Trolls and Tribulations

by Kevin Partner

  Brianna glanced over at Bill, who’d been watching this performance with a puzzled expression on his face. “What’s up with you?”

  Bill stirred. “I can hear him too,” he said, “and I think we have to find a way to get him out, otherwise he’ll possess the staff forever and, who knows, anyone who uses it.”

  “Are you insane? We can’t have that malicious git running around free to do mischief!” Brianna snapped.

  “I didn’t say he should be free, just out of the staff. And which is worse, him in a physical body that we can control or eternally trapped inside the most powerful staff in the Tworld? We have to think about more than just ourselves, here and now, and at some point this staff will end up in the hands of someone he can use. And can you imagine the chaos that would bring?”

  Brianna’s response was interrupted before it began by the deep voice of Marcello. “I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as all that,” he said, groggily, rubbing his head, “you see there are no faerie hosts here, and it would be dangerous beyond belief to house a faerie spirit in a human body.”

  “So, what do we do?” Brianna said. “Bill’s right, we can’t leave him in the staff. Is there any way to get him out without a host to go into?”

  Marcello, sitting on the floor and watched over by the goblin Jispa and Ambler, shrugged. “No, he must indeed have a host. But not all hosts are made of flesh and blood.”

  “What the ‘eck are you talkin’ about?” Gramma asked, planting herself between the wizard and Bill, who remained somewhat out of it. “You ‘aven’t got troll bodies ‘ere? You wouldn’t be that daft.”

  “No, indeed,” Marcello said as he stepped, unsteadily, towards the wall containing the coffins. Jispa waved his knife at Gramma, but the old girl shook her head and he secreted it somewhere in his filthy trousers, scowling.

  Marcello leaned against the wall and focused on a wooden panel set into the rockface. “I hope the orb has enough energy to spare for this,” he said, pushing down hard on a dome-shaped button which, after a little resistance, creaked into the panel and disappeared from sight. “Now, we wait.”

  #

  “So, what do we do now?”

  The management committee of the expeditionary force sat around a small fire that McGuff had conjured, as if magically, from bits and pieces he had in his pack. He’d also lit another, slightly larger, fire for the cracked squad and so they sat in two groups, as the elf lay unmoving on the shelf.

  Mother Hemlock shrugged. “Well, we has to go back. We’ve found the portal and it shouldn’t be too much bother to get our prisoners through the labyrinth.”

  “I imagine it’s not quite as simple as that, though, is it?” Chortley sighed.

  Mother Hemlock looked at him. “What would make you think that, lad?”

  “Because nothing ever is,” Chortley said. “After all, we can hardly just open the door and let them through when we don’t know where this tunnel leads.”

  Velicity leant forward to whisper. “We know it leads to a dead end - another locked door, rock fall maybe. If there was a way out down that way, our friend here wouldn’t be more than half dead of starvation. She’s only here because she couldn’t get out. We came through a door that could only be opened from our side - what if she came through a similar door down yonder and it shut on her?”

  Chortley shuddered and felt an overwhelming urge to run back along the tunnel and check that their door was, indeed, still open. He caught Velicity’s eyes and wondered whether she was reading his mind. “We probably ought to carry on until we reach the other end of this tunnel, we need to know one way or another,” he sighed.

  “McGuff, get Minito and Thun to volunteer to come with me, and take everyone else, including the elf, back to the door, then hold it and wait for me.”

  McGuff nodded, “Hold the door, yessir.” He unfolded upwards and ambled over to the other fire.

  “You don’t expect us to go with them, obviously,” Mother Hemlock said.

  “Yes he does,” Velicity answered, “he thinks it’ll be safer for us if we retreat back to the door. It’s rather gallant of him.”

  Chortley warmed.

  “Sadly, however,” Velicity continued, “it’ll be considerably safer for him if we don’t do that. Despite ample evidence to the contrary, I fear he still thinks we’re in need of special protection.”

  Chortley cooled.

  “Well, that’s as maybe,” said Mother Hemlock. “I ain’t happy to be goin’ further along this tunnel. Somehow it feels all wrong to me, this Darkworld. I don’t feel quite myself.”

