The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [104]
But still more of them surged around him. He felt claws raking his legs, heard Shallot cry out in pain. The king's arm, grown into an unfeeling, leaden weight, chopped, hacked, and stabbed with Trollcleaver, but he couldn't hold the savagely pressing beasts at bay.
The stallion reared back, breaking free of the press for a moment. Then a troll lunged at Shallot's flank, knocking the horse sideways. For a sickening, desperately hopeful moment, Tristan thought that the mighty stallion would recover his balance.
Instead, Shallot fell heavily on his side. The king flew from the saddle, feeling the impact with the ground before it happened. Even as the stunning force of the fall drove the breath from his lungs, he tried to scramble to his feet but found his muscles strangely unwilling to move.
And so he could only lie there, helpless in the midst of his enemies, waiting the blow that would certainly bring the end.
* * * * *
"They haven't come any farther along the coast," reported Brigit, galloping up to the column of exhausted dwarves. Hanrald took her hand as she swung down from the saddle. "They're staying in place near the shore, almost as if they're waiting for something behind them."
"Let them wait for us!" snapped Finellen, elated at the news. "How far away are they now?"
"Not far," Brigit replied. "If you keep up the pace, you should get there in a few hours."
"Double-step, now-quick march!" Finellen called. "Make time, dwarves! There's battle awaiting! We'll have the Silver-haft Axe back by nightfall!"
The column of doughty warriors picked up its pace with noticeable enthusiasm. The tromp of booted feet thumped against the ground in rapid cadence, and despite their long hours without any real respite, the bearded warriors looked fresh and eager to meet the enemy.
Hanrald swung into the saddle of his war-horse as Brigit remounted beside him. Pacing themselves with a gentle trot, they rode at the head of the dwarven formation, following the course the sister knight marked to the camp of the trolls and firbolgs.
Because of Finellen's hastened march, they covered the ground in even less time than Brigit had estimated. It was less than two hours before the Llewyrr woman held up her hand, bringing the whole column to a halt behind her.
"Near here?" asked Finellen, squeezing her axe and peering anxiously through the wooded ground ahead of them.
"We break into the coastal fields just up ahead," Brigit replied. "Once we go a little farther, you'll lose the advantage of concealment."
"Let's have a look, then," huffed the dwarf. The riders dismounted to accompany her as Finellen pushed her way through a tangle of underbrush, quickly reaching the trunk of a large tree. Peering around the bole, she saw that the elfwoman had spoken the truth. Fields of lush grain sprawled away before her, blowing gently in the breeze.
But there was nothing lush about the scene drawing their eyes on the far side of the grainfield. There they saw dozens of green, hulking figures-trolls! The monsters had gathered in a large ring, though for the moment, the observers couldn't see what they encircled.
Then a flash of movement whirled beyond the trolls, and they saw a huge war-horse break into a gallop. The steed and its rider were trapped in a ring of savage trolls, and the trio could only stare in wonder at the futile courage of the human rider. His armor gleamed, but they couldn't make out the seal on his dented shield, and he wore no banner, pennant, or other symbol of his identity.
"The poor doomed fool!" Hanrald gasped, his voice tinged with admiration and sorrow.
"By the gods, man, he's giving us a great diversion!" Finellen barked. "Let's get moving!"
"You want to attack?" demanded Brigit, incredulous. "Why, look at the ground before you! You'd have to charge through that field for half a mile! They'd have