Chapter Forty-One: The Troll Over the Ridge

  The trio cautiously approached the frost troll, its low, almost human-like growls acting as a warning to the encroaching humanoids. In Selriph’s eyes, the beast was the centrepiece in a grim portrait—a perfect depiction of welling, primal fury framed by the massive slopes of the Greyspire Mountains.

  The winds carried with them not just the clean air of glacial frost, but the rank, faecal odour that emanated from the non-sapient, but no less dangerous specimen before him.

  It was that lack of intelligence that Selriph banked his plan on: a swift, lethal strike by stone and blade.

  Selriph’s voice came laced with caution, yet with a military rigidity. “Kaelan, remember, draw its attention, but if things get dangerous…”

  “Aye, I heard you.” As the male elf took the lead, brown, terramantic arcane energy flared to life from the gem that adorned his shield, carving glowing veins through the elderbark.

  Kaelan charged, magical energy coalescing into a disc that hovered in front of his shield, forming a barrier of earth. In the same instance, Selriph broke off to his right, estoc drawn, blue arcane wisps brimming in his hand.

  Kela flanked left, energy brimming in her staff, ready to play her part in what they hoped would be a concerted dissolution of the threat before them.

  The troll raised both of its arms, a roar that carried the full weight that would make the layman quiver in fear. The moment they came within striking distance, the troll slammed its immense weight down on the conjured earthen barrier. A deep crack instantly spider-webbed across the surface as the stone buckled under the sheer force of the strike.

  Then came a lateral swipe; the troll’s fist slammed into the disc, reducing it to crumbled rock.

  Kaelan faltered as self-preservation forced him to backstop.

  He glanced to his left at Selriph, his face brimming with utter shock, fear, and hesitation, before he forced it back towards the raging troll.

  The beast stared at the elder bark shield before it advanced, intent on using its superior strength to crush its way through to the male elf beyond.

  “Kela! Now!” Selriph bellowed out, met with a swift nod from the blonde-haired elf. She muttered under her breath as two swirling currents of magical energy formed at the tip of her staff. With a spear-like thrust, she sent the gathered earth strike towards the troll at the base of its feet.

  The beast stumbled mid-advance, its gaze dropping to what had impeded its movement: two gravelly mounds that had surged from the earth, locking its feet in place. A roar of pure indignation tore from its throat, as if the troll was shamed by the very notion of its movements being restricted.

  Terramantic energy surged from the shield, forming into jagged spikes. The male elf roared as he charged, and with a powerful thrust, he drove the earthen implements into the troll.

  The conjured earth tore into its flesh, one spike impaling its eye socket. A soft, gelatinous crunch emanated from the blow, a sound that elicited the slightest scowl on the face of the elf who delivered it.

  There, now it will reel, and in that moment we can finish it!

  As if on cue, the guttural howl of pain emanated from the troll, its hands cupping its eye as it reeled.

  Having forgotten the earthen shackles that bound its feet, it slowly lost balance, now in the midst of falling over from its weight.

  In that instance, the arcane wisps in Selriph’s hand flared to life, forming into a tendril–almost a whip-like manifestation. With a cracking burst, Selriph lashed the arcane construct at the reeling beast, aimed directly at its neck.

  The troll, fully overwhelmed by the multi-pronged assault, could scarcely react to the arcane coil that now wrapped itself around its head. Magical energy brimmed into it, thickening the noose–both to ensure the beast could not cleave and sever the connection, but also to prevent the sheer weight of the beast from unravelling the coil at its neck.

  Selriph then tugged on it, like a master would do a collared slave, breaking the beast’s fall.

  That action did not serve to save the beast; it was done on the off-chance that the move would crack the troll’s neck, giving it a swift death.

  Of course, that would not come easily; the expected crack of bone and tendon did not manifest. However, this was within the bounds of expectation; with a strength that betrayed his thin frame, Selriph heaved and pulled the head of the troll to a semi-upright position.

  The beast howled in pain, its fangs bared and its eyes filled with fury as it stared at Selriph—the architect of this coordinated dance intended to shepherd it to its demise.

  Just enough to distract it for the final strike to land its mark.

