by J P Nelson
“How big was the shade-cloud?”
Lesli thought a moment, “It filled a large chamber … m-m-m, twenty-five, thirty feet across.”
“If you do that here, you would fall through …”
“If I had a boat, I could go in front. Qua’Korr could follow and not have her nose in the ice.”
Feila looked to the men, “Let’s get back aboard. I know what we need to do.”
Several hours later, Gordi was settling in his designated seat in back of the Qua’Korr’s barge, Lil’Lady. Also in barge were Caroll and Klaus with missile weapons. Lesli sat cross-legged at the front.
Albri called down, “Alright, depending on how fast you can go, do not get far a’front of us.”
Gordi gave him a salute, “You got it, boss.”
Lil’Lady was a standard twenty-four-foot barge, flat bottomed with squared bow and stern, which had seen much time in swamps and shallows. She was old, but solid and seasoned. This was the first time she would be propelled by other then oar or pole.
Reaching into his core and focusing, Gordi began to push with his telekinesis. He warned his barge-mates, “This ain’t the same as lifting. I ain’t never done this with anything but a canoe.”
Caroll grinned, “Tale has been put past my ear of you and small wagon …”
Gordi grinned back, “Yeah … that’s right. Me and Logan that time … I forgot ‘bout that one. Alrighty, here we go.”
Lil’Lady began awkwardly at first, then she straightened out as they headed for the ice directly in front of the ship.
Gordi called forward, “I’m moving at your speed, Lesli. You make the calls.”
As they got closer to the hard surface, it looked as if someone was holding a hot piece of steel against a thin sheet of ice on a table. It didn’t melt fast, but it wasn’t slow either. You could see the solid dirty gray mass become transparent something more than thirty feet from her. Moving at a fast walking speed, by the time she reached the same spot the ice had melted to slush. As the Qua’Korr came up behind them, maintaining a distance of about one hundred rods, the slush was already almost returned to soft-water state. It was a nasty looking water, however.
It took them about a half hour to get to the downed trees and the little island.
Ervis was scanning with his telescope, Albri and Telroy beside him, when he asked, “Did you not say there was but one craft left behind here?”
Telroy replied, “Yes, captain.”
Ervis handed him his scope and pointed, “Over there …”
Albri had his own scope in play and shifted focus.
Telroy’s face first was curious, then confused, then hopeful with enthusiasm, “It is the Waddles, sir. It is the only craft aside from the Sheila with the modified V-hull.”
Ervis’s tone was optimistic, “Then someone must have survived the iceberg.”
Albri shared Ervis’s thought, “It is the only plausibility …” he turned and called, “… JéPahn, you are up.”
As the Qua’Korr came to rest, Gordi brought Lil’Lady up on the starboard-side where they were letting down a monomoy. He looked up to Albri and nodded toward the craft in the trees, “Caroll says …”
“Yes, it is the Waddles. JéPahn is going to do ESP Scan, see if he can read what happened and who put it there.”
“Let me have Tammin, see if he can do something with these trees so I don’t have to pull a muscle moving them over. That stream won’t be deep enough to sail a ship back through.”
“Good idea,” Albri looked around, but Tammin was there at the rail, “Ah wou’d pe wery good to pe of serwice.”
While JéPahn climbed down, Gordi said, “I don’t usually do this, but we don’t have time to wait.” Pointing his left fingers at Tammin, the Alterer caught his breath as he suddenly floated up, over the rail, and gently down to the barge.
“That … vas diff-erent …”
Gordi smirked, “Glad you liked it. Grab a seat and buckle in.”
Albri accompanied JéPahn with four other men to where Waddles rested. The mentahk touched the wood with feather-like grace as he semi-closed his eyes, waved a hand about slowly and entered a trance state of mind.
Albri studied the man, then gave a quick glance to the other team as Tammin himself touched his objects of focus, then Gordi reached out his palms as if pushing a giant ball. The trees and busted Kimble slid across the ice as if a giant gate moving on a hinge. The way was now clear.
