Powerful men battle for the honor of a lowly, peasant girl whose beauty can tame the most monstrous among them.
Rumor of Jenna’s beauty spread throughout the ancient world. A father of one so beautiful would naturally be selective of the numerous suitors coming to lay claim to her. However, her father had died when she was twelve, just before being able to see her flower into womanhood. Her mother did her best to maintain their small farm, hiring help when the funds became available. Despite their best efforts, Jenna and her mother could not sustain the farm.
Hating herself for having to do so – but needing to be able to eat – Jenna’s mother marketed her daughter to the mountain of suitors. In the end, one suitor seemed to offer a much better life than all the others: the feudal lord of their small realm. His father ruled the larger kingdom the fiefdom dwelt in. And it was the father’s army the people feared.
The son kept no soldiers inside his keep’s walls, only the fastest horses in the land. The men he kept company with drank as often as they ate, and they ate continuously. Yet for all their gluttony, they remained suspiciously slim, their faces clean shaven, sallow and pale from never having been touched by the sun. They amused themselves in the great hall of the keep, never retiring to the many rooms of the castle, opting to remain with each other as jesters and semi-nude male acrobats entertained the men who often seemed more interested in the oiled muscular bodies of the male dancers than the half-exposed bosoms of the buxom wenches serving them.
For himself, the son preferred only the buxom wenches, often making personal use of them in the great hall while his comrades cheered.
Jenna had heard rumors of this behavior and held no aspirations of trying to change it. Her mother had made the deal, so Jenna would support this decision the best she was able. As long as, she told herself, that only the son took liberties with her. A God-fearing woman, she did not wish to incur the wrath of His True Majesty by allowing herself to be debased by multiple men.
Fortunately for Jenna, she never had to witness his entourage’s depravity as a rogue warrior abducted her while she journeyed with the lord on the eve of their consummation night. At least, that’s what he called it. Jenna corrected him the first time he said it but then gave up, knowing his term to be a more accurate description of what was going to transpire.
True, they were going to be married and most people referred to the evening as the wedding night. It was a business agreement. Nothing more. Her dowry was the land her mother and her father had inherited from his parents a half century prior.
Jenna steeled herself for her wedding night, knowing it was not going to be full of the same passion she’d heard between her parents. Though they both tried to maintain silence, their home had but one room and a loft. At first Jenna tried to cover her ears during the sounds of their lovemaking. She soon gave up, often falling asleep to the sounds of her mother’s passionate responses to her husband’s touches. It seemed natural. Beautiful. Peaceful. Jenna longed for that passion.
After he died, it took Jenna many months to sleep through the silence that followed the sounds of her mother’s quiet sobs. Soon, the silence seemed as natural as had been the sounds of passion, and the silence Jenna once longed for, now filled her heart with sorrow. And there it nestled within her, remaining strong as she headed toward her consummation night with a man she knew not, and about whom the rumors spoke ill of.
In person, he seemed charming enough, his smile bright, his eyes sparkling as he signed the papers with her mother, papers that made her his.
A handsome man, he’d bowed low upon meeting her, kissing the back of her hand with a gentleness and sincerity she hadn’t expected. The other suitors had shown grand formality during their introductions, but their lips had been cold against her skin…and dry.
The son of the king seemed true , and she wondered if she’d misjudged him by believing rumors in much the same way as the daughters and sons in the towns she visited to barter for goods had spread rumors about her and her mother, accusing them of paying in sexual favors for the labor of the men they employed to works their fields. Jenna had an opportunity to defend her honor, but having too much work to do, she ignored the children, knowing it mattered not. At least, she thought it wouldn’t matter.
A young man who believed the rumors showed up to the farm asking how much he’d be paid to work the field, placing extra stress on fields, accompanied by an eyebrow raise.
Before Jenna could say a word, her mother replied, her voice as light and airy as would be expected of a noble-born lady, telling the whelp that only those willing to pay a handsome amount of coin would be allowed to plow their fields, and seeing how the youth had insufficient coinage and loinage, his services would not be needed.
As the wounded pup huffed off, Jenna spun on her mother, demanding to know why she’d interfered with Jenna’s defense. The mother wished to not engage, but Jenna pressed.
Her mother gave in. “It’s this silly notion of defending honor that was the death of your father.”
Jenna gaped, unable to process this revelation. She’d always been told he’d died by injuries sustained from being waylaid. There’d been no mention of honor or a defense of it. Jenna pressed for more information.
Knowing she’d said too much already, the mother gave in, relaying the dreadful events of that fateful day. She and her husband had been on their way back from market when three traveling paupers passed by. Thinking their greater number an advantage, one of the men had accosted the mother. His companions laughed as she shrugged off his hand and continued. Under his breath, he called her a harlot.
Her husband heard. Facing the men with nothing but a staff, he demanded to know what had been said and done to his wife. The brazen thief, raised both his hands, telling the husband how nice it had been to squeeze the oranges of the woman.
The wife tried to pull her husband away. He would not let the injustice go. The three travelers had already begun walking away when the husband demanded the culprit apologize. It didn’t take much back and forth before the husband and the three were engaged in a melee. The wife stood silent knowing the inevitable outcome, praying for the opposite.
