The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  The Dark Prophet was involved. Everything fell into place and Locksher knew that he needed to leave right away. He pulled his gray staff from the mass and saw that it wasn’t gray anymore. The blackness had moved up the staff and into his hands. His arms were black from the elbow down.

  Fear jolted through him and he flexed his mind, willing the black back down his arms and out of the staff. It remained gray when he was finished, though perhaps a little darker than before. He grasped the silvery cord that linked him to his mind and began soaring back towards that tiny window of light. It looked much smaller than it had when he came in this place.

  He was half way there when he was jerked to a halt. He looked down and saw a dark red tendril wrapped around his leg. The thing controlling the evil knew he was there.

  Maryanne rushed through the falling snow to the edge of the shelf where Qenzic and Lyramoor crouched, Squirrel on the elf’s shoulder. She knelt down beside them and peered down to the lake below. Heat from the living mass of worms radiated upwards on her face. It melted the snow before it hit the ground below, turning into rain.

  She arrived just as a hooded figure walked out of the entrance. It was wearing a dark red cloak that covered most of its body, though Maryanne thought she saw a clawed foot. The dead that were piled around the slope started to move. The figure stopped a few paces outside of the door and peered upwards. Right in their direction.

  The three of them dropped to their bellies.

  “No way,” said Lyramoor.

  “You think it saw us?” Qenzic asked.

  “No way,” Lyramoor repeated.

  “I don’t know if it saw us but it knows something’s up here.” Maryanne was sure of it.

  Lyramoor groaned. “Our wizard just pissed the bed, didn’t he?”

  “That’s a way of saying it,” Maryanne replied. “Squirrel, let Fist know.”

  The little creature nodded and shook a tiny fist, chattering angrily.

  “Yeah, I’m not happy with Locksher either,” the gnome agreed.

  She looked again. The hooded figure hadn’t moved, but a pale arm rose from within the cloak and a long finger pointed up at them. A chorus of screeches rang out and a flurry of hairy figures burst out of the goblin caves that were scattered up and down the cliff side below.

  “What are those?” Qenzic asked.

  “I don’t know,” Maryanne said.

  She shifted her eyes to spirit sight and saw a gray blur covering most of the slope. She blinked and realized that she was seeing the thousands of tiny strands of black spirit magic linking the larvae inside the dead to whatever was in the lake. She focused on the hairy beasts and noticed a thicker strand of dark red that connected them to the hooded figure.

  The hairy creatures ran towards the three friends. They reached the cliff face below and started climbing. Their snarls could be heard up above as the creatures made their way nimbly up the wall. The three friends stood, drawing their weapons.

  “What do we do?” Lyramoor asked, small throwing knives in each hand.

  “Unless Fist and Locksher tell us otherwise, I guess we fight,” Qenzic said, drawing his father’s famous sabre, The Commander, with one hand, while pulling a small shield off his back with the other.

  “We may not have to.” Maryanne said. She pulled her bow off her shoulder and drew an electric arrow from Chester, the magical quiver at her waist. “Whoever that person down there is, they’re controlling those creatures. I can hit ‘em from here.”

  “Do it then,” Qenzic said. “Whatever it is, it’s definitely an enemy.”

  Maryanne fitted the arrow to her bow and pulled it back, aiming right for the center of the shadow under that hood. She fired, her magically-enhanced bow sending the arrow at a much faster speed than a regular bow would.

  At the last possible moment, the figure’s pale hand reached up and snatched the arrow out of the air. There was a crackle of electric energy as the arrow expended its power, but the figure below seemed unharmed. It turned the arrow over in its fingers.

  “No way,” said Lyramoor again.

  Maryanne was just as stunned. More so. That was an inhuman feat. She grabbed another arrow, wondering if it could catch two fired in quick succession. Then the figure looked back up at her.

  It reached out and opened its pale hand, the arrow balanced on its palm. It raised its arm until the arrow pointed back at her. She caught a brief glimpse of a pair of black lips on a pale face as it blew.

  The arrow shot back up at Maryanne, pointed straight for the center of her head. The arrow flew just as fast as it had when she had shot it. Her honed gnomish reflexes reacted just in time and she dodged to the side. The arrow caught her in the cheek and tore a deep furrow before continuing onward into the falling snow.

  Maryanne’s hand flew to the side of her face. Somewhere within the figure’s hood amber eyes met hers. The gnome growled a promise, “Oh you’re mine.”

  “Well! Time to fight,” Lyramoor said. He threw one of his knives down at the beasts climbing up from below. There was a yelp and the creature fell. “Hey, I know what these are. I’ve seen ‘em before. In a dwarf menagerie. Lupolds.”

