Island of Dragons - Chapter 13 - Dragon Lands - The mountains south of Stovologard (7121)(DRAFT)

Chapter 13 - Dragon Lands - The mountains south of Stovologard (7121)

For the rest of the day after Roztov left there wasn’t much for anyone to do apart from watch the weather from the cave entrance. It was a tall wide crack in the side of a mountain that went back further than anyone cared to explore.

'If this was Styke,' remarked Meggelaine. 'This cave would be rammed full of hibernating bears.'

'It does seem odd,' agreed Ghene, 'I suspect though, that his island has never been home to them, or wolves either.'

Outside the low cloud cover obscured everything from view except the sleet and rain that fell close to the entrance. When night fell they couldn’t even see that.

Floran lit a fire a good way back from the mouth of the cave and kept the place warm. Meggelaine continued to complain that she would not be able to sleep on the cold rock and everyone else complained about the food supply.

‘How much is left?’ asked Broddor.

‘Enough meat for day,’ said Meggelaine looking through the bags. ‘Enough potatoes to last two days if we go sparingly on them.’

‘No crabs left?’

‘No, you ate them all, you greedy pig.’

Broddor sighed. ‘You druids can summon food though? I’ve seen you do it before.’

Meggelaine scowled at him while Ghene answered the question. ‘Yes, but it’s tricky. It would be much easier to go hunt something up. If he’s not back soon I’ll go bag some rabbits or a goat.’

‘Maybe Roztov will bring something back,’ said Broddor picking up a potato and sniffing it.

‘He seemed in a bad mood when he left,’ grumbled Salveri as he unwrapped a piece of smoked meat.

‘Oh, he’ll be fine when he gets back,’ said Ghene. ‘He forgets his anger very quickly.’

‘A goat would be great,’ mused Broddor, rubbing his belly. ‘Cut up into cubes and skewered on sticks then grilled on the fire, I could eat...’

‘A girl died!’ cried Meggelaine. ‘Eaten by a dragon! And all everyone can think about is their stomachs!’

A silence descended on the cave that lasted for the rest of the day, any kind of idle chatter smothered by her grief.

The whole of the next day too, was spent in the cave as the wind whipped the rain and sleet around in the mist outside. By the start of the third day since Roztov had left they were all starting to feel frustrated and annoyed at being cooped up.

'I'm getting cabin fever,' remarked Ghene. Floran nodded, but Broddor shrugged. He felt more at ease in a cave than anywhere else.

In the afternoon the wind blew all the clouds away and they tentatively went outside to take a look around. The wind was strong and cold, but for a while they could see all the way down into the valley. There was a village at the bottom of it, situated beside a meandering river.

The sailors stood together and talked.

‘Those are men down there,’ said Salveri shielding his eyes from the sun with his hands as he observed the valley. 'That’s civilisation. I can see a man chopping wood from here.‘

‘That big building in the middle looks like a tavern,’ said Arrin wistfully.

‘Or a town hall,’ said Tankle.

‘It’s a tavern,’ said Salveri with certainty, although he had no way of knowing. ‘And that’s where I’m going tonight. I’ve still got gold in my pocket.’

The other two looked at him in alarm.

'Are you crazy?' said Arrin.

'No,' growled the older man. 'You are crazy if you stay in that stinking cave any longer. It's been three days! Do you think that druid is coming back? He's either dead, captured or decided just to fly off for good.'

He turned his back on them and walked off to look over the other side of the ridge. Arrin turned to Tankle 'He's all talk. He'll never do it.'

Salveri had made up his mind, those other two could do what they liked, but he reckoned that the town at the bottom of the valley was no more than three hours away. Getting up from the fire he muttered that he was going out to empty his bladder and took a walk along to the outcrop they had stood at when they’d seen the town.

It was misty, but the wind had died down a bit. He thought he could just make out lights. What annoyed him the most was that the other two, Arrin and Tankle obviously thought he wasn't going to do it as they'd made no further attempt to talk him out of it. He stood for a while in contemplation, then grumbled, ‘to hell with this,’ and started walking.

As long as he kept going downhill, following the lights, what could go wrong?

He’d go get a drink in that tavern and wait there until Ghene came and got him. Then those dopey druids would realise there was food, drink and nice warm beds and have the sense to bring everyone else down.

