Behind Godri, Rodrin sighed. “As you say, brother, there will be a reason for the fire. But behind the reason is the curse.”
“Keep away from dem stunties!” shouted Nazbad from the bench of the timber wagon. “If I can’t have none, you can’t have none!”
The spider riders shot him sulky looks, but they pulled their mounts away from the dead dwarfs in the back of the wagon and started them scuttling forward again. Nazbad sat back down, grumbling, and flicked the reins to make the spider-skittish ponies go faster. The forest fire was spreading quickly, and had almost caught up to him and his boys, who were hurrying down the path away from it. The smell of half cooked dwarf was almost irresistible, and he wanted to sink his teeth into stuntie steak as much as the others did, but Dagskar had made him promise to bring the corpses back to the camp. He had plans for them.
“Him and his plans,” Nazbad muttered, licking his lips and looking over his shoulder at the dwarf corpses piled in the back of the wagon. “I’m hungry.”
But the thought of having a nice stuntie-built hole to call home for him and his boys held him in check. Stunties always dug the best holes, easily defended and with plenty of room for lots of goblins, spiders and squigs. With a hole like that, Nazbad could really grow his tribe. And if Dagskar wanted to do all the hard work of getting it for him, he wasn’t going to say no. So as tempted as he was to have a bit of stuntie leg, he restrained himself. Plenty of stunties to eat after they slaughtered them all in Skull Pass.
Skaari Otgunsson flicked his switch at the withers of the last cow of the herd. “Watch out, Hilda. It’s a long way down.”
Hilda lumbered away from the edge of the ravine, lowing unhappily, and bunched up with the others. Skaari and the other cowherds were bringing the shaggy, stubborn beasts down from the summer pasture high in the hills above Skull Pass to the winter grazing just outside of the settlement. They had reached a narrow point where dense woods on the left pushed the path up against the edge of a rocky ravine on the other side. The ravine wasn’t very deep, but the bottom was filled with jagged boulders, and any cow that fell down into it was sure to break a leg at the very least, and more than likely dash its brains out.
Jarl Rokisson grinned back at Skaari from where he walked, a few paces ahead. “Going to take another poke at that slayer if he hasn’t left by tomorrow, Skaari?”
Skaari shrugged and scratched his chin through his short brown beard. “Maybe. Maybe not. He may have a big mouth, but his fists are bigger. Don’t know if I want a nose like Argi Argisson.”
A little further down the line, Korik Shieldbearer looked back. “Looks as if he can take care of himself, all right. You notice he doesn’t have a scar on him? Must be why he’s called Graniteskin.”
Jarl smirked. “Or it could be because he’s never slain anything. Maybe he does all his slaying in the tavern.”
Skaari chuckled. “You mean he’s a flagonslayer, not a dragonslayer?”
Jarl laughed. “That’s it! A flagonslayer! I’ll wager you three rounds of Byrnik’s Best he never goes after that troll!”
“You’ll get no takers on that,” said Skaari, laughing. “He—”
With a splintering crash, a huge hulking shape burst from the woods on the left, bellowing and swinging a club the size of a young tree. The massive weapon smashed into Jarl, knocking his head clean off his neck and sending it flying into the middle of the herd.
“Jarl!” Korik shouted.
Skaari stared, horrified, as the sinewy monster kicked Jarl’s headless body aside and slammed into the cows, its big ears flapping, its roaring mouth a jagged black chasm in its gravel-skinned face. The splintered haft of a dwarf axe sprouted from its lumpy shoulder like a severed wing.
“The troll!” he cried, hoping the dwarfs at the front of the herd would hear. “It’s the troll!”
He pulled his hand axe from his belt and shoved forward through the terrified cattle as the troll laid about it with its club. Three cows pitched into the ravine, their spines snapped and their skulls caved in. Beyond the monster, Korik fell flat as a heifer shouldered into him, then picked himself up and drew his two hand axes.
Skaari squeezed between two last cows and ran towards the troll as Korik did the same from the other side. The troll roared and slammed its club down at Korik, but the dwarf dove past it and rolled to his feet beside Skaari.
