Thirty-Two: The Troll

  As we were rolling through the Drearwold

  a loathsome stink we chanced to smell;

  turned out a troll had stalked behind us

  all jacked up to thrash us well!

  Freydis, she realized and shouted.

  She pointed behind me; went all shrill!

  And I’d have sprinted down that pathway

  but Caiside ‘ld be stuck there still.

  She stood before me and looked back, stricken;

  her eyes, they blew up white and wide.

  I felt the grip then on my shoulder.

  The troll, it clamped me by the hide!

  (Refrain)

  Wood troll, wood troll, stinking wood troll

  Pounding us in the Drearwold!

  I smelled its dank breath on my shoulder;

  felt its nails and warted skin.

  It wore no more than a ripped loincloth:

  uglier than homemade sin!

  It hauled me up, right off my bootprints,

  lifted me into the sky;

  but Caiside regained her senses

  and crutched it just below belt-high!

  (Like that! Oof!)

  The thing, it bellowed, doubled over,

  turned red, but still it held its grip!

  I tried to wrest it, tried to kick it,

  tried a bite, but couldn’t slip!

  (Refrain)

  Wood troll, wood troll, stinking wood troll

  Pounding us in the Drearwold!

  Freydis leapt in with her elf-blade,

  but its hide turned back the knife!

  She stabbed again but fared no better

  ‘mid clam’rous sounds of blows and strife.

  The troll then made to twist my neck ‘round

  while Cais and Freydis pulled its arm;

  we flailed, kicked, and screamed exertion!

  But we three did it no harm.

  When my head was nearly yanked off

  the troll fell back and ripped a howl.

  I never thought I’d be so glad to

  see young Vigbond and his scowl!

  (Refrain)

  Wood troll, wood troll, stinking wood troll

  Pounding us in the Drearwold!

  Yes, the Dwarves had stumbled on us!

  They swarmed the troll and whacked its knees.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Vigbond told them just to stun it;

  that beast, it was their prize to seize.

  The troll it turned, and hurled off Freydis

  Caissie, too – it threw her down.

  The two, they landed right on Vigbond.

  Knocked all three down to the ground.

  The one called Borlund bore a hammer.

  Two hands on it; hurled it high.

  It cracked the troll right on its noggin!

  it crumpled with a fading cry.

  Wood troll, wood troll, stinking wood troll

  Downed by Dwarves in the Drearwold!

  All of us – we three and the Dwarves alike – stood back and caught our breaths over the fallen troll. The Dwarves looked to be the same group we had seen after we met the kobolds, about a week before.

  “Now that’s a proper captive to take back to the halls,” Vigbond said. “What say you, Wutherby?”

  “A proper one,” the older dwarf agreed.

  We looked over the troll. Its skin was a deep green, and tough; thick and weathered like an old shake roof. It looked quite tall, toe to head, now that it was splayed across the ground, and I felt less bad that the three of us had been unable to escape. Its upper arms and its back were just mounds of muscle.

  “How did we let it creep up on us like that?” I said to Freydis. I kept this quiet, not wanting to discuss our failure with the Dwarves.

  “It must have been very quiet,” she answered. “Hard to believe a thing that size could slip through the woods unheard. Almost like a dryad. But it did.”

  “Let’s tie it up,” Vigbond commanded his company. “And blindfold it. And we’ll have to force it to walk, so we'll need leads around its neck, too, for that.” The Dwarves set about binding it, wrapping its wrists behind its back with many turns of rope. Vigbond took off his large helmet, which I remembered from our previous meeting, and set down his giant ornamented axe as he set to work. The Dwarves were dressed in weathered breeches, and shirts, and cloaks, which made it look like they had been adventuring in these woods for some time. Their beards may have looked just a touch unkempt, also, but that was hard to say since even at best they were seldom close-trimmed.

  “We meet up again,” Wutherby said, the first Dwarf to say anything to us. “Big one, eh? These trolls can be surprisingly quiet. Despite its size it can slip through the woods almost unheard, you know.”

  “I have been told that,” I said.

