“Who is he, do you think? That stranger with the hood?”
“Moltenoak?” Visceral shrugged. “I really don’t know. All I know is that he seemed to have second sight, and that I was absolutely terrified to argue with him.”
“You and me both,” Loogie muttered. “Mind you, a six-year-old kid could dropkick me over the battlements. Doesn’t give you much confidence, really—being a head. It was a different story when I had a body, of course. You know once I …”
Visceral closed his eyes, and prepared for yet another embroidered yarn.
“But it doesn’t make any sense!” Diek said. “I’m not hearing the voices! I can’t still have magic in me: I can’t!”
He and Burnie had circumnavigated the Twelve and were in sight of the southern edge of Rintintetly Forest.
“Maybe it’s just an afterglow or something,” Burnie hazarded. “I mean, you were in another dimension. It’d be pretty strange if you came back with nothing to show for it.”
“Hmm … maybe that’s why the broomstick worked! Do you think I can still charm animals?”
Burnie shrugged. “How did you do it before?”
“With a flute.” He turned to the little troglodyte. “Do you carry a flute?”
“Surprisingly enough, no,” Burnie admitted. “Flutes seldom make my list of essentials when going to war.”
“Oh.”
They walked along in silence for a time.
“Groan’s been very quiet,” Diek said, eventually. “Do you think he’s asleep?”
“Dunno,” said Burnie. “Can you be asleep when you’re just a voice?”
The little troglodyte stopped suddenly, grasping Diek’s arm. “Look,” he whispered. “The other army! We’ve caught them up!”
The two companions looked down at the edge of Rintintetly Forest, where a vast sea of zombies were slowly marching north, toward Phlegm. The obsidian dragon wheeled in the sky above them, Gape barking unintelligible orders from its back.
“Let’s slow down a bit,” Burnie muttered. “It’s going to be difficult enough getting into that boat-yard without attracting the attention of a damn war-horde.”
Diek nodded. “I agree.”
“Me too,” said the box. “Jus’ be ready ta move when the last one ain’t there no more.”
“Oh, hello Groan,” Diek replied. “I thought you’d gone into hibernation or something: you haven’t spoken for ages.”
“I ain’t ’ad nuffin’ ta say.”
The two companions glanced at each other, then returned their attention to the marching army.
“Bloody hell,” Burnie said suddenly. “Will you look at that!”
Diek spun around.
A grim line of black clouds had settled over Dullitch, darkening the city and the land immediately surrounding it. Every few seconds, a fork of lightning would arc from the sky … and a distant rumble would be heard.
“It’s not like any storm I’ve ever seen,” said Diek.
“C’mon, I want to get as far away from that place as possible.” Burnie sounded anxious.
“What about the army?”
“We’ll be careful. C’mon!”
Burnie hurried off down the mountainside, Diek trailing in his wake with the box still thrust firmly under one arm.
Prince Blood and Viceroy Funk galloped through the Mountains of Mavokhan. Having decided that coaches would draw too much attention, the two rulers had set out on horseback, each accompanied by four of their most trusted soldiers. Grid Thungus had made it clear that he didn’t want company and rode at the back of the group.
“My army will meet us on the Coldstone Plains,” said Prince Blood, still slightly shaken by the look Moltenoak had given him. “I have sent ravensage to Baron Muttknuckles and the leaders of Crust, Irkesome, Chudderford and Shinbone, asking them all to do the same.”
“My own troops will join us en route to the plains,” Viceroy Funk added. “I have also taken it upon myself to send word to Pegrand Marshall, the Steward of Fogrise, in case he has any men he can spare. Personally, though, I doubt it. Fogrise is not the place it once was: I think Duke Modeset pretty much ran it into the ground.”
“I liked Modeset,” Blood muttered. “I wonder how he would have handled the current crisis.”
“Badly,” said Funk. “Like he handled everything else.”
The two lords glared at each other, and rode on.
