The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9) (9 page)

As he burst through the thick leaves of the tree, he saw that he had miscalculated his trajectory. The fire had spread along flammable troll trails, igniting the undergrowth near the river’s edge. Deathclaw was falling towards a patch of burning grass that was still slick with troll slime.

He struck the grass in a crouch, rolling to absorb the impact. His ankle gave slightly, a minor sprain, and he came to his feet. Immediately, he felt flames licking up his side. The slime had stuck to him. His bandoleer was on fire. He smacked at the flames and ran towards the river just a few short yards away.

Deathclaw threw himself into the knee-deep water at the river’s edge. The slow flowing water washed off the remnants of the slime and extinguished the fire. He stood, dripping, his bandoleer blackened, his skin badly burnt in places, and his ankle throbbing. He could already feel his body’s healing magic working to repair the damage.

Standing on the far side of the small river, staring back at him, was the troll-thing. It had escaped the blast and was healing fast. Deathclaw’s throwing knife was still stuck in its mouth, but blood no longer flowed from the wound.

While he watched, it reached into its diagonal slash of a mouth and gripped the handle of the throwing knife. It pulled out the blade with a grunt and looked at it, turning it over in its fingers. It glared at him and Deathclaw saw the troll thing’s gray magic surge towards him.

Deathclaw sneered and drew his sword again, letting the creature’s magic smash against the shield of the bond. He could feel it trying to manipulate him, but knew it wasn’t strong enough to overcome him. He came at the thing, churning his way through the water of the river, ignoring his ankle. The crossing wasn’t too tough. Unlike the harsh cold rivers in Dremaldria, the water was relatively warm and never grew deeper than his waist.

The creature didn’t move. It watched his approach, its deformed face scowling that its magic wasn’t working. It hefted the knife in its hand and when Deathclaw was close to the river, swung its arm forward, releasing the blade with a smooth throw.

The attack caught Deathclaw by surprise. He hadn’t expected the thing to throw the knife back at him and certainly not with such accuracy. Time slowed in his mind and he saw the knife’s approach at the last moment. He raised his hand to catch the blade, but not fast enough. It slipped through his fingers and sunk into the base of his throat.

Deathclaw staggered, his eyes wide as his free hand reached for the handle. How had the creature done that? Its throw had seemed as practiced as many of the academy trained assassins Deathclaw had seen.

 The creature threw its spindly arms up and arched its back, its hairy chest puffed out proudly as it let loose a triumphant screech.

Deathclaw’s look of shock turned into a glower. Did this thing think it had dealt him a killing blow? He would not be so easily dispatched.

A simple touch of the handle told him how much damage had been done. His larynx had been pierced, as well as a major artery, but it would heal. He let go of the handle and left the knife in place. Removing it would cause a rush of blood loss and that could slow him down. He would wait until he had slain the thing.

At that moment, Justan and Gwyrtha burst through the trees and onto the riverbank. Gwyrtha paused for a moment as they took in the scene. Flames still roared around the base of the tree where most of the trolls had fallen. Others had ran a short distance away before collapsing, leaving smoking trails behind them. Only a handful of the creatures had survived untouched. They had moved out of reach of the fire and still stood there, swaying stupidly.

Deathclaw what happened
? Justan cried out through the bond.

A battle
, Deathclaw replied. And he still needed to finish it. He continued up the bank towards the creature. Star would make quick work of it. Surely this thing would burn as well as the other trolls. He lifted his sword at the ready.

The creature lowered its arms in surprise at his continued approach. It took a step back. Then its trollish eyes flared with hunger and it rushed towards him, its claws extended. Deathclaw smiled.

One more troll, Star
, Deathclaw thought, but the blade did not respond.

He waited until the troll thing was close before whipping star out in a backhanded swing. The creature quickly reversed momentum, leaping back agilely, but not quick enough. The tip of the blade scored its chest, cutting a groove through its skin and . . . nothing.

