Penance of Failure

Tibor had spent the past half-hour leading Selinde and Rezar up craggy slopes toward a ridge high above the pass. The Uthgardt had insisted on taking the most circumspect approach and, at length, the three came upon the ridge. A handful of orcs and a half-ogre stood on top of the ridge, facing the pass. Selinde motioned the others to stay a fair distance behind.

With elven adroitness, Selinde noiselessly ascended the last part of the slope below the ridge and climbed onto it. Turning, Selinde motioned the Uthgardt to approach and crept up behind the half-ogre.

Knowing that there were only a few weak spots in the monster's armor, Selinde aimed carefully and drove her sword into the hollow between the half-ogre's thigh and shin plates. The creature cursed incomprehensibly as it fell onto one knee and the two Uthgardt took that as their cue.

Selinde removed her sword from the half-ogre's leg and brought it around to hew off the leg of the nearest orc. Tibor dashed across the ridge and impaled his quarry while Rezar crushed the head of his own.

Despite its grievous wound, the black-armored half-ogre attempted to stand, gripping its sword with determination, but the effort was cut short when Rezar shoved the monster off the cliff. Selinde watched as the half-ogre tumbled down the precipitous rockface, and was relieved when the corpse came to rest on a jut of rock some distance above the pass. The orcs below remained unaware of what transpired.

Selinde examined the cliff face that lay beneath the ridge. The rocks that had built up to form the rockface did appear to have loosened over the years, and they were large rocks too. Tibor had brought them to the right place. Looking down at the orcs marching through the pass, and estimating the length of the ridge, Selinde could only guess at how much damage they could do to the orcs.

"Now, how are we going to bring the rockfall down on the orcs?" asked Rezar.

"With these," said Selinde, producing an exploding potion from within her cloak. Before leaving Hreispell, an alchemist of Aeterveris had rendered to Selinde a number of such potions, thinking that they may prove helpful. And so they would.

Orcs struggled to get past the palisades and, harried by arrows, bolts, fireballs, lightning and the hedge of Dwarven spears waiting on the other side of the palisades, died by the droves. Ciara impaled an orc that made it to the edge of the palisades and quickly withdrew her spear, watching as the orc tumbled down. Altogether, Ciara and the dwarves standing with her had only been given a handful of opportunities to engage the orcs, and the few orcs who made it past the palisades were already fatigued.

Behind the press of orcs stood the massive frost giant. As tall as a tower, the giant wielded a hammer worthy of its size and chilled the air about it.

A sudden clamor demanded Ciara's attention and she turned to see a troll tearing through the palisade wall on her left. A tall and lanky creature, but with monstrous strength, the troll broke and heaved away the palisade spikes, clearing a path for the orcs behind it. Bolts and arrows either glanced off the troll or failed to injure it as the monster rapidly made its way through the battlements.

"Well don't just stare," a dwarven sergeant shouted at Ciara, "get down there! They're going to need your help." The sergeant pointed at two dwarves. "You two, go with her."

Wasting no time, Ciara made her way to the section of the palisade where the troll would break through. A half-dozen dwarves were standing by with ready spears at the same place. With a surge of boundless aggression, the troll tore through the final palisade spikes and the dwarves, taken aback by the monster's speed, faltered. The troll did not allow their hesitation to go unnoticed. With a mighty swing of its right arm, the troll flung back a number of the dwarves.

Breaking away from the line, one of the dwarves thrust his spear into the troll's chest. The monster bellowed, though more from anger than pain, and smote the dwarf with the downstroke of one of its savagely clawed hands. Several dwarves stepped forward and made tentative jabs to ward away the troll while others pulled their comrade to safety.

Steeling herself, Ciara charged at the troll and thrust her spear into the monster's leg. The troll faced Ciara with a vicious snarl, and struck out with its claws.

After a moment of blackness Ciara realized she was on her back and the rancid stench alone could have told her that the troll was looming over her. Her spear lost, Ciara unsheathed her sword in an arc cutting across the troll's belly. As the monster recoiled, Ciara could see the wound sealing itself.

