CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Vesuvius, finally reaching the end of the Devil’s Finger, leapt down from the last boulder onto dry land, his boots crunching on gravel, and felt a wave of relief. There he stood, defiant amidst the raging wind and crashing seas, and looked up, salivating at his destination: the Tower of Kos. He felt a warmth tingling up his arms, and he could not stop himself from grinning. He had really made it. In but minutes, the Sword would be his.
Behind him came the clattering of thousands of soldiers, his nation of trolls scrambling down off the boulders, landing on the gravel. They stood behind him, awaiting his command, all ready to march to their deaths on a moment’s notice.
Vesuvius stood there in silence punctuated only by the wind, reveling in the moment. He had crosse
