Gathering of the Titans: The Tol Chronicles Book 2

by Robert G. Ferrell

  “Yes, mast... Tol. My name is Korq. How will you get me out, past all these titans?”

  “Piece o’ cake. If we get caught I’ll tell them you violated an edict and I’m taking you back to Goblinopolis for trial.”

  “You could do that?”

  “Yeah, I’m a cop. A special investigator, as a matter of fact.”

  “Wow. Think it will work?”

  “I hope so. If they try to interfere with a Tragacanthan edict enforcement officer in the conduct of official duties they’ll seriously jeopardize their application for sovereign standing, I can promise that. Now, come on down and let’s figure a way out of this hole.”

  Together they climbed down the wall and then began to scout for an exit.

  “I came in the same way you did, so we know where that direction leads,” said Tol, waving toward the corridor out of which he’d emerged. “Let’s do some exploring.”

  Tol led the way as they investigated every possible passage out of the room, one by one. At last Tol stopped at the entrance to a small irregularly-shaped corridor that led sharply upward. He wiped his hand across the damp stone just inside the opening, sniffing it.

  “This one leads to the surface.”

  “But Tol, how do you know this?” asked Korq, his eyes wide. Tol held up his hand and swirled his finger around on some fine particles smeared on his palm. “See the little grains? They’re pollen from plants on the surface. They were carried down here by the wind, which tells me that this passage connects to the surface. Doesn’t promise that the opening will be big enough for us to get through, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “How can you tell there is a bridge?”

  Tol looked at the half-titan for a few seconds with puzzlement; chuckled.

  “Just an expression, kid. It means we will solve one problem at a time.”

  “I am seeing it now.”

  “Great. Let’s get moving.”

  The going was slow along the steeply-graded passageway, with frequent stops to rest and catch their breaths. More than once Korq slipped and began to slide, forcing Tol to slide down after him and halt both their descents with a great outpouring of strength.

  “I’m getting’ too old for this smek,” he exclaimed after one such exertion. “Watch your footing, kid. I might not be able to stop you next time.”

  “I will endeavor not to be so clumsy in the future, master, I mean, Tol. I am unaccustomed to traversing such pathways,” Korq apologized, wringing his hands.

  “No sweat, kid: you’re doing fine. Just be a little more careful about where you step, and try to find handholds whenever you can.”

  “I will gladly comply...Tol.”

  During a rest break after about half an hour of steady, laborious effort, Tol’s head suddenly snapped up. Korq glanced over in alarm.

  “Is something amiss, Tol?”

  “You smell that? It’s the smell of rain in fresh air. We’re almost to the surface!” Tol was practically dancing a jig. He was really tired of being underground.

  “Yes: I do smell it now.”

  “Wait here,” Tol commanded and scrambled up the last few meters of the passage to where it dead-ended into a pile of rubble. He scrutinized the area both visually and nasally until he pinpointed the opening to the surface.

  “Hang tight to the left wall,” he called back down to Korq, “I’m going to do a little excavating; I’ll toss the rocks as far to the right as I can.”

  Korq did as he was told and hugged the left wall while Tol dislodged larger and larger stones that crashed and bounced their way back down the shaft. Finally he called down to the half-titan.

  “Come on up now, Korq. Very carefully. If you slip now I won’t be able to stop you from sliding all the way back down.”

  “I am proceeding with great care, Tol.”

  Korq made his way slowly up to the top of the shaft, one step and handhold at a time, until at last he stood with his goblin rescuer. Tol heaved one final boulder aside and crawled through the resultant space. He stood up and found himself unexpectedly looking out over the broad entrance to Hellehoell, sprawling some twenty meters below. He turned his head as Korq came clambering out.

  “Keep a low profile, kid. We don’t want to get spotted by the sentries down there.”

  Korq followed Tol’s pointing finger and shrank back against the rocks of the cliff, trying to blend in. Tol skirted around out of sight from the sentries and told Korq to do the same. In the process the half-titan dislodged a cascade of pebbles that tumbled noisily to the valley floor below. Tol flinched involuntarily.

