The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “I apologize for that, my king,” Mellinda purred. “I intended to tell you myself, but I was busy with the newly born. I did not know that my servants would speak so freely to the others before I had the chance to do so.”

  “Now that is a lie,” Murtha snarled. “K-king, she did this purposefully. She told her servants to do this.”

  The king frowned. “She merely exposes the truth, Murtha. What does this change?”

  Murtha took a step back. “But . . . If the Mother took us from somewhere else . . . changed us to this . . .” She looked down at her clawed dwarven hands, tinted green with a slimy sheen. “Many of us will want to go back. Whoever we were, we left friends and families behind.”

  “Go back to what?” he asked, some of that anger re-entering his eyes. “Do any of us remember where to go to? And even if it we could return, would friends or family see us as we were? No! Going back is not possible.”

  Murtha looked down. “But-.”

  The king grasped her hands. “Do you feel that?”

  Murtha closed her eyes as a peace settled over her. She nodded and Mellinda knew that there was an unspoken communication between them.

  “No matter how the Mother makes us, she is still the Mother,” the king said. “These are the only three truths that matter. She is our goddess, I am your king, and we are the trollkin. None of that has changed.”

  “Yes,” Murtha said, her confidence returning. “Of c-course k-king. You are right.”

  “How does he calm them like that?” Arcon wondered. “Spirit magic?”

  I am not sure. Possibly, though I do not see it with my spirit sight.

  This was one power of the Troll King’s that still eluded her understanding. She had seen it many times. One of his people would doubt and he would touch them and their doubts would disappear. When she had asked Felberon about it the trollkin had been unable to answer. He would say only, ‘He is our king’.

  “This should be known as a freeing time for our people!” pronounced the king. “We should embrace who we are. The Mother took us and made us stronger and now she has let us know how!”

  “Exactly!” Mellinda agreed, feeling pleased with herself. This was going far better than she had hoped. And here, dear Arcon is where I bring the rest of this together. “You should be proud of being trollkin. You should be proud of the Troll Mother! She wishes for you to succeed and grow. This is why she led me to you. I-.”

  “No,” said the Troll King, cutting her off.

  It was Mellinda’s turn to blink in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I agree that the Mother brought you here. You have been a great blessing to my people, that is evident,” he admitted, inclining his head in respect. His voice grew firm as he added, “But I will not allow you to take this fledgling people to war.”

  “War?” Mellinda scoffed.

  “I knew this was going too well,” Arcon said. He almost sounded pleased. “I told you we should have killed them.”

  Mellinda had tried to keep Felberon and Welven by her side during her healings. She may have lost track of them for brief periods of time while she worked, but hadn’t thought they’d had time to tell that part of the story. She would be sure to punish those two idiots the next time she saw them.

  “I don’t know who this gnome you spoke to was or why you promised our people’s help in fighting the Roo-Tan, but I can’t allow it,” the Troll King said. “We trollkin may be hard to kill, but our numbers are too small to throw ourselves away in battle. Especially when we have no reason to fight.”

  “But you do have a reason!” Mellinda said. She had been hoping to avoid this part of the argument for now. She had wanted a few more days to build the king’s confidence in her before attempting this bit of boldness. “It is the mother’s will.”

  The king’s hands formed into fists and his left eye glowed. “It is not your place to decide that, Snake Woman! When Murtha brought you here, I was trying to decide whether or not to throw you to the Mother’s maw. Do not make me do so now.”

  “Time to back down,” Arcon warned.

  Boldness, she reminded him. She knelt before him, a level of respect she had not given him before. “You yourself have said that the mother wishes your people to grow. This gnome I met with is a powerful warlord who has great resources at his disposal. He has promised the Troll Mother hundreds of souls, perhaps thousands depending on the outcome of his meeting.”

  “Throw her to the mother, K-king,” Murtha snarled.

  “She has proven too useful,” he replied. “She can take away our weakness to fire.”

  Mellinda raised her voice. “With one short journey, your people could double or triple their numbers. He is not depending on you to fight. He merely needs you there to intimidate his foe.”

  “She still c-can,” Murtha insisted. “She will forget who she is, but she will still k-keep her knowledge and ability. Only this time she will be loyal.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said thoughtfully. He reached for Mellinda.

  “Great, now you’re going to have to kill them,” Arcon said. “There’s no way the trollkin will follow us after that.”

  “Let the Mother decide!” Mellinda shouted. This was something she had hoped to avoid.

  The Troll King’s clawed hand stopped inches from her. The human side of his face raised an eyebrow. “You wish me to speak to the Mother first?”

  “No. I wish to speak to the Mother myself,” Mellinda said. She had seen the Troll King do it once before. She wasn’t exactly sure how it worked, but she was fairly certain it was a direct mental connection. “Let me tell her my plan.”