Eight
BURNIE PEERED OUT FROM behind a boulder and, checking that the coast was clear, dashed frantically to a similar rock that lay further down the path.
After a few seconds, Diek followed the same procedure and joined him there.
“It’s going to take us all day, moving like this,” he complained, eyeing Burnie as if the little troglodyte had a screw loose. “Can’t we just make a run for the woods?”
“That’s what we are doing!”
“Yeah, at a snail’s pace!”
“Do you want us to get caught?”
“By who?” Diek glanced around. “There’s nobody out here!”
“Shh! OK, go then! Go!”
Diek hurried over the rocky path and stumbled a little as he negotiated some of the lower foothills. He tripped several times, nearly losing the box on more than one occasion, but he eventually reached the trees without major incident.
Burnie waited another minute or two, then followed suit, moving a good deal slower and being decidedly more careful on the rockier ground.
At length he arrived, still puffing and panting, beside the boy.
“Right,” Diek said, addressing the box. “We’re in the woods. Where now?”
“Dunno,” Groan boomed. “Where ’bouts are ya?”
“Who knows?” Diek exclaimed. “We’re in the trees, aren’t we?”
“We’re at the southern edge of Rintintetly,” Burnie told him. “Just west of the River Washin.”
“Yeah, well you wanna go east, then. Don’t go norf or souf or nuffin’. Jus’ go east.”
Burnie glanced behind him at the looming might of the mountain.
“So you’re saying we just go in a straight line from the base of the Twelve—is that right?”
“Yeah … s’right.”
“OK.”
Burnie nodded and they crept into the forest, which seemed immediately to grow dark around them.
“Anything dangerous in here?” Diek asked the box, his hands beginning to shake.
“There used to be a load o’ zombies,” Groan mumbled. “But I reckon me an’ Gordo prob’ly killed most of ’em.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“We’re bound to get lost in here though,” Diek complained. “I mean, the chances of actually locating this boat-yard must be—”
“It ain’t ’ard to find,” said Groan. “All you ’ave to do is folla the sound o’ runnin’ water. That’ll get ya to the Washin an’ the yard.”
“Of course,” Diek whispered. “I knew that.”
“I dunno … some folk’d think you two were fick in the ’ead.”
“Nice,” Burnie muttered, low. “That’s a real insult coming from him.”
“Go left ’ere,” said Groan.
Burnie gawped at the box.
“Eh? How do you know: you can’t even see where we are!”
“I’ve bin countin’ yer steps.”
Burnie and Diek turned left and trudged on for a time.
“There’s a right comin’ up,” Groan advised. “You’ll miss it ’fya don’ watch out f’rit. ’S wedged between two o’ them bendy trees.”
“I can see it!” Diek exclaimed.
“Don’ take it.”
“What?”
“Don’ take it: I was jus’ lettin’ ya know it was there.”
Burnie rolled his eyes. “I bet we die in here,” he muttered.
The two companions crept further into the forest.
“It’s like one of those places you read about in fairy tales,” Die
k said. “You know, with the princess in the tower who lets down her hair.”
“S’all rubbish,” said Groan. “Ain’t no such fing as a princess ’n’ a tower. I know; I’ve bin lookin’.”
“Sorry to contradict you,” said Burnie, watching the trees very carefully, “but it’s actually true: a friend of mine who lives on the outskirts of Shadewell reckons it was his cousin that climbed the tower and rescued her.”
“Really?” Diek looked at the little troglodyte in amazement. “Where was the tower?”
“Somewhere in the middle of Shinbone Forest.”
“And the girl really let down her hair?”
“Yes.”
“That’s incredible! Did they live happily ever after?”
“Sadly, no: when he got to the top of the tower, she ate him.”
“What?” Diek stopped dead, his jaw dropping. “Are you serious?”
“Yep. Turns out she was a reflecticor: an evil, shape-changing witch that uses its magically enhanced beauty to lure young men into its nest in order to devour them.”
“That’s the most horrible story I’ve ever heard,” Diek finished.
