Trolls and Tribulations

by Kevin Partner

  After a moment’s contemplative evaluation by all concerned, applause exploded from the centre of the mob and spread around until even the dwarfs of the city were clapping. Many members of the citizenry, having gathered that they weren’t going to be pillaged quite yet, were waiting beyond the open gates. Some of them had baskets of gifts.

  “I’ll leave things in your ‘ands now, Madam Mayor. I need to get topside and feel the wind in me ginnel again.”

  She shook hands with Libby who was smiling broadly. “Thank you Gramma. How can we reward you for your help?”

  “I don’t need no reward, lass, I were only saving me own skin,” she lied, “but I will do you one more service.”

  The old woman gestured to the guard holding the unmoving form of Jispa, former leader of the rebellion. “Right lad, you’re coming with me,” she said to the goblin, “it’s time you went home.”

  Chapter 16

  Bently struggled up the slope, heading for the secret entrance to the magician’s lair. He’d been revived, somewhat, by the rainfall, but each step was only made bearable by the thought that, if he didn’t make it to the doorway, he’d have to answer to his master.

  Humunculus had sounded delighted to hear from his servant again but had quickly become crotchety as he conversed, it seemed, with another of the spirits in the staff. He’d made it very clear to Bently that the sooner he was released, the better. And so Bently struggled on, stumbling his way up to a door he couldn’t see but prayed was there, for the sake of his master’s sanity and, in all probability, his own.

  “Now, enough delaying,” Humunculus said, pointing a quivering finger at Aligvok, “I want to know exactly what happens when we reach the laboratory, whatever a laboratory is. How am I restored when my body is far away and probably deep underground?”

  “It’s simple, really, the laboratory has a store of avatars for our spirits to return to. This is magic we’re talking about, after all.”

  Humunculus thought about this, then asked the first question that leapt into his head. “Will my new body be as handsome as my old one?”

  “I’m certain there will be one you’ll find acceptable,” Aligvok responded, shaking his head, “but first, your servant must find the door that was closed, so that he can open it.”

  In the corner, unnoticed, Ambler stirred. “How is that you know so much about this black dog in a chapel 10 letters 31and the evil magician who built it?”

  “Yeh,” Negstimeaboi added.

  Aligvok seemed startled to find them there, so intent had been his focus on Humunculus and his servant. “What? Oh, that’s easy enough to explain. I was his enemy, it was I who destroyed him, in that very laboratory.”

  “I thought you said he bested you, that is why you are in the administrative personnel, 5 letters?32” Ambler replied.

  Aligvok scowled. “I made the ultimate sacrifice in defeating him. We were both destroyed but, ironically, I was killed with a device that gave me a chance to return. He was not.”

  “I’m fascinated to know,” Humunculus said, “how you did it? He was the greatest magician of the age, you said, and yet you defeated him. How?”

  The Faerie King held Aligvok’s gaze, and the air seemed to shimmer between them. It was Aligvok who broke the spell.

  “Perhaps I got lucky,” he said, sulkily, “but, however I did it, I rid the world of a great evil and a little appreciation wouldn’t go amiss.”

  “But you said Minus created the faerie race, how can a wicked man possibly have done that?” Humunculus asked, smiling dangerously.

  Aligvok licked his lips. “A man can do great things and yet be evil, such a man was Minus.”

  “And there are bodies for all rule out + mediates, 8 letters 33…”

  “Denizens,” Aligvok sighed.

  “... of the staff,” finished Ambler.

  Aligvok shrugged. “I doubt it, the avatars were stored in case of the staff taking the wrong soul by accident, but there aren’t many. Since Minus only cared about faerie souls, the staff will only unlock the avatars if it contains one of that race so he kept just enough spares for that eventuality. But don’t be concerned,” he said, as Ambler opened his mouth to protest, “there are enough for those in this room and perhaps a few more.”

  There was a rumble from the corner. “Any bodies for ladies?” asked Negstimeaboi in a shy voice.

