The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  These were his thoughts as the tentacle wrapped around his midsection, binding his sword arm to his side and jerking him to a halt. His sword clattered to the ground.

  “Djeri!” Tarah shouted in horror as the dwarf was yanked backwards towards one of the waiting mouths on the side of the trail. She ran after him, smacking the tentacle ineffectively with her staff. Several tiny Esmine’s appeared, slashing at the tentacle that dragged him, but they had no effect. “Someone cut him free!”

  She glanced back and saw Willum and Edge’s panicked expressions just as the arms of the Troll mother closed behind them, cutting off Tarah’s escape.

  “Tarah, my sword!” Djeri shouted.

  She turned and saw the Ramsetter lying on the ground. Tarah slid her staff through the loops on the back of her armor as she ran and picked the sword up off the ground. She turned back. The dwarf was bucking and straining and dragging his feet, pounding the tentacle with his free hand, but it was no use.

  “I’m trying!” Esmine cried, continuing to saw at the tentacle, pouring every ounce of her power she had into it, but there was no physical effect. “I’m trying, Tarah! I promise!”

  “No!” She arrived just as he reached the grasping mouth. Tarah swung the sword, partially severing the tentacle, but it was too late. It was dragging him in.

  “Run, Tarah!” Djeri said and she caught one last glance of his green eyes before his head disappeared from view.

  She dropped the sword and grabbed his leg, straining against the tentacle’s pull. She slowed it down, but still he slid inside. The teeth made a horrible scraping sound against the polished steel of his magic armor.

  He inched further in. Screaming in denial, she straddled the mouth, pulling with all she had. Tears streamed down her face as the teeth closed again, this time inches from her hands. Still she refused to let go. “Help! Somebody help!”

  Strong hands grasped her around the waist and pulled. Her hands slipped free and Djeri’s leg was sucked inside. “Djeri!” she screamed.

  “I’m sorry, Pretty Tarah,” Cletus said sadly, from behind her. She turned in a fury, swinging a fist. The gnome ducked under it and threw her over his shoulder. “Gotta go!”

  He ran. Tarah flopped along numbly, her eyes latched onto Djeri’s helmet. It lay proud and shiny and empty on the ground next to the Ramsetter. Tarah half expected Djeri to walk over and pick them up. But that didn’t happen.

  Both the helmet and her father’s sword were quickly obscured by a moving wall of troll flesh. For the first time she noticed that the long arms of the Troll Mother had curled further inward. She and Cletus were being herded inexorably towards the behemoth’s waiting maw.

  Cletus ran and the arm closed. Tarah saw it sweeping closer. There was no way he would outrun that. Not with her added weight.

  “Cletus. Put me down,” she said. “I mean it.”

  “Nope,” he said.

  “That’s right. Keep running, Cletus,” said Esmine, running behind him, looking right at Tarah. “Help’s coming.”

  The arm sweeping in behind them exploded. Fragments of troll flesh littered the ground around them, striking Tarah and Cletus both with painful effect. The gnome yelped and stumbled, but somehow kept his feet.

  Gwyrtha burst through the gaping hole where the tentacle had been. Sir Edge was leaning forward in her saddle his right sword outstretched. He let out a smile of relief as he saw Cletus standing there with Tarah on his shoulder.

  “Jump on!” Edge said as the rogue horse sidled up to him. “It’s not going to be an easy ride back to the top!”

  Epilogue

  The Troll King stepped to the side of the procession, letting his people march triumphantly by. He should have been elated, but for some reason, he felt sick to his stomach.

  It had all gone according to the Troll Mother’s plan. Half of the Roo-Tan forces and more than two thirds of the Mer-Dan forces and their demon allies had been consumed. They were now within the Mother’s immense body being divided and processed, their souls and tissues stored and ready to be reattached and rebuilt.

  Mellinda had been furious at first. She had expected the Mother to eat the prisoners only. She had been horrified as the Mother began to feast and her plan fell apart. The king had felt some satisfaction at that point, but her fury had quickly turned to calculation. Then a wicked smile had spread across her face and his spirits had fell.

  After that, the fog had obscured them once again and all he could hear were the horrified screams of Roo-Tan men and women. Human lives ending in pain and terror. Of course he had told himself that they weren’t really ending.

  Sometime within the next two weeks or so, the mother’s womb would open and they would begin to spill forth. They would be born anew, their past suffering forgotten. They would love the Mother and they would love their king. The trollkin would go from a race of less than a thousand, to a nation nearly thirty thousand strong. They would be a people to be respected. A people to be feared.

  So why wasn’t he happy?

  The king walked deeper into the swamp away from his people. He wished to be alone, though he didn’t understand why. Of course he wasn’t truly alone. He never was in the Troll Swamps. He could feel the chemical messages of the Mother in the water that sloshed around his feet. She was happy, content in her harvest. But he knew that wouldn’t last. The Mother would hunger again and soon.