The troll thing screeched and clutched at the wound, obviously in pain, and turned to run, but there were no flames. Star’s blade was cold.

Deathclaw didn’t understand. Had the cold water in the river doused the sword’s heat? Had the deaths of the other trolls satisfied its hunger? It had never been so easily satiated before.

He heard the splashing of water behind him as Justan rode across the river. Deathclaw didn’t wait, but started after the troll thing himself. It jumped into the forest ahead and wove through the trees. The creature moved quite quickly. It wasn’t as fast as Deathclaw normally was, but his body, having its own set of healing priorities, still had not repaired his sprained ankle and that slowed him down, letting the thing maintain a lead.

I’ll get it
! Gwyrtha said enthusiastically as she passed him up. The rogue horse surged ahead and gained on the beast, Justan and Jhonate clinging tightly to her back. Deathclaw felt a slight surge of irritation as Gwyrtha pounced on the fleeing beast. That was supposed to be his kill.

Gwyrtha dragged the thing to the ground and pinned its arms with her powerful forelegs.
Can I kill it now
?

No. Wait
, Justan said. He climbed down and bent over the pinned beast just as Deathclaw arrived.

It screeched and gnashed its stubby teeth at him. Deathclaw could feel it trying to compel them to let it go.

“It is assaulting me with bewitching magic,” Jhonate said. She was standing beside him, a grimace on her face, her staff held in front of her defensively.

“I know!” Justan said in excitement and for a moment he reminded Deathclaw of Wizard Locksher. “Think about what this could mean? A troll with spirit magic? How did that happen?” He pointed. “Look at how deformed its mouth is. I’ll bet it is hard for the thing to bring down prey. That’s probably why it was using the other trolls to hunt for it. Hold it tight, Gwyrtha. I’ll get the rope.”

Okay
, Gwyrtha replied happily as it struggled to get away, screeching and lashing out at her ineffectively with the claws on its feet.

Justan hurried around to the side of the rogue horse and opened up one of the saddlebags. Jhonate shook her head and stepped closer to the creature. Then, in one smooth motion, she swung her staff, turning the end of it into a sword-like blade and lopping the troll thing’s head off.

“What?” Justan said, his jaw dropping as the thing’s head rolled to a stop at his feet.

Jhonate couched beside the creature, a pouch of pepper in her hand. “Odd. It is completely still. Perhaps this type of troll cannot regenerate with its head severed. That is useful information.”

“Useful? Why did you do that?” Justan demanded, gesturing with the rope in his hands. “I was going to tie it up!”

“You do not take an enemy witch prisoner,” Jhonate replied, as if repeating back a time honored lesson. “They spend their entire captivity attempting to use their magic on those around them.”

She is correct
, Deathclaw agreed.
I would tell her so, but I have a knife stuck in my throat
.

 Justan looked at him, his eyes widening as if noticing the wound for the first time.
Right. Let me fix that
. Justan set the rope down and reached up to grip the handle of the blade.
Hold still
.

The bonding wizard pulled the knife from Deathclaw’s throat and quickly entered the bond to staunch the flow of spurting blood. He kept his eyes closed as he focused on Deathclaw’s various injuries. He shook his head and said aloud. “Witch or not, you were too quick to kill it, Jhonate.”

“I acted upon my training,” Jhonate replied.

“Yes, but my bonded and I are immune to bewitching magic,” he pointed out. “We would have been fine for now. There is crucial information we could have gotten from it while it was alive, even if we didn’t take it all the way back to Roo-Tan’lan with us.”

“How?” Jhonate asked, frowning. “Could it speak to you? Could it tell you its origins? You are not a listener, Justan.”

“No, but what about Tarah Woodblade?” he asked, trying to keep his tone reasonable. Deathclaw could feel the tingle of Justan’s magic working on his sprained ankle. “She might have been able to discover something with her magic.”

“Perhaps she still can,” she replied. “Does its death cancel the effects of her ability?”

“I don’t know. Do you? The point is that you acted rashly,” he said. “This could have been an important moment.”

