[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Arrald stalked toward the farm with as much quiet as he could, but as always his lumpen toes found every stone in the fields and kicked them. Each time he made a noise, Broga would “shush” him with growing impatience, but when – finally – Arrald kicked a stone so hard that it hammered off the side of the barn, Broga let out a roar of anger and clubbed Arrald across the face. Arrald reared back with his club and Dim made to punch Grimm, but they were prevented from their battle by the cries of the farm hands. Brought suddenly awake by the angry yells of the trolls, the farmer and his five sons – all of them broad shouldered and thick-limbed – charged out of the large house and made their desperate stand. The farmer was armed with an aged sword, and had hurriedly put on an iron helm that was clearly the remnant of a more glorious past, but his sons were all armed with little more than farm implements.

At first the sight of these men in their nightshirts was a cause for mirth, but when they began yelling insults at Arrald and even throwing rocks at him, he began to get angry. He let out a really good roar and charged the men directly, swinging his club above his head. Dim was right behind him but where those numbskulls Grimm and Broga had got to he did not know. He was almost upon the men when a sting in his head brought him up short. He put his hand to his brow and found an arrow protruding from his skin. Looking up he just had time to catch the next needle-sharp arrow that flew toward him from the bow of the farmer’s wife.

Now truly angry, Arrald rushed forward and swung his club at the farmer and his sons. They all evaded his attack, but the impact of his club in the earth knocked them all from their feet and sent the wife shrieking into the recesses of the house. Whirling about in anger, Arrald noticed for the first time that Broga and Grimm were engaged in battle with another six or seven men who had appeared from the farmhands’ quarters. That’s their problem he decided. Me, I’m going to take care of these farmers then look for the plunder.

He turned back to the farmer and his family and found only empty air. He looked about dully with Dim, but saw nothing. They were just about to give up when a sudden hail of arrows began falling about them. Looking toward the trees that lay near the house they saw the farmer, his five sons, and his wife all armed with bows and all peppering them. Now Arrald was truly angry. Hefting his club he gave the farmer’s house a terrible knock that brought down the front half of the structure. Seizing a large chunk of debris, he hurled it at the meddlesome family where it fell with a satisfying crunch in which at least two of the farmer’s sons disappeared in a twisted maze of wood. He and Dim then gave it their best roars and charged the remaining family members, but they broke and ran.

Their initial impulse was to continue the pursuit, but the orders of the orc chief had been so insistently drilled into them, that they stopped to see if they could remember what they were. “It ‘ad something to do with the sheep,” Dim ventured.

“No no,” Arrald corrected him, feeling sympathy for his brother’s slow wit. “‘E said we could have the sheep for ourselves, but only if we brought back the gold.”

Dim nodded, then a light went on in his eye. It was not a pleasant light. “Gold?” he said, as though hearing of the substance for the first time. “I like gold! All shiny and slippery it feel in my hands. It’s nice to have something twinkly to look at when one’s eating.”

Arrald came up short at that. “Why that’s quite true, Dim. It is.” An idea struck him. “Look here now, Dim, something’s just occurred to me. The orcs, see, they’re not here, right? Well how are they to know how much gold is in that sack?”

“I don’t know,” replied Dim, his head on one side.

“That’s just the thing, see. They won’t know. So what say you and me take a bit of it for ourselves before we ‘and it over?”

Dim’s eyes lit up again with an even less pleasant light. “Oh, I like that, that’s good.” Smiling he started toward the farm house, but he paused and with a very serious look upon his countenance he inquired, “But what about the sheep, Arrald? We won’t give them up will we?”

“Of course not, don’t be daft,” Arrald replied, happy that his brother had reminded him of the sheep, which had all but slipped his mind as he contemplated the brilliance of his plan to deceive the orcs. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s see how them other two ‘ave made out.”