Before the young warrior could stand, the troll set upon her. And, when the beasts claws were mere inches away from Ciara's face, instinct set in.

Stop.

Though it did not stop, the monster did slow. Where before Ciara had imagined the struggle as breaking down the gates to her enemy's consciousness, there were no gates here, only mindless aggression, enough hatred to set an entire forest ablaze.

Sparing only enough concentration for a glance, Ciara saw the path the troll had cleared through the palisades, and the orcs who were now using the cleared passage.

Look.

Faltering, the troll looked back in the direction it had come from.

Destroy.

The beast needed no more encouragement, tearing away from Ciara and the dwarves, the troll charged back down the path it had carved out, and wrought havoc among the orcs who had sought to use it as a battering ram. Ciara tried to stand, but collapsed onto her back, suddenly nauseous.

You came to us again. In her minds eye, Ciara saw them, the field of corpses. Still fighting the nausea, Ciara attempted to ward off the image as well. A dwarf extended his hand, his lips were moving but Ciara couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Ciara seized the hand and the dwarf pulled her up to her feet as the haze faded.

Hrungnir watched with disdain as one of his pet trolls turned on the orcs it was supposed to serve as cover for.

"Wretches!" the giant shouted, "all of you! You," Hrungnir addressed one of his messengers. The orc groveled, knowing the giant had already killed half a dozen messengers during the battle, "go up the pass and tell Asgrim I want his Blackguards down here, now!"

The messenger trembled, Asgrim was the captain of Lord Hadeon's elite half-ogre Blackguards, and he rarely acted without orders from Hadeon himself, not wanting to waste his Blackguards on jobs best left for orcish thralls.

"Move!" the giant bellowed, and the messenger ran. Hrungnir stomped the ground in frustration, knocking down several nearby orcs with the shake. He recalled all too well his recent conversation with Hadeon.

"My lord, when have I failed to serve?"

"You failed me at Noatun. You failed to take Aeterveris without phenomenal casualties."

"They were elves, they would not stand their ground and fight–"

"And when your enemy fights differently than you, should you always use the same strategies? Against fewer than a thousand elves, you lost three times that number and killed no more than a quarter of them."

"My lord–"

"You have one more chance, Hrungnir."

"But, you need me. Without me, the frost giants will–"

"I needed you before, but now your clan owes its allegiance to me. Without me, you never would have become jarl. I made you, not the other way around."

The wasted human's arrogance had been infuriating. Worse, Hadeon had seen fit to disclose this in front of Asgrim, who had gloated during Hrungnir's humbling. The Battle Lord had certainly told his Blackguards, and from there the news must have come to Hrungnir's own thralls. Still, Hrungnir knew not to challenge Hadeon. Although he inhabited a human's body, and a pathetic one at that, Hadeon's power had grown far beyond that which any mortal should be able to wield.

So far, the battle was going better than the Battle of Aeterveris, but Hrungnir knew that didn't mean much. His own forces had taken the bridge with losses staggeringly greater than those suffered by the dwarves. Worse, they had been routed at the pass and would have lost that fight as well if it weren't for the intervention of Asgrim's Blackguards. Hrungnir realized that his tactical contributions to the battle were few, and was aware that would not sit well with Hadeon.

Only two options existed, win the fight, or die.

"Release more trolls to smash the palisades," Hrungnir ordered one of his orcish commanders.

With the path the troll had carved out secure, for the moment, Ciara looked past the palisades and to the sea of orcs. Standing conspicuously among them was the frost giant, a being larger than anything Ciara had imagined could exist. While the giant certainly seemed to be leading the battle, Ciara was all but certain that there was something else pulling the giant's strings. That "dark thing" she had felt at Aeterveris. Beyond the giant, beyond the orcs, beyond threshold of sight, Ciara knew that controlling presence was there, watching.
Knuckles white, Selinde clung to an outcropping of rock on the cliff face of the pass while searching with her right foot for a toe-hold. She found it, put some weight on it to see if it would hold, reached out with her right hand to seize another cleft, switched the toe-hold from her right to left foot and brought her left hand to the same cleft the right hand occupied, searched for another spot to put her right foot, found an outcropping, tested it, put her weight on it.

