by A. Giannetti
“Here is the source of the unpleasant odor that I smelled earlier,” thought Elerian to himself. “Evidently, Trolls have an aversion to water.”
Elerian’s droll observation was almost his undoing. Without warning, the Troll rushed at him, covering the ground in enormous strides. Elerian spun on his right heel and darted away, feeling the tug of the creature’s talons across his pack as he did so. When he ceased to hear the pounding of the Troll’s large, horny feet behind him, Elerian stopped, turning to face the creature once more. It was about thirty feet away, staring at him with a disappointed look in its hungry green eyes.
“He almost caught me,” thought Elerian to himself in surprise. “I did not expect such a large, clumsy looking creature to be so quick. Can you talk?” he asked the Troll in a conversational tone. As he waited for an answer, Elerian remained wary, balanced lightly on his feet and ready to retreat at a moment’s notice, but he was not afraid. He had the measure of the Troll’s speed and was sure he could outdistance it any time he wished.
In a deep voice that rumbled like thunder, the Troll suddenly spoke. “Of course I can talk. My hearing is not of the best, however. Come closer that we may converse more easily.” The Troll grimaced at Elerian in what was probably meant to be a smile, but he was not reassured by the sight of the sharp, yellow teeth that filled the Troll’s wide mouth.
“I think not,” said Elerian. “This seems a comfortable distance, and I can talk louder if I must. What are you,” he asked. “I have never seen anyone like you before.”
“My name is Anferth,” said the Troll. “I am a Troll, the last Troll to live free, south of the Broken Lands.”
“Why did you attack me?” asked Elerian.
The Troll gave a polite laugh, but Elerian sensed an undercurrent of malevolence, which the wicked creature could not completely conceal. “I only wished to invite you to dinner,” said the Troll with another counterfeit smile. “My cave is not far, and I do not often have company in this desolate land.”
The hopeful look on the Troll’s face turned to one of anger, as Elerian burst out in laughter. A cautioning voice the back of his mind urged him to get as far away as possible from this treacherous creature, but Elerian ignored it. He was enjoying the exchange of words and remained confident in his ability to escape whenever he wished. “What would have been the main course I wonder?” asked Elerian with a sudden, hard gleam in his eyes. The Troll dropped all pretenses of friendliness, and ravenous green flames suddenly danced in its eyes.
“Man flesh, of course,” said the Troll with a laugh that sounded like rocks grating together. “You would be roasting on my spit even now, but I did not guess that you could move so quickly. You look like one of the slow southern people, but you run as swiftly as an accursed Elf.”
“What do you know of Elves?” asked Elerian at once.
The Troll gave him a suspicious look. “Why do you wish to know about Elves? There are no longer any left in the Middle Realm as far as I know.” As if he had suddenly grown tired, the Troll slowly sank down and rested on his heels with his massive hands touching the ground. He did not seem to be in any hurry to either leave or to pursue Elerian further.
“Have you always lived here?” asked Elerian, changing the subject.
“No,” said the Troll, “not always. I came down out of the north, after the Great War, looking for a quiet place with good hunting nearby. After a great deal of searching, I found this gully. It has a cave at the end of it with a back entrance that leads into the forest, which offers many hiding places. I made my home in the cave and lived here happily for a long time. There was still traffic on the road then, and there was man flesh to be had and sometimes Dwarf. Several times, the Dwarves tried to make an end of me, but each time I fled into the mountains and hid from them. Then, there was another war in the north between the Goblin King and the Dwarves. He lured many Trolls into his army then with the promise of slaughter and flesh, but I stayed here in my familiar cave. The traffic on the road dwindled after that, and there were no more Dwarves and few Men. I have been reduced to eating wild game to survive,” he said sadly.
The Troll’s remarks about the Goblin King drew Elerian’s interest. He wanted to keep Anferth talking to see what else he knew about Torquatus and decided to try a bit of flattery.
“How could even the Goblin King think to command a creature as powerful as you?” asked Elerian admiringly. “You look strong enough to defeat an entire army of Goblins.”
