The sun was setting on Stonybrook by the time the old Spell Knight found himself in the town square once more. In this light, the stone houses, glowing orange from the fires within, looked as if they had always been a part of the environment. It was strange to think of a time when trolls had walked the meadow instead of humans, and yet there had been a time just like that.

Rather than pondering on it he brushed Splash’s mane in order to curry favor.

“We will have to stay here longer than I first intended,” Archibald said. “Don’t give me that look. If I could change things, I would, but both the troll and the humans are stubborn. If I can’t convince one, I will need to try and convince the other.”

Splash simply snorted in response.

“As long as you don’t run off in the night.”

The horse neighed.

“That’s good to hear.”

And with that, he turned and knocked twice on the thick wooden door once more.

“I, Ser Archibald, the Spell Knight, have returned. Your troubles persist, and I come asking for guidance. You have treated me to salt and bread, and therefore I ask that you listen to my plea.” The old words were rarely used, and the Elder had shown himself unaware of the rites regardless, but there was power in rituals. As long as the rites persisted, his order still lived. The day they were no longer used, was the day the Spell Knights were no more, regardless of who wore runed armor or carried speartips of different metals.

He heard a great deal more scampering and scurrying on the other side of the Elder’s door this time around, and so when the door opened, revealing the short man in a nightgown and lazy eyes, Archibald was not surprised.

“Apologies, Elder.” Archibald gave a low bow. “I did not mean to disturb you at this late hour.”

“And yet you did,” Elder Hardwycke grumbled as he wiped away some of the fatigue in his eyes. “I take it the beast remains unslain? I gathered as much from your words.”

“The troll seems unwilling to relocate,” Archibald explained. “May I enter so we can discuss further?” He cast glances to either side of him in the darkness. In his youth, he would have been able to tell if anyone was listening, but his eyesight was not what it used to be.

The Elder looked Archibald up and down, remaining mute for a second, before he invited the Spell Knight to join him in the warmth. “Enter then, Ser,” he said with a hint of annoyance. “But you will have no more bread or salt – unless you are willing to have it taken out of your own payment.”

Archibald responded with a nod, and entered. Once more he found a seat by the fire and began speaking. “Like you surmised, the troll still lives. It lived here long ago and does not wish to seek a different bridge to preside over.”

Elder Hardwycke wobbled around the home, putting more logs onto the fire – sparks twirling in the air. “Well… You tried negotiating. I suppose you will have to kill it then, just as I first surmised.”

“I would prefer it if I could negotiate a peaceful resolution instead. There is value in having a troll nearby. They sniff out bandits and troublemakers alike, and no large band of men can easily cross the bridge without coin at the ready. Not to speak of the maintenance of the bridge – from my own inspection of it, under the protection of the troll it will last for many decades yet.”

The Elder scoffed. “And I assume you would want full payment for this peace agreement?” He shook his head. “I think not.”

“I am more than happy to renounce my payment. I only wish to avoid bloodshed.”

“Then what good are you, Spell Knight? I was under the impression your order killed monsters – not working to find convoluted ways of keeping them alive?”

Archibald grabbed at his beard thoughtfully. The Elder did not seem to be aware that monsters came in many different shapes – some of them distinctly human.

“I understand your frustration, Elder,” Archibald said after a moment of tense silence. “But paying the toll when you have to go through that way is really the easiest way to solve your troubles. The troll has assured me it carries no ill-will—”

“It carries no ill-will, does it?” the Elder spat. “But we still do, Ser. It has killed many men – my son among them.”

Archibald thought about the young boy he met on the way into the village. Was it that boy’s father that had perished against the troll? Such needless waste. It was all the more reason to make sure that no more blood was spilled for no purpose.

“ I want the beast dead, and I am willing to sacrifice myself to make it so,” Elder Hardwycke said fiercely. “If you will not help, then we will kill the beast ourselves.. We will leave tomorrow at noon. You are welcome to join us, Ser Knight, but know that if you do not, in our victory, you will be disgraced and whatever remains of your paltry order will be shamed.”

So assured of victory. Archibald wondered if they knew how low their chances of survival actually were, would the Elder be so roused?

“I will see you tomorrow, then,” Archibald said, getting up from his seat with some difficulty – his knees having grown cold in the night.

“I look forward to it, Ser. Let’s see if these rumors about your kind are true.”

Archibald nodded. He suspected the Elder would soon learn exactly what a Spell Knight was capable of.

When the sun crested on the horizon the following day, Archibald was already on the move. He had not bothered finding shelter in the village – they were unlikely to have an inn – instead setting up camp in a clearing some ways out. It suited him better regardless. Firstly, he preferred sleeping under the stars as was customary for a Spell Knight, but secondly, he also needed to reach the bridge before the villagers from Stonybrook did.

“Things are likely to get uncomfortable if not outright violent,” Archibald said.

