Troll Blood. Katherine Langrish

      “No swords in this house!” cried Gudrun.

      “My apologies,” said Harald between his teeth. “There’s something up there. Stand back, and let me deal with it.” He put a foot on the bench, obviously preparing to spring up on to the table. Peer heard a frightened squeak from the Nis.

      “There it goes!” Peer shot out his arm and pointed. “Look, a troll! Running along that rafter, can’t you see?” His finger followed the imaginary troll from beam to beam. “It’s over the fire—oh!” He let his arm drop.

      “What? Where?” gasped Gudrun, half-convinced.

      “It went out through the smoke-hole,” said Peer with disappointment in his voice.

      “Then it’s on the roof.” Harald sprang for the door, Arnë and Gunnar and the dogs close behind him. Ralf followed more slowly, giving Peer the flicker of a wink.

      Peer thought he had better dash for the door, too. He caught Hilde’s eye and said loudly, “Let’s hope they catch it!” Hilde was laughing silently.

      The twins were already crowding outside, while Gudrun tried to pull them back: “Harald’s got a sword out there!”

      Then the wind was fresh on Peer’s face. The moon skimmed between the clouds like a stone skipping over water, filling the yard with scuttling shadows. Harald was making Arnë give him a leg up on to the farmhouse’s thick turf roof. Gunnar stood squarely in the patch of light from the open door, squinting up under his good hand. “Go on, son,” he shouted. “A roof’s no place to hide. We’ll not be fooled by that again…”

      “I never thought he could have climbed up,” said Harald over his shoulder.

      What were they talking about? Peer looked at Ralf, who shrugged and said in a low voice, “I guess they’ve had adventures before.”

      Harald walked along the roof ridge, sword in hand, a sinister silhouette against the sky. The moonlight silvered his blowing hair. Peer shivered suddenly, and Ralf too must have felt uncomfortable about this prowling figure on his own roof, for he called out, “It’s gone; you’ve missed it. Come on down.”

      But the dogs, who had been running about eagerly with their noses down, began to bark and growl, and make little dashes at a blackly-shadowed corner of the yard near the cowshed.

      “Don’t tell me they’ve found a real troll,” Ralf muttered. He crossed the yard in a couple of quick strides, Peer beside him, Gunnar close behind.

      In the angle of the wall was a crawling darkness the size of a small child. “Gods!” Gunnar’s voice clotted with horror. “Look at that. Where’s its head?”

      Peer’s skin prickled. Then he saw the troll had merely crouched down, wrapping skinny arms protectively over its head. Its bare flanks gleamed dimly like oiled leather. There was a sound of chewing, and a strong stink of old herrings. So it had been robbing the fish-drying racks!

      Ralf clapped his hands. “Go on! Get out of here! Shoo!” he shouted.

      A pair of luminous green eyes winked open. The troll gaped in threat, and produced a dry, frightening hiss, accompanied by an even stronger smell of fish. Ralf dragged the dogs away by their collars. “Stand back, Peer—give it a chance to run.”

      Behind them, Harald leaped into the yard. He staggered, touching a hand to the ground to steady himself; then he was up, his naked blade glinting. “Out of my way!” he shouted, running at the troll.

      The round green eyes scrunched into terrified half-moons. The troll dived away, fat sides pumping, long bald tail curving and switching. It scrambled around the corner of the cowshed. But Harald was faster. He threw himself forward and stamped down heavily on its tail, jerking it to a halt. The troll tugged and writhed to get free, squealing dreadfully. “Let it go! Let it go!” Ralf shouted. But Harald struck.

      As the blow flashed down, the troll gave a final desperate wrench, and leaped crazily up the hillside as if shot from a catapult, leaving its narrow, tapering tail thrashing horribly under Harald’s boot. There was a sickening smell of stale armpits and rotten eggs.

      Harald leaped back in disgust and slammed his sword into its sheath. Ralf and Arnë broke out coughing, and the dogs whined, wiping their noses on their paws. With a shiver of loathing, Gunnar turned away from the jerkily wriggling tail. Peer rubbed a hand over his eyes. What had he and the Nis begun?

      “I need a drink after that,” said Ralf drily. He held open the farmhouse door and nodded for everyone to go in.

      Gudrun, the twins and Hilde and Astrid clustered around the door.

      “Was there really a troll?”

      “What happened?”

      “What was that noise?”

      “Poof!” Sigurd clutched his nose. “What’s that awful smell?”

      “There was a troll, all right,” Peer said to Hilde.

      “Harald was so fast,” said Arnë in admiration. “What a warrior! He nearly got it!”

      “He got its tail,” said Peer with bitter sarcasm.

      Soft-hearted Sigrid gasped. “Oh, the poor thing! Oh, that must have hurt so much! Will it be all right?”

      “It will grow a new one,” Hilde soothed her.

      Harald overheard. “Yes, a pity,” he said to Hilde lightly. “Your little brother wanted me to kill a troll, didn’t he? How the tales do come to life!”

      “Why didn’t you let the dogs pull it down?” Gunnar growled at Ralf. “You could have nailed the head to your barn door to scare the others. Like hanging up a dead crow. The best way to deal with vermin.”

      Ralf poured himself a cup of ale, and pushed the jug towards Gunnar and Harald. He looked as if he was struggling for words. “I didn’t want it killed,” he said at last, politely enough. “The trolls may be a nuisance, but they’re our neighbours, Gunnar. We’ve got to live here with them. We’ve all got to get along.”

      “Get along with trolls?” Gunnar showed a set of brownish teeth through his bristly beard. “Root ‘em up, smoke ‘em out.That’s what I’d do.”

      Peer thought of the labyrinthine passages underneath Troll Fell. Smoke ‘em out? We’d have hundreds of trolls down on us like angry bees.

      Gunnar sat down suddenly. His chest heaved. “Anyway,” he got out between harsh breaths, “what about my offer? Be a man. Come with us.”

      Ralf and Gudrun looked at each other. She dropped on to the bench beside him, and he reached across and squeezed her hand. “No, I can’t,” he said firmly. “But ask in the village. Maybe there’s someone there who wants to go.”

      Gunnar gave him a black look. “I see I’ve wasted my time. Arnë swore you’d come, that’s all. Well, I warn you, if the wind’s right, we’ll be leaving tomorrow. I won’t lose a good wind in the sailing season. After tomorrow it’ll be too late to change your mind.”

      Ralf shrugged. Peer beat his fist on his knee in silent satisfaction. Good for Ralf! We don’t want anything to do with them, any of them!

      Hilde stood up. “Ma, Pa…”

      Peer saw her resolute face and his heart stopped. He knew what was coming.

      “Astrid wants me to come to Vinland with her. And I’d like to go!”

      The shocked silence stretched…and stretched. With a rustle, a half-burned log shifted in the fire like a sleepy dragon. Its bright underbelly flaked, shedding golden scales which dimmed and died.

      Gudrun found her voice. “Hilde, you can’t go to Vinland. It’s ridiculous.”

      “It’s not,” said Hilde. “Astrid is going, so why shouldn’t