Gemmell, David – Morningstar

The men of the village armed themselves with bow, spear and axe and set off in pursuit. I went with them, for I had never seen a Troll and was anxious to increase my knowledge. There are many tales of the beasts in legend, almost all of them involving the kidnap and eating of children or maidens. But in all my long life I have never come across a recorded incident where Trolls feasted on human flesh.

We followed the trail for two days as it wound higher into the mountains. One of the beasts walked with a limp – probably the male, pronounced Wulf, for his track was the largest. Often the cub’s spoor would disappear for long periods, but this, I was told, only showed that the female was carrying him.

On the second night we came upon the remains of their camp-fire, the ashes surrounded by splintered sheep’s bones.

‘No point looking for them in the dark,’ said Wulf, settling down beside the dead fire and building a fresh blaze upon the remains. There were ten men besides myself and Wulf in the hunting party, and they stretched out around the fire and began to talk of better days. Garik the Baker was there, and Lanis the Tanner. The others I forget.

‘Have you ever seen a Troll?’ I asked Wulf, as we sat together. The hunchback nodded.

‘The last time was ten years ago, up in the high country. Big fellow he was, grey as a rock, with tusks curling up from his jaw, just like a boar. I didn’t have my bow strung at that moment and so we just stood and looked at each other. Then he said, ‘Go.’ So I went.’They truly have the power of speech? I thought that was myth.’Ah, they can talk right enough. Just a bit. When I was a tiny lad my father took me to Ziraccu Fair on Midsummer Day. They had a young Troll there, caged. He could speak a fair bit.’What happened to him?’They had a tourney for the knights, and before it there was a Troll-baiting. Hunting hounds were set on the beast. He fought right well for a while – too good, really. Killed four o’ the hounds. So the knights came in and hamstrung him. It was more even then

and the hounds tore him apart. It was good sport. My father told me I should feel privileged to have seen it. There’s not so much Troll-baiting nowadays – less of ’em, you see. They do it with bears now, I’m told, but it’s not the same.’I moved away from the fire and, as the others slept, I idly cast a Search-spell, picturing a fanged snout on a flat grey face. The sphere floated away – then stopped no more than twenty feet from the fire. I sat bolt upright, hand on dagger, and considered waking Wulf.

But first I sent out a Questing-spell, small as a firefly, and watched it as it flew to where the Troll was hiding. The spark did not change colour, nor did it speed away from the hiding-place. I brought the tiny flame back to me and opened my mouth. It flew in and settled on my tongue. There was fear there, and resignation, but no feeling of impending violence. I sighed, for it came to me then that the creature in the bushes was the crippled male, and he was here to die in order to save his family.

I stood silently and crossed the small clearing, halting just before the dark undergrowth. The Troll loomed to his feet. He was upwards of eight feet tall and there was only one tusk growing from his lower jaw, curving out, wickedly sharp to a point level with his eye. The second horn had been sheared off, the stump brown and pitted. His skin was covered with hundreds of nodules and growths which on a human would have been termed warts. A rough-made sheepskin loincloth was tied around his waist. I beckoned him to follow me and walked away from the camp-site. I don’t know what possessed me to do it but, truly, there was no fear. I did not expect to be harmed, nor was I.

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