However soft the bedding, dreams of blood and slaughter roused me from my rest. Sweat dribbled from me as I regained my calm. I wasn’t on the battlefield, or murdering helpless souls. I was lying in the curtained bed with the gilt iron frame. Trying to find a position to fall back asleep, flickering light caught my attention. I had no idea what hour it was, but I’d been asleep for some time. Picking up my glasses from where I’d set them, I restored them to my face. Someone was moving about the suite surreptitiously. Cautiously lifting my sword from atop my pile of clothes, I waited. It could just be servants or slaves performing some duty. It could be, but after three attempts on my life, I couldn’t take that chance. Rising to my feet, I slid the steel from its sheath.

A lantern with a narrow aperture pushed aside the curtains covering an arch to my room. I moved quietly to stay out of the beam of light. The light stopped moving as it fell upon my pile of clothes and my livery badge glinted.

“Here,” the lantern-holder breathed, almost inaudible over the susurration of the curtains. A cloaked figure stepped into the room. A scarf was pulled up to their eyes, and a bare blade rested in their right hand. The cloaked figure pushed aside the samite with the tip of the sword. The empty bed drew a gasp. Spinning about, the figure swung at my expected position sneaking up from behind. I was further away than that and sliced back. Mail links under the cloak turned my killing stroke into a mere bruising blow. Scrambling away, the cloaked figure tripped over the bed’s stairs and tumbled to the floor. Their lantern rolled away and came to a rest by the corner of the bedframe.

The sound of ripping brocade announced the second assailant’s attempt to rush through the door. Their sword had snagged on the curtain and given me enough warning to deflect the thrust. Wary of armor, the gaudy blade snicked out for the second assailant’s throat. I missed the flesh, but ripped away the scarf, and sent the hood falling back. The face beyond was pale, long, narrow, and triangular. The jaw line ran neatly to the span of their ears, which came to points. Fierce green eyes blazed at me with anger as the sword came around again. With all the androgyny of the elfin race, I couldn’t tell if the one whose face I’d exposed was a male or a female. Parrying the swing, I darted to the side to avoid the strike I expected from the one who’d tripped. I guessed correctly, and that blade chopped only air.

“He’s awake, come quickly!” the unmasked elf cried.

“Coming,” another voice replied. Their language was a pidgin of Atlorian and Elven. I was not verbally fluent in Elven, but I could grasp the meaning well enough from my understanding of Atlorian. The context of our fight helped. The two in the room with me attacked together. The natural alacrity of their race was insufficient to overcome their shorter reach and lesser proficiency in a swordfight. But they weren’t trying to get through my guard, they were trying to keep me busy. The plan that came to mind would have worked better had I been wearing shoes. I cursed as my bare toes kicked the fallen lantern. The elf on my left swatted it from the air. After being dropped, kicked, smacked by a sword, and hitting the edge of a wooden stair, the lantern split open. Oil tumbled out, and then caught light as the still-burning wick landed in it.

Stubbed toes aside, the momentary distraction bought me the opening to skewer the elf’s neck. As he or she tumbled to the floor, gurgling on blood, two more rushed through the archway, blades drawn. The room was too small to properly face down three opponents, and the fire was starting to make it smaller. All my instincts were to fight, to go from frenetically fending off short swords to killing elves. With smoke burning my throat and watering my eyes, I forced myself to bolt for the other archway. Had I done so sooner, I would have found my path unobstructed. Had I waited any longer, I would have been fully cut off. Instead, I collided bodily with the elf moving to prevent just such an escape.

The gilded steel wings of my sword’s hand guard crunched the nose under the scarf and bought me the space I needed to slip past. Dressed only in my smallclothes, I was not going to blend in with the darkness I plunged into. My pallid hide was easier to spot in the poor light than their dark cloaks – or the walls, like the one I crashed into with a grunt.

“He’s getting away!”

“Cut him off!”

A chill shock ran up my legs the moment I passed from carpet to uncovered stone, though it was not as bad as the stool I tripped over a moment later. The clatter drew the patter of elven feet. I rose in time to deflect the first blade to erupt from the half-lit gloom. My riposte was reflexive, and I was on the verge of chiding myself for forgetting their armor. Their chests might have been mailed, but this protection did not extend down their arms. The shade-shrowded elf cursed a bisected bicep and staggered back, clutching the bloodied gash.

