BREDOCK HOLT AWOKE. HE WAS LYING ON A BED; much more comfortable than the cot he awoke on yesterday. He sat up too quickly; pain lanced through his shoulder, causing him to groan softly. He looked down, remembering the crossbow bolt that had struck him. Bandages swathed his chest and shoulder. He lifted his arm, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of pain that surged through him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and in the light from the solitary window, studied his surroundings, the room was sparsely furnished. Besides the bed, the only furniture was a desk and chair. On a small table beneath the window, sat a jug of water and a bowl for washing in. A clean shirt and jacket lay neatly folded beside them. He attempted to stand, swaying slightly, gained his balance and walked to the table. Judging by the light filtering through the window it was late evening. He had slept the whole day away. Pouring water into the bowl, Holt splashed some on his face and neck. Drying himself with a towel he felt a little better. He donned the shirt and jacket with difficulty and looked around. His weapons and bag were hanging on a hook by the door. He took them down and strapped them on.

His mind went back to his escape from Vultaur Syth's castle. He remembered Tiber Grist being cut down by Syth's men and the sight of Dagan Thayn standing there with the bodies of the Gnomes. Slaughtered as they came back through the portal. 

Why had he been spared? 

But he could not afford to dwell on the puzzle of why he was still alive. Obtaining the Amulet of Hidden Ways was taking far too long. He must procure it tonight and returned to Whytewytch before it was too late. 

Holt opened the door as quietly as possible. The corridor beyond was silent and empty. Even the lamps had not been lit. He stood and listened but no sound other than his own laboured breathing came to him. Where was everyone else? His mind went back to the time he had arrived in the valley. Most of the brigands of Zigmal had been in the tavern that night. Was that where they were now? Drowning their sorrows? Holt certainly hoped so, it would make his mission easier. And in his condition, he was going to need all the help he could get. 

Making his way to the cell where he had first awoken, he retrieved the sticks of explosive hidden there. He tucked the pipes in his belt and pulled the jacket down to conceal them. 

Holt moved through the lower floors of the fortress searching for any signs of life. The only sound came from the faint scuffing of his boots as he roamed the darkened halls, all else seemed wrapped in total silence. Holt came to the stairway and started up. Shabur Varg's chamber was on the uppermost floor, as he climbed the last of the daylight faded away. In the almost absolute darkness, he groped his way around the walls until finally he reached the top floor. 

A single torch glowed dimly in its bracket outside the door of Varg's chamber. Of the two Stone Trolls that had guarded the door the last time he had visited, there was no sign. Holt stood outside the door and listened. From inside came the deep resonate snoring of the Gnome Warlord. He pushed the door open and peered inside. The snores grew louder.

Now they would surely wake the dead, he thought.

The moon slid from behind a cloud, flooding the room with silvery light. Holt crept in, the door clicked shut behind him, sounding loud in the silence. He listened for a moment, but there was no change in Varg's snoring. Keeping to the shadowed parts of the room, he made his way over to Varg's bedside. The stomach-churning smell from earlier still lingered, obviously, the Warlord was not a staunch believer in bathing. Shabur Varg's lay on his back, his vast naked bulk thankfully covered by a stained cotton sheet. His mouth hung open and thin slivers of drool ran from its corners, dripping down over his chins to pool on his hairless pink chest.

Holt checked the bedside table for the Amulet, hoping it was there. His keen eyes picking through the clutter that littered its top. The gem was nowhere to be seen. He cursed silently, checking the other side with the same results.

It must be here. Varg would not let the source of his power out of his sight. He checked the body as best he could. Then he saw it. The Amulet lay on Varg's chest almost hidden beneath one of his great meaty hands. For a moment he thought to leave it, come back when he had a better chance. He swore under his breath. What if a better chance never came? Besides he had already spent far too long trying to procure the stone. No, he decided, it had to be now. 