  “So, what are you doing so far out here in this direction? I thought you were heading straight up into the hills, last we saw you.” His eyes, above the white hair that climbed far up his cheeks, showed real curiosity.

  “We were waylaid,” I said. I really wasn’t looking forward to sharing any further details, and was trying to think of how to best obscure them, when Caiside chimed in:

  “By korreds.”

  The Dwarves all heard her, and they paused their binding and blindfolding to stare at us. I dropped my face into my hands.

  “By what, now?” Wutherby said.

  “Korreds,” she repeated. “A group of them.”

  “Korreds? Those little forest sprites, or whatever they are? Those things took you captive?”

  “Indeed they did,” she said.

  “How did they manage that?”

  “They were quite cunning.”

  “But – ” he sputtered. “Those creatures are, what, half the height of us? What did they do, nip at your ankles?”

  “They tied us up as we slept,” she answered. Her replies were bright and direct. I pressed my face further into my palms.

  “You let them creep up on you to do that?”

  “We were exhausted from a trying day of walking, I believe.”

  “Flicker,” he asked me. He looked alarmed. “This is true?”

  “It is,” I said. My own voice sounded miserable, to my ears. I would never hear the end of this. “There was a large group of them, is all I can say. Dozens. Right, Caiside? Freydis? Dozens, at least. Right?”

  The two of them nodded, but didn’t add anything.

  “Flicker, my lad,” Wutherby said. He sounded almost mournful. “I mean, you do have knives, at least? Don’t you? And a bow? And didn’t you think to set a guard when you slept?”

  “We’re carrying a few weapons, yes,” I said. “As for setting watch, it seemed very deserted in here, in this Drearwold, when we entered. It, uh, didn’t occur to us.”

  “It may be drear, but it’s never deserted,” he said. He was silent for a long moment. The others returned to their binding.

  “So, korreds,” he finally continued. “They have hoofs, is that right?”

  “No, actually not,” I said. I was happy to be changing the subject somewhat. “We had heard that too, but they have just regular feet.”

  “Hmm. But to be taken by such tiny folk,” he perseverated. He shook his head again. “You young neighbors need to be more careful. Maybe this wise woman can set you straight, when you finally meet her. If you haven’t listened to old Wutherby by then, that is.”

  Eventually they had tied up the troll to their satisfaction: its arms bound behind it, a generous blindfold wrapped around its eyes and down the bridge of its nose, and four rope leads hanging from its neck. It was still unconscious; you had to wonder if Borlund’s hammer strike had actually killed it, but it was clearly still breathing. Its face – large-browed and wrinkled – was distorted, as it was pressed sideways into the dirt.

  “Three of us on each lead?” Vigbond was saying. “Better make it two. The other four can carry arms just in case it decides to try to fight.”

  I said to Wutherby:

  “That’s going to be a long walk back to Gray Mount, leading that thing.”

  “Indeed. It will be a grand captive. My concern is more what we do with it once we’re back. Pen it up like a wolf? Not possible.”

  “Do you think Vigbond or Thorfin will just – dispatch it?” Caiside asked.

  “No, that wouldn’t be sporting. Captive as it is. Anyway,” he continued, more quietly, “I’m not sure young Vigbond has thought this through, you know.”

  Caiside stepped away to get a closer look at the troll. I was left alone with Wutherby, and I had to ask him then about something I’d been wondering about:

  “Wutherby, my friend. I can’t help noticing that all these Dwarves here are younger than you. Relatively, I mean. You’re the old hand.”

  “I suppose that’s right.”

  “And now you find yourself with this group, leading an ornery troll on a journey of what must be at least two days.”

  “That’s so.”

  “Just to help Vigbond impress others in Gray Mount, it seems like.”

  “We’ll all be held in high regard for this,” he objected.

  “Very well,” I said. “But how did you get to be the only raider your age accompanying this band?”

  “Well,” he said. He paused and seemed to think about how much he wanted to share with me.

  “I’ll tell you, Flicker. You’re a young man, but maybe you’ll be able to follow.”

  He started to sing, then, quietly.

  .

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