The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  She gave him a regretful look, but as Fist headed back towards the big cave the gnome warrior was telling Locksher everything she remembered. Fist felt a sense of relief. He was confident that he was making the right decision. Crag had changed much from the angry brutish stickler for traditions that he had been when Fist was younger.

  You are too nice, Squirrel admonished him as they walked past the multiple firesides of the camp. The little creature was still sitting on his shoulder, and was working on a particularly thick shelled nut. His thoughts were punctuated by sharp cracking sounds that echoed in Fist’s ear. You should have hided it.

  “You need to stop trying to act so mean, Squirrel,” Fist replied aloud. “You may have killed one ogre, but that doesn’t make you like Deathclaw.”

  I am, Squirrel insisted.

  “Hey, that thing killed a ogre!” said an ogre nearby, pointing at the body on Rufus’ back.

  “That’s Glum! He killed Glum,” said another ogre.

  Fist realized that they had overheard him speaking to Squirrel and had assumed he was talking to Rufus. “No,” he said. “That was someone else.”

  “You sure he is dead?” asked another one, an ogre female. “Maybe he is sleeping.”

  People began to crowd around them. One of them was Dirt, the ogre that had come looking for glum. He had a sad look on his face. “There is a hole in his eye. You telled me you did not see him.”

  “We found him,” Fist said and immediately felt bad at how quickly the lie came even though he had been determined to tell the truth. “Uh, I’m taking him to Crag.”

  “Hey! Tell Crag Fist is coming,” Dirt yelled. “Somebody killed Glum!”

  A few of the ogres ran towards the big cave. Others were asking, “Who is Glum?” “Did Big Fist kill him?” “It was the gwatch!”

  “Me?” Rufus asked, concerned.

  “It’s okay, Rufus,” Fist said, patting the rogue horse’s arm. “I’ll tell them you didn’t do it.”

  It was out of control now. Ogres were spreading the news as fast as they could yell. “It was not the gwatch!” “It was the gwatch!” “Grum is dead!” “Fum?” “Oh no. Fum is dead?”

  By the time he came at the fire where Crag was sitting, the camp was abuzz with misinformation and Fist was surrounded by a sizeable retinue. Old Falog and Momma Zung were sitting with Crag and all three of them stood expectedly when he arrived. Momma Zung was giving Fist a particularly intense glare. Fist instantly regretted letting Maryanne offend the ogress, not that he could have stopped her.

  “What is this, Fist?” Crag asked. The outside of his arm was red and badly swollen. It looked painful. Big blisters had formed where the brander had done his work.

  “I have brought you the body of the ogre that was guarding the Jail Cave. I was told his name is Glum,” Fist said.

  “Take him down,” Crag said and two ogres took the body off of Rufus’ back and laid it before the chief. Crag looked at it for a moment and then turned to Falog. “Who is Glum?”

  “He was once a Spider People, but becomed a Thunder People when you was gone,” Old Falog answered, shaking his head at the body. He was still wearing his red fur cloak, but spoke to Crag deferentially. “He was guarding Fist’s little peoples tonight.”

  Crag frowned at Fist. “What happened? They telled me that Big Head killed him.”

  “No!” Rufus said worriedly.

  It’s okay. “Rufus wasn’t the one who killed him,” Fist said.

  “They finded him like this,” said Dirt, trying to be helpful.

  “They finded him with a hole in his eye?” Crag asked.

  Momma Zung was leaning over the body. She held up a bloody finger. “And in his heart. Glum was stabbed. Maybe by a spear.”

  Fist winced at how quickly that lie had come back to bite him. “Actually it was someone in my tribe that killed him.”

  “They did?” said Dirt, his voice hurt.

  “It was that skinny women,” Momma Zung guessed.

  “No,” Fist said. “It wasn’t Maryanne. It was the elf, Lyramoor.”

  Crag’s eyes tightened. He and the elf hadn’t exactly been chummy during the journey up the mountains, but he knew him well enough to be surprised at this. “Why did he do this? What did Glum do to him?”

  “Glum was guarding the cave like he was supposed to,” Fist replied. His jaw shook as he tried to think of the best way to put it. “It was a mistake. Lyramoor killed him while trying to free the other members of my tribe.”

  “He stabbed him in the eye and heart by mistake?” Old Falog said in disbelief. There was a low rumble among the ogres.

  “No,” Fist admitted. “He did those things on purpose. His mistake was that he thought he was saving his friends. He did not know that they were being released.”

  Crag folded his arms, a quiver of his lip the only sign that the movement had stretched his burned skin. “You telled me our tribes is allies. That means we do not kill you and you do not kill us.”

  “You are right,” Fist said. “We are allies. Still, a member of my tribe did this thing. That is why I am here.”

  “You do know the rules about this?” Old Falog asked, but before Fist could answer he said, “If we is not at war and a ogre from another tribe kills one of ours, that tribe must bring us the head of the killer or we will go to war on them.”