Hardly daring to breathe, he used the deftest of touches to slowly lift Varg's hand. The Warlord slept on only his snoring grew louder. Inch by inch he lifted the hand away from the Amulet until he could slide his other hand in and pull it free. Holt grimaced as he touched it and found it covered in a mixture of sweat and drool. It would not move. He tugged gently on it, then cursed again. In his urgency, he had forgotten the chain. A chain—that as he recalled—lay buried in the folds of skin around his neck. There was no way of removing it without waking the sleeping Varg. At that moment, things decided to go wrong. Behind him, the door opened. He looked around for somewhere to hide, but there was no time. One of the She-Gnomes walked in. Not expecting anyone but Varg to be in the room, she let out a long wailing scream when she saw Holt stood there holding the Amulet.

'He's trying to steal the Amulet,' she cried out.

Holt move swiftly hoping to silence her. But before he could reach her there was a loud bellow from behind him. Holt spun. Shabur Varg was awake, roused by the piercing shriek. For all his size he moved swiftly. Rolling off the bed, he propelled himself towards Holt.

'Deceitful dog,' he huffed. 'Now you show your true colours. I had hoped Thayn was wrong about you.' 

Holt leapt sideways as the vast hands reached for him, luckily Varg's leg became tangled in his bed sheets. He tripped and with a thud that seemed to shake the whole fortress, he tumbled heavily to the floor. Holt rolled and tried to regain his footing. The She-Gnome had recovered from her initial shock and moved to intercept him. She swung at him with a log of wood she had picked up from the fireplace. It struck him a glancing blow on the side of his head. He went down in a daze, threatening to black out. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision. The threat of capture and almost certain death spurred him on; he clambered to his knees. But the maid was on him once, again she swung the log. He ducked beneath her swing and with all his strength aimed a punch at her midriff. With a whoop, she went down gasping for breath. 

Then Varg was on him once more. This time, there was no escape. He found himself lifted into the air by the Warlords massive arms and crushed against his chest in a bear hug. Buried in a mound of blubber, sweat, and drool, Holt could feel the air being gradually forced from his lungs. He struggled to extricate himself, but with his arms pinioned against his sides, he could get no leverage. He felt his ribs begin to crack as Varg increased the pressure. Holt knew he had only moments to get free himself or have the life crushed from him. He let his body go limp, feigning unconsciousness. Varg chuckled, a deep, throaty gasping shook his body and he relaxed his grip slightly.

'That will teach you to...' The sentence remained unfinished.

Holt felt the hold on him relax a little and with a sudden squirm, he slipping free of Varg's arms. Dropping to the floor he rolled between Varg's legs. As he did so he kicked upwards. The giant of a Gnome shrieked in agony and fell to his knees. Behind him, Holt was on his feet again. Reaching into the long strands of greasy hair that fell across Varg's neck he blindly felt for the Amulets thick chain. He located it partially embedded in the folds of skin. His fingers closed around it and he tugged furiously. It would not come free. Shabur Varg grasped at the slippery chain. He was screaming again, this time in anger; all the things he was going to do to Holt when he caught him. Placing a foot in the middle of Varg's back, Holt jerked on the chain with all his strength. It ripped free of Varg's grip, biting deep into his neck. Holt gripped the chain in both hands and pulled vigorously. The Amulet cut further into the fleshy folds of skin, drawing blood. Finally, the chain snapped asunder. 

Catapulted backwards, Holt managing to maintain a grip on the Amulet. Shabur Varg tried to shout something, his lips moved, but only a choking gurgle came out. His fingers scrabbled at his throat, trying to stem the flow of blood from a gaping wound caused by the chain. The female Gnome was back on her feet, glancing undecidedly from Holt to where Varg gasped for air, his chest and vast stomach now a slick mass of redness. She decided on the latter, screaming for help she rushed towards the fallen Warlord and began trying to staunch the wound with torn strips of bed linen.   

Holt saw his chance and raced for the doorway. He grabbed the lone torch from its bracket as he passed. If he could just make the courtyard before her screams roused anyone else, he would be able to make good his escape. He could feel the reassuring weight of the two explosive-filled tubes tucked into his belt. He still worried, except for Varg and his maid; he had not seen any of the Gnomes or Rock Trolls since he awoke. Where had they all disappeared too?

