Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [29]
Even as the companions turned, the Firbolgs hurled the rocks at the party. The missiles fell short, but clattered and sparked with real menace as they shattered on the rocky ground.
“Quick! Through the notch!” cried Tristan, as the Firbolgs burst into a run.
“Hold!” barked Arlen. “Look before you!”
Tristan looked ahead through the narrow mountain gap to the long slope on the other side and the forest a mile away. From the trees emerged a dozen or more Firbolgs, all loping steadily toward the notch. They were trapped!
For a moment, Tristan froze in panic, his mind groping helplessly for a plan. The Firbolgs to the rear blocked their retreat, and those before them offered certain death.
“My prince, we must attack – there!” called Arlen, speaking firmly and pointing. The Firbolgs behind them had split into two pairs. The pair on the left had moved apart, the two Firbolgs lumbering forward with a wide gap between them.
Instantly, Tristan saw the wisdom of the move. “Let’s go!” he called, kicking the flanks of his mount.
“Follow!” cried Arlen to the others as his own steed leaped forward to gallop beside Tristan’s. The pair leveled their lances and charged toward the two Firbolgs to the left. The lances were formidable weapons when coupled with the weight of a charging horse, and Tristan allowed himself a flash of optimism. The baying hounds sang behind him, and a clattering of hooves informed him of the reassuring presence of his companions.
The Firbolgs immediately anticipated their plan. The pair to the right began closing toward their companions, but they were still several hundred yards away. Then, as he and Arlen thundered downhill at breathtaking speed, the two Firbolgs before them stopped, and each grabbed a rock the size of a large melon. As the lancers bore down, the monsters threw the jagged rocks. The first one sailed over Arlen’s head and crashed harmlessly among the rocks. The second, however, smashed the right foreleg of Tristan’s horse, dropping the poor animal instantly and sending the prince flying from the saddle. The horse shrieked in pain as it collapsed, bouncing and rolling along the ground for some distance before finally breaking its neck and lying still.
The prince managed to tuck his head before he landed, but he crashed into a rocky patch of ground with enough force to stun him.
Arlen’s charge struck the second Firbolg with brute force. The point of his lance sheared through the monster’s chest and erupted from its back in a shower of blood. As the charge carried him past, the warrior dropped the lance in order to retain his seat, but he instantly drew his sword and looked about.
The Firbolg behind him collapsed, but the one that had struck down Tristan faced the other riders with upraised club. Arlen saw Daryth edge his mount between the Firbolg and Robyn, and he saw the Calishite’s sword lash out and cut the Firbolg’s hip. At the same time, the club smashed down, striking Daryth on the shoulder and knocking him headlong from the saddle.
In an instant, Pawldo and Robyn thundered past the Firbolg, but the pair quickly reined in their horses and turned. Daryth lay motionless near the Firbolg, while Tristan, moaning, struggled to a sitting position. Bellowing ferociously, the Firbolg that had struck them down turned to confront the riders, ignoring the hounds that raced toward its back.
Robyn stared breathlessly at the monster, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. The heavy cudgel she had carved seemed like a pathetic stick in her hand. Pawldo raised his bow and sent an arrow darting into the Firbolg’s chest, but the creature plucked it free and threw it to the ground as it would a small thorn.
Just then the hounds struck the Firbolg from behind like an onrushing landslide. As the monster stumbled and turned back to face this new attack, Arlen urged his horse forward. Striking from behind,