Nemesis and the Troll King (6 page)

Yarg turned his gaze in the direction the giggle had come from. “What a shame they are too scared to come out and talk to us,” he said in sad tones.

Folgoo nodded his head earnestly. “It is that,” he added.

Before either of them could utter another word, a group of Nuffins appeared in front of them.

Shorter than leprechauns, the Nuffins had two pairs of wings, the first set pointing upwards and the second set facing towards the ground. They wore red pants topped by blue shirts with rolled necklines. Some sported acorn-shell caps on their heads, others had messy hair that twined with their long ears and tumbled around their shoulders. They had very small hands. Set in their faces were the most expressive big eyes, and small … noses?

How very unusual,
thought Yarg, squinting a little to get a better look at the one closest to him. Its ‘nose' looked remarkably like a sewn-on button that curled in a neat little spiral.

The odd protuberance distracted attention from its massive mouth until the Nuffin smiled a smile that reached from ear to ear. Yarg couldn't help but smile back. “Who is your leader?” he asked as the Nuffins moved closer to them.

The Nuffins grinned around at each other, then one of them stepped forward.

“My name's Gurt. These be my brothers and sisters …” he broke off turning to introduce his siblings to Yarg. Stretching his fingers out he pointed to each one and said their names carefully so that Yarg would remember them. “Bon, Eriee, Byron, Jillie, Ivy, Weezie, Susu, Lanie, Pickers. And the one over there is Ben. The others are roundabout somewheres,” he said turning back to Yarg and Folgoo.

“Why were you hiding?” asked Yarg looking around at the cute little faces.

Gurt came closer to Yarg and said, “You want to send us away, and we don't want to go.”

“That doesn't give you the right to steal a river that doesn't belong to you,” said Yarg, trying to reason with them.

A pugnacious look set on Gurt's face. He planted his feet further apart and crossed his arms defiantly in front of him. “We're not leaving and you can't make us!” he said stubbornly.

Frustration brought Yarg's troll nature to the fore. He grabbed Gurt by his shirt front and held him off the ground. “Oh yes I can!”

Gurt looked up at Yarg, squinting his eyes in the sun's glare. A single fat tear gathered at the corner of his eye and slowly slid down his chubby cheek. Realising what he had been doing, Yarg felt ashamed. He sighed deeply as he gently lowered Gurt to the ground. It seemed he still had a long way to go to redeem himself.

He wondered if he would ever atone for the things that he had done.

“I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you, I just want to talk,” Yarg said apologetically,

“You don't want to hurt me!” quivered Gurt, managing to convey his outrage and disbelief even through the tremble in his voice.

Yarg slowly lowered himself to be on eye-level with the Nuffins. “Why did you steal Bemoomba's river?” he asked more gently.

Gaining confidence now he realised that Yarg was in control of himself again, Gurt lifted eyes that were a curious blend of innocence and mischief to Yarg's.

“We didn't exactly steal it,” he said, “we kinda just made it go invisible so them orangey furballs couldn't find it, but we just wanted a place to stay for a while and we came here but they didn't want to share with us and then they told us to leave and then well we kinda got angry with them and then we teased them some and then …”

“Stop, stop,” Yarg broke in, bewildered by the speed of this speech. “How did you tease them?” he asked, beginning to see something of a misunderstanding in the works.

“Well … we might of gone invisible and threw some mud at them … and … we might have sneaked their food away from them … and … and … we might have taken their things and hid them … and … just stuff like that.”

He no longer met Yarg's gaze, and Yarg instinctively knew that they ‘might' have done more than that to the Manukies.

“But you stopped the Manukies getting to the river. You are destroying the plant life, not only here but everywhere!” said Yarg as he stood. “Gurt, Bemoomba needs her river back so that things can start to grow again. You must ask her again if you can stay, but if she says ‘no', then you'll have to move on.”

Gurt folded his arms across his chest again. “We want to stay here! Everywhere we go, someone chases us away. We just want a home,” he finished plaintively.

“Then we'll have to find you one,” said Yarg reasonably as he stood again. “Let's go and talk to Bemoomba.”

The Nuffins fidgeted, shuffling their feet in the grass. Yarg shrugged his shoulders in irritation.

“What's wrong now?” he snapped.

“Will she be mad at us? We don't want her to do stuff to us, maybe make us go all orangey and puffy like her pets,” said Gurt in a small whisper.

Yarg stifled the urge to laugh at their description of the Manukies. “They aren't her pets,” he said, “and she's not going to make you orange or puffy! Now can we please go?”

