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The Troll Road

by Tony Dunnell

 

Sir Lederick dismounted in the Humble Woods on the southern flank of the Hopewine Valley. Here, on the boundary between the king’s realm and the Trollands, the Troll Road began. The ancient road had long offered the only viable route east, and the footfalls of man and horse once thundered along its path. Now, silence. An uneasy silence, if belligerent councillors were to be believed. They used the threat of a troll invasion to stoke fear and distrust among the populace, their whispers never far from the young king’s ear. As for the trolls, they were content with the treaty. The Long War was over, half a century had passed, and, being isolationists by nature, the trolls had embraced a policy of exclusion toward their cantankerous neighbours to the west. Two realms divided, but now the king of men, keen of mind and wise beyond his years, sought a conversation.

“Wait here, Tammy,” said Sir Lederick, stroking the muzzle of his chestnut steed.

The horse snorted and pawed at the ground. Not even a mount as gallant as Tamaleen enjoyed the smell of a troll. And it was a sleeping troll, a fully-grown male, that now blocked access to the road east. He lay snoring, stretched out, his massive head resting on the upper bank, his body obstructing the road. He was naked save for a simple sackcloth around his waist. His skin was a muddy, blotchy brown.

“Salutations to you, fine troll,” called Sir Lederick, relying on politeness to guide his attempts at diplomacy. The troll did not stir. Lederick glanced back at Tamaleen, who wisely kept her distance. “Excuse me, troll, I am here on the king’s business. I wish to pass.” The knight took a couple of cautious steps closer, watching the troll’s belly rise and fall with each heavy breath. “I say, troll?”

“What d’you want?” he said, his booming voice spilling from his flabby lips.

“I wish to pass along the troll road, sir,” said Lederick, raising his helmet’s visor. “I’m on an errand from the king.”

“Don’t think so, mate,” said the troll, without opening his eyes.

“And why is that?”

“You’re one of them metal men. Could hear you clanking from miles off. Don’t like you lot. Always cutting things up, burning things down, making a mess and noise.”

“Not I, good troll. I am a knight of the Green Sea.”

The troll made a deep, dismissive sound. “Why’s it green? You all piss in it?”

“Good heavens, no,” said Lederick, troubled by the thought. “It’s algae, I believe, although I’ve never studied the subject. I’m more a man of action than study, I’m afraid, although I’ve read the —”

“Knock it off, metal man,” said the supine creature. “I’m sleeping.”

“Listen, troll, I am not someone to be trifled with. And while I do not wish to cause an incident, you appear unarmed.”

The troll groaned and sat up. “Got two arms, mate,” he said, propping himself up on his muscular appendages, the limbs more like tree trunks than flesh and bone.

“You know what I mean, troll,” said Lederick, resting a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, despite knowing full well that violence was not an option. Killing a border troll would not help him reach Gnr, would run counter to his king’s beliefs, and could even cause another war, something the Realms of Man, unstable as they were, could ill afford. Besides, Sir Lederick had no desire to slay a troll who was only doing his job.

The troll rose slowly to his feet and stood stooping, looking the knight up and down. “I don’t need no sword, mate. No hammer, neither. Got these,” he said, clenching his two fists with an audible creaking of sinew and rough skin. “What you want in the Trollands, anywise?”

“I must travel to the Vale of Gnr.”

“No such place,” said the troll, and he yawned and scratched his belly.

“Of course there is. It’s the largest vale in the Trollands.”

“No such place, I says.”

“I assure you —”

“No such place, metal man. Gnr means ‘vale.’ Ain’t no ‘vale of vale.’ Ain’t no ‘gnr of gnr.’ No Vale of Gnr, neither. So, no such place. Go home.”

“Well, now you’re just being pedantic,”

“It’s a tautology,” muttered the troll.

“What?”

“Nothing. Now cack off, will you? I got things to do.”

Lederick considered his options. He could not go around the troll, not on horseback. The heavily-wooded valley side was steep and treacherous, with precipitous plunges below and thorny heights above. The knight was aware, too, that in the bafflingly egalitarian society of the trolls, a single border guard had the power to grant or deny access as he saw fit, with no need nor recourse for consulting a higher authority. This troll alone would determine Lederick’s fate.

