by Mark Dame
Flyn nodded, trying to evaluate what he had heard and come up with an opinion.
“Is there any place to hide once we get into the mountains?” he asked.
“That depends on where we are,” Gudbrant said. “In some places there are crevices and caves, but in others…”
“In other places our choices are to run through the dark on a narrow ledge to avoid a patrol, or try to fight the patrol on the ledge,” Randell finished for Gudbrant.
Flyn thought about it for a little while before answering.
“I think I agree with Gudbrant. There’s a chance a returning orc patrol will overtake us, but we haven’t seen them at night, so maybe they won’t travel through mountains in the dark. On the other hand, staying in one place too long seems to be a sure way to get caught.”
“Well thought out, Flyn,” Gudbrant said, smiling. “Randell, wake Harvig. Let’s see what he has to say about it.”
While waiting for Harvig, the others prepared another cold meal. As they ate, Gudbrant explained the situation to Harvig.
“Captain, I’m here to keep you safe,” Harvig said when Gudbrant had reviewed the choices. “Whether you choose to stay or go, I will be by your side.”
“You’re not being very helpful,” Randell said.
“I’m not much of a strategist,” Harvig replied. “I’m better at executing plans than coming up with them. But if I had to choose, I would choose to go. I always prefer doing something to sitting around waiting.”
Gudbrant turn to Randell and shrugged. “Sorry, old friend, you’re outvoted.”
Randell grunted. “You know I’ll do whatever you ask of me, but I think this is the wrong choice.”
Nothing more was said about it. The company finished their meal and packed their gear, but remained hidden in the trees until dusk. With the cloudy sky, dark was upon them sooner than they expected.
Randell led the way as before, with Gudbrant and Flyn following behind single file. Harvig stayed even farther back so he could better distinguish between sounds coming from behind from those ahead of him. As the light faded, Flyn quickly lost sight of the large militiaman. Even Randell, only a few paces in front of him, became just a moving shadow among shadows.
As Gudbrant had warned, the mountain pass was not an easy trek. The path twisted and turned as it climbed the lower slopes of the Estlaeg Mountains. In some places, the original path had been blocked by fallen boulders with a new path around the blockage that was even rougher than the main trail. In other places, the path clung to narrow ledges that fell away into seemingly bottomless abysses. Everywhere the path was covered in loose rock and gravel, making for unsure footing.
The overcast sky served as a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, the party was almost invisible, even to each other. There was very little chance anyone would see them unless they happened to stumble into the middle of a patrol. But the lack of moonlight made the treacherous path even more dangerous. Fissures and drop offs appeared out of the gloom almost under their feet. To keep from stumbling off a cliff or losing their footing, their pace was even slower. With no visual reference, Flyn felt as if they were making no progress at all. Just an endless climb to nowhere.
They climbed the narrow mountain pass through the night with no sign of orc patrols, from ahead or behind. Flyn wondered if perhaps even orcs weren’t stupid enough to try to negotiate the hazardous mountain pass in the dark.
The air grew colder as they climbed and the wind grew stronger. At times, Flyn feared it would pull him from the cliffs and toss him into the deep mountain ravines. The wind’s icy fingers wormed through his clothing to nip at his skin. He pulled his cloak tightly around his body in a futile attempt to ward off the bite of the wind. By morning, they were hunched over against the wind, faces hidden in their hoods.
There was no distinguishable daybreak, just a gradual lightening from near complete darkness to a dull gray morning. The clouds had grown darker overnight, threatening a storm to come. Before full light, Randell found a crevice away from the path that sheltered them from sight as well as the wind. They set up camp with very little talk, hurrying into their tents and bedrolls to try to warm their numb bodies.
Again, Flyn stood the first watch. He alternated between huddling between the rocks to shelter himself from the wind and walking back and forth in their crevice to try to keep warm. His fingers and toes were numb long before his watch was over.
Throughout the day, several more orc patrols passed them. Each sentry saw at least one patrol headed east toward Asgerdale. None returned.