An abrupt snap and Selinde found her right foot without support. With only a moment to think, Selinde raised her right knee and let it strike the rockface. The elven woman winced in pain, but was content that the explosive potion on her belt, which would have struck the cliff if her knee had not, remained intact.

After cursing herself for her lack of patience, Selinde looked down and watched the broken outcropping fall down to the pass. The orcs didn't pay the pebbles any heed, intent as they were on the march. Any curious orc who looked up would likely face his taskmaster's whip, thought Selinde as she resumed traversing the cliff face.

Several arduous minutes later, Selinde arrived at the deep cleft in the rockface Tibor had described to her. Clinging doubly tight with her left hand, Selinde took the explosive potion from her belt and wedged it securely into the crevasse. With that done, Selinde carefully made her way back up the rockface. At length, she finally reached the cliff and the two Uthgardt helped her back onto the ridge.

"Is that the last one?" asked Rezar.

Selinde sat heavily on the rocky surface of the ridge, pulled up the right leg of her trousers to see her knee, it was bruised from striking the rockface, and still throbbed.

"There is one more," she said, retrieving the last potion from the satchel she had left on the ridge. "This one has to go on top, the rockfall caused by this potion will set off all the others."

Selinde started to stand, but Tibor stopped her, took the potion from her hand. "I'll do it," he said, "you have done enough, Selinde. I know where it has to go."

Selinde nodded, "Before putting the potion in the crevasse you have to remove the cork. Once you do that, we will have ten minutes before it explodes."

Palisade spikes splintered and snapped as trolls tore through them. Ciara watched as fireballs descended from the towers of Settlestone in an effort to slow or kill the trolls.

"Breach!" yelled a dwarf, and Ciara ran with a number of other dwarfs to the source of the cry. As they arrived the troll smote one dwarf and another warrior, bearing a pole-mounted war hammer, swung his weapon at the monster with enough force to displace its knee. Staggering and clearly in pain, at least for the moment, the troll swung feebly at the nearby dwarves.

"Get it on the ground!" shouted the dwarf with the hammer. Of the three dwarves who took the charge, two were swept aside by the troll's flailing arms, the third held his spear high and struck the monster in the chest with enough force to bring it down. But his armor and flesh were rent when the troll struck out.

Running past the maimed warrior, Ciara avoided the troll's wild attacks and drove her spear through the troll's arm and into the ground. Although the troll attempted to break free, Ciara planted her boot on the monster's arm. Other dwarves mirrored Ciara's action, effectively penning all of the troll's limbs, but the beast resisted vehemently, and there was no guarantee it wouldn't break free.

"Archer!" shouted the dwarf with the hammer, "get over here!"

The archer, an Uthgardt, arrived quickly, with a fire arrow nocked. Using the spike at the bottom of his hammer, the dwarf pried open the mouth of the troll and the archer promptly released his arrow into the gullet. The troll cried a bestial roar and all of its limbs tensed, then fell.

With relief, Ciara withdrew her spear. Then turned to see a press of dwarves holding back the orcs attempting to advance through the path the troll had created. When she started in that direction a hand clapped on her shoulder. Spinning around, Ciara saw the dwarf who held the pole-hammer, and now noticed that his armor was gilded to a greater degree than any of the other dwarves present. He must be an officer.

"The others can take care of the orcs," he said, and turned back to the others who had helped kill the troll, "I am Sverrir and, since all of you know how to kill trolls, we will intercept and slay any beasts that manage to break through our palisades–"

A deep rumbling shook the ground, cutting Sverrir short.

In the pass, the first potion exploded, heaving tons of rock downward on top of shocked orcs. As the stones tumbled they crashed onto the potions placed at lower points on the rockface, whose explosions heaved more rock onto the pass and destroyed the foundations of still more ridges, adding to the damage. As the cataclysm unfolded orcs ran to evade the avalanche, but found no safe haven.