“Okay,” sighed Gurt. “We'll come with you.”

Yarg started walking, followed closely by the Nuffins and Folgoo. They left the beauty of the river and soon passed again into the wasteland. Hearing a gasp behind him, Yarg turned to see the Nuffins standing still, staring horrified at the bleakness before them.

“Did
we
do this?” Gurt asked in a whisper.

“I believe that you did,” said Yarg.

“We never meant to do this,” Gurt said sadly, his big eyes leaking as he looked around him.

Yarg frowned, realising that the Nuffins were actually quite upset about the damage they had caused. “Don't worry, Gurt, we can fix this,” he said reassuringly.

The Nuffins hop-walking beside him as he headed back to the clearing, Yarg was surprised to find that he felt rather sad for them. However misguided their actions, they had just wanted a place to call their own.

As Yarg, Folgoo and the Nuffins neared the clearing, the Manukies drew closer to Bemoomba, completely surrounding her. When Yarg stopped, facing the ancient, she opened her eyes and smiled at him, but her smile was quickly replaced with irritation as she noticed the Nuffins coming forward to stand beside Yarg. Some of them bounced slowly up and down, others just stood smiling, but they all looked so naughty.

“What is going on, Yarg?” she asked with a sweetness that did nothing to mask her anger.

“I've brought the Nuffins to you, Bemoomba. They're sorry about what happened, and I think it was mostly a big misunderstanding. Perhaps you should listen to them before you make any decisions.”

Yarg turned to Gurt. “Gurt, this is Bemoomba. She is the guardian of all growing things.” Then to the ancient, “Bemoomba, this is the leader of the little mischief-makers. This is Gurt.”

Gurt rolled his eyes in disrespect at Yarg's words.

Bemoomba smiled at him and said, “Hello, Gurt. Tell me, why did you steal my river?”

Gurt lowered his eyes and answered in a whisper. “We just wanted a home here. They,” he pointed at the Manukies, “tried to make us leave and we didn't want to go.”

“Ah, I see,” said Bemoomba.

She closed her eyes and all in the clearing waited expectantly. When she reopened them, she looked at Yarg.“Then Yarg will take you to find you a new home, we will have access to our river, and all will be well again.”

Yarg's head swung around. “No … I can't. I don't have time to do that,” he replied.

But Gurt wasn't paying attention to Yarg. He and all the other Nuffins were hopping up and down in excitement, just like small children. After several attempts to make them hear him, Yarg bellowed: “I can't take you with me!”

The Nuffins stopped their celebrations immediately. They turned forlorn faces to Yarg.

Bemoomba raised her woody eyebrows, “Have you forgotten why you came here, troll?” she enquired.

“No, I haven't,” he said. “But I just don't have time for this!”

Bemoomba just smiled sadly and replied, “I can see that Nemesis was right about you.”

Understanding dawned, and realising that he really had no choice, Yarg gave in, but with little grace. “Fine! I'll take them with me! But I would like that moonray now, please.”

Bemoomba's smile broadened. She winked at something behind Yarg and Yarg turned in time to see a small Manukie scurry away.

Folgoo stepped closer to Yarg. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “What are you doing now? Where are we going to find a home for this bunch?”

Yarg was just about to answer that he had no idea, when a small orange ball came racing up to him, its small arm outstretched. Within its fluffy palm it held a handful of sparkles that bore a close resemblance to magic dust. They shimmered and glowed weirdly the closer the Manukie came to Bemoomba.

Bemoomba reached out a branch and took the sparkling dust from her Manukie. She closed her eyes, and the dust transformed into a glowing crystal stick. Opening her eyes again, she plucked a leaf from her tree, wrapped it tightly around the crystal stick and presented it to Yarg. “Don't open it. Give it to Nemesis as it is and he'll know what to do with it,” she said. “Thank you for your help, Yarg, King of the Trolls. We wish you luck on your journey.”

Yarg stared down at the package in his huge hands. “Uh, thanks Bemoomba.” He put it into his magical bag and turned to Folgoo. “That's our first token, Folgoo,” he said.

“So what do we do now?” asked Folgoo.

“Well, we take the Nuffins with us while we look for the next token on the list, and on the way we think about where we can find them a home.” Yarg replied.

“What is the next token?” Folgoo asked.

Yarg reached again into his bag and consulted the parchment Nemesis had given him. “Hmm, the next token is The Sand of Memory. Do you know anything about that?”

Folgoo shook his head, but Bemoomba answered: “You will find The Sand of Memory within the Immortal Markets. A witch named Urdelyn has a stall on the far side of the market. She has your next token.”