Splash neighed in response.

“Things do not always turn violent,” Archibald said.

The horse shook his mane.

“I cannot help that the troll does not wish to move, nor that the villagers refuse to see reason. It is out of my control.”

Splash did not seem convinced and perhaps the horse had a point. Maybe Archibald in his old age had just not been strong enough in his conviction. If he had been more forceful with the troll, maybe it could have been convinced to move. Or maybe, if he had been firmer with Elder Hardwycke, the villagers could have learned to live with the bridge toll – accepting it for the blessing that it was. But no, in his feeble attempt to solve the issue, he had only managed to fan the flames.

His melancholy mood did not lessen as the bridge appeared in the distance. Rather than approach it directly, as he had the first time, he instead led Splash towards the river. He knelt down at the riverbank, filling a cup of fresh water and putting it to his lips.

“You have returned,” the voice of the troll boomed from underneath the bridge. “Why?”

With every sip, Archibald felt his thirst disappear, and with it, some of his anxiety left as well. “I cannot blame you for not wanting to leave this river, friend,” he said. “Few rivers have such crisp water.”

The troll stirred slowly in the darkness, moving meticulously as if considering the consequence of every action. Once it was out from its lair, standing a full 15 feet tall, Archibald could not help but wonder how it fit under the bridge to begin with.

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“You are a strange kind,” the troll said.

“Spell Knights?”

“Humans,” the troll clarified. “You are not like the ones that come from the village you spoke of yesterday. They were feebleminded, petty and filled with rage. You, on the other hand, do not seem so unlike my own kind.”

“Humans are all different. We cannot be easily categorized. Everyone still tries, but to little avail. There is beauty in ambiguity, don’t you think?”

The troll stood silent, its mossy eyes inspecting Archibald with curiosity. “It is easier when you know what to expect. An ogre will always be aggressive. The neker will always try to enthrall you. And the fae will always be mischievous. If what you say is true, I would not know what to expect from humans.”

Archibald smiled faintly. “Imagine how confusing it is living as one.”

The troll did not respond to this.

“They are coming here to try and kill you,” Archibald said after a few moments of silence.

“They will fail.”

“I did say try.”

“If you came to warn me, human, I am grateful, but it makes no difference. The outcome would always be the same.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You have a choice to make. You can still choose to leave – pick a different bridge with humans more akin to trolls than ogres.”

“And if I do not?”

Archibald patted Splash gently, calming the horse’s anxiety as it watched the troll with apprehension. “I will not fight you,” he said. “It is clear to me the villagers are guided by greed and hatred. Peaceful coexistence should have been the choice, but they cannot change their hearts.” He took a deep breath. “If you decide to stay, I cannot stop you from killing them all.”

The troll smiled gently – each one shaped and colored like a rock. “You are curious, human. I wish I had known you for longer.” It turned and started walking up the slope. “I will leave then – for now. Perhaps there is a bridge further up the river.”

Archibald allowed himself to breathe out. “I will not forget your sacrifice, friend,” he said, unable to keep the genuine relief in his voice. “I am sure that the village of Stonybrook will come to regret how they treated you, and one day, you will return to this bridge, and it will be everything you ever wanted.”

The troll cast a glance back towards Archibald. “I am patient. I will return. For now, before I depart, I only wish to know your name, human.”

“They call me Ser Archibald – the last Spell Knight.”

“I shall remember you then, Archibald of the Spell Knights. If I had a name to give you, I would, but we are only known by the bridges we protect, and currently I have no bridge.”

“It seems you have given up more than just a home, friend – I am remorseful of the sacrifice I have asked of you.”

“Think little of it. The next time we meet, I will tell you my new name. Until then, take care.”

And so the troll disappeared – slowly and with great purpose, one step at a time.

It was past noon when the villagers appeared on the muddy path. Archibald did not think their tardiness was a result of laziness. Rather, judging from their haphazard gear, and nervous expressions, it had likely taken some old fashioned roughhousing and fearmongering to get the group to start the march. At the head walked Elder Hardwycke, but behind him were a dozen much younger men as well. Fit and healthy as they appeared to be, with wrought iron pitchforks and no fire to be seen, the group would have stood no chance against the mighty troll.

Archibald did not hesitate as he planted himself in the middle of the road and awaited their arrival.

“You are in the way, Spell Knight,” the Elder said as they approached. He appeared even more incensed than he had been yesterday – almost frothing at the mouth in self-righteous zealotry. “Either get out of it, or suffer the same fate as this beast you seem to have taken a liking to.”

“I will not stop you,” Archibald said. “But I wonder if you have a moment to listen before you recklessly endanger your lives.”

The men all looked at each other uncertainly, but Elder Hardwycke pressed forward. “You can speak after we have killed the creature,” he spat.