In but a few moments, the three ruffians lay on the road, their skulls and ribs crushed from the tremendous blows dealt them by the husband and his cudgel. Yet one had dealt him a mortal blow as well, having pulled a knife and stabbed the husband from behind while the he fought the other two.
The husband hadn’t intended killing anyone. However, as soon as he felt the iron blade, he knew death was now the only option, otherwise, his bride would be doomed.
Pulling the dagger from his lower back, the husband attacked the owner of it. The cowardly rogue died by his own blade. The stiff piece of ash did its job on the skulls of the other two.
The husband, bleeding profusely, dropped to his knees. His wife scolded him.
“Why were you angry with him?” said Jenna.
“Had your father left the men alone, he’d be alive, Jenna. He left us. And now, because of his decision, I’m left to make another difficult one.”
Her mother made a second astounding statement that day, announcing the agreement she made to engage Jenna with the lord of the land.
“And?” said Jenna.
Her mother seemed marveled at Jenna’s reaction…or lack of one.
“And you will be married.”
Jenna grimaced, annoyed. “Of course, I will be. I’ve know it to be an inevitability. Did father say anything before he died? Were you really cross with him as he lay dying because of his love for you?”
Her mother sighed, flopping to the ground. It would be difficult to explain her emotions of that day to a daughter who knew nothing of love and life.
“Your father gave me two reasons for his actions. They’re both hypothetical situations. First, he told me that if he hadn’t done anything that day, then the men, emboldened by the lack of consequences for their actions, might push themselves on another woman. If they ever passed me again and I were alone, they might take greater liberties than a simple squeeze of my lovely oranges. He actually laughed, thinking he’d made a little joke.
“I told him it was a silly reason to die. He read the lack of conviction in my voice.
“I asked about the second reason. He looked deep into my eyes, his greens never looking as green as they did that day. Love and respect, he said. Because he respected me, he loved me. And the same was true of me for him. If he’d done nothing, he feared I’d lose respect for him and think him cowardly for not standing up for me to defend my honor. He said he wouldn’t have been able to bear me losing a fraction of esteem for him. His love and devotion to me demanded his action.”
The mother went silent, her eyes misty and distant as she remembered her last moments with her friend, lover and defender.
Jenna laid a hand on her mother’s and spoke softly. “Would you have lost esteem for him?”
“What does it matter, Jenna? He is dead.”
“But was he right?”
“I don’t know. That is the truth. Jenna, my darling, listen well. How far have we come as a species? How far have we progressed as man and women to think that an insult could trigger us to curl into a fetal position, suck our thumbs and render us inoperable? No woman ever died from being called a whore, nor has one ever died by having her oranges squeezed.”
“Nor by having her field plowed by the lord of the land.”
Her mother nodded, wrapping her daughter into a tight embrace and telling her she wished it could be otherwise. But it couldn’t.
In just over a fortnight, the lord of the land began his journey to the small farm to claim his bride. The road to it led to a bridge spanning a deep ravine that divided the inner fiefdom from the outer one. To keep the enemies of the country out, large iron gates with complex locking mechanisms stood sentry at either side of the bridge.
As the lord neared, he tugged on the string nearby to alert the gatekeeper. From just beneath the bridge in a shelter erected partway out over the ravine, a hulking brute emerged. His bulging leg muscles flexed as he ascended the stone steps toward the gate. His deeply tanned flesh exposed to the sun – excepting for wolf-hide boots rising to his knees and beaver-skin briefs held in place by a thick leather belt with a large rectangular metal buckle, its sheen faded – rippled from the motion of the muscles beneath them, one wave leading into another wave.
The lord’s male cohorts giggled at the sight of the nearly nude hulk of a man.
The lord, thinking himself clever, said, “Trolls actually do live beneath bridges.”
“And just like in the myth,” said one of the lord’s men, his voice high-pitched and full of derision, “their faces are as gnarled as a withered willow’s stump.”
“What I wouldn’t give to see his withered stump,” said another man.
The troll-like man seemed not to hear them as he faced the lord, their eyes on the same level since the top of the gatekeeper’s shaved head reached nearly eight feet in height. His thick black beard parted as he spoke, his heavily scarred face not belaying any emotion.
“Payment?” said the troll, the timber of his voice a deep baritone.
“I shall pay you upon my return,” said the lord, using his best impersonation of a man of authority.
The troll simply grunted and turned back to the steps leading beneath the bridge. This incensed the lord. He jumped from the saddle and strode toward the back of the gatekeeper.
“Listen here, Troll. If you do not open the gate for me, my father shall hear of this.”
The brute faced the lord as casually as if confronting a butterfly.
“Your father assigned me this post. Even sons, however bastardly they are, must pay fealty to their fathers.”
Grimacing, the lord said, “If I were a violent man, I’d teach you a lesson about respect.”
“Would you now?” The troll took half a step toward the lord who took a quick step backward, stumbling slightly over his own feet.
The troll grinned. “Perhaps one of your friends would teach me in your stead.”
