Free A Forge of Valor by Morgan Rice Page A

and swung his halberd, lopping off the heads of two of the trolls pushing the ram. The other trolls looked up at him in terror.
    “FASTER!” he commanded.
    Two more trolls stepped forward to take their place and all the trolls rushed forward with even more speed, putting their entire bodies into it as they rammed it again and again, this time with greater force. Vesuvius got behind them and helped, pushing with his shoulders, his legs digging into the mud, straining with all he had.
    “FORWARD!” he cried.
    Finally, after one hard push, the ancient doors quaked and bent, then finally burst open, swinging wildly off their hinges. There came a tremendous explosion, sounding like metal being torn to shreds.
    A shout rose up amongst the trolls as Vesuvius charged into the Tower of Ur, leading the way. He could hardly believe it. Here he was, charging into the one place he had always hoped to enter, the one place that legend had told could never be broken into. He had destroyed the doors that legend said could never be destroyed.
    Vesuvius rushed into the cool, dim tower, his boots squeaking on its golden floors, his hundreds of trolls cheering behind him, all of them rushing up the immense spiral staircase together. As he looked up, Vesuvius saw a few remaining human soldiers rush down the spiral staircase, right for him. He snarled, raised his halberd, and killed these humans two at a time, sending them flying over the railing and hurling down below.
    A few of the humans put up a fight, even managing to kill several of his trolls; yet more and more of his trolls flooded in behind him, overrunning the place, overwhelming the soldiers, and they were quickly killed.
    Vesuvius ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time, leading his men. The rumble of their boots filled the tower like thunder, hundreds of trolls ascending the steps that were not meant to be ascended. Vesuvius nearly trembled with excitement, realizing how close he was, how soon the Sword of Fire would be in his hands.
    He ascended flight after flight of this mysterious tower, and he looked at its mysterious carvings, the ancient floors and walls, made of an exotic material, each floor so different from the one before it. He made a mental to note himself that, after he finished stealing the Sword and any other valuables, he would burn this place to the ground. He hated beauty. He would leave nothing here but a pile of stones—and he would burn even that.
    Vesuvius heard a commotion and he looked up and saw several more soldiers appearing from hidden rooms in the tower and rushing for him. He dodged as one swung for his head, and smashed him with his shield, sending him over the rail. He stabbed another in the gut with the point of his halberd, then swung around and chopped off the head of another, sending him tumbling down the staircase.
    Up and up he went, floor after floor, leading his trolls, until finally he reached the end and burst through to the roof. There, finally under open sky, he was delighted to see dozens of dead humans, all murdered by his spears and arrows and catapults. Some lay wounded, groaning, and Vesuvius walked over to each one and stabbed them slowly, reveling in their cruel deaths.
    On the far side of the roof, though, a dozen or so human soldiers remained, bloody, wounded, yet still approaching to fight. These men just would not quit. They raced for Vesuvius and he rushed forward, relishing the battle to come.
    Vesuvius chopped one in the chest, swinging with his halberd before the man could reach him; he then dodged the sloppy sword slash of another soldier, spun around and stabbed him in the back. He raised his halberd high and turned it sideways, blocking a sword slash coming down at him, then kicked the soldier in the chest, raised his halberd high and chopped him in half.
    All around him his trolls rushed forward and attacked the remaining humans left and right. The last one alive panicked, desperate, and turned and ran for the