‘Bloody fools,’ he started to mutter to himself as he stepped down the steep side of the mountain. ‘Always waiting, waiting. Waiting for a druid to make a decision about something. Too many druid’s by half. I’ll be nice and warm by the fire in a couple of hours. Takes a sailor to show them some common sense.’

His eyes had been watching where he had been putting his feet for some time. He looked up again, seeking for the lights of the town. He couldn’t see them in the mist, but as long as he kept going downhill, then he couldn’t miss it, right?

‘He’s been twenty minutes, Ghene, you’d better go look for him,’ said Meggelaine.

‘Uch,’ grunted the elf as he stood and did up the buttons on his jacket. ‘He’ll have decided to shift his bowels I’m sure, that can take humans hours.’

‘Even so. After Ophess, we should be more careful.’

Ghene waved over his shoulder as he walked out into the night. He had no trouble following the man’s trail and half an hour later he was alarmed to find a patch of blood. Drops of blood led away into the mist. He didn’t follow it immediately, but instead walked around in the rocks, looking at the ground. He kneeled down and put out his hand and touched something wet.

‘Oh no,’ he said quietly.

A mighty, but distant roar echoed up from the valley, then distant flames lit up the fog. Somewhere to his west, dragons were fighting. As he tried to make out what was going on his saw a black dot silhouetted against the lit up clouds, what looked like a small bird heading east as fast as its wings could carry it. Another burst of flame lit up the sky above him and he saw the bird pass overhead.

‘Roztov,’ he said, and started to run back up the mountainside to the cave.

Roztov was just saying his hellos to the others when Ghene came up behind him.

‘Can I get your help with something?’ he asked his friend, pointing back outside. He then led him to where he had found the blood. Elves had good enough eyesight to see at night and Roztov could enhance his vision with druidic magic.

Ghene pointed to the thing he had touched earlier and Roztov gingerly picked it up. It was the top half of a man’s head.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Roztov, gently putting it back down again. He then covered it with stones.

‘There are big hoof prints here and here. I’d say about ten sets of giant hoof prints,’ said Ghene quietly as he looked along the side of the valley.

‘No tracks of men, besides Salveri?’

‘No, so not manhunters. These are not dragon claw marks. They are cloven, like a goats.’

‘Bloody big goat though,’ said Roztov as he knelt down at hoof print and took a very good look at it. After almost a minute he stood up again and said, ‘Could be yales.’

‘They are not real.’

‘Says who?’

‘Well, everyone.’

‘Well everyone is wrong,’ said Roztov flatly. ‘I’ve seen one, more than one actually.’

‘Where? Oh wait, let me guess. Ertia.’

‘Correct.’

‘That’s where all your oddities come from. Whenever it’s something only ever you have seen, you’ve seen it in Ertia.’

‘The forests of Ertia are remarkable, you should get out more.’

Ghene pursed his lips, then decided not to pursue the subject of yales any further and instead said, ‘I can’t see more than thirty feet in this mist. They could be really close for all we know.’

‘Want to follow the giant goat trail?’

‘I’m tempted, but we’d have to follow it on foot. It could go for a dozen miles and who knows what would be at the end of it.’

‘A whole bunch of things with giant cloven hoofs that can take a man’s head off.’

‘It does rather feel as if we’d be looking for nothing but trouble.’

‘Right,’ agreed Roztov. ‘I mean, he’s dead for sure, poor bugger. No one survives the loss of that much head.’

Having settled the matter, they walked back to the cave.

Meggelaine jumped up from her spot by the fire when the other two druids returned.

‘So?’ she asked. ‘What’s going on.’

‘I’m sorry,’ replied Ghene solemnly. ‘He’s dead.’

The elf then silently walked into the back of the cave and disappeared into the darkness.

‘What?’ said Meggelaine, turning back to Roztov who had just sat down by the fire. ‘Roztov!’

‘Very dead. Sorry.’

‘What happened?’

Roztov glanced around the fire. Arrin had gone white and Tankle was being comforted by Floran. He struggled to say something diplomatic, but in the end settled for, ‘critters got him.’

'It wasn't dragons?'

