026 – Ropes

***

A dark shape moved through the sky, and a huge shadow slid across the face of the citadel. The devil-bird didn’t attempt to claw us as it passed by, for the blast of wind that carried it aloft threatened to knock us from the precarious ledge. Attacking directly was unnecessary; it could blow us off the wall and then feast on our shattered bodies. I grabbed onto the window grille with one hand and onto Zambulon’s collar with the other. The winds lifted my feet off the ledge.

When the devil-bird flew past and the winds died down, we scrambled up the ledge. Below us, the minions fled the rooftop and returned to the citadel’s interior. There was no point to their fighting the flying monster under such unfavorable conditions. Not even crossbows would do them any good.

The curtains to the chieftain’s suite blew inward in the powerful gust of wind. The lethargic trolls rushed to the windows to see what had caused the commotion. They looked out at the devil-bird angling through the air and found two humans trespassing on the side of their home.

“No time for stealth. The bird’s turning for another go at us. Get to the balcony,” I said.

Zambulon practically ran along the tiny ledge. As he shot past the wicker windows, he stabbed inward with his sword, causing the trolls to howl with anger. He mounted the balcony and prepared for a fight.

I was a little more cautious shuffling my way across the ledge. No need to be hasty. It was a long ways down. The devil-bird had the wingspan of an airplane and a similar turning radius. It would take a minute for it to come around for a second swipe at us. I crept over to the balcony just as Zambulon charged inside to the waiting monsters. Our surprise attack ended up surprising us more than the enemy.

Pulling my sword from the sheath, I rushed in after the other disciple. The trolls charged forward to meet us. These troll raiders had shields and spiked clubs that looked like the business end of a cactus. They also wore helmets with strips of mail that hung down over the backs of their necks. The unarmed females screeched and threw handfuls of hot coals from the fire pit at us, making the battle even more chaotic.

It was a four to two fight. I faced a pair of raiders. After my wild battle with the crew of the Fleuron, I felt confident in my ability to handle normal opponents. These trolls were stronger than the average human and had longer limbs, but could not match the abilities of a magical swordsman. They had no fire. The two raiders drove me back across the room. I ducked and rolled out of the way of their fearsome clubs.

Our orders were to drive the trollish forces back to the central silo. When possible, we were to take prisoners. I did not see how to carry out that order with a sharp piece of steel in my hand. A sword was for killing. I slashed away at my opponents, chipping the spikes off their clubs and leaving long scratches in their shields.

The trolls forced me back to the granite counter that had originally divided the kitchen from the dining area. One of the trolls raised its club for a mighty downward swing. Before it could act, I curled against the counter and kicked forward with both feet. I struck the troll’s shield, which shot back into the bottom of its jaw. A broken tusk sailed through the air. The troll collapsed to the ground.

Now one on one, I had an easier time corralling the second monster. Every time it swung, I sidestepped the attack and delivered a punch to its arm or torso. It coughed blood. For a final strike, I punched it square in the bronze boss of its shield. I could feel my fire pulse outward from my fist. The wooden boards of the shield splintered, and the troll rolled backward into the fire pit.

This was a shock for me. I had known that magi projected fire into their weapons, but I hadn’t thought of pushing it directly into an opponent’s body. That meant there would be a whole category of techniques using this manner of attack—and a need to defend against them. Malisent’s cursed sword technique must have worked this way, only requiring a slight scratch to deliver a dose of poisonous magic.

“What took you so long, junior disciple?”

Zambulon used a tiger skin to wipe the blood off his sword. The severed pieces of his two opponents lay strewn across the suite. Only the three unarmed females were still breathing on his side.

“I was trying to take them alive. As per orders.”

“We don’t have time for that. We need to clear the way for the other Faceless to come up.”

“There’s a jail cell in this sub-building. I thought we could toss the prisoners in there.”

We dragged the two unconscious raiders into the jail. Zambulon kicked the screeching females until they retreated there as well. Then we lifted the heavy log and set it in place. I couldn’t budge this thing last time, but two swordsmen working together could do so with ease. I left the trolls with their cauldron of mush.

“You shouldn’t feed them. We want to starve them.”

“What good will that do?”

“Trolls aren’t like humans. Their diet strongly affects them.” Zambulon sheathed his sword. We went back to the main room to look out the window for the devil-bird that had attacked us. “Normal animals grow until adulthood and then stop, but trolls can resume growing whenever they have food. In the wild, they’re usually scraggly monsters that survive by scavenging roots and insects. They’re as cowardly as goblins. But once they successfully hunt for meat, they grow larger and more aggressive. Raiders like this, that have eaten human beings, are the nastiest of the bunch.