Jhonate sighed slightly and inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I understand your point.”

Justan nodded, his eyes still tightly shut as he started the delicate process of soothing the burns on Deathclaw’s chest. “I’m glad you understand, because there are too many unknowns around us right now. We can’t let any chance to learn what’s going on pass us-.”

“The question you need to ask yourself right now is if it will do you any good to continue to point it out?” Jhonate asked. Her tone was level, but her green eyes were blazing.

I would recommend you listen to her
, Deathclaw sent, knowing that Justan could not see her. S
he looks angry
.

Justan paused in his magic and cracked open an eye, noting the intensity of Jhonate’s gaze. “You have a good point, my love. I apologize,” he said wisely.

Jhonate gave him a curt nod. “We will have the Woodblade woman examine its tracks. Then we will take its remains back home with us.”

A series of shouts echoed from the other side of the river as Willum and the Roo-Tan warriors arrived at the scene of the battle. Deathclaw’s sensitive ears picked up Qurl commanding several of them to dispatch the remaining trolls and sending the others to put out the series of small fires along the river bank.

If Jhonate heard the sounds, she ignored them as she turned to crouch next to the mutated troll’s body again. She shook her head slowly. “Yet another thing for father to worry about.”

Fist looked out at a familiar section of the mountainside. Great granite slabs of rock were punctured here and there by odd clusters of stout fir trees and junipers. A stiff wind blew across the ogre’s face, stinging his eyes with its biting chill. Fist smiled. He was nearly home.

It was becoming real to him now. In the past that thought had filled him with trepidation. He used to have dreams about returning to his former people only to find that they were ashamed of him. But this was different. This time he was returning to a people eager for him to save them. His smile fell a bit at that thought.

“Ooh! How far?” Rufus asked, his staccato voice deep and breathy. His enormous head turned to look back over his shoulder towards the ogre that sat on his back.

Fist’s new bonded was a big burly beast; a rogue horse that seemed to have very little horse in him. His front half was that of a gorilla, with black skin and fur and massive arms that he used to propel himself along the ground. His rear end was that of a mountain cat, with short brown fur and retractable claws on his feet. The only things horse-like about him were his ears and the thick mane that started at the base of his skull and continued down his back.

“It isn’t far now,” Fist assured him. He let go of Rufus’ mane with one hand and pointed to the mountainside ahead. “That is Thunder People Territory. I can see some of my old hunting trails from here.”

“I sure hope that’s true this time,” griped Maryanne. The female gnome warrior shifted her position behind Fist with a grunt. “You’ve been saying ‘it isn’t far’ for hours now. Every time we top a ridge.”

“And we keep getting closer every time,” Fist replied. “One more rise.”

“I think you’re taking the long way around. Is this just an excuse to get me to cling to you longer?” she teased.

“No . . .” He had to admit to himself that he was enjoying that part though. The truth was that the distances were playing tricks on him. This was his old homeland, but he kept forgetting how much the constant rise and fall of the terrain made the trip longer. “Are you uncomfortable back there?”

“A little,” she said, shifting her lower body again. “I don’t think Rufus’ was designed for two riders. It didn’t bother me so much in the beginning, but I’m kind of sitting on an awkward place. Part of his backbone is jabbing into my butt.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Rufus said, twisting his upper body and turning his head as far as he could in an attempt to look at her. “You want me big-big?”

The rogue horse was already much larger than he had been when they met. Rufus had known the trick to changing his size before Fist had bonded to him. His natural height was just about the same as Fist’s, but he had grown until he was at a comfortable riding height for both Fist and Maryanne’s tall frames.

“Well, I don’t know about ‘big-big’,” the gnome replied. “But it might be helpful if you were a little longer in the riding area.”

“Uh . . . air . . . uh?” Rufus’ large eyes blinked uncertainly, not sure what she meant.

“I don’t know if he can do that, Maryanne,” Fist said. “It’s one thing to make his body bigger all over, but it’s probably harder to change just one part.”