  “I’m sure there will be,” Aligvok said dismissively.

  The great female warrior bent down to Ambler’s eye level. “Maybe we find body that Ambler likes better than this one,” she said, passing her massive hand down her frame.

  Ambler smiled up at her. “I like this one plenty enough.”

  “You spoke plainly,” said Negstimeaboi finally.

  Ambler’s face lifted in a smile. “Oh, how wonderful! I can finally speak my sounds like extracting ore from the ground, 4 letters,34” he said, before sobbing.

  “Enough of him,” Humunculus said, “how soon will I be freed?”

  Aligvok looked from the ranger, now seeking consolation in the iron embrace of Negstimeaboi, to the Faerie King. “What? Oh, once your servant has found the entrance we will search the lab for the orb of light and the avatar room. That is where the transfers will take place. Not long now, my friend, not long now.”

  Humunculus smiled with a confidence he did not feel. He couldn’t shake off the suspicion that he was being played for a stooge by this wizard. “Good, I look forward to our triumphant return to corporeality followed by an even more triumphant return to my own world.”

  And I have plans of my own. Oh yes, indeed, Aligvok thought.

  #

  It was mid afternoon by the time Chortley found himself face to rock-face with the entrance to the labyrinth. Beside him stood Jonathan Clegg, who was ostentatiously twirling the ends of his long Van Dyke beard between inky fingers.

  “Well, I must say, exquisite work,” he said, running his fingers along the fine letters cut into the stonework, “though how it has survived in such perfect condition after so many centuries, I don’t know. It ought to have been weathered away by the wind.”

  “I couldn’t give a tinker’s crack-fur how pretty the lettering is, what does it say, you idiot?” Chortley’s temper, short at the best of times, could now be measured in millimetres.

  Clegg paid no attention but continued to trace the letters for a moment before pausing and stepping back. “The letters are Faerish but the language is that of Varma,” he said, “It reads This is the Maze of Minus, abandon hope all who enter here.”

  “Is that it?” Chortley said, nodding as Mother Hemlock and Velicity ambled up to join them.

  Running his glasses up and down his nose, Clegg’s myopic gaze swept the smooth rock.

  “It’s hard to see,” he said, “the light’s going.”

  Velicity touched Chortley’s arm, sending an involuntary shiver on a whistle-stop tour of his extremities. “Er, commander,” she said, “what’s the delay? Shouldn’t we be inside by now?”

  “I would if we could work out how to open the door,” Chortley responded, gesturing at the rock-face.

  “It’s just that it would, in an ideal world, be good to get inside before dark,” Velicity said, “all of us, that is.”

  Chortley’s survival instincts, normally subject to a dampening field around Velicity, gave his hormones a good kicking. “Everyone? Including the rear-guard? I’d intended to leave them out here with the prisoners while we solve the maze.”

  “Er, that might not be wise,” Velicity stammered.

  “What she means is that if you wants your rearguard to still be here when you come back from the maze, you’d better get ‘em inside before dark,” Mother Hemlock said.

  Chortley turned to the older witch. “What in the hells are you talking about?”

  “Sir,” Clegg said.

  “It’s just that, well, whilst it’s true that daylight turns trolls to stone,” Velicity said, her face drained of colour, “it’s also�
�”

  “Sir,” Clegg said.

  “Shut up,” Chortley barked, before turning back to Velicity, “well?”

  “Well, darkness turns them back,” she finished, her voice barely a whisper.

  Chortley held Velicity’s arms and looked into her eyes. “Turns who back to what?”

  “It turns the statues back into trolls,” Velicity said, bowing her head.

  Fitzmichael wheeled away to stare into the pass they’d passed through. In the diminishing light he could see the backs of the statues, over a hundred of them. And a half dozen would be enough to finish his army off.

  “Sorry, lad,” Mother Hemlock said, coming to stand beside him, “but it’s the laws of physiks. Somethin’ about conservation of energy. The light takes it from ‘em and the darkness gives it back.”

