The Prodigal Troll (36 page)

"That will take you into the heartland of the invaders."

"Good," Maggot said. He sat cross-legged, rubbing his tired hands together. Pisqueto picked up his arrow, and resumed tying feathers to its shaft. Sinnglas stirred, and then let himself settle down to the same absolute stillness as Maggot.

"Heh," he said finally.

ate in the afternoon, the invaders made one concerted charge up the hillside, with the pikemen behind the shields pushing as far as the fallen tulip tree that blocked the ridge.

Maggot stood between Sinnglas and Pisqueto, batting aside the pikes and thrusting back the shields with a long branch to create openings for their spear and arrows. His exhilaration slowly exhausted itself until he was leaning on his branch during the increasingly longer periods between assaults. When the attackers slid down the slope again near sunset, Maggot palmed the sweat off his forehead and body. Only a very few warriors yipped in celebration.

Maggot turned to Sinnglas. "Will they go away now?"

"No, that was just to pin us here," Sinnglas said, rolling his shoulders. "The knights and the mammut will attack us up the long trail tomorrow morning while those below cut off our escape."

The mountain loomed behind Maggot.

"So we will leave tonight," Sinnglas said quietly. "As soon as the moon is gone down."

"Heh," Pisqueto muttered nearby. Picking up his remaining arrows, he met Maggot's eyes and lifted his chin toward Squandral's men.

When Maggot thrust out his tongue, a smile flickered over Pisqueto's face and disappeared-all the youthfulness had gone out of his expression. Catching himself, Maggot shook his head, and Pisqueto ran off to join Squandral's men without saying any farewells. Leaning on the tree and studying the woods below, Sinnglas didn't see his brother's departure.

Maggot massaged his sore neck and looked at the sky, wishing for darkness.

Sinnglas, with Maggot and nine other men, offered to guard the breastwork against any night attacks. In the full dark, while most of the warriors snatched fitful sleep, the eleven men slipped over the side and ran down toward the enemy camp where the slope widened into a rolling meadow below the trees.

Gathering speed as they ran, Sinnglas's men vaulted a thin line of guards at the bottom of the hill and ran through the camp, screaming and striking random blows at sleeping men. Maggot's heel landed in someone's stomach, producing an audible exclamation, but otherwise he did no one any harm. As the invaders raised a cry and rushed to defend themselves, Maggot and the others dashed across the meadow and were free.

The running figures rejoined each other. As Sinnglas led them north, along a narrow, tree-covered trail in the shadow of the mountain, Maggot counted everyone and hurried up to Sinnglas's side.

"There are only nine of us now," he whispered.

Sinnglas grunted. "Like Pisqueto, others have chosen their own paths again."

He led them north through the chilling night, along narrow, treecrowded trails in the shadow of the mountain, ever higher until they reached a flat knob above the trees that Maggot would not have recognized as a gap. Sinnglas, however, picked out a treacherous, curving route to the cold summit. From the top, a mist-filled valley opened below, and beyond it, looming like a wall against the dawn, another long ridge of mountains.

Across that second ridge of mountains lay the way back to the Deep Cave band of trolls. Breathing that familiar air, Maggot's footsteps faltered. He stopped.

The other men passed him, until Sinnglas paused, no more than a dark shape farther down the barren trail. "Will you not choose differently, and come with us?" Sinnglas asked.

Maggot's hand went to his chest to grasp the charms that hung there on their silver threads. He did not know which way to find the woman. But he knew he must go back and try.

"I did not come this far to go back," he said with a little half shrug, rolling his shoulders forward and then forgetting to relax them again.

Sinnglas lifted his chin. "The spirits will bring us together again. There will always be food for you in my home."

"And for you in mine," Maggot answered as he had heard others say.

Sinnglas's face widened into a grin. "Send word when you have found that home, Maqwet. My brother."

The two men walked to each other and gripped forearms. Letting go, Sinnglas turned and rejoined the others. They ran down the mountainside until they disappeared like shadows slipping into deep water.

Maggot shivered. He was alone again. He shook himself to dispel the cold like a coat of dust, and turned back, slouching forward as he ran.

Sleepy shreds of fog, too weary yet to rise with the sun, obscured the mountainside down among the trees. Maggot ghosted his way through this distanceless world, unsure which path he followed across the steep slopes. He went downhill, taking vertical paths when he came to dead ends, leaping out onto the branches of trees, then shinnying down the trunks when he could find no other way.

The fog burned away toward noon, but a great weariness settled on Maggot. He found a hollow spot on the slope, halfway above one trail, halfway below another, where something had once been washed away. He buried himself beneath a pile of leaves and branches, plummeting into heavy, thoughtless sleep.

Hushed voices woke him. He rolled over, still blanketed in lethargy, not knowing how long he'd slept, and wondered if he should investigate.

He heard the voices again-they were speaking Sinnglas's tongue. He could make out the word invaders.

Slowly poking his head up through the leaves, Maggot heard the voices come from the trail above him. He glimpsed a few heads passing between the trees. The men were moving toward the fighting, or where the fighting had been.

He eased out of his hiding spot, climbing up the hill for a closer look. Bits of light penetrated into the gauzy air between the high treetops. The men-no, boys: they appeared to be as young as Pisqueto or youngerstood uncertainly on the trail, discussing whether they should go on. At first Maggot took them for stragglers, warriors separated from their village leaders. But as he crept along the hillside, he saw two quivers on most backs and no sign of bandages. They were latecomers, probably from the villages south of Custalo's, boys just arriving to join the war.

Stupid people, not knowing the war was over.

Maggot crouched across the trail and pulled himself up the slope, crossing over until he found a rotted log above them. He put a foot on it to see if it would rock-it did-and then he kicked it over the edge. As it crashed down, he drummed out a troll's warning on his chest.

Below him, the boys ran back the way they had come. Maggot hurled stones through the trees at them, stopping only to pound his chest and holler again.

When they had retreated out of sight, he hunkered down and slouched forward, resting on his hands. The war was over.

He sniffed the air for something to eat. Remembering, as if from a dream, the bag at his belt, he scooped all the remaining food into his mouth and swallowed it in a gulp. He threw down the bag and went searching for something to drink.

Sinnglas had traversed the distance from the scene of the fighting to the gap in the mountains in a single night, but then he knew where he was going and ran with a purpose. Maggot meandered on the way back, on and off the trails, stopping again to nap beneath a log when he felt tired.

He moved more purposefully when the sun hunted over the western horizon, until he sniffed faint smoke and followed it to a small clearing nested in the hillsides.

Maybe thirty warriors were gathered around a small fire. They passed a pipe around the circle, the smell of it staining the air. Maggot looked for Pisqueto, but many of the younger men were gone. Perhaps they were dead, and perhaps they only lured the invaders in another direction.

we must gather our families, and flee across the mountains," Custalo was saying, loud enough for all the men to hear. "There is no shame in the wolf, when he runs away from the lion and its dagger teeth."

Squandral took the pipe and puffed at it deliberately before speaking. The flickering firelight exaggerated the sharpness of his features.

A tightness cramped in Maggot's belly. He crept close to the circle, and squatted, suppressing the sound of his grunt.