David Eddings - The Shining Ones

The scout came the rest of the way across the meadow to join them.

‘Tell us what you saw,’ Betuana commanded.

‘The man-beasts are coming toward us, Betuana-Queen,’ the woman replied. ‘They move singly, some far to the front and others lagging behind.’

‘Trolls wouldn’t understand the concept of fighting as a unit,’ Ulath told them.

‘Who commands them?’ Betuana asked.

‘Something that is very large and ugly, Betuana-Queen.” the scout reported. ‘The man-beasts around it are taller than Atan, and they scarcely come as high as its waist. Then Styrics with it as well—eight, by my count.’

‘Did one of them have silvery hair and beard?’ Sephrenia asked intently.

‘There were two such. One is thin, and one is fat. The thin one is close by the big ugly thing.’

‘That one is Zalasta,’ she said in a bleak voice.

‘I’ll take a promise from you now, Sephrenia,’ Vanion said firmly.

‘You can go whistle for promises right now, Vanion,’ she replied tartly. She was flexing her fingers in an ominous sort of way.

‘You were right, Sparhawk-Knight,’ Engessa said with a faint smile. ‘When we reached Sarsos last summer, you said Sephrenia was two hundred feet tall. She does seem to grow as one comes to know her better, doesn’t she? I don’t think I’d care to trade places with Zalasta right now.’

‘No,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘Will you at least agree to think just a little before you start grappling with Zalasta?’ Vanion pleaded. ‘For my sake? My heart stops when you’re in danger.’

She smiled at him. ‘That’s very sweet, Vanion, but I’m not the one in danger right now.’

Then they heard it. It was a dull, rhythmic thudding of hundreds of feet striking the earth in unison, and that thudding was accompanied by a low, brutish grunting. Then the thudding and grunting suddenly broke off, and a shrill, wailing ululation rose, fluctuating and piercing the chill air.

‘Kring!’ Ulath barked. ‘Let’s go have a look.’ And the two galloped out across the frozen meadow.

‘What is it?’ Vanion asked.

‘Very bad news,’ Kalten replied tensely. ‘We’ve heard that noise before. When we were on our way to Zemoch, we came across some creatures Sephrenia called the “Dawn Men”. They make Trolls look like tame puppies by comparison.’

‘And the Troll-Gods wouldn’t have any authority over them,’ Sephrenia added. ‘We might have to retreat.’

‘Never!’ Betuana almost shouted. ‘I won’t run away again not from anything! I’ve been humiliated too many times already! My Atans and I will die here if necessary!’

Ulath and Kring came riding back, their faces baffled. ‘They’re just ordinary Trolls!’ Ulath exclaimed. ‘But they’re stamping and grunting and wailing the same way the Dawn-Men did!’

Flute suddenly burst out laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ Talen demanded.

‘Cyrgon,’ she replied gaily. ‘I knew he was stupid, but I didn’t think he was this stupid. He can’t tell the difference between Trolls and Dawn-Men. He’s forcing the Trolls to behave the way their ancestors did, and that won’t work with Trolls. All he’s doing is confusing them. Let’s go out and meet them, Sparhawk. I want to watch Cyrgon’s face crumble and fall off the front of his head.’

Then she drove her little grass-stained feet into the flanks of Talen’s horse, obliging the rest of them to follow along behind. They crested a low hill and reined in. The Trolls were advancing through the tall grass on a broad front, quite nearly a mile across, shuffling, stamping their heels, and grunting in unison. A vast shape which very closely resembled Ghworg, the God of Kill, shambled along in the center of the brutish throng, beating on the frozen ground with a huge, iron-bound club. The monstrous apparition was closely surrounded by a group of white-robed Styrics. Sparhawk could quite clearly see Zalasta to Cyrgon’s right.

‘Cyrgon!’ Aphrael called. Her voice was shatteringly loud. Then she spoke at some length in a language that had only traces of Styric in it and was shaded around the edges with bits and pieces of Elenic and Tamul and a half-dozen other languages as well.

‘What tongue is that?’ Betuana demanded.

‘It is the language of the Gods,’ Vanion replied, his voice carrying that slightly wooden overtone that always overlaid it when Bhelliom spoke. ‘The Child Goddess doth taunt Cyrgon.’ Vanion seemed to wince slightly. ‘Thou wert perhaps unwise to expose thy Goddess overmuch to Elenes, Sephrenia,’ Bhelliom observed. ‘Her capacity for imprecation and insult seemeth me inappropriate for one so young.’

‘Aphrael is hardly young, Blue Rose,’ she replied.

A faint smile touched Vanion’s lips. ‘Not to thee, perhaps. Perspective, however, doth color all. To me, thy seemingly ancient Goddess is scarce more than a babe.’

‘Be nice,’ Aphrael murmured. Then she continued to rail at the now-enraged Cyrgon.

‘Can you hear Zalasta’s thoughts now, Anarae?’ Kalten asked.

‘Clearly, Sir Knight,’ Xanetia replied.

‘Does he have any suspicion at all about what we’re going to do?’

‘Nay. He doth believe that victory is within his reach.’

Aphrael stopped in mid-curse. ‘Let’s disabuse him of that right now,’ she said. ‘Turn loose the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk.’

‘An it please thee, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said politely, ‘evict thine unwanted tenants now.’

‘More than gladly, Anakha,’ Bhelliom replied with great relief.

The Troll-Gods were not surrounded by that azure nimbus this time. They appeared suddenly and in vividly excruciating detail. Sparhawk suppressed a wave of revulsion.

‘Go to your children, Ghworg!’ Aphrael commanded in Trollish. ‘It is your semblance Cyrgon has stolen, and it is your right to cause hurt to him for that.’

Ghworg roared his agreement and charged down the hill with the other Troll-Gods close on his heels. The counterfeit Ghworg gaped up the hill at the dreadful reality descending upon him. And then he screamed in sudden agony.

‘Does that even happen to Gods?’ Talen asked Flute. ‘Does it hurt you as much as it hurts humans to have one of your spells broken?’

‘Even more,’ she almost purred. ‘Cyrgon’s brains are on fire right now.’

The Trolls were also gaping at their suddenly materialized Gods. One huge brute not far from the writhing God of the Cyrgai reached out almost absently, picked up a shrieking Styric, and pulled off his head. Then he tossed the head aside and began to eat the still-convulsing body.

The Troll-Gods roared something in unison, and the Trolls all fell on their faces. Cyrgon writhed, shrieking, and the seven remaining Styrics collapsed as if they had been cut down. The false shape of Ghworg shuddered away into nothingness, and Cyrgon himself suddenly appeared as an amorphous blob of pale, intense light.

Aphrael sneered. ‘That’s Cyrgon for you,’ she noted. ‘He claims to be too proud to assume a human form. Personally, I think he’s just too clumsy. If he tried, he’d probably put the head on upside down or both arms on the same side.’ She shrieked a few more triumphant insults.

‘Aphrael.’ Sephrenia actually sounded shocked.

‘I’ve been saving those up,’ the Child Goddess apologized. ‘You weren’t really supposed to hear me say them.’

Cyrgon’s fire was fluctuating wildly now, flaring and dimming as his agony swelled and then diminished.

‘What is Zalasta feeling now?’ Sephrenia eagerly asked Xanetia.

‘His pain doth go beyond mine ability to describe it,’ the Anarae replied.

‘Dear, dear sister!’ Sephrenia exulted. ‘You’ve made me happier than you could possibly imagine!’