  The soft hum of terramantic energy as the earth that held the beast’s limbs came undone. In its place, it made way for the spiked, swirling projectile shot forth from Kela’s staff. With a mighty thrust, the sharpened bolt launched through the air toward the maw of the wailing beast.

  The bolt met skull and flesh, tearing straight through the troll’s agape maw, impaling itself deep within—enough to emerge as a meagre exit wound. Bloody soft tissue leaked out—no doubt from the inert slurry of its wits.

  Then the beast, the troll, the obstacle, fell limp. The arcane lasso dispelled as it fell to the ground with a thud, its lifeless eyes gazing upwards.

  Kaelan lowered his shield, his expression a mix of surprised approval and disgust as he witnessed the gory, albeit successful, aftermath of their coordinated assault.

  Kela’s expression mirrored her brother; the words brimmed to her mouth, “I… cannot believe it, we took it down, just like that.”

  Kaelan let out an affirmative chuckle. “You… are something. Do you spend your spare time conjuring efficient ways of killing beasts?”

  Selriph flinched. A swift shake of his head was the reply to what was intended as a compliment before he paced over to the remains of the troll, his handiwork.

  “No, that time was spent brooding over the tale of the promising adventurer Vakiin falling prey to a frost troll. That’s all,” as the youth withdrew his parrying dagger.

  “Wait, what are you…”

  The following actions came as a wordless, gruesome answer to Kela’s question, as Selriph began the macabre act of skinning and butchering the remains.

  For minutes, the siblings would watch in horror as the practised, surgical hands of the human, two cycles younger than them, indulged in its gruesome work.

  The boy seemed unfazed at his handiwork–a result of days in the Daryth estate kitchen and his nights on the road, butchering and skinning animals for sustenance.

  In the middle of that, Selriph looked up at the faces of the two elves, plastered with an indescribable mix of revulsion, puzzlement, and morbid curiosity.

  Selriph frowned at the unexpected, inquisitive looks. “What…? Emmett’s gotta eat, and so do we…”

  To his right, the crunch of bone came as Emmett dug into an unidentifiable chunk of the frost troll–his portion. The rest of the mostly lean meat, whatever Selriph could butcher, lay over the campfire, its light dancing in the cavernous overhang that the troll used to call home—if such a concept existed in the mangled remains of its mind.

  “Kaelan. Surely with Selriph’s arcane might and coordination, we could do it? At least we wouldn’t need to risk sneaking past the cursed scarab.”

  “We got lucky. I could have easily lost a limb there, and it was against a mindless troll. What Mage Oagat hid in his vault is far more valuable than that Eldeitian’s mind, no matter how brilliant you think it to be.”

  “He is more brilliant than you. When he returns, we should talk about—”

  The faint rustle of gravel caused the sibling to turn to its source: the elongated shadow of an equine and humanoid stretched unnaturally along the walls.

  Selriph returned from his brief excursion back whence they came, Nightwind in tow, now satisfied with its brief repast of grass, mixed with a garnish of moss. The boy wrapped the reins around a protruding rock, one that sheltered it from the windshear.

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  Selriph paced toward the campfire, the air thick with the smell of woodsmoke and the savoury tinge of meat cooking on a makeshift spit.

  Drawing his parrying knife, Selriph paced toward the campfire. “Should be nearly ready…” he said, as he impaled his blade through the meat, the meagre trickle of juices running clear.

  “This is an interesting idea for a meal; we have more than enough rations,” as Kaelan gestured to a rucksack.

  “Meat is meat,” Selriph said. “This won’t taste good; it barely has any marbling, but it will sustain us, nonetheless.” He sliced off a chunk of the troll’s meat, blew on it like a candle, and placed it into his mouth.

  “Blehg, whatever spice mix the Inuak people use for their delicacy must be potent. This is hardly palatable.” A mix of disappointment and discomfort soured Selriph’s expression as he appraised the flavour on his tongue.

  “You are hardly making a good case for this meal you have concocted for us,” as Kaelan drew a dagger from the rucksack, carving his portion of meat.

  “Save it, Kaelan; he is right; this way, our rations will last. It will be two nightfalls before we are back at the mines and the forest.” As Kela reached out expectantly for her share of the meal.

  Not from her brother, but from her new human acquaintance.