She smiled a deceptively innocent smile at them and Yarg was instantly suspicious. “Don't forget to take the Nuffins when you leave,” she added sweetly.

“But the Nuffins said they were kicked out of the Immortal Markets,” Yarg protested.

“Yarg, you are the King of the Trolls. I'm sure you'll find a way around that,” she replied, now making no attempt to hide her enjoyment of his predicament.

Yarg scowled and then glared at Folgoo, who was laughing loudly at her words. Turning to Gurt he said grumpily, “Well, if you're coming, then let's go.”

He walked off without a backward glance. Afraid that he might leave them behind, the Nuffins hurried after him. Yarg stopped at the edge of the clearing. “I've never been to the Immortal Markets. Have you?” he asked Folgoo.

Folgoo shook his head. “No … my people don't like crowds, and these markets don't have anything that would interest me.”

“Well, they have something that interests us now,” said Yarg. “Can you do your fast-travel to someplace you've never been?” he continued.

“As long as I know the general direction from a place I have been,” Folgoo replied.

“Can you fast-travel with so many of us?” Yarg continued.

“Yes, but they must all hold on.”

Yarg organised the Nuffins so that they were all lined up holding hands. “If you don't want to get lost, then don't let go,” Yarg told them, glaring at each of the Nuffins in turn to be sure that they understood.

Yarg moved to stand beside Folgoo and reached to place one hand upon the centaur's back, the other holding tightly to the first small Nuffin in the line.

“What am I going to do with them?” he wondered aloud as they started to move within the silver wave.

6

The Immortal Markets

T
hey stood just outside a large clearing in the woods. Yarg gained his bearings, then looked down to check on the Nuffins.
They were sprawled at his feet in a curvy line, still holding hands. Rolling his eyes at Folgoo, Yarg bent to help them up.

Recovering quickly, the Nuffins began to talk excitedly amongst themselves. Folgoo watched them with a gleam in his eyes, then said to Yarg, “I still don't know what you're going to do with them.”

Yarg helped the last Nuffin up and replied, “I don't know either, but my first priority has to be saving Kaylin. I need to collect the tokens, starting with The Sand of Memory. Then I can think about finding the Nuffins a home. Who knows, something might come up while we're searching if we're lucky.”

Folgoo pointed towards the clearing and said, “This clearing marks the boundary of the Immortal Markets.”

Gurt glared when he heard that. “We can't go in there. We've stayed there before. Them markety people don't like us. They made us leave,” he muttered.

“It wouldn't be for long,” cajoled Yarg. “Just long enough for me to find the tokens I need.”

The Nuffins drooped their shoulders.

“And a home for you,” he added as enticement.

The little creatures showed some signs of interest, although Yarg could see that even the mention of a home had not entirely removed their anxiety. Folgoo stepped forward. Yarg turned to the Nuffins and reminded them of the need to behave themselves.

“Stay together,” he warned.

The clearing in front of them consisted of smooth green grass and a few tall shrubs. As they stepped into it, Yarg felt the pull of an ancient magical spell. It shimmered in the air, stirring up a warning to any who would cause mischief.

“That magic marks the boundary between the realms. I've heard that Nemesis wove the spell himself,” whispered Folgoo as he looked around him.

In the centre of the clearing, side by side about a metre apart, were two massive, muscular men. They stood stiffly, silently, their bulging arms clasped behind their backs, the sun's soft glare glinting on the golden armlets high on their biceps.

“They are werewolves, they served the old ones,” Folgoo whispered in awe to Yarg.

“Who are the old ones?” Yarg asked.

“The dragons,” Folgoo explained. “A long time ago, the werewolves were their handservants. But things changed when Thorne died and Nemesis took over—I don't know the specifics, something about the Book of Dragons being lost. Now Nemesis has given the werewolves the task of guarding the Immortal Markets from those who might come with evil intent.”

“But where
are
the Immortal Markets? The werewolves are just standing there in the middle of nothing.” Yarg said, with more than a hint of confusion.

“The entrance and the markets themselves are under the spell you felt as we crossed the boundary into this realm. They remain invisible until you pass through the magic portal that the werewolves guard,” Folgoo explained.

Gesturing to the Nuffins to follow, he walked calmly towards the entrance to the markets while warily watching the men who guarded it. Yarg followed, walking a little quicker to catch up with the centaur.

“Halt!” one of the guards growled at them.

The entire group froze in their tracks.

“Those Nuffins are not welcome here,” the guard continued menacingly.

