almost have to admire that twisted creature out there. No
one has ever thrown that kind of insult into the face of
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one of the Elder Gods.'
'Azash mad to Ghwerig?' the Troll was saying. 'Or
maybe-so Azash shake from fear. Ghwerig have
Bhelliom now. Soon make rings. Ghwerig not need
Troll-Gods then. Cook Azash in Bhelliom-fire. Cook slow
so juice not burn away. Ghwerig eat Azash. Who is pray
to Azash when Azash lay deep in Ghwerig's belly?'
The rumble this time was accompanied by sharp
cracking sounds as rocks deep in the earth shattered.
'He's sticking his neck out, wouldn't you say?' Kurik
said in a strained voice. 'Azash isn't the sort you want to
play with.'
'The Troll-Gods are protecting Ghwerig,' Sephrenia
replied. 'Not even Azash would risk a confrontation with
them.'
'Stealers. stealers!' the Troll howled. 'APhrael steal
rings. Adian of Thalesia steal Bhelliom! Now Azash and
Sparhawk from Elenia try to steal her from Ghwerig
again. talk to Ghwerig, Blue Rose! Ghwerig lonely!'
'How did he find out about me?' Sparhawk was
startled by the breadth of the Troll-Dwarf's knowledge.
'The Troll-Gods are old and very wise,' Sephrenia
replied. 'There's very little that happens in the world that
they don't know, and they'll pass it on to those who serve
them - for a price.'
'What sort of price would satisfy a God?'
'Pray that you never have to know, dear one,' she said
with a shudder.
'Take Ghwerig ten years to carve one petal here, Blue
Rose. Ghwerig love Blue rose. Why she not talk to
Ghwerig?' He mumbled inaudibly for a time. 'Rings.
Ghwerig make rings so Bhelliom speak again. Burn
Azash in Bhelliom fire. Burn Sparhawk in Bhelliom fire.
Burn Aphrael in Bhelliom fire. All burn. All burn. Then
Ghwerig eat.'
"I think it's time for us to get to it,' Sparhawk said
grimly. "I definitely don't want him getting into his
workshop.' He reached for his sword.
"use the spear,' Flute told him. 'He can grab your
sword out of your hand, but the spear has enough power
to hold him off. Please, my noble father, try to stay alive.
I need you. '
"I'm doing my very best,' he told her.
'Father?' Kurik asked in a tone of surprise.
"It's a Styric form of address,' Sephrenia said rather
quickly, throwing a look at Flute. "It has to do with
respect - and love.'
At that point Sparhawk did something he had seldom
done before. He set his palms together in front of his
chest and bowed to this strange Styric child.
Flute clasped her hands together in delight, then
hurled herself into his arms and kissed him soundly with
her little rose-bud mouth. 'Father,' she said. For some
reason Sparhawk felt profoundly embarrassed. Flute's
kiss was not that of a little girl.
'How hard is a Troll's head?' Kurik asked Flute gruffly,
obviously as disturbed as Sparhawk by the little girl's
open display of affection that seemed far beyond her
years. He was shaking out his brutal chain-mace.
'Very very hard,' she told him.
'We've heard that he's deformed,' Kurik continued.
'How good are his legs?'
'Weak. It's all he can do to stand.'
'All right then, Sparhawk,' Kurik said in a professional
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tone. 'I'll edge around to the side of him and whip him
across the knees, hips and ankles with this.' He swung his
mace whistling through the air. 'if I can put him down,
shove the spear into his guts and then I'll try to brain him.'
"Must you be so graphic, Kurik?' Sephrenia protested
in a sick voice.
'This is business, little mother,' Sparhawk told her.
'We have to know exactly what we're going to do, so
don't interfere. All right, Kurik, let's go.' Quite
deliberately he walked to the mouth of the gallery and
stepped out into the cavern, making no attempt to
conceal himself.
The cavern was a place of wonder. Its roof was lost in
purple shadow, and the seething waterfall plunged in
glowing, golden mist into an unimaginably deep chasm
from which the hollow roar of falling water echoed up in
endless babble. The walls, stretching out as far as the eye
could reach, glittered with flecks and veins of gold, and
gems more precious than the ransom of kings sparkled in
the shifting, rainbow-hued light.
The misshapen Troll-Dwarf, shaggy and grotesque,
squatted at the edge of the chasm, and piled around him
were lumps and chunks of pure gold and heaps of gems
of every hue. In his right hand Ghwerig held the stained
gold crown of King Sarak, and surmounting that crown
was Bhelliom, the sapphire rose. The jewel seemed to
glow as it caught and reflected the light that came
tumbling down with the falling water. Sparhawk looked
for the first time at the most precious object on earth, and
for a moment a kind of wonder almost overcame him.
