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By Root 1101 0

into a stream. He thought we could never catch him in fish form, because he would be too wily to latch on to any line we cast into the water. He would not fall for a baited hook. Sadly for him, we recovered the mesh of string from the fire and used that to catch him instead. Too clever by half, Loki had been the architect of his own downfall. He had just fashioned the very device which trapped him - a net."

"Silly arse."

"Thor wrestled him out onto dry land and squeezed him back into his true shape. Together we then secured him in a cave with a poisonous serpent above him."

"Venom in the eyes. That's got to hurt."

"In ancient times our worshippers believed earthquakes were caused by Loki writhing in agony below the ground," Odin said. "Perhaps they were right."

He lapsed into musing. I didn't know what to say. One of the trolls broke the silence by lifting a buttock and letting out a tremendous, ground-shaking fart.

I wouldn't have sniggered if Odin hadn't sniggered first.

"An apposite comment from below," he said.

"Applause from the cheap seats," I said.

"Sometimes it takes the digestive tract of a troll to remind us what is important." Odin clasped my shoulder. "Go, Gid, and fetch me more of these malodorous lummoxes. Just try not to get yourself asphyxiated in the process."

Thirty-Seven

The Taking Of The Trolls

by the bard Bragi

In ages hence, in lands afar,

This tale will oft be told -

How men and gods in unison

Went out collecting trolls.

Decree there came from Odin's lips

That none should dare relent

From capturing the ogreish things,

His forces to augment.

In Jotunheim, in Svartalfheim,

In Alfheim, all around,

Gods of Asgard, men of Midgard,

Ran those trolls to ground.

They baited traps with hapless goats -

Bleating, trembling prey.

The trolls could not resist the lure.

They took it, come what may.

From caves below, the beasts were rousted,

From dens on mountain slopes,

Then were steered and stunned with gunfire;

Caught and bound with ropes.

Some resisted, some fought back,

Some raised a fearful yammer.

None, however, withstood long

Once struck with Thor's dire hammer.

Sleipnir's pilots plied the skies

Flying to and fro.

Twice or thrice, e'en four times daily

Out and back they'd go.

And so it grew, and grew and grew,

The toll of captive trolls,

And more and more was Asgard pocked

With large empenning holes.

Until at last the All-Father

In voice unduly gruff

Announced the numbers did suffice.

"That's it," he said. "Enough.

"We've thirty now at least, I think,

Or forty - maybe more.

I've kept my eye on things, but still

It's hard to know the score.

"What's certain is the stench is bad,

And more will make it worse.

The trolls should be a blessing here

And not a nasal curse."

Their smell is rank, I can't deny,

Enough to make one wince.

Heimdall caught a whiff of it.

We haven't seen him since.

Huginn and Muninn overflew

The troll pens and - don't groan! -

They plummeted to earth just like

Two birds killed with one stone.

Still we must the bright side see.

We must remain firm-chinned.

The trolls will smite our foe ere long -

Not least if he's downwind.

Thirty-Eight

Shagged out.

Done in.

Cream-crackered.

A fortnight we'd been doing our "bring 'em back alive" bit with the trolls. Day after day in-country, exploring their known haunts, with Freya using her tracking skills to find their lairs or stalk them on the move. Night after night under canvas listening to the lament of the wind, and occasionally the baying of distant wolves.

Alfheim: where the air was thin and the aurora borealis snaked greenly among the stars, and where I never saw a single elf despite Freya's insistence that they were watching our every move.

Svartalfheim: barren and grim, a lifeless lunar landscape of black volcanic rock and ancient lava flows, dotted with billowing geysers and patches of glassy obsidian.

Jotunheim: along the borderlands, the regions of intersection where it cold-shouldered Asgard.

The trolls