They were getting close, they all believed, though none asked Jameston openly about it. They just did as the scout suggested, moving along in a straight line to the north, a few hundred feet up in the foothills of the seemingly endless mountain range. Jameston had to give them the directions far in advance for he was increasingly absent from their line, moving all about to scout the region and pick their course. On one such afternoon, with Bransen leading the five through more rows of tall and dark evergreens, the quiet emptiness was lost to a sudden sharp sound. Bransen pulled up and slid low behind some brush staring out.
“The crack of a whip,” Brother Jond whispered, moving in beside him.
Bransen resisted the urge to say that he would expect an Abellican to recognize such a sound but decided against it. He had come to like Jond. In any case, what was to be gained by creating tension among the tight-knit group?
A motion to the side turned them both to the right where Vaughna crouched behind a stump. She looked at them and pointed down and farther to the right. Following her finger, the pair did note some movement among the lower trees, though they couldn’t make out anything definite.
“Stay here,” Bransen whispered to Jond. He waved to Vaughna, and then to Olconna and Crait, who were similarly crouching in some brush up above the woman, to do the same.
Bransen reached inside himself, to his Jhesta Tu training. He surveyed the landscape, falling away before him, and potential paths appeared to him as clearly as if he were drawing it all out on a map. He belly-crawled out from the brush, popped up into a crouch, and darted to a tree some ten feet from Brother Jond. He paused only briefly before rushing out again, to the left this time, then down again to a pile of stones before belly-crawling his way to a lower stand of trees.
Soon he was out of sight of the others, sliding from shadow to shadow, for it was darker down here with the sun beginning to dip behind the mountains.
A long while passed.
Movement alerted the four to Bransen’s return-so they thought. For the form that emerged from some trees in a running crouch was that of Jameston, not Bransen. He moved to the pair highest up, and Jond and Vaughna joined him there.
Jameston’s sharp eyes instantly assessed. “Where is Bransen?”
Brother Jond motioned to the valley in the east. “Scouting.”
A concerned look crossed the scout’s face.
“What is it, then?” Crait asked.
“Trolls, mostly,” the scout answered. “Many of them, escorting a line of captured men and women to the north.”
Four sets of concerned eyes turned east immediately.
“How many trolls?” Vaughna and Olconna said together, both voices full of eagerness.
Crait couldn’t help but grin as he considered Olconna’s tone. Play hard, fight hard, he thought, for that was always the way he had regarded Crazy V. She was rubbing off on his young companion already, apparently.
“Too many,” Jameston argued. “A score at least, though the line is too long for me to get an accurate count. I dared not tarry, fearing that you five would run down heroically to intervene.”
“Are you saying that we should not?” Vaughna protested. “If there are men and women down there…”
“The Highwayman returns,” Olconna announced. They turned as one to see Bransen picking a careful path back up the mountainside. He rushed in and skidded down in the midst of the group.
“Trolls with prisoners,” he breathlessly announced.
“So we’ve been told,” Vaughna replied. “Too many trolls, so says Jameston.” She eyed the scout out of the corner of her eye as she spoke, as if in challenge.
But Jameston wasn’t taking that bait. “You wish to get to Ancient Badden, and we are only a couple of days from his glacial home. If you engage this group here and now you risk being killed or captured. You also risk having some escape to carry a warning to that most dangerous Samhaist. You have no chance of succeeding if Badden knows you are coming, of course, and little even if he does not. How many trolls are too many trolls, in that case?”
“One troll’s too many,” Crait grumbled, but the helpless shake of his head accompanying the statement showed that he had no practical answer to Jameston.
“For the greater good you would ask us to let the prisoners be tortured and murdered?” Brother Jond reasoned.
“I’m not envying your choices,” said Jameston, and he turned to Bransen as he spoke, for the Highwayman was shaking his head. Jameston knew well where this was leading.
The snap of a whip crackled through the air.
“If we hit them hard and fast, we might have them all dead or fleeing in short order,” Bransen offered.
“We’ve got the high ground to start our attack,” Olconna added.
“But if any are getting away-” warned Crait.
“Then they’ll think we came from the south to rescue the captives,” finished Bransen. “And will they even report the disaster to the Ancient? Would they dare face him with such failure?”
“A score-at least,” said Jameston.
“Then you need only kill three or four to do your share,” Vaughna interjected. She hoisted her two axes onto her shoulders. “We can’t let them walk right past us.”
“There is the greater good to consider,” Brother Jond protested.
“Spoken like an Abellican, to be sure,” Vaughna replied with a snicker.
Brother Jond sighed and looked to Bransen.
“We cannot just let them pass,” Bransen agreed. “I’d not sleep well on hard ground or soft bed alike for the rest of my days.”
“True enough and more,” said Vaughna. “We’re arguing as if we’ve got a choice, and none of us here is thinking that.”
Jameston’s eyes narrowed. “Do not underestimate trolls,” he warned.
“Killed a score of the ugly things already,” Vaughna retorted. “More than that. Let’s hit them and hit them hard.”
All heads nodded. Jameston just gave a resigned sigh and started to lay out a plan, but Bransen beat him to it, sending the scout down north of the group to pick off any trolls who would flee that way.
With Olconna and Crait moving farthest to the south, Bransen, Vaughna, and Brother Jond traveled straight down the hill. Bransen took the lead, directing the movements of the other two so that they remained out of sight until they were right above the path, the line of monsters and miserable captives rapidly approaching.
“You’re not too worn out to give a good fight, are you?” Crait whispered to Olconna as they settled into position.
Olconna looked at him curiously, even incredulously.
Crait’s smile nearly took in his ears. “Told you it was a ride worth taking,” he whispered.
Olconna’s cheeks turned as red as his hair.
With grace and speed and perfectly silently, Jameston moved undetected into position behind a clutch of boulders a dozen feet up from the trail and just ahead of the lead troll drivers.
One in particular caught his eye, a nasty-looking beast with half of its face torn away. It swung a whip easily, with practiced efficiency, and the way the others-trolls, and not just the miserable prisoners-cowered against its every word told Jameston that this was likely the leader of the group.
He drew out his finest arrow and set it to his bowstring. With steady arm, he drew back and settled perfectly. He didn’t want to shoot prematurely and ruin the surprise, but the moment the trolls became aware of the attack that ugly beast would die.
Jamestone nodded to himself. He still didn’t agree with the decision to engage, but he couldn’t deny that it would be great sport.
Thirty or more,” Brother Jond whispered breathlessly as he slid in between Bransen and Vaughan just above the road.