Bailey wasn’t just their armorer but also their best sharp shooter. Blind Eye came up to check on his position on the overlook. Bailey had set up a nice shade for himself as he sat with his long rifle in hand on a rock he’d covered with a blanket for comfort. The heavy barrel of the rifle was propped up on a monopod so he could steady it without much strain. Blind Eye handed him and his assistant, a youth named Jaymon, warm flasks of mildly alcoholic brew.

“Thank you, sir,” Bailey said, pleased. Jaymon maintained the lookout for the moment, trading positions with the rifle, as Bailey stretched, uncorking the flask to take a swig. “Been quiet. They got smart after I popped a couple of their melons. It’s nice not having to worry about counter-fire. They don’t have anyone who can shoot on their side.”

“They’re trolls, what do you want? Sneaky bastards though. Caught a few trying to come up on the other side.”

Bailey nodded, “That’s why I’m glad you have my back.” Blind Eye tipped his own flask against Bailey’s.

Blind Eye noted, “Made yourself a nice nest I see.” He nodded to where Bailey’s servant woman was preparing ingredients for luncheon. It wasn’t unusual to bring womenfolk along, but they usually stayed further behind, especially in this territory. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. She was a weary looking hill woman who seemed jaded by hardship.

Bailey was aware of Blind Eye’s consideration, remarking, “I promised Tanila a cut of my danger pay.”

The Company had rolled up the trolls easily enough so far. The advantage in firepower was just too much to counter. One on one, the trolls could tear a man apart with their bare hands, but only if they were allowed to get that close in the first place. The riskiest for them was to face the trolls in the thick of the forest so they had used light cannon to prepare the way as much as they could, flushing out any resistance with concentrated force though much of the blasting probably just scared off the wild life. After that, the cannons and mortars had to be taken apart and carried up to positions, a real chore. They had enough conscripts for that purpose. They were just fodder to keep the trolls distracted while the real squads took the important trailheads and forced the trolls to either fight to defend their scattered homesteads or flee. Once they had pushed up above the tree line, there wasn’t much cover for the big demi-humans to try to sneak up on the advancing mercenaries who took full advantage wherever they could of their longer reach. Resistance had been light, as if the trolls had no stomach to fight them head on. Bailey knew that was too good to hold true for too long.

Bailey had found a nice spot that covered one of the main access trails to the troll stronghold. Other squads had blocked off the other access points, essentially setting up a siege. It was too risky to actually storm the troll’s mountain hidden redoubt, as the narrow passages made it suicidal for the point men. Right now, it was a stalemate.

Bailey suddenly cursed, “Hey, boy, and keep your grubby fingers off the trigger. If you see something, let me know.” Turning to Blind Eye, he gave a wry smile, “Kid’s still learning. He’s got better eyes than I do, but no discipline. So, how long we camping up here? It gets cold at night, and I want to get back to my warm bed.”

“Cap’s working on something,” Blind Eye responded. He nodded downslope where the main contingent was bivouacked. “We got enough spare powder to blow the top of the mountain off, if necessary.”

Bailey snorted, almost spitting out his brew, “Damn straight. I accounted for it. Glad I didn’t have to haul it up here myself. Well, enough chit-chat, back to work for me.” He finished off his flask, tossed it aside, gave a loose salute, and returned to his position. Blind Eye gave him a nod and trundled off. All the old formalities from their original regiment had given way to an easy comradery which was fine in Blind Eye’s mind.

In the troll camp, Piro knew something was happening but she only had the vaguest notions. It was comfortable enough living in the chieftain’s household. The other trolls gave her a wide berth, respecting the authority of the giant man. He was gone most of the time on his business which she suspected was also martial in nature, as she could peek outside and see that the village was alive with activity. Men were busy honing their weapons while the other village members prepared bandages, poultices, and litters. She knew enough from her childhood that they were preparing for battle, although against whom she had no idea.

They did not seem concerned that she could escape so after the first day she was allowed to roam somewhat freely but whenever she wandered too far there was always a minder who would corral her back. She ended up giving some comfort to the other prisoner, the battered scout, Leaves. He seemed much better now compared to the first night when she had thought he would expire. His captors also seemed to have a change of mood although he remained shackled. Piro checked the man’s bandages at the same time she brought him some food.

“What is this slop?” he complained, but he ate all that was offered, leaving nothing to waste.

She sat down to begin her own form of interrogation, “Do you know what is going on?”

He shook his head, “Not exactly, but I think some sort of arrangement will be made with Mrs. Gong. I don’t know what kind of game her granddaughter has been playing but if they meant to kill us, they would have already.”

“Where is she?”

“I didn’t see, but I am sure she is alive,” he said. Piro could not tell if he was hopeful or disappointed by this knowledge. As if answering a different question, he continued, “Our people have a certain, troubled, relationship with our fellows. We do not recognize the Troll King, except as a minor lord, so this has caused a long dispute between us that has led to several blood feuds.”

“You didn’t expect to be alive this time,” she added, rhetorically.

