Charming, Volume 1 by Jack Heckel

Author:Jack Heckel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Tolling the Troll

IN THE DAYS after the death of the dragon, a great many vile and noxious monsters came out of hiding, in part no longer afraid of becoming a treat for the dragon, and in part out of a desire to replace her in legend. For Gnarsh the Troll, it was the latter reason that brought him down out of a mountain cave where he had been lurking in semi-­retirement for the better part of a decade.

Though he was a fearsome sight—­fit to haunt nightmares—­in the time of the dragon no one cared a whit about trolls generally, or about Gnarsh more particularly. Nothing seemed to impress the perpetually terrified and increasingly jaded peasants of the kingdom, not his long daggerlike talons, nor his great glowing googly eyes, nor his maw of bone-­yellow pointed teeth dripping with fetid dark spittle that oozed and stank, nor his mottled green and black scaled flesh, nor even his imposing massive boulder-­like size. There was just no way to compete with the dragon’s flames, razor-­sharp claws, and swordlike teeth.

It hadn’t been right, not at all.

Now things would be different. The dragon was dead. The news had spread across the land and even reached his mountain refuge. It was his time, the time of Gnarsh. Of course, he well knew that he couldn’t simply terrorize the nearest village and hope to replace the dragon as the most fearsome monster in the land. These things took time—­it was all about location and marketing and of course who you ate.

Still, his comeback had started out pretty well, all things considered. He had found a bridge, a sturdy wide wooden bridge along an old road, over a deep rushing river, just at the edge of a dark forest. Though not a busy thoroughfare, it was the perfect place to build a reputation without putting himself at risk of being skewered. The fact is after so much time off, he wasn’t in the best of shape. This quiet, secluded bridge would be exactly the sort of place where he could slowly grow his standing among the ranks of menacing beasties. Once his stature was assured, and paunch reduced, he could move to a more high-­profile bridge and demand tolls of food or gold or virgins, depending on his mood, and spend the rest of his days lounging in the shadows, dangling his feet in the swift waters, and feeding his pet fish.

He liked fish. They were so elegantly slimy.

His great dream, of course, was to attack Castle White, to hear the screams of the men and women echoing through those stone corridors, to be the horror to the ­people that the dragon had been. A repulsive smile stretched across his face as he imagined the scene. The knights would flee in terror before him, then he would help himself to a light luncheon of any maidens that remained, and then Gnarsh the Troll, pleasantly satisfied, would retire to the moat to feed the goldfish there. In time,

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