The Troll proudly puffed out his chest and straightened up a little. “Other Trolls have served him, but I have never called the Dark King my master. I am older than Torquatus. I was one of the first Trolls to come from outside, and I serve no one but myself.” A cunning look suddenly crept into the creature’s green eyes. “I think he would like to know about you,” said the Troll slyly. “He would be very interested in one of the southern people who moves with the quickness of one of the Elves.”
Elerian found this last comment disturbing, and he thought it might be time to move on before the Troll discovered more about him than he wished to reveal. Just then, a slight tensing in the Troll’s right shoulder set off an alarm in Elerian’s mind. In one swift motion, the Troll lifted its right arm and threw a large rock, which the cunning creature had picked up in its massive right hand while it distracted Elerian with conversation. As the Troll’s missile sped toward him, Elerian shifted desperately to his right. Instead of striking him squarely in the forehead and killing him on the spot, the stone the Troll had flung at his head only grazed his left temple.
White-hot stars exploded before Elerian’s eyes. He staggered under the impact of the blow, and the Troll launched himself off the ground, using his powerful arms to help him gain speed. Like some enormous, overgrown frog, he covered the distance between himself and Elerian in two great leaps, moving with a swiftness that was incredible in so large a creature. As he fell to the ground, Elerian felt a mighty hand grasp both his ankles. He was effortlessly raised into the air, head downward.
“Tonight I will have sweet meat again,” rumbled the Troll happily in its deep voice. Then, without any visible effort, the Troll swung Elerian headfirst toward the trunk of a nearby tree. Elerian felt a rush of air and then the impact of the tree’s rough bark against his head. He fell into a dark place and knew no more.
When he regained consciousness, Elerian found himself lying on his back on a hard surface. He stirred weakly, and a bout of dizziness overwhelmed him.
“So, you are still alive,” rumbled the Troll from somewhere nearby.
A moment later, Elerian saw its great bulk standing over him. Casually, it bent down and broke his right leg below his knee with its great, knotted hands as easily as a man might snap a dry twig. Elerian gasped and bit his lower lip until it bled. It felt as though his whole leg was on fire, and he almost blacked out again from the pain.
“You will not run so fast now,” said the Troll with a wicked laugh. Callously ignoring Elerian’s broken leg, he bent down and ripped off his pack and clothes. Through a red haze of pain, Elerian watched as the Troll went through his things. He soon found the rolled up hide of the anguis and held the glittering skin up to the flickering light of a fire that was burning nearby. The Troll gave a pleased grunt when the scales glittered like green and blue gems, as they reflected the flames of the fire burning in the center of the cave.
Trolls do not normally value riches, but Anferth had learned some of the advantages of wealth. Some years ago, he had captured three men and had eaten two at once. The third had begged and pleaded for his life, promising to bring two other men to take his place. Anferth’s hunger was sated. Sensing a kindred spirit in his prisoner, he agreed to the plan. He was pleasantly surprised when, weeks later, the man reappeared with two prisoners. The man indicated he would bring more captives in return for some of the plunder that he had seen piled in a corner of Anferth’s cave, and an excellent arrangement sprang up between the two villains. Anferth began leav
ing some of his plunder at the base of an old oak tree near his cave, and when the man judged his price was met, he left a bound captive in exchange for the booty. When he was safely away, a blast from his horn alerted Anferth to the exchange. In this way, they both prospered in their wickedness. Anferth judged that the glittering hide would buy him a captive all by itself, and his cheerful mood deepened.
Setting the skin aside, he threw the rest of Elerian’s possessions, including his silver ring, onto an untidy heap of plunder in a corner of the cave. Elerian involuntarily gasped with pain when the Troll bound his ankles with cord and hung him upside down on a peg pounded into a nearby wall. The inferno in his broken leg caused beads of sweat to break out on his brow, even though he tried his best to shift his weight to his sound leg.