“No, but now I see that the Clan chieftain plans something else, perhaps to arrange for a truce so we can join against the forces who would take what little is left of this land.”

“But you don’t agree?”

“Oh, I would love for it to happen, if it would succeed,” he spat. His expression changed to one of exhausted despair, one formed over years of disappointment. “The Clan is almost as diminished as ours. This small camp is all that is left, it seems. It wouldn’t be enough even if we had ten or twenty times more.”

Something from her old past rose up in her gullet. She said, sharply, “Isn’t it better to die fighting, than to give up without hope?” However, she wasn’t sure if that was directed at him, or to herself.

The next day, signs of conflict began appearing, as the mood of the camp turned darker. There was some wailing that she heard during the night but she was not allowed to see the source of the commotion, but the grim expressions was enough to tell her that the news was not good. As the week passed, the village filled up with more people, swelling to almost twice its original size in population.. Piro knew enough to be able to discern that many were refugees: she recognized the dazed look. However, they must have known this would happen well in advance, as they brought supplies with them. It appeared that they were preparing for a siege.

It was the charm that saved Bailey’s life, he was sure of it. He’d bought it from some witchy woman in town, although it was considered a sacrilege to some. Old Rob had never been one for religion, so any would do in a pinch in his eyes. The arrow, imbued with its own magic, had flown much faster and further than any that could be sent by mere human means. It missed his jugular by mere inches and had enough strength despite its long flight to run him through except it had struck the stock of the rifle, shattering it like a bullet would have. He immediately leapt down from his perch shouting for his assistant and woman to join him amongst the crags.

Tanila wiped the blood from the cuts on his face as he babbled, “Fuck me. That was a twig arrow. I swear by my own gear, but it would be nice to have something so quiet and true.” While picking pieces of arrow off, he put down the broken rifle down as Jaymon readied to give him the alternate, primed and ready. He debated sticking his head out to scan for where the arrow had come from, but it had been totally silent. Bailey only knew that it probably hadn’t come from the direction of their own camp downslope, but he’d have to risk it going down to find out. “Screw it,” he said. “Load me up a flash charge on big bossy.” He stood up, shot off a quick round in a random direction and scooted back down immediately. Nothing happened, but he wasn’t a fool. They had made him good, and if it was him, he’d be waiting for the right time to finish him off if he even had a hair sticking out for too long.

Jaymon had the blunderbuss loaded up with the special round as he handed off the rifle for a reload. Bailey fired it off into the sky as Tanila covered her ears. The camp would see and hear it, and know his position was compromised. He expected the camp to start firing off their mortars at any time to keep the enemy honest. Hopefully, they’d be able to send some troops out to cut off whoever had him pinned, but there would be precious time for the trolls, and their allies, to make a move on the trail. He didn’t think they’d try to take out his spot which was quite a distance afield but he had Jaymon get the pistols and grenades ready, just in case. In the distance, he could hear the pop from the rifles of other shooters, so something was happening all around. Tanila looked at him accusingly, as if blaming him for signing up for this expedition. It had been cake so far, so Bailey, after years of experience, hadn’t expected it to last as long as it had. He rubbed the charm in his pocket, giving it thanks.

He gave Tanila a wry smirk, “Either way, I guess I’m not getting a blowie tonight, am I?”

Mrs. Gong’s promised reinforcements managed to make a brief break in the lines, bringing in much needed supplies and extra fighters, including a small clutch of Shay warriors. Piro could see that the villagers were ambivalent toward the newcomers. Leaves was unceremoniously released from his cage. If he was displeased by the bargain, he did not show any overt resentment although he spoke little to his comrades. The three bowmen from their original scout party, quite hale, were part of the contingent. They studiously avoided their former lead. Senua Gong finally made her appearance, beside the Clan Chieftain, declaring the new alliance between the two factions against all enemies. The commander of the new force was Millon Gong, one of Senua Gong’s uncles. An advisor from the Shay council of elders, one named Frost, stood alongside. He was wiry and appeared to be quite frail.

There was a celebration thrown to seal the deal, but the bleakness of their situation even with the fresh aide dampened the proceedings. Caution prevailed for the most part, meaning that they ate sparingly, not knowing how long the rations would be forced to last. Despite their arrival, there was no guarantee of regular supplies in such a fashion.

Later, the leadership, including Senua Gong, gathered in the big man’s house. Piro was allowed to assist in serving the group with the chieftain’s wife. The big chieftain dominated the circle as Millon Gong sat to his right and Frost opposite. Senua sat to his left, closer than appropriate. The children were sent off to stay with extended family. Senua Gong pulled Piro aside when she leaned over to refill her drink bowl, “Ah, our tasty treat is still alive and well I see. Join me later for a bath.”

Piro looked nervously at the chieftain, who said, “That is fine. However, do not spoil her.”

