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wafting the most horrid smell to him. He sniffed once, then again, trying to identify the stench, then a thought occurred to him. He raised his arm to sniff his armpit, then abruptly jerked his head away. He barely managed to keep himself from gagging as he turned his head to gulp in fresh air.
    How could I smell so bad and not know it? he wondered.
    Yarg had risen, about to seek out a stream to wash in, when he heard what sounded like a footfall on dry leaves—muffled, but not far away. He looked carefully around the clearing. Nothing moved, yet Yarg’s instincts told him that he wasn’t alone. He stepped silently around the massive trunk …
    And came face to face with a huge centaur.
    Yarg stared at the creature. The burly lower horse body, with its four powerfully muscled and hairy legs, was perfectly joined to an equally muscled human torso. Around its neck was a heavy gold chain. Suspended from it was a golden medallion embossed with a small figure of a centaur holding a flaming ball.
    Yarg’s scrutiny reached the creature’s face. It was smooth, with the exception of a few whiskers scattered across the chin, and surprisingly handsome. Yarg blinked as his gaze met the centaur’s eerily blazing blue eyes.
    Yarg had never met a centaur, but the other trolls told many stories about them.
    According to the legends, centaurs were extremely peculiar—very highly strung, taking offence at the slightest, often imagined transgression; extremely welcoming one moment, irrationally irritated the next. They had an unlimited knowledge of healing skills and a talent for hunting, while the most gifted had a flair for music.
    Centaurs believed that the stars predicted the secrets of the different realms, and that through them they could see the past, present and future. The thing that had intrigued Yarg most about them was that they were said to be brutally honest.
    The centaur growled deep in his throat and swished his tail, signs Yarg easily read as impatience at the troll’s scrutiny. Yarg refocused his eyes on the centaurs’ and raised his hand in a gesture of greeting.
    The centaur did not return it; instead he said in a deep voice, “You must leave this forest immediately. Your kind is not welcome here.”
    The words were uttered so slowly that Yarg wondered if the centaur thought he was daft.
    Yarg raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m just passing through.”
    The centaur pawed his front leg on the ground for a moment, then again fixed his eyes firmly on Yarg’s face.
    â€œI am Yarg, King of the Trolls,” Yarg politely introduced himself. “Who are you, centaur?”
    The centaur made no effort to answer Yarg’s question. Instead, “Why have you come here?” he demanded.
    Yarg shook his head and smiled. “I asked first,” he replied.
    The centaur stared at Yarg for a long moment before giving in, “My name is Folgoo.”
    â€œIt seems to me that you recognised my name,” Yarg probed. “Why would that be?”
    Folgoo flashed a knowing smile at him. “News spreads fast, courtesy of the immortal grapevine. I’ve heard all about your confusing state of affairs, your … eh … complete lack of regard for our fair fairy.”
    Yarg felt his hackles rise. Did everyone know his business?
    â€œYes,” said Folgoo simply.
    â€œAre you reading my mind?” Yarg asked, glancing sharply at Folgoo.
    â€œI don’t need to read your mind, your thoughts are written on your face,” the centaur sneered.
    â€œAnd do you always judge others before getting the facts?” Yarg asked, then shook his head in defeat. “Never mind, I’m going,” he said and turned away from Folgoo.
    To his surprise, the centaur came up beside him, saying, “I shall accompany you to the borders of our realm.”
    Yarg nodded an acknowledgement. They walked silently side by side for a