“There are no trolls in Lorm.”
The words echoed in Prince Tolian’s head.
No sooner had they arrived in Ursuk than they
heard the rumors of a troll in the region.
Tolian dismissed them at once and assured the good folk of Ursuk that
his grandfather, King Hemris VI, had cleared Lorm of trolls fifty years
ago. The villagers were insistent, and
in the end the only way that Tolian could appease them was to investigate.
As they
neared the bridge, he began to doubt his own conviction. The old stone bridge was of considerable size, spanning a wide cedar
stream that wound its way through the lonely forests of the region. Thick moss grew on the stones near the water,
and a healthy crop of weeds on the bridge testified that few had crossed it in
some time. Tolian and Delorick approached,
the sun gleaming off their armor. They
were proud Lormian warriors, both in their early twenties, tall and fit. Their brown hair was short, cropped
close to their heads and neat, and they wore beards like all the
men of their race. They had been talking
and joking on the way, but now they fell silent. Something was amiss. A disquiet hung over
the bridge. They drew their swords.
The stench
of excrement was strong in the air, suggesting the presence of a troll. Tolian gestured to Delorick to descend to the
other side of the bridge. Delorick bowed
to his prince in acknowledgement and carefully made his way down the
embankment. Tolian eased himself down
the other side. A small cloud of dust
arose as he lost his footing and slid awkwardly to the base of the bridge, his
foot sinking into the dark water that ran beneath. He regained his composure quickly, and
steeled himself for attack. The smell was
almost unbearable. He peered into the
shadowy recesses under the bridge. His eyes burned from the foul fumes, making
it even more difficult for the prince to see into the blackness. He knew he shouldn’t delve too deeply without
light. He drew back a little.
Raising his
sword, he shouted into the darkness, “In the name of the King, I command you to
come out from under his Majesty’s bridge!”
His voice boomed
and then echoed from the dank confines. Tolian
backed up a few more steps, being extremely careful not to fall into the wide
stream that the structure spanned. With
his eyes focused on the black recess he stuck his sword into the ground, and
brought out a torch he had prepared earlier.
Kneeling, he withdrew his flint from his pouch and expertly sparked a
fire. Now rising up and retrieving his
sword, he ventured forth into the gloom.
The torch burned
more brightly in the fumes as Tolian made his way back under the bridge. Nonetheless,
it was impossible
for him to see Delorick or the other side.
Noxious clouds of fumes festered with the pungent odor, giving a
greenish tinge to the scene. A few bones
littered the ground. Tolian
couldn’t tell if they were human or animal.
In any case, they appeared to have been there some time. Delorick should be quite close by now, but
there was still no sign of him.
No
sound. Damn. Where was Delorick?
Tolian crept deeper into the darkness. His torch had little success in penetrating
the gloom. Something moved in the
darkness a short distance ahead of him.
Whatever it was, it moved swiftly.
“Delorick?”
he whispered.
A muffled
groan came in reply. Nearby. Suddenly
sharp claws tore through his armor into his side. He cried out.
He knew he had to strike quickly and accurately now or he and Delorick were doomed. He swung his sword deftly, bringing it towards the monster of
which he could only catch the faintest glimpse.
He put his might into the stroke. There came a frightful howl of pain from the
thing. Immediately Tolian received a
mighty blow that sent him sprawling. The
torch flew out of his hand and he tumbled into the cold, dark water of the
stream.
The water
surrounded him. It was strangely
refreshing. The shock of the chill
brought a clear
logic to his
brain. Even as his armor weighed him down
and dragged him to the bottom of
the stream, he found himself thinking.
The villagers had been right—there was definitely a troll under this
bridge. His hands felt the slimy mud of
the stream floor, bringing him back to his immediate predicament.
Well, he
thought, I had better do something. He
pulled himself along the muddy stream bed.
He hoped that his bearings were right because if he headed in the wrong
direction he would drown. His lungs ached
with pain, and the bitter cold of the water fought his resolve to survive.
A part of
him said, “You’re not going to make it, why not just die here in the cool
water.”
He didn’t
listen. He summoned his remaining
strength to drag himself, as exhausted as he was, from the depths into the
shallows where he could keep his head above the water. He gasped.
At that moment, even the putrid air, seemed sweet and good to him.
The torch
had, of course, gone out.
Blackness. He could make out no
shapes or movement. At least this time,
however, he knew that there was something there. Something incredibly strong and vicious. Something intent on killing him. The prince pulled himself out of the water. He had managed to hold on to his sword
throughout his ordeal in the stream. He
could feel that the monster was quite close.
He dove and rolled to his feet, just as the troll leapt out of the
darkness. Tolian spun around and
delivered a fierce blow to the creature.
His weapon penetrated deeply into the thick flesh of his
antagonist. A loud howl of pain issued
from the beast, shaking the bridge. Now,
thought Tolian. He let out a frightening
shriek himself and jumped upon the injured troll. He slashed and stabbed with fury. The troll cried
out in pain and anger, but Tolian did not let up. His sword rose and fell upon the creature’s
scaly hide. With each blow that broke
the thing’s skin, a smell so vile issued forth that it blocked the stench of fecal
matter and rotting flesh.
