The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Maryanne pulled Fist past the ogre women and he couldn’t help but note the offended glare in Mother Zung’s eyes. He hoped that this incident wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

  “Why did you do that?” Fist asked her once they were out of earshot of the women.

  “Do what?” Maryanne asked innocently.

  “You told everyone that you were my woman,” Fist said.

  “No. I said that you were my man,” she corrected. “It was a definite declaration.” The gnome warrior patted his arm. “Oh, don’t look flummoxed. I was doing you a favor. Now those ogresses won’t be trying to drag you off into some dark cave every time you turn around. Isn’t that something you wanted to avoid?”

  “Yes,” Fist said slowly. “But-.”

  “And don’t pretend that you haven’t noticed how some of those men have been looking at me,” she added. “You don’t want some ogre trying to lay his grubby hands on me do you?”

  “No,” he said, even more slowly. That wasn’t exactly an observation he had made, but it seemed like a very bad idea to point that out.

  She gave him a wry smile. “Besides, you know you’ve been thinking about it anyway. And since we now have to keep up appearances, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make up your mind.”

  I’m confused, Rufus said.

  So am I, Fist replied.

  It is good, Squirrel said. Fist has a mate now. He will be more happy.

  That is not what just happened, Fist said unconvincingly. Maryanne had been so in charge of that conversation he wasn’t quite sure what he had agreed to. He was trying to figure out how to talk to her about it and set some things straight when they arrived at the Jail Cave.

  The jail door, consisting of several tree branches lashed together and held in place by large rocks, had been thrown open and Fist could see two large feet sticking out from the dark entrance.

  “Fist! Maryanne! There you are!” Whispered Qenzic urgently. The academy graduate looked quite upset. “Come here. Quietly.”

  As Fist moved closer, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he noticed a dim light coming from around a bend in the back of the cave. Standing next to him was Lyramoor. A large ogre lay at the elf’s feet. He wasn’t moving. A sick feeling rose in Fist’s stomach.

  “What happened?” Maryanne asked.

  “Lyramoor killed the guard,” Qenzic replied.

  Chapter Eight

  “I was sitting around for a long time waiting to see if Fist would get them to free you,” Lyramoor said to Qenzic. He glanced at Fist irritably. “You took too long.”

  Fist placed a hand over his face. This was his fault. He knew that Lyramoor was volatile. He should have done something about it when the elf had disappeared, but there had been so many other things for him to worry about that he’d let it slide.

  “What were you thinking?” Maryanne snapped at the elf. “Charz fought a big acid licking giant to free them. We were delayed getting here a little, but come on!”

  “Alright. I may have acted a bit too quickly, but I had no way of knowing what was taking you so long,” Lyramoor replied.

  “You could have stuck with the plan and stayed with us,” Maryanne said.

  The elf sighed. “It’s not that big a problem, right? It’s just one dead ogre.”

  “It’s a problem,” Fist said numbly.

  He crouched next to the guard and turned him over. Fist didn’t recognize him. He was a youthful ogre. He had a stout face with a prominent brow and a jutting jaw. Fist sent his magic into the body. The elf had been efficient. A throwing dagger to the eye and a finishing wound to the heart.

  Fist gritted his teeth in anger. “Just one dead ogre? What if I said, ‘Just one dead human?’or ‘Just one dead elf?’”

  “Yeah. Sorry about the way I said that,” Lyramoor said.

  Fist closed his eyes and shook his head. “This is my fault. I brought you all here. I was proud to have you all in my tribe.”

  “Surely it’s not that bad,” Maryanne said. “Ogres are violent types. They expect accidental deaths to happen from time to time, don’t they?”

  “Yes, ogres are violent,” Fist replied bitterly. “That does not mean that we don’t care about the lives of others in our tribe. We have strong bodies. We can handle violence. Accidental deaths are rare.” He pointed to the body prone at their feet. “He may not have had a family like the smarter races do. But this ogre had responsibilities in the tribe. This ogre had friends. He will be missed. And the Thunder People are always harsh when someone kills a member of their tribe.”

  “I . . .” Lyramoor looked away, uncharacteristically chastened. “I was only thinking of Qenzic and Wizard Locksher.”

  “No, you were dwelling on your past like always, Lyramoor,” Qenzic snapped. Lyramoor had barely left his side since Sabre Vlad’s death and months of frustration over the elf’s dour behavior were bubbling over. “I know your feelings about being imprisoned, but we were only locked up because of a misunderstanding. The Thunder People aren’t dwarf smugglers. They aren’t even our enemies. They’re supposed to be our allies on this mission.”

  The elf looked down, his hands clenched, but said nothing, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

  “What do you think the Thunder People will want to do about this?” Maryanne asked.

  “It would be different if the guard had attacked and he was just defending himself, but as it is? They might want to execute Lyramoor,” Fist replied. He looked around. “Where is Professor Locksher?”

