The Troll shook its head, regaining its senses, and focused on the small creature that had hurt it. The beast ignored the arrows that imbedded themselves between the rocky patches of its hide and the swords that chipped at its legs, and came for Doran with a vengeance. The son of Dorain backed up, desperately trying to think of an attack that would bring it down for good.
All he had left in his arsenal was the axe of Thorgen.
Assured of his own accuracy, Doran threw the weapon end over end having aimed for the Troll’s ugly face. If it didn’t kill the stupid creature it would, at least, blind it. From there, he could use what time he had to find another way to slay the monster. The axe, however, got no further than the Troll’s forearm, which whipped up to protect its face.
Doran swore.
Weaponless, he now faced an angry Troll that had the power to crush him with a single hand. The dwarf braced himself, entirely unsure what he was going to do.
The answer was nothing.
He felt the pressure of a large boot pressing down between his shoulders before he saw Russell leaping over his head. The old wolf gained enough height to face the Troll at eye level, his battle hammer held above him in both hands. Using the flat of the hammer, Russell buried the weapon right between the monster’s inner eyes. The force behind his blow was strong enough to crack the rocky hide and direct all four of its eyes inwards.
As Russell landed back on his feet, the Troll staggered backwards, one enormous foot after the other. Its balance came into question as it wavered one way then the other. At last, it grunted, shook its head, and locked its eyes on Russell with renewed fury. It took two confident strides when Kelabor and a trail of Centaurs burst from the fray, galloping straight past the Troll. Without faltering a step, Kelabor casually swung his sword and slit the monster’s throat, taking advantage of both his height and the soft patch of skin under the creature’s jaw.
Blood ran freely down the Troll’s jagged chest before it fell to its knees and then flat onto its face. The Centaurs hollered victoriously into the night and circled around, forming a temporary defensive line around the War Mason.
“Where in the hells ’ave ye been?” Doran shouted over the melee.
Kelabor only shot the dwarf a look. Then he was gone and his Centaurs with him as they pushed deeper into the battle. With them gone, the Reavers closed in again.
“Doran!” Russell removed the dwarf’s axe from the Troll’s arm and tossed it to him. The War Mason regained his grip just in time to cleave the first Reaver’s head from its shoulders. He shoved the next aside and buried his weapon in the knee of the third, dropping it with the other. Then he hacked repeatedly until he was confident neither would ever rise again.
With laboured breath, he made his way back to Russell’s side. The old wolf had already found Andaljor’s hammer and he held it out for Doran to take. His weapons back in his hands, the dwarf glanced up at the moon. It was so close to being full now. One more night and the curse would have its time.
“Are ye with me?” Doran croaked.
Russell’s jaw was set, his yellow eyes cast over the dwarf. “Until the end.”
Together, they turned and faced the next wave of enemies. With so few allies around them, the pair were soon forced to ascend the Troll’s back. The climb slowed the Reavers down just enough to give them the edge, but their elevated position informed every fiend in the area of where to find them. Doran would never have admitted it aloud, but he could really have done with Galanör and his blades showing up right about then.
“Doran…”
The War Mason retrieved his axe from his enemy’s head and kicked it off the Troll before following Russell’s gaze. There above them, three fireballs were lighting up the night’s sky as they arced towards the south. Doran tracked them to the distant plains. Upon impact, their flames illuminated the greatest thing Doran had ever seen.
Reinforcements.
Captain Nemir, Faylen’s husband, led his fellow elves across the plains with scimitars raised. He had behind him every elf who had survived Malliath’s attack on The Shining Coast and they all looked hungry for battle.
A flicker of hope dared to bring new life into Doran’s aching bones. “Keep swingin’!” he growled to himself.
And so he did.
19
A Larger Tapestry
Viewing the world from the heavens, Gideon looked down and ahead of Ilargo to discover the southern edge of The Evermoore. The great forest dominated the landscape below, running from east to west with seemingly no end in sight. The Moonlit Plains, however, tinted orange in the setting sun, rolled across the realm like a blanket, taking Gideon’s vision to the furthest horizon.
Were they to continue their journey through the night, they would arrive at the battle having completed two days of constant flying. Though Ilargo, nor Athis, would ever admit to it, neither could face the likes of Malliath and two Reaver dragons after such an exertion. They had already battled strong winds that had blown off The Vrost Mountains, determined to force the
