Chapter Thirteen

The search of the cavernous stronghold went quickly, Mufaun leading the small squad through the tunnels and rooms as if following a map only he could see. Rolen moved quietly at his side, his bow strung with an arrow ready to fly at whatever enemy presented itself. The rear guard lingered only a few feet behind, making sure the unsearched areas left behind in the flickering light of the torches lining the stone walls didn’t have a chance to sling surprises at them as they moved deeper into the stronghold.

There were signs of battle everywhere, destroyed equipment and wares, blood smeared on floor, ceiling, and walls. But there were no bodies. Stains on the floor showed where bodies should have been found, but the bodies were gone.

“Where are the bodies?” Rolen’s question was the first sound they’d made since entering the stronghold. The emptiness had him unsettled, uncharacteristic of his disciplined mind.

“Taken, I would guess, by the trolls who survived the battle here. Back to their firepits and their young.”

There was nothing comforting in Mufaun’s response. Nevertheless, Rolen had his answer and they moved on in silence through two more tunnels and into what looked like a supply room where Mufaun stopped. The room was empty but the hard banging coming from somewhere not far away shook the very walls. A throaty, hard voice filled the silence between the bangs.

“Put your backs into it you yellow-skinned slug eaters. There’s fresh meat behind that door.”

And then a second voice, “And the boy. Ruk wants the boy alive.”

There was a growl followed by a snarl and the clash of metal. The fight was short, followed by the first troll’s voice, “Are there any other fools here who want to express their support of our misguided leader?”

After a short silence, the pounding began again. Mufaun stared at each of the three doors exiting the storeroom, and without saying anything, moved for the center door. His hands gripped the hilts of his short swords, pulling them effortlessly from their sheaths, and with a swift, powerful kick, smashed the door open.

The trolls on the other side were taken by surprise, the first two falling immediately to the floor with arrows from Rolen’s bow. Then the door the trolls had been working on burst under the beating, flying from its hinges, splintered wood and steel falling to the floor. Four of the trolls came at Mufaun and his squad while the remainder flooded the room beyond the destroyed door.

Mufaun’s blades cut through the first of the beasts, leaving him a lifeless mess on the floor. Rolen and the others continued the fight, while Mufaun followed the rest of the trolls through the doorway.

The fight was fierce, violent and Mufaun was in the thick of it as soon as he entered the room. Blades clashed while stone hammers smashed great holes in the floor and made the walls tremble. Trolls fell quickly. Blood spilled across the floor. Mufaun hacked and sliced his way through the hoard of smelly-fleshed animals, dancing through the path of destruction left by the trolls as they used whatever they could to overcome their foe. The trolls were no match for these warriors, their swords quick, the strokes deadly each time.

Then a fierce yell brought the battle to a halt, “I, Gurp Longfall, have the prize!” The troll had the boy by his neck, raising him into the air. At his feet, lifeless, was one of the boy’s guards.

Thunk. Thunk.

Two arrows sunk deep into the troll’s face. Gurp Longfall’s body slumped to the floor, his hold on the boy defeated.

Mufaun turned to the see Rolen and the rest of the squad entering the room. Arrows flew freely from the bows of the two scouts while the man-at-arms with them hacked at whatever enemy came within range of the wicked sharp battle-axe he wielded. The trolls left standing and still fighting were forced into a corner.

Only three remained, injured, but very much alive.

Mufaun stood at the front of the battle, sweat and blood dripping from his chin. He sheathed his swords, knowing somewhere nearby Rolen had him covered. “Your lives do not have to end like this.”

“How would you have us die, human?”

The trolls were crouched, the muscles in their legs taught, ready to fling their massive bodies at their captors. Their huge, clawed hands still gripped weapons smeared with blood.

“I would have you live, free to return to your own lands, your families, or stay and fight with us against the tyrant who brought you to this place, who has put you in that corner. Fight us and you will surely die, and if death is what you seek, so be it. We will give it to you.”

“Your words are bold, human, but how can you promise me and my comrades any such freedom?”

“Sal! He cannot make this promise. It’s a lie, a vicious maltruth to catch us unguarded.”

The troll, Sal Unbroken, glanced quickly at the troll standing next to him, then turned his gaze back to Mufaun.

“I stand before you unarmed.”

“But not unguarded.”

“I’m no fool. I offer you a chance to live free or fight with us, and ask for nothing more but peace in return.” Man and beast stared hard at each other. Mufaun watched Unbroken closely, saw the muscles in his legs relax, witnessed the bulging muscles in his arms flatten.

“You would let us leave this place, free and unchecked?”

“This battle is no longer yours, leave this place in peace and you shall be given it without condition. And should our paths cross again, think back on this moment when your lives were spared.” Mufaun held out his hand to Unbroken and the troll took it.

“If our paths cross again, I will remember your words. Pray your kind does the same.” Mufaun sent two of his squad with the trolls to assure their safe passage, then he and Rolen turned to the warriors once again surrounding the boy.

They looked no less fierce with the trolls now gone.

Then the boy came forward, through the protective care of his guard, and walked up to Mufaun, taking Mufaun’s hands in his own.

“Welcome to the Beginning, Roz Mufaun, Fallen Son of Eros-Sur. It is time to take back what is rightfully yours.”