  “Lupolds?” Maryanne tore her eyes away from her new nemesis for a moment and looked at the approaching creatures closer. They had the heads and bodies of wolves, but had long legs and humanoid hands that could grasp and claw. “You’re right. But lupolds only live in Khalpany. The orcs sometimes keep them as pets.”

  “Well, they’re here,” Lyramoor said. He threw another knife and there was another yelp. He shook his head and drew his falchions. “I could throw away all my knives, but I don’t have enough to get ‘em all.”

  Maryanne glared a promise at the figure, but didn’t dare fire another arrow at it just yet. She began firing at the lupolds, sending them hurtling one at a time down to the black lake below. That didn’t stop most of them from reaching the top.

  Locksher fought hard. Swinging his staff, willing it to a blade-like edge. He severed the red tendril, but more came. This was not the kind of battle he was used to. He made slow progress towards his slowly fading light as he sliced and hacked, shooting forward, just to be halted again.

  This wouldn’t do. He had to reach the light before Fist electrified him. Otherwise, he had grown certain that part of his mind would remain trapped behind. He would lose the information he had gained, and possibly a large part of his faculties, forever.

  He hacked and sliced until his sword arm ached, the arm he never trained with a sword, and he realized his problem. He was fighting the way Jhonate had. He wasn’t a warrior and in this mental space, why did he have to be? How ridiculous of him.

  He reached out and flames shot from his fingers, igniting the red threads. A cluster of fireballs formed into existence and swirled around him, burning any tentacles that came close. He shot towards his destination, popping right through the window and back into his world.

  He hit the wall beside his desk with a crash, but stood up triumphant, only to find that the rot had spread while he was gone. The walls were back with mold. The paint had peeled. The bookcases sagged and many of the books had fallen on the floor, their pages warped and water damaged. There was only one corner of the room that was still pristine and that was right by the front door.

  Locksher ran towards it and shouted, “Fist! Do it now!”

  Fist heard the yelping of the lupolds and caught flashes of the fighting from Squirrel’s eyes. The speedy little creature had darted up to the mound, and climbed atop one of the boulders. He continued to watch the fight so Fist would know what was happening.

  Fist wanted to go help, but he didn’t dare leave Locksher’s side. The wizard was burning up as his body tried to fight off the parasitic invaders. If the fever got any hotter, he was going to have to act whether the wizard was ready or not.

  “Rufus, are you going to go help them?” Fist asked.

  The rogue horse was standing at stiff attention in front of the cave entra
nce, covered in a blanket of snow. He was focused on the battle, but hadn’t moved. “No. I stay,” he said. I protect you and Locksher if they come here.

  Fist had to admit that was probably for the best. The creatures were likely here for Locksher after all. Thank you.

  He looked back to the wizard. “Wake up, Locksher!”

  The wizard’s eye fluttered and Fist saw his lips move. The ogre leaned in closer. Was he trying to say something? The wizard grimaced, and Fist saw a tiny maggot wiggling between two of his teeth.

  “Gross,” he said worriedly. “What do I do? What do I do?”

  Maryanne ran around the corner, breathing heavily. There was a deep gash on her cheek and blood streamed down her face, but she was smiling. “We killed the things it sent up here. They weren’t all that hard to fight. I don’t think it knew exactly who we were, because if it was me, I would have sent-.”

  “Something bigger’s coming!” Qenzic exclaimed, running into view from the falling snow. “Don’t how what it is, but it’s huge and it’s hairy and it climbs fast!”

  Fist swallowed, not knowing what to do.

  “Hey! I think he’s trying to say something,” Maryanne said, pointing at the wizard,

  Fist returned his attention to the wizard. Locksher grunted and his eyes opened. They were filled with rage. Locksher snarled and raised his hand. Flames rose from his fingers.

  Fist lurched forward and grasped both of his master’s wrists. He could feel the heat of the flames against his face as he released vibrating strands of earth and air. Electricity surged through the wizard. Fist tried to control the charge, sending just enough to kill the worms without burning the man’s insides.

  Locksher hung limp. Fist laid him gently to the ground and sent his magic into the man to make sure he was alright. The ogre laughed in relief. “His heart’s beating. He’s still breathing!”

  “Good, cause we might need his help!” Qenzic said, backing up.

  “Oh damn,” said Maryanne, grabbing an arrow from her quiver.

  Fist rushed to the entrance and looked out as the large beast pulled itself up over the cliff’s edge. It was twelve-feet-tall at the shoulders and covered head-to-toe in white shaggy hair. Its head was large and ape-like and it had long yellow claws. It opened up its mouth and roared, exposing enormous fangs.

