by Peter Plasse
When they had made it to the edge of the south field, they exchanged one last wave by the light of the spring moons.
The Trolls arrived at midday. Having been joined by the reinforcements from the north, they now numbered well over twenty thousand, perhaps thirty. All had been worked into a frenzy by their commanders and wanted nothing more than to have at the ragtag Ravenwild forces that had managed to inflict such terrible losses on their army in the cowardly attack of days before. But this was a more organized effort than the mad chase up from King’s Port, and their leaders were not about to let them be tricked a second time. They began a methodical sweep of the village of Utt, burning each house to the ground, one at a time, once it had been thoroughly searched. There were signs in every one of these that the Ravenwild army had been there, but it was not until they entered the last one that they had any idea of where they were hiding. Up until now it looked as though they had vanished without a trace but, no, they had gone underground, for the last house was not a house at all, but a façade that had been erected to conceal the entrance to a large tunnel that burrowed into the hill behind it. Now they had them. They were trapped like the rats the Trolls knew them to be.
Then again, they did not charge into it like so many buffoons. Rather, once they discovered it, they summoned the company commanders so that they could look it over and determine the best way to proceed. It was decided that they would send a party of one hundred, all carrying torches, down inside as a probe. That way, if they encountered a trap, the rest of them would not be victims. These Ravenwild soldiers were smart, and the Trolls knew it. They had been fooled once, and they were not about to be fooled again.
The force of a hundred entered the tunnel in the early afternoon, while the rest of them were ordered to set up a camp. Hunting parties were sent up into the woods to get the meat that would be needed to feed them all. Having inflicted essentially no losses on the enemy, they were basically out of food, and the one thing an army needs to wage a war is food.
By the next morning, neither the hunting parties nor the probe had returned, and the Trolls were getting restless. Hunger was the issue. It had been weeks since any of them had eaten a decent meal, most of them having arrived from the northern reaches of Vultura after a nonstop march, and tempers were short. What they had expected was a decisive battle fought on open ground with a great feast to follow. Instead, they had found nothing but a hole in the ground. Fights began to break out amongst them, several to the death, but the few Trolls who were killed and consumed by the troops only served to fuel the anger in those who remained hungry. Kangaroo courts were held to punish those taking part in the fights. Their sentences were death, of course, but their bodies fell far short of the amounts necessary to feed the starving mob. More hunting parties were sent to the woods. Days later some of these returned, all empty-handed. Most did not. Another probe was sent into the tunnel, this one a thousand strong. Another day passed, and they too failed to reappear, putting the Troll army into a near-riotous state. All knew there would be no supply caravan arriving to sate their monstrous appetites, nor would there be the handouts they had all come to expect from the Gnomes.
All knew the commanders had made a big mistake by racing them here to the middle of nowhere with no thought whatsoever as to how to feed them. And all knew that they had two choices: Either retreat, or enter the tunnel en masse and take the fight underground to the enemy on their terms. The grumbling amongst them as the military leadership decided their fate was as loud as the grumbling in their empty bellies.
In the afternoon of the sixth day of their occupation of the valley of Utt, the decision was made to send essentially the entire occupying Troll army of the gargantuan Vultura campaign into the tunnel. Trolls did not retreat. It was just not their way, and it was where the Ravenwild army was hiding, so now the killing of their enemies meant much more than it normally meant. It meant they would not starve to death in this desolate valley. It meant an end to the interminable hunger that wracked their guts. It meant hope, and weak though they were, they clung to it the way a drowning man will cling to anything that will keep him afloat.
It was well into the seventh day of the occupation before the last of them disappeared into the subterranean passageway. The only ones who remained behind were the senior-most officers, including the campaign leader: Commander Wartius Ugg.
