Fantasy Shorts: The Tale of Ser Roger and the Bridge of Woe

“Whoa,” shouted Ser Roger to his horse.

The horse whinnied to a halt, stamping the earth nervously. Before Roger laid an unassuming stone bridge stretched over a steep gully. By Roger’s recall, this was the place of his quarry. Indeed, Baron Mendacent had seemed most terrified when he beseeched King Faulgrist to send his finest knight here to rid his demesne of some unknown horror that had taken residence.

Roger dismounted, his plate and chainmail making an awful racket as he stood. He unsheathed his sword and crept carefully towards the bridge. The forest was quiet, too quiet.

Only a heartbeat later, a massive terrifying creature lept forth from beneath the bridge’s arch and bounded up the slope. Within seconds, it was standing next to Roger, a monstrous troll.

“HOOM, HOOM, HOOM,” it said, then hacking up a loogie, “sorry, just a moment… HUMAN! Anyone who approaches my bridge must answer…”

Roger held up his hand, “YOUR bridge? This is his majesty’s bridge on his majesty’s land!”

The troll laughed, then grinned mischievously, “Well, last I checked, Metal Man, it was my grand-pappy who built this here bridge with his bare mitts, not no majesties of yours! And anyone who sets foot on my bridge must answer my riddle or pay the toll!”

Roger held his sword en guarde, “What sort of toll, Troll?”

“Your horse.”

“My… horse?”

The troll looked offended, “What? I like horses! Especially roasted over maplewood with a little sage and butter… why?”

Roger gulped awkwardly, “No, I just thought it would be more… human-y, you know…”

“Too stringy…”

“Ah, makes sense… So why would you ask for a riddle?” asked Roger.

“You see, it gets lonely living under a bridge in the middle of the woods. It’s not like there are other trolls around. I like conversation…” said the troll.

Roger nodded, stroking his chin, “Well, how about this? If I answer your riddle wrong, you get to eat my horse and keep your bridge. But if I answer right, then the bridge becomes his majesty's and you become the royal toll collector for the bridge. Do we have a deal?”

The troll looked amused and confident, “On my mother’s grave, yes we do.”

The two shook hands, and thunder rolled in the distance. The oath was made.

The troll spoke, “What walks on four legs at…”

“Man,” Roger immediately spoke.

“Won’t you at least let me finish?” said the troll, forlorn.

“It’s ‘man’, it’s an old riddle.” shrugged Roger.

“My grand-pappy taught it to me…”

Roger officiated the troll on the spot, and gave him a stylish hat that read, ‘Royal Toll Collector’. The troll lived happily ever after in his new job as a toll collector, and never lacked for conversation. Ser Roger went on to other adventures throughout the realm as his fame grew, but that is a tale for another day.

This ends the tale of Ser Roger and the Bridge of Woe.

***

This piece is submitted as an entry into Matthew Fromm's High Fantasy Challenge.

I owe a special thank you to Amanda Starks for the lovely cover art and for her invaluable editing advice. You can find her submission here:

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