  The king knew her goal. It wasn’t enough to fill KhanzaRoo and the surrounding swamps with her new children. She would continue to grow. She would expand the swamps, taking over more and more land. She would swallow and she would conquer.

  Lately a new goal had entered her thoughts. She had something else to hunger over but she would not share it. For her to hold something back from him made the Troll King uneasy.

  The king’s wanderings took him to a section of the swamps he had not been in before. It smelled of rust and rotting leather. This sparked his curiosity and he sought out the source of the smell.

  Then he saw it. Piles and piles of metal and wood and treated leather goods scattered across a long stretch of shallow water. This was the Mother’s refuse pile. All the things she couldn’t or didn’t want to digest ended up here.

  As he watched, a mound of the Mother’s flesh rose up and disgorged a new pile of shiny treasures. Swords and axes, some of demon make. He picked up a polished breastplate with a red letter F in the center, then cast it aside.

  The Troll King explored the place further, finding wagon wheels, farm implements. There was so much of use. He wished he had known about this place sooner. How much easier would these tools and weapons make his people’s lives? He smiled and sent out a chemical signal, thanking the Mother for bringing him here. She didn’t respond, too busy digesting.

  Then he saw something that sparked his curiosity. Not far from him was a pile of gray wooden weapons. He recognized them as Jharro wood. These were the types of weapons the Roo-Tan warriors that he had seen today had wielded.

  He felt a sudden compulsion to search through that pile. Without knowing why, he started sorting through it. He picked up the weapons on top and spun them in his fingers, but they didn’t feel right. He put them aside and went through the pile further.

  Under the weapons were cloth garments and belts. He pulled them out of the way, then more gray wood weapons. Those weren’t it either. There was something further in the pile. Something that tugged on him.

  Then his hand gripped something warm. The feel of it excited him. It was pinned under more junk. He threw it all aside and frowned. The thing he had touched had been another piece of Jharro wood like the others. This one was a staff. He grabbed it again. It was warm to the touch.

  He lifted it out and saw another piece of wood sticking out of the bottom of the pile. It was also warm to the touch. He pulled it free. It was a Jharro bow, unstrung. For some reason holding these items made him smile. It was as if they were greeting him somehow.

  He peered at them closer. The bow
had a few tiny engravings in it. The staff though, was almost completely smooth and featureless but for one line. He ran the tip of one claw down that line and shook his head. He knew that line well. How many years had he worked to smooth out that last line of engraving on his staff?

  The Troll King froze at the memory. He understood. These weapons had once belonged to him. He had wielded them before the Mother had birthed him. Along with that realization came another memory. It was one he had purposefully suppressed. It was his name.

  He frowned. The king didn’t need a name. Did he? His other subjects had a name. Why did this one seem so dangerous? He licked his lips and said it out loud.

  “I am Xeldryn bin Leeths.”

  * * *

  “They’re here,” said Esmine’s child-like figure, giving Beth a pleading look before vanishing.

  “Hilt! They’re back!” Beth said and rushed to the door, Sherl-Ann in her arms. She opened it just before Tolynn knocked. The elf woman’s face was grave. “Have you heard, Listener Beth?”

  “Esmine was just here. She didn’t tell me much, though. I’m glad to see that you are okay,” Beth replied and her eyes moved beyond the elf to the woman standing behind her.

  Tarah Woodblade looked drained and weary, her eyes red-rimmed, but empty of emotion. Beth handed the child wordlessly to Tolynn and reached out her arms to Tarah. The woman’s lip trembled and she took a hesitant step forward. Then sobs took her and she fell into Beth’s arms.

  “Shh,” Beth said gently. She stroked her hair and Tarah clenched her tighter. Beth opened herself up and Tarah’s emotions flooded through her. Beth saw the pain, saw the horror of what had happened and saw burning most brightly the disappearing eyes of Tarah’s love into that awful maw. “Oh, you poor thing.”

  “Tolynn,” Hilt said, appearing from the bedroom in the back of the house, still bucking his sword belt. He found fine motor skills difficult with his maimed left hand, so he forced himself to do everything with it. He was determined to retrain his muscles and overcome the disability and Beth was confident that he would succeed. His face was grim. “Who did we lose?”

  “Herlda, Jhexin, Fleen,” the elf said. Sherl-Ann cooed questioningly and patted her dark face. She brought the child in close and kissed its forehead. “Countless others. Xedrion lost half his forces. The list is still being put together.”

  Hilt nodded grimly, his eyes moving to Tarah. “Djeri?” he asked.

  Tolynn shook her head slowly. “Also, there was one other that Sir Edge mentioned. One of the Battle Academy children that you brought with you. Son of Lance?”

  “Aldie,” he said. “Poor kid. What an awful day. I’m heading up to the palace. You going to the grove?”

  “No,” she said. “I will accompany you. I just wanted to bring Tarah here.”

  “I see,” Hilt replied. He placed a hand on Tarah’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Beth?”

  “I know. You’ll be home when you can. I will likely join you at the palace anyway. Xedrion’s family may need me.”

