The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  She caught her master’s scent right away and felt a wave of relief. Though it smelled like he had an infected wound, he was alive. And he was alone. She lifted the base of the tent as much as the canvas would allow and discovered that she had just enough room to slip underneath.

  The inside of the tent was quite dark, but not a problem with her excellent night vision. Canvas walls divided the interior of the tent into several sections and she realized that she had entered an isolated corner of the tent. The decorations were bare but for two plush chairs much like the one she had seen the Gnome Warlord sitting in before.

  One chair was empty, but the chair facing it was occupied. Matthew sat with his hands folded in his lap, his posture straight, and his eyes closed. He wore plain brown robes and the skin of his face, which he usually kept clean shaven, was scruffy with two weeks of beard growth. The hilt of a sword rose diagonally from behind his left shoulder. That was strange. She had never seen him carry weapons before.

  “Talon?” he said without opening his eyes.

  “Yes, Masster,” she replied, approaching him slowly.

  “I had a feeling that you would come.” He opened his eyes and it was evident how weary he was. He looked haggard, like a man at the end of his limits. She had seen this look on men before. Men that Ewwie had sent her to hound until they died of exhaustion. “You didn’t happen to bring my pipe, did you? I had one with me, but an imp took it away.”

  She rushed to his side. “Masster, I am here to ssave you.” She sniffed and realized that the sword wasn’t resting in a sheath on his back. The blade was sheathed in his back. This was the source of the infected wound that she had smelled. Talon reached for the hilt.

  “Stop, Talon,” Matthew commanded calmly and she felt her hand fall away from the sword. “You musn’t touch it. He will know if you do. Besides, you are not the one who is supposed to remove it.”

  “But Masster. It hurtss you. It makess you ssick,” she said.

  A slight smile curled his lips. “Well, you’re right that it’s infected. Aloysius let that happen on purpose. He allows his kobald healers to come in from time to time and clean out the wound with their magic, but he’s a mean bastard. He doesn’t let it get so bad that I could die, but he also doesn’t let them heal it all the way. He knows that an infected wound is more sensitive and he also knows that a fevered mind isn’t a sharp mind. He wants me to do his bidding and the magic of his sword can only force me so far.”

  “Let uss leave Masster,” Talon pleaded. “We can remove the ssword later.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t leave just yet,” Mathew said bitterly. “This is my penance, you see.”

  “Penance?” she asked.

  “I have been neglecting my duty for a long time and now it seems I must reap the rewards of my laziness.” A sour look spread across his tired face. “Why does John always have to be the good one? He never has to go through something like this.”

  “But you must leave,” Talon said, feeling a panic rise within her. She reached for the sword again.

  “Don’t worry about me, Talon.” Matthew raised a hand to stop her and winced. “I am exactly where I need to be. I do wish I could get some sleep, though. The thing is this sword hurts like hell unless I’m sitting exactly still.”

  “You cannot sstay with that gnome,” Talon insisted. “He is dangerouss. Besidess, the mistress is here!”

  “Who?” he asked, then frowned. “Your old mistress? The Troll Queen? I thought she was destroyed.”

  “As did I,” Talon said. “But I ssaw her talking with the gnome. Sshe is making an army of troll thingss and sshe has Ewwiess ringss!”

  Matthew’s frown deepened. “Show me what you saw.”

  Talon’s eyes narrowed. “Sshow?”

  “Hold still,” he said and gritted his teeth as he raised his hand and placed it over her heart. Talon felt a warmth pass through her mind and his hand dropped back into his lap. “Blast it, that warlord is going to make this so much harder!” His eyes focused on hers. “Listen carefully to me, Talon. You must leave right away.”

  Talon shook her head. “I cannot leavess you,” she hissed.

  “You will,” he commanded. “You must return to the marshes and collect Durza. Then you go and find that young named warrior that came to see me. Sir Edge is his name. You know him.”

  “Deathclaw’ss wizard,” Talon said.

  “Yes. You must tell him what you told me about Mellinda’s return.” His brow furrowed. “I don’t think any of the major players know about her yet.”

  “He will k-. . .” Talon hesitated, full of uncertainty, but finally she bowed her head in acceptance. If Matthew said it must be done, she would do it. “I will go.”

  “Then leave now, because Aloysius is returning.”

  “Yess, Masster,” she said and returned to the place she had entered from.

  Talon felt a mix or anxiety and eagerness. It was an impossible task. Sir Edge wanted her dead. She had seen the pained look in his eyes when he realized that she had poisoned his bonding wizard friend. Deathclaw wanted to kill her too. In his mind it was the only way to fix her. Neither one would listen to the message she was supposed to give.

  She lifted the bottom edge of the tent and an odd smile stretched her lips. Perhaps that was the reason for this command. Perhaps it was time for her penance.

  “Oh, and Talon?” Matthew added, sensing her thoughts. “When you see your brother, don’t let him kill you. I will have need of you again.”