  Velicity fidgeted. “Ah, you’ve noticed that too, have you? I think you’ll find that we have less power here. We are elementals, but only of our own world. I suspected this from the moment we passed the door - I’ve tried to quietly squeeze some wind out as we’ve walked, but nothing is happening.”

  “So, the best place for you is on the other side of the door, where you have your powers,” Chortley said. “Thun and Minito have proven to be the best of us at getting through the challenges of the maze - brains and, and, feminine wiles aren’t what’s needed.”

  “Stupidity, muscles and claws, on the other hand, are just the ticket are they?” Velicity said with uncharacteristic venom. “Well, go on then, the three of you are quite the dream team.”

  Mother Hemlock pointed at Velicity, her finger wagging as she spoke. “Now look ‘ere, missy, we’ve all come a long way in a short time and this lad ‘as come further than most.”

  Chortley smiled.

  “Do you remember what a vicious, self-centred, malignant bastard he was when we first met ‘im?”

  Chortley scowled.

  “And yet, ‘ere ‘e is, ready to go off into the dark yonder with a barbarian who could snap him in two and a kobold with razor sharp claws and anger management issues.”

  Chortley contemplated this. “Actually, on second thought…”

  “Don’t interrupt,” Mother Hemlock snapped. “So, the right thing for us to do is head back to the door and obey his command.”

  Chortley sighed. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

  “You’re right,” Velicity said. She looked at Chortley. “Good luck, and come back safe.” She leaned forward and planted a delicate kiss on his cheek.

  Chortley’s glands exploded, and it was all he could do to hold himself together by hugging his sides and crossing his legs. He clambered to his feet, carefully, took another look at the blushing beauty at his feet, sighed and waved at his “volunteers”.

  McGuff re-lit two torches from the camp fire and handed them to Chortley and Thun. “I reckon you’ll be needin’ these more than me, sir,” he said. “That is, if you’re certain you don’t need this old soldier slowin’ you down?”

  Chortley stared into his sergeant’s eyes. Here was a man who’d braved the ferocious fangs of the Faerie King’s hordes, and yet he was obviously relieved not to be chosen to explore the rest of this tunnel. Interesting and, Chortley reflected, just a little terrifying. Perhaps McGuff’s instincts were sharper than his commanding officer’s. Well, there was nothing to be done other than to get on with it, so he took the torch, nodded to Thun and Minito and headed into the gloom.

  Moments later, he turned to see the lights of the rest of the company retreating into the distance and he began to feel really, really afraid.

  #

  The witches led the way back to the door. Mother Hemlock sighed with relief when she saw its outline and that it was still open.

  They passed through and rested for a moment on the other side. There was no sound from the tunnel and, aside from their breathing, no noise at all except for the occasional whimpering of their captive. The elf had been carried by Clegg and Minissun on the basis that she was in deep enough shock without regaining consciousness in the company of Epocrypha or Ratbag.

  It was a puzzle, that’s for sure. What had the elf been doing in that tunnel? How long had she been trapped? Would she sur
vive to tell them?

  But, for now, there was something else that needed to be done. Once they were on the other side of the door, Mother Hemlock looked around, making sure she wasn’t being watched, and pushed the door closed.

  Velicity noticed first. “What are you doing? They’ll be trapped!”

  McGuff barged into Mother Hemlock, flattening her against the door, his knife at her throat. “What the ‘ell d’you think you’re doin?” he snarled.

  “If I was you, I’d back off sharpish if you likes your fluids to be on the inside,” Jessie Hemlock, whose face was beginning to resemble a beetroot, whispered.

  Velicity hauled on the sergeant’s shoulder and he pulled away. “Why have you shut the door?” she asked, as a zephyr disturbed the hair and clothes of her sister witch. “It can’t be opened from the other side - you’ve trapped him.”

  “Tell me this,” Mother Hemlock said, rubbing her throat, “what do you suppose our brave young captain will find at the end of that tunnel?”

