The Rise and Fall of a Dragonking - By Lynn Abbey Page 0,49
trolls saw fire against the nighttime sky. They’d choose defense over concealment every time. But the morning’s dust cloud didn’t rise from the feet of trolls.
“How many?” I demanded of the trackers who’d failed me.
Shielding their eyes from the risen sun, they grimaced and squinted with eyes no sharper than my own.
“A lot,” one leather-clad woman declared, adding, after a moment’s pause. “A lot, if they’re trolls. More, if they’re human.”
Her companions agreed.
“Are they human?” I asked, already knowing the answer. There were humans in the vicinity, but we hadn’t seen troll sign since the day Bult died.
By then the whole camp was awake. The ones who weren’t staring at the sun were staring at me. No tracker would meet my eyes.
“How many?” I cocked my wrist at my shoulder, ready to backhand the woman if she failed to answer.
“A hundred,” she whispered; the count spread through the camp like fire. “Maybe more, maybe less. More’n us, for certain.”
Veterans had at least a hundred curses for an incompetent leader, and I heard them all as the cloud broadened before us. They were getting closer—spreading out to encircle us. There were a whole lot more than a hundred. Sure as sunrise, there was an officer among them, and where there was a loyal officer, there was the Troll-Scorcher’s magic, or so the older veterans promised. I’d never seen magic used before—except at the muster, when Myron of Yoram fried a few trolls, or the piddling displays Bult made when we’d held hands and shouted the Troll-Scorcher’s name at the moon. We couldn’t stand against the one and needn’t fear the other.
“What now, Hamanu?” someone finally asked. “What do we do now?”
“It’s all up,” another man answered for me. “There’s too many to outrun. We’re meat for sure.”
I backhanded him and drew the sword that was at my side, night and day. “We never run; we attack! If Myron of Yoram has sent his army against us instead of trolls, then let his army pay the price.”
“Attack how, Hamanu? Attack where?” One-Eye chided me softly.
I’d kept Bult’s one-time friend close since he’d taken up my cause. He was twice my age and knew things I couldn’t imagine. When he’d been a boy, he’d listened to veterans who’d made the victorious sweep through the Kreegills. I gave One-Eye leave to speak his mind and listened carefully to what he said.
“If we run now,” One-Eye continued. “If we scatter in all directions before the noose is closed, leaving everything behind, a few will get away clean. If we stand, we’re trapped, Hamanu. Say, they don’t have enough punch to charge the hill, they can set the grass afire. There’s a time for running, Hamanu.”
“We attack,” I insisted, fighting my own temper.
My sword hand twitched, eager to slay any man or woman who cast a shadow across my ambitions. The veterans around me saw my inner conflict. Four times—five counting Bult—I’d proven that I could kill anyone who stood in my way. One-Eye presented a greater challenge. His wisdom alone could defeat me, and gutting him would be a hollow victory.
The dust cloud was growing, spreading north and south. We heard drums, keeping the veterans in step and relaying orders from one end of the curving line to the other. My heart beat to their tempo. Fear grew beneath my ribs and in the breasts of all my veterans. There was panic brewing on my hilltop. When I looked at the dusty horizon, my mind was blank, my thoughts were bound in defeat. I wanted to attack, but I had no answer to One-Eye’s questions: how? and where?
“You can’t hold them,” One-Eye warned. “They’re going to run. Give the order, Hamanu. Run with them, ahead of them. It’s our only chance.”
Hearing him, not me, a few men lit out for the west, and a great many more were poised to follow. My sword sang in the warming air and came up short, a hair’s breadth from One-Eye’s neck. I had my veterans’ attention, and a heartbeat to make use of it.
“We’ll run, One-Eye,” I conceded. Then my destiny burst free. Visions and possibilities flooded my mind. “Aye, we’ll run—we’ll run and we’ll attack! All of us, together. We’ll wait until their line is thin around us, then, just when they think they’ve got us, we’ll shape ourselves, shoulder-to-shoulder, into a mighty spear and thrust through them. Let them be the ones who run… from us!”