Holding the torch to illuminate the way ahead, Holt made his way down the darkened stairwell. At any moment, he expected, to be confronted by the others. But the way down remained clear. Halfway down, he thought he detected a sound from below. He stopped, listening. Dull scrapping and the murmur of voices drifted up to him. Crossing to one of the window slits he listened closely. Although he could not hear what was being said, there was no mistaking the deep guttural sounds of the Stone Trolls. The Gnome levered himself up on the window ledge and leaned out as far as he dared.

Below, in the shelter of a stand of overgrown trees and shrubs, he observed a group of Gnomes labouring with shovels and axes. About them, five or six Rock Trolls stood guard. They had dug a deep pit and were currently in the process of refilling it. Holt looked on, puzzled. Then the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, and to his horror, he saw what it was they were doing. The pit they had been digging was their own grave. He could make out the bloodied bodies and shattered limbs of several Gnomes amid the soil and rocks. Even as he watched, Ixil Driz brutally crushed the skull of another unfortunate Gnome and rolled the body into the hole. Then the Troll ordered the others to cover it with more earth.

Why? He asked himself. Why were they doing such a thing?

Holt's mind flashed back to what Varg had said. He had hoped Thayn had been wrong about him. Then even farther back. Back before the raid, the whisperings and glances between Varg and Thayn. He had been right; it had been a trap designed to eliminate them all. He could think of no reason, other than the fact Shabur Varg somehow got to know of Tiber's plan to overthrow him. With the exception of Driz and himself, all the raiding party had all been killed. Now the Trolls set about finishing the job. Anyone who remained loyal to Grist was being taken care of. 

But Holt felt sure it was not all of the Gnomes. Probably just the guards left behind to defend the fortress. From his vantage point, he looked out at the lights of the small settlement twinkling in the distance. Many of the surviving Brigands were most likely in the tavern. In a short while they would be returning, most a little worse for wear. They would be walking straight into an ambush.

'Have you seen enough,' an insidious voice whispered behind him.

Holt stiffened. Turning he saw Dagan Thayn wrapped in shadows, standing on the steps just below him. He stepped forward, once again Holt noticed the unusual appearance of the gangly Gnome, something he put down to a trick of the light the first time he noticed it. Now he was not convinced. He jumped from the ledge and faced Thayn, once again he appeared normal.

Thayn glanced down at the amulet that Holt held. 'So you reveal yourself as an agent of the White Witch,' he hissed. 'I am afraid I cannot let you leave with the amulet.' 

Holt stepped back, on his guard now. What did Thayn know of Ceridwen? 'And what if I told you that I was taking it,' He shrugged. 'That it was very important that I did.'

'I know all about its importance,' Thayn said softly. 'That is why the Warlock sent me here. To make sure it did not fall into the wrong hands. Varg's greed inevitably meant it was safe with him; he would merely manipulate its powers for his own needs. Besides, when the time was right, my master had plans for him. But when I heard whispers that Tiber Grist was planning to overthrow him. Well, I needed to get rid of him and most of his crew. Grist was of a much nobler stock than Varg, I could not risk him learning of the amulets importance and doing the right thing. A few well-chosen words in Varg's ear and... well, you know the rest.'

'And what of me. Why was I spared?' Holt asked. Thayn was obviously in league with Ravengaard. 

 'You,' Thayn smiled, a terrible rictus grin that stretched his mouth wider than should have been possible. Rows of sharpened teeth glinted in the torchlight. 'You, a newcomer, dragged into this against your will. He thought you had nothing to do with Grist or the amulet. You should have died along with the others. But somehow you escaped. Varg decided he could employ you. A survivor, he marked you as a beginning for his new army. Therefore, to keep him happy, I allowed you to live.'

Thayn glanced at the Amulet once again. He blinked, his eyes changing, large, round and yellow, lids flickering reptile-like.

He reached forward. 'Now I see I was mistaken to do so. It would seem you tricked your way into Zigmal. It was but a ruse to steal the Amulet for the witch.' 

'Give it to me,' the creature that had been Dagan Thayn hissed.

In the shadows of the stairwell, Holt watched as the dreadful thing shuddered and twisted. All vestige of the Gnome disappeared, replaced by a monstrous serpent creature. The mouth opened, venom dripping from the razor fangs, staining the floor before it. A sickly green tongue flicked out testing the air. It stretched, drawing out to its full length. Bronze coloured scales snapped and creaked, slipping into place. Four extremities sprouted from its upper body and reached for him. They extended snakelike, their clawed talons writhed towards Holt. 

