Nemesis and the Troll King (3 page)

Dylan paused for a moment to watch his brother's face closely, “… then yesterday I captured a leprechaun. In return for his freedom he gave me some information.”

Yarg raised his hand, interrupting Dylan. “If your leprechaun told you that I was mortal, he lied to you,” he said flatly.

Deliberately ignoring the interruption, Dylan continued, “The leprechaun told me an interesting story about a mortal and a fairy.”

Dylan paused again and Yarg stuck out his hands, palms towards the ceiling, and said in exasperation, “So, what was this story?”

Dylan stifled the smile that threatened to creep up on his mouth.

“It was a tale about a mortal who followed the Fairy of Blue Bells into the immortal realm. When she blocked his access to the immortal realm and tried to make him return home, he refused and insulted her. The fairy tried to protect herself from his taunts, but it was too late. When Nemesis showed up and saw the damage the human had inflicted upon the little fairy, he cursed the human into the body of a troll. And it is this troll … you … that I entered this realm to find.”

Yarg snorted. “Then you've had a wasted trip. I've been a troll all my life. If I was this prince you say I am, I would surely remember it,” he added triumphantly.

“No, you wouldn't,” Dylan corrected him. “Nemesis touched you, as a result you have amnesia and remember nothing of your life before.”

Yarg leaned back on his great throne. He picked up his club and pretended to inspect it, then rubbed his hands along it. The silence stretched out, those in the hall hardly daring to twitch a muscle.

Finally Yarg brought his gaze up to meet Dylan's and said, “That was very good, mortal. You almost had me believing you. But what you say is just not possible.”

Dylan groaned deep in his throat. What more could he say to convince him?

Silence fell. It had stretched to the point of being uncomfortable.

Yarg asked, “Not that I believe you, you understand, but if such a spell had been cast, would it be permanent?”

Dylan kept the smile off his face with difficulty. Yarg was considering the possibility.

Dylan answered neutrally, “Well, according to the leprechaun, no. The spell can be reversed if the troll redeems himself.”

“And how would he do that?” asked Yarg, still seemingly fascinated by the club.

Dylan frowned, not remembering if Nirb had mentioned that to him. “I'm not sure,” then after a pause to think it through, “I think he would need to ask Nemesis.”

“Uhmm,” said Yarg, his tone non-committal. “Not that it matters, because it's too improbable to be possible.”

Dylan groaned again. “Why is it so improbable? I've only been here a few minutes and I can see the difference between you and the other trolls.”

“What are you saying, mortal?” Yarg said, adding a warning growl low in his throat.

“I'm only saying that I've seen a few things that differ. You are much taller and leaner, your speech is very different, far more refined. I'm sure that if you look you will see other differences as well. Tell me, what is your earliest memory?”

Yarg rolled his eyes but answered nonetheless. “I can't remember my parents or siblings, but I remember hunting, thumping and fire-blazing practices.”

Dylan persisted. “How long have you been king?”

Yarg glared at him. He reached out his hand, grabbed Dylan by the front of his tunic and pulled him closer. “You go too far, mortal,” he threatened. “Either you are a fool, or you think that I am. Which is it?”

Dylan recognised what was driving Yarg. As princes, he and Gray had been brought up to expect deference—none of Dylan's people would have challenged their prince as he was challenging Yarg. He needed to calm the situation down.

“I am not a fool, and neither are you,” he said softly. “The leprechaun mentioned that Nemesis left a clue.”

Yarg released Dylan and settled back on his throne. “What type of clue?” he asked.

“When we were children, you refused to be called Joshua. Everyone called you Gray. It was the only name you ever used. Do you remember?”

Yarg growled, “No.”

“Nemesis named the troll ‘Yarg',” Dylan said.

Noticing the confusion on his brother's face, he explained, “Yarg is Gray spelt backwards.”

Yarg looked seriously annoyed. “What utter rubbish!” he snapped.