Elerian found that he was facing away from the wall and had a clear, if upside down, view of the Troll, as he built up his fire. Standing on either side of the fire was a sturdy iron post with a fork on the end of it. Resting in the forks was a thick iron spit at least eight feet long, with a sharpened point at one end it. Elerian knew without being told that in a moment that spit would be thrust through his body, and he would be hung to roast over the fire like a rabbit or partridge. Given the Troll’s cruel treatment of him so far, he doubted that Anferth would even bother to kill him first before setting him over the fire. The Troll turned his way and seeing that Elerian’s eyes were still open, gave him an evil grin.
“You will sup with me tonight after all my friend,” he chuckled. “See, the fire is almost ready.”
Struggling to concentrate through the red haze of pain that filled his mind, Elerian cast a spell of immobility at the Troll. Immediately, the Troll cast a shield spell. With his third eye, Elerian watched as his own spell flared and died, uselessly, against the mantel of red light that covered the Troll.
“It is a magic user then, and an extremely powerful one,” thought Elerian to himself through the cloud of pain that filled his mind.
“Do not waste your time little man,” said the Troll. “I have lived years uncounted. My magical powers have grown strong, and my body is as hard as stone. Neither spell nor weapon can harm me now,” boasted the Troll.
“If he is right, then I am done for,” thought Elerian hopelessly to himself. He searched desperately for some weakness in the formidable creature that he could exploit. In the end, he turned to the one simple weapon that had never failed him against creatures that shunned the light of the sun. Narrowing his eyes to slits, Elerian kindled a mage light the size of a man’s head just inches away from the Troll’s face.
Trolls hate light, for the dark is their natural element. The blinding rays of the mage light, seen from a distance of inches, pierced the Troll’s eyes like knives. Bellowing in pain, he clapped his large hands over his eyes. As he backed blindly away from the light, he tripped and fell backwards, bending the spit that hung over the fire with his great weight before falling into the hot fire that was meant to cook his dinner. Howling in agony, for Trolls are not fireproof, the Troll shot out of the fire. Scattering embers in all directions with his horny, bare feet, his hands still clamped firmly over his eyes, and the edges of his kilt on fire, the Troll ran into a wall of the cave with enough force to cause a fall of rock dust from the ceiling. If Elerian had been in less pain, he would have laughed aloud at the sight of the Troll rebounding from the wall and blundering around the cave with his kilt in flames and the mage light tethered to his face so that he dared not lower his hands.
The Troll finally found the entrance to the cave and stumbled blindly through it. Elerian heard him charge off down the gully, roaring in pain and anger as he crashed heavily into one tree after another. Shutting out the pain in his leg and head as best he could, Elerian cast a parting spell at the ropes binding his ankles. A small orb of golden light left his right hand, striking the heavy cords and separating them as cleanly as if they had been cut with a sharp knife. Bracing himself against the pain he was about to experience, Elerian dropped three feet to the floor of the cave, twisting his body about so that his arms and right shoulder took up most of the initial impact. Unfortunately, his head still struck the unyielding floor with some force, and a wave of blackness swept over him. When, his broken leg struck the floor, he was already unconscious.
Moments later, Elerian fought his way back to awareness again. He found himself lying on his right side. Gritting his teeth, he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position with his arms. Laying his right hand on the break in his leg, he used his power to numb the wound, and the waves of pain slowly subsided. Carefully, he grasped his leg below the break with both hands and slowly straightened it out. The ends of the broken bones grated against each other before falling into place. Fearing that the Troll might return at any moment, Elerian hastily mended the break. When he was done, he slowly stood up and cautiously put some weight on his leg. It was incredibly sore, but it held him up without buckling.
For the first time, Elerian had a chance to take a good look around him. He saw that he was in a natural cave about thirty feet deep and twenty across at its widest point, with walls, floor, and ceiling of untouched stone. Above the central fire, the smoke blackened, irregular ceiling was almost fifteen feet high. A narrow crevice in the middle of the ceiling allowed the smoke from the fire to escape, but even so, a great cloud of blue-black smoke several feet thick hung under the roof of the cave. On the right hand side of the chamber, a pile of untanned skins formed a rude bed. A crude table and chair against the left hand wall comprised the only other furniture in the room. Trash and old bones littered the floor, and an unpleasant odor of decay mixed with the pungent smell of wood smoke filled the cave. A great untidy heap of plundered articles was piled against the back wall of the cave, and at the top of the heap, Elerian saw his clothes, pack, and weapons.