Once inside, the Trolls crept along single-file in the murk, the only sounds being the click and rattle of their battle gear and the scuffling of their feet. The only smell was that of the torches, as they eased along like a mile-long serpent might slide along the tunnel floor. As the last ones entered, the ones in the front saw a light up ahead and, suddenly, the smell of meat wafted their way. Lots of meat, roasting over the glowing coals of hundreds of firepits. Venison mostly, with a smattering of cattle and goats, the lure of the cooking food spurred the Trolls to rush headlong into a vast underground cavern that was otherwise devoid of enemy troops. And while it had taken over twelve hours for the entire Troll army to enter the tunnel, it took only a fraction of that for them to fill the cavern, where they tore into the meat with wild abandon. They had done it. They had found the source of food that the Ravenwild troops had been using to feed themselves. Ripping great pieces of it from the spits, they downed it, chunk after satisfying chunk. All that mattered was the food in front of them, and they gorged. The Ravenwild troops had left, cowards all, and to the victors went the spoils.
Most, smacking their lips and grunting with hedonic bliss as they ate, didn’t notice the sound of the tunnel collapsing when the support posts were pulled out by the Ravenwild soldiers. And not a one of them looked up to see the thousands of archers, the overwhelming majority of these Gnome archers, who suddenly appeared on an overhanging lip that encircled the cavern above them. Indeed, the Trolls’ only hint that they were not alone came when the leader of the archer group yelled, “Hey!” his one word command echoing back and forth in the cave. Now they looked up as one at the certain death above them. The ones closest to the tunnel tried to break for it, but ran into a wall of soft earth. Troll after Troll was trampled in the mad rush as thousands upon thousands of arrows shrieked their way towards them with their terrifying wail, the last sound in the world that their fallen comrades had heard on the Emperor’s Highway in Utt.
They never stood a chance. They were fish in a barrel, and every last one was cut down. Some attempted to scale the walls, trying desperately to manage some sort of counterattack, but the walls were not only too steep, they had been polished and then greased with drippings from the roasts. In minutes it was over, the ones still moving nothing more than target practice for the bowmen.
It was done.
The alliance had vanquished the vast majority of the Troll occupying force with not a single Human, Dwarf, Elf, or Gnome lost, other than the scant amount of casualties they had suffered during the frontal assault on the troops in King’s Port.
Now, only one grisly chore remained.
Up on the surface, the senior officers, including their Commander, Wartius Ugg, passed the time languidly picking at the remains of some of the Trolls that had been sentenced to death in the mock courts. With nothing to do except eat and wait for a report from the troops, they whiled away the time bragging about their performances in past battles. All told great tales of bravery and heroism until finally it came to Commander Ugg. His, he never got a chance to tell, as the door to the place suddenly fell to the floor with a great crash, smashed in by the battle-axe of the biggest Ravenwild soldier left since the departure of Thargen. Following him in were half a dozen soldiers armed with crossbows, all of which were aimed at the cowering Trolls, who never had a chance to draw their swords, such was their surprise at this completely unexpected intrusion. In seconds, the only one left alive was Commander Ugg. Looking worriedly all about at his dead officers, he quickly unfastened his sword belt and dropped it to the floor, saying meekly, “I surrender.”
Andar Gall strode thro
ugh the doorway. Glancing briefly at the splintered entryway, he thought back to the day some months before when the door to his own beautiful home had been shattered in the same way by the Trolls. “We will need to fix that,” he whispered.
“Yes, Mr. Gall,” said one of the soldiers.
He reached out and was handed the axe by the Ravenwild soldier who had used it to smash in the door. He crossed the room to face the commander.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Commander Wartius Ugg.”
“Do you remember me?”
“No. Should I?”
“Was that a question?” He turned slightly. His left side now faced the Troll.
“I suppose it was. I have surrendered. Do you intend to kill an unarmed Troll who has surrendered?”
“Is that another question? Funny, I only intended to allow you one.”
And with that, he swung the great axe with all his might, impelled by the force of hatred from the very depths of hell itself, striking the commander in the midsection. It was a fatal blow, and he fell like a sack of dung, desperately clutching the wound, while death’s embrace began to squeeze him.
