The bard tilted his hat back and rubbed his forehead while trying to think of just how he should start the tale, but with a gurgling growl from his host, he quickly stammered out his first sentence.
“Uh… Let’s see. There was a small kingdom in the east, called… Um… Trawlerskeep, and it was built upon the edge of the sea. It started as a peaceful little fishing village, but over time, it slowly grew into a small independent realm. Now, across a narrow bay, there was an island they called ‘the Isle of Woe…’”
Curesoon had in himself one great virtue, and it was this: When he began to tell a story, all else seemed to vanish away for him, thus he saw only the tale unfolding within his mind. For this reason, as he began his narration, all anxiety fell away from him like heavy chains, and he was at peace within the world of his story.
The bard continued, “It was on the Isle of Woe that most Common-men buried their dead, and for this reason the island was a mix of old trees, grassy lawns, and gravestones. There were grand mausoleums belonging to legendary kings buried long ago and simple unmarked graves belonging to unknown paupers newly laid to their rest. It was a sad but peaceful place where people came to leave flowers at the tombs of their loved ones and weep quietly, that is, until the Troll came.”
“‘Ahhh.” Baleful rumbled thoughtfully. “‘Twas the gloom and sorrow tha’ brough ’em – drawn to death and darkness like moths to a flame.”
Curesoon went on without comment though the statement rang true in his mind. “Now it happened one day, after the men returned from fishing, that the cruel giant came and stole their full nets. This became such a habit for the Troll that the fishermen began to be hard pressed to make a living. After a short time, the men brought their difficulty before the king.
In an answer to their petition, the king of Trawlerskeep chose certain men of strength and valor to dispatch the Troll, so that the kingdom might once more prosper and be at peace.”
Baleful growled a sinister chuckle and rubbed her massive hands together greedily as if she knew what would come next. The sound of her thickly calloused hands stroking one another was much like the grinding of stones.
The bard shuddered at the noise and then went on with his tale. “Thirty brave men were ferried across to the island that day, and they each bore a long spear. After they had searched almost the whole isle, they finally found the Troll in a deep slumber amid a large area of destruction.”
“‘E tired ‘imself out with all ‘is ragin’.” The giantess added with a sneer.
Curesoon raised his eyebrows and nodded with a look that expressed new realization, but then he went on without any other response. “They surrounded him with a mind to pierce him through with their spears. However, the sharpened iron points only buried into the Troll’s hard calloused flesh so that he awoke with great fury and brushed the spears away like the bristles from a blackberry bush.”
“It’s the sun that did it.” Baleful remarked while feeling her own wart-covered face.
Curesoon paused. “What do you mean?”
The giantess gazed at the bard with a surprisingly thoughtful look. “Our man-folk’re all wrath with no cunnin’. They go ‘bout breakin’ and crushin’ ‘til they can’t even lift their ‘eads, and when all their strength’s gone, they fall down and sleep. And if day comes, and they ‘appen to be out in the sun, it’ll cook ‘em, and if this ‘appens more than a few times, their skin’ll be just like ol’ Bogra’s – all thick and stone-like.”
Curesoon eyed the enormous old woman. Though it was hard to see in the dim light produced by the red-flamed torch, he was almost sure she began to look sad.
“Is that what happened to you?” he asked before he realized what he was saying. “Did you sleep out in the sun?”
Baleful glowered at the bard. “We la’ies don’t rage ‘bout like dumb brutes and then fall over in the sunlight – we does our payback with much more style.”
She blinked her huge black eyes prettily, but the view was more frightening than beautiful.
With foolish curiosity, Curesoon pressed for the answer. “So how did the sun burn you then?”
Baleful’s expression became distant. It was as if she was looking far into the past.
“I’s couldn’t’ve been more than four’een when I’s ran away from my mum and came to this land.” The giantess recalled thoughtfully. “At tha’ age, I’s wasn’t much taller than you, so with a stolen cloak, I mingled in pre’y good with you Common-folk. For a while I begged for food when I got ‘ungry – that is, ‘til I found some’in’ they’d swap for meat and even some of their pre’y li’le coins.”
“What did you find to trade?” Curesoon asked with a puzzled look.
There was only a handful of teeth left in Baleful’s mouth, but with just these, she still managed to flash an impish grin.
“I didn’t find nothin’ – I ‘ad it with me all along, and one of my best customers was a fat ol’ priest – always talkin’ ‘bout the King of Heaven. But, after a while, ‘e found me out, and ‘e’s none too happy when ‘e know’d ‘e’d been bedding a Trollop.”
Sudden realization caused the bard’s bearded face to flush with embarrassment.
Baleful chuckled at him and then went on. “‘E ran to ‘is pre’y li’le lord and told ‘im what I was. The lord didn’t even blink ‘fore ‘e tossed me in ‘is dungeon. I think ‘e didn’t want me tellin’ nobody tha’ ‘is fat ol’ priest ‘ad been rollin’ ‘round on the straw with me, but I cound’t’ve told nobody ‘cause I didn’t speak no Common.
