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Bearing all the markings of a truely classic novel, Troll Fell, is an exciting adventure-filled tale of Peer, his evil uncles, treasure and wicked trolls. Peer Ulfsson stood miserably at his father's funeral pyre, watching the sparks whirl up like millions of shining spirits streaking away into the dark. But someone else is also at the funeral. Peer's half-uncle, Baldur Grimsson. Peer watches helplessly as Uncle Baldur sells his father's property and pockets the money. Peer is then forced to move away from the world he knows in Hammerhaven, and live with his two half-uncles at their mill near Troll Fell. Peer hopes his other uncle will be more welcoming and less ferocious than Baldur, but Baldur is an identical twin, and Grim Grimsson is just as mean-spirited and greedy as his brother. Peer lives a life of servitude, with only the company of his faithful dog, Loki, until he meets spirited Hilde, whose family farm on Troll Fell, and Nis, his uncles' house spirit. Between them, they must foil a plot by the Grimsson brothers to sell one boy and one girl to the trolls who live on Troll Fell. But the Grimssons want riches, and they will do anything to get them. And as everyone knows, trolls are rich...but they are also cunning.
Peer a hank of twine. “Be quick!” The exhausted hens crowded together in a frilly huddle. Peer captured them and tied their feet together. “Sorry!” he mumbled to them as he carried them in pairs to the ox-cart. There they lay on the splintery boards, gargling faintly. As Peer finished, Uncle Baldur came up dragging a reluctant Loki along by a string round his neck. “Fasten ’im to the tail of the cart,” his uncle ordered. “He can run along behind.” He grinned, sneering. “It’s a long way. Think
pebble. A piece of dry seaweed caught light, and the fire was soon blazing. They all sat on the stones, speared a fish on a sharp stick and held it near the flames. The smell was delicious. The fish were difficult to eat, and they all burned their fingers, but it was worth it. Peer carefully boned a fish for Loki, who gobbled his fill of the rich white meat and crisp flame-blackened skins, and lay contentedly afterwards licking his paws. “Tell us a story, Bjørn,” begged Sigrid, and Hilde said,
were warm, rough and comforting. She squeezed back, so hard it hurt. “Why is it dark?” “It’s daybreak.” Peer remembered something the Nis had once said. “That’s night-time for trolls.” “You mean they’re all asleep? But who let us in?” Their whispering voices created scuttling echoes. “Ssh!” said Peer, freezing. They listened tensely. Was anything there? In the silence, Peer heard only water dripping, and his own harsh breath. He opened his eyes wide, shut them tight. It made no difference.
over the struggling crowd, stabbing here and there with a beak like blue steel. Baldur and Grim dropped Peer, cursing, beating the crow away from their eyes. The pile of trolls on top of Hilde rolled off and crept away, ducking and cringing. The crow circled and returned to the Gaffer’s shoulder. It lifted its huge black wings and folded them, nibbling the feathers into place. “Aaark!” it cried in harsh triumph. Hilde sat up, her arms and face scratched and bleeding, and threw the hair out of
inside the mill. He took up the lantern and set off across the yard, picking his way through the mud. The storm was passing, and tatters of cloud blew wildly overhead. It had stopped raining. The mill looked black and forbidding. Not a glimmer of light escaped from the tightly closed shutters. Peer hoped he hadn’t been locked out. His stomach growled. There was stew inside, waiting for him! But he stopped at the door, afraid to go in. Did they expect him to knock? Voices mumbled inside. Were