  Only one knife between them…? Can’t be helped.

  Little did Selriph know, a tool among the female elf’s belongings sat unused that was perfectly suited for carving her portion from the communal roast.

  The trio gnawed on the overly tough, rubbery troll meat. Kela mumbled through a mouthful of difficult chewing.

  “Selriph, since your quick thinking took down that troll so cleanly, what do you think of my brother’s ill-conceived idea?”

  Selriph looked out, wrinkles forming on his forehead, a mixture of struggle against the tough meat but also the words that just registered in his ears. “I don’t believe you have presented the idea in full…”

  Kaelan gestured with an open palm. “Let me be the one to say it.” He swallowed hard before continuing, “The orb we carry allows us to channel our arcane energy into constructs.”

  “That much I could infer…” Selriph’s voice trailed off, expecting elaboration.

  “Master Foltae mentioned that Oagat, a colleague of his, wanted to iterate on it. Earthen and elemental constructs are only as effective as the casters and the material used to conjure them.” Kaelan’s eyes landed on the orb with an unreadable expression.

  “Clearly, Selriph here was more effective than you.” A dry remark escaped Kela’s lips.

  Kaelan’s reply came in an unexpected calm. “Kela… if you pass me your pack…?”

  Terramantic energy flared in Kela’s hand as she summoned a crude rocky disc from the earth, conjuring it under her satchel. With a casual wave, she sent it skidding toward her brother—the bag presented like a succulent dish.

  “Why, thank you… sister…” Kaelan was boiling with sarcasm as he undid the bindings, pulling out two pieces of metal, charred on each side.

  I suppose I’m finally about to receive an explanation of what that is…

  The answer came the moment the thought passed Selriph’s consciousness: “This is the carapace of those Mithril-Scarabs in the caverns.”

  “Strange critters,” Kela added. “They consume the raw deposits and turn them into that. Most of them are about the size of a cat, but they’re far tougher than steel.”

  “You mentioned most,” Selriph noted, “but you also mentioned a giant scarab… this means…”

  “Yes, something far larger than your mutt guards the vault.” Kaelan’s voice trailed off, as if expecting a protest from Emmett, which did not come—this time.

  “That vault must hold something of extreme value if you are dragging me all the way here just for payment to clear the cave-in you two caused…” Selriph’s voice was a mix of dismissal and growing intrigue.

  “How long did it take you to melt through this?” Kaelan asked, holding up the carapace.

  Selriph’s mind flashed back to the night before. He’d expected his forge-worthy flames to turn the carapace to slag in mere seconds, but it had barely smoked under a heat that brought iron to yield.

  It took a well of concentrated pyromantic energy, one that caused his orange flames to burn with an almost unbearable, blinding light.

  Only then did the carapace finally yield to the heat.

  “Fifteen? Twenty seconds?” Selriph answered, his voice plain.

  “Trouble, even for you?” Kaelan’s voice now teetered on a taunt.

  “Speak plainly,” Selriph replied, unamused at the elf’s posturing.

  Kaelan rummaged once more through a sack, this time, his own, pulling out a well-worn parchment, the faded ink depicting a crude, golem-like sketch.

  “You had trouble with an earthen golem,” Kaelan began, holding up the carapace like a prized trophy. “So tell me, tomes-for-brains, how would you or your fellow Eldeitians deal with a golem made of this stuff?”

  “That wouldn’t matter, they—” A wave of realisation fell over Selriph. The brief entry of text in the tome that lay in his belongings; Mithril, a metal that could conduct the flow of arcane energy, just like the elder bark that allowed wands—even shields to act as casting catalysts.

  Then the image came: a lumbering yet master-crafted golem, the lines of deep ocean blue brimming with raw arcane energy, a construct of war powered by a core, not unlike one that lay in their possession.

  Made of a material that wouldn’t yield even to the most potent of holy flames, let alone the fervent strikes of the most pious of the Eldeitian militarium.

  The notion fanned the flames of viability once more on the long-buried option; such a construct—no, monstrosity—could easily overwhelm the garrison at the mountain pass.

  The runaway could journey through the aftermath long before any eyes could trail him.

  However, a tinge of scepticism washed over Selriph, for a simple fact remained: the vault’s contents remained a mystery.

