by Mike Truk
“I’ve no problem with it at all,” she said, “but then again, I doubt that comes as a shock to any of you. Wherever you go, Kellik, I shall follow.”
“Thank you, Netherys.” I wasn’t quite sure how uplifting an endorsement it was for a dark elf to pledge her allegiance to you, but right now I’d take all the support I could get.
Cerys was studying me, doubt and fear and anger in her limpid blue eyes. “I don’t know, Kellik. I want it to be that easy. To say I know you, trust you, and that this doesn’t change anything. But that would be a lie. I just don’t know.”
That hurt. Cerys had been with me from the start. I wanted to argue with her, ask if our going after Wargiver at her insistence hadn’t meant anything, if all the times I’d saved her life and she’d saved mine weren’t proof of something - but I bit my tongue. I was the son of a fucking king troll. Elias, another half troll, had enslaved her, killed her sister, and brutalized her past anything I could begin to understand. I couldn’t expect anybody to make their peace with that, to suddenly throw in with someone like myself.
“I’ve fought beside trolls my whole life,” said Yashara, voice low and uneasy. “City trolls, war trolls, even mountain trolls. But a king troll? I thought that a myth.”
Pogo was gazing pensively at Pony. “Perhaps that explains why our big friend here was always so amenable to Kellik’s commands.”
Yashara nodded pensively. “True. But regardless, every troll I’ve met has been defined by his circumstances. I’ve met bad ones and good ones. I’ve seen bad ones turn good, seen good ones turn wicked. But king trolls. I’ve never heard anything but bad of them. Ever. Every single one I’ve ever heard of wanted nothing more than to rule, to dominate, and to pervert.”
“I just want justice,” I said.
“I’ll wager most of them could justify their actions,” said Yashara, “that they all saw themselves in some manner or other as the dark heroes of their own tragedies. Doing what was necessary right up until they realized that they could now do whatever they willed. What is it you want, Kellik? To kill your father? To destroy the Family? What then? What exactly are you trying to accomplish, and what will you do once you’ve achieved it?”
“What am I trying to accomplish?” On this I was on firmer ground. Once more I began to pace. “We’ve all seen the dark underside of Port Gloom. Seen how the Family sees fit to run the place. How ineffective the government is in reining them in - if there is any difference between the two. In the Garden District the nobles enjoy lives of pampered privilege while Execution Hill looms over them all, the site of miscarried justice where only those who defy the Family are hung. The rest of the city? Slums, tenement homes, filthy streets choked with trash. It’s a pisshole, a vast, reeking, rotten ship that’s run by the rats, where the smartest, most ambitious, and most talented people seek entrance into the Family so as to get a chance at fortune and wealth.”
I turned to stare at Yashara. “What do I want? To tear it all down. To root out the Family, Auntie by Uncle, to crush each Sodden Hold, to liberate their mutilated watchers, to kill every gloom knight, to shatter their webs of corruption, to make it clear to each man, woman, and child that the Family need be feared no more.”
Cerys slashed at the air with her hand. “An admirable dream, but utterly impractical -”
“I’m not done,” I growled at her, and she cut off, blinking in surprise. “I’m no fool. No addle-minded idiot who believes we can bring love and happiness to that rotten city through good intentions alone. Nor do I think killing off random Aunties or Uncles like we did with Jack will accomplish anything. The hopeful and ambitious will ever swarm in to take their place. Might as well stop a river by chopping at it with an ax. No. What I want is systemic change without destroying the city itself. No conquering army, no looting and burning Port Gloom to the ground. I want it cleansed. But how?”
I stopped by the table and rested my hands on the chair back. “Our attack needs to be two-fold. We need to dismantle the official power structure piece by piece, removing the corrupt officials that run the city. The Royal Provost, the Provost of the Merchants, the civil and criminal law lieutenants. The Municipal Council itself if we have to.”
Cerys snorted and rolled her eyes. “Ah, wonderful. We just kill off every major noble in the city then. Simple.”