If her uncle noticed Senua’s expression of annoyance, he did not say, remarking to the chieftain, “How is your lord doing, if I may inquire?” He was a middle-aged man with a regal bearing of his own although, technically, the Gong’s bore no titles. The family’s power was a combination of their monetary influence as well as their association by marriage to the Shay royalty; however, this did not confer any official titles to them in any capacity. Certainly, none recognized by any other elites of the world.

The chieftain’s eyes turned cold, “He’s the Great King, not a mere lordling. The time for his ascendency will come again.”

Senua patted Piro on the head, “And a fresh bride for his house. He has a famous appetite does he not?”

Piro’s face turned pale. Almost dropping the serving pitcher, she continued to top off the drinks. The men continued their dialogue in the tongue of the Shay. Although not fluent, Millon Gong kept up with the conversation easily enough.

The chieftain said, “And what of the mad king? Any news?”

Frost, holding a cup to his thin mouth, shook his head, ignoring the slight, “His entourage was last heard to be on the road to Timol. In his stead, the council runs the territory as you know. Their word, and of Jantilla Gong, hold true.” Jantilla being Mrs. Gong’s name. Everyone knew that the council was a sham, as Mrs. Gong actually ran the whole thing as a de facto ruler.

Gint, the chieftain, gave him a look of pure disgust, “And so the high Shay fall to the dust.”

“We are not the ones hiding on a mountain!” Frost sputtered.

“Well, you’ll be next, you know it. That’s why you’re helping us now.”

The argument was circular, and to Senua, pointless. She retired, pulling Piro along. There was a private bath built up for Senua with the water heated up with rocks brought by attendants. Once again, Piro served as her wash girl.

“Relax,” Senua snapped after a while. “Don’t sit there like that, lean back.” Above them, the night stars glittered, coldly. “Life is short, so you might as well enjoy it. A hot bath is the perfect thing, don’t you think?”

Piro shivered despite herself, “Why do they fight for this place? I understand why the trolls do, to protect their homes, but the rest.”

“As for the Company,” Senua explained, apparently feeling loquacious. “They are under the illusion that there is a wealth of gold and treasure up here. Of course, the coffers of the Troll King were depleted long ago, as well as of my own house. My father spends what is left whoring and gambling. Timol is one of those places, although not as prestigious as the great whore capital of Artemisia in the far west, where they say the silver and gold coins used to fall like leaves and the prostitutes, both men and women, would trade any sin for coin, as it was known. At least until the dark one came and slaughtered them all, and took what was left for his own pleasure.”

Piro stiffened, “The dark one?”

“Better not to speak too much of him,” Senua changed the subject. “I guess you heard, you are to be offered to the Troll King. It is a great honor.”

Piro clutched at herself, too numb to respond. She seemed lost in some bitter memory.

Senua kept talking, settling back so that the steaming water hit her chin, “Ah. I’m almost curious as to what it would be like. Very few are allowed into the secret Hall where he lives. I’ve begged Gint to take me there but he refuses. Well, things will change.”

Piro stared at nothing as she bit her lip, causing a bud of scarlet blood to form.

Excerpt from the Trials of Margret Beatrice of the First Ward by her second, Warren Viro Quantelle.

I still remember that day. The smell of the blood–and the color of it–as it spilled from the throats of my sisters. There was so much of it. Margret’s expression never wavered, even as she stood as second for the decimation. We had chosen by lot, those of us to die. The ones who drew the straws paired up in the old way. The emperor had allowed us that tradition at least. How brave! They had held the knives up to each other’s throats in the ancient ceremonial stance passed down to us from our ancestors.

Margret led the count, and each of the resplendent warriors struck at her sister without hesitation. It was almost perfection, as the blades cross their necks at the same moment. Only one flaw: a blond Therungian girl had clutched at her throat, as her partner had just missed the critical veins as she died. Calmly, Margret had ordered me to lift up the poor warrior’s braids, so she could give the final blow with the heavy executioner’s sword.

We had all given our word, so the weapons were handed back without argument and the remains of our sisters were gathered up to be taken to the pits for disposal. As was tradition, we, the living, had turned our backs to our fallen, for their bodies did not hold their spirits any longer. We gave the chant, promising them that we would see them again at the head waters of sweet Daphne, our goddess. The crowd had spit on the corpses, hooting and cheering, but we did not curse them for it. The flesh was just flesh, and as such meaningless. Unlike others, we did not idolize the flesh, so why should we rebuke those who would mean to desecrate them? Our spirits were beyond such things, pure.

Still, when Margret stood by my side once more, her eyes bore down on the emperor’s cadre with a fire I had never seen from her before, or since. She said to me, “There is a way. Listen. We will endure the darkest of our days to become one of his harem.” She pointed her chin to the attendants at his feet. They were chosen from the best of the land, carefully anointed and indoctrinated. Margret meant for those of us who survived to infiltrate those ranks, and to assassinate the black lord in his den.

“Surely, we are not the first to attempt this,” I said.

“Still, we must try. Promise me you will join me in this, even if all of our honor shall be spoiled for eternity and our souls banished from the high waters for it.”

Of course, what else could I do but agree?