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“Great shot!” yelled Balthazar from the road.

The monster grasped its face with one hand, writhing in pain as it howled.

Suddenly, the troll lowered its hand and spoke, but in a completely different voice and tone.

“Alright, time out!” said the troll in a lower pitch and less slurred way than before, while tapping his palm on the fingertips of his other hand, making a “T” shape.

“Huh?” the adventurer said, confused.

“What the…” said the crab.

“Really, mate?” the bridge guardian said, looking at Rye with one eye while pulling the arrow from the other. “Right in the peeper?”

“You can talk?!” exclaimed Balthazar, skittering his way up to the bridge, next to the archer.

“O´course I can! I was doin’ it before, wasn’t I?” the indignant troll said, tossing the arrow into the water as his eye quickly regenerated back to its original state.

“I mean, talk… coherently, like people do,” the crab tried to explain, between awkward shrugs.

“Ain’t that rich, comin’ from a talkin’ crab?” He turned to Rye again. “But you, lad! What’s with shootin’ me in the eye? That’s a low blow, don’t ya think?”

“I… But… I mean…” the young man said between stutters. “It was the obvious weak point.”

“Oooh, alright then!” exclaimed the creature, frowning at the shrugging boy. “So that makes it fine to poke someone’s eye out like that, huh? How would ya like it if I gave your berries a flick?” The troll held his huge bulky hand in front of the human, the tip of his index finger held against the tip of his thumb. “That your weak point too, ain’t it?”

Rye gulped. “Hey, come on now, that’s not fair. I mean… I… you can regenerate your eye! You just did it!”

“Sure, but that don’t mean it don’t hurt like hell when ya shoot it!” yelled the troll, throwing his arms up.

The crab and the human exchanged confused glances.

“What the hell is happening?” muttered the archer.

“I have no idea,” responded the merchant.

“Bah, ya know what?” said the creature, turning away. “Just go. Cross the bridge. I don’t even care no more.”

Slumping his shoulders, the troll dragged his feet towards the parapet of the bridge and leaned on it, holding his head on his hand as he stared at the running waters of the river.

Rye looked back at Druma and Blue, who were standing by the road, staring at them and waiting, then at the crab next to him.

“So… should we just… go?” he asked with a shrug.

“I mean… Now it kind of feels wrong, doesn’t it?” replied the crab.

With his interest piqued, Balthazar cautiously approached the troll.

“Uh, hey… pal. You got a name?” he asked tentatively.

The troll, resting his chin on the palm of one hand, looked at the crab from the corner of his eye without turning. “Yeah. Bricker.”

“Bricker? That’s your name?” the crab said, cocking an eyestalk.

“It is. Ya got a problem with it?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m Balthazar, by the way. Say, Bricker, how come you were playing dumb before? You seem intelligent enough to chat with and know how to count coins.”

The troll sighed.

“Oh, ya know, it’s all part of the job. A’venturers come through ‘ere, they see a bri’ge, they expect a big ugly troll guardin’ it, and they expect me to be as dumb as a sack of bricks. Gotta deliver a good act.”

Balthazar was suddenly reminded of Tom and all the other skeletons down in their dungeon.

“Huh. Alright, but then what’s wrong?” asked the crab. “Why did you drop the act and are all… bummed like that now?”

Bricker let go of his chin, letting his hands hang from the parapet.

“Because what’s the point? Things just ain’t what they used to be! Back in the day, we’d get a ‘andful of a’venturers through here every day. Real a’venturers! Noble knights, mighty barbarians, proper wizards. They’d fight a good and fair fight. A troll could feel proud and fulfilled about his job. A knight cuts off one o’ your limbs, and you got a tale to tell later at the tavern. A wizard sends ya flying all the way to the hills, and ya feel like a million crowns.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The mopey creature slumped down again, this time resting his chin on the parapet itself.

“But now? No one comes through here no mo’! Weeks go by without me seein’ a soul. And when they do, it’s always some a’venturer still wet behind the ears, who don’t even know how to hold a sword straight, or they just be fightin’ dirty. There’s no more ‘onor or pride in them a’venturers. It’s all about how to get what they want, as fast and ‘fficient as they can.”

“That’s… rough,” the crab said, awkwardly. “If things are so bad, why haven’t you considered, I don’t know… a change of occupation?”

The troll stood back up straight, turning to the merchant with a frown.

“And do what?! I’m a bloody troll, mate! Not a whole lot of job opportunities for me kind out ‘ere! It’s either guardin’ a bri’ge or guardin’ a cave, and I got asthma, I can’t deal with all the ‘umidity in a cave.” He paused and exhaled sharply. “We can’t all be lucky like me cousin, got himself a nice cozy gig at some castle in the middle o’ the mountains, has the catacombs all to himself. I hear he gets to spend his days scaring little kids. Easy life, that one.”

Balthazar glanced back at Rye, who stared back at him. They both shrugged.

“Sounds like you don’t really enjoy this whole thing anymore,” said the crab.

“I want to!” exclaimed Bricker. “When I was a wee troll, this was all I wanted. I wanted to be like my pa’, and his pa’ before him. Bri’ge trolls, collectin’ riches from either tribute to pass, or spoils o’ defeated a’venturers. It was a respectful livin’ back then, ya know? But now? Look at me, livin’ alone under this ol’ decrepit sorry excuse o’ a bri’ge, too poor and ‘shamed to even brin’ a lady here and start a family.”