“Now, listen,” said the knight. “I must deliver a missive from my king. Beneficial, I am told, to both man and troll alike. Can we not come to some kind of amicable agreement? Something we both can —”

“Tell you what, knight, get me a kitten.”

“Excuse me?”

“A kitten,” he repeated. “Yeah, get me a kitten, and maybe I’ll let you pass. A little tiny one, one of them ones that purrs. A tiny, tender kitten.”

“I am a knight, sir. I am not in the business of acquiring kittens.”

“Not going far then, are you, little knight? Only one road into the Trollands. Only one road to Gnr.”

“And how exactly do you expect me to find a kitten out here?” said Lederick, gesturing at the surrounding woodlands.

“If there was kitties out here, I’d get one myself. Not so smart, is you?” The troll waved a gnarled hand back down the road from where Lederick had come. “One of your villages, back there. They’s got kittens, I reckon.”

“In Endwood? I will not ride all the way back to Endwood just to get you a kitten. Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be a boundary guard? Why would you need a kitten?”

“Not your business what I do with tender kittens, is it, iron arse?”

“For goodness’ sake. Well, if there’s no other option, I’ll find you a kitten. And then you will let me pass.”

“Might. Might not. Only one way to find out, ain’t there?”

---

Endwood was a small, ramshackle village at the head of the Hopewine Valley, before the slopes became steep and the forests dense. It once helped supply the Endwood fort, which now lay abandoned on a nearby hill. The village was home to leather tanners, gold panners, and a handful of lesser lords and landowners. On its outskirts, peasant hovels and poacher shacks lay scattered in the dark woods. It was at one of these shacks, a mile or so from Endwood, that Sir Lederick stopped to make enquiries.

“Excuse me?” he called, hearing nothing but birds, some of which were nesting in the shabby roof of the rickety abode. Beside the front door, which hung half open, a mouse stood sniffing atop an untidy log pile. On the dirt in front of the house sat a wooden barrel. “Is there anyone at home? I say, is anyone there?”

“What d’you want?” came a strangely muted, echoing reply.

“Good day. I have a question, if you would be so kind as to show yourself.”

From the wooden barrel, a head emerged. “A question?” said the man in the cask. His hair was dishevelled and dirty, his nose narrow and bent.

“Forgive me, sir,” said Lederick, “for interrupting your bathing.”

“I ain’t bathing, mister. Got no water in here.”

“Then why are you in a barrel?”

“Why not?” said the man, still only visible from the neck up. “I like it in here. It’s quiet.”

“Very well. I am —”

“Fancy a go?” interrupted the man.

“A go at what, sir?”

“In me barrel. You can have a go if you want. It’s a bloody nice barrel.”

“I’m sure it is, but I am on a quest.”

“Quest? Or question?” The man rubbed his nose. “Make your mind up, lad.”

“Well, both. First, a question.”

“Go on, then,”

“I’m in search of a kitten. Any kitten will do. Would you know where in Endwood or hereabouts I can find one?”

“Don’t need to search, mate. I got five kittens right here.”

“In your barrel?”

“Nah, mate. What kind of nugget would keep kittens in a barrel? Me, I got kittens out back, in a hole. Come on, I’ll show you.”

The man rose from his barrel, revealing a scrawny torso with ribs like twigs. He pulled himself over the rim, his naked buttocks rising into the air followed by two spindly legs. He planted his bony feet on the ground and waved Lederick forward. “This way, mate.”

Lederick dismounted and followed the naked man around the wooden shack. Small, scraggy furs hung from hooks along its side. At the rear of the hovel, the man stopped and pointed at a pit in the ground.

“So, I was digging a well, right, but I got about head-high deep and got bored, so I stopped. And then, ’bout five nights ago, I heard a right old racket. The kittens, see, they must have fallen in, one by one.”

“And you left them there?”

“I tried fishing ’em out, but they’re scratchy little shits. Look.” The man presented his bare left arm to Lederick. It was covered in scratches. “Now I give them my scraps, to keep ’em happy, like.”

“May I try to extract one, sir?”

“Go for it, mate.”

Lederick removed his helmet, breastplate, and gauntlets and knelt by the edge of the pit. He leaned forward to inspect the contents of the dark hole. At its bottom, a blur of furry creatures writhed and mewled in the black. Lederick lay flat on his stomach and reached his hand into the pit. As he strained and stretched into the depths, a small, muzzled face emerged, its teeth bared and snarling. Lederick rapidly withdrew his hand and rolled away from the hole.

