A brown hood covered the fellow's head, so Flint could not see his face. He could, in fact, tell little about him. Flint's pursuer stopped to catch his breath; he peered upward along the ravine that stretched to the top of the ridge, mea suring the distance. At last, even in the gathering darkness,
Flint got a good look at his young, red-bearded face.
Flint's pursuer was not a derro spy, or a human. The dwarf below him, in imminent danger of being attacked by a hungry troll, was none other that Flint's nephew Basalt.
"Reorx thump you!" hissed Flint, astonished. He didn't know what the silly pup was doing here, but the dwarf probed his mind desperately for a way to warn his nephew about the deadly ambush.
Flint seized one of his smaller rocks and pitched it down the ravine at the monster, watching with satisfaction as it whacked the troll squarely in the back of its grotesque head.
"Basalt, look out!" Flint cried, springing to his feet.
Moaning piteously and rubbing its head, the troll spun to look upward, its jaws widespread in a malicious grimace.
Even in the dim light, Flint could see the creature's long, pointed teeth.
The troll leaped upward, astonishing Flint with its prodi gious bounds. The dwarf sent a large boulder skittering down the chute, but the rock ricochetted past the troll's head, narrowly missing Basalt, who had begun to scramble up the ravine behind the speedily climbing troll.
Flint hefted another of his large rocks, holding it over his head as the troll closed in. The creature's wide, black eye sockets stared at him in a way that was all the more terrify ing for their complete lack of expression. Aiming carefully, the dwarf pitched the boulder when the troll was some thirty feet below him. The heavy rock, its momentum aided by the muscles of Flint's broad shoulders, struck the troll a crushing blow on its left leg.
"Take that, you ugly, green-bellied goblin-eater!" A taunt worthy of Tasslehoff, Flint thought with satisfaction. He hooted with joy as the monster's leg snapped from the force of the blow. The troll uttered a sound — a low, cold hiss of dull pain — and tumbled backward. Its leg twisted and flopped.
Now, for the kill, Flint hoped. Grabbing his axe, the hill dwarf bounded down from his ledge. He raised the blade over his head and closed on the troll as the beast fell between two rocks. Its leg hung to the side, useless.
But before Flint could reach the brute, the charging hill dwarf halted in astonishment. The monster's leg twitched slightly, and Flint heard a strange, grating sound, like two jagged rocks scraping together. The troll took its lower leg in both huge, warty hands and arranged it into a proper alignment. Horrified yet fascinated, Flint unconsciously moved closer to watch; the troll looked up through red veined eyes and hissed at him, slashing out with a jagged claw. Flint drew back only slightly, but the troll returned its attention to its wounded leg.
Amid the gruesome scraping sound, bubbles and bulges could be seen forming under the troll's thick, green warty skin. Slowly, the bulges flattened out, and the spine-chilling sound ceased. Before Flint could comprehend the meaning of the macabre scene, the troll became aware of him again.
Its eyes locked onto Flint as it leaped to its feet. Dropping to a fighting crouch, the creature danced toward Flint on two good legs! The limb, crushed to bonemeal a moment before, had somehow grown firm and again supported the beast's weight.
"Holy gods of old — you can regenerate!" Flint cried, flab bergasted. The troll slashed with its viciously clawed hand again, but Flint came out of his stupor long enough to knock the digits away with his axe. Striking quickly, he lopped the troll's hand off. It made a sickening spraying sound, thick green blood spurting in a steady stream. Flint cast an anx ious eye down the slope for Basalt. His nephew was vaulting upward as quickly as he could, panting with exertion, short sword extended. But he was still some distance below.
The monster seemed more stunned than tortured at the loss of its hand. Flint pressed the advantage, hacking with his axe, driving the monster back. Although the beast was more than twice Flint's height, the dwarf stood above him in the steep ravine. Flint had the initiative, striking, dodging, and striking again.
Once more his advantage proved illusory. The troll dodged away from him while it held the oozing stump of its hand. Not the squeamish type, even Flint was repulsed as three tiny claws sprouted from the bloody wound with a loud popping sound. He heard the green skin stretch, and the claws grew impossibly fast, revealing fingers and then, in moments, a completely new taloned hand. Fully re grown, the creature made a gurgling-regurgitating sound in the back of its throat — Flint swore it was snickering — and then the troll crept toward the hill dwarf.
Flint scrambled backward up the steep chute, struggling to keep his balance in the loose rock. A fall would slide him, helpless, into the slashing maelstrom of tooth and claw below.
"Uncle Flint!" cried Basalt.
Flint did not even stop to see where Basalt was. "This is no picnic, Basalt! Run, you hare-brained numbskull!" If the troll turned on his inexperienced nephew, the boy would be devoured before he could raise his blade.
"I can help!" Basalt gasped, slipping on loose rock as he scrambled closer. Now the troll did turn.
Powered by fear, Flint sprang forward, hacking the sharp blade of his axe into the monster's back. The blow sent sticky, gelatinous, pea-green blood showering onto Flint, who gagged and spat furiously. Nearly cleaved in two, the monster writhed away as best it could, hissing in pain and rage, giving Basalt enough time to slip past it.
"Stay back!" shouted Flint to his nephew, then bounded forward with another swing of his axe.
But Basalt had a mind of his own, and he delivered a sharp jab with his short sword into the troll's belly. The monster had begun to regenerate again, but the new blows doubled it over, sending it twisting and rolling down the ra vine. Grinning proudly, his right arm covered in green blood, Basalt prepared to leap after it.
"No!" ordered Flint, grasping his nephew's shoulder.
"You've got to learn when to retreat, harrn."
"But we've got the advantage now!" objected Basalt, looking longingly down the ravine.
Flint jerked on Basalt's collar. "Only until it grows back together." He chuckled suddenly, then pretended to frown.
"Never mind that! What are you doing here in the first place? I'd like to know."
Basalt began a clumsy explanation, but Flint cut him short with a poke in the chest. "Not now, pup! There's a troll growing below us! You've got a lot to learn about adventuring!"
Flint leading the way, they raced up the ravine as fast as they could, reaching the top of the ridge in a minute. The troll was out of sight below them, having fallen around a bend in the ravine.
Basalt followed the older dwarf at a steady trot. Night closed around them, and still the two dwarves maintained a fast pace. They scrambled down the far side of the troll's ridge and hastened across the valley floor.
Finally they collapsed, exhausted, in a small clearing among the dark pines. Though it was pitch black, they dared not make a fire.
In the dim light, Flint leveled his gaze at his nephew.
"You've got some explaining to do, son. Why don't you start by telling me what you're doing here?"
Basalt fixed him with a sullen glare. "You've got some ex plaining to do yourself, like where do you think you're going?"
Flint's mouth became a tight-lipped line. "I owe answers to no one, least of all a smart-mouthed boy of a dwarf like yourself."
"I'm not a boy anymore! You'd know that if you ever came home, or stayed more than a day!" For a moment Ba salt gave Flint a look that was so belligerent, so full of Fire forge stubbornness, that Flint's hands curled involuntarily into fists. But in another moment the older dwarf laughed out loud, clutching his paunch in mirth.