The beast followed me to the crown of a hill, where I sat upon a boulder and faced him. He squatted down in front of me, and in the moonlight I saw that his eyes were distinctly human, huge and round, and grey as an autumn storm-cloud.
‘Do not remain here,’ I said. ‘It is not safe.’Nowhere safe,’ he replied. He was, as Wulf had described, stone-grey and hairless, and upon the calf of his huge right leg there was a vicious scar, serrated and long, the muscles around it withered and weak. But his arms and shoulders bulged with muscle.
‘What happened to your leg?’
‘Fought bear. Killed it,’ he grunted. ‘Why you talk?’I spread my hands. ‘I have never seen a Troll.’Troll?’ He shook his head. ‘A bad name. But we call you Uisha-rae, the pigs-that-walk-on-two-legs. Why you follow us?’You killed two sheep belonging to Garik the Baker.’For this we must die?’No,’I said.’Go with your. . . family into the north. No one will find your tracks. Go tonight. I will hold them sleeping until you are far away.’Why?’I don’t know. Go now.’The beast reared up on its hind legs, turned and limped away from me. I returned to the camp-site and cast a Sleep-‘Spell that kept the hunters snoring until around noon. Once they began to wake I pretended sleep and lay quietly as they argued amongst themselves. They could not believe they had slept so long. Back in the village each of the men would have risen before dawn and been working for a good hour before the sun climbed into sight.
With the trail cold, Wulf at last called off the hunt, and we set off towards the village.
By mid-afternoon we were joined by Jarek Mace, who came loping along the trail carrying his longbow. He joked with the others for a while, then dropped back to walk alongside me at the rear of the group.
‘You keep curious company,’ he said softly.
‘What do you mean?’He smiled and tapped his nose.
‘You saw them?’ I asked him.
‘Yes.’You did not kill them, did you?’You are a strange man, bard,’ he answered. ‘The male could have killed you, Owen, and if any of the others had found the tracks as I did, and known that you spoke to the creature, then they would have killed you. Why did you take the risk?’I don’t know,’ I told him honestly. ‘It just seemed . . . somehow sad. Here was a small family being hunted by armed men and the male . . . the father . . . was ready to give up his life to protect his wife and child. I felt it would be wrong to kill them.’They were only Trolls,’ he whispered.
‘I know. Why are they so hated?’They talk,’ he answered.
‘That makes no sense.’He shrugged and walked on in silence. I thought long and hard about the Trolls, and I realized he was right. Man is the only animal capable of hate and, in the main, he reserves his hatred for his fellow man. No one hates a bear or a lion; they might fear them for their power and ferocity, but they will not hate them. But the Troll . . . Grotesque and powerful, yet with the capacity for speech, he is the perfect target for all Man’s resentments.
It was a dispiriting thought as we trudged on along muddy trails.
We camped by a swollen stream in a small hollow surrounded by beech trees. The night was cool, but there was little breeze and the camp-fire gave a pleasant glow to the hollow. I sat with Wulf and Jarek Mace while the others slept.
The Angostins have gone,’ said Jarek, ‘but they left behind an army of occupation under three generals. Ziraccu is being rebuilt and they are allowing Ikenas to move north and settle there.’ Who cares?’ responded Wulf. ‘As long as they stay away from the forest, I don’t give a good God-damn.’I don’t think they will stay clear,’ Jarek told him. ‘Edmund has given the entire forest to the new Count, Azrek. He was responsible for the sacking of Callen Castle and the murder of the nuns and priests at the monastery there. He is a greedy man, by all accounts; he will want his taxes paid.’We paid this year’s taxes to Leopold,’ said Wulf.