Don't Feed the Trolls

by Jacob Peppers

  Which, of course, was when the troll showed up.

  Dannen didn’t see it at first—chalk it up to being too busy freezing to death—but then he heard a guttural growling that he realized was someone clearing his throat. He looked over to Fedder but saw that the man was looking around as well, trying to identify the source of the sound. Dannen did a moment later.

  A troll loomed on the mountain ridge above them, eight feet tall at least. It, like most of its kind that he’d had the unfortunate experience of meeting, wore nothing but a loin cloth, though if the cold bothered it, it gave no sign. It stood with one hand on its hip, and the other held a great club that he doubted even Fedder would have been able to hold so casually, though he was glad, at least, to see that for the moment, the weapon hung at the creature’s side.

  Dannen had seen trolls before, of course, each time made more memorable by the fact that they had inevitably set about trying to kill him the first chance they got, but now, as with those times, he was shocked by just how ugly it was.

  The creature’s skin was a sickly, puke green, and it possessed a big protruding gut which hung over the waist of its loin cloth and which put Dannen’s own modest paunch to shame. Stranger still was that its arms were far longer in proportion to the rest of its body than any human’s would be, so that its knuckles were in danger of scraping the ground. The arms were far too skinny too, when compared to the rest of it, but while skinny, Dannen knew that those arms were also possessed of incredible strength, strength enough, say, to nearly squeeze a man to death. Nearly—in the instance he’d had the dubious honor of experiencing it—only because the squeezing troll had a tendency to be distracted from its task when you stuck something pointy in it.

  Still, for all the wrongness, the ugliness of its body, it was the creature’s face which won the prize. Its nose was several sizes too large for its face and had a mashed, unfinished look to it, like a statue whose sculptor had decided halfway through that he was sculpting a troll, of all things, and hadn’t bothered to finish, leaving the clay in a misshapen, grotesque ball. Its mouth, too, was too wide, possessing teeth which were flat and large and mostly rotting, a fact made easier to see since the troll was currently bearing them threateningly at Dannen and his companions. But perhaps the worst of all the creature’s characteristics—though, it had to be said, it was no easy race—was its eyes. Its pupils were a urine-yellow color which had seemed to bleed over into its irises giving it a jaundiced, sickly look.

  “Damn, Fedder,” Mariana said in a breathy, shocked voice, “I didn’t know you had a twin.”

  “Who goes there?” the troll demanded in a growling bellow that seemed to shake the very mountainside itself. “Who dares not pay the toll before crossing my bri—” It cut off, apparently noticing, for the first time, the devastation. “Hey,” the troll continued on in a much lower, speaking volume, sounding almost like a man, one who was currently offended. “Where’d my bridge go?”

  Dannen glanced back at the empty space where the bridge had been, his thoughts racing, for he knew that trolls were easily angered and that the creatures didn’t much care for talking out their anger, often chose instead to squeeze the object of that anger into bloody mash. “There were undead on it,” he said, “and um…” He paused. No need to offer that Dannen and his companions were largely the reason why the bridge had finally collapsed. “Well. It fell.”

  The troll blinked its jaundiced eyes, turning to look at him. “It fell.”

  Mariana nodded. “Sure. Well, sort of collapsed, really, all of it going into the chasm.”

  Dannen scowled at the woman, or at least tried to. The temperature seemed to be dropping with each second that passed, and he had long since lost the feeling in his face.

  “All of it,” the troll repeated.

  “Well,” Dannen said, desperately, thinking that, just then, all he wanted to do was to get the creature to leave them alone so that he could get on with the job of freezing to death in relative peace. “Not all of it.” He cast his gaze about, then reached down, retrieving a piece of plank that had landed on the mountainside, holding it up to the troll.

  The creature cocked its head to the side, staring at the plank, likely trying to decide which one of them to smash with the great club it carried first. But to Dannen’s surprise, it grunted. “For me?”

  “I…that is, of course,” Dannen said. “Should…should I just toss it up or—”

  “No,” the troll bellowed. “Not that. You might drop it. You know,” it said, baring its teeth again, “like you did rest of bridge.”

