Tale II:
To Go In Search of Trolls

Sticky and Lora kept a wary eye on Gnorr, but so far he'd given them no reason not to trust him. He even hummed to himself in a mindless manner from time to time. Deep gurgling drones whose tunes lost themselves every few seconds; as if he forgot the song after only a few bars and moved onto another, which would disappear equally as fast.

This, Sticky thought, is why trolls don't write symphonies.

The terrain around them, though vague in the darkness, was picked out by moonlight where the canopy opened. The trees here were older, and far more ragged. They'd survived abuse from the trolls of the region that their younger siblings could not. Now and then Sticky saw a stone that was troll-shaped; evidence of those who hadn't retired quickly enough to their sun-shelters. He'd been so engrossed in his examination of one that he flew right into the back of Gnorr, who had stopped in his tracks. Sticky composed himself, and hovered at Lora's shoulder.

"What is it, Gnorr?" Lora whispered.

The gargantuan troll moved aside, revealing an even larger figure than himself immortalized in stone. "We're here," he said, in a low tone as of a stone dragged across gravel: the troll equivalent of whispering. "This troll was once the most-feared in the Elven Realm."

The figure stood legs-apart, with arms raised as if defending himself.

"How did it come to be petrified?" said Lora.

"The Fellthorn Trolls did this."

"How awful."

"And now it serves as the entrance to their lair, by the look of things," said Sticky. "I don't fancy these Fellthorn Trolls are as accommodating as Gnorr here."

Lora went through the stone arch formed by the petrified troll's legs. "They're an awful lot smaller if they fit through here, though."

"They're notorious bandits, stealing from elves and trolls alike. Gnorr will not be sorry to see them face retribution."

Sticky waited while Gnorr found a way around the statue through an untidy fence of piled-up debris, then flitted through the arch himself. He half expected the stone giant to come to life as he passed beneath it.

Perhaps I do worry too much, he thought.

Beyond were flickering pit-fires, trodden earth, and patches of trampled grass. There were only a few straggly trees, so tortured and hopelessly clinging to life that they were painful to behold.

"The poor trees ..." said Lora. "These trolls will pay in blood as well as gold!"

"Shh!" said Sticky. "You do get carried away so. We don't want to give ourselves away."

"You're right. Gnorr, where's their cave?"

Gnorr squinted in the dim light.

"Dis way," he said, heading off to the left.

"I don't suppose you can tread any softer?" said Sticky.

"Urr, Gnorr try."

With great strain showing on his face, Gnorr made the effort. He did surprisingly well, considering his size. A great stench told them they were nearing the cave.

"Eew, it's horrible," said Lora.

"True enough," said Sticky. "Although I've grown accustomed to such odours over the years."

"Why isn't it guarded?" she said of the entrance, which had a cascade of creepers growing over it to keep out deadly sunlight.

"Only simpletons and the foolhardy would enter this place," said Gnorr.

"Which does that make us, I wonder?" said Sticky.

"Uh … you first, then, Gnorr."

"Yass."

Within the cave the air was still and quite foul. No moonlight penetrated, yet Sticky's eyes quickly discerned Gnorr's lumbering shape ahead of him; surrounded by an ever-increasing halo of light. A bend in the tunnel revealed the source of this light: crude torches of wood dipped in grease, which illuminated a circular inner chamber.

The floor was strewn with rags, and bones, and filth, but in the centre lay a glittering treasure hoard. It almost made up for the horrid smell.

"Gold!" said Lora. "And other things besides! You weren't kidding about the riches, Gnorr!"

Forgetting their dangerous prisoner for a moment, Sticky and Lora darted forward to run their hands through the trinkets, the goblets, the coins.

"How are we ever going to haul it all out of here?" said Sticky.

"We can get Gnorr to carry some of it," said Lora. "I don't suppose we need it all. Although I'm sure there are lots of elves who'd like their riches returned. We could be like ... that outlaw ... 'Rabwin' something."

"Not sure I follow."

"You know, he steals from the rich and gives to the orphans. He was in all the parchments."

"I can't say as I've heard of him. Oh, Lora, you've dropped your brooch."

Lora's hand went to the breast of her tunic, to find her brooch still pinned there. They both looked down at the identical golden-leaf brooch, bearing her family's crest, which Sticky had picked from the pile.

"Only my parents would have a brooch like that ..." said Lora.

"Someone's coming," said Gnorr, his words like a fall of gravel.

Sticky tried to read Lora's face. For the briefest of moments it appeared she would cry. But she closed her fist around the brooch, and took up her club.

"Then let's go meet them," she said.

Sticky opened his mouth to protest, but Lora was already running down the dark tunnel. From the other end came the sound of high-spirited and probably drunk trolls. He called after her, and looked to Gnorr for support. But Gnorr too abandoned him, leaving only echoing footsteps. He hurried after them through the darkness.