Then he stepped forward, the ancient battle-spear held
low in his left hand. He wasn't sure if Sephrenia's spell
would make it possible for the grotesque Troll to understand
him, but he felt a peculiar moral compunction to
speak. To simply destroy this deformed monstrosity
without a word was not in Sparhawk's nature. He did not
know if Ghwerig could understand him, but he had to
speak. "I have come for the Bhelliom,' he said. "I am not
Adian, King of Thalesia, so I will not try to trick you. I will
take what I want from you by main force. Defend
yourself if you can.' It was as close as Sparhawk could
come to a formal challenge under the circumstances.
Ghwerig came to his feet, his twisted body hideous,
and his flat lips peeled back from his yellow fangs in a
snarl of hatred. 'You not take Ghwerig's Bhelliom from
him, Sparhawk from Elenia. Ghwerig kill first. Here you
die, and Ghwerig eat - not even pale Elene God save
Sparhawk now.'
'That hasn't been decided yet,' Sparhawk replied
coolly. "I need the use of Bhelliom for a time, and then I
will destroy it to keep it out of the hands of Azash.
Surrender it up to me or die.'
Ghwerig's laughter was hideous. 'Ghwerig die?
Ghwerig immortal, Sparhawk from Elenia. Man-thing
cannot kill.'
'That also hasn't been decided yet.' Quite deliberately,
Sparhawk took the spear in both hands and advanced on
the Troll-dwarf. Kurik, his spiked chain-mace hanging
from his right fist, came out of the mouth of the gallery
and edged around his Lord to come at the Troll from the
side.
'Two?' Ghwerig said. 'Sparhawk should have brought
a hundred.' He bent and lifted a huge stone club bound
with iron out of a pile of gems. 'You not take Ghweri
g's
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Bhelliom from him, Sparhawk from Elenia. Ghwerig kill
first. Here you die, and Ghwerig eat. Not even Aphrael
save Sparhawk now. Little man-things doomed.
Ghwerig feast this night. Roasted man-things have much
juice.' He smacked his lips grossly. He straightened, his
rough-furred shoulders bulking ominously. The term
'dwarf' as applied to a troll, Sparhawk saw, was grossly
deceptive. Ghwerig, despite his deformity, was at least
as tall as he, and the Troll's arms, twisted like old stumps,
hung down below his knees. His face was furred rather
than bearded, and his green eyes seemed to glow
malevolently. He shambled forward, his vast club
swinging in his right hand. In his left he still clutched
Sarak's crown with Bhelliom glowing at its apex.
Kurik stepped in and swung his whistling chain-mace
at the monster's knees, but Ghwerig almost disdainfully
blocked the blow with his club. 'Flee, weak man-thing,'
he said, his voice grating horribly. 'All flesh is food for
me.' He swung his horrid club at that point, and the
reach of his abnormally long arms made him doubly
dangerous. Kurik jumped back as the iron-bound stone
cudgel whistled past his face.
Sparhawk lunged in, driving the spear at the Troll's
chest, but again Ghwerig deflected the stroke. Too slow,
Sparhawk from Elenia,' he laughed.
Then Kurik's mace caught him high on the left hip.
Ghwerig fell back, but with cat-like speed smashed his
club into a pile of glittering gems, spraying them out like
missiles. Kurik winced and put his free hand to his face to
wipe the blood from the gash in his forehead out of his
eyes. Sparhawk jabbed again with his spear, lightly slicing
the off-balanced Troll across the chest. Ghwerig roared
with rage and pain, then stumbled forward with vast
swings of his club. Sparhawk jumped back, coolly
watching for an opening. He saw that the Troll was
totally without fear. No injury short of one that was
mortal would make the thing retreat. Ghwerig was
actually foaming at the mouth now, and his green eyes
glowed with madness. He spat out hideous curses and
lurched forward again, swinging his horid club.
'Keep him away from the edge!' SParhawk shouted to
Kurik. 'if he goes over, we may never find the crown!'
Then he quite clearly realized that he had found the key'.
Somehow they had to make the deformed Troll drop the
crown. It was obvious by now that not even the two of
them could prevail against this shaW creature with its
long arms and its eyes ablaze with insane rage. Only a
distraction would give them the opportunity to leap in
and deliver a mortal wound. He shook his right hand to
get Kurik's attention, then reached over and clapped the
hand on his left elbow. Kurik's eyes looked puzzled for a
moment, but then they narrowed, and he nodded. He
circled around to Ghwerig's left, his mace at the ready.
Sparhawk tightened his grip on the spear with both
hands again and feinted with it. Ghwerig swung his club
at the extended weapon, and Sparhawk jerked it back.
'Ghwerig's rings!' the Troll shouted in triumph
'Sparhawk from Elenia brings the rings back to Ghwerig
Ghwerig feel their presence!' With a hideous roar he
leaped forward, his club tearing at the air.
Kurik struck, his spiked chain-mace tearing a huge
chunk of flesh from the Troll's massive left arm.
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Ghwerig, however, paid little heed to the injury, but
continued his rush, his club whistling as he bore down
on Sparhawk. His left hand was still tightly locked on the
crown.
Sparhawk gave ground grudgingly. He had to keep
the Troll away from the brink of the chasm for as long as it
held the crown.