“No one stands in my stead. Fighting is silly, something only warmongers and fools engage in.”
The gatekeeper nodded. “And yet you hide behind the warmongers and fools conscripted into your father’s armies and were, just now, prepared to call them down upon me. If it weren’t for warmongers and fools like me fighting together, you wouldn’t be alive to speak such nonsense about not believing in violence. What do you think it takes to defend these lands against the barbarians and warlords outside this kingdom who share not the values we have?”
“I’m well-aware of the enemies our land faces. Don’t lecture me.”
“I’m simply asking if you wish your father to disband his army?”
“Not all might comes at the edge of a sword.”
“What other might do you suggest we employ? Do you really believe that our enemies are going to fear the wrath of your male companions who haven’t figured out they are males? Will barbarians really be assuaged by your men’s desire to see their enemies’ withered stumps? If you think so, you don’t truly know the enemy we face. We have a measure of peace because of our mighty army. That’s why they don’t attack us openly on the battlefield. I know our might. I wouldn’t want face the king’s army.”
“I’m happy to know my father conscripted a philosopher into his army.”
“I’ve done my fighting. I’m now a gatekeeper.”
“For one done fighting, you certainly do quite a lot of defending of it.”
“Do you have payment or not?”
The lord dropped some coins into the troll’s hand, promising to speak to the king about the gatekeeper’s rudeness.
After crossing the bridge and passing through the gate on the far side, the lord hurried to collect his bride, looking forward with great anticipation to their consummation night.
The signing over of the rights to property – both human and dirt – completed without great pomp or circumstance, Jenna rode in silence beside the lord. He smiled gayly as he boasted of his estate and the pleasure she was going to receive that evening. She remembered her parent’s nightly passions and wondered if she and her betrothed would match it.
Before long, they reached the bridge. Having been paid upfront this time, the gatekeeper pushed open the massive gates. Once all were on the bridge, he closed the gate then followed the travelers toward the other gate. The lord saw fit to lead the way, keeping his back to the hulking brute, as if trying to send a message that he feared not the trollish male.
On either side of Jenna rode one of the lord’s men. Each leered at her then snickered toward each other. They touched her hair and smelled it, commenting how ripe was her aroma. One announced her to be too thin at the waist and hips. The other replied that at least her bosom was larger than a male’s, to which both feigned sadness.
Jenna remained silent, looking ahead, wondering when the lord would or if he would silence his cohorts. She’d grown tired of his presence beside her and his exuberance about the night to come. Now that he rode ahead, she wished him back by her side.
One of the males beside her ran a finger along her leg, tracing a line from her thigh toward her pelvis. She flicked his hand away as if swatting a fly.
He cooed. “My lord, she is feistier than any of your wenches. I think she’ll be a fun one.”
Without glancing back, the lord replied. “She is not a wench. And she belongs to me.”
The male frowned dramatically, crossing his arms like a toddler being told to stay away from a pie. “Will you not share her?”
“You may have the wenches. You may not have my wife.”
The troll stepped forward from where he trailed the party, making ready to step ahead and open the gate in front.
Without wanting to, the troll glanced sideways past the male toward the angelic face of the woman riding regally atop her steed, her chin high, shoulders back, blonde wavy hair dancing in the breeze, looking as if she hadn’t a trouble in the world. He hadn’t paid her any attention prior, not caring a wit about any in the lord’s party. When his eyes rested upon the visage of Jenna sitting with more grace and dignity than any noble-born lady he’d ever met or fought for, he stirred.
“What say you, troll?” said the male between the brute and the lady. “Does she make your withered stump feel like growing?”
“That is no way to speak in front of a lady,” said the troll, slight menace and warning buried in the tone of his voice.
The male heard it not.
Jenna did. She turned an eye, just an eye, toward the face of the troll, his head even with hers though she sat atop a tall horse bred for speed. Their eyes connected for a moment before she turned her gaze forward again. Though brief, it had been enough for her to see his entire face and the gleam in his eye, as well as the danger hidden behind his countenance. Though brief, that moment’s connection sealed the troll’s fate.
“Really?” said the male again, lips upturned in a sneer. “Are you saying that the sight of these bosoms do nothing for you?” He reached toward Jenna and slid his hand up her ribs.
His hand never reached its target. A slight squeak whimpered through his lips as the troll grabbed him by the neck and lifted him from the saddle, swinging his body over the edge of the bridge, his feet left dangling precariously over the chasm below.
“Your lord told you she was not yours,” said the troll. “Offer the lady an apology.”
The male couldn’t do so if he had wanted to, the troll’s fingers crushing his windpipe, his pale hands slapping uselessly against the monstrous hand that held his life in it.
“Release him at once,” said the lord, looking back with disgust.
“As you command,” said the troll, his grip loosening.
The male’s eyes, if it were possible, widened even more, realizing if the troll let go, only emptiness waited below.
“Put him back in his saddle,” said the lord.
The troll did so. The lord demanded no explanation but rode back toward the guilty party. Using an index finger, the lord motioned for the male to hold out his hand. The lord swatted it. The male let out a pained shriek.