  “He’s in the back. Around the corner,” Qenzic replied, giving Lyramoor a look of worry mixed with irritation.

  “All of you, stay here,” Fist said and ducked down as he walked deeper into the cave. He wished Justan was there. Hopefully, Locksher would know what to do.

  The interior of the Jail Cave was chilly, but warm enough that the water dripping from the ceiling didn’t freeze. The result was that it was wet year round, with puddles of water here and there along the floor of the cave. Decades of being used as a jail had also left it smelling like stale urine.

  The ceiling lowered further in the rear of the cave and Fist had to hunch over to turn the corner. Wizard Locksher had found the one dry place in the cave and was sitting with his knees drawn up in front of him. He was reading a book by the soft light of a glow orb that sat on top of an overstuffed pack that was gaping open on the floor beside him.

  “Master Locksher,” Fist said.

  Locksher held up a finger as he finished the paragraph he was on, then looked up from his book. “Oh, there you are, Fist. I assume that your arrival means the matter of our imprisonment has been settled?”

  “Yes,” Fist said. “I’m sorry it took so long to get you released. I . . . it’s a long story. We need you at the front of the cave.”

  “Very well.” He placed the book back into his pack, but kept the orb out as he pulled the drawstrings closed. The wizard stood. “We had a fairly eventful journey after you left us. I learned a few interesting tidbits about this ‘evil’ we are facing. It is a bit larger than we expected.”

  “Yeah. Maryanne and I saw it this morning,” Fist said.

  “‘It’?” The wizard raised an eyebrow in interest. “What do you mean, you saw ‘it’.”

  “The black lake of larvae,” Fist replied. He turned and walked back into the depths of the cave. “We had to fight our way past it on our way.”

  Locksher picked up his pack and followed behind him. “Don’t leave it at that, apprentice. Describe it to me. What were its dimensions? What kinds of beasts did you have to fight past? These are all crucial facts that will help me better understand the nature of our enemy.”

  “I will tell you all about that later, Master. I promise. but-,” Fist turned back to look at him again. “I should warn you before we reach the others. I bonded with a rogue horse this morning. You’ll see him. His name’s Rufus. Also, Lyramoor murdered your guard.”

  “I . . . see.” Both of the wiz
ard’s eyebrows were up now. “Carry on then.”

  When they reached the front of the cave, Lyramoor and Qenzic had finished dragging the ogre’s body the rest of the way into the cave. Locksher paused as they walked past Rufus, who was holding his nose, quite disgusted by the stench of the place.

  “Stinks,” the rogue horse complained.

  “Sorry, Rufus,” Fist said. “I would have you wait outside, but people would see you and we don’t want more attention.”

  “Fascinating. He can speak and he’s part gorilla,” said Locksher. He lifted his glowing orb and stepped forward to examine Rufus closer.

  “You can look at him later,” Fist said. He grabbed the wizard’s arm and pulled him past the rogue horse. He placed him in front of the corpse. “What do you think we should do, Master?”

  Locksher threw an irritated glance over his shoulder at Fist, then crouched down and examined the guard. After a moment, he looked over at the elf and tut tutted, “Couldn’t you have rendered him unconscious instead?”

  The elf snorted. “I’m Swordweilder’s Guild. I never trained to knock ogres unconscious.”

  Locksher inclined his head. “This is a sticky situation. Ideally, of course, we would report the death of this ogre to the proper authorities and plead our case.”

  “Good,” Fist said, feeling better. “I hoped you would say that.”

  “However,” Locksher added. “We are in a bit of a peculiar circumstance, aren’t we? We are on a mission of crucial importance and if an incident like this could possibly hamper our ability to complete our mission, it might be wise to take a less ideal route.”

  “Fist thinks that the ogres might want to kill Lyramoor in exchange,” Maryanne said.

  “That is not a desired result, I suppose,” Locksher said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  “Thanks, wizard,” Lyramoor said bitterly.

  “That might not happen,” Fist replied unconvincingly. Ogre law was pretty specific. The punishment was equal to the crime. “Since we are in a war against the evil and our tribes are allies, Crag might make an exception. The rest of the tribe wouldn’t be happy about it, though.”

  “You’re all thinking too hard about this,” Lyramoor said. “I say we just lie about it. Make it look like he died some other way.”

  “I’m not very good at lying,” Fist said.

  Not good, Squirrel agreed.

  “Come on, we have a wizard here with us,” Maryanne said. “Surely, it wouldn’t be too hard for Locksher here to make it look like there was an accident. You know, change the injuries with healing magic or whatever.”

  Locksher nodded. “Well, if you were trying to cover up a murder, I am likely the best person to have at your disposal. As Wizard of Mysteries, I have spent many years solving crimes like this. Some of them very cleverly hidden. I must admit that I have given quite a bit of thought as to how it could be done right. Hypothetically, of course.”