  Tolynn held out Sherl-Ann and Beth accepted her awkwardly with one arm. The two of them left and Beth kissed the top of Tarah’s head. The poor girl had lost her mother so young. Beth supposed she could be that for her for a while.

  “Come, dear,” she said, walking Tarah to the side of the room and the cushioned wicker bench that stood there. “Sit with me.”

  Tarah cleared her throat and tried to compose herself as she sat down. “I’m sorry Beth. Tarah Woodblade doesn’t weep.”

  “Nonsense,” Beth said and placed Sherl-Ann in Tarah’s arms. A baby always helped and Sherl-Ann knew what to do. She was a very perceptive little one.

  “Did you listen? Did you see?” Tarah asked, accepting the child reluctantly.

  “I did, child,” she said. “A horrible horrible day.”

  Sherl-Ann saw the grief well up in Tarah’s eyes once more and patted her face with concern. “Rah? Rah?”

  Tarah kissed the child and pulled her in tight, then looked up at Beth, the edge of her sorrow briefly lessened. “He’s gone, Beth.”

  “Oh, Tarah. No he isn’t.” she said, reaching out to stroke Tarah’s hair again.

  Tarah pulled back. “How can you say that?”

  “That bond you share,” Beth said. She placed a finger on Tarah’s forehead, touching right between her eyes and focusing the woman’s spirit sight. Beth pointed to the soft silvery line that began atTarah’s chest and stretched to the south. “He still lives.”

  * * *

  Elise Muldroomon followed Nod through the thick jungle underbrush grumbling all the way. She followed the sneering and uncouth man because the dark voice made her, but after a month of travel, mostly by foot and not even on nice roads, she’d had enough.

  The moment they reached a main road, she was heading out on her own no matter what pains the voice brought her. It would be worth it to sleep in a real bed, to take a bath in a real tub with soap and hot water and without Nod’s filthy eyes on her.

  The man always insisted on that. He never touched her. The Dark Voice would not allow that. But he watched. And he talked. He said such horrible things. Oh how she longed to be rid of him.

  “Where are we going?” she asked him once again.

  Nod chuckled. “Like I said, I don’t rightly know. I go where the voice leads and I don’t know the thoughts of our master, now do I? All I know is he says head this way. So this way we goes, Queenie.”

  “My name is Elise!” she snapped.

  “Can’t rightly call you that though, can I. Not unless you want some unwanted ears to hear. Folks know the name Elise. They know you gone missing.”

  “And ‘Queenie’ is somehow better?” she asked.

  He laughed louder. “You got a good point there, Queenie. That you do. Tell you what, why don’t you finally come up with a new name for yerself, eh? Names is like clothes if you think about it. I mean, my name ain’t really Nod, now is it? It’s just the name I’m wearing now.”

  “Ugh. This new name thing again?” she griped. Elise didn’t want a new name. She was proud of her old one. She was the rightful queen after all. Somehow it seemed in her mind that giving in to Nod’s suggestion and picking a new name would lessen her, perhaps even make the loss of her kingdom more of a reality. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Nod ducked under a fallen tree trunk and smiled as he found a narrow path. “Very well, then. I shall pick one for you. How about Doris? That’s a fine name. Knew a whore named Doris.”

  “Doris?” she snorted. “I don’t think so.”

  “How about Sally. That’s a right fine name. I knew a woman named Sally. Half noble blood. Had bosoms the size of-. Oh!” He clapped his hand together. “Here we are.”

  They had entered a wide clearing in the underbrush where it looked like a large group of people had camped recently. The trees had been cleared away and several small blackened spots showed where cook fires had been.

  She could hear the rush of water. Perhaps there was a creek nearby that she could bathe in or even better . . . Elise gasped. “A waterfall!”

  “That it is, Sally. That it is,” Nod said. “But this ain’t where we’re stoppin’. The voice says go inside.”

  “Inside the waterfall?” she said dubiously.

  “Look at the trail. It goes behind,” he said and climbed a path up the rocks.

  Sure enough, the path did lead behind the waterfall where a rather plain, but solid-looking door stood. “A door under a waterfall?”

  “And locked,” he said, trying the knob. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of lockpicks. “Well, good thing I’m me. Ain’t it, Sally?”

  “I never agreed to Sally,” Elise said darkly.

  He soon had the door open and they went inside. Nod palmed a light orb set into the wall and the room was illuminated. Elise let out a pleased sigh. It was quaint. Not up to royal standards, but well furnished.

  She sat down in a plush chair that sat across from the f
ireplace and groaned. “Please tell me we are staying here for a while, Nod.”

  “Sorry, Sally. That, we ain’t. We’re doing a little pilferin’ and then we’ll be on our way,” Nod licked his lips and started looking around. “Folks come home to a place like this anyways. No sense gettin’ ourselves caught. I’ve done my share of murderin’ in the master’s name, but it’s always to be avoided if possible.”

  Elise whimpered. “At least let me take a short nap while you look.”