“While we do this, we wage war against the Family. Not by killing random members or even destroying strongholds like the Sodden Hold. We attack the culture of fear and omnipotence they’ve created. The faith the people have in their invulnerability. Last night we struck our first blow, but next time we return to Port Gloom? We’ll wage a calculated war of propaganda and humiliation. We won’t kill an Uncle, we’ll leave him tarred and feathered in the center of Market Square. And this.”
I dug into my pouch and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper I’d taken from Market Square days ago. It depicted a man wreathed in flames, block script printing out the title overhead: On the Return of the King Trolls. “This caught my eye. Not just for the title itself, which is provocative and merits further investigation, but for the way it was mass produced. There were a bunch of other posters identical to it plastered over the post. These weren’t drawn and written by hand, but produced by some new, revolutionary method. I want to find their creator and turn his hand to our purpose. I want to plaster Port Gloom with inflammatory pamphlets and in doing so wage a new kind of war against my father.”
Even Havatier looked interested.
“Impressive goals,” said Yashara, and I could immediately tell she wasn’t convinced. “Why not add ‘recruit the Hanged God to our cause’ and ‘pull down the moon with our bare hands’ while you’re at it?”
I grinned at her. “Maybe I will. And yes, those goals sound far-fetched. But when I return to Port Gloom I will no longer be Kellik the failed apprentice thief. I mean to learn about my heritage. What it means to be a king troll. What I can do with my powers, how I can push them, grow them, so that I can sit across the chess table from my father and play him at his own game. Which is why our first order of business is to learn everything we can about king trolls. From there, we shall put together a plan so cunning that Port Gloom won’t know what hit it until it’s far, far too late.”
Cerys crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. Havatier drummed his fingers on the table. Tamara looked troubled, running the ball of her thumb over her full lips. Only Iris and Netherys looked at ease, both of them clearly on my side.
Havatier pushed himself to his feet. “Kellik, I wish you well. I admire what you’ve accomplished thus far, even if I don’t approve of your methods. But I cannot overlook what you claim to be. This power you seek to master is a pyre on which you and everyone associated with you shall burn. King trolls are the greatest monsters from our past, and the history texts only hint at the atrocities they committed. I will have no part of your future plans. Captain Maestria.” He nodded to her, then walked across the cabin and let himself out the door.
Yashara placed her hands on her hips. “I admire the sheer scope of your ambition. But words are not enough. Too many of my people have already died following your ambitions. If you come to me with the gold I am owed and a concrete plan, then perhaps I will listen. Otherwise, you’d best find that gold before we reach our next port. Pogo? Pony?”
The goblin and troll followed her out of the cabin in turn, Pony nodding to me as he passed.
The room seemed much emptier without their presence. I turned to Cerys. “And you?”
“I… I will listen further.” She pulled out her chair and sat. “It’s not like I’ve anywhere else to go. My mind’s not made up. But I won’t leave just yet.”
“Good. Thank you. Maestria? May we continue to use your cabin?”
“Aye,” said the captain. “I’m still trying to decide whether I’m sufficiently appalled to order you flung off the side of my ship. But while I deliberate, I want to keep you in sight.”
“Fair enough.” I pulled out a cha
ir and sat down, my feverish energy leaving me as I did so. Maestria, Cerys, Netherys, Tamara, and Iris all gazed back at me, their expressions equivocal. “Let me throw this out to you all then: what can you tell me of king trolls?”
Tamara stirred in her seat. “As I said, they were - or are - the ancient enemy of my order. The common belief amongst my brothers and sisters, however, is that they’re long gone; we’ve turned our attentions to general good works and healing those in need. But the records I read indicate that once we were a militant force, and we rose up to contest the king trolls’ dominion of the cities. We rallied armies and through the powers of the White Sun inured our followers to the powers of the king trolls. Over the course of four decades and under numerous leaders and generals we rooted them out in a crusade that burned across Khansalon, though it’s said the king trolls had no influence in Mendev in the far east, the deserts of the far south, or the far flung islands of Heshaman. Still, from Olandipolis and Carneheim to Port Lusander and Jarjute we toppled them, sealed their homes, destroyed their artifacts, and set guards over their places of power.”
