It has been said that trolls were, perhaps, of an ancient race of men supposedly long extinct, but that by some foul art a small number had been preserved. Whatever their origin, they were many times stronger than ordinary men, more cunning and fierce than any known predator, explosively savage, with ripping fangs and teeth. They needed no clothing, being covered in fur, and were tremendously fast and agile. Some bore crude clubs which were nothing more than broken
tree-limbs. Others bore stones which they meant to throw at the company. Their accuracy was poor but the force with which they could throw was terrible. A lucky toss could crush a man's chest, crush his skull like an eggshell, or disembowel an ox.
Soon, the horrific din of battle came to the ears of Belloc, Anest, and Lily. Yew bows thrummed, tensing the air itself as though it had become a taughtened line on a spinning wheels of the Fates; arrows hissed and struck home like a sickening, macabre drum-roll, and the agonized screams of the maimed and dying, foe and defender alike, became terrible to hear.
The old wizard and his apprentice were locked in a contest of wills, their breath coming in ragged gasps as they struggled for mastery of the Summoning Stone. Even with her lack of experience, Lily sensed their plight. From the stone emanated a malignant, gloating presence that grew in feral might with each passing heartbeat. With a cry, Lily tried to pull Anest away from the stone, shouting his name, but she was unable to pull him away.