  There were nods of agreement throughout the crowd.

  “I will not kill him for this,” Fist replied. There were rumbles of outrage among the ogres. “My tribe is already at war!” Fist yelled. “But not with the Thunder People. We are here to fight the evil! Lyramoor is a good fighter. We cannot afford to lose any more good fighters if we are to win this war!”

  The angry rumbles faded a bit at this, but Crag wasn’t mollified.

  “Our tribe losed one good fighter too! What is you telling me, Fist? Your Big and Little People Tribe, the one you think is so good, can kill my people and you will do nothing to make this right?”

  “No. I . . . My tribe will take responsibility for what happened. We will try to make this right in whatever way we can, but we will not kill one of our own just to make you feel better.” Fist turned so that all the ogres gathered could see him. “We are here to fight for you! We are here to fight this evil, not just to save ourselves, but to save the Thunder People too!” He looked back at Crag. “Does that not count for something?”

  Old Falog cocked his head. “Maybe if they gived us some of their womens.”

  Fist sighed. “We don’t have any ogre women to give you.”

  “Then another member of your tribe,” Momma Zung suggested. “A male one to replace the warrior that you killed.”

  “Yes!” said Crag. “Or you could give us a wizard that can fix us with magics.” He grew excited. “Or-or a cook that can make us those human foods.”

  “Yes!” cried Rub, who was standing nearby. The ogres had become quite enamored with the taste of the food that the Mage School had provided for their journey.

  Fist resisted the urge to put his face in his hands. He told himself that this was a step in the right direction. They weren’t talking death anymore. Perhaps the best thing was to give the ogres time to calm down about Glum’s death.

  He forced a smile. “It sounds like we will be able to come up with something you will be happy with. Uh, but much of what you are asking for are things we don’t have with us. Perhaps we can discuss this later once the evil has been killed?”

  “That will be good. Bring us a cook after the war,” Crag said, nodding.

  “A cook?” Rufus said.

  “We will talk about that again . . . then,” Fist said.

  “Good,” Crag said. “Go tell that elf little people that we will not kill him for this.”

  “Thank you, Crag,” Fist said, feeling both relieved and uneasy, not sure what exactly he had accomplished.

  When he finally made his way back to his friends it was late. They had made a campsite not far from the Jail Cave.
It was next to a small stand of stunted fir trees a short distance away from the Thunder People campfires. They had a fire of their own going and were cooking up some carrion birds that Maryanne had been able to bring down with arrows. There were usually many of them flying around ogre camps and there were even more now with the evil so close by.

  Everyone gathered around when Fist came into view. Maryanne linked her arm with his. “How did it go?”

  “Are they determined to kill me?” Lyramoor asked.

  “We heard a bit of a ruckus from over here but some ogres appeared with our horses and gear a little while ago,” Qenzic said. “No one attacked us so I assume things went well.”

  “No, Lyramoor, they are not going to kill you.” Fist said. “But they are demanding that we make up for what you did and I promised them that we would.”

  “And how are they expecting us to do that?” Maryanne asked.

  “They want me to replace their lost tribe member with one of ours. Hopefully someone that can cook,” Fist said.

  Qenzic scoffed. “You’re giving one of us away . . . to the Thunder People.”

  “No,” Fist said. “I’m not. What I told them was that we would talk again once the evil was destroyed and figure something out.”

  “That something being a person that has to stay behind and live with the ogres,” Qenzic repeated.

  “Nonsense,” said Locksher with a chuckle. “They’re ogres. They will have calmed down and mostly forgotten about this by then. They will be happy that we helped them defeat their enemy and Fist will be able to appease them with some loaves of bread or something.”

  Really? Squirrel said, sounding unsure.

  “That is my plan,” Fist replied. He looked around. “Didn’t Charz come back yet?”

  “Where is he anyway?” Locksher asked. “I had hoped that you would bring him back with you.”

  “I didn’t see him in the camp,” Fist said.

  Maryanne chuckled. “He’s probably still at the women’s caves.”

  “He was healing from an injury. Maybe he fell asleep,” Fist said. “I’m sure he will make his way back to us sooner or later.”

  Locksher frowned. “Hopefully sooner, because we have messages to send tonight and I need him to talk to Alfred at the academy.”

  “I will talk to Sarine,” Maryanne said. “She can relay the message to Darlan and make sure the academy is informed.”

  “What messages are you talking about?” Fist asked the wizard.

  “From what you saw at that black lake and from the size of the force that we helped the Thunder People fight off this morning, it’s likely that we do not have the means to destroy this enemy on our own. We may need wizards and we will need warriors to protect them,” Locksher replied. “Therefore, we must contact the academy and Mage School and tell them that they should start preparing in case an attack force is needed. If my suspicion is confirmed, they will need to start immediately or the passes could clear and this evil will spread past our ability to contain it.”

  Fist nodded. He had come to the same conclusion himself.

