A Realm of Shadows (11 page)

Merk stood on
the cliffs of the isle of Knossos, alongside hundreds of fierce warriors who
glared out to the sea, as if to challenge whatever it brought them. He glanced
over his shoulder and was reassured to see behind him the tall, stone fort of Knossos, rising out of the rock, and in its narrow windows, the glowing yellow eyes of
dozens of Watchers, watching the battle with hoods drawn close over their
heads. Hundreds more soldiers stood on its battlements. At the very top of the
fort, standing atop the parapets, he spotted Lorna, standing there proudly, watching
over it all from above.

He turned and
looked back out at the black waters, filled with Vesuvius’ ships, a nation of
trolls sailing steadily their way. They were small ships, and they filled the
bay, rocking on its currents, making their way ever closer. The relentless waves
of the Bay of Death crashed into the rocks, their white spray shooting up into
the air, moistening tops of the rocks, Merk and his weapons wet with spray. The
wind had picked up to a driving gale, as if a perpetual storm were on the way,
and hadn’t slowed since.

Merk tightened
his grip on his new weapon, the long chain with the spiked ball dangling to his
feet, and his heart beat faster as he braced himself. Sailing to the drumbeats
of war, the trolls were hardly a hundred yards away now and approaching fast,
the currents bringing them closer with each breath, as if carrying demons from
hell.

Merk looked about
and was reassured to see all the proud warriors of Knossos, with their strong,
square faces, their pale skin, their long beards streaked with gray, all
staring at the sea, all unflinching. All held onto their long chains, spiked
balls at the end, and he could not see a trace of fear in any of them. On the
contrary, they looked as if they were looking out at the waters on a normal
clear day, watching them with only a passing interest. Merk could not understand
the complexities of these men, their deep reservoir of courage. It was as if,
for them, life and battle were one.

“LONG CHAINS,
ADVANCE!” their commander suddenly called in a booming voice able to be heard
above the wind and the waves.

As one, the well-disciplined
army advanced in rows, a great rattle of armor and chains filling the air,
stepping past Merk to the very edge of the rock.

At the same
time, the first dozen ships rushed forward in the currents, rising and falling in
the waves of the Bay of Death, the trolls scowling, their grotesque faces now
visible up close. They came within a dozen yards of shore, clearly preparing to
disembark on the shores of Knossos, while the Knossos warriors awaited the next
command. Merk stood there, palms sweating despite the cold, wondering how long
their commander would wait as this nation invaded.

“FORWARD!” the
commander finally cried.

His soldiers
stepped forward, raised their long chains high overhead, and swung them around
in broad circles. They whistled in the air, a chorus of high-pitched noises as
the chains extended in broad arcs, stretching out a good twenty feet. They swung
them expertly, so as not to hit each other—and then finally they swung them
straight down.

Merk was shocked
at what he saw next: the balls dove down, twenty feet in front of them, and
smashed down below, into the hulls of the ships. A cracking noise filled the
air as the spiked balls smashed the ships to pieces.

The boats,
gaping holes in them, keeled over, then immediately sank into the bay.

The trolls,
caught off guard, fell into the treacherous waters, weighed down by their armor,
and, flailing, immediately sank into the raging currents of the Bay of Death.

The next row of ships
advanced in the currents, and these trolls looked up in panic, realizing it was
too late for them to turn back. With the currents as strong as they were, they
couldn’t slow their advance if they tried.

Once again the
soldiers of Knossos stepped forward, swung their chains, and smashed the hulls.

These ships,
too, sank.

Another row of
ships advanced—and another was smashed to pieces.

Row after row of
ships were destroyed, and before long, the waters were filled with smashed
ships, their debris smashing into the rocks.

Merk grinned as
he watched hundreds of trolls flail and sink in the rapid waters. Yet he heard
a snarl, and he looked up to see their leader, Vesuvius, standing at the bow of
his ship, in the midst of his fleet, scowling back and pointing. He was still a
good hundred yards from shore, far enough away to stop his momentum.

“BOWS!” cried
Vesuvius.

Within moments
hundreds of trolls raised their bows, and arrows filled the air.

The wind coming
off the Bay of Death carried the arrows every which way, many of them falling
short, down to the rocks, into the water. But enough of them sailed through,
and they fell for the warriors of Knossos.

Thurn was
prepared, though.

“SHIELDS!”

Dozens of his
men rushed forward, held up huge shields, and came together, elbow to elbow, blocking
the arrows in a perfect line of a discipline. Merk knelt beside them, as one
handed him a shield.

More and more
arrows fell, and each time they were stopped by this wall of bronze.

“SPEARS!”
Vesuvius shrieked, from his wildly rocking ship.

Trolls hurled a
host of long, glistening spears, soaring in a high arc above the shields,
heading for the body of Knossos warriors. But the warriors, well-trained,
reacted immediately.

“SHORT CHAINS!”

The soldiers
pulled short chains from their waists and swung, and the spiked balls at the
end smashed the spears from the sky before they could hit.

Vesuvius,
enraged, grabbed a spear himself and chucked it low and hard, straight for Thurn.

Thurn just stood
there, unfazed, and as the spear came, he merely swung his chain and ball and smashed
the spear out of the sky.

Vesuvius sounded
the horns, and as he did, dozens of his ships converged in a line, single file.
They sailed forward, and as the first reached shore, the warriors of Knossos smashed it. Yet while they were able to reach the ship behind it, Vesuvius took
advantage, reaching out himself and grabbing one of the chains after it came
down.

He yanked, and
the Knossos soldier fell off the cliffs, face-first into the water.

The other trolls
all joined in, following Vesuvius, all rushing forward and grabbing the chains;
they caught the warriors of Knossos off guard as they yanked, sending one man
after the next down into the bay.

