turned her about and held her out at arm’s length, and she gasped in dread and clenched her teeth to keep from screaming, for ’twas a huge, ugly Troll had her in his claw-fingered grip.
Hideous, he was, and massive, some nine foot tall or so. And in spite of the blustering wind, all about him was a terrible miasma, a stench like that of a rotting animal burst open after lying dead afield for a full sevenday in the glare of the hot summer sun. He was dressed in greasy animal hides. He gazed at her with yellow eyes, his green-scummed tusks revealed as he leered. “Ah, but what a beauty you are,” he declared, and the foulness of his foetid breath caused Camille to gag and retch. “I am Olot, King of the Goblins and Trolls, and I have come for you, my girl, for I have been watching you, and although I have a queen, I will keep you as my mistress and-”
At this last the Bear roared in rage and reared upward, his great claws brandished. Goblins shrieked, and scuttled back, yet their spears were held at the ready. And Olot the Troll snatched Camille again to his breast, pressing her into his foul reek. But the Bear remained standing upright, fully as tall as the Troll. And in spite of all, Camille could feel the Troll tremble in fright.
And the light of the moon fled away, as riven clouds scudded across the sky, a pall of darkness falling. Yet within but a moment through a gap above, the argent light returned.
Still standing, the Bear roared and growled and swept his claws and bared his teeth and irately postured, but he did not attack. And it seemed the Troll knew what the Bear was saying, though it was no ordinary tongue. The Troll nodded and looked at Camille, and his yellow eyes narrowed in cunning and he turned Camille to face the Bear. “Hear me, then, Bear: you spurned my daughter, and you refuse to yield this tasty morsel to me.” Olot clutched a dull amulet at his neck. “I have you in my power, just as did my child, and as did she, so will I do.” The Troll grinned a tusky grin, and added, “If for nothing else than in retribution for the ten of my best you murdered.”
In spite of her fear, Camille cried out, “But the Goblins were attacking the Bear. He was merely defending himself.”
“Shut your clack, woman!” bellowed the Troll, shaking Camille like a rag poppet, momentarily dazing her.
The Bear roared at this handling of Camille, and took a stride toward the Troll.
Olot backed hindward a step and cried out, “Stay away, Bear, or else…”
The Bear stopped.
“What I plan for you, Bear”-here the Troll glanced at Camille and laughed-“is not for her to know. Go. I will follow. But hear me, my remaining Goblins will watch over her, and should aught happen to me, she will suffer a dreadful fate.”
At a gesture from the Troll, the Bear dropped down to all fours and moved into the tangle nigh, and so, too, did Olot the Troll King go, leaving Camille surrounded by a dozen or so bandy-legged, yellow-eyed, snaggletoothed, spear-bearing Goblins.
And when the Troll and Bear were gone from sight, one of the Goblins leered and stepped toward Camille, and he reached out a skinny arm to paw at her with his talon-fingered hand, while the other Goblins sneered and laughed, though some glanced nervously in the direction the Troll and Bear had gone, as if to make certain that they themselves would suffer no interruption.
In the fluctuating light of the cloud-obscured moon, Camille gasped and shrank away as other Goblins crowded ’round, reeking and foul and filthy. Dressed in coarse-woven cloth and partly cured hides and standing some five feet tall, hideous they were up close, with their viperlike eyes and bat-wing ears and their overlarge noses with long gelid strings of snot dripping down. And they all wore black caps, and No, wait! Not black. For just as the night had turned the Bear’s blood black, so, too, must these hats be crimson! Oh, Mithras, these are the Redcaps.
Flinching, Camille backed away, to come up against the jagged bole of a gnarled, dead tree, where she could go no farther. And the Goblin at the fore became bold, and with one hand began to pluck at her clothes as if to undress her, while with the other he fumbled at the cord of his breeks.
Lashing out, she shoved him into the ones behind, and then turned and scrambled up the twisted branches, seeking escape, while Redcaps japed and hooted and danced about the dead tree and made crude, suggestive gestures.
Reaching a high branch and clinging to the trunk, her breath coming in fear-driven huffs, Camille looked down at the cavorting Goblins below, as once again the moon broke through the clouds. And she peered across the twisted ’scape, desperately seeking the Bear.
Oh, my guardian, where are you when I do need you so?
And then, on a stony ridge and momentarily silhouetted against the gibbous moon, Camille saw what looked to be the great, hulking Troll shaking a fist at a man. But what would a man be doing out here in this dreadful place? And whence had he come? The moon fled behind another cloud, and she saw no more. In that short glimpse, she had not espied the Bear, though a large dark shape off to the left might have been him, yet it could just as well have been a boulder instead. Too, he could have been just this side or that of the ridge where Olot stood and hence would not have been seen.
And midst the jeers coming from the darkness below, and in the blustery wind, now and again from the direction of the ridge Camille could hear snatches of voices arguing:
“… slew ten of my…”
“… attacking…”
“… daughter…”
“… never will I…”
“… She will fail, and then the geas…”
The tree trembled as if Camille looked down in the dimness, and just then the moon broke clear.
Jeered on by his mates, the Redcap who had pawed at her came clambering up the bole. Camille gritted her teeth and turned so that she could kick at him. In counter, he scuttled around the twisted trunk so as to avoid her strikes. Camille then moved to another gnarled branch to meet his maneuver, but again he scuttled counter and scrambled higher and, leering around the trunk, reached for her. And just as his long-fingered hand grasped her wrist- thuck! — a feathered shaft sprang full-blown from his left eye, the arrow point punching up and out through the crown of his skull.
Even as he fell away from Camille and crashed down through crooked branches, fury exploded below, wild Wolves slamming into and through and over shrieking Redcaps, tearing out throats, snapping necks, hauling down running Goblins from behind.
In a trice it was over, all Redcaps slaughtered and silence fallen within the wood, but for the bluster of the wind and a growl or two from Wolves making certain that every Goblin was slain.
“Ho, Lad,” came a cry, “are you all right?”
In the moonlight a man with a bow strode under the tree and stood amid the Wolves.
Camille, her voice shaking with the residue of fright as well as in relief, called down, “I am well, O Sir. And I thank you for coming to my aid.”
“Well, then, climb on down, Lad, and let’s have a look at you.”
Glancing again at the ridge, Camille saw neither Troll, nor man, nor Bear; they were gone from the light of the gibbous moon.
“Come, come, Lad,” said the man, gesturing to the Wolves. “My companions are quite civilized.”
As Camille turned about to clamber down the tree, her golden hair swung ’round as well, and the man below huffed in revelation and said, “I see I should have called you mademoiselle instead, my lady.”
Descending, Camille said, “You may call me my lady if you wish, but only if I must call you my lord.” As the man laughed, Camille climbed down the last few feet, then paused and looked at him. Tall and slender, he was, with pale, pale eyes-ice-blue perhaps, though Camille could not be certain in the glancing light of the moon. He was dressed in varied greys-cloak, leathers, boots, vest, jerkin-their colors much like those of the Wolves at hand. Around his head and across his brow, a silver-runed, grey leather headband held his silver-grey, shoulder-length hair in place.
Yet smiling, the man reached out a hand to aid her to step to the ground. As she took it, he said, “I am Borel. And you are…?”
“Camille, Good Sir. Yet names can wait, for urgency presses, and I ask you and yours to aid my Bear.” She looked at the grinning Wolves, with their lanky frames and long, lean legs, the pack standing and waiting as if for a command, a few facing outward on guard.
