Mark Nerrow met the Darrowan’s gaze for several seconds, then he turned his head to carefully scan the area. His answer emerged only after careful thought. “I don’t like this position. Our view is blocked to the east by the hills, and we have thick scrub on the other side. I’d prefer a more open spot.”

  Gravholt’s lip twitched. He’d learned to respect the man who had defeated him, William Cartwright, but it was obvious that Lognion’s governor was also a thoughtful commander. “Most would say the opposite after the war that was just fought.”

  The governor snorted. “Times change. I’m not trying to hide from your army today. I’ve got a large force and a small but potentially powerful enemy; I’d rather see them from a long way away.”

  The Darrowan commander nodded. “I agree with you, but the terrain ahead is no better and it will take a while for the men to set up camp. We must make the best of the situation.”

  Nerrow liked the Darrowan’s honesty. The man spoke his mind without trying to sugarcoat his answers. “Send out five companies as scouting parties. Have the rest start digging in for the night.”

  A company was around a hundred and twenty soldiers, give or take, much larger than a usual scouting party. Gravholt didn’t argue, but he did raise one brow for a second before replying, “It will be as you order.”

  The column shifted quickly as orders were sent and soldiers shifted to take on their proper assignments. Commander Hargast approached the governor a few minutes later. “Should I tell them not to bother with the ditches?”

  Half the labor of setting up camp for several thousand soldiers involved creating earthworks, shallow ditches reinforced by the excavated dirt being piled to one side to create low walls. They were nothing compared to the massive excavations at long-term camps, but they still involved a significant amount of effort. Since they weren’t at war, the procedure was considered unnecessary. Forcing the issue would be an unpopular decision.

  Mark Nerrow wasn’t entirely certain what the correct choice was, given the situation, but he preferred preparation to pain, and he wasn’t afraid of being unpopular. “We aren’t cutting corners today. I’ll make a circuit to inspect the results in two hours.”

  An hour later, Captain Lorun appeared. “Some of the scouts have returned.”

  The governor nodded. The captain wouldn’t have come to see him unless something had been found. “And?”

  Lorun dipped his head respectfully. “One of the companies we sent out found something a few miles farther down the road, a trail leading into the hills. There were signs of blood and other marks on the ground. The tracker is outside; his name is Glen Tillery.”

  Each scouting party had one or more men with some degree of tracking skill. Governor Nerrow waved his hand, and Captain Lorun stepped out to usher the newcomer inside. After a quick show of respect, the tracker began to explain what he had found. “It looked like an old game trail, but it was hard to tell. A lot of traffic went through, and all of it on foot. The ground was pretty torn up, but I saw a few clear footprints.”

  Nerrow was listening intently. “Human?”

  The soldier nodded. “Some were definitely trolls, but there were human prints too, small ones, probably women and children.”

  Mark Nerrow felt his chest tighten slightly, not that anyone watching would have noticed. Outwardly he was calm, controlled—as he always was. Looking over the shoulders of the men, he noted the lengthening shadows outside. Another hour and late afternoon would become dusk. Not a good time to be chasing monsters in the hills. “Anything else you could discern?”

  Tillery looked at the floor of the tent. “The sign was fresh. The earth was still damp where it was disturbed.”

  “How fresh?” Nerrow’s voice was taut with intensity.

  The tracker swallowed, his voice full of shame as he replied, “Fresh enough I was fearful there might be a chance they were still close enough to hear us and turn back on us. Forgive me, sir. If we’d gone forward, we might have caught up to them, but I ain’t never been so scared in my whole life.”

  “You had your comrades with you and a sorcerer to back you up. If it was just one—”

  Tillery interrupted him, “It wasn’t, sir. It was more than that.”

  The governor’s eyes narrowed. “How many?”

  “I dunno, sir, at least seven or eight, but it could be a lot more. They’re moving in a column, so their tracks are on top of each other. Could be seven, could be seventy. All I know is more than one is too many for our patrol.”

