The Dragon and the Queen

By Tabatha Ellis

Talana and Darrukin, successful in their initial quest to reclaim the ring that unlocks his power as the Guardian, must now fight to protect his home and family as the Palace Guard attacks Darr. Helped by Keer and Jeron, who have had their own adventures, they face a massive force. Each comes into their own as sorcerers, but the essential problem remains - Darrukin must face the queen. To help him, Talana has one more quest, one more thing that she must steal...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tabatha Ellis
• Release date: Nov 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310276545

Tabatha Ellis

I grew up with 'Doctor Who' and 'Star Wars', reading Isaac Asimov, Stephen Donaldson, Douglas Adams and Anne McCaffrey. I was curious about the idea of creating worlds and stories of my own. Hence 'The Thief of Ashlon' duo, 'The Guardian and the Thief', and 'The Dragon and the Queen'. Eventually there will be a scifi trilogy to join them, and I've recently added a romance novel, 'Casino Joe'. See what you think. I'm Australian, love to travel, am learning French, and want to write full time as soon as I get the chance!

Book preview

The Thief of Ashlon: The Dragon and the Queen

Published by Tabatha Ellis at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Tabatha Ellis

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

For my sons.

The young woman Talana runs away from her wretched life and finds friendship and a purpose travelling with Lord Darrukin, the new guardian to the Dragon Queen. She is his guide, chosen by the Goddess Ishayla to lead him to the Heart of the Dragon, a ring lost centuries ago. Without the ring, the power of the guardians - protectors of the Dragon Queens - has been eroded to the point where the Dragon Queen has fallen under the sway of the evil God Eshtan. With it, Darrukin will gain full mastery of his power as a sorcerer. Only then can he hope to restore the Dragon Queen to her true self.

Since being drawn together on this quest, Talana and Darrukin, along with companions Keer and Jeron, have travelled across the land of Ashlon to find the tomb of the Guardian Lord Kerdis, who lost the ring. They have escaped from pursuit by the Queen’s palace guards, only to have a palace guard force headed by the Queen’s priests target Darrukin’s family, seeking a hostage. To save his family’s province Darrukin submits as the hostage, but Talana, who leaves Keer and Jeron behind, breaks him free. Together they flee north, following her own magic as guide, only to nearly die in the frigid winter. Saved by a lone woman with her wolf pack, they rest over winter before searching once more for the ring. The hunt leads them to a glacier, where Darrukin is tested by the ghosts of previous guardians, and fights off an attack of evil sorcery. He is found worthy.

Meanwhile, Keer and Jeron have problems of their own...

Chapter One

Jeron looked out the window and watched as Talana rode off, giving a snort of disgust.

She is abandoning us, you know that, he said gruffly to Keer. The elder gave him a stern look and propped himself up on one elbow on the bed where he lay. Some days he felt older than his years: this was one of them.

She has to go. I can’t help Darrukin; you won’t leave me. Who else is there to help him? I don’t know what is going on at the Castle, but if Talana has seen something that convinces her, then I am convinced also.

Visions, dreams…who ever heard of such nonsense? Jeron spat back angrily, pulling the curtain aside to watch her ever-diminishing figure.

No! It’s not nonsense. She has been touched by the Goddess, and has seen things which you or I just don’t have the capacity to. She is special. Now, I don’t want to hear any more about it, all right? Keer spoke more harshly than he perhaps would have otherwise, but Jeron seemed to need it. He could not understand what his parishioner had against the young woman. To his knowledge, she had never been nasty to him. He’d have to find out somehow. If he wasn’t so tired!

Jeron sat down on the bed opposite him. There was a haunted look in his eyes. Keer narrowed his own eyes and looked, using his truth sight, looking into the heart of the man before him. Jeron was in pain, dreadful pain; the anger that he directed at Talana stemmed from it. He dropped his gaze, uncertain what to do.

Do you think she’ll make it to the castle by herself? Jeron asked, unaware that he had been scrutinised so thoroughly by the elder. Keer looked up, then sat up, abandoning any attempt to get some more rest, though he sorely needed it.

Hmm, I hope so. At least she’s anonymous. No one is after her, or will recognise her.

Her father is, and will, put in Jeron, but Keer dismissed the comment.