“Those aren’t kittens, you fool!” he cried. “Those are bear cubs.”

“That’s what I said, mate!” exclaimed the man. “Bear kittens, innit. Must have fallen in.”

“Well, I don’t want a bear cub. I want a kitten.”

“Grab yourself one, fella. Don’t mind me. Take ’em all if you want. Then their mum will stop coming round and crying at ‘em. She’s too big to get in and fetch ’em out, see.”

“That’s not — that’s not what I mean,” said Lederick, rising to his feet. “You don’t seem to understand. I want a kitten. The immature offspring of a cat. The one’s that go meow.”

“Oh, right,” said the peasant, smiling. “Yeah, I see where you’ve gone wrong there, big man. You want cat kittens. These here ain’t that. These are little bear kittens. Surprised, I am, to be honest — would have thought an educated bloke like you would know the difference.”

Lederick sighed. “Yes, I understand,” he said, and reluctantly continued. “Would you know, sir, where I might find cat kittens? The barnyard variety that come from felines?”

“Cat kittens? Yeah, course. You want to see Master Burges ’bout that. Just the other side of Endwood, in the big house beyond the mill. He’s got kittens, so I heard. And a rabbit, so they says,” said the man, a quizzical look on his dirty face.

“Thank you,” said Sir Lederick, somewhat sceptically. “And may I suggest that you dig down at an angle to the bottom of the pit, so as to create a means of egress for the bear cubs. If not, I’m afraid they might soon starve.”

“Dig ’em out, you mean?” said the man, scratching his head. “With, like, a slope? Yeah, now you mention it, that could work. I’ll think about it, when I’m in my barrel.”

Sir Lederick returned to Tamaleen. He watched, baffled, as the naked man climbed back into his cask, then rode on toward Endwood. As he entered the village, he asked a local washerwoman where he could find Master Burges. She pointed the way, and the knight followed the road up to the mill and down the hillside until he reached Cobblethorn Manor, where a servant and a skinny, cross-eyed stableboy came out to greet him.

“I seek an audience with Master Burges,” said Lederick, dismounting and handing Tamaleen’s reins to the stable boy.

“I shall inform Master Burges immediately, sir knight,” said the servant. “Please, follow me.”

They entered the manor and Lederick took a seat in the hallway. The house was a far cry from the lavish abodes of the rich lords further west, but it seemed comfortable enough, with deer skins on the floors and the heads of boars and oak wolves mounted on the walls. As Lederick sat and waited, a rabbit, its fur as white as early morning snow, hopped nonchalantly from one end of the hall to the other, where it sat and stared at the knight.

The rabbit scampered away when the servant returned. “Master Burges will see you in his study, sir,” said the servant. “This way, please.”

Lederick followed the servant to the study, where the master of the manor, a small, stocky man with wispy, greying hair, sat behind an oak desk, smoking a simple clay pipe.

“Good day to you, sir!” said the man, rising from his chair to shake Lederick’s hand. There was a nervousness about him. “Tell me, what brings a knight of the Green Sea to my humble home?”

“An errand of which I am not entirely proud, Master Burges,” said Lederick, noting a twitch of guilt in the lord’s eyes. “I seek a kitten, and have been told you are in possession of such an insignificant creature.”

Burges let out a relieved laugh. “Ah, a kitten, you say! And here was I thinking you had come to extract the king’s tribute from this loyal vassal. I have the tribute, of course, sir. But, to be clear, you are not here to collect, is that right?”

“I seek no debt nor tribute, Master Burges. A kitten is all.”

“Well, very good,” said Burges, now notably more at ease. He sat back against his desk and puffed on his pipe. “So, it’s important, is it, this kitten you seek?”

“You could say so, sir. Do you have one?”

“I have, as it happens, precisely one kitten,” said Burges, shooting a quick glance and a nod at his servant, who left the room. “However, and I do lament this greatly, I’m afraid the kitten’s services are much required right here at Cobblethorn.” Burges puffed on his pipe again, a weighty, thoughtful frown on his face. “Rats, you see. Vermin. This one kitten shall prove more than invaluable.”