'We are not sure,' answered Roztov in Stykian, a language that only they spoke. 'It was something big though. He wouldn't have known what hit him.'

Meggelaine gulped. She was about to speak, but Roztov turned and went to stand at the entrance. Without turning he addressed the others. 'No more bloody wandering off. That's two we've lost now. Keep everyone together from now on.'

While Roztov watched the cave entrance for the rest of the evening and Ghene kept his own company at the back of the cave, Meggelaine retreated into herself. Roztov was angry, but not with her, or anyone really. Angry with himself maybe, although he realised it wasn't useful. He would let Meg be for a while, she needed to be alone for a while, but when the time was right he would offer her comfort. He knew she would bounce back. They had both lost people more important to them than poor old Salveri. He stood and watched the night sky, stewing over what had happened and wondering if he should have done anything any differently. He would have to put a lid on it he knew, as he had done before many times in the past. Now was not the time for recriminations and "what ifs". Mistakes had been made, but they had to move on. Surviving was the only thing that mattered.

After a couple of hours Ghene came to the entrance and took his turn on watch. Roztov returned to the group and sat down by the fire. He had brought two large bags with him, one of which contained bread, cheese, cured meat and six bottles of beer. They used the beer to toast the memory of poor Salveri and after a suitable amount of reflection, Meggelaine emerged from her own introspections. ‘Well, how was the scouting?’ she asked.

‘Good,' said Roztov quietly. 'I didn’t get to Stovologard, but I’ve been around a bit. Being able to turn into a rock lizard has been hand. The people in these lands keep them as pets.’

‘It seems a bit odd to have a pet you can talk to.’

‘I suppose,’ said Roztov. Then something occurred to him. ‘The captain had a parrot that could talk.’

‘That’s not really the same.’

‘Well, maybe it makes sense. When you are ruled over by dragons, then having a pet lizard you can lord over could be therapeutic. If you’ve had a hard day being bossed about by dragons you can come home and kick the lizard. Anyway, Tuppence, pass me over that other bag.’

Floran did so, and after he’d undone the knot at its top, Roztov began to pull out its contents. The first thing out was a purse full of gold coins.

‘Where did you get all that?’ asked Broddor.

‘I robbed a bank. They use this gold as currency mainly in the towns and the city. Further out they use this paper script.’

Roztov pulled out a roll of thin papers. He peeled off a few and passed them around, but the language transcribed on the papers was alien to them all. Next Roztov began to pull out clothes that were folded neatly and tied with ribbons.

‘Local clothing,’ he explained. These too were passed around.

Meggelaine finished her beer and threw the empty bottle out into the night. She went and stood for a while at the cave entrance and after a few moments Roztov joined her. They were alone.

‘Another one gone. I can’t stand this Roz. I’m going to burst with fear. I’m going crazy.’

He kneeled down and put his arm around her shoulder.

‘I know. I’m completely frazzled as well. All we can do is keep moving forward. One last big push.’

‘I’m too old for this. I was too busy thinking about losing Ophess to remember to look after the others.’

‘It wasn’t your fault sweetie, he wandered off. That was a foolish thing to do.’

'It's so stupid. Arrin told me all he wanted was a beer. If he'd just waited he could have had one of the ones you brought back with you.'

'There is nothing we can do about it now.'

Before they all turned in for the night, Roztov sat down by the fire once more and addressed the group.

‘Well, poor Salveri is dead, but there is nothing we can do about that. All we can do is press on and hope that we all survive this.’

It went unsaid, although they were all thinking it, that Arrin and Tankle were the most vulnerable ones left, in that they had no magic spells, or magic armour, or druidic power to protect them.

‘If we stick together,’ continued Roztov, ‘And no more wandering off, then I think we can all get off this island. From what I have seen, there are two options. I got these clothes, I think we could just about pass ourselves off as locals. We'd need to colour our pale skin. Tup would just about be ok. We could dress Meg as a child. I think it’s not uncommon for people to migrate to the city and what with all the fighting going on at the moment there are refugees on the roads moving north. There are guards though, so Tup would have to do all the talking, that would be the trickiest part.’

‘What’s the other option?’ asked Floran.

‘I turn into a dragon, fly us all in at night, we steal a boat and we are out of here. Could do it in one day maybe.’

