Nessa figured she was less than a day behind the Firbolg. She was sure the girl would be with him, even though there were no signs of her in the meager evidence of her companion’s passage. He was probably carrying her; he would move faster, this way, and would leave less trace.
The tales the farmers told of the Firbolg were of a fearsome, lumbering monster. That was the usual impression given by human farmers regarding anything that came out of the forest to raid their crops, but she knew that this could be a very apt description of an enraged Firbolg. She also knew, however, that they were largely a peaceful, retiring race. They valued their isolation such that they had little to do with each other, much less anyone of another race.
This, of course, led Nessa to wonder, not for the first time, what this particular Firbolg was doing with a young human girl. Neither would be captive of the other; this made no sense. Some other bond must have formed, probably early in the girl’s life. Despite their gentle nature, Nessa found it difficult to believe that the Firbolg had adopted an orphan. Yet, what else?
She hoped to overtake the pair the next day. As she gazed up at the stars, she wondered what the encounter would be like. The Firbolg was no doubt already wondering who could track him so well. He might even have an idea of who she was. So, he would not be expecting a fight. This was good, as she didn’t want to fight, either.
In ancient times, the sword-maidens and the Firbolg had cooperated, thought few in this time were aware of the connection. It was millennia ago, and most people were concerned with this season, and the next. But, the Firbolg, like the sword-maidens, kept the memory. Nessa sincerely hoped her quarry recalled the spirit of those times.
Also, she could be fairly sure she had been spotted by other Firbolg. They had ways of relaying news, and her description would be part of this. So, she kept her armor stowed away on her horse, and carried only the shorter of her two swords. She was careful to leave as little trace of her passing as she could. The Firbolg would respect this, as they considered themselves, so the tales said, keepers of this forest.
She slept well, if lightly, under the bright splash of stars that showed through the canopy. Awaking before sunrise, she led her horse through the forest, not bothering to mount. Something told her she would meet her quarry today.
Two hours into her trek, another trail crossed the one she followed. This trail was far different from the Firbolg’s, and she recognized it as readily. A swath of broken dirt, snapped branches and flattened vegetation marked the passage of a Black Troll.
It was the only species of Troll to travel in the daylight, all other species being nocturnal, and preferring cave-systems. Black Trolls usually stuck to the open plain, and would not be at home, and certainly not welcome, in this forest. It was strange to find one crashing through here.
Nessa’s curiosity nearly got the better of her, but she stuck to her original plan. The Firbolg, if they were inclined to interfere, would take care of the Troll. She might even have felt bad for the beast, if she hadn’t had some experience fighting them.
She pushed on and, to her surprise, an hour later, the Troll’s swath of destruction had circled back around and crossed her path again. This time, the monster seemed to find the same trail she was following, completely obscuring the Firbolg’s passage. Cursing under her breath, she resigned herself to the possibility that she would be facing a Troll as well as a delay in her rendezvous.
No comments:
Post a Comment