Mark Nerrow remained alert, and intangibly Will continued to observe as he floated along beside his father. His mood couldn’t be described as alert, however; a better description would have been frantic. None of the men in the army understood troll, but he did. What sounded like incoherent rage to the soldiers was crude but effective speech. The captive trolls were calling out to allies in the distance, describing and gesturing toward the humans they thought were controlling the spells that held them.

  None of it made it easier for Will to relax his attention and cast a teleport spell. Quite the opposite. He found himself yelling soundlessly at his father. A perimeter won’t help! They need to put up defensive walls! Now!

  “Listen to ‘em yap! They’re no better than animals,” jeered one of the soldiers standing guard by a force-cage. Others agreed with him, but the sentiment died quickly as a massive rock sailed into their midst, crushing the first man it hit and badly wounding several others as its momentum carried it through the group of soldiers. A second of stunned surprise followed, but it ended quickly as cries of pain and confusion went up from several places at once. More rocks were landing, tearing through the men around each force-cage.

  Two of those struck were sorcerers, and their spells died the moment they went down, leaving two trolls free in the midst of the clustered soldiers. Rocks continued to fly, and the freed trolls went to work with their clubs, sweeping men into broken piles while they ignored the spears of their foes.

  The battalion had more than six sorcerers, of course, and replacements quickly moved up to recapture the rampaging trolls, but the rocks were still flying. Another sorcerer died while they were still attempting to restore order, and the third free troll managed to kill yet another.

  Mark Nerrow could see the battalion teetering on the precipice of chaos and disaster as replacements attempted to restrain the trolls while others tried to get defensive walls in place to stop the hail of stones. Using one of his earth elementals, he managed to erect a fifty-foot earthen wall along one side, and he sent a steady stream of commands to the others.

  The commands themselves weren’t as important as the sound of his voice. His presence and unwavering confidence held back the panic that had threatened to undo their discipline. More walls went up, protecting the sorcerers keeping the trolls caged. Nerrow tried to get a count of his remaining sorcerers. They’d lost five so far, leaving them with thirteen, fourteen counting himself. With six maintaining the cages, they had eight holding walls around the others.

  A roar cut through his train of thought as the source of the thrown stones finally reached them. Trolls were running at them from several different directions, and most of the men were outside the defensive walls. Although the soldiers formed lines, their lines meant nothing as the massive trolls smashed through, heedless of their weapons.

  How many? thought Will. He couldn’t tell, but it was more than ten. Three of the sorcerers dropped their defensive spells to cage the newcomers, before realizing there were too many. More men died, and panic ensued. Giant clubs rose and fell while the soldiers realized the futility of their plight.

  Chapter 21

  As the battalion teetered on the brink of a rout, Mark Nerrow understood that firm orders and calm determination wouldn’t be enough to keep the men’s morale from breaking. Worse, even if they didn’t panic, it was quite possible they’d just be delaying their defeat. That didn’t mean he had to die, however. Being an accomplished spellcaster and possessing six elementals, four greater and two lesser, Mark could easily escape and preserve himself.

  He felt shame for merely having the thought, but he took that shame and used it to fuel his anger and determination. A disaster now might mean an even worse loss in the future, and if the trolls had more time to multiply, and worse, organize, it might mean an unending series of ever more desperate battles. It might eventually lead to their own extinction.

  Mark’s jaw tightened, and he sent mental commands to his elementals. His son might look down on sorcery, but it gave him access to far more turyn than any individual could hope to produce, plus his elementals could act semi-independently. His two fire elementals, both greater, moved out to his left and right until they were just beyond the shield-wall, which was mostly hypothetical at this point. A circle of flame flickered into existence, encircling the soldiers and a few of the trolls already among them. At the same time, his two earth elementals buried two of the trolls in their midst, and his water elemental channeled its turyn into Nerrow himself.

  His air elemental waited.

  Betwixt them all, Nerrow coordinated their actions and began funneling turyn to both the fire elementals and the air elemental. The circle of flame grew brighter and hotter, the flames changing from dull orange to an intense yellow-white that put off so much heat it burned anyone unlucky enough to be within ten feet of it. The trolls on the outside shied away from it while the men and trolls within did similarly.

  “Men of Terabinia and Darrow, take heart! This is not our day to die! Show these dogs that we do not bleed for naught!” The words came to Mark Nerrow without effort, and later he would not remember saying them, but many heard him nonetheless. Punctuating the end of his cry, the governor sent a final pulse of turyn and a command to his elementals. The air elemental exploded outward, sending a gale-force wind over the heads of the battling men, sorcerers, and trolls. It struck the flame-wall which was simultaneously swelling with latent heat and power.

  A searing wind of intense heat and flames roared outward twenty, thirty—forty feet. It caught many of the trolls that had withdrawn to safety just beyond the reach of the flame-wall. Had they been human they would have died then, for the heat burned their skins to ash while roasting eyes and the lungs of those who happened to take breath at the wrong moment. Blind and burning, those that could wailed in pain.