  “This is not boldness. This is crazy!” Arcon said. “That thing will kill us!”

  The Troll King was of the same mind. “You are not trollkin. Your flesh is different. It may not work.”

  “Then she will eat me. Either way her will is done,” Mellinda reasoned.

  “I do not like-k this,” Murtha said. “Throw her to the mother’s mouth! If she does not want the snake-k she will spit her out!”

  “I don’t see a good option here,” Arcon warned.

  “No. The Mother does not decide with her mouth. She decides with her mind,” the Troll King said. He looked back down at Mellinda, his face grim. “Very well, Snake Woman. The Mother brought you to us. We will let her decide.”

  He pointed at her. “Come, kneel at the water’s edge.”

  Mellinda stood and followed him down the slight slope of the grass to the water’s edge. As she knelt down, the water stirred. A hand reached from the water and the First pulled himself from the depths.

  He stood, his trollish body as tall as the king’s, but much thinner. The First cocked his head and his human eyes blinked at her. “The Mother is curious,” it said with a raspy voice.

  “The snake has been troublesome,” said the king. “She wishes to speak to the Mother.”

  The First bowed to the king and looked at Mellinda again. “It may kill her to do this.”

  “I told him just to throw her in,” Murtha grumped.

  The First turned its eyes on her. “It is not your place to question the king!” Murtha looked down, subdued, and the First said, “However she will survive if the Mother wills it. Are you certain this is what you want?”

  “Yes,” Mellinda said, but realized that the First wasn’t speaking to her. His gaze had returned to the king.

  “Do you advise against it?” the Troll King asked.

  It cocked its head again. “I am the First. It is not my place to advise, only to serve. It will be as the king wills.”

  “Then step aside,” the king said. The First bowed and did so and the king crouched at the lake’s edge. He dipped his hand into the waters and closed his eyes in concentration.

  “There is still time to back out,” Arcon said. “Just paralyze the lot of them. We can stage their deaths in such a way that it looks like they fought each other.”

  The trollkin would find
it hard to believe. Even if they did, what happens when the Mother decides to birth another king? No, this is a risk I will take. Mellinda replied. What are you so frightened for anyway? It was just weeks ago that you were eager to get us both killed.

  Arcon gave her a mental shrug. “I suppose I have become used to the lie that you will give my body back when this is over.”

  It is no lie, she lied.

  The king removed his hand from the water and looked at Mellinda. “She will speak with you.”

  There was a slight rumble beneath Mellinda’s knees. She looked into the water as the great mound of the Mother’s womb moved further back from the shore. Something else came up from the depths.

  A long cylindrical stalk rose from the surface of the lake. It was perhaps two feet in diameter and made of green troll flesh. It continued to rise until it swayed in the air high above them. A large lump of pink pulsating flesh formed at the end. Then the stalk bent neck-like and the fleshy end descended towards Mellinda.

  “This is bad. This is bad!” Arcon said in a panic.

  No. This is good. Mellinda understood. This was the Troll Mother’s mind. For her to use it to communicate directly with it required a great deal of trust. She looked up towards it and as it neared her head, the center of the pink flesh opened up, exposing rows of sharp white fangs.

  The Troll Mother’s brain enveloped Mellinda’s head completely. She let out a muffled grunt as the teeth clamped into the flesh of her face. She felt an immediate sense of panic, but reminded herself that the rings would heal her. This was just the Mother’s way to assure that their connection would not be interrupted until she was ready.

  Mellinda called out mentally. She needed to make this quick before she suffocated. Mother, I would speak with you!

  There was no response. The teeth pierced deeper, gripping her skull and Mellinda cried out to the mother again. She did not understand that the mother’s preferred method of communication was chemical, not mental. Various fluids touched her skin, transmitting impulses, but she was not trollkin. They meant nothing to her.

  Mellinda’s lungs ached and she began to panic. Then something pressed against her lips. A long fleshy tube forced its way into her mouth and down to her lungs. She took a deep gasping breath. The flesh tasted strange and bitter, but the mother was giving her air.

  Arcon experienced every sensation right along with her. “This is worse than anything I could imagine. How about we call this off and you go sleep with the king instead?”

  Mellinda was just as uncomfortable as he was, but she had different concerns. Why did she not hear the Mother? Did the Mother hear her? Did the transfer of thoughts go one way? That wasn’t how the Troll King had described it.

  The Troll Mother had realized the problem by this point. She had formed an alternate solution. Further up in the Mother’s neck a thick needle was formed. A set of powerful piston-like muscles propelled it forward.

  Mellinda jerked as the needle pierced her forehead, driving deep into her brain. Her body went limp on the shore. A thin tendril of the Mother’s mind exited the end of the needle allowing for direct mental contact.

  Mellinda lost all sensation. She knew only blackness. Mother, can you hear me?

