The List Unseen, page 16
part #4 of Second Draeken War Series
Although Tryton's skill in his retreat was apparent, it was obvious that Sybrik was faster and stronger. The sheer power behind the onslaught kept the smaller troll from gaining any advantage, and the ring of hammer and sword reverberated in the arena as the king advanced. Time and again he attacked, punishing Tryton until he knocked him to the ground.
Feinting to draw Tryton's blade, Sybrik reversed the hammer and launched it into an overhead blow. The hammer's head became a blur of screeching metal as it flew towards Tryton. Roaring in triumph, Sybrik brought it down upon his younger brother—
—But suddenly Tryton was on his feet. Rising and twisting at the same time Tryton flicked his sword out as he spun away, gouging a deep line in Sybrik's side. The wound left the king staggering backwards—with stunned surprise spreading on his features.
Unable to respond, Sybrik was forced to retreat as Tryton pressed his advantage. Defying his earlier weakness he unleashed a blinding assault. Effortless and punishing, the barrage gave no opportunity for the wounded troll to retaliate. Keeping him on his heels, Tryton struck with a strength that drew a gasp from the stoic onlookers.
Trolls parted as Tryton drove his brother back. Relentless, he didn't stop until they reached a wall. Releasing a flawless display of swordcraft, Tryton forbade the desperate attempts to stop him. On the verge of victory Tryton abruptly withdrew. Then Tryton changed his stance . . .
Breathing deep, Tryton straightened his body. Spine, neck and shoulders lifted as he stood tall. His muscles flexed and his shoulders expanded until he reached his full stature, and the motion sent a murmur rippling through the gathered trolls. Sybrik's eyes nearly burst from his skull as he saw the truth, that his younger brother was in fact larger than he—and that Tryton had purposefully hunched his shoulders to appear less.
"Do you yield?" Tryton asked. His voice was quiet, yet it seemed to carry across the arena like a battle cry. Stained with his foe's blood his greatsword stretched between them. As still as if it rested on granite, the tip of the glittering blade hung a fingers-width from Sybrik's throat.
The silence was palpable, as if every troll was holding their breath for the answer. Motionless to the last body, the only thing that moved was Sybrik's eyes. Disbelief and fear reflected in them as they flickered between the sword and his brother.
Baring his teeth in defeat, Sybrik nodded. Then he made to drop his hammer. Even Ianna knew the move was a feint but Tryton seemed to fall for it. Sheathing his weapon, Tryton spoke in a deadly calm. "Pride kills more than the sword."
His words sounded like a warning.
Ignoring them, Sybrik lunged. Sweeping the hammer in screaming arc towards Tryton's defenseless chest, his expression twisted into astonishment as his opponent closed the gap. Tryton stepped into the swing and caught the shaft of the hammer. With a twist he yanked it over his head, bringing the bar between them.
With muscles like forged steel the two titans strained against each other—but it was the king who gave ground. This time the fear in Sybrik’s features overpowered his astonishment as he slid back. Ramming him into the stone wall, Tryton smashed his forehead into his foe's skull.
Sybrik's head rocked from the blow and bounced off the rock. Before he could recover Tryton jerked back. Twisting in a colossal heave of might, he sent Sybrik tumbling away. Wrenched from his hands, the king left his mighty warhammer in Tryton's grasp.
Ianna jumped as Kythira spoke next her.
"Impossible . . .," she breathed.
"What?" Mazer asked.
Kythira was leaning forward, her eyes wide as she answered. "Sybrik and Tryton are two of the strongest trolls in our history, but Sybrik has always bested Tryton in feats of strength."
"Then how can Tryton do that to him?" Ianna asked. "When did he surpass him?"
Bewilderment and pride suffused the glance she threw Ianna. "He never has."
Mazer grunted. "Then how—"
Kythira's response was just a whisper. "Tryton must have been feigning weakness for years—in anticipation of this one fight."