  “Well, they know something’s up here now. We better skedaddle before a patrol comes to check it out.”

  “As you command.”

  “It’s not a command: it’s a suggestion, albeit a strongly-worded one. I’m not your smekkin’ boss.”

  “I believe your suggestion to be sound, then, and I am inclined to accept it.”

  “That’s more like it. Now, move!”

  They half-jogged, half-skidded along a steep trail that wound its way down in multiple switchbacks to a ravine hidden from Hellehoell’s grand boulevard of Daludobris. At the bottom Tol motioned for a stop and suggested that Korq hide in the tall grass until he came back.

  Tol stood very still at the trailhead and cranked all of his senses to full power. After a couple of minutes, satisfied that they had not yet been detected, he returned to Korq.

  “Let’s go, young’un. Stay close to me and keep your head down as much as you can. When I stop, you stop. And stay quiet.”

  They made their stealthy way along a rutted road that led, finally, to the main highway connecting Fenurian with Cladimil. Tol got out his comm, which luckily still had enough of a charge to contact the district edict enforcement headquarters, and in less than an hour they were heading to Cladimil in an EE dray.

  Chapter the Twelfth

  in which Tol goes unwillingly to sea and meets there a fellow knight

  “They will be looking very hard for me. Titans do not like to lose track of their slaves. I am forbidden to talk to anyone about my parentage or enslavement; the punishments for disobedience are harsh indeed.”

  “Then,” Tol replied grimly, “We’d better make sure they don’t find you.”

  They had the EE dray drop them off at the docks. Tol went scouting for a suitable vessel and came back a few minutes later to the little dive bar where he’d left Korq sitting by himself in a corner.

  “The purser of the Grollnash agreed to take you on as a non- manifested passenger, for a few extra billmes,” Tol said in a low voice.

  “What does that mean, ‘non-manifested’?”

  “It means the official record of passengers won’t have your name on it. Passenger manifests are released to those with a need to know. They could be checked by the titans. This way no one will be aware that you are on the ship except you, me, and the purser.”

  “Where is the ship going, exactly?”

  “It’s a freighter bound for Solemadrina. Port Jool, I think. You can get to Aspolia from there by carriage. I’ll pay for it. Come on, I’ll get you settled in.”

  They tromped up the gangway, checked in with the purser, and headed down to the meager passenger quarters to find the unoccupied cabin the purser had indicated Korq could use. The bunks were not lengthy enough for even a young titan, so he and Tol improvised with mats and blankets along one wall. When at last Tol was satisfied that Korq had a place to sleep, he gave him enough money for food and sundries for the trip, as well as carriage fare to Aspolia.

  “I cannot take your money, Tol. I have done nothing to earn it.”

  “This ain’t about earning, kid; it’s about gettin’ you outta a bad situation. You can pay me back later, if you want. It’s not like I’m exactly poor these days.”

  “I...I do not know how to express my gratitude for such a kind and generous act. You are my friend forever, Tol.”

  “And you mine. Now I bett
er get my butt offa this boat before I end up sailing with you. Goodbye, kid. Good luck. I hope life with your mom’s family is everything you want it to be.”

  “It will certainly be better than being a slave. Goodbye to you, Tol. Thank you again for all that you have done for me. I did not know people such as you existed in this world. I am very glad to discover that they indeed do.”

  They shook hands and then embraced warmly. It was a bit awkward because Korq was over a meter taller than Tol, but they managed it somehow anyway. Tol waved one last time and headed forward toward the gangplank. He passed a shadowy alcove; his danger alarm suddenly went off and he reached instinctively for his disruptor. As his hand closed around the familiar grip there was a very loud noise in his head and the lights went out.

  Tol woke up with a throbbing headache in a sparse, utilitarian bunk. He rolled over and came face to face with an ogre with several livid scars wearing the uniform of a merchant marine boatswain.

  “Welcome to the crew of the O.V. Grollnash, seacrew. Ye’ll be swabbing decks and slapping on paint under me watchful eye.”

