Aaron Rosenberg - Tides of Darkness

All around him the other Amani trolls crept just as quietly, weapons at the ready. Most of them wore big grins, revealing their triangular teeth, and Zul'jin understood completely. They were within the elves' own homeland, preparing to attack them in the one place they assumed themselves safe. He could almost taste the anticipation.

The elves had plagued them far too long. Ever since the pale—skinned, pointy—eared interlopers had first appeared thousands of years ago, stealing territories from the vast Amani empire, they had claimed mastery of the lands' forests. As if they could match a troll for speed, stealth, and dexterity! But the elves had several strong advantages, the greatest of this had been their accursed magic. The trolls had never encountered such magic before, and had not had a way to counter the elves' mystical attacks or breach their arcane defenses.

Fortunately the trolls had significantly outnumbered them, and could overwhelm the hated elves by sheer numbers.

And then the elves had allied with the humans.

Together the two pale races had shattered the Amani empire. They had laid waste to troll fortresses and slaughtered thousands of his ancestors. Zul'jin snarled at the thought, the sound fortunately absorbed by his thick scarf. Before the war his people had been numerous and powerful, and had controlled much of the land. Afterward they had been scattered, a shadow of their former selves, and never possessed the sheer numbers to reclaim their stolen heritage.

Until now.

The Horde had promised them vengeance. And Zul'jin believed them. The orc leader, Doomhammer, had honor about him, the honor of a strong leader secure in his own power. He would not play Zul'jin false. And he had vowed to help them restore the Amani empire.

Already Zul'jin had started that task. He was the first forest troll since those terrible wars to reunite the tribes. One by one he had challenged the other tribe leaders and defeated them, whether at combat or at racing or at some other task. And all had bowed before him, pledging themselves and their tribes to his rule. The forest trolls were a single people once more. And with the Horde's help they would wipe the world clean of humans and elves alike, and rule the forests once more. The orcs showed no interest in trees and Zul'jin suspected they would occupy the valleys and plains of the world. Let them. All he wanted was the woods.

But first they had to take them from the elves. And that would be a pleasure.

Even now his nose twitched, warning him they were close. Zul'jin halted, raising one hand to signal a stop, and felt more than heard his brethren pausing as well. He peered down through the leaves, his sharp eyes piercing the gloom easily, and waited.

There! A flicker of movement appeared below, something passing into his range of vision on the forest floor. Whatever it was, it was cloaked in browns and greens like the trees but he caught a glimpse of paler color beneath. And it made no sound as it stepped, walking across leaves and brush as if they were smooth stone.

An elf!

Another emerged behind the first, and then a third and a fourth. Soon a full hunting party was passing below, ten in all. And they did not look up. Secure in their own forest, it did not occur to the elves to be wary.

Zul'jin grinned. This would be easier than he had thought.

Signaling his kin he returned his axes to their sheaths and dropped quietly to a lower branch, and swung from that one down to a third. Now he was less than twenty feet above the elves and could see them clearly, their cloaks streaming behind them. They carried the accursed bows and arrows of their kind slung across their backs, but their hands were empty. They did not suspect what lurked above them.

Zul'jin dropped down from the trees, drawing his axes as he moved. He landed easily on the balls of his feet, right between two elves, and slashed at both before they could react. His first blow took the one facing him in the throat, while his second blow bit deep into the skull of the one before him. Both fell, blood spraying the leaves.

The other elves turned, shouting in surprise, and reached for their own weapons. But now Zul'jin's brethren fell upon them, axes and daggers and clubs at the ready. The elves twisted and dodged, desperate to get enough space to draw their swords or string their bows, but the trolls did not give them the chance. The elves were quick but the trolls were taller and stronger, and grabbed the rangers before they could get away.

One elf did manage to twist free. He took two quick steps away and turned, using a tree for cover. Zul'jin expected the elf to go for his bow, but instead his hands fell to a long horn hanging from his belt. The ranger lifted the horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast—but it was cut short as one of the other trolls stabbed the elf in the stomach, and the blast turned to a faint wheeze as the ranger collapsed, blood spilling from his mouth as well as his gut.

The skirmish was over. Zul'jin reached down and cut an ear from the first elf he'd slain, adding it to the pouch at his waist. Later he would dry the ear and string it onto his necklace with the others, to show his prowess. But for now they had other tasks.

"Come," he told his kin, who were laughing and amusing themselves by tearing off ears and hair and other parts from the fallen elves. Several had appropriated the elves' long slender swords as trophies—such weapons were pretty enough but not sturdy enough for the trolls' powerful thrusts. "More elves be comin'," Zul'jin warned them. "Back ta the trees. We lead them on a chase, keep them busy." He grinned and his brethren answered with fierce expressions of their own. "Then we kill them all."

Quickly the forest trolls leaped up, grabbing low branches with their long—fingered hands and pulling themselves up into the cover of the leaves. They swung up and away, leaving the bodies and the blood behind, their eyes alert and noses sniffing for any hint of approaching elves.

Zul'jin was not worried. He knew the other elves would come soon. And they would be ready. It had been a long time since he had spilled elf blood, and the brief battle had renewed his thirst for more. His kin felt the same, and many were snapping their jaws and flexing their fingers, eager for another fight with the pale—skinned elves. Soon, Zul'jin assured himself quietly. Soon they would have a chance to kill as many elves as they wanted. The forest would run red with blood, and the elves would know the fall of their own empire, just as the trolls had felt theirs die so long ago. And he, Zul'jin, would be responsible. He would hold the elf king's head high so it could see its people's death, just before he devoured it whole.

He could hardly wait.

"Is it ready?" Gul'dan asked impatiently. A short distance away, Cho'gall shook both his heads. The massive ogre grunted and shoved, his enormous shoulder pushing the last Runestone fragment another foot across the thickly grassed clearing.

"Now it is ready," he called out, straightening and rubbing at the shoulder with one hand.

Gul'dan nodded. It had taken them several hours to dig out a single Runestone, shatter the monolith into several still enormous pieces, and carry five of them here to this clearing, and then several more hours to position the stones just right and inscribe the circle and the pentagram between them. Fortunately Doomhammer had given them the use of several regular ogres for the labor, and Cho'gall was able to communicate with his stupid one—headed kin more easily than any orc could. The Runestone fragments were large and dense but two ogres could lift them, whereas it would have taken dozens of orcs to budge each stone. Gul'dan wondered idly how the elves had gotten the original unbroken stones to their locations in the first place. Most likely magic. Or perhaps they had used slave labor as well. The forest trolls were nearly as powerful as the ogres and far smarter, so they would have been able to follow more detailed instructions.