When Lady Pym shifted her weight in the saddle, and mount--her favorite horse, an unpretty roan--responded immediately, cantering higher along the mountain pass.

After a sunny morning the day had turned gray, with rippling clouds stretching across the peaks. Still, even the spot of drizzle did nothing to sour Lady Pym's mood. She felt herself smile as she trotted past the wagons heaped with barrels of specially-treated oil, then slowed into place beside her twin brother, Ty--who was returning the smile before he even turned to her.

"I agree," he said.

Meaning that he agreed with her excitement, her anticipation. After years of whittling down the troll infestation while keeping a safe distance--or safe-ish, considering that the occasional troll pounded through the hail of crossbows and ballista bolts to engage the pikemen before the calvary galloped into action--they'd finally be engaging them at closer quarters.

"We're simply testing the defenses today," she said, echoing father's warning.

"And destroying their crops," he said, nodding toward the oil-barrels. "So starvation weakens them."

"Still ..."

His smile widened. "We're finally engaging them at closer quarters."

"I'll wager a day's service that I'll put a bolt though a troll's eye with my elegant bow ..." She touched the crossbow depending from her saddle. "... before you take a head with that ugly polearm of yours."

"Two days," he counter-offered.

When they'd been young, Father had disapprove of them wagering for things, because things didn't matter. So instead, they'd started wagering days of service. The loser would serve the winner's meals and run their errands and such. A childish game, but one they still enjoyed.

"Deal," Pym said."Perhaps you'll finally learn to brush my hair properly."

"This isn't a game," Mage Hrough grumbled as he trotted closer.

The two-fold mage's cloak protected his bald head from the rain ... though Lady Pym was amused to see the droplets shining in his gray beard.

"You've never been in this much danger in your short lives," Hrough continued.

"You'll protect us, mir." Ty gave the mage the look of wide-eyed trust that always made the old man scowl. "Your shields will block every blow."

"I'll do my duty, m'lord," Hrough grumbled. "But better mages than I have fallen to trolls."

"There is no better mage than you," Pym said, even wider-eyed than her brother.

Hrough snorted a laugh. "Incorrigible, the both of you."

"How many trolls would it take to bring down a mage of your caliber?" Ty asked. "A dozen?"

Pym lay her hand on her mount's muscled neck, looking to Hrough. That was a good question. Some mages, perhaps most mages, would struggle to fight even a handful of trolls. But Father only hired the best. At least, the best suited for the job. While the Rockbridge mages weren't even remotely the most advanced in the Valley, they were unfailingly competent during raids

"Just remember what the Marquis ordered," Hrough told them, instead of answering.

"You're in command this time," Pym said. "We'll retreat on your word."

"Yes. You wouldn't want to disappoint your father."

Pym gave a delicate shiver. Indeed she would not. The Marquis was a sweet, doting, supportive father, who gave his children a great deal of leeway--too much, according to every tutor they'd ever had--but he also had extremely exacting standards about matters he considered important.

Such as today's raid.

She understood his thinking. His place in Rockbridge was unassailable. He'd inherited the title from his mother when he'd about Pym's age--after grandmama had died to a troll--and he'd forged a mighty foundation. Now Father turned his gaze to the future. He intended to extend his influence, his protection, beyond this Keep, and this city--for himself and for his children, and for their eventual children.

The provincial capital was weak, while Father was strong.

He'd never said so directly, but Pym was convinced that one day, not too far in the future, he'd rule Leotide City. Every step he took now brought him that much closer. That was one reason--aside from the obvious--for his unrelenting focus on the trolls.

And a troll warren this old and deep? Established before the Warding? Unlike the minor infestations farther north, where trolls scraped out a living from shallow caves, an ancient troll warren like this would be brimming with treasure. With gems, yes, but also with minerals that the beasts didn't use.

After the Rockbridge forces turned this warren into a mass grave, the troll-riches would fund Father's ambitions: more soldiers, more land to feed them. And more mages, though three combat mages was already more than the rulers of most cities the size of Rockbridge could boast. Also, higher-quality weapon-crafting supplies in such quantity that--

A cry sounded from the rear of the column.

Pym reached for her crossbow, then relaxed. It was nothing. Just one of the wretches in the prison wagon, shrieking for no reason. The prisoners repelled Pym. Filthy and mindless, barely human. She pitied them, too, but mostly they baffled her. She couldn't understand why they refused to simply obey her father, to behave in a civilized manner, and to be rewarded.

Instead, they heeded their basest instincts, became criminals and traitors, and suffered the inevitable punishment. What kind of bestial mind would opt for that?

