We sit, crouched in the dark like mice. Waiting. By my side, the dwarves whisper to one another, talking of casual things, as if by doing so they can briefly forget what is to come. Their voices, multiplied and blurred by echoes, sound like the wind in the trees. Yet there is no wind – the air hangs as still and heavy as if it too is waiting. Somewhere ahead of us, they are moving – the occasional shout carries to us through the stillness. As the sounds grow more frequent silence takes over. The dwarves stop talking, stop moving even. I take a last look at the dried blossom in my hands before tucking it safely away. Even in its withered state it still seems to glow golden: a token of hope in this place. We stand – hands on weapons, motionless. If you could not see the slight movements of breath, the momentary twitch of an eager hand, you would think we had turned to stone, standing here. Forever waiting.
They are in front of us almost before we are ready, although it seems as though we have been ready for days. Now both groups shout, and the caves take up their calls, shouting them back to me in a meaningless cacophony. Chaos is king – but it is our chaos: we brought it here, and we use it to force them back, shouting exultantly. We push against them and they fall back, shrieking their horrible cries, filling the caves with their fear and their confusion.
Something changes. I hear screams mixed in with the shouting. I cannot see what is happening – around a bend in the tunnel all is confusion. A dwarf races past me, streaking back into the darkness: I try to catch his arm but he is gone. Another forces his way through the mass, beckoning me frantically. His mouth moves – I cannot hear his call, but I follow him. All around us the fight seems to have broken free of the path we set it on, whirling away out of our control.
The troll is enormous. His head seems to touch the roof of the cave, his sweeping arms decimate the forces before him. Our group is falling back – there are too many injured, too many afraid. Too many lying crushed at his feet. My companion gestures frantically, addressing me. I cannot hear what he says. The troll roars, looking up. Among these dwarves I stand tall as a willow among reeds – he cannot fail to see me. For a moment I feel panic – I am not ready for this, this was not supposed to happen. A simple ambush, a rout to frighten them away, to give us time to prepare stronger fortifications.
I tighten my grip on my staff. The wait is over.
