They came toward him’
The colors faded as Halloran and Daggrande looked at Erixitl in astonishment. For a second, the pair had stood in the warm wash of light, very bright yet somehow vaguely cooling in the dry desert air.
“How-how did you do that?” Hal asked softy.
“It is the power of pluma” she answered, suddenly uncomfortable, “didn’t do anything. But look, it seems to have captured their attention!”
Indeed, they saw the horde in the valley surge toward them. Even at this distance, they heard the shrieks and howls, felt the pounding of weapons and feet upon the
ground.
“Let’s go!” Hal urged, and they swiftly started down the opposite side of the slope. Though they could no longer see the beasts of the Viperhand, the presence of the monsters lurked like a heavy cloud just beyond the ridge. They knew that soon it would wash up and over.
They saw with dismay that they descended toward a torturous landscape of jagged gullies, sharp outcrops of rock, and broad stretches of cracked and broken ground. Far away, blue with haze even through the clear air, stood another ridgeline.
Above them, the eagle still floated effortlessly through the sky. The great bird circled slowly, always leading them eastward. If they followed him, they would have to traverse the bleak and tortured ground before them.
“How are we going to cross that?” groaned Halloran.
“There! Follow Poshtli” Erix pointed as the great eagle dove toward the ground. It appeared to follow the course of a twisting, broken chasm. From where they stood, they couldn’t see the bottom.
Half-sliding, half-scrambling, they plunged down the steep slope. Their route took them right to the lip of the gully, and they saw a fairly clear floor of dirt. It took but another minute to find a negotiable route down into the gulch.
They looked upward between a pair of steep, rocky cliffs and saw only a narrow strip of sky above. On the bottom, they felt a little more secure, since only something airborne or standing at the very lip of the little canyon would be able to see them. Puffing with exertion, they started along the level ground, relieved to see that the eagle followed each twist and turn of the canyon above them.
For several hours, they pressed forward, not speaking, dripping with sweat, pausing only long enough to take a few drops of refreshment from their still-bulging waterskins.
Fortunately the canyon floor followed a generally eastward course, with many small twists leading slightly to the north or south.
It was at their third brief rest, as each rationed a few tiny drops from the skins, that Hal stiffened. Immediately the other two came alert. Daggrande’s eyebrows raised questioningly.
“1 heard something,” Halloran mouthed silently. He drew Helmstooth, his keen longsword, and began to creep along the canyon floor. A few feet before them, the gully curved to the right, concealing the next stretch of its course.
Crouching, Hal raised the sword before him as he approached the turn. Then he sprang forward, turning to the side and stabbing the weapon viciously.
He almost fell as he suddenly twisted away, desperately pulling back before his thrust struck home. His initial astonishment grew into full-blown shock.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Daggrande and Erix watched in amazement as Jhatli crept from behind the concealing rock.
“I–I came to warn you,” the youth whispered. The urgency in his voice assured their attention.
“Of what? Why did you leave the others?” Halloran’s anger filled his voice.
“The others!” Jhatli’s indignation came through as scorn. “This is where 1 should be! 1 told you, I will be a warrior, not one who spends his life fleeing enemies like the rest of my people.”
“Warn us?” interjected Erixitl quietly. “Warn us against what?”
“There’s an ambush up ahead. Monsters-big, green ones! They watched you enter this canyon, and now they wait at the rim to kill you!”
Halloran squinted at Jhatli, but he believed the lad immediately. “Trolls. That was courageous of you. How far away are they?”
“I will show you, but first let us get out of this low place!”
They scrambled up a shallow draw in the slope. Once again on the slopes above the deep floor, they felt vulnerable. But they moved carefully, and could see no sign of the trolls as they emerged from the canyon.
They crept forward no more than a hundred paces, however, when Jhatli pointed. They saw three of the green humanoids crouched at the rim of the canyon, peering expectantly downward.
“There are more-six or eight-on the other side,” Jhatli explained. “But I saw only these three over here.”
“Let’s try to slip away while they’re still expecting us down below,” Erixitl urged. The plan made sense, so they worked away from the canyon, slowly moving from one sheltering mound to another. Fortunately the rough ground made concealment easy.
It was almost good enough.
“Let’s pick up the pace a bit,” suggested Hal after they had left the trolls some distance behind. Accompanied by Jhatli now, they started toward the distant ridge, scrambling over, around, and through the many jagged obstacles in their path.
The roar from beside them was their first warning of attack. A pair of massive trolls reared up on a boulder, howling and barking, obviously calling to others of their kind.
Daggrande reacted instantaneously. He raised his heavy crossbow and let fly a thick steel bolt. The missile tore into the chest of the nearest troll, exploding from its back in a shower of gore. Bellowing, the creature toppled backward, out of sight.
The second troll leaped toward them, but Hal’s reaction was nearly as quick as his old companion’s. He felt the tingling of pluma around his wrists, the tiny cuffs of feathers adding to his strength. Helmstooth carved a silver arc in the air and sliced right through the troll’s midsection. Soundlessly the two halves fell to the ground, wriggling in a growing pool of black blood.
But Hal’s gullet rose in horror as the two halves of the troll didn’t cease their movement. With horrifying determination, the torso began to crawl forward, using its taloned hands to pull itself along. The trail of black blood spurting from the wound slowed to a trickle and finally ceased altogether. Even as Halloran moved away, a tiny pair of legs sprouted from the wound, growing slowly, but with visible and inexorable progression, Hal stumbled backward, gagging in horror.
The legs, meanwhile, kicked randomly. That portion, too, quickly ceased bleeding. Though the regeneration proceeded more slowly, a small lump of flesh formed at the wound and began to sprout upward.
“Look out!” Erixitl screamed, and Halloran saw movement beyond the boulder. Horrified, he saw the troll that had been shot by Daggrande slowly claw its way back onto the rock. Then he saw more green heads-a whole file of trolls-moving up to attack.
“Run!” he shouted, swinging the deadly blade until his companions started to move away. He heard the chunk of Daggrande’s weapon, and a second quarrel transfixed the troll’s forehead.
But now six, eight, even more of the beasts swarmed toward them. Halloran spun and raced after his companions, his heart chilling at the thought of Erixitl’s peril. Once again he stopped and turned, driving the first troll back and lopping a hand off another, a hand that continued to crawl, horribly, after its escaping quarry.
They dashed along a dusty path that slowly twisted upward along a narrow ridge. Halloran turned frequently to hack at the nearest trolls. Apparently the beasts felt pain, for they cowered back from his crushing blows, though they quickly leaped back to the pursuit as soon as the man turned away.