  Chortley looked into the old woman’s ice-blue eyes. “And if they catch us between the valley and the wall…”

  “They’ll crush us like a fat man sitting on an egg.”

  “Sir.”

  “WHAT, YOU IDIOT?” Chortley screamed. The entire camp; men, women, goblins, faerie and dwarf, turned to him.

  Clegg coughed. “Well, sir, I’ve found the rest of the inscription. It roughly translates as This door admits only those who know the password. Say it and enter.”

  “Well done, Clegg,” Chortley said, “so, what’s the password then?”

  Clegg looked puzzled. “I’m afraid I have no idea, sir, I assumed you would know.”

  “What? You mean we’ve come all this way only to be stuck between a rock and a hard kicking?”

  At that moment, the sun dipped beneath the valley’s lip. Almost immediately, a creaking sound echoed down the pass as if a thousand rusty joints were being stretched at once.

  “Oh bollocks, what do we do?” Chortley grabbed Mother Hemlock by the arms and shook her. “What do we do?”

  Jessie Hemlock stared into his eyes. Just this side of madness, again, she thought.

  “Well, I suggest you get your people inside quickly. Get on with it,” she said, now facing the wall.

  Chortley’s eyes looked about to burst free and go into orbit around his head. “What’s the point? We don’t know the password!”

  “Oh don’t we indeed?” Mother Hemlock said, pointing at the rock-face which now revealed the edge of a stone door frame.

  #

  Bently liked the dark. It was cool and familiar and it reminded him of home.

  “Ow!” he exclaimed as he stubbed his toe again. At least the tunnels of the Darkworld tended to be well enough lit so that you could see your hand in front of your face, or, indeed, a rock in front of your foot.

  He’d been climbing the eastern face of the mountain range, so the sun had disappeared an hour before darkness fell completely. He knew he was close because the instructions he’d been given had been spot on so far. Somewhere in the darkness ahead of him was the door. He didn’t know how far away, it could be mere feet from where he shuffled forward.

  “Ow!” This time it had been his nose that had connected and it was no rock he’d bumped into but a cliff-face.

  He rubbed his nose, had a brief weep, then spread his hands left and right, exploring by touch. There - a groove cut into the rock and running straight upwards. He followed it with his hand and, yes, it turned at a point a couple of feet above his head. He had found it!

  Bently went to grab the staff to tell his master the good news. He hesitated for a moment. It would be lovely to simply lie down here, have a rest, and tackle the door in the morning, but then he’d have to explain to a very cross master why he’d been so selfish. Sighing, he grabbed the stick and pulled it off his back.

  “Master?” he thought.

  “At last! Are you there, Bently? Are you at the door?”

  Bently sighed. “Yes, master, I am here.”

  “Well done, faithful servant. Was the journey arduous?”

  “Yes, master,” Bently said, taken aback, “in fact, I am rather tired. Can I suggest that I sleep now and tackle the door in the morning?”

  “Oh no, Bently, have you any idea how exhausting it is to be trapped in here waiting to be released?”

  “No, master,” said Bently, feeling somewhat relieved that normal relations had been restored. Had the Faerie King truly developed concerns for others, Bently would have taken that as evidence that his mind was irredeemably lost. Thankfully, it seemed it was only a momentary lapse and the egotistical tyrant Bently knew and feared was still intact.

  Bently straightened himself as if readying for inspection. “What do I do, master?”

  For a moment, he felt as though there were two voices in his head, one the familiar malicious tone of his master, the other barely perceptible, like a fly buzzing on the edge of hearing.

  “Bently?”

  “Here, master.”

  “There is a hole in the front of the door, you must find it and push the staff into it.”

  Bently swept his hand over the surface of the door, straining to catch any glimpse of the rock surface in the weak moonlight leaching through the clouds. Finally, he found it. Not so much a hole as a small depression in the rock, he dug at it with his claws before turning over his hands and pushing his finger pads inside. It felt as though sand had been blown into the hole over the centuries and had set solid but his claws were powerful and, soon, he had widened it enough to accept the end of the staff.

