Merk slid down the rope so fast he could barely breathe, flying down the side of the Tower of Ur, aiming for the army of waiting trolls below. He knew this plunge was suicidal, yet he no longer cared. With the tower surrounded, his fellow watchers nearly all dead, he was going to go down his way—not cowering at the top, but fighting hand-to-hand, just the way he always had in life, and taking some of them down with him.
The ground rushed up to meet him, and Merk, breathless, landed on the shoulders of two trolls, knocking them flat on their back and cushioning his own fall. He hit the ground ready, rolling and extracting two daggers from his waist, the same daggers he had used to assassinate his entire life, and he threw himself into the group of trolls.
He sliced one’s throat with the dagger in his right hand, then reached backwards and stabbed another in the head behind him, fighting his own way. He stabbed one troll in the heart, another in the temple, and another in the gut. As they came at him with their huge halberds, swinging with enough power to chop off his head, he ducked and weaved, much lighter than they were, unencumbered by weapons and armor, then rose and slashed their throats. They all had one disadvantage: they were warriors, but he was an assassin. They were powerful, yet he was quick. None matched his agility.
Merk’s greatest advantage was his use of distance. They needed to swing mighty weapons, yet he needed only to get close, inches away, to slice their throats. When he was in so close, they could not reach him with their weapons, and his small dagger gave him more advantage than their huge halberds would ever have. Merk ducked and weaved through the crowd like a fish, dropping trolls on all sides, knowing it was reckless, knowing his flank was unprotected, and knowing he could die at any moment. Yet he felt liberated in his charge, no longer fearing death.
Soon, though, the stunned army of trolls caught up with him. They surrounded him and closed in, and Merk suddenly felt a tremendous blow on his back; as he fell sideways, he realized he had been struck by a war hammer. He rolled on the ground, clutching his shoulder, dropping one of his daggers, and he looked up to see a massive, hideous troll, the one that had struck him, raising his war hammer high, about to smash it into his face.
Merk rolled out of the way as the hammer came down, just missing him and leaving a crater in the earth beside his head. The troll roared, raising it again, and Merk kicked him behind one knee, dropping him to the ground; he then leapt to his feet and raised his remaining dagger, plunging it into the back of his neck. The troll dropped face first, dead.
The move left Merk exposed, though, and his head rang as a huge shield smashed his head, knocking him to the ground. He rolled on the ground, seeing stars, his head pounding, then looked up to see another halberd being lowered for his head.
Merk again rolled out of the way right before it hit, then jumped to his feet and slashed this troll across the throat, killing it too.
Merk spun in every direction, breathing hard, unwilling to give up as the trolls closed in. Yet hundreds more arrived by the moment, and he knew this was a battle he could not win. He kept backing up until he was against the tower wall, nowhere left to run.
Suddenly there came a commotion, and Merk was confused as the trolls turned away from him and all looked up at the tower walls. He turned and looked up, too, and he was stunned by what he saw: the walls of the tower, which he had always assumed to be solid stone, suddenly opened up, and secret openings appeared in them, on every floor. Out of these appeared the glowing, intense yellow eyes of the ancient Watchers, their pale faces staring down at the trolls.
They slowly reached out with long, bony fingers, and as they did, Merk saw something shining and yellow their palms. They appeared to be orbs of light.
The Watchers turned their palms downward and Merk watched in awe as the orbs of light were hurled down at the trolls, leaving streaks in the sky. They hit the ground and moments later, explosions rang out.
All around Merk, trolls were killed by the dozen, torn to pieces and falling into the craters in the earth left by these orbs of light. The Watchers hurled down the orbs one after the other, and within moments, hundreds of trolls were dead.
Vesuvius emerged from the crowd. He held his huge golden shield high, and as he did, it deflected the orbs of light, leaving him unharmed, the shield clearly forged of some magic material. At the same time, Vesuvius reached back, grabbed a spear appearing to be crafted of gold, and hurled it at one of the Watchers.
There came an awful screech, a sound like the very fabric of the universe tearing apart, and Merk was pained to see a Watcher, a spear through his heart, began to shrivel up and melt before him. He slumped sideways over the window, lifeless.
Vesuvius’s elite trolls stepped forward, all holding the golden shields and spears, and one at a time, they defended against the orbs and hurled their golden spears. One at a time, the ancient, precious Watchers fell.
Soon, the orbs of light stopped hurling down, leaving the tower truly defenseless. Worse, there came a great rustling in the wood, and Merk was horrified to see hundreds more trolls appear.
Merk felt a crushing pain in his lower kidney, and as he dropped to one knee, he realized he had been clubbed in the back. Gasping for breath, he looked up to see a troll swinging the club down for his head. He tried to dodge, but the pain was so severe that he moved too slowly; before he could get out of the way, he was clubbed again, in the back of the head, and he fell face first to the dirt.
Merk lay there, immobile, the pain throbbing in his kidneys and head, unable to breathe, much less move. The troll stepped forward with the club, a vicious smile on his face, and raised it high.
“Say good night, human.”
Merk saw his life flash before his eyes; he knew that it would crush him, that he would die here, in this spot, in the mud, killed by this nation of trolls. In his mind there flashed images of the life he had led, the people he had killed, the choices he had made. Somehow, he felt he deserved this. Yet he was also in the midst of trying to change, to become a better person, and he felt he was almost there. He just needed a bit more time. He wasn’t ready to die just yet. Why did his life have to end now, of all times? And why here, in the mud, at the hands of these grotesque beasts, while defending the only place he had ever cared for, while doing good for the first time in his life?
Merk braced himself for the blow, but to his amazement, it did not come. He looked up and heard a gasp. He was baffled as he saw a sapphire spear protruding through the troll’s chest. The troll stood there, frozen, then dropped to the ground beside him, dead.
Merk looked up, wondering, and was confused by what he saw. A lone boy cut through the crowd, wielding the sapphire spear, slashing and dropping trolls in every direction. He was a dizzying blur of light, and it took Merk a minute to focus on him. He saw the long, golden hair, and he knew: Kyle. He had come back for him.
Kyle cut through the army of trolls like a whirlwind, killing three before one could turn to face him. None could even get close.
Yet the forest continued to open up, hundreds more trolls poured in, and soon it seemed there were too many even for Kyle, who, breathing hard, covered in blood, began to slow down. Merk watched as Kyle received a slice from a halberd on his arm, and he knew his time was running out. He watched in horror as Kyle then received another blow, a hatchet to his back. Merk called out as Kyle stumbled and fell, appearing dead.
But then, even more incredibly, the wound healed before Merk’s eyes. Kyle rose to his feet again, wheeled, and faced the troll who had struck him, and instead he killed the beast.
With hundreds more trolls filtering in, Kyle suddenly turned to Merk. A moment later he felt Kyle’s strong, bony hands grabbing him, lifting him into the air, then over his shoulder. In too much pain to move, Merk realized that if Kyle had not come for him, he would surely have died here.
Moments later they were racing through the army of trolls, Kyle dodging and weaving, moving so fast that all the hatchets whizzed past them. Kyle ran faster, it seemed, than even the speed of light, as if he were running on air, and Merk could hardly breathe as he felt the world rush past. Soon they gained distance on the trolls, and were deep in the woods, heading south, the tower quickly fading into the distance.
“The tower,” Merk mumbled, “we cannot leave it.”
“It is already finished,” replied Kyle.
“Then…where are we going?” Merk struggled to ask, his eyes closing as they ran.
“Far, far away from here.”