Lederick was not good at reading people. He did not enjoy the back and forth of transactions in general, preferring to be open and forthright in his dealings. “I can assure you, sir, that the king’s business will be served by this kitten you possess. All I can offer you in return is my sincerest gratitude.”

“Gratitude, sir, is indeed the purest form of payment,” said Burges, smiling. “And yet, it is a currency hard to spend. I’d do better to keep the kitten to catch the rats in the storehouse, sir, which cost me a pretty penny. More than ten in silver, I would say. I would, of course, accept a token payment of ten in silver for the kitten, my generous knight. Or a trade, perhaps.”

“The coin I carry is for the king’s business in the Trollands. And I have nothing to trade, Master Burges. My journey will be long, and what I have I will need.”

“How about your sword? Or your helmet? I’m a collector, you see.” Burges paused and looked Lederick up and down until his beady eyes fixed upon the jewelled hilt of the dagger hanging from the knight’s belt. “That’s a pretty blade, sir. Will you be needing it on your travels?”

“Master Burges, the dagger is not —” began Lederick, but he paused as the white rabbit hopped into the study, its pink nose twitching. It stopped at Lederick’s feet and sniffed his sabatons. And with it, an idea emerged. “You are a collector, Master Burges. Do you collect animals, perchance? For a menagerie, perhaps?”

“I have a humble collection of small animals and birds, sir, but, alas, not a menagerie to match those of the western lords. What a thing that would be!”

“I have seen the king’s menagerie,” said Lederick, “and a fine and prestigious sight it is. His most prized possession, as you are surely aware, is Humdrum the bear, who draws admiring eyes from across the realms. How about a bear for your collection, Master Burges? A cub, no less? In exchange for your small and common kitten?”

---

When Sir Lederick returned to the troll, he was naked from the waist up and covered in scratches. A washerwoman in Endwood had applied a homemade salve that, if anything, had made the irritation worse, and she insisted he remain bare-chested to let the wounds breathe. His cuirass, gauntlets, helmet — anything above the waist — now hung from Tammy’s flanks. And in his left hand, Lederick carried a tiny, black-and-white kitten. It cried at times, but mostly seemed content to watch the birds that flitted through the surrounding woods.

“What happened to you?” said the troll as Lederick approached.

“A bear.”

“You should avoid bears.”

“Yes, thanks for the advice.”

“Was it a big one?”

Lederick, being a man of honour, was bound by the truth, even when speaking to a troll. “It was a cub,” he said, reluctantly.

The troll erupted in laughter. “A cub! You got done in by a baby bear? Big old knight like you?”

“There were five of them.”

The troll laughed so hard he collapsed in the middle of the road, clutching his sides in a painful explosion of mirth. “Five of ’em, he says! Cubs!”

“Here,” Lederick said, dismounting. He walked up to the laughing troll and presented the kitten, which now wriggled in his hand, meowing in fear at the large, guffawing creature before it.

The troll ceased his laughing, reached out and plucked the kitten from Lederick’s hand, carrying it by the scruff of its neck with two thick fingers. He dropped the kitten into a deep pouch inside the sacking around his waist.

“What will you do with it?” said Lederick.

“None of your business what I do with tender kittens, is it?”

“Well, troll, we had a deal. Now, let me pass.”

The troll sat wiping the last of the laughter from his eyes. “Not yet, knight.”

“You gave me your word,” said Lederick, his frustration swelling.

“Did no such thing, mate. Said I might, might not. Need another favour, first.”

“You’re testing my patience now, troll.”

The troll leaned forward. “You want to pass? You do another task. There’s this witch, right. Evil enchantress, she is. Lives in the valley bottom, not far back down the road. Bring me her head.”

“I don’t have time for this, troll.”

“You’re a knight, ain’t you? Gonna leave a nasty old witch out here? Turning hearts to stone and minds to evil ways? Making the forest dark and rotten with her craft? Some knight you are, mate.”

Lederick sighed. “If I bring you her head, do you promise to let me pass?”

“You have my word, metal man. Troll’s honour.”

“Then you shall have her head. Where can I find this witch?”

“Less than half a day back down the road. Look for the double oak carved with the sign of six petals. From there, head straight down to the valley bottom. That’s where you’ll find her, in the mist. Best leave your armour on your horse, though, mate,” said the troll, pointing at Tamaleen. “You’ll be going for a climb.”

