Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,31

put out when Dave got to his feet, Pie swooping around his head in lazy circles, and said, “I gotta go. I got places to be.”

“Where? Where could you possibly have to be? You’re in Tournel! There are no places to be!” Benji protested.

“I gotta go,” Dave repeated stubbornly, jutting his tusks out in a way that served to remind Benji that a seven foot orc really wasn’t someone you wanted to argue with. “Nice to meet you, your Dukeness,” he nodded at Lars.

“Wait,” Calarian said, and for one glorious moment Benji thought Calarian was going to ask about Simon, but instead he said, “Before you go can you tell us where the monster’s cave is, Dave?”

Dave scratched his head, face screwed up in thought. Finally he pointed back the way he’d come. “Walk for half an hour along the path an’ then go to...” He paused. “Your left. No, wait. Not left. The other left, the one that’s not left.”

“Right?” Benji asked.

“Right!” Dave agreed happily, before a look of confusion settled over his features. “Maybe. I’m not good with directions.” He shrugged. “Follow the noises. You can’t miss it.”

And then he lumbered off over the hill, clutching his lute and humming, Pie trilling along.

Benji scowled at Calarian. “You let him go! Now we’ll never find out who Simon is!”

Calarian arched an eyebrow in a way that was annoyingly sexy. “How was I meant to stop him?” Which, Benji had to admit, was a valid point. “Besides,” Calarian added, “We’ll just ask Loth when we get back home. Loth knows everything that’s going on.”

That was true. Loth was a nosy bastard. Benji nodded and turned back to his breakfast, slightly mollified by the copious amounts of gingerbread that Lars produced. There was even enough that Benji very generously let Lars and Calarian have a piece each. “It’s all about sharing,” he said, winking at Calarian.

And then he looked back at Lars just to see the flush rising on his throat and creeping up over his cheeks.

It must have been the day for embarrassing big muscular lugs by teasing them. First Lars and the sharing, then Dave and his mysterious Simon, and now back to Lars again. Well, at least Lars didn’t turn purple. It suited Dave, but Lars would just look like he was asphyxiating.

But as enjoyable as it was to tease Lars, at some point it just wasn’t fun anymore.

“So,” he said, tossing his hair back over his shoulder and letting the wind wave it around dramatically, “if we come back alive from this monster hunt, which of us are you going to let blow you first, Lars?”

Calarian facepalmed.

Lars turned an even brighter pink, and Benji was half afraid he was about to spontaneously combust. And then, just when Benji thought that the big cowherd was going to turn and bolt, Lars swallowed with an audible gulp and said, “Oh, I mean, I guess you could toss a coin for it, if you think that would work? But I was sort of hoping that I could blow you guys first.”

“You know,” Benji said, glaring so that he didn’t look too enthusiastic, “I think that could work too.” He glanced at Calarian. “Hurry up, Calarian. We’ve got a monster to kill.”

The mouth of the cave was narrow and low, but the trampled mud and earth outside it was a sign of mountain troll habitation. Benji and Calarian and Lars lay on their stomachs in the tall, waving grass some distance away on a slope overlooking the entrance. Calarian called it surveillance. Benji, watching a fat bumblebee sway in the bell of a nearby flower, didn’t care what Calarian called it. It was nice. He had a full stomach, and the day was warm, and he and the dozy bumblebee were quite happy to nap right here.

Well, right up until he heard the monster’s chilling, otherworldly bellow.

He sat bolt upright, and Lars pulled him down again.

A moment later, a terrified mountain troll burst out of the cave’s entrance and began to run away, presumably all the way back down the mountainside to Tournel.

“Mumhunth!” it wailed. “Mumhunth!”

Benji felt an uncharacteristic pang as he watched the troll flee. Hopefully someone had filled the pond in so he could get through the town with no trouble and make it home to his mum. Not that Benji had much sympathy to spare for the mountain troll. No, he really needed to keep some for himself, because the monster’s low, echoing moan sounded like it was