Troll Bridge

'One of them's in the bridge business, though,' said Cohen.

'Bridge business? Sitting in a box all day charging people a silver piece to walkacross? Half the time he ain't even there! He just pays some dwarf to take the money. And he calls himself a troll! You can't tell him from a human till you're right up close!'

Cohen nodded understandingly.

'D'you know,' said the troll, 'I have to go over and have di

He turned a big, sad face to Cohen.

'What's wrong with being a troll under a bridge?' he said. 'I was brought up to be a troll under a bridge. I want young Scree to be a troll under a bridge after I'm gone. What's wrong with that? You've got to have trolls under bridges. Otherwise, what's it all about? What's it all for?'

They leaned morosely on the parapet, looking down into the white water.

'You know,' said Cohen slowly, 'I can remember when a man could ride all the way from here to the Blade Mountains and never see another living thing.' He fingered his sword. 'At least not for very long.'

He threw the butt of his cigarette into the water. 'It's all farms now. All little farms, run by little people. And fences everywhere. Everywhere you look, farms and fences and little people.'

'She's right, of course,' said the troll, continuing some interior conversation. 'There's no future in just jumping out from under a bridge.'

'I mean,' said Cohen, 'I've got nothing against farms. Or farmers. You've got to have them. It's just that they used to be a long way off, around the edges. Now this is the edge.'

'Pushed back all the time,' said the troll. 'Changing all the time. Like my brother-in-law Chert. A lumber mill! A troll ru

Cohen looked up, surprised.

'What, the one with the giant spiders in it?'

'Spiders? There ain't no spiders now. Just stumps.'

'Stumps? Stumps? I used to like that forest. It was... well, it was darksome. You don't get proper darksome any more. You really knew what terror was, in a forest like that.'

'You want darksome? He's replanting with spruce,' said Mica.

'Spruce!'

'It's not his idea. He wouldn't know one tree from another. That's all down to Clay. He put him up to it.'

Cohen felt dizzy. 'Who's Clay?'

'I said I'd got three brothers-in-law, right? He's the merchant. So he said replanting would make the land easier to sell.'

There was a long pause while Cohen digested this.

Then he said, 'You can't sell Cutshade Forest. It doesn't belong to anyone.'

'Yeah. He says that's why you can sell it.'

Cohen brought his fist down on the parapet. A piece of stone detached itself and tumbled down into the gorge.

'Sorry,' he said.

'That's all right. Bits fall off all the time, like I said.'

Cohen turned. 'What's happening? I remember all the big old wars. Don't you? You must have fought.'

'I carried a club, yeah.'

'It was supposed to be for a bright new future and law and stuff. That's what people said.'

'Well, I fought because a big troll with a whip told me to,' said Mica, cautiously. 'But I know what you mean.'

'I mean it wasn't for farms and spruce trees. Was it?'

Mica hung his head. 'And here's me with this apology for a bridge. I feel really bad about it,' he said, 'you coming all this way and everything...'

'And there was some king or other,' said Cohen, vaguely, looking at the water. 'And I think there were some wizards. But there was a king. I'm pretty certain there was a king. Never met him. You know?' He gri

About half an hour later Cohen's horse emerged from the gloomy woods on to a bleak, windswept moorland. It plodded on for a while before saying, 'All right... how much did you give him?'

'Twelve gold pieces,' said Cohen.

'Why'd you give him twelve gold pieces?'

'I didn't have more than twelve.'

'You must be mad.'

'When I was just starting out in the barbarian hero business,' said Cohen, 'every bridge had a troll under it. And you couldn't go through a forest like we've just gone through without a dozen goblins trying to chop your head off.' He sighed, 'I wonder what happened to 'em all?'

'You,' said the horse.

'Well, yes. But I always thought there'd be some more. I always thought there's be some more edges.'

'How old are you?' said the horse.

'Du

'Old enough to know better, then.'

'Yeah. Right.' Cohen lit another cigarette and coughed until his eyes watered.

'Gone soft in the head!'

'Yeah.'

'Giving your last dollar to a troll!'

'Yeah.' Cohen wheezed a stream of smoke at the sunset.

'Why?'

Cohen stared at the sky. The red glow was as cold as the slopes of hell. An icy wind blew across the steppes, whipping at what remained of his hair. 'For the sake of the way things should be,' he said.

'Hah!'

'For the sake of things that were.'

'Hah!'

Cohen looked down.

He gri

'And for three addresses. One day I'm going to die,' he said, 'but not, I think, today.'

The air blew off the mountains, filling the air with fine ice crystals. It was too cold to snow. In weather like this wolves came down into villages, trees in the heart of the forest exploded when they froze. Except there were fewer and fewer wolves these days, and less and less forest.

In weather like this right-thinking people were indoors, in front of the fire.

Telling stories about heroes.