Striding towards the rising form of his brother, Tryton appeared as calm as if he were strolling through a summer's field. Coming to a halt several paces from Sybrik, he said, "I'm sorry, Sybrik, but even we cannot survive the wars you seek to fight."
Sybrik spit the blood from his mouth. "We train for life . . ."
"To fight to the death," Tryton finished. "But our creed does not mention a quest for war, brother. It simply requires the highest level of skill."
Sybrik's chin rose and he straightened. "Make it quick, and mark your face after it's done. You owe me that much."
Tryton shook his head. "No. I will not take your life in such a manner." Raising his voice he addressed the gathered trolls. "As is now my right, I invoke the right of banishment, and strip Sybrik of all rank and status. Any who wish to accompany him may do so now."
Sybrik looked like he'd been struck by his own hammer, but the expression quickly turned to murderous hate. "You will regret this choice, King Tryton. I will return to take what is mine."
"Perhaps. But if you fail in the attempt you will be removed from our records. Your name will never be numbered among the rock trolls—or its kings."
"I will not fail!" Sybrik spit the words at Tryton. Then he raised his arms to the crowd. "True warriors of Astaroth, join me now," Sybrik bellowed.
After a moment's pause a score of male and female trolls separated from the ranks, but Kaber was the first at Sybrik's side. Smiling at the aid of such a powerful troll, Sybrik gestured to his maul. "And my weapon?"
Tryton didn't blink. "Will remain in the hall of kings where it belongs, honoring the fall of our last king."
Sybrik scowled but didn't answer. Whirling, he stalked towards an exit, leading the other chosen outcasts. In seconds they faded from sight. Staring after them, the new king appeared worn for the first time. Then he motioned for Kythira to bring Ianna and Mazer to his side. Once they had approached, he said to Kythira, "Bring their weapons as well."
She nodded to him, and a thousand emotions were conveyed in the span of a heartbeat. She didn't depart until he nodded in turn. A tired smile pulled at his lips as he watched her go. Then he turned to them.
"Oracle, you should go. After a king is placed he must accept challengers. It is perhaps something you will not want to witness. Follow me." Turning before they could respond, he led them back into the corridors of Astaroth. It seemed like only seconds before they were standing outside one of the entrances to the rock citadel. Kythira met them there.
"Thank you, Tryton, for risking yourself," Ianna said, wondering how she could ask about the king's sword without giving away their purpose—especially after everything he had just done.
Tryton dismissed it with a twitch of his massive hand. "That fight had been building for a while. You simply provided an opportunity to execute it."
"Your weapons and gear," Kythira said, returning their packs to them. "You will find that nothing was taken."
Ianna's throat tightened and her courage failed her. What could she say so she might fulfill her task? What could she do? Then Mazer provided an answer.
"King Tryton, would you allow the Oracle to bless your sword? In gratitude?"
Taken aback by the request, the king nevertheless consented and drew his weapon. Resting the tip on the ground he tilted it towards her without letting go. Ianna tried not to grin at Mazer's quick thinking.
She touched the side of the blade and closed her eyes. Feeling their eyes on her, she used the weapon as a conduit to reach into the king himself. As if she had known all along what to do, she sought the reason for his compassion. Touching the thread of white that was his sense of honor, she redirected it into the sword.
As the power linked with the weapon a glimpse of the future flashed across Ianna's mind. Her future son would one day enter Astaroth—through the very portal that Ianna now stood. At her son's side an elf maid walked. Beautiful and strong, she carried a bow on her back.
Like a stone had skipped across a pond, the scene shifted to another. Farther in the future than the first, Ianna watched her son clasp the hand of the same elf. There were no words exchanged. None were needed.
The vision changed again, and this time she saw her son being joined to the elf—but neither Ianna nor Mazer stood at the ceremony. Sorrow ached within her as she witnessed the addition of a daughter to her family, a daughter she would never meet. The images faded from view, but she held her emotions in check until her work was completed. When the magical bond had been forged, Ianna released her grip on Tryton's sword.
Opening her eyes she saw the white light fading from the greatsword. Then she met the king's gaze. "Every time you fight for peace, it will reinforce the enchantment. On your last battle the spell will fulfill its purpose."