---

Sir Lederick found the double oak, a twisted tree that looked old even in this ancient forest. He ran his fingers along the carving on its trunk. Six petals in a circle — a simple ward to protect passing travellers from the evil that lurked below. Tamaleen stamped the ground and let out a nervous whinny.

“It’s alright, girl,” said Lederick, stroking Tammy’s nose. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

The knight stood above the plunging valley, dressed in his undershirt, hose, and leather boots, his sheathed sword slung across his back. The troll hadn’t lied about the climb. The valley side was almost sheer, a steep drop covered in dense brambles, bracken and stubborn trees. From somewhere far below came the sound of a river.

Lederick set off, working his way through the hanging vegetation, clinging to tree trunks and clumps of bracken to negotiate the terrain. He hummed a song from his drinking days, trying not to think of a fall. He listened to the songs of birds, of the wreath robins and woodpigeons. He thought of Sally Ackerman, the peasant girl he’d fallen for three summers ago, and how chivalry and standing had kept them from being together. He thought, and climbed.

With his arms scratched anew and shirt sodden, Lederick eventually reached the valley floor. A fine mist rose from the river, catching beams of light that pierced through the twinkling green canopy high above. The air was thick and damp, the tree trunks covered in moss. The knight drank from the river, and as he brought his cupped hands to his mouth, he saw the first sign of what he had come for: a wooden door in the mouth of a cave, embedded in the valley side across the burbling stream.

“Witch!” he called, standing and drawing his sword. “Show yourself!”

The valley fell silent save for the river’s flow. No robin sang, no woodpecker pecked, no insect trilled as Lederick awaited a response. Then, the wooden door inched open. A figure emerged, draped in brown and black.

“Stay, witch!” cried Lederick, readying himself for battle.

“Now then,” said the witch, her voice a high and raspy squeak. “What’s all this clamour about?”

“I have come for your head, crone.”

“Well, there’s no need to be rude, young man,” said the witch, lowering her hood to reveal a billow of white hair. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the light.

Lederick began wading across the shallow river, his sword raised and eyes fixed on the witch, who stood watching from her door.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had visitors,” said the witch, pulling a bone-handled comb through her hair. “What’s your name, love?”

“I am Sir Lederick, knight of the Green Sea,” said the knight as he arrived at the opposite side of the river, almost within thrusting range of the evil before him. “I am here to take your head.”

“Take it where, lad? Not sure why you’d want a head as old and wrinkled as mine. Far prettier and more impressive heads to be had, I imagine.”

“You will not fool me, madam. I know the power you wield.”

“Power? Do I look powerful to you? Is this the home of someone of great influence? Great strength? A cave by a stream in a wood that no one cares about? Power, you say?” The witch looked about theatrically, then examined the ground, as if searching for something. “Do I have armies hidden behind the twigs and toadstools? Do I have dragons up my skirts?”

“Many things in this world are hidden, witch. Many things are not what they appear.”

“True. But tell me, are you hungry?”

“For power?”

“No, no, silly knight. For food, for your belly. I’ve made black nettle soup, more than I can ever eat. Would you like a bowl? Have a bowl, then, after, we’ll talk about my old head. Yes?”

“You offer me potions?” said Lederick, maintaining his battle-ready stance. “You think me naïve?”

“So be it,” said the witch. She gathered up a log from the log pile in front of her cave and carried it to a flat patch of ground near the river, near Lederick. The knight backed away a step or two. She placed the log carefully on one end, made sure it was stable, then kneeled beside it. “Come on, then, knight. Take my head, if you won’t accept my soup.”

Lederick remained still, his sword held high.

“Come now, don’t be shy,” said the witch, laying the side of her head on top of the log and looking up at Lederick. “Just make it quick, young knight. And after, be so kind as to leave the door open. I wouldn’t want my animals to be stuck inside that cave. They do so love the forest.”

Lederick approached the kneeling witch and stood over her, his rough hands tightening around the grip of his sword.

“May the sun and moon bless you, my son,” said the witch. She smiled and closed her eyes.

