"However, if a lone rider passes through here, then he is not to be touched by me nor any of my men. As you are no mere merchants and have excellent gear that my men and I would rather take for ourselves, it's only logical that we exert our rights here. Of course, we won't kill you, provided you don't resist. You'll be naked, but alive, at least," Gwili said sardonically.
"You fucking bastard," Carl spat angrily. "I've been called much worse by lesser men than you, Carl," Gwili shrugged, but noticed the soldier was already drawing his weapon and stepping forward.
"Carl, no!" Gorm reached for any piece of armor he could to stop the man, but it was too late. Gwili lifted a single finger, and an arrow soared through the cold mountain air, striking Carl right between the eyes. His body instantly slumped to the floor in a heap as blood gurgled in his mouth.
"Damn it, Carl," Gorm growled, staring back up at the elf.
"Why does no one ever listen to me? I said you would leave here alive, and yet this dipshit decides to challenge me without knowing where my other men are?" Gwili sighed. "Alright, I concede, Gwili. We will give you our…" he stopped when he felt a rumble in the ground beneath his feet and knew it couldn't be an earthquake.
Gwili felt it, too, and immediately looked to the northern side of the Pass, where he knew the creature would be coming from. "By the gods both light and dark, ice troll!" Gwili shouted, his eyes opening wide as the large figure approached them. Gorm turned in the direction he saw the elf facing, and felt a sinking feeling churn in his gut.
What the fuck…? He thought, nearly paralyzed by fear.
The troll was at least five meters tall, with white ice crystals in its tough hide. Its teeth were massive, with two tusks sticking out - each about as thick as a man's thigh, sticking out from the base of its enormous jaw. Its hands and feet were stocky and could quickly turn a full-grown horse into jelly with a single blow.
"Formation!" Gorm shouted, prompting the rest of his men to look in the same direction he was as the beast came at a running pace. The creature's growl shook Gorm to his core, for in all of his years of experience, he had never actually seen one before. "Steady! Don't shit through your teeth, men!" he called out.
Fifty meters.
"Focus! Aim for his eyes and ankles!" Gorm said. The troll was headed straight for them. "Fire!" Gwili called out to those under his command as they revealed themselves from behind neighboring rocks. The arrows soared and were aimed mainly at its large head, though the crystals deflected most.
Some of Gorm's men had struck the soft parts of the thick hide on its lower thighs, while most simply were also deflected by the crystals. It grunted from the pain of the arrows that found the spaces between its spotty armor, but kept its pace.
Fifteen meters.
"Ready your swords!" Gorm called out.
Five meters.
The monster had arrived, and brought unbridled death along with it. It swung its strong arms down from behind, as it smashed through the thin line of soldiers. Gorm, luckily, was between its legs, and cut at its left ankle while ducking beneath them, catching a slight glance at the waste the beast lay to his men.
Tough fucker, aren't you? he thought.
He recovered from his strike, only to find a bloodied, limb-ridden fist swiping backwards to get him. He rolled out of the way and watched a few of his men trying to stab at the beast's now exposed gut. It swatted the few men away like little blood-filled mosquitoes, turning them into little more than a macabre mist.
Gwili was still on his rock, watching what would have been a large amount of good armor going to waste due to the troll. He nocked an arrow in his bow and didn't pull until the beast had turned around. He saw his target, which was surprisingly small for such a large beast. He drew his arrow to his cheek and released.
Unfortunately, the troll had seen him preparing for it, and breathed out a cloud of freezing air, stopping the arrow in its flight. "Damn it," he said aloud. He moved to another rock and tried again to avoid being seen. He drew his arrow to his cheek and released it to find its mark. The broadhead arrow sank deeply into the black orb that was the troll's eye, causing it to swing wildly around it in confusion and pain.
The roar set some of Gorm's men even more on edge, as they all recognized it to be its death throes as it tried to pull the arrow from its eye.
It managed to, but it pulled its eye out as a result, forcing a stream of blood to stream down the hideous creature's face. Gorm took the opportunity this created to get behind the creature and begin hacking away at the soft tissue just behind its knees, forcing it to kneel.
It swatted away a few more men with its free hand, but the remaining men cut deep into the beast's stomach between the thick crystal plating, to eviscerate it. The blue-blooded entrails leaked out on top of the men, covering them like a pig in a mud puddle. The ice troll's large, now empty corpse fell, making the ground tremble.
Gorm was panting hard, and looked about him at the havoc it had wreaked on his party. The morning sun reflected off the armor and blood strewn across the pass. More than half were dead, and the remainder of them were either puking off in the distance, or covered in the blue entrails. He had gotten some of it on his arm and proceeded to wipe it off with his red cape.
"I think that went well," Gwili said from atop his new rock. "Well? What the fuck do you mean it went well? Half of my men are dead, while the others are scarred for life!" Gorm shouted. "Look on the bright side: at least only half of them are dead," Gwili replied far too cheerfully.
Gorm spat in response. "If you and the rest of your pox-ridden bastards hadn't held us up for so long, none of this would have happened," he snarled. "You say that as if all elves are omniscient. I had no idea such an incredible beast was to come this way. If I had, I would have hid you, and stripped you naked only after the creature had passed," Gwili shrugged.
"That's comforting," Gorm said sarcastically. He looked about him once more at the devastation before him. "Men, grab the ranks off your fallen comrades' armor. We must take them back to their families," he commanded stoically. Gwili, visibly impressed at his resolve, commanded his men to watch along the other pathways.
The remaining soldiers began looking for recognizable pieces of their friends. Some of them had lost their best friends, while others, perhaps, had lost a brother. Tears welled in their eyes as they picked up the shreds of blood-soaked armor.
Meanwhile, Bashir had ridden down the other side of the Pass and reached the small town that resided at its base. It wasn't very large, but he was confident they had what he needed. "We made it, my friend! We're safe," he said to Hatal, who neighed in response as though he were happy to see a town. He rode towards the small town, and a few of the townsfolk had seen him from a ways off.
He dismounted when he got close enough to the nearest stable, and felt his inner thighs burn after having ridden for so long. He drew a cloth across his face to avoid being recognized and grabbed the horse by the bit, walking it to the nearest stable.
The tiny houses were well thatched, telling him it was a decently prosperous place. Located at the foot of the mountain, where most of the trade from Harut had to pass through, it was no wonder this little town had been so well-developed.
"I must speak with the owner," Bashir said, handing the stable boy the reins. "He's right over there, sir. Give me a moment and I will lead you to him," the boy said, tying the reins to the nearest post, which was already equipped with food and water. "Follow me, sir," he said, walking briskly towards the stable's main doors.
The stable boy led him straight to the owner's house, which was a little down the cobblestone street. "Thank you, boy," Bashir said, handing him a few small coins worth at least double what the boy had earned all month. "Thank you kindly, sir!" the boy exclaimed with joy-filled eyes. The boy ran off to get back to work, while Bashir knocked on the wooden door.
"Who might you be?" a voice called out from behind a steel latch. "I wish to speak to the owner of the stables, where I have had my horse tended to," Bashir replied.
I can't let them know who I am. If those men on the hill find my tracks and trace me here, at least these people won't know who I am, he considered.