JéPahn said, “I have good news, and bad news …” Without giving time for an answering choice he continued, “… two of the men from the Kimble were clearly killed. Hm-umpgh. All were taken up the west side of the river, where … I don’t know.
“The good news is this craft,” indicating Waddles, “landed here with two men about two-ish days ago.” He shrugged his chin.
JéPahn gave a good description of the men and Telroy exclaimed, “Capitol! Yes-s-s!”
The men looked to him as an enthused Fhascully declared, “Those men are Sergeant Dessi and Chief of Boat Seedle.”
JéPahn looked to Fhascully and asked with subtle curiosity, “Are either of them a wizard?”
Fhascully and Telroy, joined by Caroll and Klaus, all of who knew the men said at once, “No.”
Telroy added, “Not that we know of, anyway.”
JéPahn mused, “Interesting …”
Fhascully raised one eyebrow as Albri tilted his head and asked, “Why? What is it?”
“The taller one had a staff, and both climbed on what looked like a cut forked branch and flew in the direction of those trolls.”
The group stood about for a moment speechless.
Having finished moving the trees, Gordi came up and suggested, “Caroll says Waddles is rigged with special runners underneath, that way she can really scoot on ice. If the shit-hits-the-fan and I need to pour it on, I can make a hell-of-a-lot better time, depending what I got to do and where I got to go …”
Albri replied, “Not a bad idea. Let us unload Waddles into Lady, and prepare to set off again.”
JéPahn asked, “What if those two come back?”
Gordi answered, “If they are going where we are, they have that flying contraption. It they are going away, then we don’t need ‘em.”
Albri’s expression revealed he was of same mind.
JéPahn raised his eyebrows and said, “Oka-a-a-ay.”
Looking to Gordi, Albri said, “Remember, wait for my cue. We have a bit of recon before going further.”
Gordi put some jerky in his mouth and acknowledged, “Gotcha.”
Guiding the Lil’Lady back to the ship, Albri was explaining the skinny to Ervis even before he began climbing the rope ladder. As the crew was preparing to hoist the barge up, Albri went to find the next part of their plan.
“Mahrufael? Are you ready? You were first to rotate to rest, so you could take time to fully prepare.”
“Yes, Albri, I am ready … varied, but fully loaded.”
“Excellent. I am concerned of what wizard powers may be out there. Trolls just are not historically known for use of such, yet from Caroll and Telroy’s reports, and what we are seeing here,” he nodded to the ice of the river, “it all suggests some scary stuff.”
“Could these be a new variety; or perhaps one very old and just now making resurgence?”
“Anything is possible. Times are changing … ecology, powers, religion, the paths of men … even the stars … and not for the better. Things have changed a lot in just the last twenty years. So-o-o … you are ready?”
“I am.”
Mahrufael placed a hand on Albri’s shoulder and hesitated for a moment before saying in low tones, “I am concerned with U’Lahna.”
Albri was all ears.
“”I do not know how her abilities work, but my power source is in a whole different realm. I think her source is within herself. Her rate of recuperation is different. Breaking through the barrier was mostly her, you know that, and I was able to lend s
ome respite for the wind in getting here, but nothing like what she provided …”
“You are saying she is burned out?”
“I am saying I am at full, but she is tired. I have the feeling she will not speak it, but she may be at edge or beyond her limits. What is more …” he paused once more, “… I do not think she is used to this kind of thing.”
“I thought she killed an ex-druid vampire and minions?”
“She did … but she had time and calculation on her hands. She was not using her power for hours upon a time. Nor has she been part of an actual military engagement.”
Albri was thoughtful, “Duly noted. Gordi is the same, tired I mean. He will push way beyond his range and you will never know it. But he is a big boy and knows the score. Of course, he is highly experienced … done this kind of thing for a long, long time. He has made a career of it. I am sure Logan has told you stories.”
“He has,” Mahrufael gave him a steady eye, “and he has told me about you.”