He had heard of such beings. Slough-beasts. Knuckers. Changeling creatures able to assume the appearance of others. 

It reared up in front of Holt, blocking his flight. 'You cannot escape. Give me the Amulet,' the beast demanded. Swiftly Holt withdrew his sword, holding it out in front of him. He brandished the torch and thrust it at the creature's eyes, momentarily blinding it. At the same moment, he slashed at the talons that grabbed for him, severing one. It fell to the floor, continuing to squirm and twist, trying to grasp Holt's legs. He dodged it, racing down the steps. He was in no fit state to stand and fight the creature, flight was his only thought. The Slough-beast raged in anger. It spun about, huge bulk filling the stairwell. Trailing bright green blood from its severed limb, the beast threw itself after the fleeing Gnome. 

Holt tucked the Amulet into his bag and ran for his life. Behind him, he heard the creature cursing and screaming in pain and fury. Then it was after him. He could hear the rasping of its scales on the stonework as it slithered after him. Holt knew he would not be able to outrun it. And to try to fight it would not be the best move he could make. There had to be a way to... 

...the flash pipes. 

Holt reached the bottom of the steps and raced for the great hall at the end of the passageway. He hurled the torch as hard as he could down one of the smaller side passages as he passed, it sparked and flared in the darkness as it bounced to a halt. Ahead, the massive doors to the hall lay wide-open. He threw himself towards them, skidding the last few metres along the floor. As he did so he tugged one of the pipes from his belt. Once inside, he secreted himself behind one of the doors. Quickly he withdrew a flint from his pocket and struck it on the stonework, the fuse of the flash pipe fizzed. Holt risked a fleeting glance into the hallway. The Slough-beast pushed from the stairwell into the passageway. It slowed momentarily. The pale green tongue flickered from its great fanged mouth, tasting the air.

'I know you are here,' the snake-thing hissed. 'You cannot escape the fortress; it is useless. Give me what I want.'

It slithered forward, luminous yellow eyes glowing in the darkened corridor as it searched the passages and alcoves either side. 

Come on. Holt whispered to himself. He looked down to where the fuse hissed and spluttered. It was taking too long. 

Suddenly the Slough-beast turned, studying the passageway where the Gnome had thrown the torch. The faint glow from further along had caught its eye. It hesitated, tongue flicking again. Then it moved cautiously into the corridor. Holt could wait no longer. He ran forward, the flash pipe—its fuse almost burnt down—held ready. He hurled the explosive after the Slough-beast and dived for cover.

The changeling creature realized it had made a mistake. In the race to recover the artifact, it had foolishly allowed itself to be drawn into a trap. The torch was but a ruse. It struggled to turn in the confines of the passage. The creature made it halfway when the metal tube bounced across the stone floor in front of it. 

The Slough-beast screeched and tried to retreat. But it was far too late, there was a flash of white light and a deep roaring sound as the pipe detonated. Orange flame washed the hallway. It writhed in agony as one of its eyes shrivelled in the scorching heat. But for the heavy scales that protected its body, it would have died there and then. Even so, the injuries it had received remained serious. The creature was powerful and given time it would recover. But first, it had to reclaim the Amulet. Slowly, painfully, it slid back towards the main passage.

Holt lay against the far wall. His ears were ringing and dark spots danced before his eyes. He felt stickiness around his shoulder and knew that his wound had probably pulled open again. The blast had been more violent than he had expected and propelled him down the hallway. He hauled himself back to his feet and staggered across to the side passage. He expected to discover the remains of the Slough-beast lying there. But to his horror, it was still alive. It reared up out of the gloom, head and shoulders pushing through the archway into the corridor.

One of the creature's eyes was missing, the empty socket oozed green blood. The arm he had sliced the hand off, had gone completely, ripped away by the force of the explosion. Some of its scales had become dislodged, the flesh beneath scoured raw by the heat and flame. 

But still it lived. 

'Now I have you,' it hissed raggedly. Lunging at Holt as he tried urgently to back-pedal.

