XII
Thalo followed Knale for several days, travelling eastwards through Latavol, Syagavol, and then back into Eylavol, where he was now an outlaw. Knale said nothing as they went. They spent each day travelling in silence, walking only the wildest ways, and hearing no chatter besides that of the birds. Each night, when they stopped to rest, Thalo tried to question Knale. The information he had yielded at Belrenn—though enough to drag him all the way back to Eylavol—was sufficiently little to leave him wanting. Of course, he wanted to know where they were going and why, but there was much else to be asked. What wonders had the elf beheld? To what ancient knowledges was he privy? If any at all, he gave Thalo none of it. Yet he followed him all the same, for he could not help himself.
After twelve days of this, and as Thalo’s rations were dwindling, they came at last to a wooded hill overlooking a small village called Moyr, in the southern stretches of Eylavol. There Knale pointed Thalo to the village and told him to take a night’s rest.
‘That seems unwise,’ said Thalo. ‘I am a wanted man in these parts.’
‘Do as I bid,’ said Knale, shaking his hips, ‘and you will be wanted the world over.’
Then he pranced away.
Thalo did as he was told. He went down the hill to a little house standing higher than the others, and there he called out for a welcome. A short, round woman came to meet him.
‘Who are you?’ said the woman.
‘Thalo,’ said Thalo. He made a poor outlaw. ‘Who are you?’
‘Rara. Why are you shouting at my door, Thalo man?’
‘I am seeking a night’s lodging. What do you say?’
‘Will you rob us? Will you kill us?’
‘No.’
‘Then come inside.’
Thalo went in, and there he met Rara’s husband, a foolish fellow named Oggelo. He told them he was on the road after being forced out of his home, although he did not reveal any identifying details. They gave him a hearty meal and some warm blankets and invited him to sleep.
‘You could use it,’ said Oggelo, ‘thin-limbed and haggard-like.’
Thalo said nothing to this and went to bed.
Knale, meanwhile, stole into the moonlit hills for a long-awaited meeting. In the shadows of a small hollow, he found the cave he sought and ventured forth into the darkness.
‘Klovo,’ said Knale. ‘Are you here?’ He received no reply, but he heard in the depths a disgruntled grumbling. ‘Klovo, awake! You have a guest. Be a good boy and meet him.’
Klovo, Nawko’s delve-doomed troll of a son, arose from his sleeping spot and loomed up, enormous in the confines of the cave.
‘Feydo?’ he said. ‘When did you become so rude?’
‘Oh, no, Klovo, no. I am no fear-flighted finch. I am your Auntie Knale!’
‘A fell name. Why do you harry me in my home?’
‘As it happens, I come concerning Feydo.’
‘What of him?’
‘He is dead.’
Klovo’s breathing became taut. ‘What did you say?’
‘Again, he is dead.’
‘But when? How?’ Klovo fell silent, then stepped towards Knale, leaning in the entrance of the cave. His eyes bright with wrath, glowing, gleaming in the gloom, he said, ‘Was this your wicked work?’
‘What? No! I am appalled you would even think me so capable.’
‘Do not flap your tongue at me, fox!’
Klovo lunged at Knale, reaching for his neck, intent upon seizing it in his mighty grasp and snapping it with a single, brutal twist. Yet Knale, the fleet-footed fiend, stepped out of the cave, and Klovo relented. He could not cross the threshold.
‘I did not kill Feydo,’ said Knale. ‘He was my brother. I too have bounds I cannot cross.’
‘Can it truly be so?’ said Klovo. ‘Swear it to me, then. Swear you did not kill him.’
‘If you wish. I will swear it here and now, beneath the very moon for you: I did not kill Feydo.’
‘Then who did?’
‘It was the villagers just down the slopes. Feydo and I were passing by on our way here when they attacked us. He tried to fight them off, but it came to nothing. He died so I could live.’
Klovo turned away from Knale, the ire-light fading from his eyes. He said, sniffling, ‘There never was a kindlier fellow. Why would they do this?’
‘Cruelty, I suppose. Or malice? Spite?’ He knew such motives all too well. ‘Who can say? Any which way, I have a proposition.’
Klovo’s sniffling stopped, but he did not speak, nor turn around.
‘What do you say to vengeance? That, Klovo, would be your right.’
Klovo turned back to Knale, eyes red, cheeks wet, his whole demeanour diminished. ‘I cannot leave this place. For years beyond count have I dwelt here, yet even now, when my only friend lies dead, I sit by powerless, my mind enslaved by inaction. I do not recall the touch of grass, Knale. The warmth of the sun, the soft caress of the wind. Only the darkness. Hard stone and darkness. It is endless. I am no avenger.’
