cocked her head and said, “You care much for them.”
“All of them. Without them, I fear I would lose who I am and become another face lost in the night. They make me who I am and I’ve sworn my life to keep them alive. Of course, there will be empty places at the supper table when this is done, but they won’t die alone. I shall be right there with them.”
“You choose death over life?”
“Freedom over slavery. I’ll not surrender just to live out the last of my days in the slave pits of Morthus. We have sworn to fight the oppressors. There are but two options, victory or death.” His words were filled with conviction and passion. He looked up to see timid fear spark in her eyes. “I… apologize. It is a subject I feel strongly about.”
She tried to smile. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Barren Town,” he
said.
“Excuse me?”
“It is the name of my home, or at least what used to be my home. I lost almost everything there, but the best of what I would ever have is right here with me. I could not ask for better companions.”
Sharna felt the first inklings of true passion building within. She found Poros mildly attractive but for reasons she didn’t understand. It had been so long since she’d last known love, she wasn’t sure how to react, or if it was love. There was certainly kinship. The surge of evil ravaging the southern kingdoms was responsible for her degradation as well.
“What about you? I’m told, it is only just that you do as well,” he asked, eager to have the pressure placed on another.
“Nonicks is a simple town, not quite so small as most others in southern Guerselleorn. I was caught on my way home from the fields one evening. I think the hardest part to accept was my abductor was a man from my own village, though he’d been publicly shamed and exiled many years before.”
“What did he do?” Poros asked. He was determined to unravel the mysteries surrounding her.
“He murdered an innkeeper and his family for six copper coins and two Hierarchy crowns.” Sharna shuddered as past images flitted through her memory. Twisted bodies. Blood. Screams of horror.
“Why wasn’t he put to death? Such a crime should not go unpunished.”
“My people handle situations differently, or so I’ve come to understand, from the rest of the world. They figured that by sending him off into the middle of the empty lands without food or water and a means to defend himself, he would suffer a fate far worse than execution for his crimes. The suffering is key.”
Poros was glad he’d never heard of her village before. The punishment described practically outweighed the crime.
“Do you remember him?”
She paused just enough for Poros to pick up on. His suspicions rose. She was hiding something but if he tried to find out what, he risked being shut out permanently. Poros suspected her of being more than the humble village girl she played at from the moment they’d met. What he needed to know was whether she was a danger to his people or not.
“I’d rather not speak of it,” she replied, almost too quietly.
He switched tactics. “Don’t you want to go home again? Back to your loved ones? You have to have a certain interest in the others waiting for your return.”
The last bit was pushing but he didn’t want her to find out he didn’t trust her.
She blushed and shied away. “No. No one special enough to miss me like that.”
Sudden commotion among the others ripped Poros from the conversation. Matis slid from his pony and knelt beside a hand drawn symbol drawn in the sand. Poros immediately went to the spot and rubbed his chin in thought.
“It is a sign from Dom and Libek. They have gone ahead to Mordrun Hath,” Matis said after Poros asked. He was confused, however, for the last part made no sense. It was pure suicide. Not even the goblin army ventured there.
“They’re going to get themselves killed. We need to catch up with them before it’s too late,” Poros uttered.
He hurried back to his horse. Time was fleeting.
Libek fell to the ground from a bone crushing blow by the larger of the two trolls. Dom knew that his friend was dead before he hit the dirt. The dwarf took a glancing blow from a ridiculously thin rapier. While the blade was weak, the power behind the blow was enough to drive him to his knees. Deep red blood gushed from his wounds and his entire left side was in pain. He grinned savagely, even while knowing there was no escape.
Summoning every last ounce of strength, he swung his axe in a blow that would have severed a normal body in half. His hardened steel bit deeply into the troll’s thigh before getting lodged in the bone. Dom looked up a split second before a massive fist smashed into his left shoulder. Bones snapped. Dom cried out in pain and fell back.
“No! Wait!” snarled a voice from the unseen distance.
Dom blinked through the tears and was surprised to find the very same goblin they’d been tracking lurking behind the trolls. He cursed and spat but a heavy hand on his broken shoulder kept him from moving.
“We need him alive. Throw the dwarf in a sack and bring him back to the keep.” Valk laughed, as the dwarf finally passed out from the pain.
“What about the gnome?” the wounded troll asked after wrenching the axe from his flesh. Black blood and chunks of ragged flesh tore away with it, though it was of minor concern.
The goblin snarled at the impish body. “Leave him. I want our enemies to see what happens if they continue to follow us.”
Prisoner in tow, they headed down the short road to Mordrun Hath.