“CHARGE!” Vesuvius
yelled.

So much debris
had backed up in the crashing waves that Vesuvius was able to use them as a
bridge for the last few feet to shore, jumping from one plank to the next,
rocking in the water as he leapt for the rocky shore. All around him his men did
the same. Vesuvius used the chain he had snatched, swinging it himself, a handy
weapon which he quickly used to entangle several more chains and send dozens
more warriors down into the waters below.

Hundreds of trolls
charged onto the rocky shores, scrambling up the cliffs like goats and heading
right for the rows of soldiers—and right for Merk.

Merk swung
wildly into the onslaught of trolls, standing side by side with the soldiers, fighting
back against the never-ending stream. A particularly large troll with hideous
fangs charged him, raising his halberd and lowering it for Merk’s head—and Merk
sidestepped at the last second, swung around, and smashed the spiked ball into
his head, killing him.

Merk stepped
forward and kicked another troll in the chest as it climbed the rocks for him,
halberd high, and sent it flying back down into the waters below. He looked
over and watched it fall, and as he did, a wave of panic overtook him: hundreds
of trolls were now on shore, and hundreds more were landing by the second. The
ships clogged the bay, all of them smashing against the rocks, creating such a
logjam that the trolls could storm it. Some ships were still smashed by the
warriors of Knossos, but dozens slipped through the ranks.

Shoulder to
shoulder with trolls, the fighting became hand-to-hand. Merk swung his chain
and smashed the heads of two trolls as they neared. Yet more came, and as the
fighting grew thicker, Merk realized he no longer had room to swing his chain.
Four trolls charged him at once.

Unable to swing
his chain, he instead grabbed it with both fists, sidestepped as a troll swung
a halberd for his chest, then snuck behind the troll and wrapped the chain
around his throat from behind. He quickly spun, holding the troll hostage,
choking him, and faced the other three. One lunged with his sword and Merk used
the hostage as a shield, forcing the troll to kill his friend. He then dropped him
and kicked the shocked troll back over the cliff.

Merk drew his
dagger as the other two approached and sliced one troll’s throat. He leaned
back and kicked the other, sending him flying back over the edge—but this troll,
floundering, reached out and managed to grab hold of Merk’s boot and pull him
down with him.

Merk, caught off
guard, hit the ground hard and began to slide over the edge with the troll. Panicking,
halfway over the edge, Merk wheeled, grabbed onto a root, and held on for dear
life.

Merk found
himself dangling over the edge of the cliff, the troll hanging on, yanking on
his foot from below. Merk, losing his grip, knew he needed to act fast. He
picked his other leg up high, then kicked down with his other foot. He
connected with the troll’s nose, and finally the troll released his grip and
fell shrieking to his death below.

Merk pulled
himself back up, one hard pull at a time, until finally he collapsed on flat
stone, out of breath. He looked up and saw dozens of Knossos warriors fighting valiantly,
swinging their chains, smashing trolls in the face and neck and shoulders and
ribs, smashing away their halberds and shields, fighting like men on fire. They
had few men compared to this nation of trolls, and yet they did tremendous
damage, holding their ground, filling the air with the sound of their whistling
chains, the
thwack
of the metal balls hitting armor. They were warriors
to be feared, unlike any Merk had ever seen. Single-handedly, they were
stopping the tide of an army.

Yet for every
troll they killed, three more appeared, a never-ending parade of these
creatures from the sea. And soon enough, the men of Knossos, only human, began to
fall.

First there came
one—then another—then as Merk turned and looked, he saw the warriors being
swarmed and overwhelmed from all directions. In no time, the tide turned, and
their situation became dire.

Horns sounded, and
Merk looked out to sea and saw hundreds more ships arriving. They were
disembarking faster than he could count, ascending the cliffs like goats, and
Merk felt a pit in his stomach as he soon realized that the men of Knossos would be no more.

Merk looked up
and saw Lorna standing before the door to the fort, flanked by warriors who
fought back the trolls, led by Thurn. She beckoned him, and Merk knew he had to
reach her—or die.

Merk let out a
guttural cry as he jumped to his feet and fought his way through the crowd. He grabbed
a halberd off the ground and hacked his way through, felling trolls left and
right with big, mighty swings. When his shoulders tired and the fighting became
too close, he drew his dagger and used it expertly, bringing back his assassin
days, cutting through these creatures as he ducked and weaved and stabbed
expertly. Finally, he felt his skills being put to use for Escalon.

Merk stabbed and
slashed and dodged his way all the way through the lines and back to the entrance
to the fort, guarded by an arched wooden door. Finally, he reached Lorna’s side.
 She stood surrounded by warriors, who swung chains and fought back the trolls
valiantly.

“Have we any
chance?” he called out to her, fighting back two trolls, crying out to be heard
over the din.

She stared out
at the sea and the sky, inexplicably calm.

“But one,” she
replied. “Yet it is far more dangerous than this.”

“More than this?”
he asked, shocked.

“The dragons,”
she said, turning to him. “I can summon them.”

He looked at her
in shock, swallowing hard, realizing.

“I, and the
Watchers here, together. We can bring them. But we can’t control them.”

Merk looked out
at the never-ending stream of trolls, and he realized their options were bleak.
If they didn’t do something, they would surely die at these beasts’ hands.

She looked back at
him silently with her crystal-blue eyes, and finally, he nodded back his
approval.

Lorna turned and
looked up at the fort, raising her palms high overhead, and as she did, dozens
of Watchers, their yellow eyes shining, stuck their heads out of the narrow
windows, reached out, and raised their palms to the sky, too.

There came a
great humming noise, rising even over the din of the battle, of the wind, of
the crashing waves. It soon dominated the very fabric of the air, the sound of Lorna
and dozens of Watchers humming together, eyes closed, faces raised to the sky.