Captain Piercer held up the message that had just been handed to him. With a disgusted look, he tossed it aside as his second, Jerome “Blind Eye” Cornelius, waited impatiently.

Blind Eye asked, “So, we going?”

Piercer rubbed the scruff on his chin, “You know we’re short-handed as it is.”

“So, we get more like we always do.”

“I miss the old squad,” Piercer sighed. “You think the Mountain Clan would do what this note says?”

“Don’t know, but whether they killed our guys or not, we have to respond. Something ate the horses too, and it wasn’t wild boars that did it. Blood’s been spilled, and there needs to be a reckoning.”

Piercer leaned back, kicking his boots up onto the scruffy surface of the old desk. His tall frame barely fit on the chair as he rocked back on its back two legs. The room was strewn about with empty liquor bottles and trash but the tiny office’s cabinets that held the accounts of the Breaker Boys Company, a fine old mercenary troop founded by the late Breaker brothers before being taken over by Captain T.F. Piercer, were in good order. Piercer grabbed one of the ledgers and flipped through the pages.

He said, “I guess these things won’t balance themselves. We’ll get our profit from this deal one way or another. After the payout to the relatives of the men we lost, we’re officially in arrears for this month so we need to make sure to collect. Get the crew ready.”

Blind Eye gave him a salute, relieved that a decision had been made, “You got it. About the…”

Piercer sighed, “Sure, break out the good stuff, including the repeater rifles. We’ll need all the firepower we got to take on the Mountain Clan. Send a message out to gather up everyone, and I mean everyone no matter where they’re holed up.”

Grinning, Blind Eye excused himself to run down the stairs to the other building where Rob Bailey, their armorer and supply master, was billeted. He roused the man from his mattress, announcing, “Cap’s orders to muster up our best kit. We’re going troll hunting.”

Bailey rubbed his bleary eyes as he got up, rolling over the moll who was still sleeping next to him. She was sawing a hefty log with her snoring. As he pulled on a shirt, Bailey said, “About time we cleaned out that trash on the mountain.”

From his window, Piercer observed as the men began making preparations, gathering rations, ammunition, pack horses, and collecting the gear allocated by Bailey as he checked off a list. Only a few of Piercer’s original squad, including Bailey and Cornelius from the same regiment were still alive, but the men were loyal enough as long as the cash kept flowing and some of them were even decent soldiers. He looked over their compound out at Hopken, a grimy port full of opportunists and itinerant humanity who had dragged themselves to this particular frontier, as people always have, for second or third chances in a hard life that offered little elsewhere. Some of the men scurrying below wouldn’t be making it back, of course, but Piercer wasn’t one for sentiment. It bothered him that he was reacting instead of acting on his own plans. Being prepared was what had kept him living longer than the typical mercenary in this region, however, the instructions from his patron had been clear: use this opportunity to finish the job of pushing out the troublesome demi-humans in this territory.

The place wasn’t going to remain neutral for long, so at some point, Piercer knew the people living here would have to choose a side. He aimed to be on the most profitable one.

Piro recalled little from the night of the attack except confusion and darkness. The only thing keeping her going was hope that Abraham was still alive out there somewhere. She couldn’t give up if there was a chance of escape. For now, the trolls had kept her alive though she did not know why.

She’d been bundled up and carried with the other two from their camp in the dead of night. The barbaric men had needed no torches to find their way along treacherous mountain passes until daylight revealed that they were now quite high above the forest. If she wasn’t tightly bound and being carried by a giant, beastly man to an unknown future, Piro might have enjoyed the spectacular view. She could make out the river far below, meandering down the valley that sprawled out into a hazy distance where more purple peaks thrust into the sky on the opposite side. She could only glimpse the other captives for a few moments at a time. The man was unconscious most of the journey as he had been severely beaten during the struggle, to the point that Piro was surprised he still lived. Unlike Piro, the other woman had a hood tied over her head, and if she had anything to say or ask, Piro did not know. Regardless, she gave no apparent struggle over her ignominious position, being carried like a sack across the back of a troll man. Seemingly tireless, the men trudged on with their prizes for much of the day until they had reached their hidden enclave. Unseen watchers whistled passphrases to confirm their entry through a narrow gap of rock.

Piro wasn’t sure of the fate of the sharp-eared woman but she saw the tracker being tossed into a large cage where he lay strewn like a ragdoll. That was the extent of the medical care given to the wretch. The modest village was made up of crude domiciles and stank of offal. The men were greeted warmly by their compatriots, including women and children, hooting in their own tongue. The women shared the same features as their menfolk, other than the sagging breasts which they did not bother covering. The spoils were divided up, based on some incomprehensible pecking order. She had no idea where Abe’s guns were taken or the rest of their supplies. There was meat being roasted over a fire, but before Piro’s imagination could run wild she saw that it was some kind of animal though she did not recognize the species.

Eventually, the troll carrying her parted company with the others, entering a structure much bigger than most of the others. With an earthen floor, the home was mostly one big, shared, room with a couple side areas that appeared to be for storage or some other utility. A large hearth was built in the middle with an opening in the roof for the smoke to escape. There were no chairs, so the residents sat on the floor with mats made of some fiber or fur as the only comforts.

Piro was released, apparently expected to sit and make herself at home. If the large man, apparently some kind of chieftain, thought she was dangerous, he gave no sign. Piro sat down as directed, anxious about what might happen next.