The slope of the pass caused much of the avalanche to continue downhill with devastating results. Emboldened by the rockfall at the pass, the Uthgardt and dwarven defenders of Settlestone fought with renewed vigor.

None of this was lost on Hrungnir, who stood staring at the pass, watching the cloud of dust settle. While the giant saw a few orcs emerge from the cloud, he was well aware that the great majority of the orcs who had been descending the pass, perhaps a thousand or more in number, were now buried beneath tons of rock. And thousands more would be unable to join the battle.

The orcs at the giant's feet were silent, fearing his ire.

Reinforcements from the pass are no longer possible, Hrungnir realized, The only thing left to do is throw everything at Settlestone. Hadeon assured me that the Bhaalspawn is here, though he would not tell me who this Bhaalspawn was or even what he looks like.

"Vukasin," Hrungnir addressed his leading officer. The orc noiselessly came in front of Hrungnir and kneeled, his face nearly touching the dirt. Perhaps he fears I will kill him? Before the end of this battle, that may come to pass. "Send orders to the rear. I want all reserves brought here, every orc and beast, even the Ettins."

"At once, jarl," said the orc, and he began to rise.

"One more matter," Hrungnir resumed, and Vukasin stayed down, "You told me that we had taken prisoners at the bridge, no?"

"We did."

"Bring them here."

Blindfolded and with his hands bound, Kyner was pushed and goaded by sneering orcs along a narrow path. At length, a pair of orcs clapped hands on the warrior's shoulders and forced him down to his knees. A moment later, the blindfold was ripped off.

At eye level, Kyner saw an iron boot the size of a wagon, and looked up to see the giant whose foot it shod. Standing beneath the giant, Kyner could truly appreciate its size.

Is this the Bhaalspawn giant Mahtan hinted at? Kyner wondered. When he heard the muttered curses of a dwarf Kyner turned to see Dieter, one of the priests of Clanggedin he had fought beside on the bridge.

"These are the only two?" the giant asked.

"Yes, Jarl Hrungnir," replied an orc, whose armor seemed less shoddy than that of the other orcs Kyner had seen thus far.

"I hope," the giant began, staring down at his captives, "that at least one of you has information that can be of use to me. If not, you'll have to serve as feed for the trolls, something to wet their appetites for more blood."

There was a long pause, and the giant was obviously short of patience.

"Nothing to say?" he asked.

Kyner's heart quickened. For the first time in his recollection, he felt a genuine fear of death. In other battles and campaigns he had thrown himself into battle, always more concerned for the lives of his comrades than his own. But having something to lose changed everything. Ciara has changed everything.

"Worms. Feed them to the trolls."

I've already taught her everything I can about blades. But she still has much to learn about the world.

"Wait!"

Kyner immediately faced Dieter, sweat beaded on the dwarven priest's brow and he was breathing heavily. "I know of a way ye can emerge from the deeps of Mithral Hall itself. All of the dwarves are defending Settlestone. You can ravage Mithral Hall and then close in on Settlestone from two fronts."

Kyner's mouth fell open.

"Tell me more," said Hrungnir, interested. Maybe I can still salvage this battle, the giant thought.

"Beneath Mithral Hall are the ancient catacombs of my people. There is a tunnel leading to those tombs which lies not far from here. I can show you, but there are wards blocking the way which can only be unsealed by a priest of Clanggedin."

"Vukasin," Hrungnir addressed the least shoddily armored orc, "Take a contingent of orcs and have this dwarf show you the way to the catacombs. Take as many as you see fit," Hrungnir prepared to move off, then added, "and take the human as well. If the dwarf refuses to cooperate, start cutting pieces off the human, and make sure the dwarf watches."

With all of its limbs pinned to the ground, the troll could do nothing but shake and make gutteral screeching noises of fear and anger. After swallowing a fire arrow, it wasn't even able to do that. Withdrawing her spear, Ciara noticed Sverrir staring at something beyond the palisades. When Ciara followed the dwarf's gaze, she began to wish she hadn't.

