by Ben Hale
Siarra’s brow furrowed and she took a breath to keep her composure, “Who will our champion have to fight?”
Tryton reached back and drew his massive sword. “Me.”
Chapter 22: Unyielding and Undefeated
“So who gets to die?” Jack said as they huddled to talk.
“No one,” Siarra replied. “Unless you are volunteering . . .”
Taryn’s breath caught when Jack snorted and stabbed a finger at him. “He’s the only one that might last more than a few seconds.”
Shaking his head, Taryn said, “I don’t know. I’ve never fought something like this before.”
Liri nudged him from the side. “I'm not sure this is a good idea.”
He threw a look at her tight expression. Her thin eyebrows pulled together as she gave him a tiny shake of her head. Then she swallowed and looked away.
Trin coughed and swallowed. “I don't stand a chance. I mean, I know my skills, but there is no way. His weapon would probably shatter mine on first contact anyway.” Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “But I am willing if that is what is necessary.”
Mae spoke first, beating out Taryn’s attempt to protest. “Not a chance, Trin. You are good, but I am better. I’ll take him.”
“Wait,” Siarra said. “I think I could get us out of this fortress, but once outside we would have to run, and we would lose our horses.”
As his friends argued over that possibility, Taryn studied the king, looking past the battle stance and huge weapon and into his eyes. The gaze returned to him held so much sadness that he almost flinched. It came as no surprise that he had no idea why the troll king would feel such an emotion. He frowned at the sudden sense of irritation. Perhaps Liri could explain it? But they were too busy arguing. Then a thought crossed his mind that he hadn't considered before.
He had been viewing the king as a ruler, and not a warrior.
Understanding someone as a person may not come naturally to him, but knowing a fighter was the one thing he was good at. Setting aside what he felt and turning to the few things he knew of the giant troll, one idea stood out more than any other. What if the Tryton's sadness came from a sense of honor? That would mean he felt sorrow because he did not wish to do battle with one he considered weaker. If so, it was possible that he would not fight with his full strength. The thought was tenuous at best, and if he was wrong might cost him his life.
But he didn’t think he was wrong.
“I’ll do it,” Taryn exclaimed, and his friends stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Without waiting for a response he looked at his sister. “If I should fall, get everyone out.” Doubting his resolve, he stepped away from his friends before they could try to dissuade him.
Ignoring the hissing call to return, he strode towards the troll king. As he walked he reached back and drew both of his swords, readying himself for the fight of his life. Concerned about his opponents reach, Taryn came to a halt without closing the distance. Tryton smiled, but the sadness remained in the brown eyes. Together, they inclined their heads towards each other, and then Tryton signaled for the hourglass to be turned. A hush spread across the spectators as the two combatants began to circle . . .
In the blink of an eye Tryton crossed twenty feet in three strides, and swept his huge notched sword to cut Taryn down like midsummer wheat—but Taryn ducked at the last second. Standing up he moved to strike, but Tryton’s attack had been a deceptive ruse, and the massive weapon had already reversed. With no time to move or think, Taryn did the only thing he could . . . raise both weapons to block.
The clash of the weapons striking boomed like a thunderclap—but Taryn wasn’t knocked sprawling. With his whole body angled straight to his anchored feet, he stopped the strike even though he slid two feet on the smooth stone. Already moving, he barely registered the gasps of shock from the surrounding trolls.
Darting towards Tryton he whipped Mazer out to strike—but the massive form spun and brought his sword back from the other direction. This time Taryn jumped into a flip over the blade and caught a glittering glimpse of the weapon as he arced through the air. Landing on his toes Taryn bounced to the side, just as the huge blade struck the ground where he’d landed, causing sparks to burst upward.
In a whirl of bodies and blades the two clashed as the sand trickled down the hourglass. The rock troll’s weapon moved faster than Taryn believed possible, and all he managed to do was defend himself during the first minute. Every blow echoed in a tremendous ring of metal on metal. With the mighty power behind the swings, Taryn realized he would need to do something different. Instead of trying to stop the attacks, he began deflecting them.
