Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

Dancer took one last look at the shuddering door, and hurried after her. Narrow wisps of mist had already begun to trickle past the closed door. Flint threw open the door at the bottom, charged through, and waited impatiently for the Dancer to join her. The moment he did, she thrust her torch into his hand, slammed the door shut, locked it, and pushed home both the bolts. She then leaned back against the door and let out her breath in a long, slow sigh. The Dancer calmly slipped the flaring torch into the nearest wall holder. Constance and Wilde looked at them blankly.
    “What the hell is going on?” said the bowman. “What did you run into up there?”
    “Creatures that were supposed to have become extinct centuries ago,” said the Dancer. “Tall bony things with teeth and claws. Trolls.”
    “They’re only legends,” said Constance.
    “Will you all shut the hell up and help me barricade this door!” snapped Flint. “There are at least a dozen of those legends on their way down here right now, and this door isn’t going to keep them out for long.”
    Together the four of them dragged some of the heavier rubbish over against the door and heaved it into position. The slippery ice on the floor helped. They were just manhandling the last of the junk into place when they heard muffled footsteps on the other side of the door. The Rangers and the outlaw backed quickly away and braced themselves. Something hammered on the door, and something else joined it. The sound rose and rose until it sounded like thunder in the enclosed space. Unseen claws dug into the wood, rending and tearing, and the bolts rattled ominously in their sockets. Flint looked at Constance.
    “Can’t your magic do anything to keep them out?”
    The witch shrugged unhappily. “I don’t have much magic left, but I can try.” She raised her left hand and a soft blue flame formed around her fingers, jumping and spitting. The witch muttered something under her breath, and the sputtering flame flew away from her hand to sink into the wood of the door. The banging and clawing stopped immediately, and the trolls raised their voices in cries of pain and anguish. For a few seconds there was silence. A frown burrowed between Constance’s eyebrows, and then the hammering suddenly started again. Constance shook her head.
    “They’re too strong for me. I’m a witch, not a sorceress. They’ll be through that door in a matter of minutes, and what magic I have left isn’t going to stop them.”
    “Isn’t there anything you can do?” said Flint.
    “Well, perhaps a little something to make life easier for us,” said the witch. She glared at the thick layer of ice covering the floor, and it cracked and shattered and fell apart into tiny pieces. Constance smiled slightly. “That should help our footing when we have to face the creatures.”
    Wilde looked at her. “What makes you so sure we’ll have to face them? The door’s solid oak, and that barricade looks pretty good to me.”
    “It won’t even slow them down,” said the witch quietly. “These trolls aren’t real, so they can be as strong as they need to be. The Beast is very near to waking now, and it senses we are a danger to it.”
    The hammering grew louder, and the door began to shake. The barricade shuddered in sympathy, and then toppled away from the door as it split suddenly from top to bottom. The four defenders backed quickly away. The jagged crack in the wood grew wider as they watched, and then the two halves of the door were torn away, and the doorway was full of grinning trolls. The defenders stood their ground, and the trolls hissed and growled, snapping their huge teeth in anticipation. Their bony hands twitched constantly, and the lantern light shone dully on the long claws.
    Flint and the Dancer stepped forward to put themselves between the trolls and the witch. Wilde nocked an arrow to his bow. The trolls surged forward into the cellar. Wilde’s bow thrummed, and the first troll was thrown back by an arrow jutting from its eye. Two more of the creatures fell to Wilde’s bow, and then he had to fall back as the first rush of trolls broke against Flint and the Dancer. The two Rangers stood unflinchingly together, their swords flashing brightly in the dim light. They cut through the massed trolls with deceptive ease, as though the bony creatures were no more substantial than the mists they came from. The trolls’ blood flew through the air like a ghastly rain,