Lederick had never seen an expression like that which bloomed on the face of this ancient hag. A contentedness as deep as the ocean; an acceptance wider than a thousand fields. He examined the lines etched on her face. They showed wisdom, laughter, and kindness.

“I can’t,” he said, lowering the tip of his blade to the ground.

The witch opened one eye. “Soup, then?”

“Yes, please,” said Lederick, his arms suddenly tired, his stomach rumbling.

The witch pushed herself to her feet, grunting with the effort. “Sit here, laddie, on this log. Better you rest there, rather than my head, eh? I’ll bring you a bowl and some bread for dipping.”

Lederick sat. The old lady hurried away and disappeared inside her cave. The knight felt hollow, and strangely fragile, as the birds began to sing again, their refrains mixing in the mist, a sublime sound that carried through the forest. The creaking of trees, the jostling of leaves, the stream alive and flowing. Lederick took a long, deep breath.

“Here we go, dear,” said the witch, returning with a steaming bowl of soup and a wedge of dark brown bread. “Black nettle soup, soul of the forest, keeps folk strong, keeps folk honest!” The witch chuckled to herself. “That’s what my mother always said.” She handed the food to Lederick, picked up another log, sat on it, and watched the knight eat.

“It’s good,” said Lederick, dunking the bread in the broth.

“Where’s your family, lad?”

“Dead. Father in the wars. Mother from melancholia. And my sister was taken by bandits. I’m the last.”

“You got little ones? Children?”

“No, madam. Do you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“No, lad,” said the witch, a sad smile on her face. “Wasn’t blessed in that way. Couldn’t have ’em. It’s the magic, see. It gives much, but takes away even more.”

Lederick paused with the spoon at his lips. “So, you are a witch, then?”

“Yes, knight. I’m a witch of the woods. I’m at peace with the world now, mostly. But it wasn’t always so. I have harmed folk, yes. There were days when knights like you came in their droves, seeking my head on the orders of some king or queen or cardinal. Back then, I was young and beautiful, but I was angrier than the storms of the Cuckold Coast. Angry, because I wanted nothing more than to be loved.”

“And you were not? Loved? By anyone?”

“I was. Perhaps.” She looked at the pebbles beneath her feet. “But the one I loved was scared of me. She tried hard to understand my nature, but what normal man or woman can comprehend such a thing? Our bodies aren’t made for magic, see. Most would-be witches die in the womb, never even accounted for. That’s what makes magic so rare. And so frightening. She couldn’t understand.”

“You loved another woman?”

“Indeed, I did. You think that wrong?”

“Not wrong, I suppose. But it’s not considered normal, I would say.”

“Normal. Powerful. Woman. Witch. Just words, knight. A word is but a cup into which we pour meaning. Then we stir and stir, adding honey or milk or hemlock, until the meaning fits the intent. Beautiful, dangerous things are words.” The witch looked up at the forest canopy, the light now beginning to fade. “Anyway, my good Sir Lederick, knight of the Green Sea, soon it will be dark, and you have a climb before you. And a quest, do you not? Perhaps, one day, you will come see me again?”

“I would like that, madam,” said Lederick, rising from the log and placing the empty bowl on top of it. “May I ask your name?”

“You may ask, lad, but I will not tell. Some names are best forgotten, lest they are found again in the old books. So, call me what the others do: The witch of Hopewine Valley. Sounds alright, don’t you think?”

“It sounds fine, madam,” said Lederick, reaching out to take the witch’s tiny, wrinkled hand in his. “It sounds very fine indeed.”

---

“You couldn’t kill a little old shrivelled witch?” said the troll. “Bloody shit knight, you are.”

“I couldn’t do it, troll,” said Lederick. “She was kind.”

The troll was chewing on a sapling, his teeth grinding away on the moist green wood, sometimes stopping to spit out the fine bark.

“Well, knight, you ain’t doing too well, is you?”

“Let me pass, troll. Please.”

“Can’t do that. Passed one, failed one. That puts you on zero, knight. Have you men got the hang of zero yet?”

“If you mean ‘naught,’ then yes, of course.”

“Well then, you’s on zero. Done nothing, total. Can’t let you pass.”

Lederick sighed and sat on the bank at the side of the road. He was tired. “So be it, troll. Tell me what I must do next, and tell it straight.”