Albri looked to the elf’s side, “You are wearing a sword?”
Mahrufael put his hand on the well worn pommel, “I do not often speak of it, here in Aeshea I can sparkle my fingers and most will run into the night. But on Th’Tarr, eldohrich works only occasionally at best. Other skills are needed.”
“Well … learn something every day. Are you handy?”
“I best Logan and his staff in sparring two of three times.”
Albri was visibly impressed, “Oh-h-h yes?! And with daggers?”
Mahrufael narrowed his eyes in grim humor, “Do we need to discuss it?”
“Ah! It is well, even Feila cannot best him with short blades. Besides, a priest should not be versed with a weapon such as a dagger; let alone be a master with it.”
Albri eyed the dark gray, solid, swept back-of-hand guard with its etchings. The scabbard indicated the weapon was not the width of a broadsword, but more than a rapier. He figured the overall length to be perhaps forty marks.
He ventured, “Let me guess, a straight saber with a full-length edge and a blood-groove tempered with little holes. It is all one piece with the grip molded extra thick, a cord of some special woven metal allowing you to conduct energy directly into the weapon if need be.”
Mahrufael’s eyebrow raised as Albri passed an ironic grin and said, “I have seen one before … a long, long time ago. And you have a matching dagger to go with it.”
“Yes.”
“We need to get going, partner.”
Glancing down the deck with searching eyes, Albri gripped the elf by the forearm and said, “You be careful …” then stepped into the companionway.
Beneath the poop-deck in the stern, a small room was partitioned for Fhascully and Kravieu to sling their hammocks. Fhascully was sitting on his footlocker, folded glasses in one hand, the other on the top edge of the shield he had taken from Coroas as he balanced it on the floor between his knees.
Kravieu was puffing his ever present pipe and standing against the partition looking worried.
The shield radiated a mild magic, permanently embedded in the iron-hard triple-layered hide … Fhascully had had Tammin take a look at it.
The naturalist was examining the shield as if it they were back in Vedoa in his smelly, surreal office. Speaking casually to Kravieu, he commented, “See these spikes, Etmond? Eight pegs one inch long of sharpened steel, embedded at an outward angle from the core spike, two marks long and straight out, halfway between the core to the edge. And then this protracting dagger, itself fourteen marks long with serrations on both edges”
He put the end of one of the glasses temples in his mouth as he mused without any apparent emotion, then added, “Do you see? This article is not designed for killing. It is designed to maim and deal cruel injury. Death is incidental.”
“Franklin … what is wrong?”
There was a torn anguish in Fhascully’s features as he bit the right side of his lower lip and asked, “Do you think … do you …”
Kravieu sat on his hammock, directly apart from Fhascully and leaned forward so they were between two and three feet apart, “What is it Franklin? Speak to me?”
“Do you think she … Kallina … would she be appalled to what, what I must now do?”
Tears began rolling from the older man’s face as he asked, “Why, why do you ask this …”
“I am going to war, Etmond. I made promise to do this no more. It is not matter of defending oneself … I promised …”
Kravieu firmly placed his hand upon Fhascully’s, “Franklin …” the words were sharp, but not cruel, “… listen to me. You are not the same man. You are not he of your former name. You have grown.”
“But … I could be … and I would shame myself before her---”
“Sh-h-h-h … that is not what you are going to do. You are going out to save lives. You are going to work another cure for those men, but for this epidemic the plague is the troll. She … Kallina … she is looking upon you and she is proud. You are fulfilling your promise, you are saving lives. And you have done so much already …”
Fhascully said, “Etmond …”
“Yes Franklin …”
“I thank you for brothership.”
“And I you. I know not what I would have done when … and the boy …”
“Warrick knows not how fortunate he is for you as father. You are my only family.”
The moment lingered, then Kravieu wiped his eyes and rubbed his nose as he spoke with mock agitation, “Look you … alas … you have caused me to allow the pipe to quench. Do you not to consider the expense of matches?”