Kurik swung his mace again, but Ghwerig shied away,
and the blow missed the shaW elbow. It appeared that
the first stroke had caused the Troll more pain than had
been evident. Sparhawk took advantage of that momentary
flinch and stabbed quickly, opening a gash in
Ghwerig's right shoulder. Ghwerig howled, more in rage
than in pain, and immediately swung the club again.
Then, from behind him, Sparhawk heard the sound of
Flute's voice rising clear and bell-like above the muted
roar of the waterfall. Ghwerig's eyes went wide and his
brutish mouth gaped. 'You,' he shrieked. 'Now Ghwerig
pay you back, Girl-child. Girl-child's song ends here.'
Flute continued to sing, and Sparhawk risked a quick
glance over his shoulder. The little girl stood in the
mouth of the gallery with Sephrenia hovering behind
her. Sparhawk sensed that the song was not in fact a spell
but rather was intended to distract the dwarf so that
either he or Kurik could catch the monster off-guard.
Ghwerig hobbled forward again, swinging his club to
force Sparhawk out of his path. The Troll's eyes were
fixed on Flute, and his breath hissed between his tightly
clenched fangs. Kurik crashed his mace into the
monster's back, but Ghwerig gave no indication that he
even felt the stroke as he bore down on the Styric child.
Then Sparhawk saw his opportunity. As the Troll passed
him, the wide swings of the stone club left the hairy flank
open. He struck with all his strength, driving the broad
blade of the ancient spear into Ghwerig's body just
beneath the ribs. The Troll-Dwarf howled as the razorsharp
blade penetrated his leathery hide. He tried to
swing his club, but Sparhawk jumped back, jerking the
spear free. Then Kurik whipped his chain mace at the
deformed side of Ghwerig's right knee, and Sparhawk
heard the sickening sound of breaking bone. Ghwerig
toppled, losing his grip on his club. Sparhawk reversed
his grip on the spear and drove it down into the Troll's
belly.
Ghwerig screamed, clutching at the spear with his
right hand as Sparhawk wrenched it back and forth,
slicing the sharp blade through the Troll's entrails. The
crown, however, still remained tightly clenched in that
twisted left hand. Only death, Sparhawk saw, would
release that iron grip.
The Troll rolled away from the spear, gashing himself
open even more horribly as he did so. Kurik smashed
him in the face with the chain-mace, crushing out one of
his eyes. With a hideous howl, the monster rolled
towards the brink of the chasm, scattering his hoarded
jewels in the process. Then, with a scream of triumph, he
toppled over the edge with Sarak's crown still in his grip.
Filled with chagrin, Sparhawk rushed to the brink of
the abyss and stared down in dismay. Far below he could
see the deformed body plunging down and down into
unimaginable darkness. Then he heard the light patter of
bare fe
et on the stoney floor of the cavern, and Flute sped
past him, her glossy black hair flying. To his horror, the
little girl did not hesitate nor falter, but ran directly off the
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edge and plunged down after the falling troll. "Oh my
god!" he choked, reaching vainly out towards her even as
Kurik, his face aghast, came up beside him.
And then Sephrenia was there, Sir Gared's sword still
in her hand.
"Do something, Sparhawk!" Kurik pleaded.
"there's no need, Kurik." She replied calmly. "nothing
can happen to her."
"But . . . "
"Hush Kurik. I'm trying to listen."
The light from the glowing waterfall seemed to dim
somewhat, as if far overhead a cloud had passed over the
sun. The roar of the falling water seemed mocking now,
and Sparhawk realised that tears were streaming down
his cheeks.
And then in the deep darkness of that unimaginable
abyss, he saw what appeared to be a spark of light. It
grew steadily brighter, rising, or so it seemed, from that
ghastly chasm. And as it rose, he could see it more
clearly. It appeared to be a brilliant shaft of pure white
light topped by a spark of intense blue.
And then Bhelliom rose from the depths, resting on
the palm of Flute's incandescent little hand. Sparhawk
gaped in astonishment as he realized that he could see
through her, and that what had risen glowing from the
darkness below was as insubstantial as mist. Flute's tiny
face was calm and imperturbable as she held the sapphire
rose over her head with one hand. She reached out the
other to Sephrenia, and to Sparhawk's horror, his
beloved tutor stepped off the ledge.
But she did not fall.
As if walking on solid earth, she calmly strolled out
across insubstantial air to take Bhelliom from Flute's
hand. Then she turned and spoke in a strangely archaic
form. 'Wrench open thy spear, Sir Sparhawk, and put
the ring of thy queen upon thy right hand, lest Bhelliom
destroy thee when I deliver it up to thee.' Beside her,
Flute lifted her face in exultant song, a song that rang
with the voices of multitudes.
Sephrenia reached out as if to touch that ethereal little
face in a gesture of infinite love. Then she walked back
across the emptiness with Bhelliom held lightly between
her two palms. 'Here endeth thy quest, Sir Sparhawk,'
she said gravely. 'Reach forth thy hands to receive
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