Turning to the troll, the lord said, “She is my property and responsibility. You will accompany us to my keep. My father will soon be there so that I may present my bride to him. You will turn yourself over to his mercy for attacking a man whose father is a powerful ally. Will you go quietly, or shall I send my father’s army to fetch you?”
The troll nodded, agreeing to go with and use his own shackles to keep his wrists bound.
The joviality of the wedding party never returned as they trekked toward the lord’s keep. The male who’d had the brute’s hand around his throat made sure to keep several horses between himself and the troll.
After several hours, the top spires of the lord’s keep came into view. The joviality might have returned had the travelers not needed to pass through a narrow gorge to reach the flat plain upon which loomed the castle.
The troll smelled the ambush too late.
A few arrows sailed from above and the sides to hit several of the horses, maiming them. Since not one man in the lord’s party possessed a weapon, the attackers laughed as they encircled the travelers.
With raised sword, the chieftain shook his head and grinned as he stepped in front of the wedding party, ordering them to dismount. Defiant, the lord refused, promising destruction at the hand of the his father the king’s army. The troll grimaced at the stupidity of the son to invoke the name of his father, announcing to all his value.
Not seeing his error, the son continued, promising the rogues money and valuables if they set him free. Although his promises seemed to be convincing them, the promise of gold alluring, the chieftain’s eyes fell upon Jenna. He stepped toward her, reaching a finger toward her face, pushing her cheek to the side.
“I want her,” said the chieftain.
“She’s my betrothed,” said the lord, his tone sounding bored. “You cannot have her. Unless you wish to purchase her from me.”
“You are in no position to sell. I, however, am in a position to take.”
“I’ll not give you any gold if you take her.”
“Where are your weapons? It seems I have the bargaining power. I’ll let you keep your miserable life if you leave her to me.”
“Don’t threaten my life. My father’s army is waiting in the plains beyond. You know as well as I do, that if you harm me, my father will hunt you down and have you drawn and quartered. You’ve seen that, haven’t you? It’s a lovely sight.”
The chieftain had seen it. He escaped his own sentence for it from his prior kingdom, having been accused of theft and the defiling of young women.
“What is the bargain then?”
“You may keep her or you may have gold upon my return. You shall not have both. Ask your men. Would they rather share gold or this woman? And will you share this woman with them? You may, and your joy might be great, but it will be short-lived. Because you cannot eat from the fruits of her loins. And neither can your women.”
That struck a chord with the chieftain as he suddenly remembered his wife and the other women waiting in the makeshift village in an area unnoticed by the feudal lords.
Not liking his sudden loss of position and the threat to his standing amongst his men, the chieftain grabbed a lock of Jenna’s hair.
“Maybe I’ll have my way with her now, then you can go retrieve gold and have her back upon your return.”
The lord gritted his teeth, feeling suddenly quite angry at the peasant who dared touch property belonging to the lord of the land. Before the lord could give an appropriate reply, another voice interrupted the parlay.
“Leave her be,” said the troll.
The lord, suddenly realizing the great and powerful ally he had with him as well as the terrible tempest contained within the arms of the massive warrior said, “Gatekeeper, be still, please.”
“Gatekeeper,” said the chieftain. “Do you mean that this is the rude troll from under the bridge who wouldn’t let us through. Well, Troll, we found our way in, needing only to go a bit further downstream and cross the shallow waters and mild desert to make it here.”
“Well done,” said the troll. “As I told you then, you had but to pay and I would have opened the gates for you and your families. No one enters for free. Even the son of the lord must pay.”
“It’s true ,” said the lord. “He wouldn’t let me through. Now, if you will kindly let me pass…with my bride, I shall send someone back with your gold. Just this once. In return, you will work lands that I set apart for you to farm. I’ve recently acquired a farm. It comes with a house. You may work that land and submit a fair share of your profits back to me until your debt is repaid. For not even I think those who sneak into my father’s kingdom should be given unchained gold by those who govern the land, especially when that gold comes from the people farming the other lands. If you agree to these terms, I’ll have no need to summon my father.”
These terms were better than anything the chieftain could hope for. But his greed and lust proved greater than his need to provide for his family long term.
“I agree but will keep her until you return.” He pulled Jenna from the saddle.
The lord grunted in frustration, hoping to keep chained a little longer the beast behind him.
“Do not touch my bride, peasant.”
“Peasant?” The chieftain spat his words. “Peasants with swords, we are. You mind your words.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the lord, sounding anything but apologetic. “Hath my choice of verbiage offended thee? You aren’t warriors. Your swords are likely stolen, aren’t they?”
“They are ours and we know how to use them.”
“Holding and wielding are not the same. But let me see if I can find a better word since you don’t like peasants or thieves. Are you artisans?”
“I know nothing about paints.”
“Not artists. Artisans. Someone who makes things with his hands, like pottery or wheels for carriages. No? Carpenters perhaps?” The lord gave the chieftain a moment to look around at his men before continuing. “What about architects? Can you design structures like castles or mills for me? No again. Ok. Apothecaries? Anyone?”
