where the outlaws were heading. He needed to catch them before they reached the river. If they crossed before he caught them they may be able to give him the slip. Besides, there were only four of them, and one of them was his own daughter. He was confident that could take them on without back-up. He glanced backwards one more time in the hope of seeing some of the Trifles approaching, but of them there was no sign. And so he turned towards the direction of the river and continued his relentless pursuit.
92
Simply putting one paw in front of another was absolute agony, but the knot of rage that drove More-Grim ever onwards enabled him to somehow ignore the worst of the pain, to effectively block it from his mind. He was gaining on Grantt, he was sure; the troll captain's scent was growing ever stronger. He could, by now, only be a matter of minutes ahead, and so he urged his aching muscles to even greater effort so that he could meet his destiny.
Suddenly, as if it were a mirage in the dry, unforgiving heat, he could make out the shape of the troll ahead. It looked as if Grantt were floating atop a shimmering silver lake, his reflection stretching all the way back to the wolf, and now the pain fell away completely, replaced by an utter determination to kill the troll, even if it meant giving up his own life in the exchange.
93
Up ahead Grantt could hear the sound of water, quite a torrent by the sound of it. The vegetation had thickened and he was on the edge of some woodland. He found a track through the trees and continued onwards.
94
More-Grim watched Grantt enter the trees and considered his options. The proximity of his quarry meant that now he would have to use a bit of guile so, rather than increase his pace, he slowed to consider his options. A full frontal assault would be suicide with a troll of Grantt's size and strength, More-Grim was sure, but he was also certain that the only possible way to kill the troll was by the throat, in exactly the same way he had killed the trooper earlier. The throat was the troll's Achilles heel, so to speak and so he had to get himself in front of the troll, and as close as he possibly could. He couldn't merely rely on strength to win this battle; he would have to rely on speed and cunning.
For the moment he had surprise on his side, for even when the troll captain realised it was a wolf approaching him, he wouldn't be immediately wary - after all, wolves were the allies of the trolls, weren't they? Or, to be more accurate, they were nothing more than slaves, in More-Grim's opinion.
He made his decision. He howled.
95
As the sound of water became louder in Grantt's ears a piercing howl stopped him in his tracks. He turned and, through the trees, could just about make out the shape of a wolf approaching.
Close to exhaustion, the troll captain decided to rest a moment and wait to see why a lone wolf had been despatched to obviously seek him out.
Just as More-Grim had thought, his approach raised no particular suspicion in Grantt's tired mind. Instead the troll captain merely presumed that the wolf was a messenger, and as he waited he idly wondered what the message may be. Perhaps the wolves had found some other fugitives, perhaps tracked them down to their lair in Elmswood, and if that was the case, then today might turn out to be a very good day indeed.
Placing his heands on his knees he watched the wolf approach. Even from a distance Grantt could tell that the wolf was a particularly fine specimen, its silvery coat shining healthily and its body powerfully sleek yet muscular. He decided that whatever the message was he would have this wolf accompany him in the final stages of the manhunt. A nose to track and teeth and claws to fight would come in very handy, whatever he had previously decided about confronting the outlaws on his own.
The wolf came to a halt a dozen paces away and bowed his head subserviently. Grant straightened and nodded in acknowledgement. 'What news?' he asked.
More-Grim paused. He could see that the small bow of his head had relaxed the troll completely, and, despite the rock of revulsion lying heavily in his gut which urged him to attack the troll immediately, he maintained a non-threatening body language as he spoke. 'I bring news from Pack Leader Grim, 1st North-East Pack,' he announced, and took a stealthy pace closer to the troll; he had to get within two or three paces.
'Well?' asked Grantt.
More-Grim couldn't allow the troll to have any misgivings, and therefore the news he was about to invent would have more than a ring of truth about it, but he also needed to keep the troll off guard and so couldn't have the captain flying into a rage...
'We have managed to capture two humans,' the wolf lied. 'Grim believes that they belong to the gang of subversives known as the Merrie Men,' he said. He took another surreptitious half-step forward, his head still slightly bowed, avoiding looking at the troll directly in his eyes for fear of giving away his intent.
Grantt smiled. 'This is good news. Have you managed to gain any intelligence from these two renegades?' he asked.
More-Grim took another cautious step forward, his muzzle practically touching the ground and his tail between his legs in an attitude of submissiveness. 'Yes sir,' the wolf replied. He paused to recall the little of what he knew about the Merrie Men. He was entering the realms of pure fabrication, and so considered his next words carefully, so as not to arouse any suspicion. 'They talked of rebellion, sir, but we believe that there was little substance to it,' he declared. 'Whatever plans these Merrie Men may have, the two we captured knew nothing of them. What they did tell us - eventually - was that their numbers are small, and their leadership is... indecisive. It seems that these outlaws pose little threat to the trollian empire, sir.' Just one step closer; that's all it will take...
Grantt grunted non-committedly. 'Don't be too sure of that, wolf. Their numbers may be small now, but if allow them to continue then they may flourish. He started to turn towards the sound of the river. 'We need to wipe them out now-' and suddenly the wolf was leaping towards him.
