The Stone Man
D. K. Latta

The ash grey afternoon sky was darkening towards coal as two riders rounded the bend in the canyon. On the lead horse was a tall man, garbed in warrior's clothes of studded black leather, a long black cloak upon his shoulders, and with a shock of blonde hair so pale as to be almost white. The next horse was ridden by a young woman with flaming red hair, dressed rather wantonly in only a silk brassiere and a filmy loin cloth. They were garments better suited to a woman's boudoir than to the open road. Which was appropriate, since that was where she had been when she had been kidnapped by a warlord determined to ransom her back to her wealthy father.

The man in the black cloak had been hired to rescue her. And so far, and the gods willing, he had accomplished that task. The sinister High Tower in which she had been held was hours at their backs and there had yet to be a sign of pursuit. Her rescuer, Zargatha, had taken them in the direction of the canyons to the east, while her father's home was westward. She had not liked it, but she could not argue with his logic. The winding canyons made it easier to lose pursuers, and the warlord's men would naturally presume they had headed directly west.

A round about journey might well prove the safer one.

She eyed her rescuer in the last, tardy rays of day. He was a taciturn man, his face set grimly, as though locking out -- or locking in -- a secret torment. And though she shuddered to imagine the depths of his secrets, she had, at least, seen an outward sign of them. She glanced at his right hand which was dressed in a thick, worn glove, while his left went unadorned. Again, she shuddered. She had seen what was concealed beneath the fabric of that glove.

"It grows dark, Lady Vyanna" he said, startling her with his sudden words. "We must stop for the night, or become lost in these canyons ourselves."

"Do you suppose Lord Carga and his men are still hunting us?" she asked. "I've seen no sign of them."

"I'd hesitate to guess. I've not met Carga, so I can't presume to know his methods. He's lost both men and face today, in my stealing you back from him. He might decide to cut his losses, feeling the more effort he puts into his scheme, the more his profits dwindle. Or, he might pursue the matter out of pride. Or fear. Without you in his grip, there's nothing to stop your father from mounting a retaliatory campaign."

"My father's a merchant and would be hard pressed to match Carga's might."

Zargatha shrugged. "Nonetheless, he does have men at his command. And a man like Carga has many enemies that could be recruited to join in a campaign against him. But, as I say, this is speculation. Best to assume we are still being hunted, and act accordingly."

Vyanna pursed her lips. "Which is a circumspect way of saying: no fire tonight."

And Zargatha allowed himself a quick, rare smile as he glanced at her. "Aye. But I've a pouch of cold pemmican, and our canteens, so we'll be fine."

"Cold, dark, and miserable -- but fine."

Again he smiled. "Aye."

* * *

The horses picked their way cautiously through the broken shale at the canyon floor. Though the sun had not fully set, the high flung walls cocooning them meant night came to this cleft in the earth early, and it was almost pitch black. Suddenly Zargatha reined in his horse and reached out to grab the bridle of Vyanna's beast with his right hand, halting her in her tracks. Instinctively, Vyanna flinched from contact with that gloved hand. If he noticed, he did not acknowledge it.

"What?" she asked.

He rose up in his stirrups to gaze ahead, starlight glinting off his hair, making it gleam like burnished ivory. He shook his head. "I don't know. There's something in the air -- don't you feel it?"

She shook her head, then frowned pensively. "Look. There's something ahead of us."

Cautiously, Zargatha urged his horse forward. Though Vyanna suspected she was meant to stay where she was, she twitched her reins and encouraged her own mount to follow.

The canyon yawned wider as they approached. Beyond the lip of the western ridge, the sky continued to glow a pale grey, the sun still fighting stubbornly its natural decline into the distant sea. But until it conceded fully to the moon, the canyon was caught in the darkness between day and true night. There were dark shapes upon the canyon floor, rigid outcroppings that arose from the earth. It was a camp, Vyanna realized as they were almost upon it. The remnants of one, at any rate. There were the remainders of lean-tos, and a circle of stones for a cooking hearth that was meant to service a body of men. Perhaps a small troop of soldiers had passed through here, or mayhap it was evidence of a mining camp. As her horse picked its way through the reminders of what once had been, she remarked, "It's just an abandoned camp. Not particularly ominous."