  “I think she killed us,” Arcon said. “Oh no. Is this what death is like?”

  Mellinda was relieved to hear him. No, Arcon. I have been dead. This is too pleasant. Mother? Are you listening?

  Suddenly, the weight of the Mother’s mind overtook them. The ancient creature was new to this form of communication, but adapted quickly. The Troll Mother did not think in words, but in concepts. Mellinda attempted to adapt along with her.

  The Mother wanted to know why Mellinda had sought to communicate. When Mellinda replied that she only wished to help her grow her children, the Mother instantly sensed the lie. She searched Mellinda’s thoughts, learning the truth.

  The Mother then wished to know why she should help Mellinda get her revenge. At this point, Mellinda understood that there was no use dissembling. She opened herself up, showing the Mother how they could help each other.

  Mellinda attempted to show her how she was able to fix the defects in the trollkin, but the Mother was greedy. The behemoth, brushed Mellinda’s thoughts aside and greedily poured through Mellinda’s knowledge.

  There was nothing Mellinda could do. The Mother had gotten past her defenses. All she could do was sit back and endure it as the behemoth absorbed everything she could about the defects in her children and how they could be repaired. Once she had everything, she pulled away, ready to cast Mellinda aside.

  Wait! Mellinda pleaded. There is more.

  She showed the Mother Aloysius’s plan. She urged the behemoth to order her people to attend the meeting. The souls harvested there would give the trollkin the population surge they needed to become a true power in Malaroo.

  Once again, the Mother bashed Mellinda’s thoughts aside. She searched her knowledge of the Roo-Tan, the Roo-Dan, the grove, and Aloysius’ army.

  Please, said Mellinda. Do you see? Help me in this and your children will thrive!

  The Troll Mother responded and this time in a language that Mellinda could understand. We shall see . . . snake.

  Everything went black again.

  “I think she’s gone,” Arcon said. “Are you there? Am I dead now?” His voice was almost hopeful.

  No. You are still stuck with me, she replied. Her thoughts were sluggish and she still could not feel her body.

  “She saw me,” he said. “She glanced through my mind as if it were nothing and cast me aside as unimportant.”

  To her you are, she replied.

  “It was such a violating feeling,” he said. “It reminded me of how I felt when you first put the eye inside me.”

  Indeed? I thought you enjoyed that night, she said, but she didn’t care how he felt. The only reason she had bothered to respond is that he was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality. It felt as though the Mother had scattered her mind and left Mellinda to gather the pieces.

  “Enjoyed?” He laughed bitterly. “That night was just the painful beginning. I wish I’d never picked you up your eye.”

  Gradually, Mellinda’s ability to think returned and she began to be aware of her body again. She realized that she was lying on the bank. She could feel the softness of the grass underneath her and she could hear the chirp of frogs. When her eyelids fluttered open she saw the glassy surface of the lake.

  The return of her senses brought with them a pulsating headache. She winced and the sides of her face rang out in pain. She reached up and touched the circle of deep puncture wounds around her face and finally, gingerly felt the center of her forehead where the large puckered wound still oozed.

  Mellinda could feel the injuries tingle. The Rings of Stardeon were acting quickly to repair the damage. Something in the Troll Mother’s saliva was slowing the healing, but she would survive. She sat up with a groan.

  “She lives,” said Murtha with disgust.

  “Enough,” the king said, issuing a rare reprimand to his second in command. “The Mother has spoken.”

  Mellinda turned to face them. The king was sitting in the Lone Chair, his eyes wary. Murtha and the First stood next to him and Mellinda saw that dozens more of the trollkin stood just outside of Solitude, watching.

  “She has spoken?” Mellinda asked.

  “We are to follow you to battle,” said the king.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Tarah fired. Her arrow soared through the air towards the target far below. The morning breeze carried it a bit to the left, as she had predicted, and it sank into the second ring, just missing the bullseye.

  Tarah swore and reached for another arrow. She was standing on top of the high platform in the archery range at the Protector’s Palace in Roo-Tan’lan. The tower was designed to help archers practice siege warfare. The target she had just hit was a volley shot target and laid flat on the ground at the far end of the range.<
br />
  “Close. Nothing to be ashamed of,” said Djeri the Looker, one hand above his eyes as he peered at the distant target. The dwarf was sitting on the platform not far from where she stood, his legs dangling off of the edge.

  “Would’ve struck the center if not for that armor,” she complained, throwing up one arm as if to protect herself from the glare.

  The dwarf still wore his Uncle Lenui’s famous platemail armor, though he had set his helmet on the platform beside him. Tarah had rarely been able to get him to take the armor off since his uncle had given it to him back at Coal’s Keep in Razbeck. It was polished to a high sheen and covered in intricate protective runes. On the center of the breastplate was a large red letter ‘F’ representing the proud Firegobbler family name.