  “I ain’t no kind of seacrew. Some smekker ambushed me. When I find him he’s gonna wish he’d stayed home with his momma.”

  The ogre swung a ham-sized fist at Tol but he dodged it easily and reached for his disruptor. It wasn’t there. The ogre chuckled.

  “Where is my pistol, you ugly smekker?”

  “Weapons are not allowed on board, seacrew. It was confiscated and locked up.”

  “It better get unlocked toot sweet.”

  “Or what, tough guy?”

  Tol snarled and was about to show the ogre ‘what’ when he suddenly realized he was now on a case. The Grollnash had sailed from a Tragacanth port under a Tragacanthan flag, so by international treaty it was under Tragacanthan jurisdiction at all times. At least one count of illegal impressment had taken place; it was up to him to investigate. Instead of laying the boatswain out, he decided to play it cool and stay undercover.

  “Er, nothing, bo’s’n. I was just groggy and not thinkin’ straight. Sorry about that.”

  “That’s better, seacrew. Follow me and I’ll show ye yer duties. You’ll find me a fair one, so long as ye keep yer place and do yer job.”

  “So, do you get all your crew by bopping them on the head?”

  The ogre stopped and gave Tol a look that was almost wistful.

  “Truth is, almost all of the crew with the exception of the deck officers are conscripts. We’re people trying to forget our past, or hoping someone else will, at least. Ye’ll do best not to ask too many questions, though. The second mate, he don’t like inquisitive crew.”

  “I can see why. My name is Tol, by the way.”

  “Tol it is. Mine’s Fevins, but ye’ll be calling me bo’s’n. What did ye do afore ye became seacrew?”

  “I did a lot of... walking. Mostly in Goblinopolis.”

  “Ah, the big city. I was there oncest. Walked around that enormous palace they got there and wondered what it would be like to be in the Royal Fam’ly.”

  Tol almost choked.“Probably just like any other family,” he squeaked out, finally, “They put their pants on one leg at a time, same as you and me.”

  “I figured they had someone do it for them.”

  “You know that the King of Tragacanth is no longer a hereditary position, right? They have this big hacking contest and the winner gets to be king for a few years.”

  “So? CoME has to agree on the candidates and run the contest. The whole thing is obviously rigged.”

  “Ya think so? What do ya think of the current king?”

  “A little snot-nosed brainy brat whose family probably bought the office for him; at least, that’s what I heerd.”

  Tol suppressed his desire to leave the ogre a bloodied pulp and made no reply. Fortunately for Fevins they had reached the small closet where the mops were stored.

  “All right, seacrew. Ye’re going to learn how to push a mop Grollnash-style. By the time ye’re through, ye’ll be a regular expert at it.”

  He showed Tol the proper way to push, wring, and swirl. Tol took to it like a natural and had finished a quarter of the deck before Fevins could even comment.

  “I ain’t never seen a conscript work like ye, seacrew. Ye might make bo’s’n’s mate if ye keep that up.”

  Tol just grinned and kept working. He had a mission now, and when Tol-u-ol was on a mission absolutely nothing got in his way.

  That evening after his twelve-hour shift, Tol sat in the crew mess and got to know the other seacrew. He learned over time that, as Fevins had said, they were all conscripts, beaten and kept on board by threats. They were never allowed shore leave, for obvious reasons. Tol avoided contact with Korq, who the officers probably figured to be too large and strong to intimidate and so remained merely a paid passenger, because he didn’t want the young half- titan to blow his assumed cover.

  The fourth day out from Cladimil the third mate poked his head belowdecks.

  “Thar be rough seas ahead, swabs. Git ready on the pumps. Bo’s’n, get a crew and furl the corsels. We be leavin’ the topsels and gallans for maneuvering. Git yer scurvy hides movin!”

  Up to now the ship’s movements had been relatively benign; almost relaxing. Tol hadn’t felt any seasickness at all, to his surprise. That was about to change.

