Bulling through a stand of pines, Thurgol charged forward to cut the man off. Firbolg, human, and troll all broke into the clear at once, and the man stumbled to a stop, too shrewd to get run down by the fleet-footed trolls.
Thurgol felt a flash of pity for the human. It seemed that his valiant effort deserved something better than this. The firbolg watched as Baatlrap raised his sword and stepped closer to the unarmed human. The duel looked increasingly incongruous, the troll every bit of ten feet tall, with that evil-looking weapon reaching like a tree limb over his head. The human crouched, ready to dodge to either side, but without a weapon or shield, his situation was desperate in the extreme.
Other trolls emerged from the trees, following Baatlrap to gather in a semicircle around the giant troll and his victim. The appearance of the green-skinned humanoids inflamed Thurgol. Just when he thought he was rid of his noxious comrades, they had arrived to dog his presence again. He shook his head and growled in frustration.
"Wait!" Thurgol barked. "Put down your sword!" he commanded Baatlrap.
"What?" objected the troll, pausing long enough to glare at Thurgol. "Shut up!"
"No. Put down the sword and fight him fair-only you fight him," commanded the firbolg, hefting his club for emphasis and advancing slowly on the troll. Perhaps Baatlrap remembered the fight on Codscove's dock. Whatever it was, the troll's brows lowered in an expression of sullen fear.
Baatlrap snarled again while the man's eyes flicked from one humanoid to the other. Finally, with a scowl of irritation, Baatlrap threw down his sword. Without another word, he sprang at the one-handed man.
Robyn's body changed in the instant before she collided into the stones at the base of Grond Peaksmasher's mountainous torso. Her shape shifted, as it had so many times before, but this time it did not assume the form of an animal. Instead, her wings tucked backward, her head outstretched, and she became an arrowhead of stone, driving toward bedrock. The transformation was instantaneous and complete, fusing the power of the goddess and the will of the druid queen.
The Earthmother reached out, grasping Robyn's physical shell and melding her into the raw, elemental power of the ground, joining them in a linking of power and will. The queen met the face of slate and merged, sinking through layers of rock to become one with the earth. Her soul remained intact, centered below the bulk of the Peaksmasher, but the physical reach of her body expanded to encompass the entire narrow valley, its sheer ridges, and even the massif of the high peak.
Like a fundamental force of the earth, Robyn surged through dirt and stone and deeper layers of sand and shale. She seized the bedrock of the highlands with wrenching might, using every bit of her power-power expanded by the fresh presence of the vengeful goddess.
The strength of the Earthmother, transmuted through mountain and hill and vale, twisted the surface of the world with violent, wracking force. Grond Peaksmasher bellowed like a continuous, booming thunderclap as the quaking earth took hold of him and tore at his vitals.
"O Mighty One!" The demigod reeled as the words, the message, came to him, so it seemed, from within himself.
"Hear me, Lord of Giants-hear me, please!"
Robyn focused her will on the message, and as the earth convulsed from the pressure of the conflict, she waited, wondering if Grond Peaksmasher would understand.
Tristan ducked his left shoulder in the briefest of feints and then dove to the right, rolling away from the crushing pounce of the grotesque troll. It was as he rose to his feet that the earthquake struck, slamming him heavily back to the ground.
Great fissures ripped along the ground, splitting into deep crevasses. Steam burst upward, and here and there rocks flew into the air, hurled with explosive force by the power of the contractions within the earth.
The huge troll bounced upward with the first shock of the temblor. A fissure snaked past Tristan, and he felt a stab of hope as he saw the one-handed monster, flailing madly, slip over the rim and vanish. The other trolls had been knocked to the ground, and now they scuttled around in panic, seeking some shelter from the onslaught.
Lurching to his feet, the king felt the ground still rocking underfoot, but he lunged away from the momentarily helpless trolls. Breaking into the clear, he raced toward the edge of the pit, hoping to get around the hole and reach his weapon. Another wave of force rolled across the valley floor. Large pieces of rock tumbled free from the high peaks, smashing downward to shatter on the lower slopes. Craggy shards shot through the air with death-dealing force, leaving dusty trails hanging in their wakes.
Where was Robyn? Desperately the king looked around, fighting a growing sense of panic when he couldn't see her. Had she vanished? Did she live?
Then, looking across the regular outlines of the deep pit, Tristan saw the opposite rock wall crack and tumble away, great boulders plummeting straight down to shatter among the prisoners. Falling again as the ground bucked, the panicked king bounced to his feet and stumbled toward the enclosure. In his heart, he feared to look, feared what he would find beneath the rockslide. The most horrifying picture of all was an image of Alicia, trapped beneath the crushing weight of stone.
He saw figures move, scrambling up the loose, treacherously shifting stone. In a moment of hope, Tristan realized that the edge of the pit had collapsed enough for the prisoners to escape. Reaching the opposite edge, he recognized Brigit's blond hair, Brandon's trailing braids. Then, with a palpable sigh of relief, he saw Alicia, with Keane's lanky form right behind her. Ranthal, bounding like a panther, sprang after them.
As soon as he reached the rim of the makeshift prison, the wizard blasted a lightning bolt full into the chest of a firbolg who stood guard over the cache of weapons taken from the companions upon their capture.
Tristan risked a glance behind him, seeing the one-handed troll crawling forth from the crevasse. The monster picked up its jagged blade, which lay at the rim of the gap, and started toward the High King. A bright blue shape appeared in the air next to the troll, fluttering away from the monster's vicious swing. Newt disappeared as another tremor swept the valley, slamming the king to the ground and knocking him senseless for a moment
When he recovered, he saw Hanrald kneeling beside him. There were tears in the earl's eyes, tears that he shook away as soon as he saw Tristan blink and try to sit up.
"Thank the goddess, Sire! I thought-" He couldn't finish the sentence. "Here-I brought your sword!" he said instead, offering the hilt of Trollcleaver to Tristan as the king climbed back to his feet, keeping his stance wide in case the tremors returned.
"Thanks yourself," Tristan replied, feeling the good weight of his sword in the palm of his hand. He turned back to the troll, ready to use the weapon, ready to finish the task he had started with it once before.
Robyn, a force of nature, struggled to master the fundamental might of the earth. Pain wracked her nerves as the unnatural environment pressed against her, striving to extinguish the spark of her vitality. Yet only here, within the mountain itself, could she reach the demigod with her all-important message. Desperately, forcefully, she projected her thoughts into the awakening, immortal mind of Grond Peaksmasher.
"You are part of this world, Mighty One-a living piece of the isles! Don't make yourselves a tool of those who would slay that magic!"
She urged and pleaded, not knowing if he heard. The idea was simple-for so long he had rested in the body of the Earthmother. Did he want to destroy her? Or would he, instead, resent the intrusion of external and disruptive forces?
A dim, nebulous response reached her-not words, as such, but a vague, groaning question. It was a query that gave her hope, for it showed that Grond's will was subject to doubt.