Drawing himself up, Yarg announced, “I am Yarg, King of the Trolls, and these Nuffins are under my protection.”

The guard seemed a little confused by Yarg's authoritative statement.
Probably not used to anyone standing up to him,
Yarg thought.

“We'll need to check with the Market Manager,” the guard said uncertainly. He gestured to his partner, who turned and stepped through the entrance. The air shimmered slightly, then seemed to swallow the werewolf.

The second guard was gone for some time, during which Yarg continued to hold himself royally, and Folgoo pinned the Nuffins with a glare that warned them not to step out of line. They squirmed a little under his gaze, but did nothing to attract the remaining werewolf's ire.

When the guard returned, it was with permission from the Market Manager for the Nuffins to enter, but only on the condition that Yarg make good any trouble or damage they caused.

Nodding his head regally to indicate his acceptance of this, Yarg strode past the guards with a confidence he did not entirely feel. Folgoo followed, also holding himself confidently, if a little amused at Yarg's show. The Nuffins bounced through the archway, giving the werewolves a cheeky wave as they passed.

With no noticeable interruption to their steps, the little band was suddenly in the markets.

All was noise and colour. Before them stretched banks of tables laden with wares of many kinds. The stalls nearest to them displayed colourful rugs and blankets, others a little further along had jars of glittering dust. All different kinds of immortals moved busily through aisles, some haggling over prices with sellers, others just browsing.

Folgoo put his hand on Yarg's shoulder. “Bemoomba said that Urdelyn would be at the far side of the markets,” he reminded Yarg.

Yarg nodded and headed further into the markets, so intent on his task and bemused by the activity around him that he quite forgot the line of Nuffins trailing behind.

Yarg scanned the stalls as he went, not taking much interest until a table of condiments caught his eye. He stopped abruptly. In the midst of jars of fresh earwax and belly button fluff, he saw a bottle of thick black toenails. He arched his eyebrows at the elf behind the table. Noticing Yarg's interest, she held them up to give him a closer look.

“Fresh troll toenails,” she pronounced proudly.

Yarg growled at her, then shook his head in disgust and walked off. “Who would want to buy troll's toenails?” he muttered.

Folgoo sniggered at Yarg's displeasure. “A lot of beings eat troll's toenails. They're not a main meal, of course, more an appetiser, but I think the question you should be asking is how do they get those toenails?”

Yarg gritted his teeth, irritated by the amusement in Folgoo's voice. “I don't think I want to know,” he replied.

Just then a few goblins strolled by, one of them eating a fat curly spider that looked to have been freshly fried. As it passed him, the goblin stood on Yarg's foot.

Yarg tried not to wince as his foot was squashed into the ground, but Folgoo noticed and laughed out loud. Yarg scowled at him, then pushed forward faster, even though his foot throbbed.

To add to his woes, a pixie, showing her goods to a potential customer, opened an umbrella as Yarg walked past, almost ripping his nose off with one of the spines. “Oops, sorry,” she muttered as he grabbed his offended nose.

Yarg growled deep in his throat as another snicker came from Folgoo. He stopped to wipe the tears that the injury to his nose had produced.

“Now, ye be trying to rob me.” The soft brogue, unmistakably that of a leprechaun, came from his left. “They be half that price at the stall over there,” the leprechaun continued.

“Then off you go and buy them from the stall over there,” came the amused reply.

“Now, ye know I would only ever be buying from Urdelyn. Be givin' me three, then.”

Yarg spun around at the sound of the name. Behind him was a young witch bent over a table, jiggling something into a pouch, while a leprechaun, one shoulder leaning against the table, looked on. The table itself was covered with small phials containing potions of different consistencies and colours—some purple, others pink, and even one that was black. A smaller table behind the witch held a miniature cauldron with a big wooden spoon resting beside it.

As Yarg took in the scene, the witch straightened and exchanged the pouch for some copper coins. “She looks a bit young to be Urdelyn. Maybe her apprentice?” Yarg muttered, more to himself than to Folgoo.

The witch's gaze snapped up. “Who's looking for Urdelyn?” she asked.

Straightening his shoulders, Yarg walked past the leprechaun, who was stashing his purchase in the pocket of his baggy green pants as he moved off, and up to the table in front of the witch.

“My name is Yarg. I am the King of the Trolls. I seek Urdelyn on an important task,” he said.

“And what does the King of the Trolls want with Urdelyn?” she challenged.

“That's none of your business. Just tell me where to find her,” Yarg snapped.

