Until with a final blow he lopped off that hand.
“Next!” he laughed aloud. “Give us some light, Hugi!” The dwarf had stuck the faggot upright between two branches and now tried to help Alianora control the mare. Papillon circled about looking for a chance to help.
The stallion got his chance as the troll made a left-handed swipe at Carahue. He rushed from behind. His front hoofs smote the broad back with a drumbeat fury. The troll went on his face, Papillon reared to his full terrifying height and came down again. The troll’s head was shattered.
“Merciful heaven,” gasped Carahue. He crossed himself. Turning to Holger, he called gaily, “That wasn’t too bad, though, was it?”
Holger looked at his own caved-in shield. “No,” he said in a rueful mood. “Except for my own performance.”
The mare still shivered, but had calmed enough for Alianora to stroke her neck. “Come, let’s gang on oot,” said Hugi. “The fetor here’s like to melt ma nase.”
Holger nodded. “Shouldn’t be far—Jesu Kriste!”
Like a huge green spider, the troll’s severed hand ran on its fingers. Across the mounded floor, up onto a log with one taloned forefinger to hook it over the bark, down again it scrambled, until it found the cut wrist. And there it grew fast. The troll’s smashed head seethed and knit together. He clambered back on his feet and grinned at them. The waning faggot cast red light over his fangs.
He lumbered toward Holger. The Dane knew a moment’s blind wish to bolt. But there was no place to go. He spat on the ground and lifted his sword. As the troll reached for him, he swung with all the might he had.
Through and through that oak-branch arm the blade went. Iron belled in the dark. Ice-green blood spurted, turning black in the smoke of unnatural flesh. The sword seemed to glow. The arm sprang off at the shoulder. It rolled into a pile of leaves, flopped about, and began hunching its way back.
Carahue smote from the right side. His saber carved a slab off the troll’s ribs. Greasily, with a sucking noise, that chunk crawled toward its master. Papillon reared and smote with his forefeet. Half the troll’s face was torn off. The jaws landed under the stallion and clenched about his ankle. He neighed and bucked. The troll raked his haunches with the remaining hand. Blood welled forth. Carahue got in the way of another buffet, took it in the armored belly, went down with a clatter and did not rise.
Unkillable indeed! Holger thought. What a place to die. “Get out, Alianora!”
“Nay.” She grabbed the torch and neared Papillon, who was going mad with the grip on his leg. “I’ll get it from ye,” she shouted. “Hold still and I’ll free ye.”
The troll scooped up his left arm and put it in place. His half a face seemed still to laugh. Holger struck again and again, he opened deep wounds, but they closed at once. Back he stumbled. Over the troll’s shoulder he saw Alianora duck under Papillon’s flailing hoofs, seize the stallion’s bridle and somehow bring him to a halt. She knelt to try and pry the jaws loose.
As her torch came near, they let go. Startled, she flinched aside. “Ho-o-o,” said the troll. Turning from Holger, he scuttled toward the bones, picked them up and put them in his head. Teeth clashed as he went back to meet the Dane.
Alianora cried aloud. She struck his back with the torch. He hooted and went on all fours. A charred welt across his skin did not heal.
The knowledge burst open in Holger. “Fire!” he roared. “Light a fire! Burn the beast!”
Alianora plunged the faggot into a heap of straw. It flared up. Smoke stung Holger’s nose… clean smoke, he thought crazily, clean flames, burning out the tomb stench around him. He braced himself and hewed.
A hand flew off its wrist, halfway across the cavern. Alianora pounced on it. The thing writhed in her grasp. Fingers like green worms sought to claw free. She hurled it into the fire. For a moment the hand twisted about, even crawled from the flames. But it was already blackened. As it sank down dead, the fire moved out to engulf it.