Vereesa gasped as breathing once more became an option for her. The nightmare of being buried alive
slowly receded as she gulped in great lungfuls of air. Gradually, full calm returned to her and she finally
opened her eyes—to see that she had traded one nightmare for another.
Three figures hunched about a tiny fire in the midst of what appeared to be a small cave. The flames
gave their grotesque forms an additional element of horror, for because of it she could make out the ribs
beneath the skin and the mottled, scaly flesh that hung loosely. Worse, she could clearly see the long,
cadaverous faces with beaklike noses and elongated chins. The ranger could especially make out the
narrow, insidious eyes and the sharp, sharp, teeth.
The three were clad in little more than ragged kilts. Throwing axes sat beside each figure, weapons that
Vereesa understood these creatures used with enviable skill.
Despite her attempts to keep silent, some minor movement on her part must have reached the long,
pointed ears that so reminded the ranger of goblins, for one of her captors immediately looked her way.
“Supper's awake,” he hissed, a patch covering what remained of his left eye.
“Looks more like dessert to me,” returned a second, bald where the other two wore long, shaggy
mohawks.
“Definitely dessert,” grinned the third, who wore a tattered scarf that had once belonged to one of
Vereesa's own kind. He seemed lankier than the other two, and spoke as if no one would dare
contradict him. The leader, then.
The leader of a trio of hungry-looking trolls.
“Slim pickings lately,” the scarf-wearer went on. “But time now for a feast, yes.”
Something to the ranger's right suddenly let out what would have been quite a telling epithet if not for the
gag that smothered the words. Twisting her head as best as the carefully tied ropes allowed her, Vereesa
saw that Falstad, too, still lived, albeit for how long she could not say. Rumors had long persisted, even
before the days of the Troll Wars, that these hideous creatures saw anything other than themselves as fair
game for food. Even the orcs, who had accepted them as allies, had been said to ever keep one eye on
the nimble, cunning fiends.
Fortunately, due to both the Troll Wars and the battle against the Horde, their foul race had dwindled in
numbers greatly. Vereesa herself had never seen a troll before, only knew them from drawings and
legends. She found she would have much preferred to keep it that way.
“Patience, patience,” murmured the scarf-wearer in a mock sympathetic voice. “You'll be first, dwarf!
You'll be first!”
“Can't we do it now. Gree?” begged the one-eyed troll. “Why can't we do it now?”
“Because I said so, Shnel!” With one hard fist, Gree suddenly struck Shnel in the jaw, sending the
second creature rolling.
The third troll hopped to his feet, encouraging both of his companions to more blows. Gree glared at
him, literally staring the bald troll down. Meanwhile, Shnel crawled back to his place by the tiny fire,
looking completely subdued.
“Iam leader!” Gree slapped a bony, taloned hand against his chest. “Yes, Shnel?”
“Yes, Gree! Yes!”
“Yes, Vorsh?”
The hairless monstrosity bobbed his head over and over. “Yes, oh, yes, Gree! Leader you are! Leader
you are!”
As with elves, dwarves, and especially humans, there had existed different types of trolls. Some few
spoke with the sophistication of elves—even while they tried to take one's head. Others ranged toward
the more savage, especially those who most frequented the barrows and other underground realms. Yet
Vereesa doubted that there could be any lower form of troll than the three base creatures who had
captured her and Falstad—and clearly had still darker designs for them.
The trio went back to some muffled conversation around the tiny fire. Vereesa again looked to the
dwarf, who stared back at her. A raised eyebrow by her was answered by a shake of his head. No,
despite his prodigious strength, he could not escape the tight bonds. She shook her head in turn.
However barbaric the trolls might be, they were true experts in knot-tying.
Trying to remain undaunted, the ranger peered around at her surroundings—what little there was to see
of them. They seemed to be in the midst of a long, crudely hewn tunnel, likely of the trolls' own making.
Vereesa recalled the long, taloned fingers, just perfect for digging through the rock and earth. These trolls
had adapted well to their environment.
Despite already knowing the results in advance, the elf nonetheless tried to find some looseness in her
ropes. She twisted around as cautiously as she could, rubbed her wrists nearly raw, but to no avail.
A horrific chuckle warned her that the trolls had seen at least her final attempts.
“Dessert's lively,” commented Gree. “Should make for good sport!”
“Where's the others?” groused Shnel. “Should've been here by now!”
The leader nodded, adding, “Hulg knows what'll happen if he doesn't obey! Maybe he—” The troll
suddenly seized his throwing ax.“Dwarves!”
The ax went spinning through the tunnel, passing just a few inches from Vereesa's head.
A guttural cry followed but a moment later.
The walls of the tunnel erupted with short, sturdy forms letting out battle calls and waving short axes and
swords.
Gree pulled out another, slightly longer ax, this one evidently for hand-to-hand combat. Shnel and
Vorsh, the latter crouched, let loose with throwing axes. The elf saw one squat attacker fall to Shnel's
weapon, but Vorsh's went wide. The trolls then followed the example of their leader and readied
stronger, bulkier axes as the newcomers surrounded them.
Vereesa counted more than half a dozen dwarves, each clad in ragged furs and rusting breastplates.
Their helmets were rounded, form-fitting, and lacking any horns or other unnecessary adornments. As
with Falstad, most had beards, although they seemed shorter and better trimmed.
The dwarves wielded their axes and swords with practiced precision. The trolls found themselves
pressed closer and closer to one another. Shnel it was who fell first, the one-eyed beast not seeing the
warrior who came in on his blind side. Vorsh barked a warning, but it came too late. Shnel took a wild
swing at his new foe, missing completely.
The dwarf drove his sword into the lanky troll's gut.
Gree fought the most savagely. He landed one good blow that sent a dwarf tumbling back, then nearly
beheaded another. Unfortunately, his ax broke as it collided with the longer, well-built one wielded by his
latest opponent. In desperation, he seized the dwarf 's weapon by the upper handle and struggled to take
it out of the shorter fighter's grip.
The well-honed blade of another ax caught the troll leader in the back.
The elf almost felt some sympathy for the last of her captors. Vorsh, eyes wide with the knowledge of
his impending doom, looked ready to whimper. Nonetheless, he continued waving his ax at the nearest of
the dwarves, almost landing a bloody strike by sheer luck. However, he could do nothing to stem the tide
of foes who now advanced in an ever-tightening circle, swords and axes ready.
In the end, Vorsh's death approached butchery.
Vereesa turned her gaze away. She did not face forward again until a steady voice with a hint of gravel
in it commented, “Well, no wonder the trolls fought so hard! Gimmel! Ye see this?”
“Aye, Rom! Much better sight than what I've found over here!”
Thick hands pulled her to a sitting position. “Let's see if we can get these ropes off ye without too much
damage to that fine form!”
She looked up into the face of a ruddy dwarf at least six inches shorter than Falstad and built much
stockier. Despite first appearances, however, his expert handling of the ropes quickly informed the ranger
that she should not take him or any of his companions for clumsy, especially after the manner in which
they had dispatched the trolls.
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