He fell as the serpent thing grabbed at him with its clawed hands. Hooked talons snagged at his clothing, hoisting him into the air. Hot breath wafted over him. 'I was going to make your death a swift one,' it gasped. 'But now I think I will make it one to savour.'    

Without warning, there was a deep rumbling from behind the Slough-beast. Plumes of dust and rubble belched from the mouth of the passageway. Severely weakened by the blast, the ceiling and the rooms above had collapsed. enormous blocks of stone crashed down on the creature's body. The Slough-beast convulsed in agony, fighting furiously to extricate itself. It flung the Gnome away, twisting as best it could to try and reach the shattered stone and rubble that pressed about its body. But even as it did so, there was another ominous creaking and more of the stonework fell from above. It shuddered, trying to draw in a breath, but it could not. With a final gasp, the Slough-beast slumped forward and lay still. 

Holt rolled, letting his momentum carry him away from the falling masonry. Choking dust clouded the passage, adding to the gloom. He felt along the walls until he reached the doors of the great hall once more.

Behind him, hidden by the swirling dust and shadows, Holt failed to notice the body of the Slough-beast twitch and shimmer. With its dying breath, the creature threw off its true form and returned to that of Dagan Thayn. The need to sustain the pretence instilled in it by Ravengaard's teachings were with it to the end. Then the light faded from its good eye and it died.  

Moonlight peeped through the high windows, illuminating the way ahead. Holt ran forward. The doors to the courtyard were open wide. When he reached them, he paused. He heard the sound of running and the gruff voice of Ixil Driz shouting orders. Probably alerted by the explosion, Holt thought. He threw himself out of the door, scrabbling on his knees as if in panic.

As the Stone Trolls skidded to a halt in front of him, he pointed back into the hallway. 'Some kind of monster, it attacked me.' he declared, his voice edged with fear.

Ixil Driz looked at him suspiciously. 'What of Varg. Have you seen him?'

'N...nothing. No. I just awoke.' Holt lied.

'Show me this so-called monster,' demanded Driz.

Holt pointed into the hall once more. 'Through there...I am not going back in,' he said feigning horror. 

Ixil Driz motioned to one of the other Trolls to enter and find out what had happened. With a look of trepidation on its face, the Troll lumbered forward and disappeared into the hall.

Holt watched it go. 'Where is everyone else?' 

An uneasy expression flashed briefly across the Stone Troll's features. 'Resting...some are resting. The others are over at the tavern.'

'I think I may just go and join them,' Holt announced moving off towards the gatehouse. 

Ixil Driz pushed in front of him. 'I do not think you are going anywhere at the moment. At least, until I have found out what just happened.' 

Holt sighed heavily, things were definitely not going to plan.

Eldon the Giant crouched in the shadows of the fortress wall, just a short way along from the gatehouse. He had watched impatiently from the shelter of his hiding place as the day had turned to evening and then night. Except for a brief glimpse of Holt earlier in the day, when he had been digging a hole for some reason. He had seen no other sign of his friend. Not long ago just as evening fell, a group of Gnomes had left the fortress and made their way to the tavern. Holt was not among them. He had waited a while longer, surveying the layout of the walls, and the best way to enter should he have to. Now he was sure something was amiss. Darkness had fallen, and he saw no lamps or watch fires being lit. The only sign of life he had seen was a brief glimpse of several large figures moving through a patch of moonlight. He listened intently for any sounds that might give away what was happening; but except for the cry of a night bird, none came. He swung his makeshift grapple, a sturdy branch tied to a length of rope, sending it spinning up into the darkness. It caught, Eldon tugged gently on the rope, testing to see if it would hold his weight. Slowly he hauled himself up, to a Gnome the climb would probably seem long and arduous, but to Eldon it was nothing. Walls built to protect against other marauding Gnomes were of little use against a race of giants. He reached the battlement and pulled himself over. Keeping as low as possible he made his way to the steps that led down into the courtyard. A deep rumbling came from the direction of the main tower. 

An explosion. 

Eldon smiled, it appeared his small friend was still alive after all. 