  Not ten minutes after the third mate’s visit the roll and pitch of the Grollnash began to increase: gradually at first, but then in a more dramatic manner. Tol was assigned to one of the bilge pumps across from a half-ogre called Yomb. As the hull flexed and bulged with the crashing waves, water was forced between the strakes and came splashing in around the rotting edges of the cargo hatches. The job of the twelve crew at the six bilge pumps was to pump that water right back out over the side through large hoses.

  The pumps could be operated by attached engines, but Fevins preferred to use manual labor to save valuable fuel. “Put yer backs into it, ye scurvy hounds. If this ‘ere hold fills up with sea water we all be sleeping with the fishes tonight, no mistake.”

  The pumps, once primed, had to be operated continuously to maintain suction. Yomb showed Tol how they traded off resting and how to appear to be working even while you took a break.

  The storm continued to escalate until it seemed the ship must surely come apart. Every swell stood the Grollnash nearly on end. Even some of the old hands were seasick; Tol had long since lost the contents of his stomach and was into dry heaves—but not once did he let up on the pump handle. The water level in the lower hold wasn’t rising, but it wasn’t going down, either. They were just holding their own, and growing exhausted in the process. All around them the boards were creaking, popping, and screeching.

  Finally, after an eternity of pitching, rolling, rising, and falling, the fury of the sea spent itself and the bilge water drained to its normal level. When Fevins gave the order to ‘secure pumps,’ Tol felt as though he could never again raise his arms. He stumbled to his bunk and slept soundly until duty call the next morning.

  When they made Port Jool, Tol sneaked up on deck to make sure that Korq got off safely. He wanted to wish him well again, but that would risk breaking his cover, so he watched the young half- titan make his way uncertainly down the gangplank and off to find his family. As he entered the port facility two trolls were there to greet him warmly. They walked off together, chatting animatedly. It appeared Korq had finally found a place he could call home. Tol felt a tiny wetness well up in one corner of his eye. He wiped it away. “Smekkin’ sea spray,” he muttered.

  Tol began rather to enjoy seacrew life, but he realized that Selpla would be very worried about him by now, and he wanted to set these impressees free, so he had a strategy meeting with Fevins. The boatswain, who had been impressed almost four years previous, when he’d come aboard to deliver flour and meal for a local mill in the port city of Zekka down in Ovinis, had despite their early differences become his best friend on board.

&nb
sp; “Why do you stay here?” Tol asked him one night after mess. “I saw the third mate beatin’ you with that nine-tailed whip o’ his. I would have kicked his goblin butt into next week and then some.”

  Fevins cracked a wry grin, “I ain’t much of a fighter, when it comes down to it. As bo’s’n I’m a trustee—I could go into port for supplies and jest not come back—but truth be tolt I ain’t got nowhere to run to. That’s probably why they made me bo’s’n.”

  “You could go back to the mill in Zekka,” said Tol, munching on a big crumble of hardtack soaked in weak stock that he’d smuggled back to his berth.

  “Old Wikker’s probably dead by now, or at least too old to run the mill. His whelp Axlo and I never saw eye to eye on much o’ anythin.’ I doubt he’d even take me back.”

  “Don’t you have family somewhere?”

  “Well, I guess I must have, but I don’t know ‘em. Me daddy run off when I was still stiff-kneed and me momma, she drank herself to death the next year. I was raised in a orphan home until I run away; must have been about eight. From them on I made me way on the streets: first in a village outside of Nar Braylov and then I hitched to Zekka. Funny thing is, I actually came to Zekka to sign on as a deck hand. This wasn’t exactly the career I was expecting, but I suppose it be close enough.”

  “You said you weren’t a fighter: is that because you don’t believe in fightin’ or something?”

  “Nah, nothin’ like that; I jest never larned. I was in a few scraps as a kid, but I got pretty good at avoidin’ trouble as I got older.”

  “That’s a mighty good skill to have, itself. Still, if you’d like to learn, I could teach you a few things about hand-to-hand. Keep you alive in a fight, at least.”

  “I never turn down a chance to larn something’ useful. Were ye some kind of soldier or somethin’?”

  “You could say that. All right, the first thing you need to learn is how to stand. Always keep your body pointed at the opponent: lead with one leg and put the other behind you, like this.”