Victor

The half troll Ekrek is a savage, with a savage’s strength. The spear he wields is thirteen feet long, so wide I couldn’t grip all the way around it with both hands. But Ekrek holds it easily in a single massive palm, and wields it as lightly as a child’s toy.

Ekrek gives a mighty bellow of challenge. The bridge he guards creaks with the force of his stomp, and the jackals yip and snap their jaws in anticipation of blood.

Light on my bare feet, unarmed and clothed only in a grass kilt, I charge straight down the bridge, well knowing the sludge flowing in the mote beneath will melt my skin in a second if I lose my footing.

He aims his spear and thrusts it at me, but I leap easily over the point and land on the shaft. Balancing lightly, I charge forward on the beam, straight to Ekrek. He is too slow, too stupid to process my motion, and too dull to defend against my powerful kick that cracks across his jaw.

I leap over him and land in front of the closed portcullis, and turn, ready to fight. Ekrek is dazed from the blow, but not down. He spins and his spear cuts the air with a mighty whooshing sound. A less dexterous man would take that beam straight to the ribs and be swept off into the moat, but I clear it easily with another jump. He’s left himself wide open once again.

I charge into him and tackle him around the middle. Not the most cunning move on my part, but those that would follow me respect strength over cunning, and so I must prove myself in this way.

Fortunately, though I cannot shift into my dragon form, I still retain a fraction of my monstrous strength in this human form. I am as strong as four men, with powerful hips that refuse to be moved as I grapple with the half troll for possession of the spear.

It is a long tense minute as we spin together, going round and around in a slow, deadly dance. Ekrek grows impatient and tries to take a bite out of my shoulder, but I jut up with my head and smash straight into the bottom of his jaw. The blow leaves him dizzy, and his grip falters. My chance!

Forcing him away from me, I manage to wrench the spear from his grasp. The jackals are howling with maddened frenzy as I hurl it straight through Ekrek’s chest. He falls in a seated position, dead before he ever hits the ground. With a sneer I kick his corpse together with his famous spear into the moat, and the hiss of the acid consuming his flesh fills the air with an acrid stench.

I look down the bridge to where Fion stands stark white with her hands clenched at her sides. Her expression reveals nothing as I start towards her. Was she impressed by my display? Shocked, horrified? I cannot tell.

Then, does it matter?

Perhaps testing her subconsciously, I stop a few feet from her and extend my hand expectantly. Her green eyes fall to it, the same hand I just used to end a man’s life. Of course she would not take it. But like a fool I stand a few seconds longer with it outstretched, not really expecting, though I think there’s yet a part of me that hopes. So it is when she steps towards me and starts to reach for me, I feel my heart begin to quicken with the strangest sensation.

The feeling, like the moment, is short lived. The sound of the portcullis suddenly raising takes my attention off of her, and I turn to see Ekrek’s followers, a ragtag bunch of humanoid soldiers, some human or at least half human, and beastmen of all kinds. They greet me with cold, silent eyes, their bodies covered in deadly spiked armor, wielding swords, knives and shivs in each hand, moving together like one giant deadly porcupine. My body tenses, alert and ready.

Do I need to deal with them too, before I bring Fion in there?

But no, they make no trouble. Seeing the sudden shift in power, they have no choice but to accept me as their commander. All their eyes are upon me, awaiting my order. So I give it.

“Clear the way.”

They move as one, creating a path. I reach back for Fion without looking over my shoulder. Her delicate hand comes to rest in mine. I grip her cruelly and pull her to my side. Together we walk through the line of soldiers, right up to the black castle. The doors swing open and a blast of foul air greets our nostrils. Fion recoils at the scent, but I stand unmoving. It is foul yes, but not as foul as I have known it to be.

Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten.

Dors Grobeez flies over the courtyard and comes to land in a squat behind us.

“How long has Mirantha been gone?”

“She went south eight weeks ago with half the troops to give House Portas a display of strength. Those foolish humans grew too bold in your absence.”

“And not them, only. Security’s become very lax, I see.”

“Ekrek was a powerful warrior, but a worthless commander. I, for one, am glad to see you back, my lord.”

How quickly the gargoyle’s changed his tune, I think, scoffing lightly. Then, Dors Grobeez is no fool.

“Spare me your sycophantic display. You’re only sorry you weren’t strong enough to kill him yourself,” I say, and Dors’ too-long stone tongue lolls out of his mouth in a snarling grin of reply.

“Give the orders to strengthen the guards at the border gates. And send scouts in every direction to patrol the area. When I flew in I thought I saw dust clouds to the north. House Boyd may be up to something.”

“They would not dare challenge us,” hisses the gargoyle.

“Just make sure of it.”

Dors’ marble eye rolls in its socket and fixes on Fion. “What of the girl?”

“What of her?”

“Will you take her to the dungeon?”

“Never mind where I take her. She’s my prize, not yours.”

Dors Grobeez leers at Fion a moment longer before lifting up into the air with an awful grating sound. She winces away from it until he is far enough out of reach. Then I pull her after me.

When I first returned to the castle I’d thought to put her in the dungeon as the gargoyle suggested. But suddenly the thought of her being so far out of sight puts an uneasy feeling in my gut. Who knows what these monsters will do to her, given half the chance? In a moment of bloodlust madness, they might even forget their fear of the witch and devour her before Mirantha ever returns. Then I’ll be the one to pay for it.

I pull Fion to the wing where I make my home, to the western tower. I lead her up a long spiral of stairs, passing the floor with my room to take her to the one on the top. She’ll be safe here, behind this sturdy wooden door. No one will be able to sneak past without my knowing, and no gargoyles can take her through the bars of steel that cover the window.

“This is your room,” I say, releasing her at the door. “Do not leave it if you want to stay alive. Food will be sent up twice a day. It may not be what you’re used to, but eat well to keep your strength up.”

“And thee?”

I stare down at her, not really sure what she’s asking me.

“I meant to say, you, Victor. Where will you stay?”

“That is of no consequence.”

 She blinks up at me solemnly, her deep green eyes arresting me completely for a moment.

“Will you come to see me?”

“What?”

“If I obey you, and go to this room quietly, will you promise to come to see me each day?”

“And what is my promise worth to you?”

“I do not know yet. Perhaps nothing. But if you will not promise, I will not enter this room.”

“You will or I’ll rip off your arms.”

“You cannot do this,” she states simply, as though it were fact.

“You think I won’t?” I snarl at her.

“I did not say you would not try. Only that you would not succeed.”