Keeping to the shaded areas he crept towards the source of the explosion. Guttural voices reached him and he saw the group of Trolls he had seen earlier reappear around the corner of the building. He stopped, pressing deeper into the shadows. Just then Holt hurled out of the doorway as if the spectral hounds of Cwn Annwn were on his tail. Eldon watched as the Gnome pulled up and spoke with the Troll who appeared to be in charge. After an exchange of words and some pointing, one of the Troll's disappeared inside. Holt seemed to want to walk away, but the big Troll stepped in front of him preventing him from doing so. Eldon worked his way closer. He wondered if Holt had procured the artifact. If so they needed to get out and return to Whytewytch Wood as soon as possible. 

He drew off his war-bow and notched an arrow onto the string.

'You know he planned to have you killed along with the rest of us,' Holt told the towering Troll.

'I do not know what you mean. Who are you talking about?' Ixil Driz declared.

Holt decided that if he was to get back to Ceridwen with the Amulet, he had better try to reason with the Stone Troll. 'Varg,' he explained. 'You would have died in Syth's lair if we had not managed to escape. Dagan Thayn somehow found out that Tibor was planning to double-cross Varg. Thayn let Vultaur Syth know we were coming, arranged for an ambush. Unsure who was in on the betrayal, all were to be slain. That included you Ixil.'

A puzzled expression crossed the Troll's face as he tried to take in what Holt was saying to him. Then he laughed, a deep booming sound that seemed to start in his boots. 'You Lie. Varg would never do such a thing.'

'Ha, but he would. He listened to Dagan Thayn. Who told him that all those who associated with Tibor should be killed. Why do you think he slaughtered the Gnomes that survived the raid? And the ones I just saw you killing. What of the others at the tavern? What are your orders concerning them?' Holt quizzed.

Again Driz hesitated. Unsure of what he was being told. 

'Thayn told me they were not to be trusted. That they were plotting against him and Varg, planning to steal away the treasure.'

'It is Thayn who is the villain here. He had his own reasons for wanting everyone dead. He meant to stop the Amulet from falling into the wrong hands. He was a changeling beast disguised as a Gnome.' he pointed back into the hallway. 'Go and see for yourself. Back there, buried beneath the rubble.' 

Before Ixil Driz could move the Troll who he had sent in to check emerged shaking his head. He muttered something to Driz in the guttural tongue of the Trolls. 

'Well,' said the big Troll, turning back to Holt. 'It seems you are right, there is something buried back there. But it is not some fantastic beast. It appears to be Dagan Thayn. It would seem we are not the only ones slaughtering this night.'

Holt was about to protest when there was a cry from above. It was the She-Gnome. 'Do not let him escape,' she screamed down at them. 'He as injured Shabur and stole the Amulet.'

Holt cursed under his breath. This is not getting any easier, he thought. 

'I tell you it is not Dagan Thayn. He changed into his true form, a serpent-like beast before I killed him. He must have changed back.'

Ixil Driz eyed him once more, unsure whether to believe him or not.

'Take him back inside. We will let Varg decide his fate.'  

Holt weighed up his chances. Fighting half a dozen Stone Trolls was out of the question, and in his condition, he did not know if he could outrun them and make it to the gate. He had one of the flash pipes left. Could he use it before they set upon him? Even if he could, would it finish them all? But he dared not let them take him back inside. Once they discovered that he had the Amulet, there would be no escape. 

He moved towards the doorway, feigning compliance. Now or never, he thought. He dived back between the Trolls, wrong-footing them. Before they could react, he was away, racing for the gatehouse. Behind him, he heard the Troll's grunt in fury. 

'Get him,' Driz screeched. 

Holt was already breathing heavily with the exertions; his wounds were hindering his movement. He was only about halfway across the courtyard and could hear the thunderous footsteps of the pursuers close behind him. He was not going to make it. One of the Trolls was so close he could almost feel its ragged breaths on the back of his neck. Then there was a sudden hiss, so near he felt the wind of its passing. The Troll behind him grunted and fell back. Holt risked a fleeting glance. A large black feathered arrow protruded from its chest. The Troll sank to its knees, grasping at the arrow that had found its way between the thick stone-like plates that covered its body.     

Holt recognised the shaft immediately. It was one of Eldon's.