Dylan cringed at the anger in Yarg's voice. Becoming a troll hadn't done anything for his brother's stubbornness, he thought.

Yarg suddenly straightened and yelled at the top of his voice: “Taliyard!”

“Taliyard?” Dylan enquired, looking around to see who or what the name belonged to.

“My chief troll,” said Yarg as he straightened from his throne and headed towards the massive troll who was coming from his post at the entrance to the room.Taliyard was a giant. While only slightly taller than Yarg, his body weight was almost double his king's. He stopped in front of Yarg and nodded his head in greeting.

“Taliyard, how long have you known me?” Yarg asked abruptly, watching his chief closely.

Taliyard's face blanched at the question. “Ah … known you, my king?” he stalled.

Yarg reached out and slapped the back of Taliyard's head, a strong encouragement for the chief troll to answer. Taliyard swayed forward, just stopping himself from falling onto Yarg.

“Ah … three years, my king,” Taliyard said gruffly, rubbing the back of his head with his big hand.

“
What
?” roared Yarg, his eyes opening so wide that they looked in danger of bulging out.

“It's true,” Taliyard said quickly, stepping back out of reach.

“Explain,” demanded Yarg, advancing to close the gap.

“Uh … about three years ago, the troops and I is out on a mashing, whacking spree when we hears something groan. We sees somethin' covered in mud and grass lyin' on the ground. We moves forward to whack the thing, but when we gets closer, we realises it's blue, a troll like us,” he stammered out. “Anyways, I asks you what you is doin' and where you come from. Then you stands up, grabs my club and bashes me over the head wiv it,” he said, his hand moving again to rub the spot on his head, as if it still hurt.

“What in troll's tarnation are you talking about?” yelled Yarg, glaring at Taliyard.

Taliyard blinked at the violence in Yarg's tone.

“I'se talkin' about you takin' my place as king. By the time you stops bashin' me over the head, it's too late. All the trolls reckonise you as the new king. I doesn't wants to be an outcast, so I just falls in with them. I doesn't mind, though, you is a good king and you does a really good job.” Then musingly, “Except of course when you says we can't go on whacking sprees so often, or when you says we isn't allowed to pull the wings off the fairies no more, but other than that you've been a good king,” he said solemnly, nodding approvingly at Yarg.

“
Three years,”
said Yarg dazedly.

Taliyard nodded his head in agreement. “We'se had fun teasing the fairies and pixies. We'se had fun chasing the dragonflies and butterflies …”

Taliyard droned on, listing all the things he considered Yarg had been doing right in the last three years. He failed to notice that Yarg was not listening to him. Yarg had stepped away from Taliyard and was sitting on his throne, dazed.

Interrupting Taliyard's rambling, Yarg asked. “Why have you never talked about this before?”

Taliyard scratched his head and looked confused.

Shaking his head, Yarg grumbled, “Never mind.”

Yarg stared at Dylan. “I still don't think this story of yours has any merit, but let's say for argument's sake that it does. What do I do now?”

Dylan lowered his head. Once he had mastered the relieved smile that crossed his face, he looked again at Dylan.

“We must travel to Nemesis and seek the truth.”

Yarg raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘we'?” he asked quietly.

Dylan's jaw dropped in astonishment. “Of course I'll be coming with you,” he said.

Yarg gave a smile that revealed his long, pointed teeth, and Dylan was instantly suspicious. “Thank you for coming to tell me all this, but you must realise that this journey is mine alone to make, and alone I shall make it,” Yarg said.

Dylan opened his mouth to argue, but Taliyard beat him to it, shouting in horror: “No, my king! You
surely doesn't mean to leave us.”

Yarg growled deeply in response. “We all need to know the truth, Taliyard. In my absence you will be in command. Your word will be law. Understand?”

Yarg stood up. Ignoring Taliyard's stricken face, he turned his gaze in turn to every troll in the hall. “
Understand
?”

One by one their heads dropped in acceptance of their king's decree. Finally Yarg's eyes met Dylan's.