Her father is of no consequence to our quest. I believe she will reach the castle and find out what has disturbed her so. She will get a message back to us as soon as she can. Then we’ll be able to act. In the meantime, we do need rest. Let’s make sure we take this opportunity while we have it.

Rest and relaxation, time for the horses to feed up and get some energy: that was what they needed. They had been travelling for too long, it was too wearying. He felt old again all of a sudden, too old to be rushing about the countryside on some kind of fool’s mission. Yet he knew it was not a fool’s mission, it was deadly serious, the fate of his land rested in the success that Darrukin would have...Keer sighed. What he really needed was information.

The next morning, he tasked Jeron with finding the Church representative within the village. He did not want to go out, even though he knew that this village was not often visited by anyone outside Darr – he did not want to risk being seen or recognised, or putting others within the village at risk should palace guards or priests come looking. Perhaps the villagers had heard something from the castle, something that might have helped Talana before she departed: something, anything.

How will I find them, then, sir? Jeron asked. Keer gave him a searching look.

What I am about to say must be kept in the strictest confidence. It may mean the difference between the life and death of the church here. Jeron’s expression did not flicker once at the reminder of what had happened to their own city church, something which made Keer frown slightly before he continued. Things are different here in the country. The signs are few, but you must heed them well. Look for a picture of an owl within the village, and from there you will see a door marked with a star. That will be a contact point, but there are passwords that you must know. The Council of Elders stated that you would be recognised by stating two passwords, one, ‘roses’ and the other, ‘meeting’. How you use them is up to you. You’ll be questioned further, but we’ve already met Tafta, an influential leader here – ask if you can get in contact with him. Go, and please, be careful.

It was mid-morning when Jeron began to search the village, surreptitiously searching for the signs Keer had mentioned. He tried to look normal, act as if he were just idly passing by the market, ducking into shops to quickly survey them as if coming back for more supplies. He’d been purchasing from the small shops, travelling supplies and the like, and so was already a known face to some. It took him until mid-afternoon to decide that he was wasting his time, and walk purposefully back to the Inn where they were staying.

After checking in with Keer, he went to the bar, where a few of the locals were engaged in small talk. He ordered a beer from the fierce-looking barman and sat sipping the brew, conscious of the glances he was receiving from the others. The room was not well-lit; a fire in the corner provided cheering warmth, and the small windows only seemed to allow a thin light to penetrate. The walls were of thick wooden construction with mud-brick fill-in, the ceiling of large beams as well. He looked at the ceiling beams several times before noticing that they were intricately carved. Staring harder, he did not notice the barman eyeing him.

Do you like our ceiling, then? the barman asked gruffly, through his manner was not unfriendly. Jeron almost jumped in his seat.

Yes…it is beautiful. I don’t think I’ve seen such accomplished carving before, he answered. Certainly he had not expected to find it here, in a village out in the countryside. He flushed; for the taprooms he had frequented in Tashmar were rough and dirty, grottier than this village Inn, and certainly did not cater to crowds who appreciated such beauty or elegance. Tell me, do the carvings have any meaning? Any story to them?

Why, yes, they do tell a story, and quite a famous one at that; around here least-aways. Have you ever heard of the legend of Veria the Beautiful? the barman asked, cleaning a glass on a rag.

No, I can’t say I have. What is it about?

Well, y’see, Veria was a woman who came from down south; she was supposed to be a lord’s daughter or something. Very refined, very elegant, very beautiful. Everywhere she went, men would fall in love with her, for she stood out from other women like the sun shining in the morning. Touched, they were, the men that saw her, and all strove to win her heart. But no one ever could. The barman paused significantly.

And why was that? asked Jeron, in a suitably impressed tone to satisfy his story-teller.

Well, y’see, she already had given her heart to someone. She was searching for him, because he had run away from her and turned to evil. ‘Twas a tragedy, it was. See, she was so in love with him that she did not care whether he was evil or not; she just wanted to be with him. Anyway, she finds him after years of searching, and throws herself at his feet. Now, he’s so evil that he can’t bear to see her beauty, or the way that she touches all the people that she meets and makes them happy. He takes away her sunshine and turns her into a pale reflection of herself; he turns her into a creature of the night with his evil power. There she is, on the ceiling, an owl – a big, white owl! A tragedy, like I told you, said the barman, sounding immensely pleased with himself at his story-telling ability.