"No?" Vyanna watched as his black cloak flared open like a vulture's wing and he slipped from his mount. The midnight dark fabric whirled about him like a living shadow as he strode purposefully toward an object she had glimpsed but not identified. Dismounting gracefully, she hurried to his side, her bare feet uncomfortably aware of the coarse earth beneath her. She gasped as she peered past him, her fingers clutching his broad shoulder as if for protection.

What they stared at was a statue, a simple stone rendering of a man -- a man whose face was twisted in an expression of unutterable horror, or rage, or both, his arms flung up before his face as though to ward something away. But why would miners, or soldiers, drag such a construct here?

Vyanna swallowed and said, quietly, "That's not a statue, is it?"

"It is now," Zargatha said sombrely. "But I suspect not always." He put his arm around her protectively, holding her nearly nude body to his. "The danger may well be past. It is difficult to gauge how long ago this happened. Certainly the cooking fire is long cold, yet the crude buildings still stand." He shrugged. "More than a day, less than six months."

Other than a light wind that teased the dry dust occasionally, all was still and breathless. The shadows were thick and mocking. She looked at the almost-white haired man holding her. She knew him to have at least some knowledge of esoteric things: beasts of legends, and dark magics. "What could this be?"

He shrugged, then gently released her. "A spell, a curse," he said as he began to pace restlessly about the camp. "There are creatures who have the ability to turn men to stone with a glance."

She wrapped her arms around herself, aware of a chill that had little to do with her lack of heavier dress.

Zargatha did an efficient circle about the camp. There were no more "statues", though he did spy a cairn of stones. It was of the type that men might choose as a burial mound, when the earth was too hard to bother digging through, or when time was too precious. It was a large cairn, capable of housing three or four corpses, laid out with reverence. More if just dumped without ceremony. He decided not to mention his suspicions to Vyanna. Let her think it was just a pile of shale. She did not need to know that he suspected few, if any, of the camp's former makers had lived to escape it.

Thoughtfully, he found himself scratching at his gloved right hand. And the powerful fingers of his right hand flexed unconsciously. Looking down, realizing what he had been doing, he stopped himself immediately.

Above, the sun had finally relented, and the moon, no longer vying with its mightier sibling, shone down into the canyon, casting things in a harsh contrast of ivory and obsidian, rendering shadows even deeper by contrast with the illuminated patches. It also revealed what had, hitherto, been hidden.

"Here," called Zargatha as he stumbled over loose stones to approach a yawning blackness in the face of the canyon wall. Picking her way gingerly with her bare feet, Vyanna joined him.

"A mine tunnel?" Zargatha suggested.

"Then it was a mining camp," she said.

He nodded. "There are a bundle of torch sticks strapped to my horse. Fetch a couple," he said absently.

She shot him a glance, but turned and picked her way carefully back to where the horses stood. She found the unlit brands and then hurried back to him. He laid one on the ground and, drawing forth his flint stones, set to work lighting it.

"I don't want to sound dull and incurious," she said as he worked, "but shouldn't we just leave? Something strange and unnatural has happened here...so let us find another place to stop for the night."

The torch sputtered, smouldered, then abruptly came alive with fire. He lifted it up triumphantly, its golden sheen washing over the craggy stone, pouring illumination arrogantly into the open cave mouth. "And how do we know whatever happened here doesn't await us further down the road? Yet if we turn back, we might run into our pursuers. Rest assured, my curiosity is motivated solely -- well, almost solely -- by a sense of self-preservation."

Vyanna dipped her torch into his fire, lighting her own. In the bolder light, they looked around the mouth of the cave. Planks of wood were strewn about, as though a hasty, makeshift barricade had been erected and just as hastily, disassembled.

"Perhaps the miners were beset by marauders -- perhaps even Lord Carga's mercenaries," suggested Vyanna. "And they tried to fortify themselves within their own mine."

Zargatha crouched among the debris, and with his gloved right hand, began to shift through some of the planks. "This all spews away from the cave and...look here! The bracket that would've been used to support a locking beam is pinned beneath the wood, meaning it was on the outside." He rose grimly. "The miners weren't inside trying to keep marauders out. This barrier was erected to keep something in. Clearly, it failed..."