“How’d your frien’ know?” said Groan.
“Mmm?”
“Your frien’; how’d ’e know ’is cousin got eaten?”
“Well, funny you should ask th—”
“Shhh!”
Diek grabbed Burnie and pulled him close to the trunk of a large oak tree.
“What is it?” whispered the little troglodyte. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
Diek put a finger to his lips.
“There’s something coming …”
They hunkered down behind the tree, and waited.
“I feel like a ruddy errand boy,” Baron Muttknuckles grumbled. The poorest lord in the whole of Illmoor had been on a round trip through Shinbone, Shadewell and Crust. He was currently heading for Little Irkesome.
“I hope to gods that Blood and Funk have had more luck than I have,” he spat. He glanced over his shoulder at the two hundred-odd men riding behind him. “I’ve got more cousins than that,” he added.
The captain riding with him made a face, but tried to smile, despite the baron’s continuing tendency to put down his men. “Couldn’t you have asked your cousins to join us, my lord?”
Muttknuckles released a hand from the reins of his horse and used it to pick his nose.
“Ha! Some hope. There’s more loyalty and compassion in an earwig than there is in my family.”
“Oh, I see.”
They rode on in silence for a time.
“Do you think we have a chance against such a terrible enemy?”
Muttknuckles belched.
“Yeah—a fat chance. With the weapons we’ve got, we’d be lucky to distract them.”
The captain looked back at the four or five men that had come from the baron’s own town of Sneeze. They didn’t appear to be armed with anything.
“Can your soldiers not afford basic swords, my lord?” he asked, his eyes wide with shock.
“Nope. Most of them squander their money on food.”
“Ah … I see. And what of yourself? Are you armed?”
Muttknuckles grinned.
“Of course I am: I’ve got a saucepan and two chair-legs.”
“Er …”
“Don’t worry: the chair-legs have got nails in them.”
The captain smiled, but he stared at the baron thoughtfully for some time before speaking again.
“Aren’t you … afraid?” he managed.
“Me? Nah … don’t give a monkey’s.”
“Really, my lord? But we’re against zombies, dragons and a dark god!”
“So? If we die, we die,” Muttknuckles growled. “Besides, we’ve got it easy … you should have seen my mother.”
The captain didn’t speak again until they reached Little Irkesome.
Nine
THE TROLL WAS HUGE, even judged against the standards set by its own peculiar breed. It stood about ten feet tall, and must have weighed a ton. Surprisingly, the creature made very little noise as it trudged through the wood, a raft supported on its vast shoulders.
“That is a t-t-troll?” Diek stuttered.
“Yep.”
“But that’s insane … we can’t fight that thing!”
“We don’t have to fight it,” Burnie whispered. “We have to steal a boat from it.”
“They go down ’fyou ’it ’em right,” said Groan, conversationally. “Mind you, there was this one—”
“Shhh!”
The two companions had arrived on the edge of the boat-yard which, sure enough, bordered the riverbank.
The yard basically consisted of a rickety shack—presumably the troll’s home—and a collection of (mostly broken) boats and rafts. An old man was also present, carefully inspecting the boats as if he intended to buy one.
“Maybe we can use that to our advantage,” Burnie pointed out.
Diek nodded.
“Eh? What’s ’appenin’?”
“We’ve reached the boat-yard,” the troglodyte explained. “And there’s a customer, there: an old man. The troll is heading over to talk to him.”
“I think we should try to get over to the river,” said Diek. “That way we’ll be concealed from the main yard by the bank! Besides, there’s bound to be a few rowing boats moored on the river itself.”
“Good plan: I’ll go first.”
Burnie moved through the grass, propelling himself with his elbows. Diek thought the little troglodyte looked like a snake as he proceeded toward the riverbank. Still, on the positive side, the troll didn’t see him.
When Burnie was safely over the bank, it was Diek’s turn to move.
“I’m going to have to use the trees,” he muttered to Groan. “I can’t crawl through the grass with your box under my arm—it’d take us twenty years to get there!”