Andar leaned over him. “Are you sure you don’t remember me?” Not long for the world, Wartius Ugg did not reply.
Andar turned and strode back outside, saying, “Burn it. And be quick about it. I want it to burn while he is alive.”
It took Thargen, Diana, and the six Ravenwild soldiers that accompanied them about two weeks to make it to the northern shore of the Agden River. Thargen knew that, once completed, Saviar Murlis and Titan Mobst would move the vessel as quickly as possible to the fortress in Ghasten to lay siege to the castle, and since the only way there was via the Agden River, he reasoned that they would have to pass by right in front of them.
It was the sound of explosions that guided them the rest of the way to the great ship. Thunderous booms they were, that rocked the stillness of the day. Following the sounds, they came across Jared, Titan Mobst, and all of the wizards, as they were finishing up target practice for the afternoon. All wore smiles, the one worn by Jared taking over his entire face when Thargen and the love of his life stepped out of the trees directly in front of him. With a cry of pure joy he raced towards her, picking her up off of her feet and spinning around with her in a wild embrace, causing them to fall to the ground wrapped in each other’s arms.
“My darling, my darling, you’re safe,” he whispered softly in her ear as they lay on the ground, oblivious to the stares of the onlooking wizards and soldiers. In the river behind them, the Mexyl Wyn rocked gently on anchor. It was a sight to behold.
Thargen shook the hands of Titan Mobst, Saviar Murlis, and all of the wizards. “Quite an operation you have here,” he said. “What is that odd smell?”
“That,” said Paulimas, “is the smell of freedom. Thanks to this young man,” he motioned towards Jared, “we now know that victory over the Trolls is merely a question of time. With this,” he patted the cannon, which still spewed a trace of smoke from the barrel, “and a hundred more like it, we will never again bow down to them.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“Time to get back to the ship,” said Titan Mobst. “We have been lucky so far to have escaped detection by the Trolls, but we don’t want to press our luck.”
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the Trolls this day,” said Thargen, and he quickly recounted the stunning victory at Utt, the news of which had been brought to their small squad by runners from the scene.
“What do we think he will do now?” asked Taber.
“The word I have received is he is withdrawing his entire army back to Ghasten. I’m sure he is preparing to launch an all-out attack on Belcourt. It is believed that they plan to invade and occupy the city while the Wall is down to prevent the return of the citizens. I’m also quite sure that the only forces he plans to leave in the field for now are the ones at The Gate. He had been holding it flanked with a small company, but later moved thousands of troops to the area. Dorin tried a direct assault, but it was all he could do to retreat into the mountains to the north. Malance now needs them there to prevent a full-scale invasion by our forces along the road that leads directly to his capital city.
“By now, every one of Dorin’s troops is starving. I dread to think on the state of those inside the fort, if there are any left at all. They all need our help, and they need it now.”
Titan Mobst smiled. It was a grim smile, but it was a determined smile. It was a wicked smile. “Well,” he mused, “they shall have it. Come lads, we need to load the ship and be on our way.”
Jared and Diana heard none of this. They were too busy whispering how much they loved each other.
This too was a sight to behold.
The moment she left the compound in Obb she began to feel sick. It started off like many of the flu-like illnesses through which she had suffered as a child. At first she felt feverish, with chills that ran up and down her body. Then she felt as though she might faint.
She slid from the saddle of the large horse she had commandeered from the Trolls. Hoping that she might feel better if she walked for a bit, she took the reins and led him along behind her. Soon, however, knowing it would not be long before her legs would no longer support her, she led him off of the mountain trail, tied him off to a sapling, and sat down with her back up against a tree. Suddenly terribly sick to her stomach, she lay down as the world spun crazily out of control, trying to get her breathing right, which came in short gasps. “What is happening?” she groaned to the earth, in which her face was suddenly half-buried. Then, for a brief moment, she felt all right again. The world stopped spinning and she was able to sit up. She brushed the dirt off her face and stood on unsteady legs. She found the waterskin, tied off to the horse’s pommel, and took a long drink. Unable to maintain an upright posture, she sat back down. Once again waves of nausea overtook her, and in minutes her entire outfit was soaked with sweat. She felt like she was going to die.