The crab couldn’t help but find himself almost feeling sorry for the stinking creature.

“How did things get like this anyway?” he asked the troll.

“Oh, ya know, times change. These new a’venturers are not like they used to be. They don’t see fellas like us as worthy opponents, challengin’ foes to best in combat. We just walking bags of ‘experience’ or whatever it is they call it. There was one a while back who used me livin’ space under the bri’ge as a toilet! Ya know how disrespec’ful that is?! But the real pro’lem is that there’s just no traffic ‘round these parts no more. With the nearby town gone, every farm, lumber mill, fishery, and dungeon business around slowly disappeared, ‘til there was no one left to cross me bridge.”

Town?! Does he mean…

“I ‘member my first year on the job,” the troll rambled on. “I’d squeeze this farmer every week for a sack o’ apples whenever he passed through to the market. Good ol’ days. I miss him. Really squishy ribs, that one.”

“Hang on, Bricker,” Balthazar interrupted. “That nearby town you just mentioned. What was it called?”

“The town? Huh… Been a long time. I think it was… Cantor? Somethin’ like that?”

“Condor?!” the suddenly excited crustacean exclaimed.

“Yeah, that was it,” the green monster said. “Condor was the name o’ the town. Nice place, I heard. Never visited it. Or any other human town, in fact.”

“Do you think you could point me in the general direction of where that town was?” the hopeful merchant asked.

“Yeah, yeah, sure can,” Bricker said, turning to the end of his bridge and raising a thick finger in its direction. “Go down that road all the way to the fork on the road, then take a left ‘til you reach the plains. Ya should see some farms—or what’s left of ‘em—and somewhere after that there should be the ruins o’ the place. At least I think so. Again, never been there meself.”

Balthazar turned to Rye with a wide smile, ready to get going towards their destination, but then his smile faded slightly.

Turning back to the dejected troll, who was back to resting his elbows on the parapet, staring longingly at the stream below, the crab spoke. “Hey, uh… how much for these directions?”

Bricker flicked an eyebrow at the merchant. “I ain’t charging for no directions. I still got morals.”

With a long sigh, the green creature went back to his depressed contemplation.

“I wonder what the ocean smells like. I hear it’s nice.”

Unable to shake the bothersome feeling in the back of his shell, Balthazar persisted.

“Why don’t you go out and travel a bit?” said the crab. “See the sights, visit different places, have a change of airs.”

The baffled troll stood up straight, looking at the merchant like he had just spontaneously grown a ninth leg.

“You crazy or somethin’, crab? Go travel? And leave me bri’ge unattended? I don’t think ya understand, this is me business!”

“Oh, trust me, I get it. I have my own business too,” Balthazar said. “And from what you’ve said, it seems your business is pretty dead these days. Don’t you think you deserve a holiday? Some ‘you’ time?”

“But…” Bricker hesitated, as if the very notion being presented to him had never even crossed his mind. “I’m a bri’ge troll. My place is ‘ere, under me bri’ge, not out in the world, travelin’!”

“Says who? Look at me, I spent my whole life in my little pond. I have a big trading business back home. And yet, here I am, backpack on my shell, friends by my side, traveling these roads and getting myself in trouble!”

The troll looked confused, but also intrigued.

“I mean… really?” he said, rubbing the moss on his chin. “It just feels wrong, don’t it?”

“Why?” said the defiant crab. “Just because life gives you a role doesn’t mean you have to stick to it, to stay in your lane and never dare step out of it. It’s your life! If you want to go see the damn ocean, you should!”

“But… I… What if some a’venturers show up to cross the bri’ge and I ain’t ‘ere?!”

“So what? Do you have a boss? No. You were already going to let us pass for free, weren’t you? The bridge will be fine, but you’re not. You need to worry about yourself too, or else you will end up like this bridge, old, falling apart, and forgotten in time.”

“I… bloody hell, crab, ya make some pretty good points. Who taught ya to be such a good speaker?!”

“I did,” said Balthazar, puffing up his shell. “Crab or troll, you can go and do whatever you want, if you set your mind to it. You just have to want it hard enough to break the chains holding you in place.”

Bricker walked up to his dropped club, picked it up, and placed it on his shoulder again.

“Aye! Ya know what? Ya lit up me fires there. I’m gonna pack up me spare loincloth, kiss me mushroom garden goodbye, and go downstream ‘til I find the sea!”

“That’s the spirit!”

As the troll ducked under the stone bridge, the crab rejoined his companions. Rye had a sly smile on his face.

“What?” Balthazar asked.

“Nothing. Just wondering how much of that speech was about the troll, and how much was about you.”

“Oh, shut up. We got a free crossing, didn’t we? Let’s go find this town already.”

***

After another hour of walking from the bridge, the crab and company finally spotted the end of the forest, where the surrounding trees opened up onto large plain fields of brown grass.

“Alright, we should be getting close to where Condor supposedly is,” said Balthazar. “Let’s keep an eye out for…”

The merchant’s words trailed off as the group passed the mound on the road and got a full view of the plains in front of them.

“What happened here?” said the archer.

The crab’s hopeful expression turned grim.

“I don’t know, Rye, but I think you should keep your bow at the ready.”