take that troll?” Percival asks. Bownan raises his eyebrows like he was thinking the same question.
“Actually two trolls,” corrects my father with the slightest smile on his face.
I shake my head saying, “I don’t know. I just did what needed done, when it needed done. Everything made sense in my head. What to do, when to do it. And I killed them both.”
“Awesome,” Percival says under his breath. “Do you think you could teach me to do that?”
There are a couple of half-hearted chuckles.
“Here, have this,” says my father. “You deserve it.” He hands me a chunk of bread, lightly buttered, as he chomps his own piece.
I stare at it like it’s heresy. “We’re eating now?”
“It will take them a while to get through that portcullis,” says my father. “If they ever get through at all. Eat.”
That’s when I realize that I haven’t eaten anything that day. The bread is gone in seconds and my father pours me a drink from a pitcher on the table. My tongue is grateful for the generous serving of water.
“The people outside-” I realize.
“-are fine,” Bownan finishes. “Doesn’t make much sense to take over a city and kill everyone in it. Then there’s no city to own. No, they’ll keep the shopkeepers, farmers, and other civilians alive. The soldiers, however…”
Men swarm the entrance hall. “Preparing for the dam to burst,” I murmur. Louder, I say, “I’m going up.”
To get up, I have to go all the way through the big circular chamber, through the arch on the left, turn left, and then climb the subsequent spiral staircase. Two flights up, I emerge into one of the wall towers. I exit and find myself on the roof of the keep, above the left wing.
Crenellations overlook the city on one side, and on the other sits a large building, which I believe is an armory or barracks. There’s enough space between the crenellations and the barracks to fit at least three trolls side by side.
The sun has come over the ridge and is shining brightly. The trolls are lazing in the shade, avoiding the sun at all costs. Those who are in the sun shield their eyes, running quickly to wherever they are going. The men run around in agitation, some of them pointing up at us. From where I am, I cannot see the front gate of the keep. There is little happening but a lot of waiting.
I go all the way back down and report my findings to my group. “Most likely waiting until night, when the trolls will be strongest,” my father says. “We’d best get some rest, if we can. Eat and regain our energy.”
I do just that, and I’m not the only one to have that idea. Despite the sun’s height, our exhaustion overtakes us and we get to sleep, if only for a few hours.
The day passes in limbo. Then the evening comes.
The first thing we hear is drums. The beats are far apart, deep and booming. Then they quicken. Slowly the beats speed up and up and up until suddenly, they stop. Then there’s a creak at the portcullis.
“Trolls!” somebody yells. “They’re lifting the portcullis!”
“How many?” the Jarl shouts. “Khaoth help us,” I see him whisper.
The reply takes a minute to come from the wall. “Five on the portcullis!”
“Well, take them down!”
“We’re doing what we can! They’ve got men with shields-”
Suddenly there are several crashes from the upper levels. Everything goes silent. “What was that?” Percival whispers.
“To the walls!” commands Hralfar. Only a few soldiers stay below with the gate; the remainder of us charge down the halls and up the towers.
Some men lie dead with gruesome wounds. Cracks line the wall of the barracks behind the crenellations, and it is apparent why. Enormous grappling hooks lie taut on the crenellations, connected to ballistae with thick ropes. Along the ropes, ladders are being erected.
We try in vain to lift one of the grappling hooks up and off the crenellations, but the weight combined with the pressure of the taut rope is too much to lift. Some soldiers try to cut the ropes but the reach is too far, and for those who can reach the rope proves too thick. A few arrows bounce harmlessly off of them.
“Burn them!” I shout, grabbing a torch. “Someone have oil?”
I reach out over the crenellation and hold the torch underneath the rope. The little strands begin to catch fire and burn quickly, but the rope has yet to catch fire. The ladder is