“So, there I sat in ‘is dungeon all those years, and there I listened, and there I plo’ed. Tha’s how I learned to speak Common – I sat by the dung ‘ole and listened to the la’y of the castle teaching her lord ‘ow ta read – soundin’ out every word for ‘im.
“And over the years, I got bigger, and when they saw ‘ow big I’s gettin’, they marveled. Then, they started paradin’ me out durin’ their feasts, so their guests could see a real Troll. They chained me to a post in the cour’yard and let the sun burn me awful, and all I could do is curl up in a ball, but in the end, I got ‘em all for it.” Her voice turned into a sinister growl, but then she seemed to awake from her thoughts.
“But tha’s ‘nough ‘bout me,” she said abruptly shifting back to a more pleasant way of speaking – at least for her. “I’s wanna know wha’ ‘appen to yar Troll.”
Curesoon blinked. “Oh!”
He was so taken in by her tale that he completely forgot that he had been telling one himself.
“Well,” he started while trying to remember what he had been saying. “Uh, let’s see, the men had surrounded the Troll, and they stuck him with their spears. This only awoke and enraged the Troll. He snatched up some of the men and tore them in two, others, he smashed, and some he crushed between his huge teeth. So it happened that, of all those mighty men, only one escaped to give an account of the slaughter before dying himself.”
Baleful growled a chuckle that easily betrayed her vile, morbid amusement. “I like this tale so far.”
Ignoring the sinister expression upon the Trollop’s face, Curesoon went on with his story hoping that in the telling he might save his own soul from becoming jelly.
“The Troll was so wroth that he swam the narrow bay and began to take not only the fishermen’s catch, but in the still watches of the night, people also. He’d reach in their windows and pluck them out of their beds, or after their feasts, he’d creep into the hall and snatch up their guests. And mind you, he didn’t just take the people – he broke them or crushed them so that he left a gruesome seen behind for those who discovered his crime.
“Thus, the kingdom’s last state was worse than its first, and so they wished they had never provoked the giant but had just let him thieve what fish he desired instead.
“Now, at this same time, rumors began to spread across the land that there was a bard who also busied himself with the work of a warrior. It was said that he brought relief to countless souls, for the man bore on his right shoulder a mighty sword named by Common-men: ‘the Sword-Gleaming’ – The very same sword that had been shattered in battle over a thousand years before.
“Thus, when the reports came to the king’s ears, they gave him hope, for many told that this ‘Warrior-Bard’ did not suffer from Dragon-fear and had even slain more than a few of the flying serpents.”
“Wai’! ‘E killed Dragons! Ha!” Baleful mocked with a snarl. “Even we Trolls and Trollops quake at the sigh’ of those migh’y beasts! There’s no way a li’l’ bard like you killed any!”
Curesoon decided this would be the ideal place to reveal the Warrior-Bard’s name, for he was sure Baleful would be less skeptical if she knew what man it was who did all these things.
“Now this man was none other than Eversave, the sole son of the King of Heaven.” The name and title made a shiver of joy shoot up Curesoon’s spine.
“Never ‘eard of ‘im!” the giantess snorted and gestured dismissively with a wave of her massive gray hand.
“You’ve never heard of Eversave?” the bard replied with a note of bewilderment.
“I’ve got no time for foolish fables!” the Trollop grumbled and shifted her huge weight impatiently. “Now, stop wastin’ time and tell me wha’ ‘appened next,” she demanded with a deep guttural growl.
Curesoon quickly returned to his craft with new resolve: He meant to prove the virtues of Eversave to this skeptical and insolent hag.
“Having heard of Eversave’s exploits, the king of Trawlerskeep quickly dispatched a messenger to beg for the Warrior-Bard’s aid. Eversave was always compassionate toward the plight of the people, and so he came straightway; he and his twelve knights with him.
“When Eversave came to stand in the hall of the king of Trawlerskeep, he was told all about the hardships caused by the Troll. Thus, as soon as his audience with the king was concluded, the Warrior-Bard boarded the ferry with his knights and went across to the Isle of Woe.
“Now it happened that as soon as Eversave set his foot upon the shore, and before even his knights had stepped from the ferry, the Troll came forth crashing out from the trees and tombs throwing logs and stones as he came.
“Then one of the knights called to his lord, and when Eversave turned, the man threw his mighty sword to him. Catching Gleaming, the Warrior-Bard unsheathed the weapon, and immediately white flames danced up the bright blade, for it is said that the Sword-Gleaming can sense the Shadows of Foe that hide within the hearts of the Grayling races.
“With reckless abandon, the Troll rushed forward, but Eversave leapt into the air, flipped over the giant cleaving his huge head from his massive shoulders with only one stroke of his mighty blade. This being done, the Warrior-Bard landed upon his feet again, and thus died the last of all the Trolls.” Curesoon added this last part out of habit, for that was how he normally told the tale.