Nervously, Vyanna glanced over her shoulder. "Zargatha!" she exclaimed.

The grim-faced warrior whirled at the sound of her voice, his sword hissing free of its scabbard to gleam cruelly in the bleached light of the moon. His black cloak flapped about him, mimicking the rustling sound of a bat's wing. His eyes narrowed as he saw what she had seen. Or, more accurately, failed to see what she also could not see.

The stone man was gone.

Zargatha took a step forward, then hesitated. He glanced about at the crude lean-tos and the hulking cairn dressed in shifting shadows, as the torch in his hand sputtered and snapped. The dancing shadows made it hard to tell what moved from what was still and dead.

"We did not imagine it -- did we?" Vyanna asked.

The thought had occurred to him. They both feared sorcery was afoot, but what kind? Perhaps the kind that made one see stone figures where there were none. "Take the knife from my belt," he whispered. Vyanna hesitated, then drew the poniard. It was not much of a weapon, but it was the best he could offer her. He knew she could handle a blade, but when he had set out to rescue her, he had travelled light, not thinking to bring a complement of arms for more than himself.

He crept forward.

Suddenly the quiet of the dark was shattered by a throaty moan and he whirled and pounced in one graceful action, to land beside one of the lean-tos. His torch fluttered, almost blown out by the sudden flurry of movement, then it rallied back, the flame leaping up and scattering angry light over the ground. A figure writhed upon the earth, curled up in the erstwhile shadow cast by the lean-to. It took Zargatha a moment before he recognized the stitching of the boots, the cut of the vest. The last time he had seen those garments, they had been made of stone.

He hesitated, staring at the pathetic figure, sobbing and clutching at its head. His lips were tight as he considered what to do next. Vyanna felt no such confusion. Bracing her torch between two rocks, she knelt. "We won't hurt you. We're friends."

At the hearing of her soft, feminine tones, the sobs dwindled to a raspy, choking breathing. The hands covering his face grew less tense, and finally fingers parted for him to peer out at her. Then, he dropped his hands entirely. "Fuh...fruh...friends?" his voice was hoarse, as though unused to speaking.

Vyanna nodded, smiling.

Zargatha pursed his lips, but grudgingly had to admit the woman had a way about her...

* * *

The stranger munched hungrily on Zargatha's pemmican as they sat about the wreckage of the camp, only their torches warding away the mysteries of the night. His hands were thick and callused, his eyes dark and small beneath heavy brows. He gulped gratefully the water that was offered.

"You were miners?" encouraged Zargatha.

"Aye," he said between bites. "Don't ask for whom, though. I was simply happy for the work. We were told of a good vein hereabouts and set to work. Imagine our surprise when we found a cave that already existed. We thanked the gods that our workload had been so eased." He snorted a laugh.

"The cave was inhabited?"

"Aye. A creature the likes of which I'd never seen. Big and scaled and horned. We fought it, but what could we do? It spat poison, and its gaze could turn a man to stone."

Vyanna glanced at Zargatha. He shrugged. "Sounds like a basilisk of some sort. Or something closely related to one, at any rate. Though I've never heard of one in these parts before."

"I'll bow to your wisdom, good sir," said the man, a trace of irony in his gruff tones. "Being a humble rock cutter, I know little of the way of the wildlife myself."

For a long time, Zargatha just stared at the man, his grim visage unreadable. Finally he shifted and leaned forward. "Do not misunderstand my question...but why are you no longer stone?"

The man stopped in mid-bite. "What?"

"How did you become flesh again?"

"Perhaps the creature has left the vicinity," offered Vyanna. "And its influence wanes with distance. Or perhaps it just now has died somewhere."

"Perhaps," Zargatha suggested doubtfully.

"You think there's something more at work?"

"I can't but be grateful for it," said the miner, wiping his hands upon his thighs with satisfaction, "whatever the reason or the cause."

Zargatha pursed his lips. "Of course." Abruptly he rose and strode toward the cave mouth. "How far did you and your crew get before encountering the creature?"