Tryton's eyebrows knit together, but before he could speak Ianna turned to Kythira.
"Would you grant me a request in return?" she asked, trying to keep the pleading from her voice.
"You have but to ask, Oracle," Kythira said.
She swallowed, wondering how she could voice it. "Many years from now another elf will come to you," Ianna said, struggling to find the words. "You will know her for the bow on her back and the red-haired man by her side. His skill will be equal to a rock troll."
Accept this gift, daughter I will not know.
Then her gaze connected with Kythira. "I ask that you fashion a wind bow for her. I would make one myself, but I lack the required skill."
The troll's eyes widened in surprise, and she hesitated before answering. "I . . . will try. The enchantment of which you speak is no easy thing, but I promise I will do what I can."
Nodding in gratitude Ianna turned away before her emotions betrayed her, and Mazer was quick to join her. Forgive me my son, she thought, for not being there to see you joined to her. Throwing a look skyward she added, I hope my gift will show you that I approve of your choice. She tried to force the knot of regret aside, but it refused to budge.
As Astaroth faded behind them she caught a suspicious glance from Mazer. She'd alluded to their son but had he figured it out? She reached towards his hand but decided against it. Feeling alone for the first time since their departure, she walked in silence.
Chapter 20: The Fallen King
The Hunter approached the former troll king with caution. When trolls closed the gap behind him he wondered if he could escape if pressed—which was entirely possible considering their nature. Despite the risk he felt he had no choice. The trail of the Oracle had wandered north and then headed to Astaroth. The apparent wandering had caused his intuition to spark on more than one occasion, leading him to believe even more that Ianna had not simply run away.
He knew that speaking to the trolls was necessary, but it did little to dispel his concerns as the hulking sentinels surrounded him. He had no doubt that the word 'intimidating' had been created to describe a rock troll. Sybrik himself boasted more kills than any, and no less than two dragons marks—but it was the recently healed wounds on his torso that drew the Hunter's eye. Whoever had gotten close enough to do that much damage was a force of nature.
Stopping several paces from Sybrik, he said, "Thank you for granting me an audience."
"I'm no longer the king," he replied, anger pulling his face into a scowl. "It isn't an audience."
"Nevertheless, a troll of your reputation deserves respect," the Hunter said, inclining his head as he spoke.
Sybrik grunted at his words. "You seek the elf and her companion."
A troll would make the connection, but would he know the reason why?
"I do," the Hunter replied, keeping his voice even. "Do you know where they went?"
"Will you kill them?"
The troll's response carried enough venom to make the Hunter pause. Had Ianna been involved in Sybrik's defeat? If she had, the results would be devastating if he sought retribution. Perhaps it would be better if Sybrik could be dissuaded from that course of action—if possible. It might even avoid the trolls attacking him. The Hunter's jaw tightened at the idea of lying, but he doubted he had another option.
"Yes," the Hunter said, but didn't press his luck further. He wondered if he sounded believable.
"I don't believe you," Sybrik said, flashing a menacing smirk.
Apparently not.
"Kill him, and his friends that are hiding around us," Sybrik said, his eyes glittering with scorn.
The Hunter didn't hesitate. Reaching into his pouch he retrieved his lightstone. Unleashing its entire strength with a quick squeeze, he dropped it at his feet. Then he clenched his eyes shut. Enchanted with four times the midday sun its full power gave him the precious time he needed.
Executing the route he'd already planned, he kept his eyes closed as pandemonium erupted around him. Well trained, several of the trolls followed his movements by sound. Blades and hammers swept through his wake as he sprinted to a small boulder. Using it as a launching point he twisted into a flip over the troll that had stood behind it.
He landed outside the collapsing ring of furious trolls. Keeping his eyes closed he sprinted along the path he'd chosen before he'd approached them. Three seconds later the stone detonated, and the sounds of hard flesh striking the ground momentarily overpowered the cries of dismay.