The bandits looked with confusion at one another.
“I’ll explain,” said the lord. “A practitioner of the medical sciences. And I don’t mean an old woman spouting old wives’ tales about using garlic to protect against vampires and evil spirits. Actual sciences. Again, no. Perhaps science like metallurgy? Well, then, what sort of skills did you expect to bring into this land to be a boon to it? You can’t really expect to continue going around robbing from those of us who make a legitimate living, do you? Or expect me or the king won’t eventually find you squatting on our lands and have you thrown out. Perhaps I’ve missed something. Can you harvest grapes from our vineyards, pluck apples and oranges from our orchards, or stand behind a team of oxen pulling a plow and furrow our fields?”
The chieftain brightened. “Yes. We can do that.”
“So that makes you farmers, which makes you peasants.”
The chieftain frowned, his brow narrowing.
Smirking, the lord leaned forward. “But being a peasant is much better than being dead. And since you are a thief accosting the king’s son, you all will either hang or be beheaded. We’ll not feed you in our prisons, nor bury you. The birds of the air will feast off your carrion. That is, unless you release us and take your people to the farm I spoke of. It lies just beyond the bridge. Perhaps one day, when you’ve worked the land to a place of profitability, you’ll enter the gates the proper way and buy a farm under the king’s protection.”
Words are wonderful tools for rational men. But they hold no place of power over those moved by visceral feelings and debased impulses. The chieftain acted the way he’d always done, using guile, deceit and ruthlessness to lead the rabble of men with him…and the women waiting. He cared not for things that belonged to others. He felt all things were owed to him simply because he wanted them. And these sorts of feelings lead men to act irrationally and selfishly.
The chieftain raised his rusted blade to Jenna’s neck. She remained perfectly calm, not willing to be a catalyst – any more than she already was – in the insane world of men.
“She is mine,” said the chieftain. “Unless you wish to see her blood spilled to the ground, you will leave and bring me gold.”
The lord didn’t know if the vibrations he felt were his own or if they stemmed from the troll. The entire ground tremored.
“You do not understand what you are doing, peasant. I alone have captured and shackled the gatekeeper. I do not need weapons, though I could certainly use a sword right now.”
“I don’t need a sword,” said the troll. The lord knew all were doomed.
The troll simply flexed his massive arms. The rusted shackles shattered, the pieces flying from his wrists.
The chieftain froze, the sword in his hand seeming like nothing more than a needle compared to the steel-like muscles encasing the mass of human flesh stalking toward him. One look into the bestial eyes glaring with murder at him, the chieftain forgot about the woman he held as a shield, letting her slip from his grasp.
The troll’s fingers curled into fists, and he pounded them together like hammers upon an anvil, his hardened knuckles meeting no resistance as they smashed through the head of the chieftain between them, scattering skull and brain matter across the stunned faces of his comrades.
Using only his fists, the troll bashed and pounded the dead chieftain’s men, ignoring the tiny slashes in his leathery flesh inflicted by their measly swords.
Seizing the opportunity, the lord spurred his mount forward, trampling any in his way as he made his escape, his cohorts squeaking and crying for him to wait for them as they rushed to follow, some on foot. None looked back to see the fate of the troll and the woman.
Arrows from above slammed into the troll’s broad shoulders. He grunted in annoyance, the arrows not penetrating very deeply. One of the attackers called for the crossbows. More cumbersome to use during a melee attack and with a slower rate of fire, they’d been stowed. Now they were needed.
The troll knelt and grabbed the arms of two half-dead men, flinging their bodied across his back. Keeping the human shields in place with one enormous palm, he grabbed Jenna and held her to his chest as he sprinted down the gorge, the sound of the thwacks of the arrows penetrating the bodies spurring him to greater speed.
Before long, the cries of pursuit lessened. Fearing the way ahead cut off, the troll turned off the main path. Eschewing the bodies of the men, he adjusted his grip on Jenna and climbed a sloped portion of the cliff, reaching the plain above. Resting but a moment, using the time to scan for pursuers, he headed toward the foothills of the mountains beyond.
Jenna had enough of being manhandled. She slapped the top of his head, demanding he stop and put her down. He complied, urging her to keep moving. She shook her head.
He reached to grab her hand.
She slapped him, her strike causing every muscle in his body to turn stone still. Towering over her, she stared unafraid up into his frightened eyes, a lone index finger pointing at him.
“You, Troll, should know better.”
He did. Backing up a step, he apologized for trying to touch her without her permission.
“Not that I am ungrateful, but my is right. I am not your responsibility, Troll. You may not do to me as you will.”
“I am not a troll. And I do have a name.”
“Names are only for those of utmost importance, Mr. Troll.”
She took a step before swooning, collapsing forward. He caught her, his iron arms cushioning her. She did not lose consciousness, nor did she become angry that he held her without her asking to be caught. Looking for the source of her lightheadedness, she saw an arrow protruding from the back of her thigh. He saw it as well.