The troll
gathered its strength and shoved Tolian to the side and scrambled away. He
landed with a thud. Now, however, Tolian’s
eyes were beginning to become accustomed to the darkness. He could make out the troll as it struggled
to escape into a hole in the mud banks beneath the bridge. He looked about hastily for Delorick. He was nowhere to be seen. With less thought
than perhaps he should have given the decision, he jumped into the opening
after the monster.
Tolian was
relieved to discover that the hole was not deep. His boots sunk up to his ankles in soft mud
and troll excrement. His eyes teared from
the onslaught of the noxious vapors that surrounded him. Peering through the darkness he descried a tunnel
moving off a short distance in front of him.
It seemed narrower than a troll would require. Tolian approached the slimy ingress with
caution. His progress was slow as his
feet sunk deeply into the mud or struck against one of the many bones and
debris that littered the dank lair’s floor.
He could smell the rancid odor of the troll’s blood up ahead. His eyes watered so badly he fought to keep
them open. Nausea. He gagged.
He couldn’t
stifle the urge to vomit for much longer.
Up ahead, in the cramped gloom, a large shape moved. It had to be the troll. He had to make his move now, while it was
still injured. As legend had it, trolls healed quickly.
With a mighty war shriek, Tolian dashed down the tunnel towards the
monster. He knew it couldn’t have moved
far. As he brought his sword back, he
tripped over something heavy. He heard a
groan come from the obstacle as he fell, sinking into the cold slime of the
tunnel’s floor.
Mud and
troll feces covered his face, blinding him .
As fast as he could, he wiped the burning slime from his eyes. Remaining motionless, he strained to hear any
sounds of the troll’s approach.
At first, the
only sound he heard was the pounding of his heart. No.
There was another sound.
“Aaaaghh.”
It was
Delorick. The beast must have deposited
the warrior there in order to speed its escape.
“Delorick,”
whispered Tolian. “Keep quiet and
still.”
The moaning
stopped. He took that as
acknowledgement. He cleared the last bit
of mud and such from his eyes and got to his feet. The smell of the troll’s blood still obscured
the rotting offals own perfume. That had
to mean that the troll was still nearby.
Tolian crept up . He could just make out a shape in the
darkness. It could be the troll. It was just standing there, not moving. It must have hoped that Tolian didn’t see, or
wouldn’t bother to look after recovering his comrade. In either case, it was wrong.
Once again,
Tolian dashed forth to strike at the foul creature. This time he didn’t stumble. With great agility, the prince plunged his
sword into the troll’s heart. It didn’t
flinch. It didn’t make even the tiniest
peep of a sound.
Surprised,
Tolian stood for a moment, his sword deep in the creature’s flesh, unsure of
what to do. He withdrew his blade. It was dead.
Tolian vomited. He wretched and
hacked until his ribs and stomach ached.
It was with
great effort that Tolian managed to drag Delorick from the monster’s lair. After the blackness of the tunnel, the
sunshine was blinding. Tolian squinted at
Delorick to gauge his wounds. The
creature had mauled Delorick and he was bleeding from massive wounds to his back and
shoulders.. Tolian realized that the combination of mud
and excrement Delorick was covered in couldn’t be good for him. Tolian pulled his friend to the stream, a
good distance from the bridge. He washed
out Delorick’s wounds as best as he could.
Tolian was no healer, but he was sure that if Delorick didn’t get
skilled assistance soon it would be too late.
He knew
that he had to go to the village and bring help as quickly as possible. He hated to leave his friend there, but he
realized that with his own injuries he would never be able to get the both of
them back. The village was about three
miles from the bridge. Tolian began with
a slow jog, but urged himself on to greater speed.
During his journey, he reviewed
the course of events that had brought him to this point. Tolian had been in a funk after he had ended
the long-running border war with the barbarians of Trovik by leading the warriors
of Lorm in a risky but victorious campaign.
He had felt off, as if something deep inside him was wrong, but he could
not express his discontent. Delorick,
Captain of the Royal Guard said that what he really needed was a change. He suggested that the two of them go hunting
in the deep woods of the southern frontiers, near the village of Ursuk. He had been really looking forward to getting
away from the petty intrigues and hypocrisy at court and enjoying some cool autumn nights in
the country. The clean air. Tolian remembered Delorick emphasizing
the cleanness of the air. That seemed
funny to Tolian right then, considering that he didn’t think he had ever
smelled anything worse than he smelled at that moment. He gagged as he ran.
A sudden
attack of pain interrupted his reverie. His
injuries were serious. He had to rest. Only for a moment, he assured himself. There was a stump that stood in a small
clearing just off the road. It looked inviting. That seemed like a good place to sit for a
second to catch his breath. He lowered
himself to a sitting position, the pain
radiating from his side. The troll had
torn open his side
with its powerful claws, and the opened wound burned with intense pain. Blood poured from the wound, pooling into his
boots. Gradually he began lose consciousness.
He was staring off into the trees above when his eyes began to
close. As he endeavored fight off
unconsciousness, he found himself thinking that the leaves on the trees were
still quite green for the time of year.
copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
No comments:
Post a Comment