"I can't say for sure. It was a different shift than mine. They were gone quite some time, though. Quite some time indeed. And caves are tricky things to navigate, even by experienced rock cutters. Many a man has wandered into a mine, never to return... though his cries can be heard echoing for days as he searches vainly to find his way out again."

Vyanna shuddered. "How horrible."

"Aye. I've heard of miners carrying on whole conversations with a lost man, shouting replies back and fourth down echoing chambers, conversations that go on for days, until the thirst and hunger gets to him, and his voice just stops answering."

"You would advise us to stay put?" asked Zargatha drily.

The man shrugged. "I won't set foot in there again, that's for sure."

Zargatha looked back at the dark aperture from which death and destruction had once erupted. He unsheathed his sword again. "We'll take our chances. If the beast slumbers inside, we must know, less it comes upon us in our sleep. Come, my lady."

"Me?" said Vyanna. "I think I'll stay. I'm barefoot and hardly dressed for trekking through the heart of a cliff. I don't think you should go either. Let us be on our way, dark or no dark. We'll just walk the horses carefully so they don't hurt themselves. We can lead them, if need be."

"The lady is right, sir. Bravery is one thing, foolhardiness quite another."

"Come, my lady," Zargatha repeated, as if she had not spoken at all. "There may be places where we'll need to pass the torch back and fourth between us. I can't do this alone."

She glared at him, prepared to argue. Then she stopped herself. Aside from the physical discomfort of the trip, she realized that it was fear -- pure, simple, terror of what might lurk therein -- that motivated her to say no. And fear was a poor excuse to do or not do a thing. Besides, Zargatha had saved her life once. She supposed she owed him a little trust. She cast a glance at the miner, shrugged apologetically, and then followed the cloaked man into the dark cave.

They walked in silence for a time, his torch splattering the rough walls in shifting hues of gold and blood red. The only sound was their footsteps, and the swish of Zargatha's cloak. Vyanna tried to steady her breathing, to not let the fear she felt race her lungs, or speed her heart. She tried...but succeeded only fitfully.

"If you are being motivated by self-preservation," she whispered, "this seems an odd way of showing it."

"I do not trust him and I would not leave you alone with him, or sleep in the same camp with him until I am more certain of his character."

"Who? The miner? What has he done to arouse your scepticism?"

"His story seems--not wrong, but incomplete. If the beast attacked as quick as he implies--who erected that cairn?"

"The cairn?"

"It's a burial cairn. Someone buried his companions. Surely no beast did that. And how did they have time to construct that ill-fated barricade at the cave mouth? They were attacked certainly, but there was more going on."

"Like what?"

"Perhaps they found something more valuable than the ore for which they were searching. Gold or diamonds. Perhaps there was a falling out among the miners before the beast even attacked. He did seem eager to dissuade us from entering this cave."

Vyanna frowned. What Zargatha said had a ring of plausibility to it. Then she shook her head. "But that still doesn't justify entering this cave and risk bearding whatever may lurk here."

"I thought you championed the theory that the beast was long gone...or dead."

"You're mocking me."

"Only slightly." Suddenly he raised his hand for silence, and she obeyed, still choosing to trust to his instincts. He dropped to a crouch and she did likewise.

She leaned closer to his ear and said, "What?"

"The cavern widens ahead," he whispered. "An ideal place for a nest. Here." He handed her his torch. "Hold it above your head, so that the light can glance off the ceiling. It should be enough to show me my steps, without arousing the ire of any cave dweller that lurks ahead. If you hear me shout -- or scream -- then run, and keep running even once you are out of the cave."

"But..." she started to object, but he slipped away. His black cloak melted into the darkness so that only his silver blonde hair was visible, bobbing like a ghostly head bereft of a body. Then that too was swallowed by the hungry darkness.

She held the torch high above her head, hoping it lent him the light he needed, or at least provided a beacon to guide him out again. She considered rising to her feet, but did not want to run the risk of causing too harsh a glare if some slumbering beast lurked beyond. And so, she waited. And she realized, that though alone, and with warriors still hunting her somewhere in the night, she feared more for his sake than hers. She jumped as she heard him shout out.

"Vyanna!"