Jeron looked up to where the man had pointed. Carved into a wooden beam was a painstaking rendition of an owl, the feathers detailed minutely and its eyes large and mournful. The eyes looked out of one of the windows as if wanting to break free. He felt a moment’s disbelief. It was the clue he had been looking for and it had been under his nose all the time. Restraining himself from leaping up to look for a star around a doorway, he forced himself to at least finish his beer. Thanking the barman for his story, he stood and excused himself, noting that out the window through which the owl so longingly looked to fly was a house.

Not wanting to be direct, he strolled around the street for a while, pausing to look in shop windows before making his way back towards the house. Once there, he saw etched into the lintel above the door a small star, hidden amongst a carving of a daisy chain. Cautiously, he knocked on the old wooden door. After some shuffling noises from inside, the door creaked open slightly to reveal a wizened old face.

Yes? the small, grey haired woman asked uncertainly, seeing a stranger.

I’m wanting to buy some roses for my, ahh, mistress. I’m meeting her at the Inn shortly, he said, fumbling with the passwords he’d been given. He felt his face go red as the door slammed in his face, but looked up in surprise as it opened again almost as quickly. A different face looked out at him, an old man’s.

Some roses, you say? We don’t sell roses or any of them fancy flowers here. You must be wanting someone up at the castle, the old man grumbled, holding the door open for Jeron to enter. Once inside, the door slammed behind him and the man drew him towards the kitchen of the small home. Now, who is it you’re after? he asked, his old eyes bright with interest.

Jeron was not quite sure how to answer him. He did not feel right blurting out his request; there was still the possibility that spies were around or that this old man had no idea what he was talking about.

I’m here because I need to talk to my…uncle…back in the castle. My father wanted some information.

And he’s got a problem with his legs, that he can’t come himself and ask? the old man demanded, before launching into a coughing fit.

Jeron was taken aback at the man’s ferocity. It’s not his legs, it’s his face that is the problem, he replied, reaching to pound the man on the back to relieve his coughing, Are you all right?

Yes, thank you, son. Now, I might be able to help you if you’re the right sort. What do you know of roses and meetings?

They might help me find people whom I can trust, people like myself. We serve the same mother. Jeron looked anxiously at the old man, who gave him a measured glance before nodding slowly.

Well, what can we do for you? I have some information to pass to you from a person back at the castle.

From Talana? Jeron asked, suddenly hopeful. The old man looked at him in confusion.

Never heard from no one called that, but my message is from Tafta. He helps us. He asked us to wait for some sign from Elder Keer. I take it you are sent by Keer? At Jeron’s enthusiastic nodding he continued. Tafta says that you are in great danger; the palace guard will be searching the city and the surrounding countryside and you are to flee to the north or west. You should leave as soon as possible.

But what’s happening? Jeron asked, bewildered.

A search. The palace guard is looking for Keer, and they will be searching here soon. You must get out of here as quickly as possible. You are at the Inn? I’ll help you get away without any, er, unwelcome eyes noticing.

Without another word of explanation, Jeron was whisked out of the house and back to the street, where he made his way quickly back to the Inn. Keer jumped into action the moment he heard the news; it did not take them long to pack and make sure that their horses were ready. Mid-evening, when the locals were in the bar or at home minding their own business, the little old man came for them, and hustled them out of town.

Travelling again was an ordeal. They passed through four villages where neither of them could find the marks that might lead them to church help, and they did not want to stay lest they attract too much attention to themselves. Keer travelled hooded, so that he would not be easily recognised; it was a sad fact that even in remote areas there might be spies for the Dragon Queen waiting. They could never be too careful.

There was precious little information from Darr that reached the remote parts ahead of them, so they could not determine what had happened at the castle. If Talana had tried to get word to them, she had failed: hopefully she and Darrukin would be all right – wherever they were and whatever they were doing. Jeron and Keer had to look out for themselves.

Jeron discovered the difference between the country folk they met and those he had known in Tashmar. Country life was more rhythmic, according to the seasons, plantings and agricultural pursuits. The people they met lived simple measured lives, with as much social gusto at their local inn as any city person might find in a tavern in the suburbs of Tashmar, but without the constant pressure of people, of action, of something happening always. The city’s frenetic pace was absent, replaced by time according to harvesting and hard, physical work.