He eased her to the ground, propping her back up against a smooth stone, placing another under her leg to keep it elevated. A short while later, a fire blazed. He plucked an arrowhead from his shoulder and placed the iron barb into the embers. Jenna tried to rip her dress apart near the wound. He helped, pulling the fabric apart with ease. She frowned at the slit reaching down to her ankles. He apologized, realizing she only wanted a small tear in the fabric.
The arrowhead now red, he removed it, crushing the barbs with his bare fingers, making the tip smooth. She gasped. He grinned and held his fingers up for her inspection. While distracted with studying the tips of them, he ripped the arrow from her thigh. She let out a silent scream and squeezed the fingers she’d been inspecting. Before she could chastise him for not warning her, he plunged the red-hot arrowhead into her wound, the smell of burned flesh stinging his nostrils. In response, the hand not crushing his, slapped him across his cheeks. Not once. Not twice. But thrice, though the third didn’t carry much weight.
He chuckled.
As she reeled back to deal a fourth blow, he pulled the poker from her leg. Her hand suspended hung in the air, the fingers flexing, wishing to hold onto something. He guided her wrist toward the fingers she already clung to. He pressed a compress to the wound to stem any remaining bleeding.
“You, Mr. Troll,” she said through clenched teeth, “are about as gentle as a boulder rolling downhill is to a squirrel asking for a back massage.”
“You should rest.” He flexed his legs to stand. She squeezed his fingers harder, forcing him to remain kneeling.
With a strong steady gaze, she said, “You should return me to my lord.”
The troll looked away from her powerful blues. Of course, he knew he had to. She didn’t belong to him. It didn’t matter his views on whether a woman could belong to anyone. He helped her escape the chieftain and his men of his own volition. She never asked his help. She owned him nothing. He didn’t really expect anything. He didn’t think she’d be so quick to wish to return to the bastard lord.
“When you are able to walk, you may walk back to him.”
Again he moved to stand. Again she forced him to remain kneeling, though now, her fingers barely squeezed his, her force on his hand nothing more than a gentle push of her will against his. Yet he felt powerless to resist.
“Mr. Troll, now…or at least, very soon. The king’s army will be waiting, possibly already deployed in search for me.”
“You believe your lord will bring an army for you?”
“Perhaps not for me alone. But he will feel honor-bound to search for me once they don’t find my remains among those men. His father will demand it. It will be better for you to be seen returning me, rather than an accomplice trying to kidnap me, especially after your actions on the bridge.”
If he didn’t do as she asked and whisked her away to his version of freedom, he’d be no different than the lord. Actually, he’d be worse. For the troll possessed much greater strength than the lord.
Out of logs and bark and grasses, the troll crafted a seat for her that he could strap to his back. Once she was comfortable, he lifted her with ease, putting his arms through the shoulder straps. Besides, he had no lands to offer her. No livestock. No keep. The lord and his pride would not let Jenna go. Perhaps that was his right.
Going at a pace to keep her from bouncing around and causing her pain or damage to her wound, it took an entire day and a half to return to the plain of the lord’s keep.
“There they are,” he said upon reaching the plain and seeing the king’s army laid out before them. “You were right.”
Twisting in her seat, she rested her chin on his shoulder, her hand on his arm, saying nothing as they neared the lord and his king.
An envoy consisting of the lord and several of the king’s heavily armed cavalry as well as some attending maidservants met the duo. The troll knelt, allowing Jenna to disembark. Acting as proper as she could, she thanked the troll with a kind smile and a wink unseen be her lord. The maidservants rushed to gather Jenna onto a horse and take her to safety as the mounted soldiers watched, waiting for the troll to do something untoward.
The lord announced that due to his bravery against the band of brigands, the king and the lord were going to forget about the troll’s aggressive actions at the bridge.
“What about your actions?” said the troll. “You abandoned her.”
“I did not. Do not say such things. I tried to diffuse the situation. Because you went on a murderous rampage, you left me no course but to seek the assistance of my father’s army. There was nothing I could do to help you but die at their hands or yours.”
Taking a deep breath and not understanding fully his motives, the troll asked to speak with the king. The lord seemed amused and sat considering the request. The hulking brute assured the lord the conversation was not about the actions of the lord.
The lord nodded, and the troll followed the armed guards toward the larger contingent of soldiers surrounding the king.
Jenna, having been hurried away, glanced over her shoulder to watch the troll leave only to see him not leaving. She exhaled a curse, her shoulders slumping. She knew exactly what was going to happen and knew she was as powerless as her mother had been to stop it.
She ordered the maidservants to a halt and watched the troll bow in the presence of the king, who grinned unsteadily at his former conscript. It seemed the king understood the true measure of the troll-like man.
“It is good to see you again. Are you wishing to take up arms for me again?” The troll shook his head. The king furrowed his brow. “Then I am troubled. Men like us don’t wish to simply speak to one another unless we have great cause to do so.”
The troll pointed past the king toward the guilty male cowering the son. Following the direction of his pointing, the king, his face scrunched in thought, turned back to the troll.
“I must admit, I am at a loss.”
“That man,” said the troll, “assaulted and defiled the honor of the lady Jenna. No redress has been brought upon him.”
