The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [43]
Before they left Cambro, the giantess had applied herself to a dark green piece of burlap, using a bone needle to emblazon her material with white thread. She had gruffly refused to answer Thurgol's questions as to what she was making. Each night, beside a comfortable fire, she vigorously pressed her needle through the cloth.
It was several days after leaving Cambro that the rude army came to the first farmsteads. One of the point guards came lumbering back to Thurgol, panting with excitement.
"Humans! Houses! Cows!" he gasped, his meaty face flushing as he came to a skidding stop before his chieftain.
"Slow down! Where? How many? Did they see you?" demanded Thurgol, fingering his club in agitation.
"Up ahead-we not seen! Hide in bushes to watch. Some men plow in fields. One bangs a hammer against metal."
"How many houses?" pressed the chieftain.
"Dunno. Maybe five or eight."
"Good they didn't see you," he told the young giant, clapping him on the shoulder. Thurgol considered the options. Obviously they had passed from Myrloch Vale into the fringes of populated country. He knew that there weren't any large towns in this part of Gwynneth, but he didn't know how many villages they'd be likely to encounter. Since they hadn't yet been discovered, it seemed logical to skirt this village and try to put off the initial encounter as long as possible. After all, their goal wasn't to plunder and kill, but to cross the Strait of Oman and return the Silverhaft Axe to the Icepeak. It seemed sensible to delay their initial encounters with humankind for as long as possible. Yes, he decided firmly, this was a wise decision: They could circumvent this settlement by passing around it in the forest.
His self-congratulations were interrupted just then by shrill screams, terrified human voices raised in wails of ultimate horror. In the seconds that followed, the screaming voices ceased one by one, each abruptly silenced.
Bellowing inarticulately in his rage, Thurgol lumbered forward, quickly breaking into a plowed field. Before him, he saw the quaint wooden houses, surrounded by gardens and a few tall trees. Among the trees, large figures moved.
Trolls!
Most of the monsters were hunched over motionless figures on the ground, though a few raised bloodstained muzzles to regard the ranting firbolg charging toward them with impassive eyes.
At first glance, Thurgol counted a dozen of the brutes, and then he understood. The company of trolls that had ranged freely through the woods had come upon these humans and attacked, without waiting to report their discovery to Thurgol, or even Baatlrap.
"Good quick fight, huh?" grunted the latter as he loped up to Thurgol's side. "Good eats." Unlike the firbolgs, trolls commonly devoured the flesh of their human and demihuman victims.
But Thurgol was in no mood to debate differences in dietary etiquette. "Stupid fools! We don't need war with humans-just to carry axe through here!"
Baatlrap stopped in his tracks. The shadowy spots of eyes, beneath the overhanging brows of knobby green skin, seemed to smolder at the firbolg chieftain. "We fight-and kill-when we find enemies!" he snarled.
Furiously Thurgol swung his club at the troll, but Baatlrap blocked the blow with his hands. The force of the attack shoved the monster back several steps, and Thurgol heard bones snap. But Baatlrap still faced the giant-kin boldly. The two creatures stood eye to eye, and for a moment, Thurgol trembled with an almost irresistible desire to savagely attack the arrogant troll.
He noticed that several more of the gangly predators had collected around the pair of them, however. A few firbolgs had followed him from the forest, but they were significantly outnumbered at the moment. Forcing his muscles to obey his will, Thurgol lowered his club.
The plaintive bleating of sheep came to the chieftain's ears. Now the trolls butchered the farm animals! "Save cows and