"Zargatha!" she screamed, her mind a whirlwind of nameless terrors that might be assailing him.

"It's all right!" he called. "Come forward. There's nothing here. Not now, at least."

Still trembling a little with her momentary fright, she rose and stumbled forward, her torch eating away at the shadows before her, exposing more rock and, at last, a widening chamber. Suddenly a black shape swirled up beside her and Zargatha took the torch. "I didn't mean to frighten you," he said.

She shrugged coldly. "Well, if you die, I am left alone. I must think of myself, you know."

He tipped his head in a curt bow, his stern features softening into a momentary smile.

"What have you found? Diamonds?"

"No."

"The beast's nest?"

"I found evidence of something." He waved the torch about him and she saw skins hanging from the walls, and old, picked clean bones.

Vyanna swallowed. "Are those...human skins?"

"So it seems." As if to distract her, he gestured at a niche in the cave wall. "I'm guessing this is where they dug it out. I think it was entombed here, and they freed it in their quest for precious ores. And as a reward, it killed them and skinned them."

"But that niche--it looks more like it would hold something man-like," Vyanna said. "A big man, huge even, but a man nonetheless. Not at all like the creature he described." Then she squinted. "Above the niche -- writing I think. At least, carvings. I don't recognize the tongue."

Zargatha stepped forward, having overlooked the letters himself at first. "It's an old tongue. Not used much anymore." He stopped, and she could sense a tenseness go through his limbs. "If the miners had seen this inscription, or knew what it meant, they would have left well enough alone."

"Why? What does it say?"

"I can only translate a little, but it's something about a Troll."

Vyanna frowned. Trolls had not been seen nor heard of in these parts for generations. Which, she supposed, was why the miners had not been expecting to find one. If she remembered her legends, though, Trolls were very deadly. "Can a Troll turn a man to stone with his gaze?"

"Not so I've heard," he said grimly. He turned to face her. "But a Troll is said to turn to stone in sunlight, only to be freed when touched once more by the moon..."

"Aye, good sir, that's what the stories say."

Vyanna and Zargatha turned to see the hulking miner standing at the mouth of the chamber.

"I thought you said you wouldn't set foot in here again?" asked Zargatha ironically.

The miner laughed deeply and coarsely. And what terrified Vyanna all the more was that it genuinely seemed a laugh of amusement. This was all a joke to him. "Well, I suppose I changed my mind, didn't I?"

"You look very human."

Suddenly, the big man looked less amused. "That's because I am. Half of me is, anyway. My mother was a human, raped by a troll."

"You took after your father's side, I take it." Zargatha glanced significantly at the stretched skins.

"Humans are weak and soft. They make fine gloves and breeches. But the trolls did not accept me as one of their own. You didn't think humans had the power to entomb me did you?" He glared, still bitter. "It was my own troll brethren. You don't think any human has the power to best me, do you?" And, at last, some of his amusement returned. He grinned. He took a step forward, and there was a firmness to his step, a heaviness, that had not been there before. Under the flickering glow of the torch, his features seemed to grow more rigid, his limbs thicker. Clearly, he could shift between aspects of his heritage at will--human or troll.

Zargatha stepped between Vyanna and the troll-man, moving lightly on his feet, nonchalantly. "The humans dug you out?"

"Aye. I killed a couple, but the rest made it to the outside ahead of me. And it was daylight, so I could not follow. The fools must've feared I would follow them wherever they fled come the night--which I suppose I might've. So instead of fleeing, they set to work barricading the entrance before dark. That was a poor plan as plans go, as it turned out. I killed them -- killed them all. It was very easy. I took their skins and put their carcasses in a cairn to keep the beasts from them, in case I wanted a snack once they'd rotted appropriately. I've been living here for a few weeks now, scouting the area, getting a sense of the land and places to hide during the day before I set out to claim what I will from those unlucky enough to cross my path."

"But you miscalculated?"

"Only this morning. I came back too late and was caught by the sun." He shrugged good naturedly. "Ah, well, I am only human -- in part." He laughed again.

"And that charade outside?"