“Even if that is true , how does this concern you?”
“I wish to enact redress against him.”
The king paused, as if considering it. The guilty male squeaked again, hiding his lips behind a kerchief. The king, however, was not considering the troll’s request. He was considering the consequences of denying the troll his redress, gauging how far the troll was prepared to go. Of course, the king knew. He knew upon seeing the troll come to a standstill before him. In an attempt to calm the storm building inside the troll, the king ordered the guilty male forward. Just as his son had, the king used an index finger to order to male to hold out his hand. The male obeyed, his hand shaking as he extended it.
With a smooth motion, the kind drew his sword and severed the male’s wrist. He let out a squeak before collapsing, his male companions rushing to his side.
“Will that suffice?” said the king, wiping the blood from his blade, returning it to its scabbard. “I pray that it will.”
The troll gave a small nod.
A thin grin graced the king’s and he visibly relaxed, thinking he’d cleverly avoided a deadly situation.
The troll raised his hand again, pointing this time toward the king’s son.
The smile fled the king’s face and he scowled. “What has my son done to you?”
“He allowed the transgression to take place against the lady he swore to protect. He did nothing! Is this the land that you govern? A land that will do nothing when its women are accosted by men, especially by ones who are confused about being men? You have pardoned a man who betrayed his lord and dishonored his betrothed. What is a lost hand compared to the lost sanctity of the lady?”
“I’ll not argue. I know there is no placating you. You wish the hand of my son? Is that it?”
“I wish his head.”
The king lifted a finger, a small gesture followed by a hundred archers arming their crossbows. “Is this really what you desire? These men before you have families. Do you really wish to kill them because of your misplaced rage?”
“I wish to kill no one, my king. I desire to die for someone. But if you are concerned for them, let me fight your son. Let him fight in their stead. He boasted to me that no one fights in his.”
“But you are several times larger than he. It would not be a fair fight.”
“I am but one. Your army are many. Yet I am willing to fight all of them. What do you think the odds are in that? Besides, your son must think very highly of his prowess and strength. For he also voiced a desire to one day teach me a lesson.”
The king exhaled. Many were the times he’d tried to teach his son about the danger of letting loose his tongue. Perhaps this was the day the lesson would truly be learned.
“I leave the decision to my son.”
The son’s jaw fell open, words not coming out right away. He stared at his father then glared at the troll. “I told you. I’m not a violent man.”
“Neither am I. As you can see, I still have no weapon. But neither am I a coward.”
“You are mad. What do you think will happen? If you kill me, do you think that will make you lawfully free to take my bride? My family owns her whether I live or not.”
“It matters not to me.”
“Do you think she is a prize to be won?”
“You’re stalling.”
“Even if she did flee with you, how will you care for her? How will you feed her as you run all over Christendom with her? Will you give her children?”
“I will give her nothing that she doesn’t already possess.”
“Now you are more than a philosopher. You’re a poet. I hate poets.”
“I hate cowards, especially ones who hide behind the skirts of their betrothed.”
The son scowled. “You really do wish violence, don’t you?”
“We’re all capable of violence, my lord. But not all violence comes by the edge of a sword. You possess a weapon sharper than any two-edged sword.”
“Very well, Troll.” The lord extended his hand. “Father, give me your sword.”
The king set the hilt into his son’s hand, giving him a nod, then turned to face the troll.
“You sure you won’t change your mind?” said the king. “Is this truly what you desire?”
“It is, my king,” said the troll.
In deference to the warrior, the king bowed his head and, with great sincerity, wished the warrior a good death before turning his horse away from the monstrous man making ready to battle his son. He couldn’t understand why his father suddenly had so much faith in him.
Emboldened by this, the lord stood facing the troll, thinking the odds better than previously imagined.
The troll clenched his fists, all his muscles flexing, bulging, the very action causing those around to back up.
The troll charged the lord, who couldn’t believe the events beginning to transpire. The troll swung a mighty fist. The lord ducked and rolled to the side, gaining his feet quickly, pointing a shaky blade toward the troll. The troll swung his other fist. The lord ducked and rolled again, this time slashing the back of the troll’s calf muscle as he passed.
The troll grunted, grinning back at the blood seeping out. “Not bad. Tell me, will you be good to her?”
“What the blazes sort of question is that? She’s not your responsibility!”
The troll dove, both arms outstretched. The lord dropped to his back, the mass of monstrous flesh flying over him. The troll landed in a ball, rising to his feet as the lord jumped to his.
The lord slashed toward the troll’s chest. He blocked it with his forearm. The lord pulled the blade back, amazed at how little damage he could inflict on the beast.
The troll chuckled. “It is every man’s concern, my lord.”
“She is mine alone. What madness has possessed you?” The lord attacked again, not wanting to wait for the troll to go on the offensive.
Jenna watched the battle. Shaking her head, she whispered aloud for him to stop. She didn’t understand why he was doing what he was doing. There was no possible way he could win. Bravery, she thought, sometimes seems stupid. Sometimes it does seem silly. She cringed each time a blow was landed or missed, wishing it to be over.