“Useless sellswords!” a woman yelled in lightly accented volksspache. A whoosh of flame filled the air, and I threw myself to the floor. Striking the stone stung, but the screaming told me it was infinitely preferable to remaining upright in that instant. Furnace-hot air washed over my back as curtains, tapestries, and the wounded elf caught fire. I looked up in the direction the voice had come from. I had no doubts the slim figure in the doorway was a woman. Her sleeveless gown was cut low and hugged her figure. Raven black hair hung down over her shoulders. Her face was not as narrow nor as sharp-featured as the elves, and her ears had a more rounded shape. A sardonyx cameo hung about her alabaster neck by a string of red beads. It depicted a mouse biting the head off a snake. There was venom in her eyes as they met mine. “Why won’t you just die already?”

With a motion of her hand, she swirled carmine energies about her fingers. With the room still ablaze from her last evocation of flame, I knew I couldn’t let her unleash those energies. I leapt to my feet and lunged. In a thunderclap and a flash of red light, something large and gray-green appeared between us. My sword tip pierced thick, pebbled hide and sank deep before my chest hit the creature. A full head taller than me, it was massively built. Overwide shoulders, broad chest and bulging arms were heavy with enough muscle to make five men. The gut my sword had stabbed would have been expansive on any smaller figure, but it merely made this one pot-bellied. Blade-like tusks jutted up from a solid jaw and overshadowed the ugly, lumpen face. It bellowed at me, stinking breath washing over my face and riffling my hair.

I ripped my sword free, drawing it to the side to open as wide a gash in that gut as possible. Dark green ichor and loops of intestine followed the steel out. The creature grabbed up his spilling innards in a massive, clawed hand. Rather than the usual, horrified reaction to holding one’s own guts, he almost casually stuffed them back in through the wound. The cut was already closing of its own accord. I gaped in my own horror at the sight and did not react quickly enough when the beast struck. A solid backhand blow knocked me clean off my feet and sent me flying. Instead of stone, my shoulders struck glass. Flailing for a handgrip, I caught only air as I tumbled out the window. The light went from orange flame to cool lunar silver. I stared up at the stars and a fat, gibbous moon as I plunged through the air amidst dancing shards of window.

I barely had time for my fright-widened eyes to take in the sight of the receding orange rectangle I’d fallen from. My back struck an awning, which sagged, bent, and tore before half-dumping me on the balcony below. Cutting my way free of the fabric, I chuckled at the fact that I’d not lost my grip on the gaudy sword. I hurt, and I was pretty sure my back was bleeding, but the adrenaline racing through my veins suppressed all thought of pain or injury. Instead, my attention went up the wall of the palace to where the oversized creature was squeezing out the window. In the full light of the moon, I realized that it had to be a troll. And he was about to drop on my head.

The balcony was not large, I’d have trouble laying down upon it. It was a simple wooden platform jutting from the face of the wall. The door into the palace proper was soundly locked, and the troll had just let go of the window sill. I scrambled for the end of the balcony furthest from where I’d hit, climbing up on the rail to gain one more iota of distance before that great crash.

Weighing several times as much as I did, and with no awning to slow his descent, the troll smashed into the balcony like a boulder from the heavens. It was as if that end of the platform simply disappeared in a shower of splinters and the protestations of tortured timber. My end was little better off, as it tipped away from the wall in a creaking, cracking collapse. Below me, the troll had plunged straight through a canopy and struck the flagstones of a courtyard. The canopies ringed the edges of the courtyard, hanging from poles affixed to the walls. The one the troll had hit was ruined, though I might be able to make the leap to the adjacent canopy. It would be preferable to hitting the flagstones.

I leapt as the last post gave way and the remnants of the balcony tumbled down. That span of cloth looked so far away. As I fell, it dawned on me that I should have grabbed hold of the door. The fall stretched out far longer in my mind than the actual time I spent in the air. The only coherent thought left in my head was, “I’m not going to make it.”

I was wrong.

