Corva was growing concerned. Telgra didn’t remember anything about her childhood, nor her mother, nor her duty to her people. Corva had intentionally stayed away from the subject of her father. His death was still sharp in his own mind and he didn’t want to add to Telgra’s distress. The fact that she had grown fond of the marbleized human boy was an outrage, but he forced himself to hide his envy. He actually liked Phen, but when he saw them sitting close, or sometimes walking hand in hand, Corva found himself simmering with something he had to work to subdue. At those times, not even Dostin’s innocent pestering could break his sullen mood. He let the monk fill his cup, though, in hopes that a few sips of the potent liquor might lift his spirits. Soon they were all feeling the effects of the dwarf’s drink, save for Phen, who wasn’t able to swallow, but clearly enjoyed the way the brandy loosened Telgra’s tension. She was practically falling all over him after only her second cup.
“Master Dwarf,” she slurred, “how do you drink so much of this fire brew? Two cups and I’ve lost my wits.”
“You lost your wits long before you started sipping,” Oarly joked. “That’s why you’re on this fargin journey.”
Everyone laughed, except for Corva and Dostin. The worrisome elven guardsman didn’t crack a smile until seconds later when Dostin spoke. “What’s a wit?” the monk asked.
“I want to make a toast,” Hyden said, with a pat on Dostin’s shoulder. He had only sipped from his first cup of brandy. Borg, though, had commandeered a small cooking pot and had emptied it twice.
After whispering into Dostin’s ruined ear what “wits” were, Hyden raised his glass. “To our giant friend, who saved us from freezing our arses off.”
“Hear, hear,” Lieutenant Welch added, as did a few of the others.
Everyone mumbled a fond word or two to the humble giant. Then Hyden took Borg’s pot and filled it from one of the kegs piled in their gear.
“Since it might be a long while before we meet again,” Hyden said as he handed the giant back his makeshift cup, “can I trouble you for a tale?”
“Yes, another story,” Princess Telgra slurred with a girlish giggle.
“Tell us a tale,” Jicks and the archers echoed.
Not even Lieutenant Welch’s sharp look at them for speaking out of place could quell their excitement.
“Pleeease,” Telgra begged.
“All right,” Borg agreed. “Let me think a moment.” He took a long swill from his pot and then began his telling.
“This one is for Princess Telgra, my friends,” he said almost apologetically. “There will be no blood and gore in it.” The young soldiers groaned their disappointment, but Borg ignored them and continued. “But since it involves a princess and a mountain troll, and you have a princess among you, I’ll tell this tale. After all, the chances of you completing your journey through these mountains without meeting a hungry flesh-eating troll are thin at best.”
That was enough to draw the young men’s attention.
“There once was a fair princess named Karsen. She was as beautiful as a flower, and as tender as a babe. The farms around her father’s kingdom were constantly being bothered by a cattle-stealing troll that was as mangy and mean as the day is long. The king had his knights, and they had their proud horses, and nearly every day they rode out to fight with the beast. At night the horses all gossiped around the stalls of the royal stable, each bragging about one feat or another that they’d performed afield.” Borg resituated himself and took a sip of the dwarf’s liquor.
“Well, one day, the stableman’s cart-nag gave birth to a pony. It was the ugliest pony to ever be born. All black-and-white spotted like a milk cow, with a huge lump on its head between its ears. The knight’s horses all made fun of the ugly pony, calling it names and teasing it to tears every day.”
“Then one day the princess came to see the ugly pony she’d heard the knights talking about at her father’s table. When she came into the barn, the other horses were calling the poor teary-eyed colt names like “lumpy head”, and “milk horse”. The princess felt so bad for the creature that she asked her father if it could stay in the garden, away from the mean old destriers.
“Her father, unable to deny Karsen her heart’s desires, commanded that a single stable stall be built in the corner of the garden yard for the ugly animal.
“Every day, Princess Karsen came and visited the colt and they became fast friends. When it was big enough to ride, she rode it around the garden and inside the bailey. She treated the ugly steed as if it were the most magnificent stallion in the realm. Soon she began to see a change coming over her four-legged companion.
“While all this was going on, the savage troll was growing bigger and bolder. The knights could no longer frighten it away when it came to eat from the farmers’ flocks and herds. One day the troll scared the king’s men back into the castle and stood at the gate, pounding away.
“‘What do you want?’ the king asked from the top of a tower.
“‘I want to eat the princess,’ the troll replied. ‘If you let me eat her, I will leave your lands alone forever more.’
“The king told his knights to make the troll go away, but even the bravest of the destriers were afraid of the huge, foul beast. As soon as they were close to the creature, they would buck and throw their riders and flee. Throughout the day and into the night, the troll kept pounding away.
“At the table that night, the princess told her father that she and her pony had heard what the troll said. To the king’s surprise, she also told him that her ugly horse wasn’t afraid, that it would proudly carry one of his knights out to face the troll. The knights at the table, despite their fear of what was waiting for them, couldn’t help but laugh.
“‘The horse is half cow,’ one said.
“‘It’s got a melon growing on its head,’ said another.
“‘Maybe the troll will die laughing at it,’ the first knight added.”
Borg stopped to take a long drink from his pot. Everyone in the cavern was captivated, not only by his story, but by the smooth, deep voice with which he told it. The sudden lack of speech made them antsy.
“Come on,” urged Jicks. “What happened?”
“Be patient, lad,” Oarly said. “Let him wet his voice.”
Princess Telgra was resting her head on Phen’s shoulder. Her eyes were glazed and dreamy as the images the giant’s words evoked slowly faded from her mind. Just when she was about to ask Borg to continue, he did.
“What the king, the knights, and the skittish destriers didn’t know was how much the ugly pony had changed.” Borg wiped at his mustache and went on. “While living in the garden stall, only the princess had paid the pony any attention. His black and white splotchy color had spread and blended until his coat was a shimmering silvery gray. His tail and mane, and the tuffs above his hooves had all turned snowy white. The most profound change, though, was that the lump on his head had extended into a long, curling spike of pearlescent ivory that was as sharp as a spear tip.”
“A unicorn.” Princess Telgra grinned.
“Just so,” Borg continued. “The very next day, the old troll started banging on the gates again, and the king ordered his knights to drive it away. Once again, the destriers balked, unable to overcome their instinctual fear of the huge troll. Again, the knights spurred the horses in, but they refused.
“‘Are you big, strong horses afraid?’ a voice asked from the bailey.
The princess sat atop her unicorn, who was chastising the terrified destriers that had once made fun of it.
“‘Who are you?’ one of the knights asked. ‘Where did you come from?’
“‘I’m the milk horse, the lump-headed pony,’ he said, puffing out his chest proudly. ‘I may be ugly, but I'm not afraid like these nags are. I’ll go face the troll. I’m not afraid to protect my princess.’
“The other horses were clearly stunned.
“‘Is this true?’ Sir Jaxon, the king’s bravest knight, asked the unicorn.
“‘It is,’ the princess answered proudly. ‘He is not afraid.’
“‘Then together we must make the troll go away,’ Sir Jaxon told the unicorn. ‘I must say,’ he added, ‘that only to save my princess would I dare ride a steed as beautiful as you into battle.’
“The unicorn shook its snowy mane and bashfully bowed its head. The princess slid off his back and Sir Jaxon