The lord dodged, slashing again at the troll’s leg, this time hitting him behind the knee.
The troll cried out in pain and stumbled, falling to a knee.
“When will you give up this madness?” said the lord.
“When will you give her up?”
“Never.”
“Then you had better run.” So saying, the troll rose easily, towering over the puny form of the lord. Not waiting to be told again, the lord sprinted and leaped into the saddle. Atop one of his fastest steeds, he bolted toward the line of soldiers. They parted as he galloped into their midst then swallowed him, giving the archers a clean line of sight toward the angry man turned beast.
The troll let out a deep, guttural growl as he charged the army.
The archers let fly their bolts. Throwing his forearms up like shields and crouching low, many arrows flew past. Many more penetrated his arms. Crushing the fletches against his legs, he bore down on the first line of defense as a second volley of arrows from the second wave of archers sped toward their target. Not wishing to break stride, the troll threw a palm in front of his face. Several arrows went straight throw his hand, their power and design built to penetrate thick armor. Most of the other arrows spattered his body from many angles, some puncturing a lung, others burying themselves to the bone in his thighs and biceps.
Still he moved forward, though his pace much slower now.
The king’s line held their ground, having trained and battled against galloping horses and beasts much greater. As he neared, they raised their spears. The troll could do nothing against them as several skewered him, dropping him to his knees.
Jenna could remain still no longer. Pushing the maidservants from her horse, she spurred the mount toward the dying troll. He struggled to dislodge the spears, using tremendous force to rip the shafts from the hands of the spear bearers. However, when one man lost his weapon, another from behind stepped forward to take his place, another spear at the ready.
The troll somehow made it to his feet only to have the back of his legs slashed by a passing cavalry soldier. As the other soldiers closed in on him, Jenna burst through their midst, leaping from her horse and throwing herself against the dying warrior.
The king ordered his soldiers to stand down. They obeyed instantly, leaving the two alone.
Tears falling down her cheeks, she hugged the bloody brute and cursed him with soft whispers, begging him to tell her why he would battle this way and die.
“My lady,” he said, struggling for air, “I have fought for freedom and for gold. I’ve battled for glory and for pride. I’ve warred for wenches and the pleasures derived. I grew tired of it all.”
“But why now?”
“Because I found treasure worth dying for.”
“You stupid, stupid man. I am not a treasure. You know that.”
“You possess the greatest treasure, my lady. There can be nothing greater to die for than the tears of a woman.”
Jenna nodded though she didn’t understand him. Perhaps she never would. “You have my tears, Troll. But what have you left for me? Don’t say your life. What good is your death to me? I can’t use it.”
“You will.” The warrior said no more but breathed his last.
Jenna’s betrothed rode up and demanded she leave with him.
She nodded, taking her time to obey. The lord grabbed her arm, ordering her away from the troll.
She slapped her betrothed.
He grimaced and clenched his fist. “We’ll have a serious conversation when we return to the castle…after we’ve consummated.”
“My lord,” she said aloud for all to hear, a bright grin on her lips, “I look forward to my consummation night. I really do. But let me make this clear to you, do not ever touch me without my permission.” She mounted her steed, sneering at the lord’s cohorts hiding behind him. “And keep your confused males away from me, or I’ll take an axe and hew their withered stumps.”
With a flick of the reins and a click or her tongue, Jenna galloped toward the keep, her maidservants following in her wake.
As the lord studied the face of the man dead by a hundred arrows and many spears, the king reined his mount beside his son.
“All these years I sought to make you into a man and all it took was the will of a woman. And a little bit of help from a monstrous mountain of a man.” The king shook his head as he gazed at the dead troll-like warrior. “Such a waste. Such a shame.”
“Did you know?”
“What?”
“About the troll?”
The king shrugged. “I do not know to what you refer.”
The son raised his eyes to watch his lady gallop toward his keep.
The king followed his gaze. “She is worth dying for, don’t you think? I like her.”
“You can’t have her, Father,” said the son, climbing into the saddle. “She belongs to me.”
Shaking his head and glancing one last time at the dead brute. the king let out an exacerbated breath. “My son, have you learned nothing today? She can only belong to someone she chooses to belong to.” The king stared directly into his son’s eyes and said, “Today, she belongs to a troll.”
Transport yourself to another era and appreciate when Chivalry was not dead. The story rolls on like a film short that draws in the reader. Michael's use of language helps set the scene in the distant past. The ending illustrates how women, though the weaker sex, show strength in subtle ways.
Taerak's Void
(Book One of Fantastica)
A new series by multiple award winning author, M. R. Mathias
After finding a strange medallion and some maps with markings that no one in his village can understand, Braxton Bray decides to
Ragged and weary from their previous ordeals, Braxton and his motley crew of elves, dwarves, and humans, set off into the Wilderkind Forest in search of the Sapphire of Souls. The problem is, the last time anyone saw the powerful gem was over a hundr
Through a series of hypnosis past life regression sessions Sarah Thompson is reunited with her past life soul mate from her Lemurian lifetime on Mu. She is convinced he is waiting for her on the island of Maui which is one of the last remaining above