"Thawing from a stone sleep is a disorienting and devastating experience--it was not wholly a charade. I needed to regain my strength before," he grinned, "properly introducing myself. And now to you, dear sir and madam."

Torchlight danced like liquid across the blade of Zargatha's sword as he drew it. "You might find me more of an inconvenience than a handful of poorly armed miners." He settled the torch in a niche.

The Troll placed his massive fists upon his hips. He was a troll now, with thick, rigid cheekbones, hulking over them, a good head or two taller than Zargatha. All sense of the man they had first encountered was gone. "Aye, you might at that. Tell you what: I'll let you go, and you leave the girl to me. Don't worry. I won't kill her...not right away."

Vyanna clutched her poniard tightly, eyeing the great brute through slitted lids.

Zargatha said, contemptuously, "You must be joking."

The Troll laughed. "Actually...yes, I am. I will suck the marrow from your bones, little man with the white hair. And I will enjoy your woman in any manner I please." And with that announcement, he lumbered forward.

"Circle around him," hissed Zargatha to Vyanna, "and grab your horse and ride west--I'll catch up. If I don't, you'll have to make your way back to your father's home on your own." And he leapt forward to meet the laughing creature.

Vyanna heard his words, and her eyes darted thoughtfully toward the tunnel that led from this chamber...but she held her ground.

Zargatha ducked to the side, beneath the massive, swinging arms of the Troll, and his sword darted out. The sword clanged as it struck the largely impervious hide of the Troll, and the big creature laughed again as he wheeled about. "Oh, this is great fun, little man. Great sport. Gets my appetite up."

Exchanging quips and taunts was not Zargatha's way. Instead he shifted nimbly upon his feet, like a fencer contemplating his next thrust, and then he leaped forward again. This time his black cloak flared out and he snapped it, so that it curled suddenly about the Troll's head, blinding him. As the creature uttered a muffled cry, Zargatha drove his sword, not into the rigid belly, but into the softer flesh of the thing's groin. It was not a sportsmanlike move--but it was effective. The Troll screamed, and blood--red, human-looking blood--poured down his thick, corded thigh. With another snap of his cloak, Zargatha freed it from the creature's face and raced away as the creature clutched at empty air.

No longer did the creature look amused. "A lucky strike," he growled. "But a flesh wound only."

During all this, Vyanna had circled around. Instead of making for the exit, she kept herself behind the Troll who, focused intently on Zargatha, had forgotten her. Seeking a rock, her fingers closed about a thin, polished stick that felt of an odd texture. As she held it up in the dim light, she recognized it as a human bone. Her stomach twisted, and she almost dropped it. Then, grimly, she mustered her resolve and, turning to face the the creature's back, threw the bone at him. It bounced harmlessly off his skull, but it caused him to lurch about. His small eyes flared wide as he saw her. "You think that enough to hurt me?" he demanded.

"No," she said, locking her eyes with the creature, even as she could see Zargatha's black cloak flare out like wings as he leapt forward. Just hold his attention a moment longer, she thought. But the Troll was too fast, was almost upon her. Turning, she ran, her great plan to distract him somewhat aborted.

She raced down the tunnel, ignoring the pain in the soles of her feet, aware only of the thunder of heavy footsteps closing upon her. She was almost to the cave's starlit entrance when thick fingers coiled in her hair. She screamed in terror as she was whirled about, the monster looming over her.

Then the Troll grunted and staggered forward a little as Zargatha's weight landed heavily upon his back. Vyanna spilled out onto the canyon floor, then rolled aside lest she be trampled beneath the stumbling Troll's ponderous feet.

Clinging to the monster's back, Zargatha again aimed for a part of the Troll's anatomy that might prove more vulnerable to his blade than had its thick hide earlier. He hacked at the creature's exposed ear, shearing it off in a spurt of crimson. The monster howled with rage and mighty hands finally pulled Zargatha from its back. Zargatha hit the ground, but rolled with the momentum. He gained his feet unsteadily.

The Troll clutched at his torn ear, his small, piggy eyes glinting redly as he stared about, seeking his attacker. "This means nothing!" he roared. "A few petty wounds! Nothing!"

