"No, elf. All humanoid races are warm-blooded. It is just that Frost Giants live in a land of severe winters north of the mountains on a peninsula that projects into the Northern Ocean. My people live in the warmer climate on the southern side of the dividing range and at a lower elevation. Also, most Frost giants have hair so blonde it is almost white, not the grey white of an old man, mind you, but bright and glistening like frost or ice."
"So much for introductions. Now, to work. We must make this camp defensible, lads. Let's set a barrier fire burning across the path to block and back light any intruders. The flames will at least slow them down. Down here in this defile, its light won't give away our position."
The giant asked the archers to lend him four of their war arrows. Balan coated their points with a sticky substance from a small vial he carried in his pack.
It held a lacquer holding particles of silver in suspension. Many of the creatures of the dark could not stand the touch of silver. The coated arrows might not kill a Tracker but would inflict burns they would find hard to ignore.
Balan then donned his only metal armor, a pair of metal vambraces to protect his forearms and gloves make of mail, their backs covered with overlapping scales. He explained:
"The work of Stone Mountain dwarves, like my sword, and much stronger than you would guess from the thickness of the metal. Even Trackers can not bite through steel forged by magic. And it never rusts either."
Unfortunately, although the barrier fire was hidden from observers on the ground, there was an aerial observer in the sky, a raven with a strange red gleam in his eyes, a sign of the evil power temporarily possessing the dark bird of omen and using it as a scout.
The raven dove down toward the three Trackers spread out in a line at edge of the forest, cawing to attract their attention, then arrowing in the direction of the rocky outcrop.
The Trackers converged, joining forces for an assault on one of the hated unicorns. They arrived at the clearing after midnight but waited till just before dawn, always the best time for an attack.
The alertness of sentries drops off with the first glimpse of morning twilight, both from simple fatigue and from complacency.
The Trackers had not allowed for the keen senses of a unicorn. As they crept up the defile, Merry caught their scent and aroused everyone with mind speech. The unicorn and giant both called light, creating blue white spheres that hovered overhead and illuminated the area.
Dahl ran over to his post and stoked the fire, using his staff as a lever to slide bundles of pine boughs into the flames.
The sap-filled boughs went up with a whoosh, turning it into a veritable conflagration. Then came bundles of harder wood to keep the blaze burning steadily. For a short time anyway, the flames rose nearly as tall as Balandur.
Fierce as it was, the blaze did not stop the Trackers who, after a moment of irresolution, jumped right through the fire, though one by one rather than in a group.
Despite singed fur, the killer canines forced their way into the camp, their slavering jaws opened wide, ready to tear at their enemies.
By that time the defenders were in position: the elf on the right, the giant swordsman on the left the unicorn in the center as backup for the two fighters on the side, ready to lend a horn or his hooves if either got into trouble.
Meanwhile, their two archers climbed up the rocks. Theirs was no scramble to safety. No, they took up firing positions ten feet above the level of the camp, which let them shoot downward at their foes, making it less likely they would hit an ally by accident.
As the most experienced fighter, Balan had made these dispositions to take advantage of the skills and capabilities of each of the five of them and to minimize their disadvantages.
Bowmen, for instance, have no business mixing it up close with their enemies. They are all offense and no defense.
On the left, Balan took out the first Tracker, swinging his sword two-handed to split its skull. On the right, Dahl started off well with a righteous smash to the beast's tender nose, causing it to yelp in real pain.
It pulled back for a moment but then bounded forward, intent on revenge. Alas Dahl was just too small and too inexperienced with the quarter staff to hold off his Tracker for long.
The devil beast was much larger than an ordinary wolf, much less the wild dogs of his experience.
The hapless elf was pushed back as the Tracker's weight slammed him. Slavering jaws closed over both the elf's arm and the shaft of his staff. He shook Dahl like a terrier does a rat.
Dahl wailed in terror. Just then, Merry's counterattack impaled the beast on his horn, a weapon at least as deadly as Balan's blade.
Arrows from the twins slammed into the third Tracker, which was trying to hamstring Merry who was turned away, busy helping Dahl.
The Tracker howled as the silver on the arrowheads burned it from the inside. Silver would not kill such a creature by itself, but it did give the arrows as much efficacy against them as if they had not been magical beasts.
The arrows occupied the beast's attention long enough for Balan to cut through its spine near the tail. With only its front legs working, Merry had little difficulty crushing its skull with his hooves.
Dahl dragged himself from under his Tracker's carcass, holding his lacerated arm and howling with agony.
Quick thinking, Balan scooped up some of the ashes from the fire and spread them on the wound, explaining that the Tracker's oral digestive juices were akin to an acid, which the ashes would neutralize.
The elf's wound was ugly, a mess of torn flesh and blood, though the hard wood of the staff had protected the major blood vessels.
Balan bandaged the wound, then wrapped the arm tightly to Dahl's chest to immobilize it. He gave him a powerful drug against the pain and then addressed Merry aloud rather than in mind speech so all would understand.
"The elf needs a healer right away, or he will lose that arm. Will you carry him to the nearest town?" Balan asked.
Thanks to their unerring magical sense, the twins knew the way to the nearest town with a healer. With a nod to his companions, Merry took off with Dahl on his back.
Dahl clung to his perch on the back of the unicorn, one hand wrapped in his mane, hanging on grimly. His eyes were squeezed shut with pain, for even Balan's drug could do only so much. The elf wished only that his ordeal would end.
The unicorn traveled in an amble, a ground eating gait that was quicker than a walk though slower than a canter. It made for a much smoother ride for the injured elf than a trot or a pace and it was less tiring than other gaits since it allowed the equine to keep three feet on the ground at all times. For covering distance, it was ideal.
With his long legs, Balan kept up easily enough, though the twins had to run.