The Giant was racing towards him; another arrow flew from his bow, targeting the second Troll. He was not so fortunate this time. The shaft struck the charging Troll deflecting off its armour-like skin and fell harmlessly to the ground. Even so, it slowed momentarily, unsure of the unknown attacker.

'What kept you?' Holt puffed, pulling up beside Eldon.

The Giant gave out a deep booming laugh. 'You seemed to be coping quite effectively without me for a time. But I was becoming bored out there, waiting for you finish. I decided to come and look for you.'

The Troll overcame its initial shock and with a grunt of anger, it pulled a vicious looking spiked club from its belt and flung itself at the pair.

'Hold this.' shouted Eldon. Throwing his bow towards Holt, he drew his broadsword and leapt at the Troll. The encounter was short lived. The Troll swung its club at Eldon's head. But the Giant ducked away, letting his foe's momentum throw it off balance. Before the Troll could recover, Eldon sliced upwards between the thick plates, his sword biting deep into the Trolls side. Blood spurted and with a gasp, it collapsed and lay still. 

Holt looked across at Ixil Driz who stood in the doorway to the great hall. Knew he had watched Eldon appear and kill two of his warriors. He saw him pointing and order the remaining Troll's to attack. Showing more caution than the previous two they moved forward as a unit, weapons at the ready.

Eldon watched them come, preparing himself for their attack. He risked a quick glance towards Holt.

'Are you well?' Eldon asked, noticing the blood staining his shirt.

'I'll live,' the Gnome answered wearily.

'Have you got the Amulet?' Eldon queried.

Holt patted his bag. 'Safe and sound.'

'Then what are we waiting for? Let us get out of here, I am sure we can outrun yon fellows.' 

'It sounds like a good plan,' Holt told him. 'But I am afraid I cannot leave just yet, I have unfinished business.'

'What is it now? It had better be good. These three mean business,' he pointed to the Trolls who were almost upon them.

Holt pulled the other flash pipe from his belt and struck the flint against it. The short fuse flared in the darkness. He waited a second.

'I suggest you take cover,' he called to Eldon as he threw the pipe.

In the gloom, the Trolls reacted too slowly as the pipe dropped between them. Before they realised what the object was, it was too late. There was a deafening roar as it exploded. Eldon threw himself flat as bits of earth and Troll rained down around him.

The Giant slowly lifted himself from the ground. He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. 'Next time you consider doing something like that, can you give me more warning.'

Holt grinned, flicking a bit of charred Troll flesh off his coat sleeve. 'As I was saying, I have unfinished business.' 

Eldon nodded as Holt quickly explained all that had befallen him since they had parted ending with how Varg planned to have the Trolls slaughter all the Gnomes. 'I could not allow that to happen. Besides, I hope to recruit them to help in the impending battle.' 

Eldon surveyed the bodies scattered around the courtyard. 'Come let us leave this place. We can call in at the tavern on the way, warn the others what has happened and put them on their guard.'

Holt looked out across the courtyard towards the great hall. Moonlight flooded the open space, but Ixil Driz had disappeared.

'Ixil,' he called out. His voice echoing in the silence. 'I know you can hear me. We are leaving now. We will call in at the tavern, let the remaining Gnomes know what has befallen their brothers. I would suggest you and Varg make plans as to what you are going to tell them when they return.'

He waited a moment, but there was no reply. Not that he had expected one. Driz had saved his life, along with many of the Gnomes, in the attack on Vultaur Syth's stronghold. It was Dagan Thayn who was the real villain here, but he had already paid the price. And although there was no excuse for the slaughter of the Gnomes, it had been on Varg's orders. If Ixil Driz took his chance and made his escape, well... 

Eldon removed the bars and swung the gates open.  

'I think a flagon of ale would go down very well right about now,' said Holt, looking off into the distance where the lights of the tavern blazed in the surrounding darkness. 'After all, I did promise Ceridwen, that if possible, I would bring her back some help.'

Eldon roared with laughter. 'Well said my little friend.'

'Just a little recruiting exercise, you understand,' Holt reminded. 'Nothing more.'  

Besides, it would give him a chance to work out if he could use the Amulet to transport them back to the Witch's cottage.