At that moment, the tread of heavy feet approaching up the gully warned Elerian that the Troll was returning. After rushing from the cave, Anferth had run blindly down the gully as far as the road before his initial panic had subsided enough for him to extinguish the mage light that still stubbornly retained its position inches away from his face. Once he was able to see again, he had realized that his kilt was still smoldering and had hastily sat in the nearby stream to extinguish the fire. Uttering a howl of pain, he had immediately leaped back onto his feet, for the stony hide covering his backside was scorched and badly blistered from his fall into his cooking fire. Trolls have little skill in healing, and the thought of facing days of being unable to sit comfortably had made Anferth even angrier than he already was. He had set off for his cave, determined to make Elerian pay ten times over for each injury to his precious hide. He had not hurried, however, for he had expected to find Elerian still securely bound and hanging from the peg in the wall of his cave.
When the Troll’s great bulk blocked the entrance to the cave, Elerian saw that his mage light was gone. Realizing that he would lose the advantage of surprise as soon as the Troll stepped into the cave and saw that he was free, Elerian seized a long branch out of the fire with his right hand and ran at the Troll as he stepped through the cave entrance. Anferth’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw that Elerian was free. Before he could react, Elerian thrust the blazing torch full into his face. Throwing up his hands and bellowing in pain, the Troll staggered back, the flames scorching his stony flesh and blinding his much abused eyes.
Dropping his torch, Elerian squeezed past the Troll and ran out the entrance of the cave. Favoring his sore leg, he hastily scrambled up the side of the ravine. After climbing over the edge of the gully, Elerian hid behind a tree, peering around the rough trunk with only his right eye and a small part of his face exposed. He watched as the furious Troll emerged from the cave. Thinking that Elerian had run toward the road, the Troll hastened down the gully again. Taking advantage of the Troll’s mistake, Elerian turned and ran deeper into the forest. Despite his sore leg, he was confident the Troll would never be able to catch him among the trees
. He had gone only a short distance, however, when he heard the heavy tread of the Troll approaching once more. Hastily, he leaped onto the trunk of a huge oak. His strong fingers and toes found plenty of purchase in the deep furrows running through the gray bark of the tree, and he reached the first branch twenty feet above the ground, as easily as any squirrel could have done. The branch was dead, a stub two feet thick and perhaps fifteen feet long. It was bare of any cover, so Elerian climbed higher and hid himself in a cluster of branches thickly covered with leaves.
He had barely settled himself before the Troll appeared between two large oak trees. Although his face was scorched and his left eye was swollen shut, he, evidently, could still see out of his right eye, for he walked toward Elerian without bumping into any trees. After pausing to sniff the air, the Troll crouched on all fours, smelling the ground with his wide nose like an enormous hound. Still on all fours, he followed Elerian’s trail to the base of the oak. Sensing that Elerian was nearby, he stood and looked up into the tree.
“You might as well give up now,” grumbled the Troll, a green fire lighting his one open eye. “I will never stop following you no matter how far you run. You will never again have a moment’s rest. Give up now and I promise to kill you quickly.” Elerian made no reply. The Troll continued to stare angrily into the branches above his head where his keen nose told him that Elerian was hiding. Roaring in frustration, he beat on the trunk of the tree with his huge fists. Elerian felt the tree tremble beneath him. Looking down at the furious Troll from behind his screen of leaves, a grim smile suddenly crossed his lips. The Troll was standing directly beneath the dead branch that grew lowest on the tree. Elerian pointed his right hand at the base of the stub and watched, with his third eye, as a golden orb of light shot from his fingers. The parting spell struck the dead branch where it joined the tree trunk, slicing it cleanly off. As the heavy branch plummeted to the ground, the Troll left off beating on the trunk of the tree with his fists, looking up to search for Elerian once more. A look of horror crossed his coarse features just before the enormous branch struck him full on his forehead, crushing him to the ground, where he lay still and unmoving with the enormous limb resting on his face and chest.