The Shining Ones (54 page)

‘Savage,’ Vanion said fondly to her.

‘Let’s leave the army here and go round to the back side of the village,’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘If we’re going to talk with the Troll-Gods, I’d rather not do it out in plain sight.’ He turned Faran and led the others around the ruined village to a smaller clearing a few hundred yards to the east.

Sparhawk had deliberately not closed the box after Bhelliom had transported them to Tzada. This time he
wanted
his enemies to know where he was. ‘Blue Rose,’ he said politely, ‘canst thou find anything amiss in our plan?’

‘It seemeth sound to me, Anakha,’ the stone replied through Vanion’s lips. ‘It might be prudent, however, to advise the Troll-Gods that Cyrgon may reach back into antiquity for reinforcements once he doth perceive that the Trolls are no longer deceived by his assumed guise.’

‘Thou art wise, my friend,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We shall so advise them.’ He looked at Aphrael. ‘Don’t pick any fights right now,’ he told her. ‘Let’s try to get along with our allies – at least until the battle’s over.’

‘Trust me,’ she said.

‘Do I have any choice?’

‘No, not really. Bring on the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk. Let’s get to work. The day won’t last forever, you know.’

He muttered something under his breath.

‘I didn’t quite hear that,’ she said.

‘You weren’t supposed to.’ He raised the glowing gem. ‘Please bring them forth now, my friend,’ he told it. ‘The Child Goddess doth grow impatient.’

‘I did notice that myself, Anakha.’

Then the vast presences of the Troll-Gods were there, glowing blue and towering enormous.

‘The time is come,’ Sparhawk announced in Trollish. ‘This is the place where Cyrgon has your children. Let us join together to cause hurt to Cyrgon.’

‘Yes!’ Ghworg exulted.

‘I will remind you of our compact,’ Aphrael said. ‘You have given surety. I will hold you to your promises.’

‘Well will we keep them, Aphrael.’ Ghworg’s voice was sullen.

‘Let us repeat them,’ she said shrewdly. ‘Promises made in haste are sometimes forgotten. Your children will no longer eat my children. Is it agreed?’

Ghnomb sobbed his assent.

‘Khwaj will restrain his fire and Schlee his ice. Agreed? Ghworg will forbid your children to kill mine, and Zoka will permit no more than two cubs to each she-Troll. Is it agreed?’

‘Agreed. Agreed,’ Ghworg said impatiently. ‘Free us.’

‘In a moment. Is it also agreed that your children will become mortal? That they will age and die as do mine?’

They howled in fury. They had evidently been hoping in their dim minds that she had forgotten that promise.

‘Agreed?’ she bored in with a not-so-veiled threat in her voice.

‘Agreed,’ Schlee said reluctantly.

‘Turn them loose, Sparhawk.’

‘In a minute.’ Then he spoke to the Troll-Gods directly. ‘It is our intent to punish Cyrgon,’ he told them. ‘Let him seem to have victory in his mouth before we jerk it from between his teeth. Thus will he suffer more.’

‘It speaks well,’ Schlee told the others. ‘Let us hear its words. Let us find out how the pain of Cyrgon may be made greater.’

Sparhawk quickly outlined their plan of battle. ‘Thus,’ he concluded, ‘when your children are ten tens of strides from Aphrael’s children and Cyrgon exults, you can appear and jerk your stolen children back from his grasp. In pain and agony may he bring his
own
children from the shadowy past to meet us. I will appeal to the Child Goddess and ask her to relent this once and let your children feast upon Cyrgon’s, and Cyrgon himself will feel their teeth as they rend and tear the flesh of his children.’

‘Your words are good, Anakha,’ Schlee agreed. ‘It is my thought that you are almost worthy to be a Troll.’

‘I thank you for thinking so,’ Sparhawk replied a bit doubtfully.

The army advanced at a steady trot. The Church Knights, their armor gleaming in the slanting rays of the newly risen sun and the pennons on their lances fluttering, rode forward, the hooves of their heavy war-horses crushing the knee-high grass of the meadow. The unmounted Atans loped along on either side, and Tikume’s Peloi, probably the finest light cavalry in the world, ranged out on the flanks. Despite Vanion’s violent objections, Sephrenia and Xanetia rode with the knights. Flute, for some obscure reason, rode with Talen this time.

They trotted perhaps two miles out into the frostwhite meadow, and then Vanion held up his hand to
signal a halt. Ulath blew a long, strident blast on his Ogre-horn to pass the word.

Engessa, Betuana and Kring joined them. ‘We have more details now,’ Betuana told them. ‘Some of our scouts concealed themselves in the high grass to watch the Trolls. Cyrgon is exhorting the man-beasts, and there are several Styrics with him. My people don’t know the language of those monsters, so they couldn’t understand what Cyrgon was saying.’

