the towering walls, wondering what secrets were hidden there. Several men scaled those walls, but none returned.
‘And then one night the gates opened. And the people saw...‘ At that moment the white face of a Vampyre appeared in front of my eyes, his teeth white, the canines long and sharp and hollow. I screamed and fell back, toppling from my chair. Megan’s laughter filled the cabin as I scrambled up, embarrassed and yet still fearful, my heart hammering.
‘That was unkind,’ I admonished her.
‘But wondrously entertaining.’ Her smile faded and she spread her hands. ‘I am sorry, Owen. I could not resist it.’
‘You had me convinced the tale was true. You are a fine storyteller.’
‘Oh, it was true,’ she said. ‘Have you not heard of Golgoleth and the Vampyre Kings? Two thousand years ago these lands knew great terror and tragedy. For the prince, Golgoleth, had returned as a creature of darkness, a Vampyre. He tainted the souls of his brothers, joining them to him and bringing them the dark joys of the Undead. And then the evil spread throughout the city, and ultimately throughout the land.’
‘I have heard of Golgoleth,’ I told her. ‘It is a tale to frighten naughty children: Be good or Golgoleth will come for you. But I doubt the truth of the story as it is now told. I see him as an evil man and a practitioner of the Black Arts, but not as an undying immortal feasting on blood.’
‘He did not feast on blood, poet, but on innocence. But perhaps you are right. Perhaps it was fable.’
Talons scraped upon the wood of the roof and I leapt from my seat. Then an owl hooted and I heard the flapping of wings in the night.
‘Just fable,’ said Megan, smiling, her eyes mocking. ‘Will you sleep now - or perhaps you need a stroll into the forest? It is very pleasant in the moonlight.’
I grinned then and shook my head. ‘I think I will just go to sleep - and save my walk for the dawn.’
*
Spring came early, the thaw swelling the mountain streams, bright beautiful flowers growing on the hillsides. It was on the third day of spring that Garik’s sheep were slaughtered, and great excitement followed. Huge tracks were found near the two butchered animals and Wulf, the senior woodsman, pronounced them to be Troll-spoor.
There were three of the creatures, likely a mated pair with a cub. They were far from the Troll passes, the high cold peaks of the north-west, and it was rare, Wulf informed me, to find the beasts so far south.
The men of the village armed themselves with bow, spear and axe and set off in pursuit. I went with them, for I had never seen a Troll and was anxious to increase my knowledge. There are many tales of the beasts in legend, almost all of them involving the kidnap and eating of children or maidens. But in all my long life I have never come across a recorded incident where Trolls feasted on human flesh.
We followed the trail for two days as it wound higher into the mountains. One of the beasts walked with a limp - probably the male, pronounced Wulf, for his track was the largest. Often the cub’s spoor would disappear for long periods, but this, I was told, only showed that the female was carrying him.
On the second night we came upon the remains of their camp-fire, the ashes surrounded by splintered sheep’s bones.
‘No point looking for them in the dark,’ said Wulf, settling down beside the dead fire and building a fresh blaze upon the remains. There were ten men besides myself and Wulf in the hunting party, and they stretched out around the fire and began to talk of better days. Garik the Baker was there, and Lanis the Tanner. The others I forget.
‘Have you ever seen a Troll?’ I asked Wulf, as we sat together. The hunchback nodded.
‘The last time was ten years ago, up in the high country. Big fellow he was, grey as a rock, with tusks curling up from his jaw, just like a boar. I didn’t have my bow strung at that moment and so we just stood and looked at
‘And then one night the gates opened. And the people saw...‘ At that moment the white face of a Vampyre appeared in front of my eyes, his teeth white, the canines long and sharp and hollow. I screamed and fell back, toppling from my chair. Megan’s laughter filled the cabin as I scrambled up, embarrassed and yet still fearful, my heart hammering.
‘That was unkind,’ I admonished her.
‘But wondrously entertaining.’ Her smile faded and she spread her hands. ‘I am sorry, Owen. I could not resist it.’
‘You had me convinced the tale was true. You are a fine storyteller.’
‘Oh, it was true,’ she said. ‘Have you not heard of Golgoleth and the Vampyre Kings? Two thousand years ago these lands knew great terror and tragedy. For the prince, Golgoleth, had returned as a creature of darkness, a Vampyre. He tainted the souls of his brothers, joining them to him and bringing them the dark joys of the Undead. And then the evil spread throughout the city, and ultimately throughout the land.’
‘I have heard of Golgoleth,’ I told her. ‘It is a tale to frighten naughty children: Be good or Golgoleth will come for you. But I doubt the truth of the story as it is now told. I see him as an evil man and a practitioner of the Black Arts, but not as an undying immortal feasting on blood.’
‘He did not feast on blood, poet, but on innocence. But perhaps you are right. Perhaps it was fable.’
Talons scraped upon the wood of the roof and I leapt from my seat. Then an owl hooted and I heard the flapping of wings in the night.
‘Just fable,’ said Megan, smiling, her eyes mocking. ‘Will you sleep now - or perhaps you need a stroll into the forest? It is very pleasant in the moonlight.’
I grinned then and shook my head. ‘I think I will just go to sleep - and save my walk for the dawn.’
*
Spring came early, the thaw swelling the mountain streams, bright beautiful flowers growing on the hillsides. It was on the third day of spring that Garik’s sheep were slaughtered, and great excitement followed. Huge tracks were found near the two butchered animals and Wulf, the senior woodsman, pronounced them to be Troll-spoor.
There were three of the creatures, likely a mated pair with a cub. They were far from the Troll passes, the high cold peaks of the north-west, and it was rare, Wulf informed me, to find the beasts so far south.
The men of the village armed themselves with bow, spear and axe and set off in pursuit. I went with them, for I had never seen a Troll and was anxious to increase my knowledge. There are many tales of the beasts in legend, almost all of them involving the kidnap and eating of children or maidens. But in all my long life I have never come across a recorded incident where Trolls feasted on human flesh.
We followed the trail for two days as it wound higher into the mountains. One of the beasts walked with a limp - probably the male, pronounced Wulf, for his track was the largest. Often the cub’s spoor would disappear for long periods, but this, I was told, only showed that the female was carrying him.
On the second night we came upon the remains of their camp-fire, the ashes surrounded by splintered sheep’s bones.
‘No point looking for them in the dark,’ said Wulf, settling down beside the dead fire and building a fresh blaze upon the remains. There were ten men besides myself and Wulf in the hunting party, and they stretched out around the fire and began to talk of better days. Garik the Baker was there, and Lanis the Tanner. The others I forget.
‘Have you ever seen a Troll?’ I asked Wulf, as we sat together. The hunchback nodded.
‘The last time was ten years ago, up in the high country. Big fellow he was, grey as a rock, with tusks curling up from his jaw, just like a boar. I didn’t have my bow strung at that moment and so we just stood and looked at
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