Softly, Knale came back into the cave, and he put a reassuring hand upon Klovo’s shoulder. ‘I can release you.’
‘You can?’
‘My brother put you here, no? What could he do that I cannot? I long for retribution just as much as you do, but I am equally powerless to deliver it—see what weak little arms I have! I can, however, deliver you. What do you say, Klovo? Will you do this for me? Will you do this for Feydo?’
Klovo stood, his eyes alight once more, his stature renewed. ‘I will see the stars again. Release me, Knale, and I will wreak such wrath upon these folk. Release me, Knale, and release my forefathers’ vengeance!’
‘So be it. I will release you.’ Knale went back outside and did his work, dispelling the enchantment by which Klovo had been confined to his cave for centuries. ‘It is done. Be free.’
Klovo came forth, and with much trepidation, he stepped out over the threshold. Emerging from the shadows of the hills, he looked up, and he saw with wonder the moon and the stars, and all the beauty of the night.
‘I am free,’ he said, but then his fingers forged a fist. ‘I am purposeful.’
So did Klovo go striding on his way to Moyr and set upon the village. He put his whole self into ravaging that place, toppling buildings, laying waste to livestock, and assaulting anyone who dared stumble groggily against him. That mighty man! How he roared!
In Rara’s hillside house, Thalo was above the destruction, but all the noise awoke him nonetheless, Klovo’s vengeful howls amid the cries of the villagers. He dashed outside to see what was afoot, Oggelo and Rara either side of him, and they saw Klovo frenzied in the village below.
‘Someone should do something about this,’ said Rara.
‘That they should,’ said Oggelo, rubbing his bald head, ‘and I should like to see the knackers on them. A right frightening fellow, he is.’
Thalo was already back inside, readying himself for a fight. He pulled on his thick shirt, donned his helmet, and raced down into the village, spear and shield in hand, his sword and knife at his hips.
Yet when he came there, he found Klovo looking rather larger than he had back on the hill, his great, throaty roars all the more penetrating. He nearly turned back the way he came, but no. He firmed his grip, his feet, his mind, and he thought of the splendid heroes of old, they who fought to the death, be it theirs or their foe’s.
‘Beast!’ he said, sparing not a moment for reason. ‘Face me! You will not leave this place alive.’
Klovo was too swept up in the carnage to say anything back. He turned to Thalo, the little man with big words, and had at him, and they fought.
Thalo rushed forth at once and drove his spear into Klovo’s belly, but before he could withdraw it, before he could release his grip and step away, hammer-handed Klovo gripped it, sundered the shaft, and struck out at Thalo’s head. The blow dented Thalo’s helmet, knocking him dazed to the floor, his shield falling beside him.
Klovo took up the shield, and with no effort at all, he snapped it in twain, loosing another roar all the while, and fell thrashing upon his foe. Though he was still stunned, Thalo had enough of his wits to draw his beltknife and stab aimlessly into Klovo’s ribs. The troll did not let up. He stabbed again and again, but it was not until the fifth or sixth strike that Klovo recoiled, heaving as blood streamed from his side.
Thalo clambered wonkily to his feet and drew his sword. As best he could, he fixed his eyes on Klovo, crumpled and wounded on the floor, wet with blood and sweat and tears alike, his vigour utterly spent, and ran him through. So Klovo died as he had lived—alone in the dark. That was Thalo’s fourth murder.
With the troll vanquished, Thalo pried off his helmet and lay down on the floor. His vision remained misaligned, his head hot and thumping, his whole body weak and wobbly, but he was alive, and he was triumphant! He lay there laughing, exultant and exhausted in equal measure, until Rara and Oggelo came down the hill and helped him limp his way back up to their house. They patched him up and put him to bed.
And as he slept, the villagers all came together in a great throng to marvel at the monster’s corpse, to lament the wreckage of their homes, and to grieve for the dead. Four big men hauled the body over the river and buried it where it would not taint the soil, and the matter of the troll was put to rest. On the next day, they held a funeral for those who had died—there were four of them—and committed their ashes to the earth. Then the toil began as they worked to clear away Klovo’s wreckage and start rebuilding. Thalo stayed in bed, though no one held this against him.
In the evening, the local priest, a woman called Tresbera, held a meal for the village at her temple, and Thalo was invited to sit beside her at the front of the hall. Partway through the meal, Tresbera called for silence and stood to speak. After naming the dead and calling upon the villagers to hold them dear in their hearts, she gestured towards Thalo.
‘I bid you likewise hear the name of another,’ she said. ‘As we mourn our fallen friends, let us also hear the name of Thalo, he who slew the troll and brought its rampage to an end. I name you Thennelo, Troll-foe, defender of our lives and livelihoods.’