The troll pointed a thick finger down the road, directly at Lederick’s steed. “Give me your horse. My kin brother is having a feast next fatmoon eve. That horse of yours would look good on a spit.”

Tamaleen whinnied and backed away.

“No, troll,” said Lederick, rising to his feet. “You can’t ask that of me. Tammy has carried me into many battles, has saved my life on countless occasions. There’s no horse braver or more loyal in all the realms of man. And, more than that, she’s my friend.”

The troll removed the sapling from his mouth and tossed the chewed remains into the undergrowth. “You fail, then, metal man. So, tell me. What happens when you turn back and tell your pretty king you failed to even step foot in the Trollands?”

“I will be shamed. I will have failed my king. Failed my mission, for which I volunteered and was chosen from among many noble men, on a promise of success. It will only be proper of me to renounce my titles and my lands. And then, who knows? I will be a stray. At best, a mercenary.”

“Decide then, knight. Your horse, or your honour?”

Lederick shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest. He breathed in, then exhaled, and opened his eyes. “I cannot — I will not — give up my horse. So, I will take my leave and return home to accept my fate. I have no other choice. So, good luck to you, dutiful troll.”

With that, Lederick turned away and walked to Tamaleen. He rubbed the horse’s nose and stroked her cheek and prepared to mount her for the long ride home. To the coast, to the sea, to the city, to the people who had clapped and cheered his departure and would now jeer and mock his return.

“Oi, knight,” called the troll, as Lederick rose a foot to the stirrups. “Hold up there, knight.”

“What now, troll?” said Lederick, tired of it all.

“Come here,” said the troll, gesturing for Lederick to return. “You’re alright, you are, mate. You can pass, ain’t no doubt left of that.”

“Don’t play with me, troll. Let me leave with what remains of my honour.”

“Seriously, mate. We’re good. You done convinced me, lad.”

Lederick paused then returned to the troll. “What are you saying? That this was all a test?”

“You could call it that, knight,” said the troll, stooping and pointing a finger at Lederick’s chest. “Can’t let any old fella into the Trollands, can we? Especially one of you lot.”

“So, I can pass? Be on my way to the Vale of . . . to Gnr? You’ll give me the mark of passage?”

“Yes, lad,” said the troll, a crooked smile on his face. “In fact, I’ll walk with you if that’s alright. My watch here ended moons ago, couldn’t be bothered to go back. And anywise, you might need help crossing the bridge at Fnarkel. Those are some stubborn river trolls, I’ll tell you that for nothing. You’ll be safe with me, mate. Safe from baby bears, too,” said the troll, chuckling to himself.

“Well, I gladly accept your offer,” said Lederick, his mind a mix of relief and surprise. “To the Trollands, then.”

Lederick mounted his steed and eyed the road ahead, still somewhat astounded by the turn of events. The troll stood aside and, with a wave of his arm, beckoned man and horse to pass.

“Tell me something,” said Lederick, addressing the troll who now walked beside him and Tammy. “What would you have done if I had taken the witch’s head?”

The troll laughed. “Fat chance, lad. She’s a lovely old lady, that one, but ain’t nothing more powerful than her in these woods or a thousand more. She’d have turned you into nothing but wishwash and teeth before you lifted your little blade.”

Lederick rode on in contemplation, happy to hear the clip-clop of Tammy’s hooves and the thudding of the troll’s feet. They were on their way, at last.

“What’s your name, good troll?” said Lederick.

“Mar’girit,” said the troll.

“Margaret?”

“Close enough, knight.”

“How peculiar. It doesn’t sound much like a troll name.”

“Why’s that? Strong name is Mar’girit.”

“I’m sure it is, sir. It’s just, my grandmother was called Margaret.”

“Good strong name for a grandmother, too, if you asks me.”

“I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective, my good Margaret.”

“You know what, knight? That might just be the most cleverest thing you’ve said since I met you.”

“Why thank you, Margaret, that’s most kind of you.”

“Here,” said the troll, pulling a tiny, black-and-white kitten from his pouch. “Take this, will you? It’s a lovely little thing, but it’s giving me the sniffles.”

The troll handed the kitten to Lederick, who placed it carefully on the pommel of his saddle, from where it had a clear view of the passing woods. And so continued noble Sir Lederick and the good troll Mar’girit, side by side, along the long and ancient Troll Road.

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