Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [30]
The monster’s club smashed into one of the dogs, killing the hound instantly, but the weight of the others, plus the damage of the sword wound, forced the Firbolg to its knees. Instantly the dogs dragged it to the ground, biting and tearing in a frenzy of bloodlust.
Several feet away, Tristan attempted to climb to his feet, but the world began to spin madly and he had to sit back down. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked around.
A bellow of rage caused him to look over his shoulder, and his stomach knotted with terror. Another Firbolg, one they had not seen before, was crashing through the enclosing pines only a few yards away. The monster’s club was held high, and its bloodshot eyes glimmered with malice.
Tristan quickly saw that his companions were all occupied and too far away to intervene. So, praying for the best, he groped for his sword. But the dizziness kept him from grasping his weapon. The Firbolg, sensing the vulnerability of his enemy, crept forward slowly, his club raised, ready to smash the prince into the ground. Through the haze in his vision, Tristan vaguely saw that the weapon was studded with rusty spikes. He closed his eyes to block out the sight, hoping it might go away.
“Stop!” Robyn’s cry pierced the air like the clarion call of a battle horn.
Something glimmered and shook along the ground, or was it simply imagination? The prince was not certain, but it looked as if the ground itself had begun to throb. The lunging Firbolg paused, confusion and fear at the strange happening clouding its gaze.
Wide-eyed, Tristan saw the trees and bushes around the Firbolg bend fantastically, reaching for the monster and closing hard curls of wood around its huge limbs. The creature uttered a bellow of frustration, and perhaps fear, as in moments the supple limbs held the creature fast.
The pine boughs and sapling trunks wrapped the Firbolg’s limbs tightly. The tip of a small pine encircled the giant’s neck three or four times. The entire might of the earth was behind the grasping wood, so the creature could barely squirm.
Robyn gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth, but then spurred her horse and galloped toward the prince, whose own limbs still refused to cooperate. He stared, in amazement, looking from Firbolg to Robyn and back. She reined in beside him and leaped to the ground, helping him to stand.
“How…?” he gasped.
“I don’t know!” she responded, turning to stare at the imprisoned Firbolg. The monster struggled to free itself, but was clasped tight by the knotted limbs and branches.
Tristan grasped the pommel of Robyn’s saddle, but could not lift himself. He shook his head, groaning as the pounding in it grew infinitely worse.
Daryth still lay motionless, but the prince could see no blood on him. Little Pawldo was rapidly releasing arrows with enthusiasm and precision into the other two Firbolgs who were fast approaching. Several arrows sprouted from the chest of one, but did little more than annoy the creature.
Tristan glanced toward the notch and was relieved to see that the other Firbolgs had not arrived, though he knew that they would reach the narrow pass soon.
Arlen, Tristan saw, stood over the motionless form of the Firbolg he and the dogs had just slain. The old warrior studied the approach of the pair.
“Fly, my prince!” he called to Tristan, running in his direction. Robyn came up behind him and boosted Tristan into the saddle of her own mount.
“Go! You got us into this – now don’t make it worse!” Arlen’s visage was fierce.
Tristan, his control returned, saw a look of frantic appeal in Robyn’s eyes. Without consideration for his own safety, he urged the mount toward the motionless figure of Daryth.
“Damn!” grunted Arlen, as he strode forward to face the two advancing Firbolgs. The pair closed upon the warrior, wicked grins distorting their bestial features as they approached what they considered an