Tresbera’s young son then came into the house with a box, and he presented this to Thalo.
‘As thanks for this feat,’ said Tresbera, ‘I offer you this gift, a small deal of my temple’s wealth. Let it ever bring to mind all you have warded here.’
Thalo accepted this gift with pleasure.
Shortly thereafter, Thalo saw himself out of the temple, his treasure box firmly in hand. Rara walked him back to her house, leaving Oggelo to drink himself witless until the birds harangued him with their dawnsong. When they came there, Thalo offered her a portion of Tresbera’s gift for her hospitality.
‘No,’ said Rara. ‘You have more than earnt your keep.’
‘Then I will say no more about it.’
‘Well, if you insist, I suppose I can take something or other.’
‘I do not mean to insist.’
‘Never mind, then. What is said is said. No more.’
They each went to bed.
In the darkest hours of the morning, Thalo awoke, his sleep unsettled, as it often was. Unable to coax himself back to sleep, he went out into the wintry night, and there on the roof sat Knale.
‘Oy-oy,’ said Knale. ‘How did you find my friend Klovo?’
‘That beast was your doing, was it?’
‘Such ugly words. Show some respect! He was my however-many-greats-nephew, you know.’
‘Do you ever answer a question?’
‘Do you ever stop asking?’
‘I merely want to know where things stand. Forgive me, but you have hardly been forthcoming.’
Knale dropped down from the roof and swaggered up to Thalo, his hands on his hips. ‘I will forthcome as and when I so choose, and certainly not at your insistence alone. Many important things need doing, and I cannot make them all you.’
‘As far as I can see, you have done nothing but scurry about while I fight for my life.’
‘You cannot see far, then. I have been upholding our deal, as I said I would. I gave you my word, after all.’ Knale smirked, and what a smirk! That gorgeous grin! He brought it right up into Thalo’s face, breathing down his neck. ‘We have spoken, Thalo, of folk of elder days. Tell me, do you know about Lewva Thunder-hand?’
‘I do. She slew the raging trolls.’
‘That she did. And all these years later, you yet know her name, her deeds.’ Knale placed a hand on Thalo’s shoulder, his soft, elfin touch caressing his skin. ‘How would you like to be her? To be the bane of trolls twice over?’
‘That is the glory you would give me?’
‘It is.’ He gently forced Thalo backwards until he was up against the wall. ‘One down. Shall we go all the way?’
‘Another troll is abroad?’
‘Think nothing of that, swordsman. Tell me this, and this alone: will you accept my offer of immortal glory?’
Thalo thought briefly of his mother’s dying words. An orphan son of an orphan mother, his glory could only be that he fashioned for himself. And so ensnared by Knale’s wiles, their bodies pressed together, warm in the cold of the night, Thalo saw his chance. He saw Knale’s glimmering golden eyes, and in them he saw everlasting life.
‘I will,’ he whispered. ‘I am Thalo Thennelo. Bring me your troll, and I will slay it.’
‘Very good.’ With that, Knale leapt backwards, releasing Thalo from his grip. ‘Now, whatever became of the wretched corpse?’
Thalo’s wits returned all at once. After stumbling over his words, he said, ‘It was buried over the river.’
‘No good. Come.’
Knale had Thalo lead him over the river to the site of Klovo’s burial and made him dig the body up. Once Klovo’s body was revealed, he clambered down into the grave, used the spade to hack off his head, and tossed it up at Thalo’s feet.
‘Keep that,’ he said.
Thalo turned the head face up with his foot, and grim though it was, he could not move his gaze from it—the blood-stained nose, the slack jaw, the enormous, lifeless eyes. ‘No.’
‘Yes. How will anyone know you killed a troll if you have no proof? Must I do all the thinking?’
‘What proof is a rotten head?’
‘Trust me, Thalo, as you have. That is the head of a troll. It will not go bad. Or it will get no worse than it already was, at least.’
Thalo did not want to keep the severed head, but Knale flashed him a lustful little grin.
‘I will keep the head,’ he said.
‘Good. Go back to bed. I will sort the grave. Meet me back atop the hill in the morning, and we will move along.’
So Thalo did. He took the head back to Rara’s house, covered it with a bag, and went to bed.
The next morning, Thalo said he would be leaving Moyr. Rara thanked him again for his help and saw him off alone, for Oggelo had not yet returned from Tresbera’s feast. Thalo walked Ondayo—now more packhorse than steed—up the hill and met Knale in the woods.
‘All set?’ said Knale.
‘Let us be off,’ said Thalo. ‘My destiny awaits.’