  Good! Squirrel agreed. Hide it!

  “I don’t like this idea,” Fist said with a groan. “Plans like this always go bad.”

  “These are ogres,” Lyramoor said. “They ain’t gonna figure nothing out.”

  Locksher gave the elf a dull look. “You do realize what you just said.”

  “What?” asked the elf.

  “You used two negative words that changed the meaning of what you were trying to say,” Qenzic explained. “You basically just said that they would figure something out.”

  Lyramoor’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “No I didn’t.”

  Locksher rolled his eyes. “I will leave this decision up to you, Fist. You know the ways of your people best.”

  Fist’s shoulders slumped. It would have been so much easier if the wizard had just taken the decision out of his hands. The thing was that they were right. Locksher could change the wounds with magic and make it look like something else had happened and there was no way for the ogres to tell. But that just felt . . . wrong.

  “I see you are having some difficulty deciding,” Locksher said. “Very well. In the meantime, let’s discuss something more crucial to our mission. What I want to hear is what you and Maryanne found at that black lake today.”

  “You were there?” Qenzic asked.

  Fist sighed. “Well-.”

  “Hey! What are you . . . oh!” shouted a coarse voice and Fist turned to see a startled ogre standing at the entrance of the cave. Fist recognized him as Dirt, one of the ogres that he had grown up with. “Uh, hey, Big Fist. I saw you at the big cave. It is good that you are back with us.”

  Fist glanced down and saw that the body had disappeared, covered by a sheet of air magic. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Dirt. It is good to be back.”

  “Good,” the ogre replied and stood there staring at them with a smile on his face. Fist cocked his head at the ogre questioningly and Dirt blinked. “Um, sorry. I was looking for Glum. He was supposed to be here guarding the Jail Cave. Did you saw him?”

  “Uh, no,” Fist said. His voice sounded unnatural to his ears and he hoped that the ogre didn’t notice. He looked at Maryanne. “Did you see him?”

  “No,” she said, looking to the others. They all shrugged in unison.

  “Oh,” Dirt said. He scratched his head and turned around, looking into the darkness around the outside of the cave. “Hey! Glum!”

  “Uh, maybe he went back to the main camp,” Lyramoor suggested. “You know, since we ain’t prisoners anymore.”

  “Huh? Oh,” Dirt said. “I go look for him there then.” His brow furrowed in confusion for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Bye, Fist.”

  “Bye, Dirt,” Fist replied. The ogre turned and walked back towards the camp and Fist sighed, exhausted as if he had run five miles. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

  “Focus back on the matter at hand,” Locksher replied. “You were going to tell me what you found this morning.”

  “Well, we first saw it from up above. We were pushing through a trail that was deep with snow. Then there were so many flies in the snow . . .” Fist found himself staring down at the sheet of air magic covering the ogre’s body. With his mage sight it glowed a bright yellow. He couldn’t think straight. He kept wondering what Justan would say about the situation.

  “We were at the opening of a canyon gorge,” Maryanne said, trying to be helpful. “We could see the black lake at the bottom. It was making a lot of heat-.”

  “No,” Fist said.

  “No?” Maryanne repeated, unsure what part of the story he was objecting to.

  “No, we will not hide this,” Fist said, making up his mind. “Rufus come here. Maryanne, help me put the body on his back.”

  Rufus came over to the cave entrance and Fist and Maryanne each grabbed one of the dead ogre’s thick arms. They began hoisting him up.

  “Are you sure about this?” Maryanne said as they laid the body awkwardly on the rogue horse’s back.

  “Yes,” said Fist, moving to Rufus’s other side. He pulled the body into better position. “The way of the Big and Little People should be better than other tribes. I will show the Thunder People that we do the honorable thing.”

  “Will you be bringing Lyramoor with you? So that he can tell his reasons for doing what he did?” Locksher asked.

  “No!” said Qenzic and Fist at the same time.

  “It will be best if they do not see him until their anger has died down,” Fist added.

  “If that is what you wish, Fist,” Locksher said and there was something akin to approval in his voice. “But what will you do if they decide they want blood?”

  “Yeah, I ain’t sticking my neck out for them to wring, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Lyramoor.

  “I will not allow you to be executed,” Fist assured him. “We will have to make it up to them another way.”

  “That sounds like it could be tedious,” Lyramoor said irritably.

  “Um, at least you won’t be dying,” Qenzic reminded him.

 
“I’ll come with you,” Maryanne said.

  “No,” Fist said. “I need you to stay here and talk to Professor Locksher. Tell him everything that happened to us this morning. Then if I’m not back yet, you should all set up camp nearby.”

  Locksher opened his overstuffed pack and pulled out a notebook. “That sounds like a grand idea. Come, Maryanne. Don’t leave out anything. I’ll have Fist fill in any details you may not have when he returns.”