‘We might have a problem, Sparhawk,’ Tynian said. ‘They’re not used to fighting in groups, so they don’t pay any attention to casualties. Ulath says that they don’t die of natural causes, so they don’t really understand what death’s all about. I don’t think they’ll back away just because we kill all their comrades. It’s not like fighting humans, I’m afraid. They’ll make one charge, and they’ll keep coming until they’re all dead. We may have to adjust our tactics to take that into account.’

More Trolls came out of the trees, and Ulath continued to shout obscenities at them.

Kalten and Bevier returned. ‘I just had a thought,’ Kalten said. ‘Ulath, will the females attack too?’

‘Probably.’

‘How do you tell the females from the males?’

‘Are you having urges?’

‘That’s disgusting. I just don’t want to kill women, that’s all.’

‘Women? These are Trolls, Kalten, not people. You can’t tell a female from a male unless she’s got cubs with her – or unless you get very, very close to her – and that’s not a good idea. A sow will tear off your head just as quickly as a boar will.’ The Genidian went back to shouting insults.

More Trolls joined the charge, and then, with a vast roar, the entire edge of the woods erupted with the monsters. They did not pause, but joined the loping charge.

‘That’s it,’ Ulath said with a certain satisfaction. ‘The whole pack’s committed now. Let’s go get our horses.’

They ran back to join the others as the several Cyrinics manning Bevier’s improvised catapults and the Pandions working Khalad’s engine began to launch missiles at the oncoming Trolls. The archers at the canyon walls rained arrows into the shaggy ranks. Some Trolls fell, riddled with arrows, but others continued the charge, ignoring the shafts sticking out of them.

‘I don’t think we can count on their breaking and running just because their friends have been killed,’ Sparhawk told Vanion and the others as he hauled himself onto Faran’s back.

‘Friends?’ Stragen said mildly. ‘Trolls don’t have friends, Sparhawk. They aren’t even particularly fond of their mates.’

‘What I’m getting at is the fact that this is all going to be settled in one fight,’ Sparhawk said to them. ‘There probably won’t be a second charge. They’ll just keep coming until they break through or until they’re all dead.’

‘It’s better that way, friend Sparhawk,’ Kring said with a wolfish grin. ‘Protracted fights are boring, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I wouldn’t say that, would you, Ulath?’ Tynian asked mildly.

The knights moved into formation, their lances at the ready as the Trolls continued their bellowing advance.

The first half-dozen or so Trolls that had been in the forefront of the charge were all down now, either dead or dying of arrow wounds, and the front rank of the bellowing horde was faltering as sheets of arrows struck them. The Trolls at the rear, however, simply ran over the top of their mortally wounded companions. Mouths agape and fangs dripping, they charged on and on.

The sharpened stakes served their purpose well. The Trolls, after a few futile efforts to break through the bristling forest, were forced into the narrow corridor where they were jammed together and milled impatiently behind the brutes who were leading the charge as Tynian’s sharpened pegs protruding from the ground slowed the rushing advance of the leaders. Not even the most enraged creature in the world charges very well on sore paws.

Sparhawk looked around. The knights were drawn up into a column, four abreast, and their lances were all slightly advanced. The Trolls continued their limping charge up the gap until the first rank, also four abreast, reached the end of the stake-lined corridor where it opened out into the basin. ‘I guess it’s time,’ he said. Then he rose up in his stirrups and roared ‘Charge!’

The tactic Sparhawk had devised for the Church Knights was simple. They would charge four abreast into the face of the Trolls as soon as the creatures came out into the basin. They would drive their lances into the first rank of Trolls and then veer off, two-by-two, to the sides of the gap so that the next rank of four could make their charge. Once they had moved out of the way, they would return to the end of the column, take up fresh lances and proceed in an orderly fashion to the front rank again. It was, in effect, an endless charge. Sparhawk was rather proud of the concept. It probably wouldn’t work against humans, but it had great potential in an engagement with Trolls.

Shaggy carcasses began to pile up at the head of the gap. A Troll, it appeared, was not guileful enough to play dead. He would continue to attack until he died or was so severely injured that he could not continue. After several ranks of the knights had struck the Troll-front, some of the brutes had as many as four broken-off lances protruding from them. Still the monsters came, clambering over the bleeding bodies of their fellows.

Sparhawk, Vanion, Kalten and Tynian made their second charge. They speared fresh Trolls in the raging front, snapped off their lances with well-practised twists of their arms and veered off to the sides.

‘Your plan seems to be going well,’ Kalten congratulated his friend. ‘The horses have time to rest between charges.’

‘That was part of the idea,’ Sparhawk replied a bit smugly as he took a fresh lance from the rack at the rear of the column.

The storm was nearly on them now. The howling wind shrieked among the trees, and lightning staggered down in brilliant flashes from the purple clouds.

Then, from back in the forest there came a tremendous bellow.

‘What in God’s name was that?’ Kalten cried. ‘Nothing can make that much noise!’

Whatever it was, was huge, and it was coming toward them, crushing the forest as it came. The raging wind carried a foul, reptilian reek as it tore at the visored faces of the armoured knights.

‘It stinks like a charnel-house!’ Tynian shouted over the noise of the storm and the battle.

‘Can you tell what it is, Vanion?’ Sparhawk demanded.

‘No,’ the Preceptor replied. ‘Whatever it is, it’s big, though – bigger than anything I’ve ever encountered.’

Then the rain struck in driving sheets, obscuring the knights’ vision and half-concealing the advancing Trolls. ‘Keep at them!’ Sparhawk commanded in a great voice. ‘Don’t let up!’