For the first time in his life Taryn felt truly challenged in a fight, and he found everything in him rising to the challenge. Within another minute he felt he had a good feel of the rhythm of their duel. Tryton’s strength and deceptive speed could only be described as awe inspiring, and his technique with his heavy weapon defied comprehension. Unless Taryn used the magic in his weapons, he doubted he could defeat him—but he didn’t need to win, he just needed to last long enough.
The ring of combat reverberated in the bowl of Astaroth as the massive troll and Taryn fought for any advantage. Each warrior demonstrated discipline and training in every motion, refusing to yield to defeat. Speed, grace, and ferocity on both sides elicited murmurs of praise from the troll onlookers, and worried looks from Taryn's friends. More than once Tryton’s gigantic blade streaked through the air, narrowly missing Taryn’s flashing form.
A driving lunge thrust the wide blade straight for Taryn’s midsection. With his weight wrong to sidestep, Taryn twisted his body and felt the weapon pass an inch from his stomach, piercing his cloak, which had not been quick enough to follow its owner. Growling, Taryn struck the wide blade downward, and then darted towards the large hand only a few feet away.
Just as his left katsana descended to strike the troll’s hand it melted backwards, withdrawing the thrust. Lifting the sword high overhead, Tryton brought it sweeping down towards Taryn’s legs. Too low to deflect, Taryn leaned towards the low flying blade and jumped over in a cartwheel—but didn’t touch the ground. As his body whipped up and over, his head froze as time slowed. Looking down at the ground, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the wide sword as it passed below his skull.
His cartwheel had carried him far enough that when he landed he faced a smooth wall and knew Tryton would be charging behind him. Keeping his momentum he sprinted at the wall twenty feet away. Reaching the vertical stone at full speed, he tipped back and ran up the face—and felt his cloak tug as the heavy weapon of his adversary tore through it.
His momentum began to slow fifteen feet off the ground, and he launched himself into a slow back flip, but immediately twisted when he saw the overhead chop streaking towards him, ready to cleave him in two as he flew over the troll king. Contorting his body and still flipping, Taryn blinked as he saw the metal flash by his face. Still in the air, he looked down and saw Tryton’s tattooed shoulder below him and his training kicked in. His father’s sword flicked out as he passed, nicking a four inch line into the hard flesh, drawing blood.
Straining through his aerial maneuver Taryn landed in a heavy crouch behind Tryton—but the huge warrior was already in motion. Jumping high, he kicked off the wall and sailed towards him, his sword raised. Muscles the size of bricks corded and knotted as he accelerated the sword downward . . .
With all his weight low, Taryn threw his body sideways and into a roll that brought him to one knee. The ground vibrated as Tryton's feet smashed into it, and Taryn thought he'd evaded the strike—but the hulk had twisted in the air to face him, and his sword was almost upon him.
In a fraction of a second Taryn’s arms blurred, bringing both his blades above his head just as Tryton’s weapon hammered into them. The force of the blow nearly knocked him senseless and he felt the stone under his knee give way, but he held on. Straining with every ounce of str
ength he possessed, he pushed against the troll’s effort to drive his sword through him—but the sharp blade continued to descend. Gritting his teeth he fought harder, but the giant weapon and his equally powerful wielder were too much. Inch by inch the blade drew closer to his face, until he felt it caress his forehead and cheek below his eye. Then he felt it split his skin and he tasted blood.
The knowledge that he could activate the magic in his father’s sword flashed across his mind, but deep within him a rebellion stirred and clawed its way to the surface. A challenge had been issued, and a part of him refused to surrender. To activate his magic now would feel like cheating, and even though he would live, he couldn't live with that thought.
Every muscle in his body bulged as he growled his fury . . . and Tryton's enormous sword came to a stop, and then gradually lifted away from his eye. With adrenaline and pure will roaring through his body, Taryn drove Tryton’s sword upward until he managed to tip his weapons to the side and dodge out of the way.