  Velicity shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Exactly. None of us knows, so leaving a door to our world open for any Tom, Dick or demon to walk, fly or slither through don’t seem entirely sensible, does it?”

  Put that way, it was obvious, even to the cognitively challenged members of the company, that she had a point.

  “Now, sergeant,” Mother Hemlock said, having decided that the argument had been settled, “who can you trust to wait by the door and pull the right lever when your captain comes a-poundin’ on it? I don’t s’ppose he’ll be particularly happy to find it shut, not at first, anyway.”

  “Aren’t we all going to wait here?” Velicity asked.

  Mother Hemlock shook her head. “No, we needs to retrace our steps and get the prisoners ready. You never know, perhaps lover boy will succeed after all. I likes to be optimistic.”

  “Sure you do, it’s one of your best attributes,” she replied, deadpan, “and he’s not my lover boy.”

  “I never said he was yours,” the older witch replied with relish. “Now, sergeant, who’s it to be?”

  Sergeant McGuff scanned the cracked squad. It was hard to imagine any pair less reliable than Epocrypha or Ratbag. No, they wouldn’t do. So that left Mr La-Di-Da Clegg. McGuff was pretty certain he could be trusted to follow a direct order. Although not a sophisticated man himself, Sergeant McGuff had observed that the more intelligent the mind, the more accurately it weighed the likely consequences of its actions. Whereas the threat of a slow hanging over a hot fire would do little to prevent the slow witted Ratbag from wandering off when she forgot what she was there to do, the clever imagination of Private Clegg would keep him rooted to the spot. But then, McGuff was also honest enough to acknowledge that assigning such a duty to Clegg was a waste of good brain cells that might be better employed in getting the prisoners organised and safely back here.

  “I’ll do it,” he sighed, “Clegg, you’re in charge of the squad.”

  Mother Hemlock nodded. “Well done, lad.”

  “But what about her?” McGuff pointed at the seemingly lifeless form of the elf.

  “We’d better take her with us,” the witch replied.

  #

  Until the moment he saw the perfectly solid door at the end of the tunnel, Chortley had been certain he wouldn’t find it. Once they’d passed the plinth that seemed to serve as a temporary home for the elf, and strode into the darkness, the tunnel had become more and more rubble-strewn, as if the roof here was weak and liable to collapse. Chortley had expected to find a blockage that would explain why the elf had been trapped but no, here was a door, a perfectly ordinary door. Except that it was made out of solid rock.

  Set into the wall beside the door was a set of three levers, each with symbols carved into the stone that were revealed as Chortley swung his torch to and fro.

  “Well, what do you make of it?” he said.

  Minito squinted at the markings. “I got no idea, boss,” he said, “makes no sense to me.”

  Leaning forward, Chortley tried to work out what they represented. Sudden death, by the look of it, he concluded. The first showed what looked like a flash of lightning, the second a crushing rockfall (which rather explained the rubble in the tunnel) and the third showed a stylised, but recognisable, figure with bits of wood sticking out where they shouldn’t.

  “What you think, Thun?”

  The barbarian shrugged and bent down to the level of the levers. He paused for a few seconds, engaged in what, for him, must have been record-breaking cogitation before straightening up, turning the face the door and swinging his boot at it.

  In the meantime, Chortley had darted back along the corridor in an attempt to get out of harm’s way, Minito hard on his heels. And so it was that Thun, Barbarian of no regular employer, made first contact with the inhabitants on the other side of the door.

  There was a thud, a shout and a scream. Chortley arrived at the door just quickly enough to see what was beyond it. He’d seen them before, goblin soldiers in black mail wielding black swords with red edges. Perhaps a dozen were now advancing on Thun, stepping over the fallen form of the unlucky comrade who’d been leaning against the wall smoking a pipe when the door had opened explosively.

  Thun stepped beyond the threshold, his long sword sweeping through the air, lopping the heads from the next two unfortunates to approach him, but on the backstroke, two more leapt at him screaming with rage, blades singing. Chortley went to move, but Minito swept past him, claws extended, and slashed ineffectually at the second attacker as Thun casually backhanded the first into the rock behind him.