Perhaps a dozen figures were crossing the field. While not so large as the frost giant, each of the club-wielding monstrosities was at least two storeys tall and had two heads. Ettins.

Dieter led the company of orcs as they delved into the tunnel which, the dwarf claimed, led to the catacombs. A burly orc walked beside Dieter, and the two were connected by the chain of their iron wrist-cuffs. Slightly behind Dieter was Vukasin, the orcish leader, and Kyner stood a short distance behind Vukasin and, much like Dieter, was bound to an orc via wrist-cuffs. A press of orcs followed.

Although Kyner knew there were taskmasters among these orcs, he did not hear them cracking their whips. Evidently there was not a need. Likely because the rabble don't feel like they're being used as fodder, yet.

Dieter had initially led Vukasin to a rockface not far from the pass, and revealed the hidden entrance by chanting an incantation, proving that the orcs would likely need his expertise more. The corridor they now walked through was dim, illuminated only by the torches the orcs held. But the torchlight did manage to reveal the fine workmanship of the stone hall, on which age had not taken its toll.

Kyner was silent, intently watching Dieter. The priest fought stalwartly on the bridge, Kyner remembered, doubting that Dieter would betray Mithral Hall so readily. He likely has some deception planned. So Kyner watched, and stayed alert.

At length the corridor opened up into a grand chamber, lit by braziers that burned with purple flame. In rows, from wall to wall, were pedestals on which stood statues of dwarven warriors. At the far end of the chamber was a set of great doors. Kyner heard the orcs behind him shifting uneasily.

Dieter walked toward the doors at the end of the chamber, stopped.

"Why you stop?" asked Vukasin, his tone demanding an immediate answer.

"There is an incantation to open these doors," said Dieter, talking over his shoulder to the orcish leader, "but it can only be spoken by the leader of the retinue passing through."

Kyner tensed, If there will be a chance to escape it is now.

"What I say?" asked Vukasin, moving forward to stand beside Dieter.

"Tivar, ykka vanta knottrs," said Dieter, "It is necessary to say this in order to show respect for the spirits that guard the catacombs.

The orc nodded, and inhaled deeply before exclaiming the words, "Tivar, ykka vanta knottrs!"

Vukasin didn't have time to take another breath before the dwarven statue behind him clove his head with a stone axe. Soon thereafter, the orcs were crying out as all of the statues came to life and wrought havoc among their ranks.

Kyner saw one of the stone figures charging and pulled on the chain of his wrist-cuff, placing his captor's arm in the path of the descending sword. Thus freed, Kyner darted past the stone warrior and toward the door, in front of which Dieter stood. The dwarf held Vukasin's sword, and seemed to have freed himself of his burdensome captor in the same manner Kyner had.

"Lida ykkar vinr," the dwarf intoned. This time the grand doors opened and Dieter hurried to the other side, followed by Kyner. "Kaer!" said the dwarf once he had passed through the door.

Turning around, Kyner caught a glimpse of the massacre unfolding on the other side before the massive stone doors shut.

Dieter laughed at his good fortune and clapped Kyner on the shoulder, "I'm glad ye made it," he said, "because no one will believe this story without a witness."

Kyner leaned against the door, tried to catch his breath.

"Is there a fast way to Settlestone from here?" he asked.

"That eager to rejoin the fray?"

"My daughter is up there," said Kyner. Now I can see that you have far more sway over her than her own father can ever hope for, Mahtan's words echoed in Kyner's head.

"Aye, that's plenty of reason. I have two sons and a nephew at Settlestone, though they certainly aren't green."

"Is there a way?" Kyner asked insistently.

"No," Dieter shook his head, "this path only leads to Mithral Hall. There is no shortcut."

"Then we need to start moving," said Kyner.

While the trolls cut swaths through the palisades, the ettins crushed the defenses merely by walking over them. The ettins demolished the dwarven lines, and a flood of orcs came in their wake. Ciara followed Sverrir and the current of dwarves into the Ruin, the collection of monolithic buildings. This, Ciara knew, is what Kyner had feared, an urban battle.