  “And how do we know that your mythical weapon lies in that vault?”

  Kaelan smirked. “There’s only one way to find out.” His voice was casual, inviting.

  Selriph, however, did not provide the expected reaction. Instead, he tilted his head; a cryptic answer, nebulous between the barrier of curiosity and disgust.

  Within his mind, he felt that feeling again, triggered by the almost blind disregard for the dangers that such an endeavour would bring.

  He inhaled sharply as he wordlessly stood, pacing over to the cave’s exit.

  “Sorry… I just need some fresh air,” Selriph mumbled, his hand on his stomach. “The troll meat feels strange in my gut.”

  The knot was not his stomach system protesting what he had ingested, but from reluctant dread, one that he sought to quell and calm through introspection.

  Of course, little did he know at the time, but he should have listened to his reluctance.

  Selriph stared at the moonless sky before him, illuminated only by the dazzling array of stars above. In his hand, the conjured red-orange flame accompanied him, his thoughts dwelling on his options.

  Kaelan’s plan is foolhardy, but it borders the realm of possibility … if it exists, if Kaelan can control it…

  I could take advantage of it; the golem could overwhelm the garrison … especially if we scout it out before our assault.

  Even if the golem doesn’t exist, they would be indebted to me, Kela said as much, enough for them to clear a path through the old mine.

  Just so long as we bypass the beetle… melting through the wall under the veil of arcane concealment.

  “Relax… it should be fine…this isn’t Caer Eldralis… no Thorne… no Inquisitors…”

  As the thoughts flowed through Selriph’s mind, he felt a thick nuzzle, a thick blanket enveloped him, not from Arcane energy, but thick fur.

  He turned to look, and he saw the friendly, curious visage of the female elf.

  “Do you always mumble when you think…?” Her voice intoned as an endearing query.

  Selriph froze, his attention drawn to the elf. Her smooth hair framed elegant features that were accentuated by the dancing firelight, and a relaxed, friendly expression on her face was an unexpected sight that left him momentarily speechless.

  “Only if I know no hostile ears are listening…” Selriph’s voice came low as he grabbed onto the thick fabric.

  “Thanks…” his voice was almost a whisper. As his mind returned to the hum of contemplation.

  Kela sat next to him, wrapped in her own comforting cloak. “You know… you should allow your mind to relax. I have seen you, your face, your eyes, your thoughts that never seem to… settle.

  Relax…?

  The calm that Selriph had coerced his body into faltered at the seams. “How can I relax if we might potentially be going into a death trap tomorrow? Do you have any idea what dangers I have had to—”

  “No … but I know that great minds—even Valdor—needed rest,” as she placed a comforting hand on Selriph’s shoulder.

  “I know we did not meet on the most.. Friendly terms. But I… no… we see you as an ally; you are safe amongst us.”

  “My previous ally led me into a death trap…” Selriph’s voice was full of bitterness; the image of the warehouse flashed in his mind.

  “I… am sorry to hear that. I didn’t mean to…” Any casual lilt in Kela’s voice made way for a wave of apologetic sincerity, the first Selriph had heard from the elf.

  Selriph sighed; the frosty air entered his nostrils, extinguishing the embers of grief in his thoughts. “It’s fine … you are right, perhaps I should unwind, as you might term it.”

  “That’s good to hear. I must admit, I am curious what a mind like yours considers unwinding,” the casual intonation crept back into her voice, the foggy mist escaping her lips.

  The answer came naturally to him before his words could form it: other than the tranquillity of the arcane, the comfort of books in the grand library, the pursuit of knowledge.

  His lips brought forth the answer. “Understanding… answers to questions.”

  Kela glanced over, her expression a mix of exasperation and curiosity at the unexpected answer.

  Then the query brimmed into his mind, one that had been simmering since the first mention of the name in the ratways, festered further by the repeated mention of the same name between the twins, along with the recent passing mention.

  The name played in his mind, in the gruff voice of Old Man Vick, the clear, youthful voice of Kaelan, along with the gentle, almost melodious voice from Kela.

  The question came. Pointed, direct, like the precise thrust from his blade, now uninhibited by circumstance.

  “Who is this Valdor you keep mentioning…?”