“Great,” she thought, in between the fits of dizziness, “the greatest escape in the history of the Human race and now I’m going to die all alone here in the middle of nowhere.”
At first, as sick as she was feeling, she didn’t notice the sensation coming from the amulet where it lay against her chest, but within seconds it burned like a hot iron. She snatched it up and moved it away from her, mostly to ease the pain, and was astounded to hear sounds coming from it. She flipped it over to look into it, and a face appeared. She knew she had seen this face before, but feeling as wretched as she did right now, she couldn’t remember when. Still, she had seen it before. She was sure of it. It was speaking to her!
“Stephanie Doreen Strong,” the face said. “For the first time you have used the power of the Bindu-ward art of magic and spell, and you have used it to kill. You will now enter the Bindu-trance. In this trance you will travel to the netherworld and meet the souls of the ones whose lives you have ended. This is necessary for them to begin the next phase of their journey. Do not worry, it will feel no different than going to sleep. But know this.” The voice got distinctly louder. “You must hide yourself, and take care that none who would do you harm are able to find you while you are in the trance, for were this to happen, you would be completely at their mercy.”
“I remember you,” said Doreen.
A look of puzzlement flashed briefly over the face in the strange stone.
“I must go now,” the face said, starting to fade.
“Hey, wait a minute,” said Doreen, “they were going to execute me! That’s what they told me. I didn’t want to kill anybody … ”
“Hide yourself,” said the voice, and the face disappeared.
“Wait,” said Doreen. “Wait. Please. I want to ask some questions … ” But the talisman had faded yet again to the color purple and, not surprisingly, she could get nothing more from it. “Wonderful,” she said softly to the horse. “I have no idea where I am, but I’
m supposed to hide somewhere. Where am I supposed to hide?” His blank stare did nothing to help.
She undid his reins and led him on a half-hour trek deeper into the woods, when the sickness began to overwhelm her again, and soon she found she could go not a step further. Tying him hurriedly to the nearest tree, she undid her bedroll, wrapped herself in it, and fell into a deep sleep. At first it was dreamless, but she awakened within it and found herself floating in a seemingly infinite black void. She felt a sudden, searing pain around her navel and, instinctively reaching for it, touched a strange protuberance jutting out from her belly. It was some sort of cord, about three inches in diameter, which was firmly attached to her and extended out past where her hands could reach. It had a squishy, jello-like texture to it, and seemed to be covered by a slippery, thin membrane.
Her strange umbilical fastening started to glow and pulsate, much like one of those Christmas light-ropes. This luminescent, jelly-filled cord projected away from her as far as she could see, disappearing into the darkness beyond. She tugged gently on it and it started to pull her forward, slowly at first, then faster and faster, gaining speed every second. Oddly, she felt no wind-effect as she held on tight, traveling forward now at a fantastic speed when, way off in the distance, a hazy-red glow started to form around the remote tip of her celestial tether. Larger and larger this hazy ring of crimson grew, drawing her closer and closer until it swallowed her up.
The black void that had first surrounded her now gave way to massive, glowing, red walls, looking more fluid than solid. They heaved and lifted rhythmically, as if breathing. The bottom of this fiery passageway now opened up into an expansive chasm out of which rushed a blast of acrid, ovenlike air. After reaching the center, she slowed to a stop. The combined odor of sulfur and pig waste that wafted up nearly caused her to vomit. She looked down at the cavern floor far below her and noticed that it appeared to be alive, as if covered with an infinite number of wiggling and squirming worms. Looking closer, she was struck by the realization that those were not worms at all, but people, and she could now hear the unrelenting drone of countless thousands of them, all moaning in eternal agony.
