Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback(126)

“Be careful!” said Blanchefleur, as Ivan sprang up, made sure his

knife was in his belt, and ran out of the cave with the wolves. Then they were coursing through the forest, silent shadows against the snow.

They saw the flames and heard the screams before they saw any

trolls. The village was a small one, just a group of herding families on the upper slopes. Their houses were simple, made of stone, with turf roofs. But the sheds were of wood, filled with fodder for the sturdy mountain sheep. The trolls had set fire to the fodder, and some of the sheds were burning. The sheep were bleating terribly, and as wolves rushed into the village, the Captain shouted to Ivan, “Open the pens!

Let the sheep out—we can herd them back later.”

Ivan ran from pen to pen, opening all the gates. Mist ran beside

him and if any sheep were reluctant to leave their pens, she herded them out, nipping at their heels.

When they reached the last of the pens, Ivan saw his first troll. She was taller than the tallest man, and twice as large around. She looked like a piece of the mountain that had grown arms and legs. Her mottled skin was gray and green and brown, and she was covered

in animal pelts. In her hand, she carried a large club. In front of her, crouched and growling, was Graypaw.

? 369 ?

? Blanchefleur ?

“Come on, cub!” she sneered. “I’ll teach you how to sit and lie

down!”

She lunged at Graypaw, swinging the club clumsily but effectively.

The club hit a panicked ram that had been standing behind her, and

the next moment, the ram lay dead on the snow.

Mist yipped to let Graypaw know she was behind him. He barked

back, and the wolves circled the troll in opposite directions, one

attacking from the left and the other from the right.

What could Ivan do? He drew his knife, but that would be no

more effective against a troll than a sewing needle. To his right, one of the sheds was on fire, pieces of it falling to the ground as it burned.

As Graypaw and Mist circled, keeping away from the club, trying to

get under it and bite the troll’s ankles, Ivan ran into the burning shed.

He wrenched a piece of wood from what had been a gate, but was

now in flames, then thrust its end into the fire. The flames licked it, and it caught. A long stick, its end on fire. This was a weapon of sorts, but how was he to use it?

Graypaw and Mist were still circling, and one of them had

succeeded in wounding the troll—there was green ichor running

down her leg. The troll was paying no attention to Ivan—she was

wholly absorbed in fending off the wolves. But the wolves knew he

was behind them. They were watching him out of the corners of

their eyes, waiting. For what?

Then Ivan gave a short bark, the signal for attack. Both Graypaw

and Mist flew at the troll simultaneously. The troll swung about

wildly, not certain which to dispatch first. Now, thought Ivan, and he lunged forward, not caring that he could be hit by the club, only knowing that this was the moment, that he had put his packmates in danger for this opportunity. He thrust the flaming stick toward the troll’s face. The troll shrieked—it had gone straight into her left eye.

She clutched the eye and fell backward. Without thinking, Ivan drew his knife and plunged it into the troll’s heart, or where he thought her heart might be.

A searing pain ran through his chest. It was Dame Lizard’s tail,

? 370 ?

? Theodora Goss ?

tightening until he could no longer breathe. It loosened again, but he reeled with the shock and pain of it.

“Ivan, are you well?” asked Mist.

“I’m—all right,” he said, still breathless. “I’m going to be all right.”

But he felt sick.

The troll lay on the ground, green ichor spreading across her

chest. She was dead. Behind her was a large sack.

“That must be what she was stealing,” said Graypaw.

The sack started to wriggle.

“A sheep, perhaps,” said Mist.

But when Ivan untied it, he saw a dirty, frightened face, with large gray eyes. A girl.

“You’ve found my daughter!” A woman was running toward them.

With her was the Captain.

“Nadia, my Nadia,” she cried.

“Mama!” cried the girl, and scrambling out of the bag, she ran into her mother’s arms.