Rise of the Blade - Charles Moffat [28]
Unlike normal trolls, these walked stiffly and in formation, but the act was not one of intelligence and training but one of magic. The eight bodyguards formed a circle around a single dark figure, a woman with skin black as the night. It was she who held the beasts under control.
Surrounding the bodyguards on all sides was a good fifty Waterdeep soldiers, all keeping their distance from the trolls despite their lack of aggression. They marched as a group towards Piergeiron's Palace, the home of Waterdeep's most famous Harper. Once there, the soldiers could relax within the walls and drink away the ominous fear they felt at having trolls within the city.
The assassin shifted her cowl and lined the sights up with the back of the neck of the coveted woman at the centre of the formation of trolls. "Welcome to Waterdeep Ambassador," she muttered and pulled the twigger.
A gurgle sounded from the Ambassador as the bolt thudded into her neck and blood poured from the wound like beer from a keg. Another bolt took her in the heart soon after and a third in the head. The mass of dripping blood slumped forward and fell on the pavement like a discarded doll.
The trolls looked about for the first time, saliva dripping from their lips. They immediately tore into the ranks of the soldiers around them, their long claws stabbing through the holes in the chainmail like a hot knife through butter.
Shocked from the sudden chaos around them, the soldiers rallied against the huge trolls, using nets to disable the huge beasts and then stab them with spears through the holes in the nets. Even then the trolls still slashed through the nets in an attempt to free themselves and killed soldiers in the process. The spear hits only increased their ferocity and savageness, using their bulk strength to rip soldiers apart like a dog with his master's shoe.
Mages hurried to the scene and immediately pummeled the beasts with magical missiles until all that was left was a mass of flesh that was vainly trying to rebuild itself. The problem with trolls is their abilities to regenerate and reform. The soldiers quickly dragged the wounded and dead away from the mass of trolls while the mages prepared a series of fireballs that left the trolls as a smoldering mass of burnt flesh.
"Nothing like the smell of burnt troll to whet one's appetite," muttered the assassin as she shouldered her crossbow and disappeared around a corner.
Almost by habit, Pierce walked the grounds of the Academy right after his meal. His mind sorted through the details of recent events and he made notes for the future. The d'Or boy, the Doctor had forgot what his first name was, would have been meeting him at this time for private lessons but instead was over fifty leagues to the south. He doubted he'd see the boy again.
As he came closer to the gate he saw a familiar figure waiting. He was dressed in loose fitting trousers and a wool poncho. Both were stained brown with dirt and the knees of the trowsers were worn out, showing hairy knees. The longflail dangled from one shoulder, brushing against the warrior's side.
"G'day Martinez. What news from the people?" Pierce greeted heartily. His heart wasn't in it but he didn't let that show to his friend. The problem when talking to Martinez was the man was never sober, and thus was hard to determine what he was thinking about. Currently the bald man seemed preoccupied on whether to grow a beard or not.
"Not much. Except that Valeska Ko'Ragur has become a nuisance again." The veteran warrior scratched his unshaven cheek. "She killed a drow ambassador from Menzoberranzan. The woman was here on official business concerning the smuggling of goods."
"Arquebuses or smokeweed?"
"That and more. Anyway, from what I've managed to get ahold of, this ambassador, Jovan Kerovache was her name, belongs to the Fourteenth House of Menzoberranzan. The tricky part of this