Meggelaine balked and grabbed his arm. ‘There are too many dragons up in the sky Roz! They are fighting up and down the whole mountain range. We’d get caught right in the middle of it.’

As if to prove her point the entrance of the cave was lit by a flash of fire high overhead.

‘I agree,’ said Ghene. ‘We’d have nowhere to hide if it went wrong. The Spire is days flight away now and considering what happened last time we were there I don’t think we should go back.’

There was a little more discussion, but in the end it was decided the most sensible thing to do was keeping going north on foot.

In the morning they descended into the valley. They had donned the local clothing and used soot from the fire to darken their skin. Normally there would have been a few jokes made about their strange appearance, but after Salveri’s recent death, no one was in the mood.

 As the mists cleared they saw that the village they had seen the day before had been burnt to the ground. There was no one left alive, charred corpses lay in the smouldering ruins.

They walked along the main street looking for survivors but found none. At the northern gate Ghene looked at the ground and said, ‘About fifty people fled north last night. There are recent wheel tracks too. ’

As was their perpetual habit, as they walked on everyone kept glancing up into the sky every few minutes. Roztov scanned the clouds then said, ‘I think the fighting has moved on. If we make good time there is a cave I found further down that we can shelter in for lunch.’

Sleet was beginning to fall, large wet lumps of snow that made them pull the hoods of their cloaks down as low as they would go.

‘I really have had enough of caves,’ grumbled Ghene as they entered the narrow cleft in the side of a moss covered rock.

‘It’s just to get dried and have something to eat,’ apologised Roztov. ‘Look, I’ll expand it a bit.’

He then made a pushing sideways motion with his hands and the rock inside the cave flowed backwards, doubling the size of the fissure.

They had gathered some fire wood on the way down. It was damp, and sent sparks flying as it burnt.

As they ate and watched the valley, the weather cleared a little, to reveal more mountains in the distance. A battle raged in the sky, moving south towards them.

Roztov started counting.

‘It looks like a retreat,’ said Ghene, standing at the entrance and shielding his eyes. ‘I think the chasm dragons are being routed.’

‘I count a hundred and seventy,’ said Roztov. ‘Hard to tell who is who, but I think the Stovologard dragons are more or less uniformly sized and dark green. The Chasm dragons come in all shapes and sizes.’

‘Seems like a pretty decent war going on up there,’ said Broddor as he joined them.

‘Yes,’ agreed Roztov, ‘but you rarely see them killing each other. There is a lot of fire and smoke, but so far I’ve not seen any roasted dragons fall from the sky.’

‘Yes, right enough,’ admitted the dwarf. ‘The people on the ground are suffering though, judging by all the burning villages we are seeing.’

They had seen two other burnt out villages on their way along the valley, but had not passed close to them.

‘It’s the same in every war. The strong fight and it’s the weak that die.’

They thought back to campaigns back on Nillamandor. They had all seen a great deal of violence in the past.

‘What those wretched Claw Clan goblins used to do to people...’ Roztov trailed off. ‘Oh, I really want to get away from all this. Like Meggelaine said last night, we are too old for this.'

'I'm still young for a dwarf, lad,' said Broddor straightening his back and smoothing down his beard.

 ‘Well anyway, if we turn to the right and head east until evening there is a town, assuming it’s not been burnt to the ground, where there is a decent tavern. We should get going.’

The town still stood and the guards at the gate seemed happy enough to let them inside, assuming them to be refugees from the villages further south.

‘The locals call this place Tunde, It's a wine region in the summer,’ said Roztov as they entered the town square. ‘It tastes like horse piss though, stick to the beer.’

There were dozens of wagons all over the square and a good deal of activity as the recent arrivals from other areas sorted themselves out. Children played among the wheels of the hand carts and amongst the baggage. Some men were erecting a tent, women cooked on small fires, others haggled with the locals for food.

They were a short race of people in this region, with olive coloured skin and flat noses. Poor people wore simple brown robes and wooden shoes while the more affluent of them wore embroidered robes of rich red or blue silk. Roztov knew they would not pass for locals on close inspection, but what with all the chaos going on in the region they were of little interest and left alone.

