Bowspear picked his way down to where the road began. By the time he reached the bottom, he found Yuri scrambling back, an alarmed expression on his face.
“What is it?” he demanded in a soft voice.
“Goblins,” Yuri said. “Two of them, sitting in the mouth of a cave. They’re guards, I think.”
Slowly, Bowspear nodded. It made sense. Goblins wouldn’t want humans invading their territory any more than humans wanted them invading Grabentod. He glanced up the pass, then back the way they’d come. There didn’t seem to be much choice, he thought. They’d have to go up the side of the mountain, work their way above the goblins; then descend to the road on the other side. If they kept to cover and didn’t start any rock slides, he thought they’d be able to make it in an hour or two. That wouldn’t leave much time before dark, but perhaps it would get them to safety.
He told Yuri his plan. “See if it’s passable over there,” he said, pointing up over the goblins’ cave.
Yuri gave a quick nod and began scrambling up the steep slope. Ice and shale skittered out from under his boots, but the noise vanished in the wind. A hundred fifty feet up, Yuri found a ledge where he could stand. He scouted ahead a bit, then returned and motioned everyone to follow him.
Bowspear climbed after him. One by one, the rest of his men followed. At last, exhausted, he pulled himself up onto the ledge. It was perhaps three feet wide here and seemed to run a good way ahead. This might be just what they needed to get around the goblin sentries. Unfortunately, they had less than an hour of sunlight left. They weren’t going to make it through the pass tonight.
“Nakkar,” he said, pulling the next men up, “I want you to go carefully, but catch up with Yuri. Tell him to start looking for a place we can camp tonight. We’re not going to make it out of here by dark.”
“Sir!” Nakkar gave him a quick salute, then stalked cautiously down the ledge toward where Yuri stood.
Bowspear helped the next man up onto the ledge, keeping an eye on Yuri and Nakkar as they talked. He wished he could hear what they were saying, but the rising wind swept their words away.
At last Yuri turned toward Bowspear, pointed down and a little to the left, and pantomimed an opening. Another cave? Or just an alcove where they might shelter for the night? After a moment’s hesitation, Bowspear motioned for him to check it out.
He pulled the last of his men up. Gratefully, he rested with the others, all sitting on their haunches and puffing.
Bowspear turned and gazed expectantly toward the last place he’d seen Yuri. His scout had vanished. Leaning out over the ledge, Nakkar peered down at something … probably the cave, Bowspear thought.
Suddenly an inhuman scream cut through the air. Bowspear jumped, startled, and then turned and raced down the ledge. Nakkar was shouting and pointing, but Bowspear couldn’t make out the words. Something about a fight?
Not more goblins, Bowspear prayed.
“What is it?” he demanded as he reached Nakkar’s side.
Nakkar swallowed nervously. “Something grabbed Yuri and pulled him in!”
“Something?” Bowspear demanded. “What kind of something? A goblin? An orog?”
“I—I don’t know! Whatever it was, it was huge!”
Bowspear leaned out to see for himself. Twenty feet below, he spotted the tall, narrow cave Yuri had been investigating. As he watched, Yuri’s head rolled out of the cave, bounced several times down the mountainside, and vanished from sight below.
Bowspear felt sick. Yuri had been with him nearly five years now, and he’d never had a more loyal follower. What could have beheaded him? Goblins?
No, not goblins, he realized a moment later. A huge, hairy creature three times as tall as a man pulled itself out from the cave’s mouth. It held the trunk of a small tree in one hand as a club. Slowly it scanned the slope below its cave. Then it turned, saw Bowspear and Nakkar, and with a roar of anger started climbing toward them.
“Crossbows!” Bowspear shouted to his men, drawing his sword. Turning, he fled back along the ledge.
Nakkar was scrambling farther up the side of the mountain, a horrified, panicked expression on his face. The creature—a rock troll, Bowspear guessed, though he’d never seen one before— rapidly closed the distance between them. It was making a low animal grunting noise deep in its throat.
Nakkar wasn’t going to make it.
“Draw your sword!” Bowspear shouted into the wind. “It’s almost on you!”
Nakkar glanced down and saw the troll. Abruptly, he dived to the left, rolling down the mountain and across the shale. Loose stones cascaded down the slope, and then Nakkar landed on the ledge, bounced, and started to slide off. He just managed to grab the edge, where he clung desperately.
Giving another roar, the troll began climbing back down to the ledge.
Bowspear reached his men and saw they had their crossbows ready. They’d been waiting for Nakkar and him to get clear.
“Fire!” Bowspear shouted, diving forward and flattening himself on the ledge.
Bolts flew over him. Two missed the troll’s head narrowly, and it swung around, swatting at them as if they were insects. The third struck it in the arm, and the fourth hit it a glancing blow to the neck.
Enraged, it lifted its tree-club over its head. In one movement, it threw the log at Bowspear and his men. Luckily the club dropped a few yards short, skidded off the ledge, and fell, rolling down the mountain.
“Reload and fire at will!” Bowspear shouted.
His men were already doing that. Two more bolts flew, both catching the troll in the chest. It stood erect, clawing at its chest, making a futile pained sobbing sound. Another bolt hit it, this one glancing off its right temple. A spatter of blood flew, and the creature toppled backward. It slid off the ledge and vanished from sight.
Bowspear found his legs weak. He wanted to sit down and catch a second wind, but knew he had to do something about Nakkar. The man still clung to the ledge.
Though weak in the knees, Bowspear forced himself back onto his feet, hurried forward, and grabbed Nakkar’s arm. Slowly he hauled him up to safety. Nakkar lay still, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Cuts and bruises covered his face, hands, and arms.
Bowspear opened his pack, rummaged through it to find the flask of brandy he’d brought, and put it to Nakkar’s lips. The man took a few gulps, and that seemed to steady his nerves. He sat up and gave a weak grin. “I made it, sir.”
“Poor Yuri,” Bowspear murmured. He’d thought there might be casualties, but he’d never suspected they would come so soon. Yuri was a good man, leaving behind a young widow.
He shrugged on his pack again. With darkness almost upon them, they still had to get under cover. At least they’d have a place to spend the night, thanks to Yuri. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too foul.
“Let’s get moving,” he said. “We still have to lay poor Yuri to rest.”
It took them half an hour to make it safely down to the opening of the cave. Bowspear insisted on slow, careful progress. If the troll they’d killed had a mate, he didn’t want to lose any more men to her.
By the time they reached the cave’s mouth, the sun had begun to disappear behind the peaks.
Bowspear paused, listening over the moan of the wind, but heard nothing from within. Cautiously, he stepped inside.
The smell hit him first, a deep musky stench of excrement and rotting meat. Truly, the troll’s cave was the most ghastly place he had ever been before. The floor was covered with half-gnawed bones, and a few of them still had flesh attached. They had to be from goblins, he thought, noting how thick they were.
The troll had evidently made this his lair for many years. Rocks had been piled in the front opening, closing it up to what must have been a narrow passage for the troll, though two men could have passed through it shoulder to shoulder.