With a jolt, the canopy slowed my descent, then ripped free of its moorings and dumped me on the flagstones. I rolled, painfully, listening to the clatter of steel as my sword bounced away. I reflexively shielded my eyeglasses, ending up slamming my left elbow into the rock instead. My whole arm went numb in an instant. I came to a stop, well aware that there was glass still embedded in my back. The pieces couldn’t be too large, but they had dug painfully into my flesh with each roll. A grunting and creaking caused me to peer over my bloody shoulder.

The troll was straightening out the compound fractures in his legs. The dark green ichor spilling from the wounds looked black in the moonlight. As he pulled the second leg straight, I started moving. Stone scraped at my skin as I crawled towards my sword, slowly rising to my feet. The troll hopped up, slapped his gut, and roared at the moon. I snatched up the gaudy sword and balked. How was I supposed to beat this thing? The beast felt no pain, and was barely slowed by injuries that would cripple a man. On the other hand, I was starting to feel the beating I’d taken. I couldn’t just shrug off being slapped through a window and falling off a building. Everything ached as I straightened up, and I dreaded how it would feel when the heat of the moment faded.

Moonlight reflected off the backs of the troll’s eyes, given them a malevolent red glow as they turned upon me. Bursting into a run, he charged, claws reaching for me. A fresh jolt of fear sent me leaping aside, reflexively slashing for the arm. In a fresh splatter of ichor, the limb sagged. The troll skidded along the flags, trying to arrest his charge and change direction. Looking at the cleft muscle stitching closed, a thought hit me. The wounds did not go away instantly, and during that time, the damage inflicted impeded his movements. I wouldn’t call the troll smart, but he was capable of learning. He kept his arms in close and watched for the direction I was going to move as he charged again. I feinted left just long enough for the troll to commit to lunging that direction.

Being lighter on my feet, I reversed direction, rolling to my right. Coming up on my knees, I sliced into the back of the troll’s thigh as he thundered past. Left leg crumpling under him, the troll sprawled on the flagstones. I was on my feet again as the troll raised to hands and knee, leaving the weight off the still-knitting limb. Chopping down with all the might and momentum I could muster, I hacked into the back of the troll’s neck. With a crunch, the blade sank deep into his spine. Putting both hands on the grip, I applied more pressure. Snapping cartilage, I sawed through flesh. Gushing green ichor flowed over my blade as it split the voicebox. Steel clanged against stone, and the head plopped to the floor with a thud.

Gripping the greasy locks, I dragged the head away from the rest of the carcass.

Headless, the body rose to its feet.

I ducked a swing of an oversized arm and scrambled to the side. The body continued to paw and swipe at the thin air I had vacated. Looking down at the head, I saw the face silently snarling, screaming and snapping at me. With only the jaw and the facial muscles to work with, it was not terribly dangerous, but the tusks could still do some damage. I turned it to face away from me. As soon as its eyes fell on the flailing form of his body, the flailing stopped. Turning, the body rushed in my direction. I sprinted to the side, bare feet slapping on stone. There was a crash behind me as the body hit the wall of the courtyard.

Sizing up the situation, I concluded that I should not let the troll see where his body was blindly groping about. How there was still a connection between the eyes and the limbs baffled me. But most creatures stopped moving when you cut off their head. Keeping this in mind, and keeping a good distance from the tower of ill-guided muscle, I sized up my circumstances. I hurt – a lot – and had no idea how to get back inside the palace proper. I also had no idea how to finally end the troll. Carrying around a still-squiggling head was distracting me.

A wedge of yellow light spilled across the flagstones. Looking towards the source, I saw an open door. A solitary dwarf held aloft a lantern and blinked, bleary-eyed at me. He gawped at the sight of a human dressed in naught but smallclothes and eyeglasses, holding an ichor-drenched blade in one hand and a severed, still-writhing head in the other. His attention was ripped away from me by the thunderous flailings of the decapitated body still fumbling about the margins of the courtyard. The door promptly closed, and I heard the bolt thunk into place. I sighed and continued the slow walk that kept the troll’s head and body far away from each other.

I was tired. I ached all over. And I was fairly sure some of the lacerations down my back were still bleeding. The adrenaline that had sustained me through the fight was gone, and my movements were sluggish. In addition to the cuts, I was destined to sport a panoply of bruises. At least it didn’t seem as if I’d broken any bones. My assessment of my injuries was interrupted by the door opening. A string of halberdiers cautiously advanced into the courtyard. They eyed me as warily as they did the decapitated troll. Behind them came the Lawspeaker and one of the translators. A wall of polearms separated me from the pair.