“Yeah,” Groan agreed.
Diek took a deep breath and made to dash for the nearest tree, but just as he did so the troll turned round and headed straight toward him. Diek froze, still in a crouched position, wondering whether the monster had heard him. However, the troll promptly disappeared inside the shack, giving him a golden opportunity to run … and run fast.
Keeping a careful eye on the boat-yard’s only customer, Diek Wustapha sprinted across the edge of the yard and literally dived for the riverbank, rolling out of control in the process. Fortunately, Burnie snatched hold of his arm before he plummeted into the unfriendly waters of the Washin.
“We did it! We actually di—”
“Shh!” Burnie grimaced at the boy. “We can still get caught, you know!”
Diek nodded, and tried to calm himself as he peered round at the boats on offer. Most of them had been pulled on to the bank itself, presumably because they leaked or because pieces of them were missing. One rowing boat, however, was tethered to the bank by a thin rope. Not only did it look exceptionally seaworthy, it was also cluttered with all manner of strange-looking objects.
“Must belong to the customer,” Burnie whispered. “What do you reckon?”
“I think we should steal it.”
“Me too. I’ll get in, and—”
“No! You free the line; I’ll get in.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a damn sight smaller than you are, and I’ll make less noise. You can jump in when I’ve got it on its way—very quietly. Now give me the box.”
Diek sighed, and did as he was told. Then he crept over to the boat and untied it while Burnie carefully stepped inside and grabbed hold of the oars.
The knot was tough, but Diek eventually managed to fathom it.
“Right!” he whispered. “Go! Go! Go!”
The little troglodyte heaved on the oars. At the same time, and to Burnie’s horror, Diek splashed loudly into the water and gave the boat an almighty shove, rolling inside at the last moment.
“What are you doing? Quietly, we sai
d! Quietly!”
There was a commotion from the boat-yard, and the old man appeared on the riverbank. He was yelling at the top of his voice, and jumping up and down like a madman.
“Thieves! Thieves! They’ve taken my boat! Thieves!”
“We’re borrowing it!” Burnie shouted back, as Diek replaced him at the oars. “Honestly!”
The old man was soon joined by the troll, which promptly waded into the river and began to pursue them, its immense bulk fighting against the flow of the water as it waded on.
“Look at that!” the little troglodyte cried. “It’s actually coming after us! We’re dead meat—and all because you decided to make that kamikaze leap and splash through the water! Look what you’ve done! Look what you’ve done!”
Diek ignored him, and threw all his weight behind the oars, heaving them back and driving them forward with every last gasp of his strength.
Still, the troll was gaining, its stone legs cleaving through the water and its great arms reaching for the back of the boat.
“Catch those thieves!” the old man was screeching from the shore. “Catch ’em! Catch ’em!”
Burnie was rummaging desperately through the clutter of bric-a-brac in the back of the boat. Not finding anything particularly offensive, he settled for a jolly-looking banjo.
“Oi!” shouted the old man. “Put that down! That’s mine.”
Burnie hefted the banjo in both hands, then climbed onto the edge of the boat and swung it out wide. It hit the troll’s outstretched arms … and broke into splinters.
“My banjo! You scoundrels! You rotten despoilers!”
“Row faster, damn it!” Burnie screamed, but he could see that Diek was growing weary.
“I c-can’t,” the boy managed. “I’m getting tired.”
The troll made a sudden lunge for the boat, missing the prow by a gnat’s wing, and tumbled face-first into the river.
Diek gave one last valiant pull on the oars, then slumped in the boat, exhausted.
“It’s getting up again!” Burnie shouted. “Look!”
“I … give up,” said Diek, weakly.
The troglodyte had continued his search through the boat’s junk-pile, stopping at intervals to throw anything that looked even vaguely solid at the recovering troll.
“Wait!” Diek shouted, suddenly. “Don’t throw that one!”
The Coldstone Conflict Page 12