Dragonhammer: Volume I by Conner McCall Page A

however…”
    Men swarm the entrance hall.  “Preparing for the dam to burst,” I murmur.  Louder, I say, “I’m going up.”
    To get up, I have to go all the way through the big circular chamber, through the arch on the left, turn left, and then climb the subsequent spiral staircase.  Two flights up, I emerge into one of the wall towers.  I exit and find myself on the roof of the keep, above the left wing. 
    Crenellations overlook the city on one side, and on the other sits a large building, which I believe is an armory or barracks.  There’s enough space between the crenellations and the barracks to fit at least three trolls side by side.
    The sun has come over the ridge and is shining brightly.  The trolls are lazing in the shade, avoiding the sun at all costs.  Those who are in the sun shield their eyes, running quickly to wherever they are going.  The men run around in agitation, some of them pointing up at us.  From where I am, I cannot see the front gate of the keep.  There is little happening but a lot of waiting.
    I go all the way back down and report my findings to my group.  “Most likely waiting until night, when the trolls will be strongest,” my father says.  “We’d best get some rest, if we can.  Eat and regain our energy.”
    I do just that, and I’m not the only one to have that idea.  Despite the sun’s height, our exhaustion overtakes us and we get to sleep, if only for a few hours.
    The day passes in limbo.  Then the evening comes.
    The first thing we hear is drums.  The beats are far apart, deep and booming.  Then they quicken.  Slowly the beats speed up and up and up until suddenly, they stop.  Then there’s a creak at the portcullis.
    “Trolls!” somebody yells.  “They’re lifting the portcullis!”
    “How many?” the Jarl shouts.  “Khaoth help us,” I see him whisper.
    The reply takes a minute to come from the wall.  “Five on the portcullis!”
    “Well, take them down!”
    “We’re doing what we can!  They’ve got men with shields-”
    Suddenly there are several crashes from the upper levels.  Everything goes silent.  “What was that?” Percival whispers.
    “To the walls!” commands Hralfar.  Only a few soldiers stay below with the gate; the remainder of us charge down the halls and up the towers.
    Some men lie dead with gruesome wounds.  Cracks line the wall of the barracks behind the crenellations, and it is apparent why.  Enormous grappling hooks lie taut on the crenellations, connected to ballistae with thick ropes.  Along the ropes, ladders are being erected.
    We try in vain to lift one of the grappling hooks up and off the crenellations, but the weight combined with the pressure of the taut rope is too much to lift.  Some soldiers try to cut the ropes but the reach is too far, and for those who can reach the rope proves too thick.  A few arrows bounce harmlessly off of them.
    “Burn them!” I shout, grabbing a torch.  “Someone have oil?”
    I reach out over the crenellation and hold the torch underneath the rope.  The little strands begin to catch fire and burn quickly, but the rope has yet to catch fire.  The ladder is about halfway up.  Soldiers shout and yell from below, and an arrow shatters on the crenellation next to me.  I crouch as low as I can while keeping the torch under the rope.
    Someone bursts out of the barracks holding an oil lamp, just as the rope begins to smoke.  He strides to the nearest grappling hook and smashes the lamp over it, catching the rope on fire instantly.  Others with lamps do the same, but not all of the ladders are taken care of.
    My rope finally bursts into flame and I hang the torch back on the wall.  A ladder, despite the burning rope, makes contact with the wall and soldiers start to leap onto the roof of the Keep.  A second ladder follows.
    One of the strands on the rope burns through and it starts to twist.  Just when the ladder begins to reach the peak, the rope snaps and the