"Halt!" Sverrir shouted.

In spite of their fear, the dwarves who heard obeyed, faced Sverrir.

"On my mark, I want every spear thrown!"

Earthshaking footsteps warned of an ettin's approach. Moments later the two-headed giant came around the bend in the street and lumbered toward the cluster of dwarves, brandishing its clubs. Ciara hefted her spear, took a deep breath.

"Wait!" Sverrir ordered. The ettin came closer and raised its club high. It was close enough to smell, an odor so noxious Ciara would have gagged had she the luxury.

"Now!"

The spears flew, and struck the ettin, most of them stuck, and steady streams of blood flowed from the wounds. Wavering, the ettin dropped its club before collapsing entirely. It was the first ettin Ciara had seen fall.

There was no time to celebrate before orcs began charging over the ettin's carcass.

"Hells!" cursed Sverrir. Although he still possessed his pole-hammer, the other dwarves began reaching for their sidearms. Ciara drew Aitana.

"The streets are narrow," said a dwarf, "we can slay them!"

Sverrir considered his options before bellowing his war cry: "Death to the horde!"

As the dwarves charged, a fireball descended from one of the towers and, exploding in the orcish ranks, scattered the orcs and robbed them of their courage, allowing the dwarves to hew them apart.

Sverrir was calling out new instructions as the last orc fell, "Pick up what spears these orcs have, but nothing too heavy to be thrown. These will have to do until we can get to the armory and get some pikes. Then, we'll bring the ettins to their knees."

Whether motivated by ardor or fear, Sverrir led his retinue among the monolithic buildings at a reckless pace, determined to get to the pikes. The company crushed several orcish war parties before coming across a company of orcs rivaling its own size.

Both sides yelled battle cries as they collided in a crash of blades and shields. Ciara wielded her sword with deadly grace, easily cutting through the ragged leather armor the orcs were clad in. Though numerous orcs had been cut down, they still outnumbered the dwarfs.

A hand on Ciara's shoulder pulled her back from the conflict. Whirling about, Ciara found herself facing Sverrir, the dwarf's armor was spattered with blood and the head of his hammer covered in it.

"Ciara," the dwarf shouted, "I need you to take a dozen warriors around the intersection and flank them! GO!"

The dwarves who had managed to hear Sverrir were quick to respond when Ciara told them to follow her, and soon she had her dozen. In the brief time it took to circumvent the enemy, Ciara wondered why Sverrir had told her to lead the maneuver.

Ciara and the dwarves following her were quickly back on the main road and had the enemy's back.. The orcs were all but leaping over each other in their impatience to get to the conflict. There was no need for discretion.

Ciara charged the unaware orcs and ran through the nearest one. The next closest orc was only turning around when the young warrior hacked off its head. The dwarves accompanying Ciara had no less success. Whether by axe, spear, hammer or sword, nearly twenty orcs lay dead before they began putting up an effective resistance. But, realizing they were surrounded, the orcs fought with twice the ferocity.

Bashed by an orc's shield, Ciara stumbled backwards and was spared the deathblow when a dwarf hacked off the arm of the orc that would have killed her. Having staggered away from the conflict, Ciara noticed, with dread, the earthshaking footsteps.

Turning around, she saw a pair of ettins, each of which held a club studded with iron spikes. The four heads were an unwelcome sight. Ciara blinked, and behind her eyelids saw the field of corpses.

You need us again. The thousand voices, discordant and droll.

Ciara stared at the ettins. They were too close. Running wasn't an option. The monsters could easily smash her, Sverrir, and every other dwarf. But she felt revulsion at the prospect of returning to her instinct, recalling acutely the pain she had felt after manipulating the troll.

It is the only way. What else can you do, throw your sword at it?

Ciara willed herself to not blink, so as not to see the field of death.

Step by step, the ettins lumbered closer. The nearer of the two raised its club.

"There is no other way," Ciara murmured. And gazed balefully into the eyes of the beast.

Halt, Ciara ordered, her voice joined by a thousand others.

The ettin with the raised clumb stopped, both heads looked about dumbly.

