The origins of this story are in Scandinavia, possibly thousands of years ago. Some people have speculated that the first stories of trolls were just accounts of chance meetings with Neanderthals. Whatever the truth, every child knows that trolls are bad news. They jump out and eat you. That's what they do. So if you should happen to come across a bridge in the middle of nowhere, overgrown and unused, it's probably best to not try and cross it.
Black and gnarled tree trunks clustered around them. A thick roof of leaves shut them in, reducing the light of the sun to a dim, green-tinged glow. The soldier looked around at the gloomy, oppressive forest, scowling.
“So where d'you think he is?” The mercenary demanded.
“Not here.” The soldier jerked a thumb. “And not back there, in a pile of bodies with the rest of those thieving bastards. He's heading north, heading for the border and home.”
“Well we got maybe two hours of daylight left,” the mercenary told him. “We'll have to leave it, come back with dogs, tomorrow. Then if he's still here, we'll find him.”
“I suppose. You say he was hurt? Hurt bad?”
“I saw him go down with an arrow in his side. He won't be moving too fast with a wound like that.” The mercenary grinned. “A lucky shot. Mostly the arrows bounce off. Anyway, he might be dead already, lying in a ditch somewhere for the rats to chew.”
“Not even rats will chew on that scum.”
“Hmph. The rats'd be nothing compared to us when we find him.”
“Or if he goes too far into the forest, he'll get it even worse.”
The soldier grinned. “Sod him, and all his kind.” He spat on the ground. “Whatever happens, that monster deserves all he gets.”
#
He thought that he'd been spotted. The taller one, the soldier, stared hard for a second at him, drilling into the shadows with his cold eyes. But then they both swung their horses around and moved off, watching those thick shadows as they went.
Hunting dogs, they'd said. If they found him, they'd tear him apart. The soldiers would take trophies to entertain their Lord.
He set off, keeping the dim glow of the sun to his right. But the forest floor was a mess of roots and clinging undergrowth and it rose and fell like the ocean waves. He stumbled constantly, and every time he stumbled the pain burned in his side and blood trickled from the wound with fresh vigour in a hot, wet trail. He found a fallen branch to use as a crutch which helped, but even so the sun was red and low in the sky by the time he stumbled out of the shadows and saw the track.
He looked around, gasping, sweat pouring down his face. The track was smothered in growth, almost invisible. To his left he saw the ground trail away into a yawning gap and there, arching up and over it was a bridge.
The breeze gusted and hissed through the trees. He sniffed the air, tasting the scents of the forest, feeling for anything out of place. He listened, straining to pick up every bird call, every rustle of the leaves.
The bridge was as overgrown as the track. Vines had crept over the rails and festooned them with white flowers while grass had sprouted on the planking.
The breeze dropped to nothing but a whisper.
His breathing was hoarse and ragged as he hobbled out of the trees, leaning on the branch, stumbling on the rough ground.
The breeze picked up again, faintly and reluctantly. It was blowing now from in front of him, up from the depths of the gorge. He could see white flowers on the vines bowing their heads as the breeze gusted.
He could smell the depths of the gorge, the running water and the dust of the fractured rocks.
Behind him, the sounds of the forest began to change. He lifted his head, suddenly aware even through the fog of pain that something was wrong.
The sounds of the birdsong were fading.
He stopped and looked around, puzzled now and wary. The breeze gusted again and now on its back was something new, a scent that brought unease rising in his throat.
“This can't be.” His voice sounded cracked and feeble.
From somewhere, a stone fell onto another with a loud 'crack'. He turned around, his hand reaching for the knife inside his jacket. Another stone cracked and skittered away, then more, then came a scrabbling and rattling that grew quickly in volume. Something was coming. Something was climbing up the wall of the gorge.
He froze, panic billowing inside, and he saw without believing what he saw, a hand like a great, grey slab of wrinkled leather come over the edge, then another, then the troll was hauling itself up and up until it towered over him. Red eyes like furnaces bored into his terrified face.
It was fully eight feet tall, massively shouldered with thick, muscular arms. A small head was set on a wide neck. It's skin was dark grey, scaly, tough enough to turn a knife blade and it gleamed in the glow of the fading sunlight.
“None allowed here,” the troll said. The voice was thick oil on gravel. It peered at him, its head cocked to one side, then the other.
Uther stumbled backwards.
The troll snorted and came forward, one step, two, three, it moved with horrifying speed and certainty until it was a yard away, towering over him. He could smell it's rank, foul odour, like rotting flesh.
“I have no argument with you,” Uther said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“None allowed here,” it said again. It's breath swamped him, nearly choking him.