Pasting a stiff smile on his face he said, “Come, mortal, I want to show you something.” He walked away, not looking back to see if Dylan was following him. Dylan stared at Yarg's back for a full minute before he followed his brother.

Mumbling loud enough for only Yarg to hear, he said, “I
am
going with you …”

Yarg smiled, even though Dylan couldn't see it. He
didn't want to be a mortal, but he did like this human.

He led Dylan to the back of the hall, stopping when they reached the end. Putting his hand on a panel in the wall, he whispered some words beneath his breath.

Dylan blinked in astonishment as a door, disguised as part of the wall, opened to reveal a small room lined with rough and uneven bricks.

Yarg walked into the room and Dylan followed, sneezing from the dust that their entry had kicked up. Yarg looked over his shoulder at the sound, and then moved towards a corner of the room.

Dylan looked around, keen to see what this strange room contained. It was lined with roughly-shaped slabs that formed stone shelves and tables. Upon each table lay a treasure. The table closest to him held musical instruments, some beautifully carved from wood, others moulded from silver and gold. A few of the instruments he had never seen before, and he had reached out his hand to pick one of them up when Yarg called out: “Don't touch anything!”

Shaking his head, he pulled back his hand and moved to the next table. This one housed an assortment of engraved cups and bowls. Nestled between them was a beautiful dagger, its handle encrusted with jewels that sparkled in the dim light despite the dust that coated them. Dylan stuck his hand in his pockets to stifle the temptation to pick it up, and forced himself toward the next table.

On this was laid an assortment of old witches' brooms, coated in dust so thick it must have been a very long time since anyone had used them. Sneezing again, he moved on to the next table. Feathers of all colours and sizes littered its top. Dylan moved his eyes over them, wondering why anyone would need so many feathers.

What he saw on the next table made him catch his breath. Four sets of tiny, exquisite, transparent wings lay before him, each set dazzlingly unique. Dylan had never seen anything remotely like them, and this time he had to curl his fingers into fists to prevent him reaching out to stroke their gossamer beauty. The wings shimmered and shone, glowing as if with a life of their own, inviting and enticing him.

Dylan looked over to where Yarg was standing at a table in the corner. His brother was holding an old book covered in tendrils of spider webs and a thin layer of dust.

As Dylan watched, he opened the book and placed it back down on the table. Then he began writing something down, all the while whispering to himself. Dylan shook his head and turned his attention once more to the wings.

“How did you come by these beautiful wings?” he asked absently.

Yarg remained silent for a while, and then, “I traded the fairies for them,” he said quietly.

Dylan's eyes left them reluctantly as he moved to the next table. Before him was an assortment of jars, each filled to the brim with glittering specks of dust. Frowning, he wondered why his brother collected coloured dust.

“Why have you got coloured dust?” he asked.

“It's not dust,” sighed Yarg. “Those jars are filled with different kinds of magic. Don't ask me any more questions. I think you already know much more than you're supposed to.”

Dylan was just about to approach the next table when Yarg called for him to come. Dylan raised his eyebrows but walked forward, seating himself on the edge of the table that Yarg stood behind. A strange feeling unravelled in the pit of his stomach and a sudden stillness settled on the room. Dylan had just opened his mouth to comment on it when the intent look on Yarg's face stopped him.

“I thank you for coming. Perhaps we will meet again. Goodbye …”

Dylan heard the words as if from a great distance. His heart began to beat faster, the room began to swirl, and then everything went black. Within the blink of an eye he was standing in front of his very own castle, as if he'd never left.

3

A Centaur Named Folgoo

Y
arg blinked as the mortal who claimed to be his brother disappeared.

“I didn't have a choice. There's no way I could take a mortal on this journey,” he reassured himself.

He gathered a few things into a bag, threw it across his shoulder, and left the castle. Passing into the courtyard where the trolls had gathered to farewell him, he stopped next to Taliyard and whispered instructions that would allow his chief to run the kingdom during its king's absence. Then, with a last goodbye, Yarg turned in the direction of BlackMist Mountain.