“No!” said Rufus. He lifted his left arm from the ground and his stuck his thumb up in the air. The digit suddenly grew to twice its current size. He wiggled it at them. “See?”

“Okay,” said the ogre, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I can show you what she wants you to do.” Fist formed an image in his mind and sent Rufus instructions through the bond.

“Ooh!” said the rogue horse. He screwed his eyes shut and concentrated. Fist felt a slight shifting behind him as Rufus’ back elongated by about an inch.

“Oh!” said Maryanne, wiggling her hips. “Much better. Now if only I could do something about this shield that keeps smacking me in the face with every bump.”

“I am sorry about that,” Fist said. The shield was attached to the leather harness on his back. “I have nowhere else to put it.”

“I know. Keeps me from snuggling too close, though,” she sighed. “Anyway, thank you, Rufus. I hope that didn’t hurt or anything.”

Rufus snorted. “Nope.”

“Let’s keep going then,” Fist said. “We really are close and I want to get there before dark.”

Rufus started down the next slope. He didn’t seek out a specific trail, but climbed agilely down the rocks, at times running on the knuckles of his hands and at times on his palms, whatever best helped him to keep secure footing.

“You know what? You having a rogue horse is cheating,” Maryanne observed, clinging tightly to Fist while Rufus descended a particularly craggy section of the slope.

“Cheating? How?” Fist asked.

“You’ve been a bonding wizard for what? A year?” she asked.

“More than two, I think,” Fist replied, thinking back to the time he had met squirrel. He still wasn’t sure at what point they had actually bonded, his magic had been so weak back then. It could have been that first moment they met. It had been the day he left the Thunder People and he had been so lost and in pain. Or maybe it was later on, the night when he had killed the giant spider and fought the trolls. He had been so sick after that he almost died, but Squirrel had been there in the morning.

That first day
, replied Squirrel, stirring in his pouch where he had been sleeping. The animal sounded certain and Fist had no reason to doubt him.

“Well it doesn’t matter,” said Maryanne. “One year or two or three or whatever. Sarine has been waiting for two hundred years and the Prophet never brought her a rogue horse.”

“That’s strange,” Fist said. Sarine was Justan’s great grandmother and Maryanne’s bonding wizard. She had also been one of the Prophet’s companions during the War of the Dark Prophet. “Maybe it’s because she already has everything she needs from her bonded.”

One of the requirements for bonding was mutual need. Sarine already had extended life through her bond with Sir Kyrkon the elf, and toughness from her bond with the dwarf Bill. Fist figured that her bond with Maryanne gave her agility and mental focus. What else was there?

“Come on. Who doesn’t need a rogue horse?” Maryanne griped. “They’re the perfect bonded.”

“Me?” said Rufus. His gait took on a bit of a strut. He liked the sound of that.

“Sure,” she replied. “Look at you, climbing all around the mountain with us two on your back. All you rogue horses are great. You’re fast and strong. You’re loyal. Also you have all that energy that bonding wizards can use. Sarine is way old for a human. She can use all the energy she can get.”

“Then you’re mad that I bonded with him?” Fist asked, feeling oddly ashamed. He hadn’t asked for a rogue horse, but maybe she had a point. Had he done anything to deserve a bonded like Rufus?

You are good, Fist
, Squirrel assured him.

Good
! agreed Rufus, though he really didn’t understand what Fist’s confusion was about.

“Aww, I’m not mad at you, big guy,” said Maryanne, hearing the uncertainty in his voice. She tightened her grip around his waist, giving him a squeeze. “You’re sweet and you deserve everything. Really, you do. I’m just mad at the Prophet on Sarine’s behalf. She won’t be mad for herself, so sometimes I have to do it for her. I’ll tell John about it, too. Next time I see him.”

 Fist felt a bit better. “Then you’ve seen a lot of rogue horses?”