Archibald held his ground. “Are you really willing to toss your life away for nothing, Elder?” he asked. “You could not harm this troll the last time, what would make this time any different? Further, can it not be that you were misguided in your attempt to slay it in the first place? This troll is as noble a creature as you will ever meet. It does not deserve your ire – it deserves your praise.”

The Elder stopped for a moment, frustration plainly visible on his face. “It is clear you are nothing but a pauper. Perhaps you are no Spell Knight at all, but a changeling inhabiting another’s skin? You get to choose right in this instant whether you will stand with us or not. Old as you are, you might not be of much use in the fight, but at least you won’t have humiliated yourself.” The village elder, short and stocky and with a vein pulsating on his forehead, was seemingly not capable of reason.

Archibald sighed. “Very well,” he said, stepping out of the way.

The men all passed him in a hubbub. Some shot him angered glances, while others only showed him looks of fear. Archibald had not held out hope that he could convince a mob to quell their rage, but he could just not stop himself regardless. Perhaps it was hubris. He had after all managed to convince the troll of overcoming its stubbornness, and so why not the humans as well? Unfortunately, it seemed as if the troll had been more than accurate in its description of the villagers.

Rather than intervene, Archibald followed the mob down towards the bridge, only calling out when they roused for battle and prepared themselves for a charge.

“The troll has already left, Elder,” Archibald shouted in order to overcome the bustle of the crowd.

The Elder turned towards Archibald. “Then why try and convince us to abandon our quest to slay it?” he asked with suspicion. He nodded towards one of the younger men. “Walk around the bridge and see if the troll is still hiding under it. But keep your distance.”

The young man nodded, and started to move towards the bridge with some hesitation.

“Because I still held out hope I could find some redemption for you and your village,” Archibald said, now once more gaining the attention of the group. “I came here this morning and spoke to the troll. I told it what would happen if it stayed, and it agreed that it would rather leave – even though it has lived here for longer than your village has even existed.”

Elder Hardwycke smirked and a few of the men gave uneasy laughs as well. “So, it feared for its life and fled? But now another village must suffer for your cowardice, Spell Knight. Perhaps we should continue our hunt for it – make sure that it does no more harm.”

“You misunderstand, Elder. The troll did not leave out of fear, but compassion. It knew that it would kill all of you easily—”

“That is convenient,” the Elder muttered.

“And so it abandoned its childhood home in favor of letting you all live,” Archibald finished.

The men all shuffled around, uncertain of what to make of the information. Their unease was not lessened when the young man sent to scout the bridge returned with the information that the bridge was no longer inhabited.

“If you still want a reward for this, Spell Knight,” the Elder said. “You are sorely mistaken. We wanted the beast slain, not bargained with. You’ll have none of our harvest or profit.”

“I want nothing of yours, Elder, except your apology. You described this troll as a violent monster, but instead, it only wanted a fair exchange and to be left in peace. You on the other hand have proven yourselves to be what you accused the troll of being – violent, savage and thoughtless.”

A grumble traveled through the crowd as they ate Archibald’s insults.

“Careful,” Elder Hardwycke urged. “We came here ready for battle. It would be easy to change target from one menace to the next.”

“That would be even more foolish than attacking the troll,” Archibald said.

The Elder licked his lips as he firmly gripped his mangled sword in his arms. He took one step forward, getting ready to signal a charge, but Archibald was done with the disrespect and paranoia – his patience had been tested too extensively already.

With the runes on his armor glistening, Archibald raised his gloved hand towards Elder Hardwycke, feeling through the weave of the world towards the man’s heart. Once inside, he seized it and squeezed. Like popping a grape, he felt the heart explode in his fingers, and in the same instant, the Elder’s eyes widened as he clutched his chest and fell face forward downward.

Panicked shouts echoed as the men all rushed forward, confused and unable to grasp what had just happened.

“Leave,” Archibald’s voice thundered – enhanced by the words of the giants. “You have your bridge unguarded once more, but it will only bring you misery.”

Some of the men showed only terror, as they shuffled around, trying desperately to prop up the now unconscious Elder. Others had harder expressions, not unlike the one the Elder had carried moments before Archibald had crushed the life out of him. Contrary to their dead leader, these ones seemed wiser however, as they scrambled backwards rather than forwards.

“You’ll pay for this, Spell Knight,” one of them shouted. “You’ll rue this day!” The words echoed as the group retreated back towards the village.

That was the way of vengeance, Archibald lamented. Whatever amount you handed out, it would be returned in equal measure. He supposed he would one day have to suffer for his carelessness. Had the Elder even deserved to have his life stripped from him so unceremoniously? He had not known the Spell Knight customs, but he had provided bread, salt and much more, all while speaking proudly of the tea brewed in his own village. What would happen to Hardwycke the younger – now without both father and grandfather?

Archibald sighed, as he lowered his body to the ground, allowing his weary bones to rest. The cost of peace was never free, but he wished it had been even lower.