Tears welled in his eyes. For a brief moment Poros clung to the hope that the mangled heap of flesh was something other than his friend, but it was fleeting. His apprehensions were realized when he got close enough to make out the remains of Libek Tug. His heart ached as he dropped down beside his friend. Death was a constant in war, but there was no way to get used to seeing friends so carelessly slaughtered, almost as if in sport.
Poros closed the stricken gnome’s horror filled eyes, while the rest of his group formed a security circle around them. There was every chance that whoever had done this was still in the area.
“We cannot stay here,” Matis urged. “Bury him and let us be gone.”
Sharna nearly snapped. “You insensitive bastard! This man just lost a friend and you treat it as if nothing happened. What gives you, goblin, the right?”
Matis snarled. “We may all end up like this, if we stay much longer. I have no desire to die this day, not like this.”
“He’s right,” Poros said after rising. “We all know the risks. The same could happen to you or me at any moment. Help me bury him so we can move on.”
“What about Dom?” a dull eyed soldier asked.
Poros looked around. “There’s no body. We must assume he is either a prisoner or still free. Now come. We need to get moving before we become victims ourselves.”
A harrowing hour passed before they were able to dig out a shallow grave and lay Libek Tug to rest. His grave was unmarked and would soon be lost to the shifting sands and wind. Poros bade him farewell. Soon his ghost would join those of the thousands already wandering across Sadith Oom. The dead held sway in the nighttime hours, giving him pause to consider how many friends now wandered aimlessly for all time. Would he join them?
Saddened, the tiny band followed the trail to ancient Mordrun Hath. Matis slowed the closer he got to the forbidden area. The Forge of Wizards was an evil place, wicked and filled with hate. Rumor said it was where the Staff of Life was created, long ago in the dawning of the world. Regardless of the history, Mordrun Hath was a place filled with despair and the last of the Dagger trolls. Goblin units were instructed to stay clear of the area for leagues.
He cringed as the ruined fortress came into view. It was once considered impregnable and purposefully built a hundred leagues from everywhere. Only the main tower resembled any sort of strength, jutting into the sky well over two hundred feet. The ruins of smaller buildings, with roofs shaped like dragon spines, cluttered around the main keep. It was a dead place where only dark things were possible.
“Are you certain of this?” he asked.
Poros wasn’t, but it was too late to turn away. “Yes. The trail leads here. We need to know if there has been an alliance formed. These trolls are a shadow power we won’t be able to contend with.”
Matis shook his head, his knees trembling. Knowing Poros had condemned them all, he continued moving. Boulders the size of small houses rose up, blocking the sky and reducing his field of vision. His skin crawled. The goblin was about to voice his concerns and urge them to turn back or find an alternate route, when a score of trolls emerged from cover to surround the group. Weapons were brandished by both groups.
Poros acted quickly, knowing that the trolls would make short work of his underprepared group. Hands emp
ty, he raised them high to show he meant no ill will. The trolls moved quickly, disarming Poros’ group and binding them. They were now prisoners of the Dagger Trolls.
Mard watched from a blackened window halfway up the main tower. The stories he’d heard of these resilient, self-proclaimed heroes were accurate, if foolhardy. He thought that leaving the gnome behind for them to discover was brash but it had been so very long since a man had last killed one of his kind. There was no risk in it. The tiny band continued crawling closer, surprisingly ignorant of any traps lying in wait. Mard was almost impressed.
He considered the dwarf languishing in a cell far underground. The dwarf had provided amusement during the torture, and he looked forward to continuing, but the promise of so many others, and of different races, made the troll leader grin. His ruminations were disturbed as he watched his warriors capture the intruders.
Valk’s restless breathing as he entered the chamber disturbed him. “You continue to find ways to annoy me, mongrel. I should have you flayed and then boiled.”
“They are crafty. You should be cautious,” Valk gestured down.
Mard burst out with laughter. A horrid sound like boulders being crushed. “You think them a threat? Fool goblin.”
“They killed many of my kind.”
“Goblins are no match for trolls. Nor are humans. They will give me information or end up in the same pot as you,” Mard snapped.
He returned to his vigil until the prisoners were marched inside the main keep and the gates slammed shut.
TWENTY-NINE
Alive
He couldn’t recall a winter as cold as this, especially one so early. Bitter winds coming off the river were intense enough to make him want to turn away, to return to the comforts of his cottage, but he needed to fill his stomach. The prospect of going hungry another night drove him on. Like most of the others, he’d been caught short by the sudden onset of winter. He only hoped there was still some sort of game ranging the lightly forested area he called home.
The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2 Page 26