Poor wretches. Still, at least in their final moments they served the valley and the Marquis. The trolls always--almost always--slowed to confront the prisoners instead of rampaging straight for the infantry. Or, worse, the arbalests and ballista-crews.

Nobody built better bolt-throwers than Rockbridge weapon-smiths. Training and supplying more crafters was another reason her father needed gems and troll-treasures. Her own crossbow was lighter than even the least-modified bear-hunting arbalests the troops used ... but given the C-steel prod, it packed the same punch. Sadly, C-steel cost as much as gemstones.

Once he accrued enough resources, her father would forge an army the likes of which hadn't been seen in the western valley since the Warding.

Her father focused on more important things than wealth, too. He only lead expeditions in person once or twice a year. Instead, he tasked Pym and Ty with leading them--often together, sometimes separately--every single month. To teach them the basics of command, and to teach the army to obey them. Always looking to the future, he'd transformed his carefree children into veteran officers.

And now finally, the time to finish this was fast approaching.

Though they'd proceed carefully, as always. Today, they'll assault the main cave and test the troll's defenses. To gain intelligence before committing a fully army that would stream from Rockbridge to eradicate the troll infestation for good. Today, they'd slaughter every troll that climbed toward the peak, and every troll that struck back at them--and they'd leave behind billows of poison smoke.

They wouldn't push deeper, though, to destroy the troll larvae or eggs.

Well, unless the opportunity presented itself.

With all three of her father's mages present, and the trolls weakened from decades of attrition, who knew what might happen if the opportunity arose?

Pym glanced at her brother blandly, and he returned the look, equally expressionless. They silently agreed. They'd obey Hrough, of course. Of course they would. Yet if they saw a chance, in the heat of battle, to chop off the scaly, horrible head of this entire warren, they would not hesitate.

As evening fell, the convoy arrived at forward fortress--the 'hunting box.' After a dinner of roast pheasant and jellied figs, Lady Pym spent a pleasant night in her chamber overlooking the foothills.

The next morning, Hrough led the advance force forward, with Pym and Ty at his side.

The troll ravine stretched downward for almost a mile, but the black mouth of the troll cave opened halfway to the bottom. Still, the steep slope made assaulting the cave difficult. A zigzagging switchback trail had been constructed ten years earlier, to aid the initial invasion, but it was worn now. And impossible for calvary in any case.

Yet this time, the Rockbridge forces wouldn't wait atop the ravine to pick off the trolls one at a time, while the rest climbed mindlessly to the peaks. Instead, they'd cull every single troll who left the cave. They'd battle into the tunnels, where they'd ignite the barrels of oil and release endless plumes of poisoned smoke.

To kill the monsters' fungus gardens and infants, and weaken them with starvation.

She and Ty remained quiet as the lieutenants and Hrough discussed the placement of ballista nests and arrow-mages. A good part of leading, Father had told them, was knowing when to listen. The scouts returned with encouraging reports, and not long after that, the rest of the force arrived and moved into place.

The professionalism gladdened Pym's heart--and made her grateful again for her father, who insisted on these monthly sorties in part to keep his soldiers honed to a knife's edge. There weren't many cities who engaged in combat so often. As Father liked to say, 'In Rockbridge, every soldier a veteran.'

"Probe their defenses," Ty murmured beside her.

She touched his elbow. "Any minute now."

"A real fight."

"Bloodthirsty boy."

"Like you don't feel the same."

She did, of course. Her heart pounded with eagerness but she kept her crossbow loose in her hands. Excitement might ruin her aim. So she breathed to calm herself, glancing across the battlefield and checking that everything was in place.

"First moonrise!" a spotter called. "First moonrise, brace for the enemy."

A particularly loathsome troll emerged from the cave mouth, moved to climb--then spotted them. It roared in anger and bounded across the ravine--well, halfway across the ravine, because with a faint shimmer, one of Hrough's shields appeared in front of it.

The troll hit the shield and dropped into the depths. A lieutenant called for a ballista to pin it to the ground while four more trolls emerged, and a hundred arbalest bolts flew.

The beasts climbed desperately, trying to escape into the heights, but half the bolts pierced the first monster's hide. Enough to slow it down--and Mage Fluer fired a hollow bead with such force that the impact blew a hole in the next troll's chest and a ballista took the fourth troll but the third swerved and hunched then launched itself toward the arbalest squad.

Then four more trolls came roaring from the cave and while the mages protected the arbalests two of the new trolls chewed through the prisoners leaving nothing but scraps of flesh and bloody bones behind.