As Yarg set one foot after the other, his mind gnawed at every aspect of his dilemma. He had to get to BlackMist Mountain, then he had to find the hidden Valley Mystic, had to find Nemesis, had to save a fairy … he growled in frustration. Which fairy? He didn't even know the fairy's name—had no recollection of her at all, in fact.

Doubts and conflict raging within him, Yarg trudged on, almost becoming used to the sharp rays of the sun beaming down on his bare head. After some hours, he was brought out of his reverie by a sudden lessening of the light and heat.

Shaking his mind free of the turmoil of his thoughts, Yarg realised that he had entered a thickly-wooded forest. He looked up to see huge branches covered in broad leaves blocking out the sun's rays, allowing passage only to faint wisps of dusky light.

Yarg began to walk again. The deeper he moved into the wood's depths, the more still it became. Birds resting upon high perches silently observed his passage, insects were motionlessly indistinguishable from their surroundings, even the rustling of the leaves had stopped.

Yarg entered a small clearing and a ripple of awareness wound its way up his thick arms. In the centre of the clearing stood a solitary tree, the solid mass of its trunk testifying to great age.

One of the ancients …

Yarg moved slowly forward and reverently placed his hand on its trunk. He moved closer and pressed his nose right up against the bark, inhaling deeply of the rich woody scent. He sighed, realising how long it had been since he had taken the time to appreciate what nature gave so freely.

Sinking to the soft ground at the base of the tree, he leaned his back against it and rested for a moment. He closed his eyes and let his other senses take over—smells of rich earth and growing things, feel of rough bark against his back and soft moss beneath his legs …

He was content, on the verge of being lulled to sleep, when a light breeze picked up, wafting the most horrid smell to him. He sniffed once, then again, trying to identify the stench, then a thought occurred to him. He raised his arm to sniff his armpit, then abruptly jerked his head away. He barely managed to keep himself from gagging as he turned his head to gulp in fresh air.

How could I smell so bad and not know it?
he wondered.

Yarg had risen, about to seek out a stream to wash in, when he heard what sounded like a footfall on dry leaves—muffled, but not far away. He looked carefully around the clearing. Nothing moved, yet Yarg's instincts told him that he wasn't alone. He stepped silently around the massive trunk …

And came face to face with a huge centaur.

Yarg stared at the creature. The burly lower horse body, with its four powerfully muscled and hairy legs, was perfectly joined to an equally muscled human torso. Around its neck was a heavy gold chain. Suspended from it was a golden medallion embossed with a small figure of a centaur holding a flaming ball.

Yarg's scrutiny reached the creature's face. It was smooth, with the exception of a few whiskers scattered across the chin, and surprisingly handsome. Yarg blinked as his gaze met the centaur's eerily blazing blue eyes.

Yarg had never met a centaur, but the other trolls told many stories about them.

According to the legends, centaurs were extremely peculiar—very highly strung, taking offence at the slightest, often imagined transgression; extremely welcoming one moment, irrationally irritated the next. They had an unlimited knowledge of healing skills and a talent for hunting, while the most gifted had a flair for music.

Centaurs believed that the stars predicted the secrets of the different realms, and that through them they could see the past, present and future. The thing that had intrigued Yarg most about them was that they were said to be brutally honest.

The centaur growled deep in his throat and swished his tail, signs Yarg easily read as impatience at the troll's scrutiny. Yarg refocused his eyes on the centaurs' and raised his hand in a gesture of greeting.

The centaur did not return it; instead he said in a deep voice, “You must leave this forest immediately. Your kind is not welcome here.”

The words were uttered so slowly that Yarg wondered if the centaur thought he was daft.

Yarg raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders and said, “I'm just passing through.”

The centaur pawed his front leg on the ground for a moment, then again fixed his eyes firmly on Yarg's face.

“I am Yarg, King of the Trolls,” Yarg politely introduced himself. “Who are you, centaur?”

