[Primrose Bolger]

Harry was dead. Not so much as a bite of stew had passed his lips when he gave a great gurgle, rolled up his eyes, and slumped to his side. ‘Well, that’s it, brother,’ Broga said, giving his cousin a poke with his finger to see if he’d come round at all.

Grimm shook his head. ‘Shouldna happened!’ he rasped out. It was not often that Trolls were bested in battle.

‘Bad luck for our Harry, wasn’t it?’ returned Broga. In Troll fashion he’d already been picking over the few things of interest that the dead Troll had on him – some linked metal chain wrapped about his wrist, shiny once when it was newer; a long sharp knife in a ragged sheath, the handle big enough for a comfortable Troll grip; and there, by the now congealing pot of stew, a lovely metal stirring spoon, heavy, long-handled, serviceable as both weapon and cooking utensil. Broga tucked it in his belt, or rather in Harry’s belt which he’d acquired for himself. He heard Grimm muttering near him and a brief moment of guilt assailed him. ‘Here,’ he said, offering the treasured spoon to his brother. ‘Take it if you like. And quit yer muttering. I didn’t mean to edge you out of what there was. G’wan now. Take it.’ He held out the spoon to Grimm.

‘It ain’t about the spoon,’ Grimm said, pushing it away. ‘And it weren’t bad luck what done Harry in.’ His eyes narrowed and he spit a great gobbet on the ground as if to rid himself of something nasty tasting. ‘It were them Elves and tarks – pokin’ their noses in our business. It’s them what started it. But stone and bone, it was them dumb as sheep Orcs what made the final blow. We was on their side, and they turned on Harry.’ He snorted. ‘They shoulda let us pound them others when we had the chance.’

‘Never liked them Orcs all that much, anyways,’ nodded Broga. ‘Though they was good at finding gold and such.’ The dislike of Elves and Rangers was a given, not requiring a comment.

‘Well, I say we thump ‘em all, brother,’ said Grimm, a feral look lighting his eyes. For emphasis, he drew his hammer from his belt and whacked it down hard on the ground, startling a small group of crows who were beginning to take charge of the downed Troll. The crows rose up in a black cloud, cawing their displeasure. Broga looked up at them then turned to his brother with a questioning look on his face. ‘How we going to do that, Grimm. We been left behind. They all moved on – man, Elf, and Orc.’

‘Run, brother!’ Grimm took off eastward, motioning for Broga to follow along.

The endurance of Trolls is legendary. They ran at a steady pace, their long strides eating up the miles. The men and Elves would head for the shallows that crossed the river on the border of the Elven land. The Orcs, they reckoned, would want to catch them before they stepped foot in that foul Elf place. Too dangerous by half, those hard-eyed Elves and their nasty bows. The Trolls kept north of the road, running through the familiar hills and forested tracks. It was nearing evening when the saw the river through the trees. A wide band of shining silver, the last light of the sun over the tree tops glinting off it. A small thicket of poplar and scrubby bush afforded them a vantage point to the north of the ford. They would see whichever group came first. Plenty of fist sized rocks were scattered about, handy for hurling.

Grimm and Broga hunkered down, their eyes peering through the tangle of leaves. Broga’s thick club was in his right hand, thumping softly against the hard palm of his left . . . waiting . . .

‘You know,’ he whispered, nudging Grimm on the arm. ‘I been doin some thinking while we ran.’ Grimm looked at him in surprise, wondering what his brother had come up with. ‘That north place was big enough. No reason we can’t take over some of it for our own. Let them Orcs do their own work.’

Grimm chuckled low. ‘That’s my brother!’ He rubbed the side of jaw as a thought came to him. ‘Wonder if old Arald and his brother might want to get in on it? We’ll have to see once we get this here over and done with.’

The distant sounds of some group moving through the trees as they approached the wide bank of the river silenced the two Trolls. They waited to see which group would come first . . .