  Dannen winced. “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. We didn’t drop it, not really. It was the weight, was all, and…”

  But the creature wasn’t listening. Instead, it was bounding down toward them, its loin cloth flapping as it did and giving Dannen some pretty terrible visuals that would no doubt accompany him to the afterlife. In another moment, it was standing only a few feet in front of him, holding out its hand. “Gimme.”

  “O-of course,” Dannen said. He offered the creature the piece of wood, all too aware of the way his hand shook from the freezing temperatures as he did.

  The troll took the shattered piece of rotten plank with exaggerated reverence, as if Dannen had handed it some priceless artifact instead of a broken piece of wood that was all but useless. Then it proceeded to unceremoniously stuff the piece of wood into the back of its loincloth, treating him to another unwanted display of its…charms. “It was fine bridge,” the troll said, and if Dannen didn’t know better, he would have been sure he saw what looked like tears gathering in the troll’s eyes.

  What it had been was a death trap, but he didn’t think it polite to say so, so he only nodded the best he could, and he didn’t imagine the frost cracking on his hood as he did. “Abs-solutely,” he managed through chattering teeth. “A f-fine b-bridge.”

  The troll looked up at him, its great mouth turning to a frown. “You cold.”

  “And you’re a genius,” Mariana offered back, her own teeth chattering.

  Dannen shot her another scowl before turning back to the troll. “I…y-yes. A-a bit.”

  The troll studied them for a moment, its jaundiced gaze traveling between them and the space the bridge had so recently occupied. “You say undead on bridge?”

  “T-that’s right.”

  “Maybe full dead now though, eh?” the troll said, then bellowed a terrible, guttural sound that Dannen only realized belatedly was laughter.

  He did his best to fake his own laughter, and the troll looked back at them, finally frowning. “What wrong with him?” he asked, nodding his head at Fedder who still sat with his back against the mountainside, his face pale, obviously still shaken from his near-death experience, one which, as it happened, he was still experiencing.

  “W-where to begin,” Mariana said.

  “H-he’s fine,” Dannen said. “J-just a b-bit cold, is all.”

  The troll frowned at that, no doubt considering smashing him with the great club it carried. In the end, though, it gave a nod. “You all come with me. To cave. Don’t get many visitors.”

  Dannen felt his heart skip a beat at that. “I…thank you, for the offer. B-but, we really must be going and—”

  “Come,” the troll said. “We go now.”

  Then it turned and started down the mountain path, its great club dragging across the ground.

  “That’s an invitation I’m tempted to pass on, Butcher,” Fedder said, and he turned to see that the big man had finally gotten over his shock and was standing beside him, frowning after the troll.

  Dannen took a moment to consider. True, the thought of following a troll back to its den felt a lot like a fish jumping out of the water and into a fisherman’s boat, but the troll had said “cave.” Normally, the word wouldn’t have done anything for him, for as a general rule Dannen avoided caves on the premise that most of the things which called them home—trolls included—enjoyed the taste of meat and usual
ly weren’t too particular on where that meat came from. But a cave also meant sanctuary, shelter from the piercing wind and the driving snow, and no doubt it couldn’t help but be warmer than the side of a mountain that was open to all the elements.

  Then a thought struck him and he turned to Fedder. “Can you make a fire? To warm us, I mean?”

  Fedder grunted sourly, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t last long. Got to have something to burn and snow ain’t good.”

  “If we’re v-voting,” Tesler stammered, “I-I cast my lot for the cave.”

  Mariana rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.” The man looked confused, as if he had no idea what that meant and why not? Dannen had no idea himself.

  “Well?” a voice said, bellowed, really, and Dannen and the others turned to see the troll frowning at them, its club held up in the air now. He didn’t know a lot about trolls—except that they really seemed to enjoy killing—but he didn’t think it was best to offend one, not when Dannen was so cold that he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to lift a hand in his own defense if the creature decided to attack.

  “Come on,” Dannen said, “let’s go.”