Ciara strained, bile rose up in her throat. The other ettin pushed the one in front of it, urging it to keep moving.

You know your enemy. Ciara trembled from the effort, was distantly aware that her hands were trembling and that she had dropped her sword.

Angrily, the ettin in front turned around. It sputtered accusations in a language Ciara couldn't understand and brandished its club. The further back of the two-headed beasts, agitated, shoved the other's shoulder.

He will destroy you if you turn your back. The closer ettin roared and, in a fury, struck its suspected enemy with its club. The injured ettin staggered back but struck its aggressor with a fist the size of a table. Ciara felt her concentration snap and a blinding white pain seized her.

Collapsing to her knees, Ciara pitched forward, felt as if she might vomit. The woman strained to raise her head. And saw that one of the ettins had knocked the other onto the ground and was beating it mercilessly with its club. Everything was painfully bright. Ciara closed her eyes to see the field, stretching to the horizon. Bodies, piled so high in places that they could be mistaken for hills, rivulets of blood flowing among them.

Ciara vomited and fell onto her side. Kyner . . . where are you? The brightness was searing. But Ciara refused to close her eyes. All of her limbs felt numb.

Kyner was certain that his heart had never beat so quickly as it did when he finally emerged from Mithral Hall. As Dieter had promised, the catacombs provided a safe, if not expedient, path back to the conflict, although the guards within the Hall had been justifiably surprised when the two emerged.

The old warrior rushed past dwarven soldiers to the edge of the cliff overlooking Settlestone. The scene beneath him was one of chaos. Although Kyner's eyes did not have the strength they once did, he could see the frenzied movements in the streets below and hear the ring of steel. The long stair leading down to Settlestone was filled with the wounded being carried up to Mithral Hall on the left and soldiers going down on the right.

Looking about frantically, Kyner saw a number of dwarves in gilded armor. All of them appeared to be listening to a dwarf wearing even more ornate armor with a beard of considerable length. Kyner recognized King Gandalug, who had given him charge of the bridge's defense. Kyner quickly made his way to the king as the other officers seemed to be disbanding. The king faced the old warrior as he approached, his face betrayed his surprise.

"Kyner Valentin, right? I'm glad to see you're alive. How did–"

"I am sorry to interrupt, my lord," said Kyner, "But do you know where my daughter is?"

The king's countenance turned to one of irritation, "I have a hard enough time keeping track of entire companies, let alone one person. I am sorry but I do not know."

"Of course," Kyner said, shaking his head. I doubt anyone up here knows. "How can I help?"

The king smiled grimly, though the beard largely obscured it, "We can certainly use the help of anyone who can wield a sword. I'll give you the short version. We are holding our own but are still grievously outnumbered. We've managed to kill most of their ettins but then the frost giant himself came into the city. Wherever he strikes, our defenses crumble. Our pikes have proven powerless to pierce his armor. I fear for the outcome of this battle."

I need to find Ciara, that is all that matters now, thought Kyner.

"Then I will descend to the bottom and help as I can. But I need arms."

The king seemed to be about to ask what happened to Kyner's weapons but thought better of it. He certainly had more pressing issues to deal with.

"You can find arms over there. Good dwarven steel. General Lovrenc is at the base of the stair, he can tell you where you're needed. Clanggedin, be with you." Gandalug clapped Kyner on the shoulder and disappeared into the mass of dwarves and men.

Kyner hastened to the makeshift armory that had been set up on the plateau, constantly scanning for Ciara. The warrior snatched a battleaxe from one of the weapon stands. Although the balance was a bit off, Kyner had used worse, and was in too much of a hurry for close inspection.

The stair was wide but crowded nonetheless. Carved from the cliffs ascending to Mithral Hall, it was an impressive feat. Kyner recklessly hurried past soldiers going down to the battle but, when he glanced to the wounded going up to safety, saw Ciara, though he barely recognized her at first.

The girl's armor was splattered with blood, as was her hair that hung from beneath her helmet. A dwarf in gilded and similarly gored armor was carrying her up the stair.