  “I agree,” responded Governor Nerrow. Silence reigned as he considered his options. The wise course of action would be to wait until morning, but his son William came to mind suddenly. He knew what Will would think of such a cold-blooded decision.

  Will had accused him of caring little for the lives of those in his care, managing the people who lived on his lands with no more concern than a man might have for his cattle. Mark Nerrow knew it wasn’t true, but the thought still bothered him. He made his decisions based on reason, and he always tried to do what was best for the majority. Being a lord, it was largely coincidental that such choices almost always favored his own wellbeing as well. Mark pushed the thought away.

  He had a choice to make, and he wouldn’t let personal matters cloud his judgment. Closing his eyes, he let his mind go quiet for a moment, and the decision solidified within him. Opening them once more, he looked at Captain Lorun. “Step outside and send a runner for Commanders Gravholt and Hargast. We’ll continue preparing the camp, but I’ll send a full battalion to rescue the villagers. With the blessing of the Mother, perhaps we can save some of them.”

  The governor had already removed his armor, but he glanced to one side where his manservant was already hard at work. “Put the rags and oil away. I’m leading First Battalion from Second Regiment personally.” He turned back to Captain Lorun and the tracker. “If I’m going to send good men on a risky fool’s errand, I’ll at least be there with them.”

  ***

  Will sat in what remained of Arrogan’s basement, the old lab that had been built under the house that until recently had been his mother’s home—until it had been erased by dragon’s fire. He was alone, without light, holding a small but solid leatherbound tome. On the outside it didn’t seem very special, aside from the fact that books were expensive and this one was obviously well made. The cover and spine bore no markings and there was little sign of wear.

  It was not a book that had been frequently used.

  In fact, if Will wasn’t mistaken, it had only been opened on occasions when a new wizard took the head seat as leader of the Council of Wizards. Twice if you counted those who also decided they had contributions or additions to make to the book by the end of their careers. According to Arrogan, it had been handed down from one head of the council to the next for centuries upon centuries. According to Grim Talek, he was the first head of the council, the first author, the originator of the book.

  Arrogan wouldn’t have been happy to hear that, and Will wished desperately that he could talk to the old man and seek his advice, but he no longer had the ring. The ring was with Grim Talek, and perhaps, if the lich hadn’t lied, with Selene. Will had been replaced.

  His old life, his old responsibilities, those were gone. Selene, Tiny, Janice, and everyone else—they were no longer his problem. Deep down, Will hated his choice, but he knew it was the right one. With the Grim Talek as an enemy, he couldn’t keep them safe, but with the lich as an ally, there was no better guardian. Alone, Will was free to do what needed to be done, and if he succeeded, he would win on all fronts. If he failed, well—they wouldn’t even know he had died.

  There was a third possibility, too. He might succeed and then die anyway. The price Grim Talek wanted for his assistance was potentially more difficult than defeating a dragon, and if Will failed to deliver, he would be forced to pay in flesh and blood. Will rubbed the space between his eyes. Let’s not think about that right now.

  As he opened the book, Will’s eyes adjusted until they found a type of light that would let him easily discern the letters on the page even in the darkness. It was as easy as breathing now, one of a hundred ways his body had adjusted to magic, both wild and structured. Arrogan’s only remaining student, the first true wizard of his age, began to read.

  The introduction was, in itself, a spell, one that had to be cast to continue. Failing to do so meant the reader couldn’t continue, and casting it was essentially an acceptance of terms, the terms of a wizard who had died thousands of years ago—Grim Talek’s terms. Without hesitation, Will created the spell construct described in the text and allowed it to sink into his body and mind.

  Sometime later, he closed the book, still only a third of the way through. Will blinked and stared at the blank cover. He had no memory of what he had just read, but he could still feel the spell of the book lingering in his mind, and he knew how it operated. He would remember nothing until the end, when he had made his choice, and maybe not even then. Only while he was reading would the contents be visible to his conscious mind.

