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Magic burst from him, swirling higher, crackling with power. He cried out at the agony tearing through his wrists and arms, but he sank deeper into the magic. If it destroyed him, it would not matter as long as Essie survived.
The trolls crowded together. A wall of rock burst from the ground, rising higher.
Gripping his knife, Farrendel dashed toward the rock wall and leapt. He pushed off, the troll magic burning even through the leather of his boot. He shoved past the pain and flipped onto the top of the wall.
Troll magic burst upward, a hurried attempt at a shield. Farrendel wedged his magic into the gap before the shield grew large enough to shelter the trolls beneath. Flipping off the wall, Farrendel landed on the shoulders of one of the trolls.
The trolls were built more solidly than humans, and Farrendel’s weight, even dropped from the air, only staggered him rather than knock him down.
Still, Farrendel drove his knife into the troll’s chest, using the knife as a pivot to launch from the dying troll’s shoulders to the ground. Farrendel kicked a troll’s wrist on his way down, shoving aside a swinging sword aimed for his head.
A few feet away, one of the Escarlish traitors hunched behind a box, looking about ready to vomit. Farrendel did not see the other one. Had he chased after Essie?
Melantha huddled behind one of the wharf’s pilings, as if she feared he would lash out at her next. But even if his heart ached, he was not about to turn his magic on Melantha. He still loved her as a sister, for all she hated him.
Thanfardil, the other Tarenhieli traitor, dashed to shelter behind a crate not far from the human traitor Lord Bletchly. Now there was an elf Farrendel would not hesitate to take down if necessary. He, more than Melantha, was responsible for Escarlish weapons in the hands of the trolls. Melantha only wanted Farrendel dead. Thanfardil betrayed his entire kingdom, knowing the death and destruction it would mean for his own people.
Farrendel sent a blast of magic in Thanfardil’s direction. Thanfardil scurried deeper into the maze of crates with something like a shriek.
The air stirred behind Farrendel, and he whirled, ducking a swinging sword and plunging his knife into another troll’s chest.
Troll magic flared to Farrendel’s right. Farrendel raised a hand, meeting the flare with a blast of his own magic. The two magics met, exploded. Farrendel braced himself as the ground shook, and the air shattered.
When the debris settled, Farrendel found himself facing a tall troll wearing a thin, gold circlet. Something about his face was familiar, though younger and less lined than that of the troll king Farrendel had killed fifteen years ago.
The trolls had not just sent a strong warrior to retrieve Farrendel. They had sent their prince.
The troll prince gripped a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. He stepped toward Farrendel, five more trolls at his back.
Farrendel could launch himself at them, even armed as he was with only a knife. But he needed to continue to draw them away from Essie. The farther he took this fight away from her, the better.
With a leap, he pushed up and over the rock wall again, dropped to the other side, and dashed several feet closer to the wharf and the steamboat.
Behind her piling, Melantha curled in a tighter ball, eyes wide.
Besides Melantha, there was no one here who should not die. Farrendel blasted his magic against the rock wall, leaning into it with all his strength. Cracks appeared in the rock even as troll magic scalded against Farrendel’s. With a shout, he let his magic explode outward.
The top and sides of the wall shattered, sending debris hurtling into the trolls behind it. Two of the trolls went down, clutching sizzling wounds in arms and legs. Only the center of the wall held, the troll prince coating it with a layer of frosty magic, three trolls huddled behind him.
Farrendel braced himself and fell deeper into the crackling storm of his magic. It pulsed beneath his skin, burned behind his eyes, flickered to the ends of his hair even as it seared against the stone in his wrists.
With a twist of his hand, he sent a bolt into the box that Lord Bletchly sheltered behind. The box detonated with a roar of fire and smoke. Lord Bletchly went flying, blood coating his face and hands. Dead or badly wounded, Farrendel did not know.
Shards of wood and shrapnel from the weapons inside that box peppered the shield protecting Farrendel from being blown off his feet.
The weapons. He glanced toward the steamboat waiting at the dock. The trolls had been loading boxes onto the boat before they had arrived. More boxes stacked around them and on the wharf, waiting to be loaded.
He could not allow these weapons to reach the trolls. Even if he blew himself up in the process, the weapons had to be destroyed.
The trolls rushed him again, the troll prince leading the way. Farrendel poured a torrent of magic in his direction, forcing the troll prince to pour his magic into a shield.
With the troll prince occupied, Farrendel dashed toward the rest of the trolls, launched off one of the stacks of crates, and flipped over their heads. He shoved aside a sword aimed for his stomach and plunged his knife into the troll.
The troll prince shoved, and the magics exploded outward. Since he was in the air, Farrendel was blown backwards, landing heavily and rolling.
Leaving only a portion of his power directed at the trolls, Farrendel blasted the boxes stacked around them, forcing the troll prince to use his magic to protect himself and his remaining two trolls. The roar of explosions filled the air, ringing in Farrendel’s ears, as shrapnel and splinters burst against his magical shield.
He staggered a few more steps toward the wharf. Had he bought enough time for Essie? He did not dare delay any longer to destroy the steamboat. Though as soon as he took his magic from the trolls, they would attack him. They would fill him full of stone and magic. Maybe they would kill him. Maybe capture him.
