Troll Bridge
The air blew off the mountains, filling the air with fine ice crystals. It was
too cold to snow. In weather like this wolves came down into villages, trees in
the heart of the forest exploded when they froze.
In weather like this right-thinking people were indoors, in front of the fire,
telling stories about heroes.
It was an old horse. It was an old rider. The horse looked like a
shrink-wrapped toast rack; the man looked as though the only reason he wasn't
falling off was because he couldn't muster the energy. Despite the bitterly
cold wind, he was wearing nothing but a tiny leather kilt and a dirty bandage
on one knee.
He took the soggy remnant of a cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out on
his hand.
'Right,' he said, 'let's do it.'
'That's all very well for you to say,' said the horse. 'But what if you have
one of your dizzy spells? And your back is playing up. How shall I feel, being
eaten because your back's played you up at the wrong moment?'
'It'll never happen,' said the man. He lowered himself on to the chilly stones,
and blew on his fingers. Then, from the horse's pack, he took a sword with an
edge like a badly maintained saw and gave a few half-hearted thrusts at the
air.
'Still got the old knackcaroony,' he said. He winced, and leaned against a
tree.
'I'll swear this bloody sword gets heavier every day.'
'You ought to pack it in, you know,' said the horse. 'Call it a day. This sort
of thing at your time of life. It's not right.'
The man rolled his eyes.
'Blast that damn distress auction. This is what comes of buying something that
belonged to a wizard,' he said, to the cold wind in general. 'I looked at your
teeth, I looked at you hooves, it never occurred to me to listen.'
'Who did you think was bidding against you?' said the horse.
Cohen the barbarian stayed leaning against the tree. He was not sure that he
could pull himself upright again.
'You must have plenty of treasure stashed away,' said the horse. 'We could go
Rimwards. How about it? Nice and warm. Get a nice warm place by a beach
somewhere, what do you say?'
'No treasure,' said Cohen. 'Spent it all. Drank it all. Gave it all away. Lost
it.'
'You should have saved some for your old age.'
'Never thought I'd have an old age.'
'One day you're going to die,' said the horse. 'It might be today.'
'I know. Why do you think I've come here?'
The horse turned and looked towards the gorge. The road here was pitted and
cracked. Young trees were pushing up between the stones. The forest crowded in
on either side. In a few years no one would know there'd even been a road here.
By the look of it, no one knew now.
'You've come here to die?'
'No. But there's something I've always been meaning to do. Ever since I was a
lad.'
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