  Later, Chortley remembered little of the next moments, as more and more goblins joined the attack and he was forced to defend himself and leave the others to their own devices. In a brief respite as he cut down a particularly agile brute, he glanced over at Thun and Minito, shouting “Get back inside!”

  For a moment, Chortley wasn’t certain that the barbarian had heard him, but, foot by foot, Thun began backing away, his left arm searching for the edge of the door. He swung again, turning one attacking goblin into two falling lumps of metal and flesh before he yanked on the door and pulled it, screaming against the injustice of being shut again having only just opened.

  Timing it carefully, Chortley dashed back as the door began closing, Minito following. Thun stood there, guarding the door, as more and more goblin reinforcements arrived, forming a semi-circle just out of the barbarian’s swinging range.

  “In!” Chortley screamed and stepped back inside. Thun followed and then, just as the door was about to close, Chortley felt a sudden, hot pain in his arm. “Bye mister!” called a voice and Chortley looked up, shocked, to see the receding figure of Maestro Minito as he leapt past the guard and disappeared from view. Chortley fell back and Thun pulled the door shut. As he fell into unconsciousness, Chortley thought he heard pounding.

  Chapter 23

  The much depleted cracked squad, now comprising Clegg, Apocrypha and Ratbag, followed the two witches as they retraced their route. Clegg had quite sensibly, and correctly, understood that when McGuff had placed him “in charge”, he hadn’t included Mother Hemlock or Velicity in his list of chargees. He’d also reflected that this temporary promotion was not, in fact, the honour he’d originally thought. It was more akin to being put in charge of cleaning out the dog kennels.

  Velicity held out a torch looking, for all the Tworld, like a moving Statue of Liberty45. She was pretty certain they were approaching the invisible door Thun had discovered, though from the other side, which meant they still had a long march before they made it back to the cave where the remainder of the Crapplecreek garrison waited. And then what? She had no idea whether it was day or night outside, but she was certain the trolls would have plastered themselves with sun-cream, so the crappers would be trapped. All this talk of doing their duty and seeing the prisoners safely back to where they came from was all very well, but she was beginning to think beyond that and image
s of, frankly, being torn limb from limb by an angry troll were beginning to become inconveniently attached to the inside of her skull. Another part of her that might, quite soon, be seeing the light of day for the first time.

  For once, she was grateful to hear Mother Hemlock’s voice as it dragged her out of her imagination.“Wait a minute, that passageway weren’t there before.”

  Velicity stopped and looked, swinging the torch across the gap in the wall. “You’re right,” she said, “and neither was this one.” There was another doorway on the opposite side of the narrow tunnel but, whereas the first disappeared into unguessable distance, this one opened onto a chamber. As she moved the torch left and right, its light bounced back from shiny objects on the far wall. She stepped inside, ignoring Clegg’s half hearted protest, something along the lines of “following our orders”.46

  “Wow.” The room contained the sort of equipment that might be imagined by a mediaeval armourer with a drowning phobia. Bronze helmets with dull glass eyes sat piled on upper shelves while the tables that lined two of the four walls were covered with a chaotic mix of tubing, leather sheets and what looked like complete, though dismembered, limbs. Occupying the fourth wall, the one directly facing the door, was a huge cupboard with three doors. Two were closed, one was open and, although there was no obvious evidence to suggest this, Velicity knew it had opened recently, perhaps minutes ago.

  Clegg, on first seeing the room, pushed past her and began excitedly riffling through the junk on the nearest table. “This is incredible! It’s like being in the laboratory of the great Wilhelm of Wavaria. I wonder what these things are?”

  “The better question, lad,” Mother Hemlock said, looking out of the room and across the tunnel to the dark, empty passageway opposite, “is where has one of them gone?”

  Gramma Tickle’s patience was wearing thinner than a sunfish with diarrhea. It had been minutes since Marcello had pressed the button and, she suspected, even he was beginning to doubt whether it had worked. He had repeatedly implored them to be patient, but with increasing desperation.