The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Garrett Robinson (poetry books to read TXT) 📖

all along its wall, with only a token force left to the western defenses. Shades or no, we did not suspect the trolls would suddenly show a gift for strategy. They had not done so in any of the towns they had attacked. They would throw themselves at the first thing they saw—the eastern wall—and break it.

And why not? We cannot stop them. We cannot even hold them back for all that long.

I stamped that thought down at once. One thing I knew, at least, from my many years as a sellsword: things only become hopeless when you decide to abandon hope.

The trolls approached the stronghold out of the darkness, silhouetted by the fires in the city. They gathered well within arrow range, but we loosed no shots. Arrows would be pointless against their stony hides—pointless until they approached close enough to strike with oil, and then flaming arrows.

Every soldier on the wall remained stock still, gazing out at our gathering foe. I cannot speak for the rest of them, but my heart was filled with fear. Trolls had been a story of terror for me since I was a child. They had killed many of the people I had once called mine. And before the night was over, I was sure they would kill many more.

Nearly a hundred archers lined the wall. Besides the bows in their hands, they had stores of oil flasks ready to throw. We expected the gatehouse to be the focus of the trolls’ assault. There were two gates, both made of wood reinforced with a grid of thick steel bands. We would defend the outer gate as long as we could, but that would not last long. Once the trolls broke through into the gatehouse, there were great cauldrons of oil ready to pour atop them through murder holes. The second gate would be sturdier, for there were three dozens of soldiers in the bailey ready to bolster it. They were each equipped with bracers, long iron poles like spears, but with flat metal plates at the end instead of pointed spearheads. They would hold the plates against the gate and step on the other end, like infantry preparing for a cavalry charge.

As I looked upon the massive limbs of the trolls arranging themselves before us, I wondered how long the second gate would last.

Ditra joined me above the gatehouse as the trolls looked to be finishing their preparations. Her expression was grim as she surveyed them.

“There is the leader.” She pointed to a large troll at the head of the pack. He was not quite so large as I had feared, but he was clearly in charge. The other trolls moved around him, keeping an eye on him if they were close, as though ready to move out of his way, or to follow him if he began the advance. As I watched, he slammed his fists into the ground and gave a loud, barking command.

But then my eyes were drawn to the troll just beside him. I did not know trolls very well, but I thought this one was female. And she did not treat the leader like the others did. She barely seemed to notice him. Instead, her gaze was fixed unswervingly upon the wall, and upon the keep behind it. It seemed strange behavior, and it stuck out in my mind.

My thoughts were pulled back to the present as the trolls charged. Roaring with fury, they crossed the open ground with great, bounding leaps. I could feel the thunder of their coming reverberate through the stone wall beneath my feet. My fingers tightened on my bow, and I fingered the oil flask in my right hand.

“Ready!” Ditra’s sergeants echoed her cry along the wall. The troops held their flasks aloft.

The trolls drew close. Now we could see the rage in their eyes. They drew within thirty paces of the wall. Then twenty. I wagered I could throw that far, but no command came. I glanced at Ditra from the corner of my eye. She held steady. The trolls drew within ten paces.

“Throw!”

A hundred flasks of oil arced through the air. Their glass glittered in the light of our braziers.

“Loose!”

I had nocked the second I let go of the flask, and now I fired my flaming arrow straight at it. It shattered, flinging its flaming contents into the face of an unlucky troll right next to the leader. The troll stumbled and fell, screaming. His fellows ran straight over him, pressing him deeper and deeper into the snowy mud. It did not seem to harm him, but only to stifle the flames.

Fire had ripped into the troll’s front line. Dozens of them reeled away from the wall. They screamed in pain and tried to batter the blazes that roasted them. But more trolls pushed forwards, slamming into the wall. Fists as large as my torso slammed into the stone. The wall shook, but it held.

Some trolls scrambled up the backs and shoulders of their companions, leaping for the ramparts. Soldiers dropped their bows and hacked at the trolls’ hands with steel. Ditra gave a great cry and raised her axe as a stubby hand appeared in front of her. The weapon was called Uira, and it was an heirloom of our house. It flashed with runic light as she brought it down, cleaving straight through the troll’s forefinger. The creature fell back to the ground with a roar.

They had massed below us at the front gate. Their leader was off to the side, fighting to push through his pack and reach the gate. I threw a flask at him, but he saw it and batted it aside, where it shattered over the face of another troll. Flaming arrows streaked through the darkness, and fresh bursts of fire exploded over the trolls’ heads and shoulders. They surged back. For a moment I thought they might turn and run. But their leader gave