  Had he had an infinite source of power, Mark Nerrow might have been able to end it there, but even a man with six elementals had limits. The fire elementals rapidly depleted their power, and the air elemental was done even sooner. He’d accomplished his goal, however. Most of the trolls were temporarily disabled. The sorcerers within their position re-caged the free trolls and the soldiers holding the line were able to restore order and discipline. Mark shouted a new order: “Burn the ones we have before the others recover! We can win this if we reduce their numbers quickly enough.”

  The few trolls that hadn’t been burned seemed to realize this as well, and they pushed past their burned brethren to assault the line again, seeming desperate to disrupt the humans before things turned against them. The battalion had firmed up though, and frightening as the three trolls that threw themselves at the line were, the veterans managed to keep them at bay with a multitude of spears. At the same time, the two or three sorcerers not already engaged in managing a force-cage began employing their spells to burn the imprisoned trolls.

  It seemed they might just pull through, barely.

  Mark Nerrow employed his water elemental to assist the soldiers holding the shield-wall, while his mind calculated their odds. It would take the sorcerers several minutes to completely destroy the captive trolls, and it would likely exhaust their turyn temporarily, but if they could manage it then the caging sorcerers could capture the unburned trolls. If they could find the time and energy to destroy those before the ones burned by his fire-wall recovered, they would win, simple as that.

  The sky rumbled again, and Mark glanced upward. A fat drop of rain landed on his cheek, and he had to force himself to suppress the howl of helpless rage that welled within his heart. Not now! As if in reply, lightning lit the sky briefly, and more drops fell, becoming a steady downpour. Furious, the governor glared at the black cloudy skies. “Damn the Mother! Why?” It was blasphemous language, but it was obvious that fate had abandoned him already.

  Everyone understood the implications, trolls and men alike. One group took heart, and the other struggled to hide their despair, but the conclusion was foregone now. The once-valiant defenders would soon become nothing more than food, helpless prey to be devoured.

  “Father.” Will put a hand on the governor’s shoulder to bring the man back from his dark thoughts.

  Nerrow jumped, then stared at the man standing beside him. “What the devil? How?”

  Will smiled. “I’ll explain afterward.”

  “That’s a big assumption,” said Mark darkly, but there was fresh hope in his eyes. “Can you blast them all back, the way you did the Darrowans during the war?”

  Will knew what he was referring to. He’d once turned a massive magical assault by the Darrowan spellcasters back against them, using his talent to convert their turyn into a shockwave that killed or incapacitated thousands in the blink of an eye. That wasn’t an option here. “It wouldn’t stop the trolls for long,” he pointed out. “Besides, I’d need a source of power. There’s nothing here but you and your subordinates.” He didn’t bother mentioning that both were already mostly tapped out.

  His father looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Do you have some other miracle then?” The remark was half joke, half wish.

  To be honest, Will was uncertain. He’d devoted all his efforts to getting there, without thought to what he would do once he arrived. “What do you need most?”

  “Either an end to the rain, or enough power to burn those trolls to dust in spite of it,” said the older man immediately.

  He wasn’t sure if he could do it, but the words gave him an idea. Will reached for the storm clouds above, but he found them tantalizingly out of reach. The distance from ground to sky was too great to bridge with the meager amount of power available to him. Frustrated, he looked around, gazing at the depleted elementals and fatigued sorcerers scattered among the soldiers. He could use them, but they’d be helpless for a period of time afterward.

  Then his eye settled on a dying man nearby. The soldier’s leg was missing, and without a quick tourniquet and serious medical attention he’d be dead within minutes—if he lived that long. Will could save the man, if he devoted himself to that task alone. Or he could have given out regeneration potions worth a thousand crowns apiece and saved most of the wounded. He had more than a hundred safely stored within the limnthal.

  To use them all would be to spend a fortune in healing magic, and it would still be a fruitless gesture. That type of regenerative magic drew on the strength of the patient to restore the body. Most of the wounded would be left unconscious for hours, and those who remained wouldn’t be able to move them—not while they were busy being torn apart by trolls.

  He couldn’t save everyone. Some would have to be sacrificed. And the logical choice is to use those already dying. He made his decision without hesitation, feeling the familiar sensation of something hardening in his chest. A dull pain that probably represented the slow death of his conscience. Source-links shot out from his body and connected to three wounded men. Two were obviously dying, but the third would probably have recovered.

  He didn’t have time to pick and choose.

  His father watched him curiously. “What are you doing?”

  Taking turyn from others rendered sorcerers and other spellcasters nauseous, but that wasn’t the case for a properly trained wizard, and with Will’s level of practice, he could draw upon almost any quantity of foreign turyn without being sickened. He ripped the energy from the wounded men so quickly that had they been awake they would have fallen unconscious immediately. Taking a few steps, Will found more injured men and repeated the process.

  Those in the worst shape died quickly, while those with minor injuries were rendered insensible. What Will was doing couldn’t kill a healthy person, but it was a hard thing to deal with for someone already badly wounded. Ten, fifteen, twenty, Will couldn’t contain the quantity of turyn he harvested, so he let it flow into the air around him, creating a dense area of ambient energy around himself.