The houses in the town were built on stilts, with the main (and often only) room being accessed by a steep set of steps or a ladder. Farm animals were kept in enclosures under the house, so that as they walked along the dirt streets they mainly saw cows, goats and sullen looking vegetains. Rock lizards scuttled about, poking through bins and piles of refuse.

The roofs of the houses had ridiculously tall gables, almost the height of the rest of the house, stilts and all, and served no other purpose than to show the status of the occupants. The centre of the town had the largest buildings.

‘This place is an inn, listen Tup, do you want to do the talking or shall I?’

‘Ah,’ stuttered Floran, ‘How will you talk?’

‘I’ll turn into a rock lizard and just blether away. I’ve done it before. Very well, when we go in, just find an empty table and sit at it. It will be fairly dark so you can all take your cloaks off.’

He then looked about and seeing that they were not observed he turned into a piebald rock lizard and hoped up the broad wooden steps.

The main room of the inn had a wooden floor that creaked and groaned as they crossed it. There were six large low tables where the guests were eating their evening meals. There were no chairs and everyone sat on the floor. In the centre of the room was a fire pit where a cook roasted the meat that was served to the inn’s guests.

It was not unheard of for people to use the smarter rock lizards as servants so Roztov hoped up to the innkeeper and ordered some food. Half an hour later some smiling girls brought it all to their table.

The atmosphere in the inn was very pleasant, despite the war going on, or maybe because of it as people tried their best to ignore it. The host seemed to be a very pleasant man and his servants were very attentive. The room was lit by two small oil lamps only, so it was dark enough that no one would have known what colour their skin was anyway.

Floran decided to try out his draconian on the landlord after all and once he had eaten enough he went to talk to him. The others sat back and washed down their food with cups of beer.

‘I can’t get used to this sitting on the floor lark,’ said Broddor as he refolded his legs.

‘Gosh,’ said Meggelaine confidingly, ‘These are such nice people aren’t they? Those girls are so nice. All the other guests seem nice too. This isn’t like a Stykian tavern, where everyone would be blazing drunk and fighting. Very civilised.’

She glanced over to where Arrin and Tankle were talking in whispers.

‘I think this is doing us all good,’ she said. ‘We could stay here for a while. Well, as long as the war doesn’t come in this direction.’

Ghene was stood by an open window looking out onto the square. He turned and sat down with the others. ‘There are more refugees out there. The town guards seem to be dealing with them though. The rain is back on. It’s going to be a hard night for anyone not under cover.’

‘We should maybe go out later and see if anyone needs a healer,’ said Meggelaine.

Roztov, earlier, had left as a lizard and returned as a man.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but take care. A child with magical powers will draw attention.’

The inn they were staying at was a collection of a dozen or so buildings in a walled compound. A smiling and bowing maid took them down a lantern lit path that would have been pleasant in the summer when the trees had leaves. She showed them in to a single-roomed house that contained six beds. There was a warm stove in the centre of the room on which hot water was being brewed for tea.

Once the maid had left the pulled back their hoods and arranged themselves around the stove. Roztov gave them a nod, turned into a lizard and scampered off out the door and over the wall.

‘Bye then,’ said  Meggelaine tetchily.

‘How was the square, Meg?’ asked Broddor.

‘Oh, not too bad. A few ill and injured people. Some dragon fire burns.’

‘You healed them all? No one questioned you?’

‘No,’ said the fressle with a sigh. ‘I must say, this place is a lot more civilised than I thought it would be. The people are, well... nice.’

‘They are not so nice in the main city,’ put in Floran. ‘Or that’s what the land lord told me anyway.’

When Floran fell silent, Meggelaine grunted and poked him with her foot. ‘Well, go on then!’

‘Oh, well. I learned a few other things. The people call this land Dempasut. They call their main city Stovologard. The main city has more population than the rest of the surrounding country put together. The people here don’t think much of the people in the city. They call then dragonthralls, a pejorative.’

‘That’s where we need to be though lad, how do we get there?’ asked Broddor.

‘Normally the road west, but that’s where the war is. The Dempasut army is not letting anyone through. The road east doesn’t really lead anywhere, just higher into the mountains to small villages that are only used in the spring.’

‘And north, lad?’

‘No one goes up there, it’s the main range. Infested with goblins, apparently. The dragons let the goblins stay up there to discourage humans from going on the run and hiding in the caves.’