Fhascully gave a partial grin. Giving the footlocker a lingering touch he added, “There is a thing I must discuss with you …”
___________________________
Sergeant Rahno was standing watch on what they called First Tower, which was the first tower to the left of the gatehouse if you were on the inside. He was exhausted, sore, carrying four nasty scratches from troll claws which thankfully were not infected, hungry, and now laden with heightened responsibility.
The attack came of a sudden when it looked like a thousand trolls came from the forest and started throwing firebombs over the wall. Some exploded big, some just hit and flashed light, but it was a terrifying experience. Nobody had ever seen or been in such an onslaught before.
Horribly barbed javelins were mixed in and one went right through a fellow standing next to him. Shooting at targets was frustrating. Rahno was a dead-shot, as was Guen, but after the first wave, both agreed at least half the trolls they shot, at the bolt went through and did no harm.
For what seemed forever the whole place was like a big open oven. Several died of burns, but two men rolled on the ground as if on fire, yet nothing was seen. They died without a visible wound.
How can you fight something you can’t see? More than one man jumped over the wall to their death.
It was old man Rufus and those keen eyes of his that noticed most of the trolls looked alike and moved in exactly the same way.
Rufus yelled, “They are an illusion, at least five big groups.”
Sergeant Corad called out, “Go for the unique targets. They are trying to make us waste ammunition.”
Corad had been amazing; he came up with strategies when you would think no strategies could be thought up. He kept Franz, the trumpeteer, beside him at all times.
The commodore had been right on to change the signals. One of the old tones was to ready for mass fire, immediately followed by a single note burst to fire. Franz blew the tone, then the burst, and as he did another wave of firebombs and javelins came through the openings of the crenulations where the men would have been.
Yes, the trolls knew what to do.
A timed second burst and the men on the wall took position and must have took out what looked to be hundreds of trolls. Rahno had shot one where he figured the heart would be and instantly he saw several dozen more fade into nothingness.
Then some w
eird objects came across the wall; they were bones, human bones. They had to have been from the hunting party just before the sickness swept through. Those bones had been gnawed and chewed on. It played havoc on the men.
Five times a mob of trolls flying on sticks came across the wall and started throwing small pouches of stuff; some exploded with a flaming tar-like substance, some broke into little pebbles that hatched something like a cross between a scorpion and dragonfly, and others threw off a rainbow colored gas that burned the lungs of anyone who breathed it in. They dropped trolls with cudgels into the wards, then grabbed men and flew into the woods with them.
Twice, and maybe it was the same troll, one wielded a jagged-edge blade which radiated a purple and yellow glow. Reports had he accounted for nineteen men dying before collected by a flier. Commodore and Sealer both tried to get to him, but unsuccessfully.
All together, twenty-nine fighting men were taken and nearly thrice the number in dead from where they had fallen. During the last attacks some of those big trolls, the eight and nine-foot ones tried scaling the wall. All together, ten of them got through, but their internal countermeasures were highly effective.
As the trolls pulled back the last time, it was believed the men levied a hard blow. Those Balder Bows were firing balls and bolts, and they loaded troll parts into the trebuchets to return their kin.
Captain S’Getti lost his leftt leg, ripped right off at the knee, if Rahno understood correctly, and currently on the edge of death, Lieutenant Mantel was dead, Boin was holding up well and valiantly swinging his blade when a troll swiped him into the wall, leaving a patch of blood where his head struck.
That last attack was two days ago with no sign of trolls since. It might be a lure, it might not, but the commodore was set to go rescue the captives if possible.
Rahno had always been impressed with Jha’Ley, but watching him out in front fighting was inspirational. The morning before, a twelve man search team led by Jha’Ley and Toagun Sealer set out.
Apparently the commodore forgot something, because he returned to visit his quarters accompanied by Yeah, Ottus and Fizer. At the same time, Rahno himself stumbled on Corad’s body. A quick reading of the sign indicated the sergeant was completely taken by surprise and stabbed multiple times from the front and back.