“Places of power,” I said. “That sounds promising.”
Tamara gave a one-shouldered shrug. “These were their tombs, the rooms or complexes from where they reigned. Not magical power, I don’t think, but rather symbolic places that people associated with their sovereignty.”
“Still. Something to examine. And this was all five hundred years ago?”
“Ancient history, as I said.” Her smile was apologetic. “Nobody even speaks of them today amongst the Sworn. When I started asking questions I was at first indulged with condescending smiles, as if I had become fascinated with conspiracy theories that everyone knew better than to credit. It’s only when I started making connections between the power granted to us by the White Sun and our efforts to combat the king trolls that the elders began to grow upset.”
“Upset?” asked Cerys. “Why?”
Tamara stared down at her hands. “This is hard for me to speak of, both due to my conditioning and because of my… shame. But,” she drew a deep breath, “when I heal with the power of the White Sun, I knit your physical body together, returning it to its idealized form. The White Sun allows me to see how you would have grown if you had lived a healthy, safe, nurturing life. Whether you are wasted by drugs, weakened by poison, or rent by wounds, I can undo the damage that has skewed you away from your ideal state and return you to optimum health.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Maestria. “I’ve a bad knee you should look at.”
“But,” said Tamara, and her smile became so vulnerable that I couldn’t help but admire her for her bravery in speaking on. “It’s not just the body we heal. It’s the soul. The White Sun also has an ideal state for your mind and spirit. A state that we were taught is in true accordance with a righteous life lived in harmony with its teachings and highest principles. When I heal your body, I also heal your spirit; I realign you, changing you so that you begin to desire to live a virtuous life. Make it easier to resist temptation, strengthen your conscience, your generosity, your patience and capacity for empathy. Curb your crueler impulses, your greed, your desire for dominance, and so forth. It’s why the Sworn are so willing to heal even the most wicked; by healing their bodies, we are able to heal their souls, and help them return to society as productive, kind, and loving members.”
“Oh,” said Maestria, leaning back. “Never mind about the knee then.”
“Yes,” said Tamara. “Exactly. I began to ask why we developed these powers. It seemed to me that our role in fighting the king trolls made such cleansing abilities worthwhile: we could remove the corruption of a king troll’s influence. But since they were deposed, it seems we never stopped; we’ve been ‘improving’ people without asking if it was the right thing to do. This line of questioning began to seriously upset my superiors, and when I refused to be silenced I was first incarcerated, then tortured, and then cast out and made anathema. Apparently, my superiors were too ‘good’ to order my execution.”
Her smile twisted with bitterness. “I made my way down to the docks, where I eventually found work at an inn’s kitchen. Over the next few months I began experimenting with herbalism, refusing to touch the White Sun until Kellik was wheeled into my shack, more dead than alive.”
I smiled at her, and she smiled back; a light danced in her eyes, perhaps made more visible by the tears drawn forth by her emotion, and on impulse I leaned forward to squeeze her hand.
“So this is all your fault,” said Maestria, tone deadpan. “You healed him and set this all in motion.”
Tamara took a brisk breath and sat up straighter. “I suppose it is.”
“I know something,” said Iris. She had removed her veil, though her eyes were still lined with black that had smeared slightly down her cheeks.
“Yes?” I prompted. “Something that came up during your study of necromancy?”
“Oh - no.” She blinked at me, as if I’d suggested something ineffably foolish. “No, not at all. I’ve never heard mention of the king trolls in my books. Do you recall what I told you of my past? I am a native of Port Lusander. There I was courted by the magistrate, a former warrior by the name of Beauhammer. He was old enough to be my father, but found me… appealing. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was my family’s wealth. I made no attempt whatsoever to capture his attention. My father arranged our engagement before he died, after which I immediately broke it off. I thought that would send a definitive message to Beau, but instead…”
She gave a slight shake of her head, her lips quirking in a bemused and private smile.
“He’s the one that sold you to Elias, right?” Her tale came back to me, told to us all within the carriage we’d hired after fleeing Wargiver.