‘Seems strange,’ said Ghene. ‘I would have thought goblins were a bigger problem than runaway villagers.’

‘That’s what he told me. The way north is dangerous because there are lots of caves and lots of goblins. All the mountains are infested with goblins apparently. Men stay in the valleys.’

‘Right.’

They talked for a while longer, and when they were on their second cups of tea, Roztov returned.

‘Well?’ asked Meggelaine.

‘Just having a sniff about. Checking the defences. There are more people here than usual and more soldiers than normal. I found a camp of men on the other side of town, about two hundred of them. They were dressed in the same sort of armour as manhunters, but had dog-mask helmets. The manhunters all had beast masks right? Boars and suchlike. These fellows seemed a bit more organised. They looked like ground troops too, not the sort of chaps that habitually ride around on dragons. An odd thing is that they are all mostly tall and fair, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Not like the locals of this town at all. I can only guess that they are descendants of boat loads of Vegan raiders or explorers. There are armed men in this town that look more local, they are watchmen and gate guards. They wear no helmets.’

‘I’m sure they have bigger things to worry about, but we should stay out of their way,’ said Ghene who then went on to tell Roztov everything that Floran had learned.

‘Oh, goblins shouldn’t be much of a problem,’ said Roztov somewhat dismissively. ‘We could scare them away by turning into bears or something. Goblins we can deal with.’

‘Due north then?’ said Ghene. ‘It would be the most direct and quickest way to the city.’

‘Yes I think so, ‘ agreed Roztov. ‘Do you think one of us should scout ahead first?’

‘I’m not sure. The skies are somewhat full of dragons,’ mused Ghene. ‘And besides, what other choice do we have? We can’t stay here. Even these friendly locals are going to notice we are foreigners eventually. Going north is the only option and if all we have to contend with is goblins then it should be fine.’

‘Fair enough, is there any tea left?’ said Roztov as he reached for a cup.

Meggelaine poured him out some tea from the kettle, scowling at him as she did so. Roztov knew she was feeling left out, but thought it better not to mention it.

The spent the whole of the next day outfitting for the journey north. Using Roztov's stolen gold they bought new camping equipment, tools and provisions. Long spears were also purchased, seen as being the best weapons for dealing with goblins. After another pleasant night in Tunde they left in the morning. The north side of the valley was steep and covered in rocks and heather. After an hour of climbing they reached the snow line. After another hour they were at the top of the ridge. Looking back, down into the valley, the town was laid out like a child's model. They could see the town square, filling with more refugees from the south and the soldier's camped out on the common.

Looking east along the valley, it rose up into the main bulk of the mountains and west it led to flatter lands where the smoke from burning villages could be seen rising up into the clouds. As they took a break, sheltering in the lee of a large rock, a flight of dragons came from the east, flying along the valley in pairs. Twenty in all, dark green in colour, barely having to flick the tips of their wings as they rode the currents west, heading to where the war was. Ten flights of two passed them in the space of five minutes.

'Magnificent,' admitted Roztov.

'The tales we'll tell, if we ever make it home,' agreed Meggelaine.

They had progressed north about ten miles, along the main ridge of the mountains when they first saw riders in the distance, higher up than them on the hump of the next ridge. They were currently hemmed on both sides by the shallow slopes of rounded mountain tops to either side.

Ghene pointed them out, ‘I can just see... Oh, they are trolls.’

‘Oh Tup!’ sighed Meggelaine in dismay. ‘Don’t you know the difference between trolls and goblins?’

‘I do,’ said Floran. ‘But I suppose the people of Tunde don’t.’ He would have been well within his rights to have put ice into what he was saying, but he came from a race that new little of sarcasm or irony.

Roztov came up to the front of the line and joined Ghene. ‘Etruna, look at the size of them. And there are about thirty of them coming down from there. Mounted on giant goats or yales.’

He turned and addressed the rest of the group.

‘Right, we’ve got about ten minutes. I don’t think we can outrun them on the ground and the skies are too dragon infested to escape by air, so we stand and fight, right?’

‘Yes yes,’ said Broddor eagerly as he unstrapped Gronmorder from his back. ‘Let’s just fight them here. If they think we are just a bunch of peasants then they’ll get the shock of their lives when we give them a proper scuffle.’