“Together,” he said, as they faced the towering brute. “At least one of us will strike it.”
“Aye,” said Skaari. “Ready.”
They launched themselves at the troll, but before they took two steps, a shrieking horde of night goblins poured from the woods, whooping and charging them with spears. The cows bellowed anew, and fought even harder to get away. Four more were pushed into the ravine by the jostling.
Skaari groaned as he and Korik faced the goblins side by side. “This is no random troll attack!” he shouted as he blocked a spear thrust and slashed the face of the grinning goblin that wielded it.
“No,” agreed Korik, kicking another goblin back. The skinny green horror tripped and was trampled by a frightened cow. His skull popped like a melon. “These grobi have put him up to it.”
Skaari hacked down another goblin, but staggered back as two more thrust at him. They were getting dangerously close to the edge of the ravine. “We have to get back to the settlement and warn—Look out!”
Skaari shoved Korik to the side as the troll lifted a cow over its ugly, rock-skinned head and hurled it in their direction. Korik staggered out of the way just in time, but Skaari was dead centre. There was nowhere to go. He threw himself backwards blindly and tumbled down into the ravine, bouncing through rocks and brush before landing hard on a flat boulder at the bottom.
A bulky shape blotted out the sun above him. Skaari yelped and rolled off the boulder just as the cow slammed down on it with a sick thud. The back half of the beast slid off onto Skaari and pressed him to the ground. Sharp rocks stabbed him in the side, but he was too stunned to move. He just lay there panting and staring up towards the top of the ravine as the troll continued to rampage and the goblins tried to climb onto the cows’ backs.
Korik’s eyes stared lifelessly back at him, his head, beard and arms hanging over the edge of the cliff as cows trampled him repeatedly. A goblin spear stuck up from between his shoulder blades.
“Korik, I’m sorry,” murmured Skaari.
A few seconds later a slightly larger goblin came out of the woods and lashed the troll with a whip. Skaari was certain the massive monster would turn and rip the goblin to shreds, but instead, the troll left off smashing and hurling cows and meekly allowed the goblin to climb up onto his shoulder and hold onto one of his flag-like ears.
From this ugly perch, the whip-wielding goblin shouted at the others, who began to calm the cows and ride them down the path. Skaari groaned. That must mean that the lads at the front of the herd had been killed too—nine dwarfs dead and a hundred head of cattle slaughtered or stolen. This was a catastrophe for the hold.
As the goblin-ridden herd thundered away in a cloud of dust, Skaari began to try to squirm out from under the crushing weight of the dead cow. He was fortunate the goblins hadn’t noticed that he was still alive. If he could get free, he might be able to reach the settlement and warn them of the attack.
Dagskar’s boys yipped and hooted as they rode the careening cows down the rocky path.
“Ws got cow flesh for weeks!” said one. “Cows is much tastier den dwarf flesh!”
“Gonna have a feast every night!” said another.
“Might even cook it!” said a third.
From where he sat next to the jogging troll’s tent-flap ear, Dagskar grinned. “Y’see, boys. Spoils is good when I’m da boss.” He cracked his whip in the air. “Now, go faster! The rest of the mob is comin’ tonight. We’s got work t’do!”
“We found no sign of the rangers in Copperwood Forest, father,” said Aurik as he and his scouts stood before Godri and Rodrin in God
ri’s long house. “Nor the lumber wagon. But we did find these.” He laid half a charred javelin and a large blackened spider mandible on the dais at Godri’s feet. Godri’s hammerers, who stood guard to his right and left, turned, unable to resist a look.
“Forest goblins,” said Godri, stroking his white beard. “And there was a fight. The javelin is chopped in half, and the mandible is severed.”
“Aye,” said Aurik. “These were found near where the blaze began. The goblins must have set the fire. I fear they also killed Faril, Argi and the rest, and took the wagon and the bodies. Why, I do not know.”
“Grimnir take them, we ran the grobi out of Copperwood only a decade ago,” said Godri. “They must have short memories if they think we’ll let them come back.”
“But, father, why would they burn down the forest if they meant to take it back?” asked Aurik.
“An accident?” asked Rodrin. “Goblins can’t do anything without mucking it up.”