He doubted that it had done much damage against the troll's tough skin, but it had given him the precious seconds he needed to escape. Dropping into a gully just as the explosion sounded, he opened his eyes and sprinted east. Five minutes later he reunited with the rest of his apprentices. Climbing onto his horse he led them west. Setting a blistering pace he put some distance between themselves and the troll camp. Then he slowed them enough to talk.
"Did they tell you where she went?" Siron asked.
"No," the Hunter replied.
"Then why are we going west?" Faelyn asked, a frown creasing her features.
"Because there is purpose in the Oracle's travels, and she has already been to the east. North is mountains and ice. South is the lake. That leaves . . ."
"West," Faelyn said, grunting in surprise. "Clever."
"So what is her purpose?" Siron asked.
"If we knew that we could be there ahead of her. Let me know if you figure it out."
Siron grunted a laugh. "Have we gained any ground?"
The Hunter nodded. "Sybrik's wounds had been healed by a mage, but they were still fresh—two or three days at most."
"I doubt they have procured horses," Siron said. "They had to give theirs up before they went north, and rock trolls don't need them."
"So how long until we catch up?" the Hunter asked.
"Two days, if we push it," Faelyn said, glancing at the location of the sun.
"Exactly," the Hunter replied. Then he threw Siron an expectant look.
"The hard part isn't finding her," his lieutenant said, but it sounded like a question.
"No," the Hunter said. "It's capturing her."
His apprentices fell silent as each of them mulled over how to accomplish their mission. Allowing them the chance to think, the Hunter stared into the distance.
Two days, Oracle. Then we meet again.
Chapter 21: The Hunter's Grasp
Ianna's eyes snapped open, the immediate future still sharp in her mind.
"Shh," Mazer touched her arm in the darkness. "The orcs haven't moved on yet. Any idea when—"
"We have to go—now."
"Why?" Mazer asked, his gaze narrowing. "Did something happen?"
"The Hunter is almost here."
"How could he catch up to us?" Mazer asked. "I thought you were keeping an eye on him."
"I was," she hesitated, unsure of herself. "He must be changing his mind enough that it is clouding my sight."
"How much time do we have?"
"Five minutes, no more."
He grunted and lifted himself to look through the trees. "Are you certain we don't have another route?"
She shook her head. "We are running out of time, and you said yourself that we couldn't travel through the dwarven kingdom. We have to get onto the lake and sail past it." Crawling forward she squinted as the orc fires came into view.
A splinter from the orc army that had been defeated by the trolls, this band had traveled south to avoid the troll's retaliation. Halting to lick their wounds, they had chosen to camp adjacent to the great Blue Lake. Of more importance to Ianna and Mazer, a small boat lay anchored next to their camp.
"I see five score orcs and a dozen gnomes," Mazer said, scanning the makeshift camp. Lit by the partial moon the blocky orcs and skinnier gnomes sat around scattered campfires. Gambling or tearing at roasted meat, the lack of discipline was evident.
"Did you figure out where the boat came from?" Ianna asked, squinting to get a view at the dingy.
His lips tightened. "I believe it's an azüre fishing vessel."
"Then why would the orcs have it?"
Mazer pointed to a crumpled hut that stood adjacent to the water. Barely visible in the darkness, it didn't look to be made by orc hands. "The islanders sometimes camp on the sides of the lake if the fishing is better."
"So where are the fishermen?"
"Fisherwomen," Mazer corrected. "The women do most of the domestic labor. There were probably two older men with them as guards."
She was about to ask more but spotted an ebony foot protruding from the rushes by the river. Tasting bile, she felt a rush of anger. "Why did they kill them?"
"For their fish, their boat, or something else entirely," he shrugged. "When the orcs are on the warpath they will attack on the slightest provocation. Especially after their defeat they would be looking for easier prey."
"So what now?" Ianna said, surprised at the impulse to punish them. "The Hunter is behind us, and the orcs are in front of us. Even if we had time to pass them we are two day's travel from the dwarven kingdom. Either way we are trapped."
