He and Carahue had dismounted. They gave Alianora their horses to lead at the rear. They themselves went in the forefront, with Hugi for torchbearer. “Well,” said the Dane uselessly, “here we go.” His tongue was dry.
“I would we micht see the stars once more,” Alianora said. The wind blew her words away. Hugi squeezed her hand.
“Oh, come now,” said Carahue. “Suppose we do meet the troll? Our swords will cut him to flitches. Methinks we’re funking at an old wives’ tale.” He strode briskly to the cave entrance, and through.
Holger went along. The sword in his right fist, the shield on his left arm, were heavy. He felt sweat trickling under his mail, itches he couldn’t scratch, dull aches where blows had landed. The air in the cave was full of troll and carrion smells. The faggot flames danced, sank low, flickered high again, so that shadows bobbed across the rough walls. Holger could have sworn some of the formations were faces that mouthed at him. Underfoot were stones on which he stubbed his toes. Alianora foresightedly continued to pick up bits of wood and straw, among the animal bones scattered along the way. The loudest noise was of horseshoes, a sharp clopping followed by hollow echoes. More and more, Holger had a sense of walls that pressed inward.
At the end of the cave a tunnel had been dug, nine feet high and not much wider, so that Holger and Carahue were crowded close. Holger tried not to wonder if the troll had dug it out barehanded. Once or twice he kicked recognizable pieces of human skulls. After the tunnel had dipped a few times his sense of balance quit and he knew they were headed downward, endlessly downward, into the guts of the earth. He strangled a wish to scream.
The passage debouched in a slightly larger cavern. Three other holes opened on the far side. Hugi waved his companions back and stumped around. The torchlight threw his face into craggy prominences but painted his shadow behind, like a black grotesque thing about to eat him.
He studied the flame, which had turned yellow and smoky; he wet his thumb and held it this way and that; he stooped to smell the ground. Finally he looked at the left-hand exit. “This ane,” he grunted.
“No,” Holger said. “Can’t you see the floor slants down in that direction?”
“Nay, it doesna. Mak’ no such muckle noise.”
“You’re nuts, I tell you!” Holger protested. “Any fool—”
Hugi stared through his brows at the man. “Any fool can follow his ain fancy,” the dwarf said. “Mayhap ye’re richt. I canna say for certain. But ’tis ma opinion that yon tunnel’s wha’ we want, and I ken a bit more to burrowing than ye do. So, are ye man eneugh to heed?”
Holger swallowed. “Okay,“ he said. “I’m sorry. Lead on.”
A ghost of a smile lifted Hugi’s whiskers. “Guid lad.” He trotted into the passage he had chosen. The rest followed.
Before long the way bent unmistakably upward. Holger said nothing when Hugi passed several holes without a glance. But when he came to another triple choice, the dwarf cast about for minutes.
In the end, troubled, he said, “By every token, we maun tak, the middle o’ those. Yet meseems the troll stink is strongest thither.”
“You can tell a difference?” said Carahue wryly.
“Mayhap his nest lies in yon direction,” Alianora whispered. A horse blew out its lips: in that narrow, resonant space, a gunshot noise. “Could ye no find us a roundabout way?”
“Mayhap,” said Hugi doubtfully. “’Twould tak’ a lang whiles.”
“And we’ve got to reach the church soon,” Holger said.
“Why?” asked Carahue.
“Never mind now,” said Holger. “Will you believe me on my word?”
This was no place to stop and explain the complicated truth, however trustworthy the Saracen had proven himself. But the obvious fact was, the sword Cortana was crucial. The enemy wouldn’t have striven so hard to block this quest, were it a wild goose chase.
Morgan could get to the church ahead of him without trouble. However, then she couldn’t shift the weapon elsewhere. Doubtless it was too heavy for her natural strength and too holy for her spells. She would need human assistance, as she had had when Cortana was first stolen. But by all accounts, the heathen were too frightened of St. Grimmin’s church to go near, even at her command; and her men elsewhere in the world were too busy preparing to march on the Empire.