Elixir.
After that, somehow, he had to get back down.
An arrow shot out of the crossbow with terrific force, soaring up through the rain-streaked air, trailing the rope behind it like a wobbling tail, before it looped over the horn at the north-eastern corner of the battlement and held.
Then Raf did the most outrageous thing of all.
He slung the crossbow over his shoulder, gripped the gold-threaded rope, and, pelted by the rain, took a fast-running leap out to the north of the Fighting Platform and …
… swung …
… in a long swooping arc out, around and behind the king’s winter throne, high above the rear flank of Troll Mountain.
His daring swing ended in the space behind the king’s podium, far from any of the trolls massed near the Fighting Platform.
And before any of them had even started to move from their places near the Fighting Platform, Raf was climbing, nimbly and quickly, hand over hand, up the now-vertical rope, heading for the summit of Troll Mountain for the second time.
The race was on. Only now it was Raf versus the entire population of Troll Mountain.
Chapter 24
Raf surmounted the battlement and scanned the area fearfully.
There were no guards up here—they had all gone downstairs, either for the feast or the fight.
Raf dashed inside a thick stone doorway and found the set of spiraling internal stairs that led up to the Supreme Watchtower. (He knew these stairs—he had been marched down them when he had been captured. The spiraling stone stairwell led both up to the watchtower and down to a narrower set of spiral stairs hidden within the north-western column of the Winter Throne Hall.)
As he pounded up the stairwell, Raf heard shouts from below: “He’s up in the watchtower!” “Cover the battlement!”
The trolls were coming.
Raf kept running determinedly upward, his face fixed.
Raf came to the ladder leading to the topmost section of the Supreme Watchtower, clambered up it and burst into Vilnar’s laboratory, warm and candlelit, with its vast collection of jars, barrels and foodstuffs.
He saw Vilnar, rising sleepily from a straw mat on the floor.
“You? Again?”
“Vilnar! Come with me now if you want to escape your confinement!”
“Escape—?”
“Now or not at all!”
The little troll grabbed a small sack of food. “Now it is.”
“I also need these.” Raf moved to the side workbench and grabbed the three small glass bottles with the amber Elixir in them. He wrapped them in rags then put the rags in a pouch which he slung from his waist.
He had his prize.
Now he had to get out of here.
Vilnar came alongside him as they strode back toward the ladder. “Your determination is impressive, but determination alone isn’t enough. What is your plan now? They will cover the battlement and then storm this tower.”
“I’m actually following someone else’s plan,” Raf said. “I’m just trying to figure out what it is.”
*
The trolls were in a state of shock and bewilderment.
First the death of Grondo. Then the human’s incredible swing off the Fighting Platform and his nimble climb to the summit of Troll Mountain.
He had been caught trying to steal their Elixir … and now he was trying to steal it again, right in front of them all!
“Guards!” the king roared. “Get him or I shall dine on you tonight!”
The guard-trolls burst into action.
A dozen of them threw open the secret door to the stairwell inside the north-western column and started up its internal stairs.
Six of them left the stairwell to cover the battlement while the other six continued up the spiraling stairs toward the watchtower …
… only to hear an ominous booming noise coming from somewhere higher up the stone stairwell.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The guard-trolls swapped confused glances. What was this?
The great booms became louder and faster before suddenly seven large wooden barrels came tumbling out of the upper reaches of the stairwell at speed, rampaging down the steps,
After that, somehow, he had to get back down.
An arrow shot out of the crossbow with terrific force, soaring up through the rain-streaked air, trailing the rope behind it like a wobbling tail, before it looped over the horn at the north-eastern corner of the battlement and held.
Then Raf did the most outrageous thing of all.
He slung the crossbow over his shoulder, gripped the gold-threaded rope, and, pelted by the rain, took a fast-running leap out to the north of the Fighting Platform and …
… swung …
… in a long swooping arc out, around and behind the king’s winter throne, high above the rear flank of Troll Mountain.
His daring swing ended in the space behind the king’s podium, far from any of the trolls massed near the Fighting Platform.
And before any of them had even started to move from their places near the Fighting Platform, Raf was climbing, nimbly and quickly, hand over hand, up the now-vertical rope, heading for the summit of Troll Mountain for the second time.
The race was on. Only now it was Raf versus the entire population of Troll Mountain.
Chapter 24
Raf surmounted the battlement and scanned the area fearfully.
There were no guards up here—they had all gone downstairs, either for the feast or the fight.
Raf dashed inside a thick stone doorway and found the set of spiraling internal stairs that led up to the Supreme Watchtower. (He knew these stairs—he had been marched down them when he had been captured. The spiraling stone stairwell led both up to the watchtower and down to a narrower set of spiral stairs hidden within the north-western column of the Winter Throne Hall.)
As he pounded up the stairwell, Raf heard shouts from below: “He’s up in the watchtower!” “Cover the battlement!”
The trolls were coming.
Raf kept running determinedly upward, his face fixed.
Raf came to the ladder leading to the topmost section of the Supreme Watchtower, clambered up it and burst into Vilnar’s laboratory, warm and candlelit, with its vast collection of jars, barrels and foodstuffs.
He saw Vilnar, rising sleepily from a straw mat on the floor.
“You? Again?”
“Vilnar! Come with me now if you want to escape your confinement!”
“Escape—?”
“Now or not at all!”
The little troll grabbed a small sack of food. “Now it is.”
“I also need these.” Raf moved to the side workbench and grabbed the three small glass bottles with the amber Elixir in them. He wrapped them in rags then put the rags in a pouch which he slung from his waist.
He had his prize.
Now he had to get out of here.
Vilnar came alongside him as they strode back toward the ladder. “Your determination is impressive, but determination alone isn’t enough. What is your plan now? They will cover the battlement and then storm this tower.”
“I’m actually following someone else’s plan,” Raf said. “I’m just trying to figure out what it is.”
*
The trolls were in a state of shock and bewilderment.
First the death of Grondo. Then the human’s incredible swing off the Fighting Platform and his nimble climb to the summit of Troll Mountain.
He had been caught trying to steal their Elixir … and now he was trying to steal it again, right in front of them all!
“Guards!” the king roared. “Get him or I shall dine on you tonight!”
The guard-trolls burst into action.
A dozen of them threw open the secret door to the stairwell inside the north-western column and started up its internal stairs.
Six of them left the stairwell to cover the battlement while the other six continued up the spiraling stairs toward the watchtower …
… only to hear an ominous booming noise coming from somewhere higher up the stone stairwell.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The guard-trolls swapped confused glances. What was this?
The great booms became louder and faster before suddenly seven large wooden barrels came tumbling out of the upper reaches of the stairwell at speed, rampaging down the steps,
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