‘It’s not too hard to guess.’ Tynian shrugged. ‘We’ve got quite an army here, and we’ve drawn up in the traditional battle formation. I’m sure Cyrgon thinks we’re planning to attack the Trolls. He’s preparing them for battle.’

‘Could your scouts recognize any of the Styrics, Betuana?’ Sephrenia asked, her face grim.

The Atan queen shook her head. ‘They couldn’t get that close,’ she replied.

‘Zalasta is there, Sephrenia,’ Xanetia said. ‘I can feel the presence of his mind.’

‘Can you hear his thoughts, Anarae?’ Bevier asked her.

‘Not clearly, Sir Knight. He is not yet close enough.’

Vanion frowned. ‘I wish we could get some assurance that this ruse of ours is working,’ he fretted. ‘This could turn very ugly if Zalasta’s got any idea at all of what we’re planning. Could your scouts get any kind of estimate about how many Trolls are out there, your Majesty?’

‘Perhaps fifteen hundred, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Betuana replied.

‘That’s almost the whole herd,’ Ulath observed. ‘There aren’t really very many Trolls.’ He made a wry face. ‘There don’t really have to be. One Troll’s a crowd all by himself in a fight.’

‘If we
were
planning a battle, would we have enough men?’ Tynian asked him.

Ulath wobbled one hand back and forth uncertainly. ‘It’d be touch and go,’ he replied. ‘We’ve only got about twelve thousand. Attacking fifteen hundred Trolls with so few would be an act of desperation.’

‘Our ruse is believable, then,’ Vanion said. ‘Cyrgon and Zalasta shouldn’t have any reason to suspect a trap.’

They waited. The horses of the knights were restive and grew more difficult to control as the minutes ticked by.

Then an Atan woman came running back across the frosty meadow. ‘They’ve started to move, Betuana-Queen!’ she shouted from about a hundred yards out.

‘It worked, then,’ Talen said gleefully.

‘We’ll see,’ Khalad said cautiously. ‘Let’s not start dancing in the streets just yet.’

The scout came the rest of the way across the meadow to join them.

‘Tell us what you saw,’ Betuana commanded.

‘The man-beasts are coming toward us, Betuana-Queen,’ the woman replied. ‘They move singly, some far to the front and others lagging behind.’

‘Trolls wouldn’t understand the concept of fighting as a unit,’ Ulath told them.

‘Who commands them?’ Betuana asked.

‘Something that is very large and ugly, Betuana-Queen,’ the scout reported. ‘The man-beasts around it are taller than any Atan, and they scarcely come as high as its waist. There are Styrics with it as well – eight, by my count.’

‘Did one of them have silvery hair and beard?’ Sephrenia asked intently.

‘There were two such. One is thin, and one is fat. The thin one is close by the big ugly thing.’

‘
That
one is Zalasta,’ she said in a bleak voice.

‘I’ll take a promise from you now, Sephrenia,’ Vanion said firmly.

‘You can go whistle for promises right now, Vanion,’ she replied tartly. She was flexing her fingers in an ominous sort of way.

‘You were right, Sparhawk-Knight,’ Engessa said with a faint smile. ‘When we reached Sarsos last summer, you said Sephrenia was two hundred feet tall. She
does
seem to grow as one comes to know her better, doesn’t she? I don’t think I’d care to trade places with Zalasta right now.’

‘No,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘Will you at least agree to
think
just a little before you start grappling with Zalasta?’ Vanion pleaded. ‘For
my
sake? My heart stops when you’re in danger.’

She smiled at him. ‘That’s very sweet, Vanion, but I’m not the one in danger right now.’

Then they heard it. It was a dull, rhythmic thudding of hundreds of feet striking the earth in unison, and that thudding was accompanied by a low, brutish grunting. Then the thudding and grunting suddenly broke off, and a shrill, wailing ululation rose, fluctuating and piercing the chill air.

‘Kring!’ Ulath barked. ‘Let’s go have a look!’ And the two galloped out across the frozen meadow.

‘What is it?’ Vanion asked.

‘Very bad news,’ Kalten replied tensely. ‘We’ve heard that noise before. When we were on our way to Zemoch, we came across some creatures Sephrenia called the “Dawn Men”. They make Trolls look like tame puppies by comparison.’

‘And the Troll-Gods wouldn’t have any authority over them,’ Sephrenia added. ‘We might have to retreat.’

‘Never!’ Betuana almost shouted. ‘I
won’t
run away
again – not from anything! I’ve been humiliated too many times already! My Atans and I will die here if necessary!’