  They set off after the troll, and Dannen was relieved when, barely five minutes later, it took them around a corner and stopped at the entrance to a cave, was even more relieved when he noted the orange flicker of what could only be a fire coming from somewhere inside.

  The troll paused, staring at them as if it expected them to say something, and Dannen tried—and failed—to produce a smile. “N-nice c-cave.”

  The troll nodded as if satisfied and motioned them inside, leading the way and having to bend its own great form nearly double to step through the opening. Dannen shared another look with his companions, thinking that if he were a fish jumping into a boat to be eaten, at least he would die a warm one. Then, he took a deep, shuddering breath, and stepped inside.

  The first thing he noticed—mostly because of the painful tingles that shot through his body as feeling began to return to his extremities—was that the cave was considerably warmer than the outside. The second, though, was the smell. Trolls, of course, were not known for their cleanliness and, based on the smell, this particular one had questioned why it should bother going outside to tend to its biological necessities when it could do so in the comfort of its own cave.

  Indeed, as he followed the hulking beast through a small tunnel and the cave opened up, he saw, based on the odorous leavings in one corner, that it had done exactly that, had marked a spot in the cave especially for the purpose.

  “Gods be good, but I hate trolls,” Fedder whispered from behind him and there, at least, Dannen was forced to agree, though he did so quietly with a nod of his head.

  The next thing that caught his attention—in the same way that sighted land might catch the attention of a drowning man—was a fire. A small, pitiful thing but one that, just then, was the best thing he could ever remember seeing.

  “You sit,” the troll growled, motioning to the fire and several large stones which had been laid around it.

  Left with no other recourse—and not particularly looking for another as he stared at those wonderful, warm flames—Dannen sat. His companions followed a moment later and, once they were all seated, the troll moved to an empty rock across the fire from them. Dannen was gratified to note it toss its massive club on the ground before plopping down, heaving a sigh as if it had just reclined in a comfortable, cushioned chair instead of a rock that couldn’t be comfortable, especially given the loin cloth.

  The troll studied them for several seconds, then finally grunted, the sound like a lion’s cough. “Don’t get many visitors anymore. Not on my bridge. Not since other was built,” it finished, obvious anger and disgust in its tone.

  “I-it was a fine bridge,” Dannen offered, unsure of what was expected of him.

  The troll frowned, and Dannen hurriedly spoke on. “Your bridge, I mean. It was a fine bridge.”

  The troll watched him for a moment then nodded, apparently appeased. “Yes. Fine bridge. Not that anyone use it.” It frowned. “Why you take my bridge instead of other?”

  Dannen winced, sharing a glance with his companions. “The other bridge…well…there was an avalanche and…it fell.”

  The troll blinked its large, jaundiced eyes. “Other bridge gone?”

  Dannen tensed, feeling sure that, to say the wrong thing, would be to rouse the troll’s ire and put them all in a very real, though likely very brief, world of hurt. “I’m…I’m afraid so.”

  The troll jerked up from its seat at that, and Dannen recoiled, preparing to fight or—if the chance presented itself—flee. But instead of rushing toward them or hefting its club, the troll tilted its head back and roared what, at first, he took to be a battle cry but, after a moment, as tears of mirth began to glide down its face, he realized was laughter.

  It kept going for a long time, and Dannen and the others shared troubled looks with one another. Finally, though, the laughter stopped, and the troll wiped a long, green finger across its eyes. “That good,” it said, still chuckling. “That really good. Bridge gone.”

  Dannen glanced at the others again before looking back at the troll. “It…it is?”

  “Oh yes,” the troll said, “good news. The best. Only wish I could see the look on Fiddleguts’s face when he learn bridge gone.”

  “And Fiddleguts is…”

  “Cousin.”

  “Oh. I see,” Dannen said, though the truth was he didn’t, not at all.

  The troll grunted, resuming its seat once more. “New bridge? That Fiddleguts’s bridge. Nice, fine bridge, he always say, always brags about when trolls get together. Never anything else, just now nice bridge is, how fine, how many people cross, some he eat some he make pay. But not brag now,” he went on, grinning to display his rotten teeth and giving Dannen a gust of breath so foul that his stomach roiled threateningly.