Rushing over, Kyner took his daughter from the dwarf's arms.

"Who are you?" the dwarf demanded.

Kyner knelt down to the ground, holding Ciara, oblivious to complaints that he was obstructing the stairway. Her skin was ashen and sweat beaded on her brow, her eyes were wide open but not fixed on anything.

"What happened to her?" asked Kyner.

"Damned if I know," replied the dwarf, "one of my warriors told me she fell after two ettins started attacking each other."

"That's all?" Kyner looked for some sign of a wound or a poisoned arrow or dart, though he had yet to see an orc using any such weapon in this battle.

"Yes," the dwarf responded impatiently.

"I have to get her to the healers," said Kyner, standing and moving up the stairs as quickly as he could.

"He's here," Ciara said, her voice strained.

Surprised, Kyner looked down to see Ciara looking directly at him. Her eyes were clear now.

"The bhaalspawn?" Kyner asked quietly.

"No," she said, "the giant. You have to take me to him."

Kyner scowled, "What?"

"I can kill it," said Ciara.

"How?"

"Just get me close enough for me to see it," she said. Weak as she was, Ciara's eyes were now undeniably focused, her countenance utterly certain.

She knows what she is saying, Kyner decided, she is not delusional.

Kyner turned around, faced the dwarf in the gilded armor, "Do you know where the giant is?"

"You can't be serious."

"Do you know?" Kyner demanded, his voice rising.

Kyner, carrying Ciara in his arms, was running behind Sverrir and a mixed company of dwarves and Uthgardt as they followed the wake of destruction left behind by the frost giant and his war hammer: crushed barricades and the bodies of dwarves, men, and orcs. Kyner didn't know what Ciara had in mind, but he had convinced Sverrir to go along with it and then the dwarf had convinced General Lovrenc to give him forty warriors.

But, turning at a corner, the company ran into orcs before they did the giant. Kyner set Ciara down and unbelted the war axe he had taken earlier. The warrior carefully watched the battle between Sverrir's company and the orcs, intent on not letting any of the orcs near Ciara.

Kyner heard a dull thud, and another, and another, louder each time. With a groan, Kyner turned around to the frost giant at the end of the street, confidently approaching and brandishing a hammer that complemented its size. Then he saw that Ciara was standing, resolutely facing the giant.

As Kyner walked forward to stand beside Ciara she held out her hand, stopping him. The giant drew closer, orange light from the setting sun reflected angrily from the giant's armor while frost billowed from its maw, a cloud of mist.

Hearing footsteps approaching from behind, Kyner looked over his shoulder to see that Sverrir's company had finished off the orcs and were coming over.

"You really don't know what she is going to do?" Sverrir asked.

"I wish I did," Kyner admitted.

Still the giant came closer, his footsteps making the earth tremble. Several of the dwarves and Uthgardt hefted spears, those who had bows nocked arrows.

Ciara held out her hands, raised her head, a green glow began to encompass her hands and Kyner gasped. What is this? What was stranger, Kyner could not hear her uttering any words that, so far as he knew, always accompanied spell casting.

A tear seemed to form in the space in front of Ciara, and from it, a sheathed sword emerged. Seemingly of its own accord, the weapon unsheathed itself and the scabbard disintegrated as it fell away. The sword's blade was blacker than night, and pulsated with some unnatural energy. Kyner heard several of the dwarves and Uthgardt backing away.

The giant continued to come forward, unaware of what was occurring in front of him.

The sword flattened, it's blade turning toward the giant. And, like a missile, the sword flew.

Hrungnir had no time to react when he saw the sword approaching. The weapon perforated the giant's helmet, tore through his skull and brains before erupting out the back of the helmet and dissolving.

For a moment, the giant wavered, before toppling over and meeting the ground with an earthshaking crash.

At the same time, the glow faded from Ciara's hands and her arms dropped down to her sides. Seeing her waver, Kyner hurried to Ciara's side and caught her before she fell. As her head lolled back, Kyner saw that Ciara's eyes were shut and her skin was still pale. She breathed shallowly.