“Then let me leave.”
“No leave. “ It lent forward, staring more closely at him.
“Then what do you want with me?” Uther's voice was nearly failing him.
The troll sniffed as if tasting the air. “Food,” it said. It reach out a massive paw and knocked the branch from his grasp and then it grabbed him and put him across its shoulder as if he were a small child.
Uther was helpless. The troll went to the edge of the gorge and over, scrambling down the slope. They came to a halt on a ledge, a shower of stones rattling down behind them. Uther was thrown to the ground and his mind faded out with the pain. When he opened his eyes again the setting sun was glaring into his face and the troll was a black mountain rearing up in front of him. It pulled him up by the scruff and threw him into the mouth of a cave.
It was pitch black in there. Uther lay where he fell, swamped in pain, while the troll watched him.
“Let me go,” Uther managed to say. “I have friends, rich friends who will pay you.”
No response. Uther didn't know if the troll could even understand what he was saying.
“I have friends who will pay you,” he repeated. “They have gold, understand? They-”
“Gold?” The voice echoed around the rock walls.
“Yes, gold.”
The troll moved a little closer. “Give me gold,” it said.
By now Uther's eyes had adjusted to the dim light and he saw, for the first time, what was around him.
Coins, piled up in their hundreds or even thousands. Coins everywhere, and what looked like bracelets, headbands... all of it dusty and grimy but still shining with the lustre of gold.
“You like gold?” Uther asked it.
“You give me,” it said. It came forward and reached out to him.
Uther pulled himself away. “I don't have any,” he said quickly. “It's all back there, back down the track. Half a mile. I had to leave it there.”
“Track?”
“Yes, down the track. I, I was carrying a pile of gold, many gold coins, but they were too heavy. I left them there, hidden.”
“You show me.”
“I can't move. Look, I'm hurt.” He showed the troll his hand, red with blood. “You can go and look, you'll find the gold by the track. It's all yours, all of it. Look, here's one piece of it, see?” He reached into his jacket.
The troll snarled and raised a hand. Uther hurriedly held up a coin. “Look,” he said. “This is all I have with me, the rest is back there.” He tossed the coin towards the troll. He could only hope the troll wouldn't recognise it as one of his own.
The troll picked up the coin, peered suspiciously at it, bit into it. He seemed grudgingly satisfied. “I come back for you,” he said. “You no go.” He turned and disappeared.
Uther sank back, trembling, his body aching with the pain. “A cave troll,” he said aloud. “A wild cave troll. And I walked into it.”
The climb up the slope was excruciating. It was only a short distance but he barely made it. By the time he reached the top and hauled himself onto flat ground he was dizzy and gasping for breath. He clambered upright, then staggered forward and retrieved his makeshift crutch.
He looked around. There was no sign of the troll, but he would be back soon and he would be angry, very angry. Uther could barely stand now. If he tried to get away, the troll would find him and then no amount of clever talking would save him. He sagged with sudden, abject despair. There was no one to help him. No one would come to his rescue. No one.
#
The troll huffed and growled as it came back down the slope. Stones bounced and rattled as they cascaded to their doom in the gorge, far below. It came nearer, it's hoarse, harsh breathing filling the air, drowning out all other sounds. It's enormous bulk suddenly filled the mouth of the cave, black against the pink light of the dying sun.
“You lied!” It stamped forward, arms out, its eyes screwed up as it moved from harsh sunlight to gloomy darkness.
Uther was propped up against the wall, deep in shadow. He threw something at the troll to get its attention. It was a skull, a human skull. There were more, piled in the back of the cave. The skull bounced off the troll's head and it roared in fury, turned toward him and lumbered forward, arms out and fingers ready to rip him apart.
Uther pulled up the sharpened end of the crutch just before the troll got to him. The wooden spike sank into the soft skin of the troll's throat, in and further in until it jarred to a halt as it grated on the bones of its neck. The butt end of the makeshift spear was wedged against the wall. The troll's bulk kept it coming. Wild gargling noises came from it, its hands scrabbled at its neck, it crashed sideways and rolled across the floor, thrashing as it went.
It roared and gargled and spluttered and it took a long, long time to die.
#
Uther sat on the ledge, his back against the rock wall, and slowly exhaled. He was dizzy from the pain and the loss of blood and he had to cling to the world to stop it slipping away. The sun was on the horizon and sinking to a scarlet death, the red sky reflected in his own red eyes. He held up a hand, a leathery and scaled hand, looked at the gold coin he held there and smiled. More beautiful, shining gold than he had ever known. He laughed suddenly, and his thick, gravelly laughter echoed softly around the valley.
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