  “How long would it take for them to get here?” Maryanne wondered.

  “The portal between the Mage School and academy helps things,” Locksher said. “The High Council will be able to assemble the wizard forces fairly quickly. What do you think Qenzic? How about the academy?”

  “Uh, well Faldon will have been preparing for this eventuality, sir,” Qenzic replied. “To form an attack force would take only a week or so.”

  “The wizards will not move that quickly. Let’s call it two,” Locksher said.

  “And then it would take at least three weeks for them to travel here from the academy,” Fist figured. “But what would we do while we wait for them to arrive?”

  “We help the ogres fight,” said the wizard. “We keep the focus of whatever is controlling these larvae focused on us. If we can keep it distracted, perhaps that will slow the spread of its influence until our reinforcements arrive.”

  “There are definitely improvements the Thunder People can make,” Qenzic said. “I noticed during the battle this morning, they have basically no fortifications at all. They’ve simply been meeting the enemy head on.”

  “What are you thinking? Barricades?” Lyramoor asked.

  Qenzic shrugged. “We’re short on building materials, but surely there’s enough rock around here that we could build some walls. I was also thinking that we could find out what route they are taking to get here and see if we can find a good choke point to stop them at.”

  “I think I know,” Fist said. “We saw a long line of them walking one of the trails.”

  Maryanne smiled. “That’s right. We saw plenty of good ambush spots while we were trying to sneak by them.”

  “That means we could set some good traps,” Lyramoor said, his thoughts churning.

  “My question is, what are we waiting for?” Qenzic said. “We already know things are bad up here. They seem even worse with each new piece of information we find. Why not tell them to start on their way now?”

  “Because we still don’t have the whole picture,” Locksher replied. “This will be a large, long, and expensive undertaking for both schools. They are going to want to know how many warriors and wizards they need to send.”

  “And what piece of information do you still need?” Maryanne asked.

  “That’s what I wanted to discuss next,” Locksher said. “Fist, I will want you to take me to that black lake sometime within the next few days. I will need to see it for myself.”

  “Okay,” Fist said, though he wasn’t really looking forward to going back there any time soon.

  “I would like to see it as well,” Qenzic added.

  “Believe me, you don’t,” said Maryanne, echoing Fist’s thoughts. “It’s not an experience anyone would ‘like’ to have.”

  “I think we would all be better off with a look,” Lyramoor added. “It’s best to know your enemy.”

  “Great,” said Maryanne sarcastically. “Sorry, I’m just hungry.” She looked over at Fist. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  The birds were finished cooking, so they sat down and ate as they continued discussing their plans. The meat was gamey and a bit stringy, but Maryanne was a decent cook and Fist was surprised with how good the carrion birds tasted.

  The only problem was that there wasn’t quite enough. Maryanne had shot enough birds for Fist to have two and everyone else to have one, but Fist was still hungry after he was finished.

  Rufus was quite displeased with this outcome as he was forced to eat grain like the horses. As a rogue horse, he was designed to be able to survive on just about anything that a creature could eat, be it vegetable or animal, but he had his own particular tastes and he let them know about it.

  When he had finished his allotted grain, he edged close to the others. He pulled down a branch and stripped off a handful of pine needles, then chewed them slowly, all the while watching them eat with large sad eyes. “Meat.”

  “Aww. Sorry, I didn’t know,” Maryanne said, feeling guilty. “I’ll make sure that I cook one for you too next time.”

  “Here you are, Rufus,” Locksher said and threw what was left of his carcass to the rogue horse.

  “Locksher!” Maryanne chided. “That was mostly bones.”

  “I read a book about rogue horses not too long ago, Maryanne,” the wizard replied. “It’s a little known fact, but they love bones. It’s rumored that this tendency is left over from the fact that Stardeon loved dogs.”

  “I like bones!” Rufus said. He snatched the carcass off of the ground and tossed it into his mouth. He chewed happily, grunting. Soon everyone else tossed him their bones as well.

  “Strange,” said Fist. “I had always assumed that was just Gwyrtha.”

  Maryanne yawned and stretched. “Well, dinner’s done. I am ready to get some sleep. How about you, Fist?”

  Fist echoed her yawn. “Yeah.” Now that she mentioned it,
Fist realized he was exhausted. It had been a very long day full of stress and magic and battles. At that moment, all he wanted to do was to lie down in his bedroll with his nice pillow. He looked over at the horses and frowned. He really didn’t want to muster the strength to retrieve his things from the horses.

  “Ooh. Ooh. Me!” Rufus reminded him.

  “You want to get it for me? Oh! Right.” He had a rogue horse to siphon energy from. Fist smiled. “Thanks, Rufus. I forgot!”

  Like he had at the black lake earlier that morning, Fist reached through the bond and pulled some energy from Rufus’ vast stores. But this time he had a better idea of when to stop and didn’t overdo it. Feeling much better, he jumped up and retrieved his things and laid his bedroll out not too far from the fire.