Very few know about the magical properties of troll teeth and those who do, seldom tell. Why I found myself late one night seeking a troll tooth is entirely another story unto itself. Suffice to say, it was required for a certain spell and no other talisman would do.
Trolls are notoriously troubled sleepers, but when they do slumber, they’re like boulders. There’s no moving them. Still, I tiptoed around this troll. No telling what might set him off. When he finally opened his mouth in a snory gasp for air, I saw the treasure I sought – rows of blackened ivory, peg-shaped teeth.
One only had to grasp and yank to extract them, so I’d been told, terribly rotted as they were. I gripped the smallest one I could find and pulled, but nothing happened. Nothing moved. The tooth wouldn’t budge. I cursed myself for needing the blasted thing in the first place. As I tugged, I became vaguely aware of a toady, amber eye, the size of a dinner plate, staring up at me and I froze.
“Claus? Is that you?” asked the troll, its voice unusually soft and kind.
“Yes, it’s me,” I answered, even though I had no idea who Claus was. Perhaps he was still sleeping? Dreaming of a friend?
“Are you asleep?” I asked.
“Yes, between a dream and awake. I must tell you something.” The troll’s fingers grazed my arm.
“What is it?”
“Promise me, you’ll save her.” An idea struck me.
“I’ll do it in exchange for a tooth.” The great eye blinked.
“Take this one.” And just like that, he plucked his own tooth and gave it to me. “Just remember, there’s a penalty for breaking a promise to a troll.”
“Seven years my servant,” he chuckled, wide awake.