Rolling to his feet he heard a high pitched whistle and looked to see a stunned Kythira standing next to an empty hourglass. His emotions threatened to boil over as confusion, pride, and the urge to yell washed over him. The elation flooding his frame lasted until he became aware of the host of frozen trolls. Before he could say a word, he felt a massive hand press down on his shoulder and he turned to face the troll king.
“Your words have been proven,” Tryton exclaimed, his voice pleased, “And you have earned my friendship.”
Taryn nodded, exhaustion and the sense of triumph making him light-headed. Turning, he found his friends sprinting towards him. Liri reached him first, concern written on her face as she bounded to embrace him.
“Are you OK?” she asked in his ear but he didn’t get the chance to answer before Siarra yanked them apart.
“Nice job, little brother," she said, her eyes rigid with concern, "but we need to stop that bleeding.”
As she reached into her pack he realized the various pains reporting from his body. A severe stinging from his cheek and forehead registered first and he reached up to touch it, but Siarra slapped his hand.
“You’ll get it dirty,” she said irritably. “If I act fast you might not scar.”
Something dripped in front his eye and before he could resist he reached up to wipe away the sweat. He winced as the reflex brought his hand in contact with the open folds of a cut. Grunting in pain he brought his arm down and saw it smeared in blood.
Siarra shook her head but didn’t scold him further. Instead she reached out and placed some sort of herb against the cut as she began to murmur under her breath. Energy ebbed from his body as Siarra worked to heal the wound. Drained, he had trouble responding to what Trin and Jack were saying.
Heat blossomed across his face, collecting on the open wound and he clenched his teeth against the pain. After a moment the warmth shifted to a relieving chill, and then faded to a maddening itch before disappearing.
“Thanks Siarra,” Taryn said, and gingerly touched his healed face. The skin felt raw and tender, but at least it was closed.
She smiled with pursed lips. “I took care of your face because it was so deep, but your arm will have to heal on its own.”
Her glance pulled his gaze down to his right forearm where he saw a shallow but long, curving gouge along his forearm. Surprised, he ran through the battle in his mind, trying to find were he’d been injured but was interrupted by the deep voice of Tryton.
“If you choose, you may join us for our noonday meal,” the king said and Taryn looked to see him smiling.
Siarra accepted and they moved to follow the king and Kythira as they strode to a nearby tunnel. As they entered the corridor, Taryn glanced back and saw Solus, Kaber, and Kell fall into step behind them. Although Solus appeared calm, Kaber looked angry, and Kell seemed confused. The moment they saw Taryn looking, their expressions morphed into inscrutable stone. Once again Taryn found himself impressed by the discipline of the rock trolls. As he considered everything since they had met them, several things became apparent.
On the surface the rock trolls acted as if they had been trained well, but there was something deeper to their behavior. Before and during the challenge, none of the soldiers had broken rank for even a moment, or even spoken to each other regarding the fight. That type of discipline implied specific and enduring training. If he had to guess, these rock trolls had been educated on war before they could walk, and its perfection consumed their lives.
Everything around him demonstrated their dedication to their warcraft. Each rock troll they passed, moved with the grace and fluidity of an elf, and just as silently. Their eyes absorbed everything around them, analyzing possible threats. Scars and tattoos alike told the tales of even the younger trolls they passed. Battle was easier than breathing to this people.
Ahead, Tryton stopped and slipped through a high arched doorway to lead them into a large dining chamber. Even here, the smooth walls bore massive oval shields made from some kind of metal, interspersed by weapons. In the middle of the room, a huge wooden table rested, already spread with food. Tryton indicated the oversized stone chairs on one side and then sat at the head.
As Taryn took a seat between Siarra, who sat on Tryton’s left, and Liri, he heard a low chuckle from behind him when Jack climbed up to sit on the chair. Kaber took the chair across from him, his gaze unusually intense on Taryn, while Solus and Kell grabbed chairs to the left of their more tattooed companion. Kythira, the wind mage, took the seat on the king’s right.