  Currently, the only thing remaining to him was a sense of awe, coupled with a dark foreboding. The contents of the book had been both astonishing and frightful, that much he knew. When he reached the final entry, he would be given the choice of deciding whether to remember or forget. From what Grim Talek had said, most chose to forget. The ability to sleep soundly at night was invaluable, especially when the horrors that lay beneath the foundations of reality were completely beyond the ability of the reader to do anything meaningful about them.

  Those that chose to forget would only remember things if certain conditions were met, conditions that predictably necessitated the need for such terrible knowledge. But Will doubted he would be able to make such a comfortable choice. Lognion’s brood represented the end of human civilization, unless he could find a way to destroy the hatchlings.

  For now, he just wanted to pee. Rising to his feet, Will climbed up and went outside to relieve himself and stretch his legs.

  It was dark outside, which meant more time had passed than he realized. Will wasn’t sleepy yet, so he figured he would read for a while longer. The book’s spell would allow him to take as many breaks as necessary, for sleep or bodily functions. He just wouldn’t remember anything until he had finished and made the final choice. Going back down, he made himself comfortable, but before he picked up the book, he decided to check on Selene.

  A brief moment of meditation and he was able to cast his mind free. The act of leaving his body had become almost commonplace for him now, which was why he now had to use spells to anchor himself when he slept. Selene’s image appeared before him, and he saw that she was sleeping alone. The alone part was important to him. Grim Talek had pledged to maintain certain boundaries during his impersonation.

  Whatever lie he used, I bet she’s mad as hell at me right now, thought Will. Unless he told her the truth, in which case she’s probably even madder. Moving closer, he wished he could kiss her cheek. I love you.

  Selene stirred, and for a moment her eyes blinked open, and she murmured, “Will?”

  He watched her intently, but a second later her eyes closed, and Selene drifted back to sleep. Had she heard him, or had it been coincidence? He wasn’t sure. Laina was the only person he knew of who had developed astral sensitivity, and that had been after their souls had comingled. Will hoped it was true. If Selene developed the ability, they would be able to communicate more easily while separated. He was tempted to try again, but she needed her sleep.

  Will looked in on a few others in quick succession. Janice, Tabitha, and then, before he could stop himself, his thoughts turned to Laina. The empty grey darkness that engulfed his awareness was harmless, but the pain it brought him was immense. He had known it already. He’d witnessed it, but the harsh emptiness drove the fact home. His sister was gone.

  Hurting, he forced his attention to one last person, his father, and Mark Nerrow gradually came into focus. What Will saw came as a surprise. His father was riding a horse, despite the fact that night had already set in, and he wasn’t alone. Mark Nerrow was armed and armored, looking as fit and hardy as ever. Will shook his head imperceptibly. His father looked every inch the nobleman, as though the man had been drawn from the pages of some old romance.

  Around his father rode numerous soldiers. A few carried lanterns, but the overall radiance made it clear that there were sorcerers using either spells or their elementals to create light above them. How many are with him? Will wondered. He knew his father was supposed to be in Myrsta, so he hadn’t expected the man to be out riding with a military contingent. The immediate conclusion was obvious: Grim Talek hadn’t lied. There were trolls causing problems in Darrow, and Mark Nerrow had decided to take a personal hand in the matter.

  Will wasn’t particularly close to his father, but he felt a faint sense of pride seeing him riding with the soldiers. The nobleman took his responsibilities seriously, despite some of the cutting remarks Will had made to him in the past. Will had other things to worry about, though.

  Trolls didn’t see much better than humans at night, but they had keen noses, and anything that limited visibility and increased confusion would favor them greatly over the soldiers of Terabinia. So why aren’t they camped? Something urgent must have arisen for his normally cool-headed father to take such risks.

  Snapping back to his body, Will began preparing spells that he couldn’t yet reflex cast: teleport, earth-wall, fire-wall, and a large offensive fire spell. His repertoire of instinctive spells was so large now that he doubted he would need any of them other than the teleport, but it was nice to have options.

