The young soldier who had spoken with Akaru earlier found himself standing over a young troll, down on its knees and trembling with terror, its tribe's totem, a carved, wooden figurine, hung around its neck by a thong, and the creature clutched this to its chest, praying fervently to its gods that it would be spared.
Three times the young soldier raised his sword, and three times he was unable to dispatch his hapless victim. An older soldier neaby looked on, impatient because this was a very dangerous time in the course of battle, as a few of the enemy, unhurt, often lay concealed, ready to strike a last desperate blow. He walked past the young soldier and began hacking at the hapless creature.
A fatigued sword-arm and a battle-dulled sword were to blame for the sickening manner in which the troll met its death, but this was all too common an occurrence. The troll tried fending off the blade with its arms, which were soon horribly broken and laying useless at its sides. At the last it was felled by a blow that broke its neck, that laid it out, though it was still very much alive, and in unspeakable agony. The veteran finished the grim business by taking up a discarded cudgel and
hammered the creature's head to pulp. Yet for several long, sickening moments afterward, every muscle, limb and digit of the corpse twitched and writhed, until at last the eternal stillness of death set in.