“That ability to grow is what makes trolls so dangerous to settlements. When a tribe bursts out of the wastelands and overruns a human farm, they eat all the animals, and crops, and people. That makes them aggressive, and so they move on to the next farm and the next and the next. Each success makes them larger and more bloodthirsty. They can sweep across the countryside to wipe out a whole colony. In the end, a troll horde destroys its source of food and then dies out from starvation.”

I tried to imagine a whole tribe of trolls the same size as Browsk the Mighty. It would be like a swarm of grizzly bears.

“For enslaving trolls, it’s best to capture them when they’re weaker and easier to train. Then during a war, we can grow them to a better size by feeding them corpses on the battlefield.”

We saw the devil-bird lazily circling the citadel. It wouldn’t return to its nest until nightfall in a few hours, after its customary hunting period had ended. We’d need to wait for the others to join us.

The female trolls in the jail started cackling wildly. Zambulon rushed in to see what they were up to.

“Ah! These wretched monsters have cut the rope,” he said. “Now the minions don’t have a way to climb the wall.”

“Oh. Right. I suppose we should have thought of that, huh? Looks like it’s just you and me for awhile, senior disciple.”

He groaned, “I should have never listened to one of your boneheaded suggestions.”

***

The lumestone lit our way through the dark corridors. We passed by the cloth storage room where the raging fire had left scorch marks on the walls and ceilings. Ash choked the elevator shaft, and the wood ladder had burnt away, so it no longer made a convenient passage to the lower levels.

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“This area is where the chief kept all his stolen goods. I scouted the troll’s domain on my last mission. They mainly occupy the lower floors. The higher levels of the citadel are still a mystery to me.”

Zambulon and I needed to push inward to the central silo to meet with the others. This section did not have many trolls. We passed several more storage rooms. The trolls had pillaged caravans and outposts for all sorts of things they had no use for: fabric, tools, farm equipment, construction materials. Besides raiding, the tribe also hunted large beasts in the wastes. We found stores of hides, furs, feathers, bones, antlers, horns, ivory, teeth, shells, and other severed animal parts.

The trolls were too dim to use these supplies, but Browsk had been more intelligent than the average member of his species. He might have formed a trading partnership with pirates or other unscrupulous humans who wanted to buy stolen goods at discount prices. Whatever the case, his years of raiding would now enrich the cult that destroyed him. The Void Phantoms would make use of the free supplies.

I pulled out a long hunting spear and hacked its head off. Then I tested to see if Strythe had trained with a staff. It twirled effortlessly around me.

“What are you doing?” Zambulon asked.

“A sword’s not so good for taking prisoners.”

“It’s beneath a magical swordsman to use common weapons. Show some self respect. Leave the spears for peasants and mercenaries.” The skull mask concealed his expression, but his words dripped with disdain.

“There’s a right tool for every job. Do you use your sword to scratch your back?”

“If you despise them so much, why do you have two swords on you?”

“One is for special training.”

“Let me see it.”

I handed over Slezeanor’s sword. Zambulon drew it from the scabbard and closely examined the blade.

“Spiritual steel. Amazing. It must be worth a fortune. Where did you get this?”

“Malisent lent it to me for practicing projection.”

“What’s your relationship with that witch?”

“I would describe it as a kidnapper-hostage sort of relationship.”

“She seems to favor you.”

“Yeah. The way snakes favor mice. One mistake, and the next sword she gives me will be shoved through my sternum.”

“In that case, I should keep hold of this one. A sword this fine is wasted on you.”

“That’s not a good idea. I don’t think she’d be happy with either of us if I gave it away.”

“Hmph. This sword is too high quality for a beginner to handle. Don’t use it in real combat or you’ll snap the blade.” Zambulon thrust the sword back in its scabbard and tossed it to me.

On the other side of the storage rooms, we found a heavy gate built by the trolls. It blocked off the warehouse area from the lower levels. We barred the door and wrapped it with iron chains so that the trolls could not retreat in this direction when the other teams drove them back.

“This corridor points to the middle of the citadel,” Zambulon said. “Let’s see if it touches the central chamber.”

The long utility tunnel angled through the solid mergestone until it reached the transmitter’s silo, but it did not connect at the ground level. The silo went up about twenty five meters from the floor and then widened by about a meter all around. This created a narrow walkway around its perimeter. There were post-holes in the stone which once held up steel railings, but now the walkway was open on one side. The citadel really needed a safety inspection. It could use some hazard signs.