Keer, who had lived in Borodor in his youth, had to explain to him the workings of a province, how a family like Darrukin’s fitted into the structure of society as he knew it.

The provinces are run by these families, who act as protectors and governors for their people, he explained. The lords govern the province, collect taxes and offer protection. Folk living in Darr could expect Lord Darrulan to protect them from encroaches by other provinces, expect him to find a market for their excess produce, and look after them if they get in to trouble in the capital or outside of Darr. He paused to catch his breath. It differs from Tashmar because there the Queen acts as the local lord. She’s not: she was a religious figure only – the conduit between our world and the Goddess, as you know, but in years past Tashmar grew to be more than just the religious centre of Ashlon, but its trading hub as well. The authority of the queens began to extend into the business and trading world, to bring order to the squabbles and arguments of the traders.

The palace guard were just that, once – palace guards? They weren't police or an army? Jeron asked, enjoying the lesson.

That’s right. The name is just a carry-over from when they really were just palace guards. I’m not sure how many queens ago it was that they came to police Tashmar – and it could only have been a few hundred years ago that they were used as an army to break up the endless fighting between Choresh and Rabta…those provinces have always been troublesome areas… Keer answered.

So a person in Darr would expect to be loyal to Lord Darrulan, rather than the queen?

Yes, that’s generally the case. I don’t think it was a great conflict until our present Queen changed so dramatically and set herself up as a rival, or supreme, government of Ashlon. She should be an intermediary between the Goddess and ourselves, not a ruler in her own right.

But the provinces have always supported the queen, haven’t they?

Well, yes and no, Keer explained. Long ago, the queen would never have interfered in the actual governing of a province. She was there to wield her formidable sorcery to benefit the whole country. She could stop plagues, bring rain to drought-stricken areas and control floodwaters. She could call on the Goddess to do these things for everyone. She can make crops grow, bring on the harvest; she can take the prayers and wishes of the people to the Goddess.

I can’t remember the old ways. I can barely remember when our present queen came to the throne. Wasn’t there some kind of scandal early on that made her begin to impose her rules on everyone? the younger man asked. He could vaguely recall something of the sort, though he had been very young at the time. If he stopped to think of his own life in Tashmar, and thinking about what had happened through his adult eyes rather than as a child, he could see how Keer’s interpretation could be right. It was just that for the past twenty-odd years, the queen had become a political force under the guise of a religious one.

What do you remember of those days, Jeron? Keer asked, partially to while away their time as they began to circle Darr in a great arc, heading north-west. The fields had given way to patches of forest and they hoped to find more villages: perhaps on Darr’s western side they could find out more about what was happening at the castle.

I can just barely remember going to the great square in Tashmar and seeing the queen’s coronation. At least, I think that’s what it was. I can’t really be sure; I must have only been five or six. Nothing seemed to change, I still went to school as normal, still had friends and games and …but, I do remember my parents having a big argument about something. He struggled to remember; he had not thought about it for so long that he was uncertain about whether what he remembered was true or coloured by his later past. His parents had shouted at one another, going from urgent whispers to raising their voices and back to hard, reproachful looks at one another when he had made his little presence felt. His mother had come to him, cuddled him, assured him that they were not angry at him; they were angry at their neighbour. There had been fear in her voice. She had not explained any more than that, but he never looked at his neighbours again with quite the same trust or friendliness. I remember having to go to the church to listen to the priests.

Yes, that was one of the first changes that the Queen made. I don’t know if you realised this but I used to work quite closely with the palace on religious teachings, Keer said as they rode slowly along, pack-horses in tow. I knew people couldn’t be forced to go to church and it was that edict which started me thinking that things weren’t right in the palace.

Well, it was very boring for a child to be forced to listen to a long sermon about the Queen, said Jeron bitterly, glancing across at the elder. When things got worse, our neighbour went on to inform on my parents.

It happened to many families. Did the palace guard take both of your parents or only one?

Both. I won’t forget the look of betrayal my father had on his face when the guards came. Nor the fear on my mother’s. I had to live with my uncle and aunt, but they were so thoroughly scared of the Queen by that stage that I couldn’t live there for long. I had to leave, they treated me as if I had a disease. There was great bitterness in his voice.