Before Godri could answer, Burin, his steward, entered and bowed.
Godri looked up. “Aye, Burin?”
“The cowherd, Skaari Otgunsson, my thane,” said the old dwarf. “He is sorely hurt, but said that he has terrible news which he must impart to you immediately.”
“Bring him in,” said Godri.
“More terrible news?” groaned Rodrin as Burin withdrew. “I’ve had my fill lately.”
The door opened wider and the young cowherd Skaari Otgunsson limped in, followed by Burin. Young Skaari’s arms and hands were covered in scrapes and bruises, and there was a nasty looking lump on his forehead. He hissed as he went down on one knee before Godri.
“Skaari Otgunsson,” said Godri. “Be welcome in my home. What has happened to you?”
“My thane,” said Skaari. “The herd was attacked, and stolen. Night goblins, leading a troll—our troll. It still had Bodin Bodisson’s axe sticking out of its back.”
“Night goblins?” asked Aurik, surprised. “Not forest goblins?”
Skaari shook his head. “No, Thanesson. They wore the black robes. They attacked myself and the other cowherds, then drove off the cattle. During the fighting I was knocked into a ravine and was overlooked while the villains killed the others. Jarl Rokisson, Korik Shieldbearer, all the rest.” He swallowed. “All dead.”
“You didn’t get up and fight again?” asked Rodrin, indignant. “You do not look as if the fall crippled you.”
“Forgive me, Thanesbrother,” said Skaari, lowering his head. “I was…” he paused, seemingly embarrassed, then continued. “I was trapped under a fallen cow, and could not get free.”
One of Godri’s hammerers stifled a chuckle at that, and Skaari’s face turned red. Godri shot a reproving look at the guard.
“Rise, Skaari Otgunssen,” he said. “You have earned no shame. You fought to defend the herd and returned here to report the loss while wounded. I thank you for your fortitude.”
“As do I,” said Aurik.
“Thank you, my thane,” said Skaari, getting stiffly to his feet. “Thank you, Aurik Godrisson.”
“But this is indeed terrible news you have brought us,” said Godri, stroking his beard again. “Meat, cheese, milk and leather will be in short supply this winter, and perhaps much longer. It will be expensive to found a new herd.” He sighed. “But I fear that isn’t the worst of it.”
“Isn’t that bad enough?” grunted Rodrin.
For a moment, Godri didn’t answer, just stared into the middle distance, deep in thought. Finally he raised his head and looked around at them. “I do not believe these two attacks are unrelated. There is a very clever goblin behind this. Very thorough. I think these are preludes to a greater attack—an attempt to weaken us before they move in for the kill.” He turned to Aurik. “My son, you will take thirty dwarfs and reinforce the guard at Skarrenruf Bridge, but send your scouts ahead to search for these goblins. I would suggest looking beyond the bridge, as it is the only way to bring a large force into Skull Pass. I want detailed reports on their strength and position.”
“Aye, father,” said Aurik. “I will send the scouts right away, then follow with the reinforcements as soon as they are ready to march.”
Skaari Otgunsson went down on one knee again. “My thane, if they will have me, I would go with the scouts on this mission.”
Godri frowned. “But you are wounded. Are you certain?”
Skaari grimaced. “These goblins have killed my friends and taken my livelihood. I would help in their destruction.” He hesitated, shooting a look at the hammerer who had laughed at him. “And… and I do not want to be known as Skaari Undercow for the rest of my life. I must do something to win a better name.”
Godri hid a smile in his beard. “Your request is granted, Skaari son of Otgun. Go with the scouts, and may your ancestors smile upon your ventures.”
“Thank you, my thane,” said Skaari, and went to stand by Aurik and the scouts.
Aurik bowed. “I will go and gather warriors for the bridge.”
“Just a minute,” said Rodrin, frowning thoughtfully.
Aurik paused. Godri looked around.
“Are you certain there will be a battle?” Rodrin asked. “Perhaps they intend to just sit back and starve us out.”
“I don’t think so,” said Godri. “A goblin wouldn’t bring a troll along for just a cattle raid. Trolls are too much trouble. They’re up to something, I’m sure of it.”