Unfortunately, Zargatha knew the creature's exclamation was more than just bravado. His strikes had been as bloody as they were entirely superficial. He might be able to wear the creature down with enough such injuries...but then again, he might not. He shifted his sword to his left hand and stared for a moment at his gloved right, flexing the fingers as though unsure what they were.

"Why is your hand covered, little man?" demanded the monster. "What trick have you now, eh?"

"Let us go and you need not find out."

And despite the blood streaming down his skull, and the stain on his thigh, the monster laughed again. "You are a strange little man--I like your arrogance. Go ahead. Show me your little trick before I kill you."

Zargatha stared at him grimly for a moment, then deliberately drove his sword into the ground to unencumber his left hand. Slowly, he pulled the glove from his right, revealing a hideous limb, with thick, coarse fur and gleaming taloned fingers. It flexed almost spasmodically, as if waking itself from some unnatural sleep.

The Troll's grin froze upon his lips as he stared at the hand--as if so distracted by the sight, he had forgotten he was smiling. He wiped blood from his eye distractedly, as though brushing aside a cowlick. "It seems neither of us are truly human after all."

Zargatha's face grew taut and his eyes blazed fiercely. "I am a man," he growled.

The Troll grinned slightly. "Well...part of you is, eh?" But the sting of the taunt was tempered by the way his eyes were once more drawn to the unnatural hand. Then he shook his big bulk. "Still, what do I care? A hand or a claw, you are still nothing to me." He took a halting step forward.

Vyanna knew that he was, if not scared, at least perturbed. As well he might be. She had seen that hand at work--and she shuddered even now to think on it. She looked around for something to throw again, but saw nothing near her feet. Then she espied the torch they had left still burning at their makeshift camp and, racing to it, grabbed it up. She crept toward the Troll's back. So intent was he upon Zargatha that he did not hear her approach, and roared with pain as she put the living flame to his severed ear. He whirled, faster than she had expected, and his massive arm sent her flying.

"Enough!" shouted Zargatha as he leapt to engage the monster, sword once more in his left hand. The Troll spun about and slapped aside the blade, then flung his arms about Zargatha, crushing him in a bear hug. In the Troll's fury, though, he had forgotten that things unknown are best held at a distance. Instead, he squeezed Zargatha to him, and grinned wickedly as he saw Zargatha's eyes grow wide as the air was crushed from his lungs.

Then Zargatha grabbed at the Troll's face with his right hand. The Troll grunted in surprise, then screamed as the savage claws dug deep furrows into his cheeks. Still clutching to Zargatha with one arm, he grabbed at the inhuman limb with the other. But the nails were so anchored in his flesh that to pull it free caused agony to further contort his features. The Troll screamed again, momentarily releasing his grip on the hand.

Zargatha pressed his advantage. The clawed hand crawled up the Troll's face like a spider, the monster screaming, as much in unfamiliar fear as in pain. Then the clawed hand plunged forward, digging fingers into the Troll's eyes.

Vyanna, sprawled upon the ground, turned her head away, unable to watch any more.

The Troll released Zargatha entirely, screaming in agony. But Zargatha had secured a grip on the monster's shirt, and pulling himself up higher on the monster, leant more leverage to his right hand. Blood streamed from the eye sockets as the Troll struggled to pull the hand free. But his actions grew weaker and weaker. The demon hand spasmed once, stabbing powerful fingers into the Troll's very brain...

And without a sound, the Troll dropped heavily to his knees.

Zargatha kicked away, tumbling across the ground as the monster reeled there for a moment, then pitched forward. Even as he did so, the morning sun shimmered over the ridge of the canyon wall, the frail tendrils of light rippling earthward, gracing the Troll. As he fell, his body turned grey, his limbs rigid and unmoving.

It was a figure of stone that crashed to the ground, shattering into a dozen fragments. The force of the impact shook the earth beneath them.

Zargatha lay where he was for a moment, panting. Soft footsteps caused him to turn. Vyanna approached haltingly. Then, after a moment, held forth something in her hand. It was his glove. Without a word, he took the glove and dragged it over the hideous limb. Then he looked away and slowly rose to his feet.

"I suppose it's safe enough to rest here for a few hours," he said matter-of-factly. "Now."