  “We’re uh…glad we could help?” Dannen offered, not really comfortable with conversations with trolls, particularly since such conversations had a tendency to devolve into murderous shouts when the troll inevitably decided—usually within seconds—that it wanted to kill and eat him.

  “Fiddleguts eat well since bridge come, rubbing our noses in it, always laugh at Bumblebelly bridge. Make him mad. Others laugh at Bumblebelly too. Laugh with Fiddleguts. Make Bumblebelly madder.”

  “I’m…sorry,” Dannen said slowly.

  The troll—who could only be Bumblebelly—shrugged. “Fiddleguts not laughing now. Not after you destroy bridge. Now, Fiddleguts is one who mad. Real mad, sure. Probably Fiddleguts want to kill you bad.”

  Dannen winced. The last thing he needed was yet another creature on the face of the world who wanted to see him dead, and he only hoped that the troll didn’t spend enough time considering it to realize that he was also the reason why his own bridge was lying in pieces somewhere at the bottom of the ravine. Or, at least, if he did realize it, he only prayed the creature would do so after he and the others were far away from the mountain and therefore out of reach of the great club now lying on the cave floor.

  “Bumblebelly have…confession,” the troll said, wincing. “See, when Bumblebelly invite you back, he meant to have you for dinner.”

  “Oh,” Tesler said, “well, that’s…nice. We thank you for the invi—”

  “Shut up,” Dannen hissed. “He means he wanted to eat us.”

  The troll nodded, smiling. “That right. Nothing personal, just hungry is all.” He frowned then. “Bumblebelly always hungry. Bumblebelly wonder,” he said, pausing and eyeing the packs they’d taken from their backs and laid on the ground with his yellow eyes,” bridge killer and friends got any food? Food for Bumblebelly?” He laughed. “For Bumblebelly belly?”

  “Well,” Mariana said, reaching for her pack, “since you’re not going to eat us, it seems like the least we can do to—”

  “Sorry, no,” Dannen blurted hurriedly, giving her a warning look before turnin
g back to the troll. “We don’t have any food. We ate the last yesterday, I’m afraid.”

  “Dannen,” the girl said, frowning, “I’m sure we—”

  “Anyway,” Dannen repeated, “we thank you, Bumblebelly, you know, for not eating us.”

  Fedder grunted, eyeing the troll as if he were considering challenging it to an arm wrestling contest. “Damn civil of you, Bumblebutt.”

  The troll frowned. “Bumblebelly.”

  “Right. That,” Fedder said, clearing his throat.

  “Anyway, Bumblebu—belly,” Dannen said, inwardly cursing the mage, “we thank you very much for, you know, the hospitality and not eating us. But, if it’s all the same to you, we’re in a bit of a hurry and…”

  “You want leave Bumblebelly?” the troll asked, frowning.

  “I…that is, no,” Dannen managed through a mouth gone suddenly dry, “of course not. We don’t want to, it’s only, we’re just running a touch late and—”

  “You stay,” the troll said, nodding his head. “It settled.” He leaned in then, as if preparing to confide some great secret and Dannen fought back the wince as he was helped to an unhealthy dose of a body odor that was, in his estimation, much like trolls themselves. Namely, fatal. “Bumblebelly,” the troll said, each breath threatening to cause a chain reaction that would have Dannen spewing out the meager contents of his stomach onto the ground, “sometime he get lonely. No friends. Had friends once before Fiddleguts and his bridge. Now, by himself. Bumblebelly don’t like be lonely. Make Bumblebelly mad. You stay. You stay for game. Then leave.”

  Dannen weighed his options. For one, he was still cold, the warmth of the small fire only now beginning to banish the worst of the chill from his muscles, and he didn’t care to contemplate braving the freezing slopes once more, at least not so soon after having nearly died on them only a few minutes ago. In the end, though, it wasn’t so much the fire that made him stay as it was the certainty that, should he refuse the troll again, the creature would smash him into Dannen-mash with its great club. “Bumblebelly,” he said, doing his best not to breathe while he spoke, “we’d love to play a game.”