A woman, presumably the leader’s wife, handed out some kind of hot drink ladled into earthenware bowls. They were decorated, and surprisingly, of fairly fine quality. Piro bowed, accepting them in what she hoped was proper etiquette.

Since the wife seemed strong enough to crush her head in, she forced down the mystery fluid without a complaint. A pair of children peered at her curiously, but otherwise, they were actually well mannered. They played on the opposite side of the room, glancing over once in a while but speaking in lowered voices as the wife tended the fire and did various chores. Piro offered to help, but it was rebuffed with stern motions from the wife, who did not seem to speak the common tongue.

It became apparent that Piro was to share supper with them. Placed on a communal mat on various ceramic plates and bowls, the food was quite good. There was fried fish which was delicious. Sides were seasoned whole eggs of some small bird, some kind of starchy tuber, a thin stew of unknown origin, various local greens that Piro thought were as good as any she’d had at home, and some kind of clear liquor, quite pure. She guessed the drink was probably taken or traded from some other town or province, as there was no sign that a distillery could or would be established near the village.

All the dishes were shared with fingers or communal bowls, which was the only thing really barbaric in her eyes. At least no one was blowing their snot into the drink bowl as they passed it around. Even the children drank from it, but they took dainty sips of the strong stuff, washed down with water.

Piro felt her face get flushed from the alcohol. She wasn’t much of a drinker and Noma had been a teetotaler, keeping only some pure ethanol for medicinal purposes and dusty old bottles of wine in the cellar that were probaly from a previous tenant. The time with the sorceress seemed like an age ago. Despite herself she relaxed. Once the meal was done, the chieftain sat back, picking his teeth with a small knife as the wife cleared the dishes. The children played with the father, apparently asking him to recount some tale which he did with enthusiasm. Piro had no idea what he was saying, but his voice was not as beastly or guttural as she had first thought. Despite their features which included the thick bony ridge over their eyes and the jutting teeth with two canines that mildly resembled a boar’s tusks, they acted like any human children would. In the flickering light, a deep homesickness washed over Piro, her eyes misting over. Her own home was not so different, except there had been hardwood floors, wide pavilions with silk curtains waving in the summer wind, and a fire pit laid with stone where she and her sisters would roast nuts. Piro ducked her head before the others could see her tears fall.

That night Piro fell into a fitful sleep in her corner of the room. She had decided to bide her time. She couldn’t work up the nerve to kill a man in his own home next to his family. Piro also doubted that a regular knife would cut through the man’s thick neck hide very easily. Without the proper weapons, it would be as useful as wrestling a bear, she realized.

Sometime in the night, a noise woke her. It took her a moment to realize what was happening: the chieftain was having sex with his wife. The children were fast asleep and oblivious, as this was probably a normal occurrence. They rutted for quite a long time, causing Piro to compare his stamina to Abraham. She was embarrassed as the memory came back to her. Finally, they finished and fell asleep in a heap. Piro sighed in relief. At least for now, she had two fewer items to worry about. They hadn’t used her for the two obvious things as told in the old stories about barbarian trolls: being raped and eaten not necessarily in that order.

The guards stepped aside to let in the big chief who rolled back the large rock with his own hands. They’d kept the special prisoner in one of the spaces carved out of the mountain. She sat there, legs crossed, as if she had been expecting him. He took the hood off of Senua’s head and untied her bindings. She glared at him, “Gint, what do you think you are doing?”

The troll chieftain looked as if he was barely keeping in his temper, “I’m not the one who spilled blood and broke the treaty on my mountain. If your grandmother wants you back, she’ll have to pay the ransom. There will be a fight. The Company men won’t accept that it was you acting alone. To them, we’re all the same.”

“She won’t pay,” she replied bitterly.

“She’ll have to or I’ll send you back in pieces.”

“Oh, does that excite you?” She leaned forward, the top of her chest pale in the light streaming in from behind him.

“Bah, your kind don’t last long enough to be satisfying. You tricked me with your tits last time, but no more. If it comes to it, we’ll cook you in the pot. Our hunting grounds have been reduced, trade scuttled or raided, and there’s no farmland up here even if we were the type to take that shit up. Another winter and my people will be starving. Things won’t last.”

She settled down, appearing a bit uncomfortable for once, “It will be war, then.”

“I just need to know where you and your grandmother will stand. No more bullshit.”

Senua laughed, “Ask our mad king. Is yours any better?”

“Keep this up and I’ll send you to the Mountain King, instead of the other girl.”

Senua’s eyes twinkled at the empty threat, “Ah, too bad, I wanted to keep her myself, but if she’s to be one of his wives, you have my blessing. Does he ever turn an offering down?”

The big man ignored her, still on the last topic, “Just write the letter. We need the men and supplies your grandmother can bring. It won’t be long before this last bit of territory gets snatched up by one of the empires. The Ritan’s have increased that garrison on the border, so the Company men will come to collect their share before it all belongs to some governor or foreign conqueror. What you did will push the matter to the fore. I expect them to attack at any moment.”

“Or we could just run away from this place.”

“You know I can’t do that. This has been my clan’s home since the first dawn. We’ll fight and die here, if need be,” he finished before turning to leave.

At his back, Senua said, “All right, I’ll write your letter.” She got up to grab him around the waist. “It’s not fair, you know.”

He pulled away, “I have my duty to my family. Step back before the guards see you or I can’t guarantee what might happen after that. To you or to me.” He left without looking back.