  Returning to his trance, he focused on Mark Nerrow once again. The next part would be tricky without Tiny or someone else disturbing his body to divide his attention, but it was something he needed to master anyway.

  The Governor of Darrow was still astride his horse, but he was no longer moving forward. He appeared to be near the head of the column, staring at something dim ahead of them. “They have to hear us,” he muttered to the officer beside him. “We’re only sixty or seventy yards away, and that’s not even considering the torches and spells.”

  “Could they be asleep?” asked the captain.

  Mark Nerrow shrugged. “Who knows with trolls? But there’s nearly six hundred men with us. It’s hard to believe they haven’t noticed us.”

  “A trap then,” said the captain. Yes! agreed Will wholeheartedly.

  “We haven’t seen more than one of them at a time. Are they capable of that kind of thinking?” asked a lieutenant from the other side. As the officer stopped talking, the sound of a child sobbing carried to their ears through the still night air.

  Governor Nerrow grimaced. “We have eighteen sorcerers with force-cages ready and almost six hundred soldiers to support them. As long as we know what to expect, we have the upper hand.”

  “Unless there’s more than eighteen of them,” observed the captain.

  Mark had already used spells to enhance his night vision so he could confirm what one of the sorcerers had reported. “There’s only six trolls visible, along with fourteen captives. If there’s more, they’d have to have dug pits to hide in, or be positioned some distance away for an ambush. Even so, we can handle twelve more even if that’s the case.”

  Subcommander Dranner, the battalion’s senior officer, spoke at last. “If any of that’s true it’s trouble. We haven’t seen that sort of thinking and planning from them. Just seeing them in a small group like this bothers me.” The sky rumbled as if to punctuate the officer’s remark.

  Governor Nerrow grimaced at the thunder. “We’re here, and now that we are it’s best to act quickly before it rains.” Incinerating a body to ash took considerably more power than simply burning someone to death. Six troll bodies represented a large amount of flesh and blood, and if it started raining, it would be that much harder to completely destroy their remains. The other officers met his eyes and silently conveyed their determination. Nerrow gave the order. “Let’s move. Sorcerers to the fore, and let’s get them contained before they can do anything.”

  Meanwhile, Will was still attempting to withdraw his attention just enough to access the teleport spell he had prepared. The situation had him worried, which made it more difficult. He agreed with his father’s decision, but he feared the worst. Taking captives, camping in groups—that means one of the troll leftovers had enough brain to retain language, he observed silently. If one of them had retained some memories and language, it might have taught the others and organized them.

  Will’s perspective followed along, close beside his father as the battalion marched forward in double time. The trolls leapt to their feet as soon as the humans started toward them, making clear the fact that they’d been well aware of the army’s presence, but they didn’t charge to meet them, seemingly content to wait.

  Seeing the uncharacteristic patience on the trolls’ part, Nerrow slowed the marching speed and the ever-perceptive sergeants along the front line began exhorting the men to watch the ground ahead for traps or pitfalls, even before the governor added his own caution. The distance between soldiers and trolls gradually dwindled while the monsters waited, stretching long arms and grinning with filthy teeth.

  Closer and closer, the soldiers advanced until they were scarcely ten yards away, and still the trolls had not moved, though they had reached down to claim large clubs that had been hidden at their feet. With so little distance between them, the trolls finally leapt fearlessly at the shield-wall, but by then it was too late. The sorcerers hidden amongst the second line raised their hands and used the force-cage spell each had been holding. In less than a second, it was over and all six trolls were safely contained. All that remained was to secure the captured villagers and burn the trolls to dust.

  Well disciplined, several companies moved to surround each caged troll while others moved to free the captives and establish a perimeter. All in all, the fight was over without excitement, and some of the men began to chatter as their nervous anxiety started to fade. Other than that, the only sound was that of the trolls bellowing impotently within their magical prisons.