Skaari Otgunsson set off with the scouts not an hour later, trekking quickly up the rocky pass to the high, peak-hemmed span of Skarrenruf Bridge. Badurin Sigrinsson, the leader of the scouts, spoke briefly with the bridge guards, telling them of the situation, and that Aurik would arrive there shortly to reinforce them. Then he led the others across the bridge over the great ravine and into the wilds beyond.
Though Skaari had crossed Skarrenruf many times—taking the herd across it on the way to the high pasture in the spring and back across in the autumn—he had never walked it at night before. It was a very different experience. As they reached the middle, far from the squat towers that guarded the end, the long narrow span felt to him like it was floating unmoored above the black chasm of Skarrenruf Gorge. He could feel it shift under his feet like a stone ship as the mountain winds moaned around it like the ghosts of unburied ancestors, drowning out the rushing roar of the rocky rapids hundreds of yards below. Skaari shivered, and not from the cold. He hurried after the others.
The Copperwood Forest was still smouldering on their left as the scouts stepped off the far end of the bridge, the smoky haze that rose from the trees turning the two moons blood-red, so that they looked like savage goblin eyes glaring down at them from the sky. Badurin passed the charred forest by, saying that not even goblins cared to live in a fireplace. There was another wood on the far side of a barren valley, and it was here that Badurin suggested they search.
Hugin Shatterhand, the most senior scout, found the goblins’ trail a short while later and they followed it deeper into the woods, guided only by the infrequent moonlight that filtered down through the heavy screen of trees. Skaari struggled to keep up. He had made a brave front when he had knelt before Thane Thunderbrand, but the bruises and sprains and scrapes he had received falling into the ravine throbbed painfully, and slowed him considerably. The crossbow the scouts had armed him with bumped his spine with every step, hitting him right where he had landed on the rocks when he fell. He was beginning to have second thoughts about volunteering for the mission, but he still felt it was something he must do.
The story of him being trapped under a cow would get around, he was sure of it. The laughing hammerer would tell his fellow guards, and they would talk of it in the Wyvern’s Demise. Skaari knew there was no real shame in an accident, but it was hard enough already being a cowherd in a community of miners and stone workers and warriors. He had to defend his honour and his name against all sorts of jocular insinuations, and this latest incident would not help matters. He needed to find an opp
ortunity for some brave deed that would eclipse the story of the cow. He needed a chance for glory.
Ahead of him, Hugin hooted like a wood owl, the sign that he had spotted something. Skaari crept forward with the other scouts to where Hugin crouched behind the bole of a huge oak. They gathered around him.
“Forest goblins,” he whispered. “Three together, making a circuit. And there’s firelight further on.”
Skaari raised his head and peered over the sprawling roots of the old oak. Sure enough, a faint orange glow was reflected off the trunks of distant trees.
“Just one patrol?” asked Badurin.
“Not sure,” said Hugin. “I—”
He broke off suddenly and ducked down. Skaari and the rest followed his example. The swish of bodies pushing through the undergrowth grew louder in their ears. Skaari’s hand fell to the haft of his axe. The others silently drew their crossbows off their backs.
The steps grew louder, then after a moment fainter. Hugin rose up and looked over the roots of the oak again. He grinned as he sank back down. “Two patrols then.”
The goblins tramped off into the distance again and everyone let out a breath.
“Now,” said Badurin, motioning them all forward. “Between the patrols. We don’t want them to know we were here.”
Skaari followed as the scouts padded across the patrol’s path and headed toward the glow of the distant fire. A hundred silent paces on, as the yellow light grew brighter ahead of them, Hugin held up his hand again and they all stopped. He waved them back, then pointed up.
Skaari followed the line of Hugin’s finger as he backed away. At first he saw nothing, but then he noticed something wafting in the wind, just under the tree branches. It was nearly invisible, like a banshee’s robes, but it was there, faintly illuminated by the nearby fires. A spider web, but thicker than any Skaari had ever seen before.
A heavy body shifted somewhere above them, shaking down a rain of pine needles. They all froze, but the movement stopped and no alarm was called.
Battle for Skull Pass Page 3