Below us was the central chamber and raised platform. The trolls had cleared away the headless clay idol and the remnants of the many bonfires. The blood feast was over. Now trolls ran around armed with spears, screaming orders in their brutish language. They battled the invaders at the doorways. Several of the doors and gates to the silo had already been shut and sealed. Once all of them closed, the whole tribe would be imprisoned.

Our corridor led out through an archway to the elevated walkway. Directly across the chamber was a similar door. A group of trolls there lowered a rope ladder to the ground floor. Its wooden rungs clacked against the stone as it unrolled. They were providing an escape route for their tribe. The trapped trolls could climb up the ladder and file down the tunnel to safety. That would effectively nullify our side’s plan to capture them.

“We’ve got to cut off that escape route,” Zambulon said. He whipped out his sword dramatically and pointed across the chamber at the devious trolls.

“I’m right behind you, senior disciple.”

Zambulon turned left and raced along the walkway. This man clearly did not have a fear of heights. I jogged after him at a sensible speed. As we rounded the silo, more battles came into view on the ground floor. The cultists all looked alike, so I couldn’t tell one team from another. The Faceless stood side by side in the door frames with their shields raised in front of them like portable walls. They poked their spears out between the shields at the enemy. The cult used better tactics than the wild trolls, who simply mobbed their foes.

The rescue team saw us coming for them and readied their weapons. Zambulon cut through the first one, who toppled over the edge of the walkway and landed in the middle of a packed crowd of trolls below.

Zambulon had wisely decided to go left around the circular walkway, meaning his sword arm was toward the open chamber. The trolls had the wall to their right, so their weapons banged and scraped against it as they fought. The narrow ledge did not give room for two swordsmen to fight, but with my staff, I could reach past him and give some assistance. I jabbed at the trolls.

As we fought, a projectile bounced off the wall near us. None of the Faceless below used their crossbows. Across the chamber, a few of the trolls held objects that, at first glance, resembled the goblin fishing rods. A moment later, I realized they were weapons.

“Senior disciple! Those trolls on the other side have got… some kind of giant, wooden, handheld, sideways, crossbow arms.”

“Those are just called ‘bows,’ Strythe.”

“Right. I guess that makes sense,” I said. “Well they’re bow-ing us with their micro-spears.”

Zambulon let out a long sigh. “We’ll get to them in a minute. I’m a little busy.”

I picked up one of the troll’s shields that had fallen on the path. It intercepted the speeding projectiles sent our way. In a short time, the shield bristled with feathered sticks. More than once I leaned forward to cover Zambulon from incoming volleys as he fought hand to hand.

Many of the trolls surged toward the bottom of the rope ladder. They did not form an orderly line or take turns. It was chaos. The panicking monsters climbed over each other trying to escape. They yanked down those above and stepped on those below.

“Whetted Razor Strike!” Zamblon sliced into the thick rope cables holding up the ladder. None of the trolls spoke our language, so announcing the technique was wasted on them. Maybe he did so out of habit.

The ladder collapsed, and the escaping trolls fell into a heap. Those who had been at the bottom of the ladder now found themselves buried under a dozen other trolls, their screams muffled under flesh and fur.

A pair of trolls retreated through the doorway and fled down a dark corridor. Zambulon ignored them and went to get revenge on those who had shot bows at us through the fight. He flicked aside a few projectiles with the tip of his blade. My shield now looked like the back of a porcupine. The swordsman sliced up the last few enemies, not even attempting to take them captive. He cared far less about the cult’s plan to enslave the tribe than he did making himself look good. His goal was to impress the officers. Sucking up to the bosses to get a promotion.

All these magi were the same. They competed for the dark lord’s attention, tried to outshine their peers, sabotaged their rivals, bullied their underlings, and stole credit for other people’s work. It was amazing anything got done at all. This was no way to run an organization. Only the Faceless minions showed any real teamwork.

It occurred to me that I should adopt a more self serving strategy as well. I needed to keep my bosses happy so they wouldn’t assign me awful punishments or loathsome tasks. But at the same time, I also had to wriggle my way up cult hierarchy to a safer position. Getting an office would get me out from under the other disciples and our sour-faced fightmaster—and it would let me take my mask off. The system was dysfunctional, but it forced me go along with it.

The bow-trolls fell over the ledge and crashed into the ground below. I didn’t like looking at the dead bodies. When they were alive, the trolls seemed like savage beasts, growling, grimacing, and gnashing their fangs; but dead, their motionless corpses looked pathetically human.

“Come on, Strythe. We can’t let those two get away or they might try another rescue attempt.”

“Yes, Senior disciple.”

We left the hectic central chamber behind as the main battle raged on.