I saw many families broken up when the Queen began listening to informants. Keer said. I remember the first churches, the first times they were run without the Queen’s blessings, when the official church had become so much less than it had been. Those first meetings brought many of the Elders together, and for a while it seemed as if our own little churches were beneath the notice of the Queen. We were all terribly worried that the changes to the worship of the Goddess that the Queen had brought about would do no good, but it was not really up to us to say anything at the time. The Queen, after all, has always been there to look after Ashlon, and not to attack it. So, although we worried, we did not act.

Jeron looked across at the elder as they rode. The weak sunshine struck the elders’ dark head, highlighting the grey flecked within in. He looked old, Jeron realised, then screwed his face up in self-mockery. Keer wasn’t the only one. He felt old right now, too.

The elder cleared his throat and began his story again, a quick glance at Jeron confirming the younger man’s attention.

I think it was the death of the champion that really spelled the beginning of the troubles for our church.

How so? asked Jeron. Did the Queen crack down on the churches, force them underground then?

That came a little later. But I did realise that she was not quite what she should be, and with his death, it became that much more obvious. It was like a restraint had been cast away from her.

I didn’t know you had personal knowledge of the Queen? Jeron commented, looking sideways at Keer with a corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile.

More knowledge of, rather than knowing her, Keer corrected. I did used to work in the palace, back when my beliefs coincided with the Queen’s!

So what happened?

I’ve never been able to figure that one out. All I can guess is that she is under attack and, being unable to defend herself, has submitted to evil. I don’t know what sort of choices she had. All I know is that six months after her champion died, she became the queen we know now.

That’s not very comforting.

No. But it’s what Darrukin has to deal with.

They rode on in silence, hoping to find another village along the road through the forest.

Five days later, they were lost. The road had kept going, becoming smaller, heading north-west, seemingly to reach around the province; but they found no more villages on its length. The land began to climb and both men suspected that they would head into the mountains if they continued.

Shall we turn back, sir? Jeron asked, his voice a little dulled with fatigued and desperation. Keer pulled up his horse, reined in the pack horses as well, and they sat in their saddles, looking up at the clear, blue sky through the forest canopy above them. The trees were quite thick and the road had petered out to a smaller track; not a good sign.

We don’t know if the palace guard are gone yet from Darr. The elder said, looking back along the track. But it’s clear we can’t continue on this way. We’re lost. We should backtrack, I suppose.

Wheeling their horses, they began to plod back along the track, weary and discouraged. After not many miles of travelling, they came to a fork in the rough road.

That’s odd. I don’t recall seeing this before, Keer said, pausing at the fork. He looked at his companion uncertainly. The fork bent off towards the south west, while the other headed southeast.

We maybe just didn’t see it, we would have been travelling the other way, Jeron suggested, though there was puzzlement in his voice. Shall we take it? It might lead us to a village, perhaps. It looks a bit more used than the road we were following.

We can hardly call this a road, Jeron. But, hmm, yes, I agree. It might just lead us on to a remote village where we might rest up again. I need it!

With the decision made, they turned their animals down the forest track, and were heartened to hear water running not long after they had trotted on its way. At least they would not go thirsty, and they knew that people tended to live near water, if they could. Feelings of hope lifted their spirits. But as the day wore on their spirits faded, as the endless forest stretched before them. By nightfall, they had found a small glade to camp in and located the little stream whose music had accompanied them during the day. They sat, frustrated and tired, around a small fire, eating a rather tasteless stew of dried meat and grains.

The flickering light from the fire was mesmerising. Keer stared at it, without really seeing, just taking in the warmth and the light without really comprehending. How had they managed to get here? Why? He forced himself to focus on Jeron, who was stretched out on the other side of the fire, rolled up in a blanket. He too, was staring into the flames. There was an expectant stillness in the forest, as if the insects and night creatures who would normally be out and about were somehow suspended, waiting. Was it his imagination, or did he just hear a footstep or two?

Jeron? Keer spoke, and in the darkness of the forest the sound seemed extremely loud. He had to force himself not to whisper. Did you hear anything just then?

No, I didn’t. I was just thinking about my wife…how she would love it up here in the forests, he said, his voice choked with emotion. Keer sat up a little straighter – it was the first time Jeron had mentioned his wife in a very long time.

Yes, I think she would have. Cerrin never struck me as the type to enjoy living in the city. Do you have any family left now? Keer asked, concerned.