Ulath and Kring came riding back, their faces baffled. ‘They’re just ordinary Trolls!’ Ulath exclaimed. ‘But they’re stamping and grunting and wailing the same way the Dawn-Men did!’

Flute suddenly burst out laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ Talen demanded.

‘Cyrgon,’ she replied gaily. ‘I knew he was stupid, but I didn’t think he was
this
stupid. He can’t tell the difference between Trolls and Dawn-Men. He’s forcing the Trolls to behave the way their ancestors did, and that won’t work with Trolls. All he’s doing is confusing them. Let’s go out and meet them, Sparhawk. I want to watch Cyrgon’s face crumble and fall off the front of his head.’ Then she drove her little grass-stained feet into the flanks of Talen’s horse, obliging the rest of them to follow along behind.

They crested a low hill and reined in. The Trolls were advancing through the tall grass on a broad front, quite nearly a mile across, shuffling, stamping their heels, and grunting in unison. A vast shape which very closely resembled Ghworg, the God of Kill, shambled along in the center of the brutish throng, beating on the frozen ground with a huge, iron-bound club.

The monstrous apparition was closely surrounded by a group of white-robed Styrics. Sparhawk could quite clearly see Zalasta to Cyrgon’s right.

‘Cyrgon!’ Aphrael called. Her voice was shatteringly loud. Then she spoke at some length in a language that had only traces of Styric in it and was shaded around the edges with bits and pieces of Elenic and Tamul and a half-dozen other languages as well.

‘What tongue is that?’ Betuana demanded.

‘It is the language of the Gods,’ Vanion replied, his
voice carrying that slightly wooden overtone that always overlaid it when Bhelliom spoke. ‘The Child Goddess doth taunt Cyrgon.’ Vanion seemed to wince slightly. ‘Thou wert perhaps unwise to expose thy Goddess overmuch to Elenes, Sephrenia,’ Bhelliom observed. ‘Her capacity for imprecation and insult seemeth me inappropriate for one so young.’

‘Aphrael is hardly young, Blue Rose,’ she replied.

A faint smile touched Vanion’s lips. ‘Not to thee, perhaps. Perspective, however, doth color all. To me, thy seemingly ancient Goddess is scarce more than a babe.’

‘Be nice,’ Aphrael murmured. Then she continued to rail at the now-enraged Cyrgon.

‘Can you hear Zalasta’s thoughts now, Anarae?’ Kalten asked.

‘Clearly, Sir Knight,’ Xanetia replied.

‘Does he have any suspicion at all about what we’re going to do?’

‘Nay. He doth believe that victory is within his reach.’

Aphrael stopped in mid-curse. ‘Let’s disabuse him of that right now,’ she said. ‘Turn loose the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk.’

‘An it please thee, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said politely, ‘evict thine unwanted tenants now.’

‘More than gladly, Anakha,’ Bhelliom replied with great relief.

The Troll-Gods were not surrounded by that azure nimbus this time. They appeared suddenly and in vividly excruciating detail. Sparhawk suppressed a wave of revulsion.

‘Go to your children, Ghworg!’ Aphrael commanded in Trollish. ‘It is
your
semblance Cyrgon has stolen, and it is your right to cause hurt to him for that.’

Ghworg roared his agreement and charged down the hill with the other Troll-Gods close on his heels.

The counterfeit Ghworg gaped up the hill at the
dreadful reality descending upon him. And then he screamed in sudden agony.

‘Does that even happen to Gods?’ Talen asked Flute. ‘Does it hurt you as much as it hurts humans to have one of your spells broken?’

‘Even more,’ she almost purred. ‘Cyrgon’s brains are on fire right now.’

The Trolls were also gaping at their suddenly materialized Gods. One huge brute not far from the writhing God of the Cyrgai reached out almost absently, picked up a shrieking Styric, and pulled off his head. Then he tossed the head aside and began to eat the still-convulsing body.

The Troll-Gods roared something in unison, and the Trolls all fell on their faces.

Cyrgon writhed, shrieking, and the seven remaining Styrics collapsed as if they had been cut down. The false shape of Ghworg shuddered away into nothingness, and Cyrgon himself suddenly appeared as an amorphous blob of pale, intense light.

Aphrael sneered. ‘That’s Cyrgon for you,’ she noted. ‘He claims to be too proud to assume a human form. Personally, I think he’s just too clumsy. If he tried, he’d probably put the head on upside down or both arms on the same side.’ She shrieked a few more triumphant insults.

‘Aphrael!’
Sephrenia actually sounded shocked.

‘I’ve been saving those up,’ the Child Goddess apologized. ‘You weren’t really supposed to hear me say them.’