Meanwhile at the—

Oh, forget that. We’re going back to Elaine.

Right. Now.

Move it.

***

Oh, things look dark and dire indeed, fair reader. And it’s not just the storm clouds rolling in either. No, that black and bleak sky is nothing compared to the fate reaching out to end our sweet heroine’s tale once and for all.

When we left our brave maiden she was within a troll’s handbreadth of becoming Maiden Pie, a more gruesome death there never was. Yet our—

Okay, yes. Being flame broiled into charcoal would have been pretty bad too but—

Taxidermy would not have been pleasant either. I can see that. But—

Seriously?!

Eaten alive by rabbits?! When… who… Yes I know they have big pointy teeth but that’s beside the point. What kind of story do you think you’re listening to?

Honestly. Readers these days. It’s all sensationalism. That’s all they want anymore. Ridiculous.

Ahem. Would you mind terribly much if we returned to our ACTUAL story now? You know, the one where we left our heroine facing down ginger-haired death to have a nonsensical discussion on the merits of using fluffy tailed lagomorphs as a means of execution? No? Thank you.

As I was saying…

Elaine, the terror of drunken miscreants everywhere, side-steps the half troll’s reaching hand, thinking furiously. “Right. Um. Sorry. Don’t think you’d want me for pie. Lost my maiden status ages ago.”

Ginger the Elder shrugs. “With the right bouquet of spices, no one will taste the difference.”

Ginger the Younger, otherwise known as Ed, pipes up. “Yeah. Passed an old bat off for a young ‘un once. And she’d definitely played her fair share of hide-the-sausage.” He waggled his bushy orange brows. “Just had to stew her a bit longer first to tender her up.”

Elaine glares at this helpful bit of information. “Right…”

The Breadmen take another step. Our brave girl scrambles back again. At least their attention is on her now and not the faint scent of ginger-spattered boy drifting up from the stream bank below. Which I’m sure is of great comfort to our fair damsel. Great comfort.

“Still,” she insists. “I’m telling you, you wouldn’t want me.” Another step. “I’m a… a…” Thunder rolls and inspiration strikes. “A witch!” Elaine cries, side-stepping the reaching hand once more.

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“Really?” Ginger the Elder grins for the first time and… honestly, with those teeth, I think I preferred the scowl. “Which witch?”

“The witch of… of…” She glances at the sign post. “The witch of Water Mill Road!”

The half troll’s grin widens and he shakes his head.

His younger, dimmer sibling frowns. “Didn’t we meet her? I thought she was old.”

Our girl looks like she’s choking on several pieces of profanity at once. “Yes, well, I’m her… um…”

“Niece,” a tiny voice hisses from beneath the bridge.

The half trolls’ heads swivel back toward the water as if they heard the voice.

“Niece!” Elaine shrieks, planting herself more firmly between them and the river bank.

Ginger the Elder slants his narrowed eyes at her. “Her niece, is it?”

“Yes! Touch me at your peril. I’ll… I’ll call down fire and brimstone on your filthy… um… floury… um… heads!”

That’s it! Now if we can just get a little help from the storm…

“Will you now?”

Come on! Where’s a good lightning strike when you need it?

Elaine is nearly at the bridge’s parapet now. “Yes! And… and maybe sic those goats on you too!” She points at the nearby herd hovering beneath the trees, bleating nervously at the blackened sky. “I’ve heard tales of goats and trolls! I know what they’ll do to you given the right motivation.”

Ed glances nervously at the animals, but his brother curls his lip and leers. “Liar.”

Oh, fates and hells, where is the damned lightning?!

“I’m warning you!”

She needs that lightning! NOW!

**CRASH**

YES!!!

Across the road a massive oak bursts into white flame as a crash of thunder rolls over our characters, throwing all of them, heroes and villains alike, to the ground. Our brave girl has hardly had a chance to shake herself clear of the shock and look up when the herd of goats comes barreling toward them, screaming their terror at the top of their goaty lungs. And truly, fair reader, if you’ve not heard a goat scream… Well, let’s just call it unsettling, shall we?

Our Ginger Breadmen are not so lucky as Elaine. They’ve only just reached their trollish feet in time for the horns of the first goats to reach their backsides. Adding their own screams to the ruckus, our fraternal bakers of cannibal pastries flee over the bridge and into the forest, the entire herd of angry, terrified ruminants still on their heels.

Goodness! That was a piece of luck, wasn’t it? That lightning striking just then. Whatever fate or fairy is looking out for our girl deserves a hearty thank you, I’d say.

Speaking of our girl, Elaine is back on her feet and helping a grinning butterball of a boy up the stream bank just as the first fat drops of rain come spattering down.

“I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble with the trolls, but,” she glances up and winces as another drop smacks her face, “this rain isn’t likely to be fun either.”

“My uncle’s caravan is just down the road,” the beaming child points over the bridge. “I was trying to get there but…” he frowned, “couldn’t run fast enough.”

“Right. Think he’d mind a guest until the storm passes?”

“Oh, he loves guests!” The boy grabs Elaine’s hand and starts tugging her over the bridge and onto the road.

“Uh huh. He’s not into taxidermy or baking is he?”

“Nah. He just likes buying and selling stuff. Ma says he could turn straw into gold if he wanted.” He grins proudly. “Rumble Stilskyn, the best merchant in seven kingdoms.”

Elaine pulls up short, tugging the boy to a stop. “Stilskyn?”

He frowns. “Yeah. You heard of him?”

Elaine grins.

“I believe I have.” She pulls her cloak hood up against the growing patter of rain and waves the boy forward. “Lead on, young friend. I think your uncle and I have business together.”

And hand in hand, the two march down the road.

***

Meanwhile at the Withershins Inn…