The Camelot Spell - Laura Anne Gilman [47]
They had tied their horses to a tree far enough from the bridge so as not to attract the troll’s attention, and stashed their packs under a particularly thickly branched stickerbush to keep them safe from a passing thief. Gerard kept his sword with him. It was the first time Ailis had ever seen him actually wearing it, rather than carrying it on his saddle. She wasn’t sure if it made him look brave or foolish, perhaps both.
She wished she had some kind of weapon as well.
“Do we call him, or…?”
“Is the troll going to ask us for another payment? Because that cord was the only thing of value that I had, other than this sword, and the only way that troll’s taking that from me is if I leave it thrust through its chest. Just so we’re clear on that.”
“I don’t know,” Ailis admitted. “Only one way to find out.” She took a deep breath, then shouted “Newt! Are you here?”
The only sounds were the shiishhhing of the water below the bridge, and birds in the trees to either side.
“No Newt.”
“No troll, either,” Ailis pointed out.
“Unless it’s busy—”
“Ugh.” Ailis glared at him. “Don’t even think that.”
“Well, he’s not here….”
“Underneath of course,” Ailis said suddenly. “Trolls live under bridges.”
“Oh. Of course,” Gerard muttered as Ailis started walking again, still cautiously, not toward the stone walkway that spanned the water but down the muddy banks to the left-hand side. Then, suddenly realizing that he was about to let a girl walk, unprotected, into possible danger, he followed, moving quickly enough to catch up with her. He might not like the stable boy overmuch, but Newt was a companion on this quest, and they would not abandon him.
“Watch out for the troll.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Gerard muttered back. They both ducked to look under the bridge and gagged at the smell that hit their noses.
“Oh, disgusting.” Gerard flinched, holding his forearm against his face, as though that would protect him. There was an alcove under the bridge made of the same stone, running the full length and half the width of the bridge. It was filled with debris, the source of the smell. Water rushed just a handspan below, doing nothing to clean the air.
“There!” Ailis cried, pointing. In the far corner—in the darkest corner of the alcove—something moved.
“Careful!” Gerard held back. “It might be the troll,” he said as Ailis splashed through the water and climbed onto the ledge. She turned her head aside slightly as the smell intensified.
“Help me!” she cried softly over her shoulder. “It’s Newt!”
Gerard took a deep breath, trying to suck as much air into his lungs as he could, and then waded into the stream to follow her.
“He’s been tied up and gagged,” she told him, “and seems to be out cold. Let me…we have to move him before the troll comes back.”
She grabbed Newt by the ankles, trying to pull his bound form out of the alcove. It must have woken him because he suddenly flailed wildly, trying to kick out at his attacker.
“Newt!” she whispered loudly. “It’s us! You’re safe!”
Either he heard her or he just ran out of energy, because his body went limp. She was able to move him a little bit, dragging him on the stone. He moaned so low that she could barely hear it. “I’m sorry,” she said, still tugging. “Gerard! Help me!”
Gerard reached in and grabbed just below her hands, lending his strength in one hard pull that dragged both Newt and Ailis out of the alcove. She squeaked, Gerard stumbled, and all three of them landed in the stream, two of them soaked to the waist in cold water, Newt flat on his back in the current. The cold water started him struggling again. Gerard reached down and slung Newt over his shoulder, slogging to the bank of the stream and, leaving Ailis to follow on her own, looking around nervously for the troll.
“What happened?” she demanded, once Gerard had cut the badly