“I am concerned that we have seen at least half a dozen patrols leaving the mountains for the valley,” Gudbrant said as they discussed the news. “Either they are looking for something”—he glanced at Flyn—“or these patrols are more than just patrols. They may be planning on raiding some of the few remaining farmsteads outside the city walls.”
“But the only farms left are even farther south than Garthset itself,” Randell said. “They’ve never gone that far south before.”
“No, they haven’t. Which is why I’m concerned. If only we had a way of warning the militia.”
“There is no way one of us could reach them before the orcs,” Harvig said. “Not on foot, and we don’t have horses.”
“I know. Perhaps the Thane was more prophetic than I realized when he said Garthset needed me. It was selfish and foolish of me to come.”
“You are being too hard on yourself, Captain,” Harvig said. “Even if you were there, you could do nothing. You wouldn’t know of the raid until it was over.”
Randell nodded in agreement.
“You may be right,” Gudbrant said, “but that doesn’t change that I came on this journey for selfish reasons.”
“You came on this journey to help me and save the Thane’s daughter,” Flyn said.
Gudbrant smiled at him. “You seem to always find the bright side of the coin, Flyn. I hope this journey doesn’t change that about you.”
They finished their evening meal and packed their gear. By the time they were back on the trail, snow had begun to fall.
Chapter 7
The snow fell steadily throughout the next several nights and days. At first, Gudbrant expressed concern that they were leaving tracks in the snow, but that concern was short-lived as the snowfall quickly covered them. At times the wind whipped the snow around to the point that they had to stop for fear of falling off an unseen cliff. At other times the wind died completely, leaving just a gentle snowfall. During those calms, they were able to move quicker than before. The white of the snow made the ground easier to see, reflecting what little light there was, as well as providing a stark contrast between the ledges and the ravines beyond.
The days blurred together until Flyn could not distinguish one day from the next. The pass through the mountains never changed, each peak looking like the next, each valley like the last. When the snow finally stopped falling, they barely noticed. Every breath of wind blew the snow from the ground back into the air to fall and drift anew. Flyn began to wonder if the mountains would ever end. Even the normally stoic Harvig showed signs of weariness.
On what Flyn guessed was their fifth morning in the mountains, tempers that had been burning slowly under the surface finally boiled over.
“We must be lost,” Harvig said when Gudbrant called them to halt for the day. “We haven’t even seen an orc patrol in days. We’re likely to die without ever meeting the enemy.”
“If you feel you are better at finding a path almost destroyed by time, then covered in snow, then you have my blessing to take the lead,” Randell replied, glaring at Harvig.
“Maybe I should. I have been through this pass before and I don’t remember any of this.” Harvig waved his arms at the cliffs and peaks around them.
“How can you tell? They all look the same. Have you ever been through the pass when it’s covered in snow?”
“And how many times have you been through these passes? Never,
I would guess.”
“I don’t need to have been on a trail before to follow it. Perhaps if you spent less time in the dining hall and more time in the forest, you might be able to do it yourself.”
“Enough!” Gudbrant intervened. “We are neither lost nor will we die before we have a chance to fight the enemy unless we continue this fighting amongst ourselves. I do not know how far we have gone, but our destination cannot be but two or three more nights’ travel. Randell has done well in spite of the conditions, Harvig. And Randell, you would do well to remember that Harvig has prevented your loss of limb more than once.”
Harvig grumbled in response to Gudbrant’s scolding. Randell continued to glare at Harvig but said nothing more.
“We are all fatigued, both in body and spirit, and though we are close to the garrison, it will do us no good to arrive having lost our fingers and toes to the cold or to each other. I spotted a small patch of trees a short distance back. I suggest we try to gather as much wood as we may and risk a small fire. We should be able to find deadfall to burn which will produce little smoke and allow us to keep warm during our watches.”
The rest of the company immediately agreed, the argument between Randell and Harvig forgotten. They backtracked down the trail and found the trees Gudbrant had spotted. Within half an hour, they had settled into a sheltered hollow, a small fire warming their frozen hands and feet. They had each made an extra trip to the trees to gather enough wood to last them throughout the day.
