The Elf, the Trollgood and the Magic Sword

The Elf, the Trollgood and the Magic Sword

© 2008 Ian G Hobson

Ripley was on his way home. He had been staying with his cousins in the north, and after a detour to the east, to visit his great-aunt Mistledyne, he was travelling south along woodland routes, known only to a few. Being an elf, he loved the woods and was not looking forward to leaving them for a while, in order to cross the Planes of Insul, but he knew that this would save him a day's journey.

'When you come to the Planes of Insul,' his great-aunt Mistledyne had told him, 'look for two rocks that stand like sentinels. Pass to the left of each and continue in a straight line to join a narrow road that leads over a bridge and then on to the Forest of Bow. I've not been that way for a long time, but I'm sure that the bridge will still be there. But be sure to find it, as there is no other safe way to cross the Devil's Crevasse.'

And this was good advice, because the Devil's Crevasse was a huge crack in the earth that ran for at least a day's journey from east to west, and though in places it looked narrow enough to jump across, those that had tried had fallen into the crevasse and never been seen again.

Naturally, the bridge had been built at one of the places where the crack in the earth was at its narrowest, and it was sturdily built from stone, and just wide enough for a horse and cart. So, when the elf arrived at the bridge, he stepped onto it without a second thought, stopping only to peer over the edge and down into the depths of the crevasse. But it was then that he was taken by surprise, as an ugly creature leapt out from under the bridge and barred his way.

The creature, as you may have guessed, was a kind of troll: a trollgood to be precise. Not that there was anything good about him, for he was, in fact, a rather nasty creature, with huge hairy hands and feet, and a face that resembled a knobbly old piece of wood. And he had recently taken up residence in a cave beneath the bridge so that he could waylay unwary travellers and relieve them of their valuables.

'Who is this that tries to cross my bridge,' he asked, in a deep and rather odd voice that seemed to come as much from his nose as it did from his mouth. Quite startled, the elf took a step backwards before answering.

'I'm Ripley,' he replied, in a light and almost musical tone, 'and I'm on my way home.'

The trollgood pulled and even uglier face, grimacing as though he had just bitten into a rotten apple and, with his nasal voice, he said, 'Well, Master Ripley, you have to pay before you can cross my bridge. I'll take sliver or gold, whichever you have.'

'But I have neither,' said Ripley, putting his hands into his pockets and pulling them inside-out to show that he had nothing at all.

'But you must have something!' exclaimed the trollgood. He was almost a head taller than Ripley, though his stature was somewhat crooked, and his head tilted to one side as he examined the elf closely. 'What about that hat you are wearing?'

Ripley wore a cocked hat made of the finest green velvet. 'But my hat would not fit you,' he said. He offered his hat to the trollgood who tried to pull it onto his head, but without success. 'Just as I thought,' said Ripley, 'your head is far too big for it... What is your name, anyway?'

'My name?' said the trollgood, handing back the elf's hat. 'It's Snuffler; not that that's any of your business.' He bent forward slightly, eyeing Ripley's shoes. 'What about them shoes?' he asked, pointing. 'I could use a pair like that.'

Ripley's shoes were made of the finest, soft, red leather, and came to a point at the toes. 'But these shoes would not fit you, Mister Snuffler,' he said, placing his foot next to the trollgood's. 'See, your feet are far too big for them... Where do you live, anyway?'

'Where do I live?' Snuffler replied. 'I live in a cave under the bridge: not that that's any business of yours.' He looked closely at Ripley's coat and felt the material around the collar with a thumb and forefinger. 'Well what about your coat, then? It feels nice and soft and would help to keep me warm on cold nights, and I'm sure I could squeeze into it.'

Ripley's coat was woven from the finest wool and dyed a beautiful shade of autumn gold. 'But I don't think my coat would fit you, Mister Snuffler,' he said. He slipped off his coat and held it up for the trollgood to try on, but Snuffler couldn't even get his fist into one of the sleeves. 'No, just as I thought, it's far too small for you,' said the elf. 'But, anyway, what do you eat?' He looked over the side of the bridge and down into the crevasse again. 'There can be nothing down there to eat but spiders.'

Snuffler pulled another excruciatingly ugly face, showing the gaps between his crooked, brown teeth – it was the closest he could come to smiling. 'I eats travellers,' he replied. 'Them what can't pay to cross my bridge. I ate one this morning; he was a dwarf, and though he had gold in his pocket, he refused to pay, so I ate him; which is why I'm not too hungry right now, but if you go on talking for much longer, I will be.'

It was then that the trollgood noticed the short sword that sat neatly in a leather sheath that hung from Ripley's belt. 'Now there's something I could use,' he said, pointing to it with a big, hairy index finger. 'You can pay me with that, and right sharpish, with no more of your silly questions, or else I'll snap you in half and eat a bit now and save the rest for later.' He flexed the muscles in his huge, hairy arms, as if to show that snapping an elf in half would be easy.

'Well, I suppose I could give you my sword,' said Ripley as he put his coat back on, 'though it was a present from my father.'

As he touched the sword, running his fingers over its carved, wooden hilt, he remembered his father's words. 'Keep this with you on your journey, but never take it out of the scabbard; for there is magic inside it, magic that might save your life one day.'

Reluctantly, Ripley unfastened his belt, slipping the sheathed sword off the end and handing it to the trollgood, who immediately pulled it from the sheath and examined it closely. It was a most unusual sword, as its narrow blade had a greenish tinge to it and curved gently from left to right, forming an elongated S-shape, while its hilt, also green and gently curved, had a bulbous end with two small dimples that looked rather like eyes.

'Huh, this sword's not even straight,' said Snuffler, testing the sharpness of the blade against his thumb. 'And it's blunt! What's the good of a bent sword with blade what's blunt?' He threw both the sword and the leather sheath to the ground and then set his hands on his hips and stared malevolently at Ripley. 'You have done nothing but waste my time, elf, but at least I've got my appetite back, and I think you'll do very nicely for my supper.' And with that, he grabbed hold of Ripley with his huge, hairy hands, opened his mouth wide, and was about to take a bite out of Ripley's neck, when he stopped.

'What's that?' Snuffler asked, as he felt something slither across his right foot, and then, 'Arrrrgh!' He uttered a very loud scream, and let Ripley fall from his hands, as he realised that a snake had sunk its fangs into his ankle. 'Arrrrgh!' He screamed again, hopping up and down on one foot, while shaking the other foot to rid himself of the snake. It was a long thin snake, and a poisonous one and, although it soon let go, the poison was already taking effect, and the trollgood staggered backwards and fell over the side of the bridge and into the crevasse, and was never seen again.

Ripley, sitting where he had been dropped, had watched with astonishment, but he was even more astonished to see that the snake had slithered back into its sheath and turned into a sword once more.

'Thank you, father,' he said with a smile. Then he got to his feet, picked up his magic sword and set off for home.