“How do I kill this thing?” I sighed in exasperation.

After the translation was passed along, the Lawspeaker said, “Wait for the sunlight to turn it to stone.” After a moment, he grumbled, “Where did the troll come from?”

“If you let me back inside, I can tell you what I know.”

***

A white-bearded chirurgeon plucked glass from my back and dropped the pieces in a small clay bowl. The rinse stung, as did the stitches. The herbal unguent he dosed the bandages with stank. I had a blanket over my knees, and the troll’s head sat on a silver platter. It continued to glare and snarl silently. The Lawspeaker had to pull Pyry back every time he got too close to the head and risked touching the tusks. We sat in the dining hall, a great many dwarf soldiers mustered around the perimeter.

“These elves and this sorcerer. Where did they come from?” the Lawspeaker asked.

“I don’t know, I was asleep.”

“Yet you woke up in time to fight them because of bad dreams?”

“Yes.” I was spared further direct interrogation when Gebhard threw someone through the doorway into the room. The movement drew my attention to the small svelte figure that turned out to be that of an elf. Bereft of his cloak and scarf, it was all but impossible to recognize him as one of the sellswords. But, the look that crossed his face at the sight of me confirmed his identity. His arms were securely tied behind his back.

“We caught that one alive,” Gebhard said, stepping into the dining hall, “But he babbles unintelligibly.”

“It’s Atlorian Pidgin,” I said.

“You haven’t heard him say anything.”

I turned to the elf. “What is your name?” I asked him in Atlorian.

“Volwin Dove,” he said trying to tip a blond lock out of his eyes.

“Why did you try to kill me?”

“Lady Knochenmus hired us to. We’re just sellswords. I don’t have anything against you.”

“What is he saying?” both Gebhard and the Lawspeaker asked at the same time.

“He’s a mercenary hired by someone named Lady Knochenmus. I was about to ask him more.” The translator repeated my words. Once he’d finished, I turned my attention back to Volwin. “Why does she want me dead?”

“She didn’t say outright.” Dove’s eyes widened at my frown. “But there were rumors.”

“Tell me.”

“She had a deal with Lord Kirchner to get her family’s ancestral holdings in the south. But he could only deliver if you died.”

“Kirchner?” I asked. Gebhard perked up at the word, but didn’t speak.

“Yes, that was the name I heard. They say he’s Lady Knochenmus’ ally.”

If not for the chirurgeon still picking pieces of glass out of my flesh, I would have sat back in shock. Instead I shook my head and switched back to volkssprache. “He says Lady Knochenmus has a deal with Kirchner, but it requires me dead. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, if he removes you, Ritterblume and Salzheim, there’s nothing between him and control of the north.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t explain why he’d let the goblins run rampant.”

“Ask the elf about them,” Gebhard said.

“Volwin, what do you know about goblins?”

“Vermin,” the elf said, “But you want to know about the ones loyal to Lady Knochenmus.”

“Yes.”

“Her family conquered the Hookwood, and the tribes there bend their knee to her. They are unruly and unreliable. So she hires sellswords for real work.”

I relayed this information to the people in the room.

“I see,” Hengist said, startling me. I hadn’t seen him enter. He looked a bit soot-stained and disheveled, but uninjured. “If the elf is telling the truth, then Kirchner is drawing Ritterblume and Salzheim into a trap.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I heard you talk about the Slagveld at dinner. Unless you exaggerated the maze-like nature of the valleys, canyons and caves, it’s the perfect place to ambush and dismantle armies piecemeal. That will rid him of the biggest threats to his ambition – except for you.”

“Indeed, you need to make for Stirnberg, take up the Iron Diadem, and get aid in punishing this wayward Markgraf.”

“Enough!” the Lawspeaker roared, having listened to a running translation. “Your presence has drawn these malefactors here and inflicted significant damage upon the palace. You will not be going anywhere.”

“Lawspeaker?” Pyry asked, confused.

“By my authority as Lawspeaker of Azerion the Just, I command these savages be chained until their trial. Throw the four of them into the darkest pit we have.”

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