For the first time in over a week, they had a warm meal before bed. Even standing watch was less of a chore, as they could periodically warm their hands and feet by the coals. When they packed up to continue their journey at dusk, their spirits were restored. Harvig and Randell apologized to each other for their earlier outbursts, though to Flyn it seemed that there was still some friction between them.
Before setting out, they dumped armfuls of snow on the remains of their fire to extinguish it. A large cloud of steam rose from the hissing coals that at first melted the snow before it finally cooled off enough to be covered.
A loud yell echoed from the cliff walls.
Gudbrant cursed under his breath.
“A patrol,” he whispered to the others. “They must have seen the steam as we put out the fire. Quick, draw your swords and find cover! With luck, we can surprise them. Flyn, your bow!”
Flyn grabbed his bow and followed Gudbrant to a cluster of boulders a few yards from the crevice where they had sheltered for the day. Harvig took up position on the other side and Randell found cover near the path.
Flyn knelt down, laying his sword on the ground in front of him. He steadied himself against the rock and pulled three arrows from his quiver. Two he set on the ground in front of him, the third he nocked in his bowstring. Sighting down the arrow, he aimed at the spot where the path bent around the cliff, ready to draw back as soon as the patrol stepped into view.
Gudbrant was at Flyn’s side, his sword ready. To their right, Harvig was crouched with his sword drawn, as still as the boulder he was hiding behind. Randell was out of sight on the other side of the clearing. They waited, quietly watching the path, barely breathing for fear that any sound may give away their presence to the enemy. The pounding of his heart was so loud in Flyn’s ears he was afraid the sound would carry across the clearing.
Then the voices of the orcs came from around the cliff face, soon followed by the scrape and shuffle of boots on loose rock.
Flyn’s bow shook in his hands.
“Steady now,” Gudbrant whispered to him.
Flyn took a deep breath to settle his shaking hands, his eyes never leaving the bend in the path.
The first orc stepped around the corner.
Flyn pulled back on the bowstring and let the arrow fly.
He completely missed his target. The arrow struck the cliff next to the lead orc and shattered. As the orc turned to see what had hit the cliff, Flyn nocked the next arrow and drew back.
This time he was on the mark, his arrow piercing the orc’s throat. The orc grabbed its neck and tried to yell. Only a gurgling gasp escaped its lips. It fell to its knees, still holding its throat, as the next two orcs turned the corner. The second one earned an arrow to the heart for its trouble.
The third orc paused for only a second to see what had happened to the first two before it rushed toward the source of the arrows. With no time to pull more arrows, Flyn dropped his bow and picked up his sword. He jumped up, preparing to meet the onrushing orc, but before the orc could reach him, Gudbrant leapt from behind the rocks, sword raised. With a wild yell, he swung at the surprised orc with both hands on the hilt of his sword. In less than a second, the orc’s head was separated from its body and both fell to the ground, lifeless.
Flyn stopped, staring at the dead orc. The blood that flowed from the wounds was blue.
Two more orcs ran around the corner toward Gudbrant and Flyn, bringing Flyn back to the battle. At the same moment Randell and Harvig jumped out and rushed toward the attackers.
The first of the two orcs reached Gudbrant, swinging a large ax at the militiaman’s head. Gudbrant dove to the side, avoiding the swing, and rolled into a kneeling position. A quick thrust of his sword pierced the orc’s leg.
More blue blood.
As Harvig and Randell converged on the last orc, a loud roar erupted from around the cliff. For a second, the stunned humans stood still. From around the corner came a beast larger than anything Flyn had ever seen.
It dwarfed the humans, and even the orcs. Twice as big as the ogres Flyn had encountered on the other side of the valley, the creature stood nearly twenty feet tall with feet large enough to crush a man. Its fingers, three on each hand, ended in long, sharp claws, nearly a foot long. Wiry, black hair, patchy in places, covered its bumpy, dark green skin.
