The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [79]
"No," declared Baatlrap, stepping closer to the firbolg chieftain. "You follow me now."
Thurgol glared at his co-commander in growing fury. "You saw the sign of the gods!" he barked. "We have the Silverhaft Axe. Now it's time to take it to Icepeak!"
Baatlrap looked at the ship, skepticism rank on his grotesque face. "Humans flee that way," he said, pointing to the east along the shore. "We should give chase now-catch them and kill them!"
The firbolg chieftain showed no fear of his gangly, powerfully muscled rival. Yet as he remembered the size of the ship, he knew he couldn't squeeze more than his own tribe into the hull. There would be no room for the trolls. And given their utter lack of nautical skill, he suspected that multiple crossings of the surprisingly wide strait would be out of question.
"I take the ship and my warriors," Thurgol said after a moment's thought. "You trolls, and any giant-kin what don't come along, you can chase the humans."
His suggestion seemed, to the powerful giant, to be a model of diplomacy and compromise. He nodded thoughtfully, considering all the ramifications. It was a good idea!
"No!" barked Baatlrap, surprising Thurgol in his self-congratulatory meditation. Then, with not a second's warning, the hulking troll attacked.
* * * * *
How long can a back be twisted before a person became permanently crippled? When an arm or leg remained numb for hours on end, did it wither and die? These questions arose from more than idle curiosity in Tavish. By now, after more than an hour under her bench, she considered them crucial to her chances of survival.
Already she felt as though she had passed the point of ever being able to walk again. A rough thwart jabbed the small of her back, and the low-hanging bench pressed her shoulder into the hull, wearing her skin away with each jolt and roll of the ship. And the firbolgs, she quickly noted, jolted and rolled the ship a good deal more than had Brandon and his crew. The only good news was that the water barrels served to screen her from observation by the giants.
When the humanoids scrambled out of the vessel onto the docks of Codscove, she had risked a little movement, stretching her legs beneath the bench and rolling sideways so that the vicious wooden thwart was removed from contact with her backbone. At the same time, her new position allowed her a small crack of daylight, a space between the bench and a water barrel, through which to observe the longship's captors.
She saw a monstrous troll, easily the largest and ugliest she had ever seen, jabbering angrily with an equally hulking firbolg. The pair stood nose to nose beside the ship, barking guttural sounds at each other. Though she couldn't understand a word of the conversation, Tavish sensed that the troll grew increasingly agitated.
The creature carried a huge, wicked-looking sword, balancing the weapon easily in the palm of one massive hand. The blade was streaked with blood; he hadn't bothered to clean it after the battle on the commons. The giant, on the other hand, leaned casually on a huge, knotted limb. To Tavish, the club looked as large as a small tree trunk, but the monster spun it easily to rest it across one of his broad shoulders.
The firbolg's eyes drifted over the boat, and Tavish flinched, though there was little chance that the creature would see her in the shadowy niche. She was puzzled by something in his eyes. They seemed to stare with longing far into the haze over the strait.
Then, with shocking speed, the troll whipped his sword upward and slashed it toward the unprepared firbolg's neck. Backed by the force of powerful sinew, the blade whistled through the air while the firbolg, still staring out to sea, remained unaware of the treacherous attack.
A deep voice, shrill with warning and-to Tavish, who couldn't see the speaker-unmistakably female, screeched