  Talon let out a disappointed growl and disappeared into the night.

  * * *

  Matthew had very little time to compose himself before the gnome warlord returned to the tent. He had been in a dark place, but Talon’s visit had invigorated him. He saw it as evidence that the Creator had not completely turned away from him after all.

  He hadn’t told Talon the full extent of his pain and exhaustion. It was more than the lack of sleep or the sword sheathed in the skin of his back. It wasn’t even the broken rib that one of the imp commanders had given him when Aloysius wasn’t looking. It was the pain of remorse, an after effect of the first gift that his master had returned to him.

  It had come, oddly enough, the very day that Aloysius had taken him captive. The gnome warlord had announced to an exuberant army that he had full control of the Stranger. Matthew had been aware before this that the races within his realm of responsibility hated him, but that knowledge had always been a distant one. He had told himself that their hatred was a necessary side effect of his position. It was merely proof that his methods were effective.

  Aloysius had brought Matthew to his command tent, sat him in a chair and began bringing in the leaders of the demon army one-by-one. The warlord told these imps and kobalds that they could not harm the Stranger, but they could tell him what they thought of him.

  Vile things were shouted at Matthew. He was spat upon. One imp started to urinate on him before the gnome warrior guards dragged it out of the tent. These were humiliations that Matthew was unaccustomed to, of course, but he barely noticed them. For as each of these demons entered the tent, Matthew’s mind was opened.

  As they yelled or spit or stared at him in undisguised anger, their lives passed before his eyes. He saw the pain that each of these people had felt because of his inaction. He saw the families mourn because of barren women and miscarried infants. He saw the results of the fighting caused by the enmity he had instituted between the races.

  At first, he held himself numb against it. These were things he knew already from a dispassionate distance. But these revelations didn’t come from a dispassionate distance. In those brief moments that flashed through his mind, Matthew experienced their pain from their perspective. The lost children were his. The dead friends and family were his.

  Eventually, he broke down. Tears streamed down his face as he begged their forgiveness. He didn’t receive it. Some of them were disturbed by his display. Others doubted his identity.

&
nbsp; The gnome warlord was confused. He commanded the Stranger not to cry. Tears did not help Aloysius’ cause. The magic of the sword had forced him to obey. For the rest of the journey all of his sorrow was internal.

  Moments after Talon left, Matthew heard the gnome warriors enter the front section of the tent. Light shone through the cracks at the top and bottom of the canvas wall in front of him. He rotated his head on his neck, ignoring the way that it pulled on the skin of his upper back as he did so. When Aloysius pulled aside a section of the canvas flap and entered, he was met by the Stranger’s unflinching gaze.

  “Good evening, Aloysius,” Matthew said cheerfully.

  “You will call me Master,” Aloysius commanded.

  “I will not. For you are not my master,” Matthew replied.

  This was part of a constant back and forth between the two of them. The gnome warlord had been dismayed to learn that there were limits to the control his sword gave him over the Stranger. Matthew had to obey most of his commands, but he could not deny his identity and he could not call anyone but the Creator his master.

  This evening, the gnome warlord had thought of a few more tests to discover the limits of his control over the Stranger. He snapped his fingers and one of his red-sashed stewards entered. The man was Aloysius’ favorite. He was a mild-looking man with a head topped by curly brown hair. Aloysius called him Oliver, but the rest of the stewards knew him by a different name, one which more represented his personality. They called him Shade.

  Shade pulled a kobald female into the room with him. She was of medium build for a kobald, which meant she was wide as a husky dwarf, and the stony gray scales on her chest had been painted with a black circle. This denoted her as a healing specialist.

  Matthew knew her well. The first time Aloysius had brought her in the tent, Matthew had experienced her pain. She and her mate had been unable to have a child for the last twenty years. Aloysius brought the kobald in nightly to monitor the Stranger’s health. She made sure that his sword wound didn’t become too toxic, but always seemed to ignore his broken rib.

  “Hello, Ralganeth. How are you this evening?” Matthew said. The kobald growled back at him in derision.

  “Oliver, may I borrow your dagger?” Aloysius asked. Shade slid the weapon from the sheath at his hip and handed it to the gnome. It was wickedly curved.

  Matthew ignored it, keeping his eyes on the kobald. He smiled. “Did you know that you are pregnant?” Ralganeth’s eyes widened and her hand moved to her belly. “It is early yet, just a few days. But you will give birth, thanks to Aloysius here. Twins . . . I’m not sure of the sexes yet.”

  One of the first things the gnome warlord had commanded the Stranger to do was to release all limits to the races under his control. In fact, Aloysius had forced him beyond that, making Matthew push their fertility levels to the maximum. The blood magic and demon races were now excessively fertile. Every attempt at reproduction would be a success. Twins and triplets would become common place.

  Matthew had tried to explain to the warlord how this was a bad idea, but Aloysius refused to listen. The population explosion that would occur from this would be direct proof that the races were free from the Stranger. The people would see Aloysius as their savior and adore him for it.

