Arc V- Chapter 9: Shattered Fangs and Broken Claws

Trollking Ulg was running out of patience.

The siege had stretched longer than any of his warbands preferred. Harrowhall did not crack like the soft human settlements he had crushed in the past. Its defenses held—stone reinforced with cunning, chokepoints designed for slaughter, and defenders who refused to break.

Every assault had been met with resistance.

Every push answered with blood.

From his position atop a mound of broken stone and bone, Ulg watched another wave of trolls driven back from the walls, their roars turning to frustrated snarls as they regrouped. His massive frame shifted with agitation, claws digging into the earth.

“They don’t break,” he growled.

Beside him, Vorla watched the battlefield with narrow, calculating eyes.

“They bleed,” she replied.

Ulg snorted.

“Not enough.”

Before she could answer, movement stirred at the edge of the encampment.

A lone figure approached.

Small.

Bearded.

Armored in battered plate.

A dwarf named Dargan Bottlehand.

The trolls shifted, some raising weapons, but the figure did not stop. He walked forward with grim purpose, eyes burning with something deeper than fear.

Hatred.

Vorla tilted her head.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

The dwarf stopped before Ulg and dropped to one knee not in reverence, but in cold necessity.

“I come with knowledge,” he said.

Ulg leaned forward, lips peeling back to reveal jagged teeth.

“Speak, little stone.”

Dargan’s voice was steady.

“There is a pass.”

Ulg’s eyes narrowed.

“Where?”

“Hidden,” the dwarf said. “Runewarded. Sealed against most… but not all.”

Vorla stepped closer.

“Why would you give this to us?”

Dargan’s jaw tightened.

“Because I want them to suffer…”

His voice dropped lower.

“They killed my king. My kin. I watched them fall.”

His eyes lifted, filled with venom.

“I want the Maw to burn.”

Ulg grinned slowly.

“Good.”

The attack came without warning.

Deep within Harrowhall, the defenders were already stretched thin from repeated assaults. Maz moved along the inner lines, armor bloodied, voice sharp as she directed goblins and ogres alike.

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“Hold that choke point!”

“Rotate the wounded!”

“Keep pressure on the east flank!”

Maggra stood not far from her, arms raised as dark magic surged through her veins. Fallen trolls rose again under her command, their corpses twisting into obedient weapons as they turned against their former kin.

The defense was holding.

Barely.

Then a moment of tension broke through the lines of defending Goblins, and Ogres.

The eastern holdout shattered.

A thunderous crash echoed through the stone as trolls poured through the hidden passage, flooding into the interior defenses like a tidal wave of flesh and fury.

Maz turned sharply, eyes widening.

“No—!”

The defenders weren’t ready.

The line buckled instantly under the sudden pressure.

Trolls smashed through barricades, their clubs crushing goblins and ogres alike as they surged forward with renewed momentum.

“The pass—!” someone shouted.

“It’s breached!”

Maz didn’t hesitate.

She charged.

Steel met bone as she cut into the advancing trolls, carving a path toward the bridge leading to Hammergate.

“We take it back!” she roared.

Her Shardtooth sisters rallied around her, wargs snapping and tearing at troll legs as ogres slammed into the enemy with brute force.

For a moment beyond reason they fought harder than before trying to secure the Hammergate bridge.

They held.

Then a troll broke through.

The massive creature swung its club in a brutal arc.

Maz turned just in time.

The impact landed against the side of her head with a sickening crack.

The world tilted.

A lesser warrior would have died instantly.

Maz staggered, vision swimming, blood running down the side of her face as she fought to remain standing.

Behind her, Maggra screamed something but the noise of battle swallowed it whole.

The lines collapsed.

Ogres regrouped under Maggra’s command as more undead trolls rose to bolster their numbers, but the breach had already been made.

Chaos spread through Harrowhall.

Maz stumbled toward the inner holdfast gate, forcing her legs to move despite the ringing in her skull.

She had to regroup.

Had to hold they couldn’t lose Harrowhall not now.

A massive hand closed around her.

Violent.

Unyielding.

She was lifted from the ground as if she weighed nothing.

Maz’s vision snapped into focus just in time to see the massive, looming form before her.

Trollking Ulg.

His grin was monstrous. His breath smelled worse than decay, or death itself she didn’t know how that was possible. She retched trying not to spill the contents of her stomach.

“Look what we have here, Vorla,” he rumbled, turning slightly to display her like a prize.

“Isn’t this the one who was all high and mighty?”

Maz bared her teeth despite the blood running down her face.

“Put me down.”

Ulg laughed.

Around them, the trolls surged through Hammergate, dragging goblins, ogres, and wargs into the open. The defenders were being overwhelmed, forced back deeper into the hold.

Vorla stepped closer, studying Maz with interest.

“She speaks boldly,” she said.

Ulg’s grip tightened slightly.

“Not for long.”

Nearby, one of Maz’s defenders Keth lunged forward in a desperate attempt to reach her.

He didn’t make it.

Ulg moved faster than anything that size should.

The troll king seized him, lifted him like one might pull a toy out of a toychest.

And bit down.

Maz’s breath caught.

The sound was wet.

Final.

Ulg chewed slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers.

A warning.

A message.

Maz’s hands clenched.

But she did not look away.

“You’re only making it worse,” she said, voice rough but unbroken. “You’re going to bring him down on you.”

Ulg snorted, licking blood from his lips.

“I don’t think that little pipsqueak exists,” he said.

“Or he’d be here.”

His grin widened.

“And if he is here…”

“…he’s pissin’ his boots.”

Around them, the slaughter continued.

Captured goblins and ogres were dragged away, thrown into the growing feast of the victorious trolls.

The air filled with the smell of blood and fire.

Ulg looked down at Maz, considering her.

Then he laughed.

“Don’t kill this one.”

The trolls paused.

“She’s interesting.”

Maz was thrown into a crude iron cage, her weapons stripped from her, her armor torn away piece by piece until she was left bloodied but unbroken.

A trophy.

Displayed for all to see.

The trolls howled in triumph as they claimed their ground within Harrowhall.