No. Not now. Not since…they died.

Jeron, you’ll always be welcome in my home. Not that I have one of those, either, since our church died. But, well, you know what I mean. Pain closed in on his own throat; it was difficult to speak of. He saw Jeron’s eyes glistening in the firelight.

I had hoped that I had, you know, dreamed it? Dreamed that Cerrin and my children were dead, that I could go back to them and find them still safe and sound in the city, Jeron said in a constricted voice. But I know they’re gone. I couldn’t help them!

You did help me. From what you said, you could not help them, could not fight the palace guard: could not protect them without losing your own life. You did save mine. I would have gone back without you to stop me. I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my life, Keer said, trying to help him make sense of what had happened.

But I’m lost without Cerrin. I miss her so much!

Lost? said a gravelly voice not far from them. Instantly both men leaped to their feet, looking outwards into the blackness of night.

Who’s there? Keer demanded, trying to sound stronger than he felt. A vision filled his mind, blanking out the night time forest, a picture of a dirty child, covered in grime and wearing a huge grin. Bright black eyes and messy hair faded back to his normal vision. What? the elder said, confusion making him sit down again suddenly. Jeron rushed to his side.

Sir, sir! Are you all right? the younger man fussed.

Yes, yes, I think so. I…think someone is around, that’s all. But I can’t seem to see them. You heard the voice?

I wasn’t sure it was a voice, just a grunt or something from an animal, perhaps? Jeron said. A growl came from the darkness, and Jeron looked up, bewildered. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude…I... he said out loud, as if speaking to someone else. With confusion on his face he turned back to Keer. I just saw something – but I didn’t see it, if you see what I mean, it was put in my head.

Breathing hard, Keer stood up, nodding his understanding. There’s something strange going on here. I’ll try something. He looked about into the darkness. Hello? he called, Is anybody there? We’re lost, we need help. Can you help us? He realised what a risk he took. If the noises had come from bandits they would make short work of himself and Jeron; but something told him they were not in danger.

There was a scuffling noise in the darkness, and the horses began to fidget and stamp their feet.

Keer? Jeron said shakily, looking around himself into the blackness. The flames of the fire made shadows leap and dance outside the circle of firelight, confusing both men.

Hello! I say, are you there? Can you help us? We’re lost! Keer called again, strongly.

A murmur went up from the blackness, a guttural, growling noise. At once Keer’s mind was assaulted by a confusing jumble of images; he flung his hands up to his head in an effort to protect himself, crying out. Abruptly the onslaught stopped. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up, and with a trembling step, walked slowly to the edge of the firelight.

I’m Keer, he said to the blackness. Jeron looked on as if his companion had gone mad, but in silence. Keer waited, watching the darkness. Movement in the shadows to his right made him turn.

A small person, or at least it looked like a kind of person, stood very still, looking back at Keer with black eyes that were bright and intelligent. The face was grubby, as were the odd clothes the creature wore, but it looked quite deliberate. A thatch of thick hair on its head looked as if it covered the little person’s body as well.

You’re a troll, said Keer, surprised. He’d heard of trolls but never seen one. The troll stood only up to his mid-chest, and looked immensely strong, with thick arms and legs. Yet the trolls’ hands were long fingered and looked capable of quite delicate work. Nodding, the troll grinned, displaying a set of white, strong teeth that were almost tusk-like in appearance.

Tterrrll, the creature said. It took Keer a few moments to understand that the troll was trying to say ‘troll’. Speech did not seem to come easily to it, but when Keer looked into its eyes, he knew it did not need words to communicate. The pictures came into his head once more; he understood now, that this was how the troll was communicating with him.

We are lost, Keer said, speaking out loud, hoping that the troll would understand him. The creature nodded once more, then looked about. With a start, Keer realised that the campsite was now surrounded by the small grey-brown bodies, trolls that had slipped out of the shadows. Pictures came into his head, indicating for him to follow them.

Jeron, they want us to follow them. Let’s pack up the camp and see where they take us.

Are you sure? They aren’t dangerous, are they? There was uncertainty in Jeron’s tone.

No, I don’t think so – not to us, anyway, he replied. Quickly, they gathered their meagre belongings and packed up the horses, before waiting for some direction from the assembled trolls. The trolls began to make guttural noises and