“Yes. But during our engagement, before my father died, I would often go visit him at his castle. It was a picturesque fort, half destroyed by time, covered in dark ivy and gazing out over the city and bay. I would stand for hours at its battlements, thrilling at how the wind would nearly pluck me up and toss me to my death…”
Again she trailed off. This time I decided to wait. After awhile she blinked, smiled anew, and continued. “He was fascinated with the history of the city. ‘His’ city, as he called it, though, of course, the xanthan vine companies would sneer at such a claim. Fascinated with the castle, its previous owners, and the ruins on which it was built. Did I mention the ruins? The hill on which the castle stands is rife with them. Ancient dungeons. Perilous in the extreme, however. Beauhammer told me numerous times over dinner about his attempts to cleanse them completely when he first arrived in Lusander, two decades before. He was shipwrecked, you see, him and his company of paladins. En route to some distant war that he never reached. Instead, they decided to take over the fort and the security of the city. Nobody seemed to mind. And a few years in, lacking a challenge, he decided to explore the full extent of the ruins beneath his castle…”
If her tale wasn’t so fascinating I’d have begun growing frustrated with her meandering way of telling it. But something about her, her dream-like manner, the knowledge of what had been done to her mind, her mesmerizing beauty - all of it served to hold my tongue.
“His men failed to return. He grew impatient, sent more below - oh, he grew quite upset when I asked him why he didn’t go himself - but… no. Nobody it seemed had attempted to explore the ruins before. Apparently, everybody knew them to be cursed. Beauhammer kept sending his men below. He grew obsessed. And one night a soldier of his finally returned, and spoke to him of what he had seen, and Beauhammer summoned priests of the White Sun, and they sent their own below to cordon off a section of the ruins.”
I sat up. “The White Sun did?”
“Yes.” Iris blinked at me, as if losing her train of thought.
“And what happened then?”
“This was a few years ago… but they’ve remained below ever since. They purchased a grand manor off Galleon Square, converted it to
a temple. I believe financed by the Nautilus company. They never approved of me… the White Suns, that is. I can’t say I blame them. I remember one afternoon as the sun slanted in through my drapes and I sat in the grand hall, playing with my toys, and his holiness came to visit my father… they were shouting in the dining room. I grew upset. I forget what I did, but the shouting stopped. His holiness left the manor, but the next day several of their order appeared and demanded I be handed over to them…”
Iris reached up to rub at her temple. “I… no. The memory is gone.” She glanced up, smile apologetic. “What was I saying?”
My throat was dry. “The, ah, ruins under the fortress.”
“Ah yes. Beauhammer ceased sending his men below. Instead… he was so proud of his innovation. Four years - or was it five? Four years ago he declared the entirety of the ruins his domain - besides the area cordoned by the White Sun - and once a year would sell five licenses to adventurers, archaeologists, fortune seekers, and madmen. To anyone who wished to delve below for riches. And… they came. Curious, is it not? That what was freely available before was not valued, but the moment access became limited, oh, how they did clamor and bid for those licenses, all so that they could go below and die, and die, few of them ever returning, and those that did…”
Iris looked down, a thin vertical line between her brows, to stare at the table, lost in thought.
Nobody spoke for a minute or so, waiting to see if she’d pick up her train of thought once more.
Finally, Maestria broke the silence. “As you know, I’m sailing to Port Lusander. It’s my final destination on my voyage south before I plan to turn around and return back up the coast. They’re having their big annual festival in ten days’ time. The Maritime Equinox. Meant to celebrate a strange compulsion the whole town used to feel centuries past that would send everyone diving into the bay. They don’t feel it anymore, but they celebrate the day all the same, diving into the water of their own free will, and it’s now the high point of trading as well as during the week prior xanthan vine can be purchased in bulk amounts by enterprising souls, right up till the day after the festival when the Nautilus’ flagship sets sail for Olandipolis, laden with so much gold it can but wallow through the waves. It’ll be my third year in a row that I visit, and I’m hoping it’ll prove as profitable as the previous two.”