‘Well, maybe, but if they are anything like Stykian trolls then they’ll fight to the death,’ said Roztov glancing back up the slope. ‘And if those are yales and they are like the ones in Ertia then their horns could be magical.’

‘Etruna save us,’ groaned Meggelaine, ‘In what way magical?’

‘I uh... don’t know.’ Roztov began to move his arms in slow sweeping gestures, making the earth rise up before him. ‘Let’s make a rampart here.’

Ghene used his magic to pull in boulders from nearby and piled them up onto the earthen wall Roztov had made, as a form of crude crenellations. As the others stepped back Meggelaine joined in, small bushes on the flanks suddenly grown into tall thorny hedges. She then raised a mound in the centre of the defences.

Within less than two minutes they were all stood inside a druid’s fort.

Standing on the rampart and keeping an eye on the trolls Roztov said, ‘Right, this is the plan. Broddor meets the attack. Me and Ghene stay at his sides, not engaging, just holding them off. Meg, you keep Etruna’s blessings focused on Broddor. If Gene or I get into trouble we can help each other out. If Broddor falls though, we’ve all had it. Tup, you stay at the back on the mound, it should give you enough clearance to shoot over our heads. Give them a few fireballs, if they keep coming after that then just give them the lot. Broddor, remember, no heroics, you are the shield not the spear. It will be Floran’s job to do the killing.’

Roztov drew his sword and checked the blade with his thumb. He noticed Tankle and Arrin, each with their spear in white knuckle grasps.

‘If anything gets passed us, you two are to defend Floran. Again, don’t try and kill them, just hold them off until Floran can blast them. Everyone understand their position? Broddor out front, me and Ghene on the flanks, Meg in the middle, then Tankle and Arrin, then Tup at the rear. Defence in depth, just like back up on the Moon Marshes.’

They all nodded, and Broddor muttered, ‘Defence in depth, got it.’ He gave his sword a few practice swings and repeated the phrase two more times.

They all took their positions and waited. For a few minutes the trolls watched from their position up the slope, perhaps curious as to how the ground could have suddenly grown up in such a strange formation. Eventually though they wheeled their mounts around and thundered down the valley towards the fortress.

Broddor leapt down off the rampart and with his sword held high over his head charged out to meet them. ‘Jeg har kylling! Defence in depth!’

‘Oh for...!’ groaned Roztov.

‘You don't just shout it!’ he bellowed at the dwarf’s back. ‘The plan... oh never mind. Everyone just charge in, why not?’

Ahead of them thirty trolls, beings were between eight and ten feet tall, galloped down the hillside mounted on goat-like creatures that were the size of plough-horses. The trolls wore goat-leather armour and wielded clubs and crude axes. Their skin was dark mottled green and their long snout-like mouths were lined with sharp yellow teeth. They howled and blew on horns as they came, but the first of them was met by Broddor's sword as he leapt from a rock and cut into its neck.

The dwarf landed on the mossy heather of the hillside then charged at his next target, as the troll behind him slid from the saddle, clutching its throat as it bled to death.

Two giant bears ran up behind and then past Broddor, joining the charge and confusing a handful of the trolls enough to make them rein in their mounts. Broddor picked a target a hundred feet ahead of him and watched in amazement as the goat-creatures horns seemed to swivel around and down as the creature lowered its head. The two four feet long horns were aimed directly at him, but he rolled out of the way just in time, slashing at the mounts legs as it thundered past.

He was stepped on by a bear as it met a troll and its mount at full speed. The troll flew out of the saddle, catapulted into the air towards the fort. It was then blasted backwards by an ice lance fire by Floran from his mound sending the by now very dead creature flying back in the direction it had just come from. Meanwhile the bear clawed at the goat-creature until it turned tail and fled.

Roztov, the bear, reared up on his hind legs to try and take in the overall battle. Broddor was ducking and weaving through the legs of several of the mounted trolls as they tried to club him over the head. Ghene had dismounted a troll and was clawing at it as it tried to fend him off with an axe. Three of the trolls made it to the fortress, but Floran unleashed a fireball that hit all of them and blasted them backwards. As one of them tried to get back onto its feet, shaking its head, a small angry bear leapt on its back and sunk its teeth into its neck.

