The Bravery of Braiden

A Story by JAParkins

Short fantasy story about a soldier on his return from war, where he happens upon a troll.

Braiden stooped over the mossy cliff edge. His crossbow pointed into the river below. The long march from war had been six weeks of hikes and little rest but the habits that had kept him alive through the winter wars were not going to let him down now. Not when they were so close to home.

Fine drizzle pattered against his mail armour; his view of the valley aided by the brightness of the moon through a rare gap in the clouds. Behind him was a forest of thick trees where his unit awaited news.

Home. How he longed to see it again. Two years gone. Would anyone be able to recognise him? He was just a boy when he left, but the wars had aged him. Not only was his face gnarled from that time a surgeon stitched it back together, his eyes had a sunken darkness about them. Like they were trying to back away into his skull and hide in the recesses of his mind. What would he say to people when he got there? How would he describe the death of his brethren? Or the burning cold of winter assassinating countless in their sleep? Might some dare to call him a hero? He shuddered at the thought.

Suddenly, a distant rumble filtered through the air. Braiden turned towards the deep overhanging arches of the bridge which crossed the river. He scanned the darkness for a glance of the source and noticed a horror so terrifying he froze still.

A troll. No - a pair of trolls. This far from the mountains. What could bring them here, he wondered. He felt another rumble and saw one of the trolls was curled over, in distress. The other was knelt next to it. It was comforting it, like a husband taking care of his wife in �" childbirth! Well, Braiden never thought he would see such a sight. He should have been terrified, but he knew he was high and far away enough to not be concerned.

But what of his men?

The other soldiers were not like him. Many enjoyed the darkness of war. In some it revealed an inhumanity which Braiden felt was far more brutal and beyond the pale than any monster he encountered. Especially his commanding officer, Devlonus.

Devlonus the Devil he was named. If he caught sight of these trolls, he would take great pride in murdering them. Unless, thought Braiden, he didn’t know about them. If they could somehow get passed the bridge without anyone noticing?

He heard a whistle from behind, the soldiers were awaiting his report. He knew what he had to do. When he went back, he did not tell about the trolls. Instead he lied and said the bridge was on the verge of collapse. It was old, damaged by floodwater and age, not worth losing one’s life to so close to home. There would be another a mile or two further upstream where the cliff was lower and the water easier to wade.

Braiden felt a rush as he spun his lies, the more he spoke the easier they came like someone becoming self-aware they were fluent in a foreign language. When he finished, he was surprised how easily they had come - as if something was pushing him to do it, almost possessing his body.

And it was worth it. Devlonus ordered them to march upstream. Braiden couldn’t believe his luck. All that had to happen now was for them to get beyond the sight of the bridge, beyond the reach of the sound of the troll howls.

Steadily, they marched along the edge of the tree line, clear of the cliff edge. Braiden realised it had been quite a while since he last heard the rumble of the troll screams. Maybe it was done. Maybe the child was born and the audible screams had stopped altogether.

Suddenly, he saw one of the soldiers step closer to the edge while they were still in sight of the bridge. He made to call them away and say it was not safe, if only to distract them for a moment when, without warning, from the depths of the valley, a huge cry wailed out from the deep hanging arches of the bridge.

Before Braiden could think, it was to late to do anything. The other soldiers were standing over the cliff edge gazing towards the source of the noise. One or two of them gasped, another scolded Braiden for being a poor scout indeed. Devlonus ordered silence and, with a cold leer in his eye, declared that it had been too long since they fought a good fight and thought a good troll kill would be just the fun they needed.

Devlonus selected Braiden as bait for the attack, seeing as he was so slipshod in his duty.

However, it was at this Braiden felt overcome with something he had not experienced for long time. He felt something, really felt something. Anger. Rage.

True, pure rage. It was a force overwhelming him like never before. It ran rampant through his veins at the thought of killing these innocent lives, for this monstrous leader, in this pointless war. It was something he would stand for no more! Before he knew it, Braiden had taken his dagger and thrust it into the side of Devlonus, undercutting his chest plate and piercing his lung.

The commotion that followed was bloody, metal rang against metal, blood gargled in split throats as the men tore each other apart.

Suddenly, there was silence. Braiden looked up from the ground he had fell to. Above him stood the only other survivor with his back turned. He wondered why now the man hesitated when, out of the valley, the shadow of the troll swallowed the pair of them.

Braiden looked up into its eyes, a stoic, poker faced silence. It held a tree trunk for a club in one hand, eyes fixed on the calamity. Braiden felt an age pass. His only hope now was the mercy of the monster. How would it judge him? What would his fate be?

Once more, he thought of home. Would the judgement his family and friends passed be any fairer than that which he awaited now? Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was easier to die here than live with the memory of horror and violence. Maybe home would think better of him this way. Maybe he deserved this.

All he could do was wait. Wait and hope the other soldier didn’t get any stupid ideas.