  Aloysius approached Matthew and held out the dagger. “Take the weapon.”

  Matthew had no choice but to do so. He took the dagger in his hand and shivered, fearing what the warlord might force him to do with it.

  “Call me master,” Aloysius said, his voice even.

  Matthew frowned. “You know I cannot.”

  “Then stab yourself in the leg,” Aloysius commanded.

  Matthew’s hand stabbed down of its own volition. The sharp blade pierced his thigh, gouged the bone, and sunk into the patted chair beneath him. Matthew swallowed, but refused to show his shock. Instead, he said, “Did you enjoy your little talk with Mellinda, Aloysius?”

  If his knowledge needled the gnome, Aloysius didn’t show it. “Pull the dagger out of your leg.”

  The blade made a wet sound as Matthew pulled it out. His face paled as he watched blood bubble and spurt from the wound. He had struck an artery. In his thousands of years of life he had never been hurt in this way before.

  The gnome gestured to the kobald. “Heal him.”

  Ralganeth placed her hands on his leg, applying pressure to the wound as she worked. Luckily, the wound was clean and easily repaired by a healer of her caliber. She did so quickly, with efficient weaves of water and earth magic.

  Matthew gladly endured the intense tingle that came with the elemental healing. “Thank you, Ralganeth. Aloysius, I do hope that this isn’t a form of torture you plan to repeat. As uncomfortable as it makes me, I will not be able to change my answer.”

  Ralganeth cocked her head at him uncertainly. “Did you mean what you said, Stranger? Am I to give birth?”

  “Twins,” he repeated. “I saw the path in my mind.”

  “Hmm,” said Aloysius. He nodded to Shade.

  The red-sashed steward reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden rod. There was a loud pop and the kobald was paralyzed, a grin frozen on her scaled face. Her only movements that the complicated spell allowed were the beat of her heart and the slow rise and fall of her chest as she continued to breathe.

  “Stab her in the leg, Stranger,” Aloysius ordered.

  “How does this prove anythi-?” Matthew’s arm thrust forward as if of its own volition. The kobald’s scaled skin was tough, but the blade was a fine one. The dagger pierced deeply, stopping when it hit bone. Matthew grimaced, hoping that the wound wasn’t as dire as his had been. “Stop this, Aloysius! What purpose could this possibly serve?”

  “You will not give me orders,” the warlord commanded and Matthew found himself nodding in acquiescence. Aloysius rested his hand on the lip of the empty scabbard at his waist. “When I first acquired the Sword of Mastery, I tested its abilities thoroughly. I know exactly what it can and cannot make people do. You, however have proved an exception to the rule and this means that I must experiment again.”

  “Aloysius, you already know that I have to obey you in all things but one,” Matthew said. “You cannot replace my master and I cannot serve two.”

  “Indeed? It seems another test is in order,” Aloysius decided. “Withdraw the dagger.”

  Matthew pulled it from the kobald’s leg and was relieved when the blood merely dribbled from the wound, but he had an idea of what was coming next. He closed his eyes and called out to his master. Please don’t let him make me do this. Please!

  “Kill her,” Aloysius said.

  Mathew’s arm darted forward, but stopped. The tip of the blade quivered mere millimeters from the skin of her chest. Matthew breathed heavily. Thank you. He had never before taken a life with his own hands.

  “As I suspected,” said the gnome warlord. “You may retrieve your weapon, Oliver.”

  Shade strode forward and took the dagger from Matthew’s hands. He then wrapped an arm around the kobald and placed the tip of the blade over her heart. He grinned. “What shall I do, Master?”

  Aloysius raised a calming hand and said to the Stranger, “So we have learned that I cannot make you kill, at least not directly. But can you break one of your rules in order to save another? Call me master or I kill the healer.”

  “Please wait,” Matthew said. “This would prove nothing. You have already determined that I can’t call you master. What if we were to come to a compromise?”

  “I should not have to compromise with someone under my control!” Aloysius snapped. His eyes were wide and his lip curled. Matthew had heard the warlord raise his voice a few times in the past, but this was the first time that he had seen Aloysius lose his temper.

  “Compromise was a poor choice of words,” Matthew admitted. “Look, I can see that you don’t like it when I use your name in a casual manner like I have been. What if you were to command me to call you Warlord Alo
ysius instead? This way I use an honorific. Your followers will see this as a sign of servitude.”

  The gnome glowered at him for a moment longer. Matthew’s suggestion was something that he could have done at any time had he not been so fixated on hearing the Stranger call him master. Then the emotion cleared from his face. “You will not speak to me casually at any time.”

  “As you command, Warlord Aloysius,” Matthew said, bowing as much as he could with that sword in his back. “You see? I think that sounds pretty good.”

  Aloysius nodded to Shade and the steward shoved the dagger deep into the kobald’s chest. Ragoneth didn’t so much as shudder when her heart was pierced. The only evidence of her death was the stillness of her chest.