The witch raised her eyebrows at the tone of his voice. Realising that he had let his troll nature take over again, Yarg controlled himself and answered in a more reasonable tone.

“Look, I don't mean any harm, I just want to talk to Urdelyn. She has something that I need.”

Yarg blinked as the witch suddenly picked up a stick and slapped the small hand that had reached out to touch a brightly-coloured jar on the table.

“
Stop That
!”
she hissed.

Yarg turned to glare a warning at the offending Nuffin, then turned back to the witch.

“My business with Urdelyn is personal. You have no need to fear, I won't hurt her. I just need to talk to her. Please, if you know where she is, just tell me.”

The young witch watched him for a moment before saying, “I am Urdelyn.”

“But you're so … young,” Yarg said, his surprise evident in his voice.

“And you're so … blue,” she drawled. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, are you going to tell me what you want?”

Folgoo hastily smothered a laugh and Yarg turned a withering gaze on him.

“I am on a quest to save a fairy, and I need a token from you. I need The Sand of Memory.”

Urdelyn quickly straightened up. “Shhhh!” she hissed. “How do you know of this? What makes you think that I have it?” she whispered.

“Bemoomba told me to find you. So if you don't have it, then you know who does.”

Urdelyn watched Yarg intently for a moment, then leaned in closer to him and spoke so softly that he almost had to strain to hear.

“Do you know what The Sand of Memory can do?”

“Well, no, but Nemesis bid me find it so that I can save my fairy. So surely it must be alright.”

At the mention of the great dragon's name, the tension seemed to leave Urdelyn. Her gaze focused on a point beyond Yarg and Folgoo, and she was silent for several long moments.

Eventually she returned her gaze to the troll king and began to whisper again.

“The Sand of Memory is an ancient hourglass constructed at the beginning of time. It allows the owner to keep memories alive, or to delete them. With it you can heal those who have lost their memory. It is very powerful and it could do great harm if it fell into the wrong hands.”

In a sudden change of mood, Urdelyn smiled at Yarg and said cheekily, “Mindboggling, isn't it?”

Then she paused and looked searchingly at Yarg. “A long time ago, Nemesis entrusted The Sand of Memory to my coven, and they have passed its care to me. Nemesis must have need of it now if he has sent you to bring it back,” she mused.

“Well of course he does. So why don't you just give it to me, witch?” Yarg asked.

“Don't talk to me like that, troll,” said Urdelyn, instantly offended. “You sought me out, not the other way around, and you want something from me, so be nice. My name is not ‘witch', it is ‘Urdelyn'.
Ur
-
de
-
lyn
. If you can't use it, then don't bother staying around to talk to me.”

Yarg hurried to mend the damage his thoughtless words had done. “I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry.”

Urdelyn nodded her head in acceptance of the apology. “You need to be careful not to offend me, Yarg, or I might turn you into a frog.”

“You look too young to be able to do that,” Yarg said, smiling gently to ensure that she knew this was meant as a compliment.

“I might be young,” she replied, “but I am strong in my craft. I can grow and shrink things. I can make storm spells. And I can make a spell that will give the bearer an endless supply of clothes—all they would have to do was imagine what they wanted to wear, and then ‘poof', they would be wearing it. I can work a food spell, too—it works the same as the clothes spell, but instead of getting something to wear, you get something to eat. My latest spell is for invisibility that doesn't wear off until the subject wishes it to. I haven't perfected it yet, but I'm working on it. There's something else I'm trying to do as well, but I don't have all the ingredients, and I probably won't anytime soon because it'll take me ages to gather them all.”

A shuffling of feet behind him reminded Yarg that the Nuffins were inclined to get into mischief when bored, and he was supposed to make sure that they kept the rules of the Immortal Markets. He turned to check on them. Folgoo was doing a great job keeping them in line, but the exasperated look he threw at Yarg showed what an effort it was.

Her attention also turning to the rest of Yarg's entourage, Urdelyn asked, “Why do you have all these little ones around you? Don't you know how naughty they are?”

“It's a long story,” he muttered.

“Why don't you take them to the gardens?” Urdelyn suggested, pointing to an area at the back of the markets where many immortals were taking advantage of the open space to rest, eat snacks and admire their purchases.

“Great idea,” agreed Yarg. “Gurt, take them over there and keep them out of mischief. I'll meet you there when I've finished here.”

“You'd better,” Gurt grumbled, but he rounded up his small troop and led them away.

Distractions gone, Yarg's mind returned to the reason for their visit to the markets. “So, since you are custodian of The Sand of Memory, where is it?” he asked.