90 – Cold Blood

The tunnels snaked down so deep that Alexandra lost all notion of time. She didn’t meet another troll. Not until she reached the edge of another cavern. She stopped, hid in a cranny, and listened.

Steps.

Heavy, slow, with the grinding of fists against stone.

Then a grunt. Another.

There were two trolls in there.

She took a deep, quiet breath and considered whether she could win. She wasn’t sure. One troll had taken a while, but she didn’t get hit. It was safer to fight one-on-one.

But safer meant slower, and she wasn’t sure if it would even be possible. She couldn’t stay in the dungeon forever.

She waited a few minutes. From the noise, she confirmed only two trolls were present. She doubted the beasts could stay silent for long. Unless they were sleeping, in which case she would have to run.

She clutched her spear. She had to try.

Alexandra stepped out of her hiding spot and into the cavern. The walls were covered in luminescent mushrooms that filled the room with a faint blue light.

Two trolls. She’d been right.

One was sitting with its back to her, facing the wall as it picked mushrooms and shoved them straight into its mouth. The other was walking toward the far end of the cavern.

Neither saw her.

She slipped behind a rock. If she could ambush them…

But the troll that was walking turned its head in her direction, and sniffed. It grunted. The other one looked back.

Shit.

Alexandra gathered her mana, and cast two quick Inflict Weakness just as she stood up. Then she charged for the sitting troll. It was closest to her.

It took seven strides to reach it. The troll was still sitting up when she planted her spear into its back, and followed up with a fast Dark Bolt. She felt the dull pain of sickness of empathy ripple through her, and pulled back.

As she did, she reached with Drain Life. Instead of the raging torrent she’d found in the other troll, she was beset by a strong feeling of unease. Corruption. Dark Bolt. This wasn’t good. She couldn’t take that lifeforce.

Alexandra stayed on the move, keeping her distance from the trolls, who seemed confused at what was happening. The second troll stood next to its companion, examining its wound with a look of horror.

It turned its head to Alexandra.

She bit her lip. It’s them or you, Alex.

She knew that. She just needed a second to chase the intrusive thoughts away.

Then, she reached for the healthy troll with Drain Life. It didn’t catch. The torrent was too strong. But she could tell it was closer than it’d been for the first troll.

Her gaze hardened. She took the initiative.

The troll didn’t charge.

Alexandra had expected it to. She’d taken three steps toward them, spear leveled, and it had simply turned. Placed itself between her and the wounded one. Shoulders up. Not attacking. Blocking.

She stopped.

The wounded troll made a sound she hadn’t heard from the first one. Low, somewhere between a groan and a cry. It reached up and touched the wound in its back, and when it brought its hand around to look at the fingers, the corrupted flesh was already bubbling at the edges.

The healthy one looked at the wound. It made the same sound back.

Alexandra tightened her grip on the spear.

She feinted left. The healthy troll shifted with her, tracking, keeping its body between her and the other. It didn’t sweep at her. Didn’t reach. Just made itself a shield for the other one.

She jabbed at its arm. It flinched but didn’t retaliate.

The ache bloomed on her own arm, right where the spear had grazed. She reset and circled, looking for an angle around the healthy one. The wounded troll had pulled itself upright behind its companion. Its breathing was audible, slow, labored. It kept making that sound.

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The healthy one kept answering.

Alexandra stopped circling.

She stood there for three seconds. Then she cast another Dark Bolt at the healthy one, and the fight—if it could be called that—continued.

She tried to cut wide and approach the wounded one from the side. The troll protecting it tracked her exactly.

She reset. If it wouldn’t bite, she’d make it choose.

She jabbed at its arm. It took it. She jabbed again. It took that too.

The third time, she held the spear tip at its ribs and waited.

The troll looked at her. Then it looked at the wounded one.

That was the gap.

Short jabs. Methodical. They let her do more of it than they should have. Twice she landed clean jabs to the arm without the troll pulling away, because it had turned its head to check on the other one.