  It didn’t matter if it was within or without, it belonged to him, and when he sensed that it was enough, he looked back to the sky with eyes that were filled with actinic sparks. The turyn around him raced upward, forming a tenuous line that reached for the firmament, stretching until it contacted the swelling thunderheads above. It carried his will with it, acting as a medium, and when he finally made contact, the turyn locked within the storm became his as well. Power raced back and forth between the storm and the ground as Will consolidated his command.

  A feeling of intense euphoria filled him, and Will knew he had done the right thing. The deaths meant nothing. His choice was all that mattered, and the decision of a god was innately right. His lips pulled back to reveal white teeth that seemed to shine with the reflected illumination of the electric arcs that crawled back and forth across his skin.

  Trolls and men alike froze at the spectacle, and a strange quiet arose, as everyone seemed to wait expectantly on him. Will’s eyes roamed as he took stock of the scene. Four trolls were actively fighting, but there were many more who would be able to reenter the fray within a minute or two. The few that the sorcerers had caged were in the worst shape, but the constant downpour made it nearly impossible to finish burning them.

  Will turned in a slow circle, and then without warning, he unleashed hell on earth. Thick waves of lightning flowed down to the earth like a waterfall of light. It struck the trolls with frightening accuracy, and if any were missed in the first thunderous onslaught, Will paid them special attention in the second assault. The sound and flash that accompanied the lightning rendered everyone deaf and blind. Men screamed, horses bucked, and some soldiers who happened to be a little too close to the trolls died.

  Realizing the damage the cacophony was doing to his allies, Will silenced the following waves of lightning, using some of the ambient energy to dampen the thunder. The result was a horrifying lightshow as trolls sizzled, flopped, and exploded under repeated and strangely muffled lightning strikes. Will let it continue for a full minute, until he was certain that the trolls were so badly wounded they wouldn’t be able to rise for some time.

  As devastating as the lightning was, its damage was limited, burning thin lines through the bodies of those it contacted. It was great at destroying things or starting fires, but it wasn’t a good tool for completely incinerating flesh. With a thought, Will stopped the rain, calming the opposing forces that were causing the clouds to drop their moisture. The same action lessened the potential remaining for him to tap, but he’d already gotten what he needed. It was time to clean up the mess.

  He had all the turyn he needed, so long as he remained connected to the storm, but his will wouldn’t allow him to play storm god forever. It was hard to judge, but he still had some time. If he could reflex cast the right fire spells, he could get rid of the trolls on his own, but even then he might not have enough time to finish the job. Fortunately there was a more efficient way to do the job, one that would spare some of the strain on his will.

  Mark Nerrow had put a force-dome around himself and was standing close by, his jaw ever so slightly agape as he surveyed the destruction. Will waved at him to lower his shield. His father hesitated, an odd look in his eyes, but after a few seconds dismissed his protection. Without preamble or permission, Will attached a source-link and began channeling energy into his father, carefully tuning the frequency to keep from making the older man sick.

  “What are you doing?” asked Mark.

  “You’re better suited for roasting them,” said Will, the bitter taste of ozone on his tongue as he spoke. There were still arcs of electricity crawling over his face and body.

  His father nodded, directing the fresh power to his fire elementals. “This won’t be enough, you realize. Everything is damp, and I’ll tire long before—”

  Will cut him off. “There’s turyn aplenty. I’ll keep feeding you power until its done.”

  “Very well.” Mark Nerrow began using spells of his own while dividing the extra energy between his fire elementals. Even so, he knew he couldn’t finish all the trolls in time. Continuing to work, he asked, “Can you do this with the other sorcerers as well?”

  He could, but there were problems. “Only if you want them all vomiting. Matching turyn frequencies with more than one person at a time would be difficult.”

  “Will you be able to do—” the governor paused, looking for words. Finally, he waved at the sky. “—can you call the lightning down again? This is going to take too long.” Black, greasy smoke was filling the air as the sorcerer and his elementals carefully reduced three separate trolls to ash. The stench was nauseating.

  There were at least twelve more, and most of them were already twitching. Will could probably do it again, but something else bothered him. Summoning a book from his limnthal, he began thumbing his way to the index while simultaneously asking, “Do you think this is all of them?”

  “All the ones that attacked us,” said Mark. “None have escaped as far as I know.”

  Will found the page number he wanted and began thumbing back toward the middle of the book. “No, do you think this is all of them in Darrow?”

  “I didn’t think there were this many until a few minutes ago. I have no idea now,” answered his father.

  The spell he found was fourth order in terms of complexity and Will had never cast it before, much less practiced it. Two or three years ago he wouldn’t even have dared to attempt such a spell for the first time without at least a few days of practice, but despite his youth, he was a long way from his time as a novice. His constant and unrelenting practice, both with spells he knew and learning new spells he thought he would need, had given him a degree of expertise far in excess of what most would expect. Running his eyes down the page, he spent two minutes looking over the rune structure, and then while he silently read it a second time, he crafted the construct above his left hand.