Pym heard herself shouting along with the soldiers. She fired and reloaded, fired and reloaded, and as the battle raged her mind seized on details:

A small troll leaped in front of a large one--both heavily injured--to block a beheading strike. The blade split the smaller's troll's face in half and a mage-arrow in the neck killed it. Then instead of attacking, the larger troll fell to its knees and cradled the corpse while blades hacked it into pieces. Three trolls broke through the arbalest fire and the pulped remains of the prisoners, and slaughtered half an infantry squad before Hrough raised a shield in front of each of them. The trolls howled and pounded the shields and two of them held--but the third shattered. A troll crushed an arbalist in one hand then took two ballista bolts to the chest but still managed to hurl a ballista into the ravine, along with most of its crew. Hrough shouted instructions then lowered his remaining shields--and Pym's bolt caught the rearmost troll in the eyes. A killing blow. Her guards--her brother--an entire company of arbalists shouted her name. Boulders spewed from the cave mouth, sending the ballista operators running. Two more trolls emerged, and Flue fired a bead that chopped through one troll's knee then angled slightly and caught another in the groin. Not enough to kill them but enough to slow them down for the infantry--and Ty--to wade in to behead them.

And then, abruptly as it had begun, the troll swarm ended.

"Get that oil in place!" she snapped to Mage Hrough before she remembered she wasn't in charge. "Er, should we?"

"M'lady," he said, and passed the order.

A handful of minutes later, she and a few dozen others--the best fighters and all the mages--stepped to the cave mouth, which shimmered with one of Hrough's shields against an ambush. No beasts waited, though. The cool cave air smelled oddly fresh, and the rocky path inside led slightly upward instead of plunging to the depths. A unit of arbalests joined them, then her party pushed forward, giving the engineers room to maneuver their oil funnels into position.

"Why aren't they attacking?" someone asked, as the tunnel split into several branches.

"When the green moon rises in daytime," Hrough answered, "they climb toward the mountaintop and we put them down. But this is new. No doubt the brutes are confused and--"

"They're coming," Mage Fluer said, pointing to the right-hand branch.

"How much longer with that oil?" Ty called to the engineers.

"Ten minutes, m'lord! We need a good downslope or the smoke'll blow right back outside."

"Then we'll give you a downslope," Ty said.

Which meant pushing forward even as trolls roared into sight through the gloom.

Without Hrough's shields, every human would've died in the first minute, despite the other two mages firing projectiles powerful enough to shatter stone. Even with mage-shield, five soldiers died in that first rush--then Fluer sprayed a barrage of pebbles that broke the monsters' momentum.

Pym's bolt embedded harmlessly in a troll's cheek as reinforcements poured in from behind. The battle raged but themages kept pushing onward until the upward slope leveled ... and finally turned down into a stone ramp that vanished in the gloom.

The perfect place to deploy the poison smoke. Pym opened her mouth to give the order when a thunderous rumble echoed from the depths.

"They're collapsing the tunnel!" someone shouted. "To keep us out!"

"Engineers!" Pym called. "Report!"

"Keep that tunnel clear! We're ready!"

"Start burning," Hrough ordered.

In a heartbeat, smoke started wafting around Pym. Heavy, oily smoke that flowed downhill into the warren. The herbalists vowed the smoke wouldn't hurt humans, but it still stank, and burned her eyes. Which watered so much that Pym didn't realize what she was seeing for a moment, as she watched a troll--punctured by a dozen bolts--recoil away, through the shadows.

"The smoke hurts trolls!" she yelled, as the monsters bellowed in agony. "They're running from the smoke!"

"Advance!" Ty called, and his squad cut down the nearest troll, which was clutching its forehead eye. "Keep them from pulling down the tunnel!"

Then came darkness and chaos and blood, and too many tunnels branching in too many directions. The poison smoke hurt and terrified the trolls, and turned the running battle into a rout--and then a slaughter, though one troll, the biggest she'd ever seen, battled in a berserk frenzy, and didn't fall until all three mages attacked.

"We can finish this now," Ty said, chopping the big troll's head off. "The smoke hurts them, that's a gift from the Angel. We need to press our advantage."

Hrough didn't disagree, but said, "Not if they close that tunnel."

"Sounds like it's just a few yards," one of the lieutenant said.

"Noise travels odd undergro--"

A troll yelped nearby.

"There, to the left!" Fluer said.

"How the halo did it get--" Hrough started.

"Over here!" a soldier yelled. "This way! Through here!"