The wolf's attack took Grantt totally by surprise, and the treacherous creature had the troll's throat in its maw before he could even react. He stumbled backwards under the weight of the wolf and struggled to retain his balance. He managed to reach up for the wolf's throat but the animal seemed to be possessed of a strength which exceeded even the troll's own. He could feel the wolf's jaws closing and suddenly there was a horrible crunch and Grantt was surprised to realise that it was his own neck. He suddenly felt weak and he stumbled once again. For some reason he couldn't grab hold of the wolf, and worse, his vision was starting to fail. He felt light-headed and imbalanced and yet the wolf seemed inexhaustible...
The creature was now raking the troll's lower body with its hind legs, making little impression, but further unbalancing the troll. The wolf's jaws squeezed ever tighter and the troll captain weakened further. He was going to fall, he knew, but if he did he was sure that he would be killed. It had all happened so quickly that he couldn't believe it. He continued to struggle to keep his feet and took a faltering step backwards. Then another one. But suddenly there was nothing under his foot. In his barely conscious state it seemed as if the ground had disappeared. He fell backwards into nothingness and, with the wolf maintaining its death-grip, they both plunged into the raging torrent below.
96
Theodore returned to his study, a faint smile upon his lips. He was feeling quietly pleased with himself. His foolish cousin Henry had eventually agreed to his plan, and now, by dint of a little devilish transmutation, he would already be in place deep in the bowels of the Ragged Ridge Mountains. Now all that was needed was for Theodore to push things in the right direction. He grabbed his hat, cane and cloak and clicked his fingers...
97
Robin, Ron, Grub and the others departed Sodden Edge with a sense of relief and struck out north-eastwards towards the lower slopes of the Ragged Ridge Mountains. At first the ground was level and, as the morning progressed, their pace was quick but after a short while the terrain began to climb, gently at first but all too soon the going started to become difficult and the air star
ted to turn perceptively colder.
Before long the gradient became calf-achingly steep and progress became slow; it would have been even slower had not Annabel carried all the packs (emptied of many layers of clothes) and led the way with her steady, un-relenting progress.
They climbed steadily. Five hundred feet, a thousand feet; the air became thinner and small flakes of snow begin to fall. Fifteen hundred feet and the flakes were growing larger and settling underfoot. Two thousand feet and the snow on the ground became an inch thick, then two, then three...
The wind increased from a gentle whisper, through a stiff breeze before increasing in intensity to such an extent that the occasional gust would force all but Annabel to stumble backwards. The elephant, with her thick skin and regular metronomic strides didn't seem to be suffering but that couldn't be said of the others. Not one was equipped with sufficiently warm clothes, nor sufficiently robust boots. Thoroughly exposed to the elements on the bare slopes, they suffered, their limbs stiffened by the freezing air and their breaths an icy mist which was whipped away instantly by the frigid wind. Eventually even Annabel, who had seemed to be immune to the conditions, was slowly beginning to grow tired, despite her great strength.
Eventually Robin had no choice but to call a halt. Upon the exposed, rocky ledge there was little shelter, so they all simply slumped to the ground in a forlorn attempt to regain their breath and keep out of the icy blasts.
The outlaw leader looked around at his companions and it was obvious they were in a bad way. He found himself thinking longingly of the bed back at the Trek-lodge; right now he'd even put up with the intransigent Mr Pants in order to feel a soft mattress beneath his aching bones. 'This is a nightmare,' he muttered, through chattering teeth. 'By Wacchus I'd sell my soul to be over this pass!'
'Hello,' came a cultivated, self-assured voice. 'You seem to be having a rather hard time of it. May I perhaps be of some assistance?'
Startled, Robin jumped to his feet, only to be confronted by, unbelievably, a tall thin man sporting a tremendously neat beard and wearing a top hat. 'Where the hell did you come from?'
'Precisely.'
'What?'
The man waved a hand dismissively. 'It doesn't matter. Let's just say speak of me and I, um, tend to appear.'
Robin peered at the stranger through eyes lidded against the wind. His mind suddenly seemed to be frozen solid. 'Are you some sort of mountain rescue?' he asked doubtfully.
'Well, I sometimes do have the honour of meeting mountaineers who have found themselves in difficulty. But only the bad ones.'
'Ones that aren't very good at mountaineering?' asked Ron, rising to stand by Robin.
'Ones that... just aren't very good. Or, at least, haven't been. Allow me to introduce myself. Theodore De Ville, but my friends call me Theo, the little imps! But I can see you're not exactly well-equipped for this kind of travel.' Theodore gave a sympathetic smile. 'The weather, I am led to believe, will only worsen. You simply must get out of this wind or, well, I wouldn't like to think what might happen to you.'
Robin shook his head, trying to clear the icy fog. 'I appreciate your concern, but we don't really have any choice but to go on. We have to get over this pass whatever it takes.'
Theodore made a show of looking Robin up and down. 'You are a determined young man, I can see that,' he said. 'And your companions are of the same opinion?'
They all nodded except Annabel, who looked at the stranger with interest. There was something distinctly... 'goaty' about him, and it wasn't just his beard, but she couldn't quite put her trunk on it. He
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