Chapter 18

Bryan braced himself as he faced the group of trolls charging for him, snarling, curled fangs protruding from their cheeks, all raising their halberds as they emerged from the wood. He had trusted his instincts, had combed these woods while his fellow Watchers had turned back, and he had proved himself right. Yet it had also left him out here alone, vulnerable, far from the others. He realized with dread that he would have no choice but to take on the entire pack by himself.

Bryan steeled himself as the first troll attacked, allowing his killer instincts to take over; he felt a sense of calm wash over him, entered that place he always returned to, where he could separate himself from the violence about to happen, could quiet his fear even in the face of mortal danger. He’d faced multiple attackers many times before, and even though they had not been trolls, he felt an odd sense of comfort in the situation. Fighting, after all, was what he had been born to do, as much as he tried to turn his back on it.

As the first troll swung the hatchet down for his head, a blow strong enough to cut a tree in half, Bryan waited for the last moment then stepped aside, feeling the whoosh of the blade beside him. He smashed the troll in the solar plexus with the hilt of his sword and as it keeled over, he spun around and chopped off its head. It rolled onto his feet, the blood hot and sticky on his boots.

Another troll charged, halberd high, and Bryan spun and swung his sword sideways, chopping off its head before it could reach him. Its halberd fell to the ground as the headless troll collapsed at his feet.

Another troll came, and another, and Bryan twisted his sword, raised it high overhead with both hands, and thrust it straight down into the chest of the next one, driving it in so deep he was unable to extract it. The creature shrieked as it dropped to its knees, and as the other troll brought down his halberd, Bryan, weaponless, dropped to his knees, ducking as the blade grazed his hair. He then reached down, grabbed the halberd off the ground, swung sideways, and chopped the troll’s legs out from under him. The troll shrieked as it fell to the ground, and Bryan, not hesitating, swung around and chopped its back.

Another troll charged and swung his halberd for Bryan’s face, and Bryan, still on the ground, raised his halberd high overhead, turned it sideways, and blocked with the shaft as it came down. His arm shook from the blow, the steel shaft clanging and sparking as the blade struck it, the force of it knocking Bryan onto his back. The troll landed on top of him and leaned in, its grotesque face snarling inches away, and Bryan, struggling with all he had, leaned back and kicked it between its legs, dropping it. It nearly landed on top of Bryan, but he rolled out of the way at the last second, then jammed the blade of his dagger into its throat.

The move, though, left Bryan’s back exposed, and he sensed more trolls behind him. He glanced back and saw a fast and powerful troll racing for him, lowering the hatchet for his exposed back, and knew he could not react in time. He braced himself, already anticipating the pain of the blade cutting through his flesh. He knew he would die—yet he took some solace in the fact that he had taken many of these creatures with him, and had helped protect the realm.

As he braced himself, there came a sound of something whizzing by his head, and Bryan spotted out of the corner of his eye a golden spear fly by, barely missing his ear. He heard a grunt and a cry as the troll behind him suddenly fell to his knees. It landed beside him on the ground, motionless, a spear impaled in its head.

Bryan, stunned that his life had been saved, looked over and was amazed to see the last person he had ever expected to see out here: Kyle. He must have circled back for him, more aware than the others, and just in time to save his life. Bryan was shocked at his prowess, at the speed and accuracy of his throw—and that he would care enough to save his life.

“DUCK!” Kyle yelled.

Bryan ducked low and as he did, a halberd flew over his head, wielded by another troll whom Bryan had not seen. Kyle raced across the clearing with a speed unlike any Bryan had ever seen, a blur, a flash of light, as he reached the troll standing over Bryan and kicked it in the chest.

It was no mere kick: it sent the troll soaring through the air, fifty feet across the clearing, where it smashed into a tree with such force that it cracked the tree in half. The troll slid down, limp, dead.

Bryan sat there, stunned, as he watched the boy in action. Kyle sprinted through the clearing, like a blur of light in the darkness, smashed one troll with his hands, elbowed another, kicked another. He crossed the clearing and snapped one’s neck, crossed back and punched another under the chin, sending it up into a tree. They were like molasses around him, and within moments, the trolls’ bodies piled up, dozens of them lying in the clearing, motionless.

Bryan stood and stared in the silence, speechless. All was eerily still, just the two of them alone in this clearing with dozens of dead trolls. Bryan breathed hard, amazed, most of all, at how Kyle stood there, looking so relaxed, as if he had exerted no effort at all. Who was he? Bryan wondered. Where had he come from? What race was he? He realized he had vastly underestimated him.

A commotion ensued as Bryan’s fellow soldiers finally circled back and caught up, rushing into the clearing, and they all stopped and stared in amazement as they saw Bryan and Kyle and the piles of dead trolls. Bryan saw them looking at him with awe, as if they had clearly not expected something like this from Kyle. A look of respect crossed their faces as they realized what he had done, that he had faced them alone, and that his instincts had been right.

Kyle stepped through the carnage, reached down, and extracted his long golden spear from the chest of a troll, wiping the blood as he inspected the body. The others seemed impressed by him, too, yet not surprised.

“These are no mere trolls,” Kyle said, stepping forward and shoving one over with his boot. “Look at their dress, their weapons.”

Bryan examined them, but could not understand.

“They are unsinged,” Kyle explained. “Somehow, they did not pass through The Flames.”

Bryan looked back at the others, who all stared back, fear and intensity in their eyes, and slowly, the realization began to dawn on him, too.

“Marda,” he said, his voice grave in the black of night, “has broken through.”