  He’d expected something more than just a quiet click, but a quiet click was what he got. The door swung open and, beyond it, he could see by the light of torches that sputtered into life, steps descending in many spirals into the heart of the mountain.

  “What is happening?”

  “I have opened the door, master.”

  Inside his mind, Bently felt an odd sort of jubilation by proxy, as if he was experiencing the emotions of several other people, all at once.

  “Go in, Bently. Go in, now.”

  So Bently passed through, stood on the first step and listened as, with all the inevitability of a cliche, the door scraped closed behind him.

  Chapter 17

  “So, the password was it?” Chortley said as he and Thun pulled the rock door closed behind him. Moments later, it vibrated as dozens of pairs of irate troll fists banged impotently on it.

  “Yep,” Mother Hemlock responded, “Minus was a devious bastard and he didn’t want his maze to be wasted on the very servants he’d placed here to guard it. Except those he wanted to come in, of course. I imagine there’s another entrance for them.”

  Chortley puffed as he leant against the door, ignoring the continued poundings. “And he was relying on their stupidity to keep them out?”

  “Not exactly stupidity. That Dunker who leads ‘em, he’s no idiot. But trolls have no imagination, so any sort of a riddle will fox ‘em. We’re safe enough now, they ‘aven’t worked out how to get in here for the past five hundred years, I don’t suppose they’ll figure it out in the next few days.”

  “Which is all very well,” Chortley responded, watching Sergeant McGuff approach. “We might be safe for now, but the only way out of this maze is back through that door. Except for that lot over there.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the huddled prisoners.

  Mother Hemlock nodded. “Best to focus on your task, lad. Get them back where they belong so’s they can’t cause havoc in our world no more and then we’ll think about what ‘appens next.”

  “They don’t look capable of much chaos,” Chortley said, “they’ve barely made it this far. Our world doesn’t agree with them, it seems.”

  “That’s just it, they don’t belong here. They come from an alien world and the longer they’re here, the more damage they do. They contaminate us,” said Velicity, “and you did a fine thing by deciding to find another way to dispose of them other than killing.”

  Chortley felt himself flush. “Maybe, but if I’d simply executed them, as my father said, I wouldn’t be here, in a deadly
labyrinth with trolls banging on the door.”

  “And you wouldn’t be here with me, either,” Velicity said, smiling sadly.

  “Sir, all the prisoners are secure,” McGuff reported, somehow managing to annoy Chortley and rescue him at the same time. The sergeant gestured across the dark cavern cut out of the mountainside, illuminated by the fires of the garrison. Beyond it, Chortley could just make out a dark chasm crossed by a very narrow bridge.

  “Very good, sergeant,” Chortley said, “and is the cracked squad ready to move out?”

  McGuff looked over to where a small group huddled around the muscular bulk of Thun. “As ready as they’ll ever be, sir,” he sighed, “so we’d best be getting it over with.”

  “So, what’s your plan, then?” Mother Hemlock asked as they walked over to join Crapplecreek’s finest.

  Chortley nodded at each of the squad in turn. “Today, each of you has the opportunity to make a new future for yourself, and I expect you to behave like true Crapplecreekers; with courage, skill and determination.”

  “I suspect, sir” Clegg said, “that for most, if not all of us, our future is likely to be pretty short. But thank you for your confidence.”

  McGuff thrust his face into Clegg’s. “Anymore talk like that, Mr lah-di-dah Secretary Clegg and your future will consist of my boot up your arse, now SHUT UP!”

  Clegg didn’t move an inch and observed the spittle-laden diatribe as if he was merely a disinterested third party. Once it had ended, he removed his spectacles and rubbed them on his shirt, before wiping his face with the back of his hand.

  “Thank you sergeant,” Chortley said, “now, does anyone else have any questions before I begin the briefing?”

  The squad collectively shook their heads; except for Thun who continued to look blankly ahead.