Morgan Rice - Night of the Bold

Vesuvius grinned and raised his halberd again, and this time, Alva knew the next blow would kill him.

Alva did not try to resist. He had lived long enough to meet his fate calmly when it came for him. He stood there proudly, greeting the end of his life not with fear, but with resolve. If that was what the universe wanted of him, then so be it.

As Vesuvius stepped forward, suddenly, Alva stumbled, as the earth quaked beneath him. The quaking grew more intense, and Vesuvius and the trolls stumbled along with him. It was a tremendous earthquake, gaining in strength, feeling as if the entire core of the earth were being shook.

Alva fell to the ground, the thousands of trolls with him, wondering what was happening as he tried to regain his equilibrium. And then, suddenly, he realized. The Unfinished Sword. It had been returned to its home. Kyle, Kolva, and Alec had succeeded.

The earth shook and shook, as if all of Escalon were being reborn, and suddenly, there followed a great hissing noise. Alva looked to the north and already on the horizon he could see the glow, growing brighter by the second.

The Flames were being restored.

Alva heard a rumbling, and he looked over and watched the rubble of the tower collapsing upon itself. All that remained of the tower was sinking into the earth. Kyle and Kolva leapt out of the way just in time, before being sucked down with it.

They rushed to his side, as Alva regained his feet and began to feel his own energy return. The three of them raised their staffs, and as one, they all faced off with Vesuvius.

Vesuvius stumbled to his feet and stared back, wide-eyed. For the first time, Alva saw real fear on his face. Clearly, he had not expected this. In the distance, the air was filled with the shrieks of his troll nation, millions of them, being burned alive as they migrated south and were trapped in the new Wall of Flames. Behind them came the cries of millions more trolls, now trapped behind the Flames, trapped in Marda forever, their dreams of invading Escalon crushed for good.

Vesuvius clearly realized in that moment that he was trapped here now, on this side of the Flames, cut off from his nation, his army. That all his hopes and dreams were crushed. That all that remained of his troll army were these few thousands, trapped here inside of Escalon. All demoralized, all knowing they had lost, that they could never return to Marda.

Alva reached out his arms, and as he did, his staff rose in the air and came back together, the two parts mending perfectly as he regained his strength. He, too, felt reborn. Beside him, Kolva and Kyle raised their staffs, and the three of them, with a new energy, faced off with Vesuvius.

Vesuvius raised his halberd, uncertain for the first time. He stared back at them all in shock as the three of them charged. Alva swung first, knocking the halberd from his hands, while Kolva swung his staff and cracked him in the chest. Kyle stepped up and kicked him, knocking him down.

As he lay there, defenseless, Magon stepped forward out of the mist, and rose his palm towards Alva.

Alva nodded to Kyle and Kolva and they turned and ran off into the crowd, pursuing the other trolls as they tried to escape back to the Flames.

Magon stepped forward, and raised his palm, scowling, as if to kill Alva.

But Alva, feeling more powerful than ever, merely stepped forward, took Magon’s hand in his, made a fist and crushed it. Magon shrieked, yet it did little good. Alva kicked him, sending him flying back thirty feet, into the closing fissure, with an awful shriek from hell. Dead.

Alva alone stepped forward and faced Vesuvius. This was his battle to fight. His and his alone.

Vesuvius felt a wave of panic for the first time in his life. As he watched the Flames restored, he knew it was over. Everything he had fought for, had lived for, had fallen apart. The Flames, inexplicably, had somehow risen again. This, he had never foreseen. And now, this was a battle he could not win.

Seeing Alva bearing down on him, Vesuvius scrambled to his hands and knees, turned, and for the first time in his life, he fled.

Alva pursued him. As Vesuvius ran, he watched Kyle and Kolva charge into the trolls and swing ferociously, driving what remained of his nation all back, north, for the Flames. His trolls, demoralized, fled, trying foolishly to return to Marda. They all shrieked and fell as Kyle and Kolva caught up with them, felling them one at a time.

Vesuvius ran, too, senselessly back toward Marda, knowing there was no way out yet needing to see it for himself, to see the Flames up close. He burst through a patch of woods, Alva on his heels, and finally he stopped in shock as the great Flames roared before him, glowing, sparking. He could feel their heat on his face even from here.

He stood there staring, aghast. It was true. The Flames had risen once again. His nation was cut off from Escalon, this time, he sensed, for good.

Vesuvius watched as Kyle and Kolva swung their staffs ferociously, smashing trolls on every side, killing them dozens at a time as they sent them into the Flames. No one could stand up to their power, and his trolls were too terrified to do anything but attempt to run back home.

A few trolls finally stopped at the Flames, turned around, and put up a fight. But it was half-hearted. Kyle and Kolva fought like men possessed, destroying what remained of his nation in a dizzying whirl of prowess. He watched them knock out twenty trolls before even one could raise a halberd.

Vesuvius finally stopped himself. He turned, his back to the Flames, cornered in, and faced Alva.

Alva approached calmly, staff before him, as if cornering a wounded deer. Vesuvius stood there, and he felt ready. He was ready to make amends for his lifetime of crimes, for all the raping and pillaging and murder, for all the pain and agony he had inflicted on others. He knew this day would come. He had just not expected it so soon.

Vesuvius felt a deep regret and shame. He had failed all of Marda, as had his forefathers before him. The trolls would never have Escalon. They would always be contained in Marda.

Yet Vesuvius had one last flash of anger, of defiance. If he was going to die, it would be on his terms. He wouldn’t let Alva have the satisfaction.

As Alva approached, Vesuvius, with one final battle cry, turned and threw himself into the Wall of Flames. He shrieked as he felt himself burning, being consumed alive. He felt demons descending, taking his soul, preparing to drag it into the darkest depths of hell and tear it to bits.

His agony, he knew, had just begun.

Kavos led his men up the icy cliffs of Kos, all of them clinging to the side of the mountain with their ice picks, barely managing to hang in the face of howling winds. Kavos, swaying after a particularly strong gust, glanced over to see Bramthos beside him, and hundreds of his men below, all climbing as fast as they could to beat out the Pandesian army.

The air was filled with the chorus of ice chipping, with the sound of arrowheads and spearheads chipping the ice wall, rising even above the wind, cast by the Pandesians. Kavos looked down and was relieved to see they were out of range of now. The Pandesian army, unable to climb like they could, were powerless at the bottom, only able to fire arrows that fell short or were diverted in the wind. After all, these mountains were for the men of Kos, and the men of Kos were not faint of heart.

Kavos craned his neck and looked back to the horizon and saw the ground filled with men, tens of thousands of them, the entire northern legion of the Pandesian army. Though he had but several hundred men at his disposal, he was unafraid. This, after all, was his terrain. He remembered what his father had once told him: Terrain, not manpower, won wars .