“A few, though Sarine’s told me about more,” she replied. “Two of the other bonding wizards we met in Khalpany had them. One of them was part dog and one of them had a regular horse head, but he could breathe fire!”

“Really?” said Fist, thinking how useful that could be.

“Yes! And hear this. There’s a rumor that there’s one of them still out there that can fly! Can you imagine that?”

“Ooh! Yes! Sera!” Rufus said, coming near the edge of a short cliff face.

“You know it?” Maryanne said excitedly. “Hey, show Fist what it looks like so he can describe it to me.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Fist said. He had seen some movement on a trail not far below them.
Stop Rufus. Back up. Quietly
.

Okay
, Rufus replied, taking a few steps back from the edge.

“What is it?” Maryanne asked, trying to look around him to see what he was looking at.

“Shh!” He mentally prodded Rufus to move forward just a bit so that they could peer down over the lip of the rock. The ape-like beast edged sideways just a bit and leaned so that they could see the trail below.

Dead things
, Rufus sent, baring his teeth in dislike.

Squirrel exited his pouch at Fist’s waist and ran up to the top of the rogue horse’s head to get a better look.
Ick
, he said, wrinkling his little nose at the smell.

A long line of hunched figures shuffled down the trail. They were of various different races, but all of them were in some state of damage or decay. Fist winced at the smell.
Back up
.

Rufus backed away from the edge. Fist turned to look at Maryanne. She gazed back at him with annoyed eyes.

“That’s a lot of them,” she whispered. The line had stretched down the trail in both directions as far as they could see. “I kind of hoped we’d killed most of them back at the lake. What do we do? You wanna fight them?”

“I don’t know,” Fist replied, making his voice as soft as he could. He wasn’t very good at whispering. “That trail goes to the Thunder People territory, but they are heading away from it.”

Maryanne frowned. “That could be good or bad.”

Fist gave her a worried nod. This army of infested dead was either returning from defeat or success with the Thunder People. “I saw many ogres.”

She gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “But mostly goblinoids, I think. Let’s take a closer look.”

They slid down from Rufus’ back and slid up to the edge on their bellies to make it easier to peer down without being seen. They watched the dead things go by. It was an eerily quiet march. The creatures didn’t groan or hiss or communicate with each other in any way. Somehow they avoided tripping over each other, but they moved slowly as if they barely remembered how to walk, their eyes looking down.  Fist wondered if any trace of their former selves remained.

The procession seemed unending, but he and Maryanne did a quick count. Only perhaps one out of ten was an ogre. That might have been good news, but the sheer number of dead were overwhelming.

“I didn’t know there were so many people living up here,” Maryanne whispered.

“Most people don’t,” Fist said. “There are hundreds of ogres in different tribes all over the mountains and tens of thousands of goblinoids. At least there was before the war. Still . . . This is a lot. The evil has spread far.”

Fist frowned as he thought about how quiet their journey had been. It was possible that an ogre and gnome mounted on a giant gorilla was too intimidating a force to attack, but there should have at least been some posturing by the tribes of creatures whose territories they had crossed. Thrown rocks or angry shouts at least. He shivered, thinking of how many empty caves they had passed. It truly did seem as if the mountain had been emptied of life and fed to that black lake.

They scooted back from the edge and sat up. Maryanne scratched her head. “What do you think? There enough ogres down there for your people to be overrun?”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Fist replied.

No
, Squirrel said.
Ogres are strong
.

“Good. So what do we do from here?” asked the gnome. “Looks like they’re in our way. Do we wait until they’ve passed by or do we fight our way around them?”

Fight
! Squirrel urged.
I will be Deathclaw again
.

“No, Squirrel,” Fist said. He shook his head. “There is a way around the trail. We will not fight them unless we have to.”

“You sure?” Maryanne asked. “If you did another of those cloud lightning spells, you could put a nice dent in the number of bodies that evil has control of.”

“Maybe,” Fist said. “But we don’t have time to destroy the bodies. The worms in them will be dead, but they’ll just put more worms in them and use them again.”