Arrin and Tankle came forwards to stab their spears through the hearts of the other trolls to make sure they were dead. The troll charge was in confusion, but they were not retreating. A group of them bore down on Roztov and he rammed his blunt head right into the chest of one of the trolls mounts, sending them flying down the hillside. An axe bit into his side, making him roar in pain. He turned and clawed at the troll, ripping half its head off.

Now that he saw them close up, Roztov realised the mounts were yales after all. He had never fought any before but he knew their horns were dangerous. Two trolls nearby had dismounted, and came at him cautiously, clubs raised. He ran towards them, beating one aside as the other landed a blow on his back. While he stood with one back foot on the chest of the first troll he fended off the second.

The second troll was cunning, keeping back from the slashing claws, feinting and blocking, looking for an opening. As the first troll breathed its last Roztov was about to charge, when a yale caught him completely by surprise and speared him in the rear end with one of its long spiralled horns.

Roztov roared in pain once more and tried to turn, but the horn had changed shape inside him and was buried in his flesh like a hook. As he did so, the cunning troll chose this moment to leap in with an attack, but the druid was too fast and batted the troll to the ground with a back handed swipe. The troll that was mounted on the yale hit him a glancing blow on the side of the head that made his ears ring. He roared again and swiped at the troll, but he was pinned by the horn and as he tried to turn the yale turned with him, its head down and pushing.

Trapped as he was, he was a tempting target for other enemies, and two more trolls on foot came towards him, holding axes. Roztov glanced round, he could only see Ghene, fighting furiously some distance off. There were trolls at the fortress, but he could not see any of his friends.

Ignoring the yale in his backside and the troll that rode it for a moment, he turned to the two advancing trolls and concentring his magic, opened the ground up beneath them. They fell into deep pits, then cried in terror as the earth fell back on top of them.

While he had being doing that the troll behind him had leaned over the neck of its mount and struck him twice on the back. It was raising its weapon for a third blow when it was blasted out of the saddle by an ice lance. As it landed on a rock with a heavy crunch the yale straitened its horn and pulled back. It's head red with Roztov's blood it ran off back up the hillside.

It looked like the battle was over, all the trolls were all dead or dying. As the two that Roztov had buried alive tried to claw their way out of the earth Broddor, Tankle and Arrin stabbed them in the heads.

Finally, they all walked back to the fortress. Roztov and Ghene turned back into their normal forms and did their best to heal their own injuries while Meggelaine healed everyone else. Everyone had been hurt, but the little fressle's magic was powerful and none of them suffered long.

'Those were yales,' said Roztov as he lay on his stomach, watching over the parapet, between two rocks. 'About the same size as the ones I met in Ertia. The Ertian ones were gentle though. One of these ones got me right in the arse.'

'They have the strangest horns,' remarked Ghene. 'I've never known anything like it. They turn and swivel and change shape.'

'Take your trousers down,' said Meggelaine to Roztov.

He wiggled his britches down over his thighs so she could see his wound.

'It bit deep, but into the flesh only. You should be glad that you have such a fat bum.'

She put her small hands on his buttock.

'That's nice,' sighed Roztov, laying his head down into his arms and shutting his eyes.

Broddor limped over and sat down beside him. The dwarf had been injured too, but not badly.

'Do you think there will be more of them lad?'

'How should I know?,' replied Roztov. 'Listen, you have to do more than just yell "Defence in Depth" as you charge in, Broddor. What is the point of me coming up with a plan if you just pile in all the time?'

'Right, right,' apologised the dwarf. 'Next time. Defence in Depth.'

'Well, we are going to have to wait here a while, to let everyone recover Broddor, so we'll just have to see if any more come, or if that was all of them. If we'd stuck to the plan then maybe we would not have been so badly beaten up and we could have moved on.'

'Sorry lad.'

'It's solved the mystery of what happened to Salveri anyway,' said Roztov laying his head back down.

The dwarf patted him on the shoulder, rose and left silently. He then went and sat with some of the others. When Arrin gave him a worried look, he winked at him. 'Don't worry, he's always grumpy when he's been a bear. And there is nothing more grumpy than a bear with a sore arse.'