The centaur made no effort to answer Yarg's question. Instead, “Why have you come here?” he demanded.

Yarg shook his head and smiled. “I asked first,” he replied.

The centaur stared at Yarg for a long moment before giving in, “My name is Folgoo.”

“It seems to me that you recognised my name,” Yarg probed. “Why would that be?”

Folgoo flashed a knowing smile at him. “News spreads fast, courtesy of the immortal grapevine. I've heard all about your confusing state of affairs, your … eh … complete lack of regard for our fair fairy.”

Yarg felt his hackles rise. Did everyone know his business?

“Yes,” said Folgoo simply.

“Are you reading my mind?” Yarg asked, glancing sharply at Folgoo.

“I don't need to read your mind, your thoughts are written on your face,” the centaur sneered.

“And do you always judge others before getting the facts?” Yarg asked, then shook his head in defeat. “Never mind, I'm going,” he said and turned away from Folgoo.

To his surprise, the centaur came up beside him, saying, “I shall accompany you to the borders of our realm.”

Yarg nodded an acknowledgement. They walked silently side by side for a while before Folgoo said, “You seek Nemesis the Dragon.”

Yarg nodded his head, waiting for Folgoo to make further comment. None was forthcoming, and they continued on in silence. Yarg had bent down to pick up a twisted stick that interested him when he noticed that Folgoo had stopped walking. His head was turned to one side, and he was subtly sniffing the air.

“What is it?” asked Yarg.

Folgoo shook his head, gesturing Yarg to remain silent. Yarg sensed something was about to happen because Folgoo looked directly at him.

“You are in danger. We must hurry to reach the border of the woodland,” he said urgently.

By now also able to sense others drawing near to them, Yarg needed no encouragement. Branches snapped and young sprouts of grass were crushed beneath their feet as the two rushed forward, racing to reach the border.

Yarg's heart was pounding and he could hear Folgoo breathing heavily directly behind him, but soon these sounds were joined by the thundering of hooves hitting the woodland floor.

Yarg turned his head to see what was chasing them. His heart leapt into his throat and began to beat a crazy tattoo at the sight of an angry centaur ferociously bearing down on them. Yarg was panting hard and his lungs had begun to burn, but still he pumped his stumpy legs and forced his big feet to move faster. Then his fat toe caught the gnarled root of an ancient tree, and he felt himself stumble. Growling loudly in frustration, he flung his hands out in an effort to break his fall. Just as he was about to hit the ground, massive hands grabbed him and flung him upward.

As if in slow motion, Yarg somersaulted through the air to land with a jolt on Folgoo's back. Folgoo staggered as the troll's great weight hit, but he quickly regained his balance and surged forward in one smooth movement.

Yarg frantically wrapped his arms around Folgoo's neck, barely managing to hang on as they raced towards the border. Yarg worried that he might be choking Folgoo a little, but he didn't dare ease his grip for fear of falling and being trampled by the centaur that pursued them. Folgoo put his head down and ran all the way out of the forest. He had almost reached the invisible boundaries of the next realm, when he was suddenly wrenched backwards.

Yarg went flying over the centaur's head. He landed with a great thump on the ground, banging his head in the process. “Ouch! A little warning would have been nice,” he protested in a grumble, rubbing a spot on his temple that was rapidly beginning to swell.

Folgoo glared at him for a second before turning to their pursuer, who was now walking towards them. Straining to escape the invisible bonds that held him, Folgoo snapped impatiently, “Release me!”

The centaur raised an eyebrow, but continued to walk steadily towards them, stopping just out of reach. “Why are you travelling with one as despicable as this?” he asked Folgoo, his tone soft, but deadly.

“His heart is not as corrupt as we have been led to believe, brother,” Folgoo stated simply, holding the gaze of the massive centaur.

Yarg stood up and began to dust himself off. “I don't know what all this fuss is about, but I'm going to see Nemesis,” he said to no one in particular. “I'm leaving now.”

