Troll Mountain: The Complete Novel

Chapter 6

The next day, Ko offered to accompany Raf on his quest, at least for part of the way.

“I know the Badlands,” he said, “and I might be able to help you at some of the more difficult swamp crossings.”

Raf was glad of the assistance and over the course of that day, they made excellent progress through the middle regions of the Badlands.

Ko did indeed know the Badlands well. At those times when the path was hidden beneath wide pools that had crept across it, Ko knew where fords lay, saving Raf the many hours it would have taken to skirt the pools.

Ko walked with an easy lope, carrying his crossbow casually in his folded arms.

At one point in their journey, when they had stopped to eat some lunch, Raf asked, “How did you come to be in these lands?”

“Oh, I was part of a vast army from the east, led by a great warrior-king. Over the course of a long campaign, we conquered many lands and acquired many treasures.

“I was a medicine man who tended to our soldiers when they were wounded or fell ill. Our army stopped its great journey of conquest a thousand miles to the east of here and when it turned for home, I asked the great king if I might remain in these parts. He granted me my request, and I ventured over many hills and valleys until I settled here in these Badlands with their splendid solitude.”

“You don’t like people?” Raf asked.

“I don’t like what people do to each other.”

As the sun set at the end of that second day, black shadows extended across the track. The trees seemed to reach out for Raf, their branches gnarled arms, their twigs flexing claws. Ko didn’t seem to notice the grimness of their surroundings at all.

As night fell, they came to the old Broken Bridge.

“Broken” was an overly complimentary term, Raf thought as he looked at it.

In truth, it was no bridge at all anymore.

A broad muddy stream cut across the track here, part of the dry river that meandered down to Raf’s valley. Over the centuries, in times when the river’s flow had been stronger, it had cut a deep gash in the brown landscape, about thirty feet across and fifteen feet deep, with sheer muddy walls. The streambed itself was a muddy bog: moist, brown, and stinking.

At some point in history, someone had bridged the stream, but the bridge had long ago been washed away or its planks pilfered for other uses, so now all that remained in its place were the stone pillars on which it had stood. They spanned the muddy streambed at regular intervals — intervals across which a man could leap with a bounding stride and good balance.

Raf saw another thing in the mud of the streambed.

Footprints.

Only they were not human footprints.

They were larger and deeper than human footprints, the stub-toed prints of trolls.

Ko said, “The Broken Bridge is a great protector of your river valley, Raf. Trolls do not have the same kind of toes as humans. Theirs are smaller, less dextrous. The chief consequence of this is that trolls do not possess the same level of balance as humans. For a troll to leap from one of these pillars to the next would be a considerable feat, hence the relative infrequency of rogue trolls reaching your valley.”

Raf nodded at the trollprints in the bog. “The prints only come halfway across the streambed. Why?”

Ko nodded. “The mud of the streambed is deadly. It is gripping mud, with the texture and malevolence of quicksand. Once you are stuck in it, it slowly takes you under. The prints only come halfway across because by then the unwary troll is hopelessly stuck and the bog swallows him.”

Raf stared at the muddy bog in horror. A bubble popped on its surface, as if it were alive.

“Trolls are far stronger than humans are,” he said. “But they are not very clever, are they?”

“Apart from the smaller field trolls, yes, that is correct,” Ko said. “In his ultimate wisdom, the Great Creator made sure that no one creature got every talent. Yes, trolls got immense size and strength, but as compensation for those talents, they have only rudimentary balance and limited intelligence. Humans received ingenuity but little raw strength. Wolves have cunning, and heightened senses of smell and hearing, but thankfully no opposable thumbs.” Ko smiled wistfully. “I like to think the Great Creator just wanted to make life in this world interesting.”

Raf looked from the footprints in the mud to the rather sinister terrain on the other side of the Broken Bridge. The forest of thorns on that side seemed thicker, the shadows more menacing.

This was becoming too real. Real wolves, real trolls, real darkness. Cold fear shot through him and for a moment he considered turning back. Boldly venturing out on this quest had seemed a lot easier from his hovel back in the valley.

But then he thought of Kira, dying from the illness, and his resolve returned.

He turned to Ko. “Are trolls naturally cruel? Ever since I was a child, I have been told that every troll is a monster bent only on feasting on human flesh and wreaking havoc and destruction.”

Ko looked at Raf for a long moment before replying.

“This is a most perceptive question, Raf. Many humans live their entire lives without questioning the ‘truths’ they’ve been told.”

“And?”

“Despite a mountain troll’s commanding physical size, its brain is small, so it is incapable of complex thought. This does not mean, however, that it is incapable of thought. Simple brains just think simply: eat, kill, gain advantage, but most of all: survive.

“A troll eats humans to survive. A troll exacts tribute from humans to survive. Yes, some trolls are cruel, so their array of simple thoughts includes more wicked ones like: dominate, control, hurt, humiliate.”

“So trolls are not naturally cruel?”

“I don’t think so. A significant proportion of humans are cruel but that doesn’t mean all people are. It is only when the cruel sit in positions of power that cruelty can become accepted. This is as true for trolls as it is for people, but with trolls it can happen more readily as the simple-minded are more easily led.”

Raf thought about this, and then realized something.

“I have seen good people stand silently by while a cruel chieftain beat a tribe member out of sheer spite. The others all accepted the cruelty for fear of being subjected to it themselves, not because they agreed with it. And they were shamed by doing so.”

“Emotions like shame and guilt,” Ko said, “are the price of having a larger brain: the human knows he can choose to stand up to cruelty. The troll can at least claim limited mental faculties.”

Raf said nothing.

“An interesting theoretical discussion,” Ko said. “I haven’t had one of those in years. One of the downsides to being a hermit, I suppose.”

He looked around them. “Now. We face a choice. We can cross the Broken Bridge now and make some headway into the farthest regions of the Badlands through the night, or we can camp here.”

Raf gazed across the muddy stream at the forbidding terrain on the opposite bank. Night was almost upon them. The full moon was rising above the mountains.

“What about the mountain wolves?” he asked.

Ko shrugged. “At some point in your journey, you were always going to have to make camp close to the mountains, Raf. A quest would not be a quest if it were easy. If we stay on this side, we will at least have time to make a defense against the wolves. That is the best we can hope for.”

“I think we’ll camp here for the night,” Raf said.

“A wise decision,” Ko said.