Gellan The Swordsman - Part 9 Of His Quest

• Mitchell Webster, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2007

Gellan crept through the dusty halls of the abandoned castle. From the few traces that were to be found, the building had once been richly furnished. Now cobwebs hung in corners, bats roosted in the rafters and the once grand rooms were lairs to foul creatures.
The swordsman paused at the corridor intersection and lifted his torch higher. Light from the dancing flames forced the oppressive gloom back a few more feet. Gellan glanced left, right and ahead for any danger. With none apparent, he glanced at his upper left arm, where a dark stain was spreading over the hastily applied bandage. The bandits who had ambushed him had been better then he thought.
“Still,” he thought, “I came out of it better than them.” He grinned at the thought; one more scar added to the growing collection that criss-crossed his lean body. Shaking his head to clear the random thoughts, he peered at the ground. The layers of dust were undisturbed in the right and forward corridors, while the left showed the clear signs of having a large creature moving through it. With a glance at his swords, Gellan began to follow the trail. Hopefully it would lead to the troll he was to kill, not some other violent creature.
The trail took Gellan to a flight of steps leading, Gellan presumed, to the dungeons or storage rooms. He descended, drawing his longsword as he went. Before he had reached the bottom he could hear the sounds of a large creature shuffling around in the darkness. Suddenly a pair of eyes glowed out of the darkness. Gellan raised the torch for a better look, hoping that the villagers had exaggerated the beast’s size. The creature reared and the swordsman ducked just in time as a large rock whistled overhead.
As he ducked the missile he rolled to the right, keeping the torch and blade clear. A glance of his surroundings showed a small room, walls packed with wooden barrels, with several shattered lanterns and the remains of the beast’s meals on the floor. The beast lumbered towards him, a crude club the size of a branch in hand. The troll, now identifiable, swept the weapon down. Gellan sidestepped and thrust his blade through its chest. The ten-foot-tall troll deigned to notice and backhanded Gellan into a wall, smashing barrels and coating Gellan in a sticky fluid. Gellan watched, dazed, as the monster pulled the sword out and threw it aside, the wound healing quickly.
He reached for his second sword and grasped air. Searching frantically, he found the hilt, but dropped the torch. The flame ignited the oil and Gellan narrowly avoided being burnt. His sword blade, dripping in oil, caught alight. The troll flinched away from the fire and hurried towards the stairs. Gellan hurled the weapon, the blade sinking into the troll’s spine. As Gellan watched, the troll died, moaning in pain until it stopped breathing. Panting, Gellan recovered his swords. The rewards had better be good.