The centaur grunted and turned his attention to Yarg. “Did you or did you not hurt a Blue Bell fairy?” he demanded.

Yarg looked at him for a moment and then shook his head as if to clear it. “At the moment, I can neither deny nor confirm anything about any fairy. All I know is that I need to see Nemesis.”

The centaur's eyes pierced his and he snorted. “So characteristic for one such as you …
human-troll
,” he said, his tone implying great insult.

Yarg scowled at him.

The centaur turned towards Folgoo and said, “Come we must bring him before the gathering.”

The bonds that held Folgoo within their tight grip seemed to melt away. Folgoo moved slightly as if to test his freedom. Shaking his head in disgust at the actions of his brother, he said to Yarg, “Come.”

Yarg shook his head. “No, I'm leaving.”

But as he made to move towards the boundary a few metres away from them, Folgoo said, “Don't be foolish, Yarg. You have chosen this path, it is time to follow your destiny.”

Muttering beneath his breath, Yarg turned back into the forest. He walked a bit faster until he was abreast with Folgoo. “What's his name?” he whispered.

“Cyan,” said Folgoo.

“What does he want?”

“To take you to the gathering.”

“The gathering?”

“A tradition as old as time, when centaurs come together,” Folgoo explained.

“Uh, that makes sense … but why does he want me there?” queried Yarg.

“They plan on having a judging,” Folgoo replied.

“What are they judging?” Yarg asked.

“You!” hissed Folgoo, keeping his eyes fixed before him.

Yarg was too stunned to say another word. He walked beside Folgoo until they stopped in another small clearing, this one ringed by trees so massive that their branches meshed overhead. The woods seemed eerily still here. Fog clumped on the woodland floor, hiding the ground from sight, and twines of the delicate mist wound their way halfway up the tree trunks. The faint fingers of light that managed to penetrate the leafy canopy did little to dispel the feeling of gloom, and Yarg shivered.

As his eyes adjusting to the dimness, Yarg spotted something within the shadows of the trees that ringed the clearing—a huge centaur standing in front of several smaller ones. The centaur leader, for he must surely be that, moved forward assertively, each measured tread bringing him closer to Folgoo. His eyes stared into Folgoo's piercingly, watching to see his reaction.

Folgoo nodded his head and acknowledged respectfully, “Salvetor.”

The centaur gestured towards Yarg as he hissed in anger, “How dare you try to aid this creature without bringing him to the gathering Folgoo. You know our laws.”

“For what reason would I have brought him to you, Salvetor?”

“Has he not hurt one of our own?” hissed Salvetor, his eyes once more drilling into Folgoo's.

“Unknowing is not the same as knowing,” said Folgoo cryptically.

“You
Dare
to defend him?”

“I do not defend,” said Folgoo. “I merely explain. This one is not corrupt, as we have been led to believe. I see the potential for redemption. But he must follow his own path first.”

Salvetor considered this for a long moment, the anger in his face gradually fading. The giant creature closed his eyes and raised his face upwards, as if seeking guidance. After what seemed like an eternity to Yarg, Salvetor lowered his head, opened his eyes and addressed Folgoo. “Then you shall accompany the troll on his journey and ensure he does what you say he can. If he cannot, then you must return him to us and we will take care of the matter.”

“Only if Nemesis orders it,” Folgoo said quietly.

Salvetor glared at them for a moment more, considering Folgoo's words. He nodded once in agreement, then he and his attendants faded back into the shadows of the trees.

Folgoo dropped his head and took a deep breath.

“Why does he want me returned?” asked Yarg, a bit confused.

“We are one of the hunter factions,” he said simply before turning away and heading back towards the boundary.

Yarg blinked in astonishment. Hunter factions were elite secret groups in the service of Nemesis. Their role was to protect the immortal realms, but they were called upon only in the direst of circumstances. It was rumoured that beings sought by them sometimes just disappeared. Pondering the implications of this, Yarg followed Folgoo.