The creature’s enormous head was shaped like a dog’s, with ears that pointed straight back. Large tusks stuck out from its jaw and fangs longer than its claws protruded from its mouth.
Flyn shrank back in fear.
“Mountain troll!” Gudbrant yelled as he jumped to his feet.
The orcs took advantage of the distraction. The one engaged with Gudbrant rushed forward, slamming into him. The last orc swung its club into Randell, knocking him to the ground.
Still off balance, Gudbrant swung his sword at the orc, striking it in the arm. Meanwhile, Harvig had reached Randell and defended him from a follow-up blow from the orc.
The orc fighting Gudbrant had its back to Flyn. Mustering all of his courage, Flyn threw himself at the orc. Its foul stench filled his nostrils, making him want to turn away. The brute’s blue-green skin glistened with sweat in spite of the temperature.
The orc had raised its ax to smash down on Gudbrant. Flyn lunged forward, stabbing at the orc’s exposed side and sinking his sword to the hilt in the orc’s ribs. The orc let out a blood-curdling yell, dropping its ax. Flyn’s sword was ripped from his hand as the orc turned toward him. Gudbrant attacked with a quick slash to the orc’s throat. Before the orc had even hit the ground, Gudbrant raced off to help Randell.
Flyn scurried back to avoid the falling orc. Blue blood bubbled from the gash in the orc’s throat as it took its final breaths. The orc looked up at Flyn, reaching out with one hand. Flyn couldn't move. His feet seemed to be stuck to the ground as he watched the orc's chest rise one last time, then fall with a final gasp whistling from its wounded neck.
“Look out!” Gudbrant yelled at Randell, bringing Flyn back to his senses.
The mountain troll was slow, but with its long legs, it was soon on top of the melee. Randell rolled out of the way just before the troll could smash him with a large foot. Gudbrant swung his sword at the troll’s leg, but the blade just bounced off its thick hide. From where he was still lying on the ground, Randell managed to stab the troll’s foot, but the beast didn’t seem to notice. It swung at Gudbrant with its claws, catching him in the chest as he tried to dodge the blow.
&nb
sp; While Gudbrant and Randell were busy with the troll, Harvig battled the last orc. The orc blocked most of Harvig’s blows with its club while Harvig dodged the slower moving orc’s attacks. They circled each other, trying to find an opening, but neither could gain an advantage over the other.
Flyn, still in shock, watched the battle, torn between the two sets of combatants. As Gudbrant dove away from another swipe from the troll, Flyn broke his paralysis and picked up his bow again. He nocked an arrow and pulled back on the string. Aiming for the troll’s head, he released the arrow. The arrow bounced harmlessly off the side of the troll’s skull.
Randell had regained his feet. He and Gudbrant stood on opposite sides of the troll, one distracting it while the other attacked, then switching roles as the troll turned. Their strikes did very little to hurt the monster, either glancing off its hide or just causing minor wounds to its arms and legs. Gudbrant tried to duck under its swinging arms to attack its body, but each attempt had to be abandoned to avoid being crushed.
Flyn loaded another arrow and pulled back on the bow. He followed the troll’s head as it swung from one side to the other with a brief pause as it switched directions. He focused on his target, shutting out everything around him. As the troll’s head moved to the left, Flyn took a deep breath, following just ahead of it. Just before its head stopped moving, Flyn began to slowly exhale and loosen his grip on the bowstring.
The arrow struck the troll in the eye. The troll howled as it threw its head back in pain, reaching up to grab the arrow.
Gudbrant and Randell both attacked the now-defenseless troll, stabbing into its belly and up into its chest as high as they could reach. The troll howled even louder. Flyn dropped his bow to cover his ears from the terrible sound. Blood—red, Flyn noticed—poured from its wounds as it staggered back. The two militiamen pressed the attack, tearing into the troll’s body with vicious stabs. It staggered backward to try to escape, but it was too late. When it finally fell, Gudbrant jumped up on its chest and delivered the killing blow.
