The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Deathclaw again felt the urge to jump down to the mutated creature. It was a strange urge. Out of curiosity, he reached inside his mind again and switched to spirit sight. His eyes widened.

  A soft gray mist emanated from the thing, linking it to the trolls around it. This same gray mist reached up into the tree where Deathclaw sat. It was wrapped around him like a tentacle, grasping, but held back by the protective nature of the bond. This creature was trying to control him. Deathclaw showed Justan what he had seen.

  This thing has bewitching magic, Justan replied, his thoughts shocked.

  Deathclaw nodded in understanding. That is how it controls the trolls.

  Hold tight. We’ll be right there, Justan promised.

  Coming! Gwyrtha agreed. She picked up speed, pushing aside smaller trees, forcing Justan and Jhonate to endure the whipping of the recoiling branches as they surged ahead of Willum and the rest of the group.

  They were mere minutes away, but Deathclaw looked down at the deformed thing below and didn’t feel like waiting. He reached for the bandoleer of throwing knives that crossed his chest. It was a gift from Hugh the Shadow. Deathclaw had practiced with the blades obsessively until they felt like an extension of his own body. He drew a knife and smiled enjoying the opportunity to put his newly learned skill to use.

  He waited for the creature to open its misshapen mouth again, then threw the knife with a flick of his wrist. The blade flew true, piercing its stub of a tongue and continuing through the base of its jaw, protruding out diagonally from its flesh. Hot red blood poured down its neck.

  The thing clutched at its mouth and throat, screeching in pain and surprise. The trolls surrounding it joined in. The noise pierced the silence of the forest and Deathclaw flinched, the sudden sound hurting his sensitive ears.

  He drew another knife, but the creature backed away through the ranks of the trolls it commanded. Just before it passed out of view, it made a slashing gesture with one hand. The troll horde burst into motion.

  They began clawing madly at the trunk of the magnolia tree, their wicked claws cutting deep furrows in its bark. Deathclaw let out a questioning chirp. Were they trying to tear the tree down? He wasn’t too concerned. It was a stout tree. Then two of them leapt, using the claws on their hands and feet to scramble over their brethren and begin to climb the trunk.

  Deathclaw hissed. He had never seen trolls do that before. If they saw prey in a tree, they would pace around it for hours waiting for prey to come within reach, but they didn’t ever climb.

  The lanky trolls came quickly. As soon as the first troll was within range Deathclaw struck at it with his tail, hoping to dislodge it. His tail barb pierced one of its beady eyes, but the troll didn’t so much as flinch from the pain. It let go of the trunk with one hand to clutch at his tail, but Deathclaw swung it out of the troll’s reach.

  He looked around, but there was no other tree close enough to jump to. Deathclaw reached up over his shoulder and grasped his sword. He felt a surge of eagerness from the spirit bound to the weapon as the scar on his hand touched the matching symbol on its handle. He pulled the blade from the sheath and saw that it was as red hot as his scar.

  Very well, Star. It is your turn, he thought.

  The troll knew no fear. It pulled itself closer towards him, reaching with one arm, the glow of the sword’s blade gleaming in its one good eye. Deathclaw lashed out with Star. With a flash of white fire, the blade took off the troll’s grasping arm at the elbow.

  He swung again, carving a molten line through the troll’s head, parting its skull as if it were made of jelly. The troll burst into flame. As it fell from its perch in the tree, its body collided with the troll beneath it. Both of them plummeted into the reaching horde beneath them.

  The mass of trolls, standing in a pool of their own slime, combusted, sending a ball of fire up the trunk of the tree. Deathclaw cringed as the burst of heat singed his lower body. Chaos erupted below him. Burning trolls screeched and ran in all directions. Flames climbed the bark of the tree.

  Deathclaw hissed in irritation at himself. He had fought enough trolls that he should have known how this situation was going to end. Now he was high in the tree, surrounded by flames with no easy way down. Smoke filled the air, causing his eyes to water.

  What was that? Deathclaw are you okay? Justan asked.

  Yes, Deathclaw replied. He coughed, grumbling to himself as he glanced at the burning ground below. This was going to hurt. He sheathed his sword, ran as far along the nearest thick branch as he could, and leapt, hoping to land outside of the blaze.

  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. She 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.”

  Chapter Five

  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?”