Tryton grunted and swept his hand to them, “Eat, my friends. It is very unusual for us to have a guest sit at our table.”
“Only because you went easy on him,” Kaber grumbled, without taking his eyes off Taryn.
A hush filled the room, but Tryton surprised Taryn by grunting in humor, “Just as he didn’t use his full abilities. I have no doubt there would have been more blood spilt—by both of us—if we had sought to kill.”
The gracious comment caused Taryn to face him and catch the partial smile as their eyes locked. Then Tryton’s expression turned to one of puzzlement. “But there remains the question of how . . .?”
From his left he heard Trin answer, even though his mouth was already full. “He’s part human, elf, and dwarf.”
Solus, Kell, and Kythira all started laughing, but Kaber’s expression darkened and he rose to his feet. “So he survived because of trickery!”
Before anyone could respond, Tryton exclaimed, “Kaber my friend, the challenge has been passed. He survived due to lineage.” A ringing silence passed until Tryton added, an edge creeping into his voice, “It is reason enough for me.”
Kaber looked at his king, and Taryn watched as the anger melted away, replaced by respect. “Yes King,” he said with a bow. Then whirled and left the room.
Kythira sighed, breaking the awkward silence after his departure. “Kaber is one of our greatest warriors, and is fiercely loyal,” she said, her gaze touching on Tryton, “And he did not like to see you without a victory.”
For a moment the two looked at each other in a manner that felt strangely intimate, making Taryn feel uncomfortable enough to turn away and reach for the mug in front of him. Taking a cautious sip, he found it to be clean water that tasted of mint. Unable to resist, he drained his glass. When he set it down and looked back the moment had passed.
“Forgive me for asking,” Liri began, “but why did he not like to see you without a victory?”
Solus chuckled, “Because just two have defeated Kaber, and Tryton is one of them.”
“Who is the other?” Trin asked, and the rock troll’s grin widened.
“Me,” he said, stabbing a large thumb into his chest.
Kythira began to break the loaf of bread on her plate. “For our people, rank is determined by skill in combat as well as leadership skills. Part of advancement is challenging a superior.”
Tryton cleared his throat and the atmosphere in the room grew ser
ious as he changed the subject. “Oracle, I believe it best if I am forthright." Siarra gave him a curt nod so he continued, “I believe your words about Draeken, and your champion has proved your honesty, but gathering our people is not a simple matter. How much time do we have?”
Siarra met his gaze without flinching. “You have thirteen days before the battle begins at Azertorn, and less than that before they reach here. You have ten days, at best, before they surround your home.”
Tryton closed his eyes and his shoulders hunched as he inhaled. Then he blew out his breath and looked at Solus, his gaze intense. “Send messengers to every clan. It’s at least a two-week journey to Azertorn, so we must leave tomorrow night. If we hasten, we will reach the battle soon after it begins.”
Solus rose and departed, flashing the ghost of a smile towards them as he turned away. The anticipation in the troll's eyes was unmistakable.
Tryton returned his gaze to Siarra. “I wish you luck on your quest, my friends. If there is anything I can offer to aid you, you have but to ask.”
Siarra began to shake her head but Jack impudently spoke up, “Some food for the journey perhaps?”
Siarra threw a sharp look at him but the king’s lips twitched upward. He glanced at Kell and the younger rock troll stood, but didn’t leave. Tryton frowned, but his head bobbed once.
“I wish to travel with them, if you will allow it,” Kell said, his eyes straight forward.
Taryn glanced back at Tryton but it was Kythira’s expression that caught his eye. A deep concern flashed across her face before evaporating, but Tryton paused only a moment before nodding. “You may go. Be safe and guard them with your life.”
Taryn’s head swiveled to the king and he saw the current of emotion that King Tryton felt written on his face. Before anyone could say another word, Kythira spoke up as well, “There is one more thing I would like to add to this quest.” Rising to her feet she moved to one of the walls and reverently detached a carved bow that shimmered as she touched it. Returning to the table she looked at Liri. “You are the princess of Azertorn?”