  “What the hell is that?” Lyramoor asked.

  Fist’s eyes widened. “I think that’s a real gwatch.”

  “It does kinda look like Rufus,” Maryanne remarked, lifting her bow.

  “Not. A. Gotch!” Rufus roared and charged towards the creature. While he was on all fours it was taller than him, but he was just as heavy.

  It ran towards him, roaring as it went, spittle flying from its fangs. It reared back, its clawed arms ready to strike, but Rufus was approaching too fast. They collided in the center of the rock shelf. Rufus’ broad shoulder caught it in the middle of its chest and he swept out with one long arm, bowling it over.

  It landed on its back and Rufus was on top of it, pounding its head with brutal punches of his fists. It rolled, bucking him off, and swung one arm out in a heavy backhand that caught Rufus in the face as he came to his feet. Rufus roared and grew larger.

  Fist and the other companions could do nothing but stare at the vicious display as the gorilla-like creatures went at each other, their fur matted in freshly fallen snow.

  “I don’t see how I could get a shot in,” said Maryanne.

  The two huge beasts battled back and forth. With each blow, Rufus grew slightly larger until he was as tall on all fours as the other beast was standing on two feet. The gwatch, though bruised and battered, was driven mad by infestation and unable to concede the fight and retreat.

  Finally, Rufus grabbed one of its legs and yanked it out from under it. The beast fell and he pounded it with his fists. Then, while it was dazed, he grasped it with both hands and reared up, lifting it high in the air. With an earsplitting roar, he threw the gwatch. It struck the ground with an audible crunch and rolled off of the cliff’s edge.

  Rufus spat after it and beat his chest with one fist. While the others nodded in approval, he shrank gradually back to his normal size and walked back to them, breathing heavily.

  “Good fight,” Fist said, patting the rogue horse fondly as he sent his magic through the bond, checking him for infestation. He didn’t find any larvae, but there were several deep lacerations that he started healing right away.

  “Not a gotch!” Rufus said again, looking at Maryanne.

  She nodded and patted his arm. “I agree with you, big guy. I was wrong before. No resemblance at all.”

  “Hey,” said Lyramoor, who was peering over the edge at the slope below. “I’m glad that’s over and everything, but we should go now. Whoever that person down there is, they’re waving their arms around and there are big things moving in that lake.”

  “He is correct. We should leave right away,” said a weak voice and they turned to see Locksher standing at the cave entrance, leaning against a boulder.

  “Locksher are you alright?” Fist asked, rushing to his side.

  The wizard waved him away. “We must get back to the Thunder People territory quickly so that Maryanne and Charz can contact their bonding wizards. I know what we’re facing now and we need all the help both schools can send us. We should probably contact King Demetrius as well.”

  “What is it?” Lyramoor asked.

  “We’re dealing with the power of the moonrat mother,” he said.

  Fist said. “But you said that was impossible. She is dead.”

  “We didn’t know everything. When Mellinda was hunted down, Sherl thought she had destroyed all the orange eyes, but she didn’t.” He held up two fingers. “We missed two. Two of them that had dug their way into the ground down at the bottom of where that black lake is now.” He glanced at Qenzic. “From that moonrat you fought at the beginning of the war, I’m guessing.

  “When Jhonate cut Mellinda’s soul free from the foul dagger it was bound to, part of it escaped here. Now, the orange eyes weren’t strong enough to contain the entirety of Mellinda’s twisted soul. This is why she hadn’t tried to use them to escape before. But two of them were just enough to contain her power itself. Nothing but her unbridled rot and rage.”

  “So that’s what’s controlling the worms,” Fist said in shock.

  “Yes and no. Mellinda is the raw power that controls them yes, but her intelligence was cut free . . . destroyed. What’s left of her would be a relatively dangerous though ineffective threat alone. But something else is attached to that power,” he said, his eyes intense. “Mellinda’s link to the Dark Prophet, forged by the Dark Bowl.”

  His words brought silence as everyone tried to absorb the portents.

  “We’re up against the Dark Prophet himself?” Qenzic said in a shocked voice.

  “No,” said Locksher, frowning. Then he blinked. “Oh! I can see how you would think that, from the way I said it.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry everyone. Take a breath. I don’t think he has quite enough power to take control of that thing from such a distance. At least not yet. No. That would have been bad, though.” His tone grew serious again. “What we are facing is bad enough as it is.”

  “Then what is it?” Maryanne growled, not amused.

  “One of his servants,” the wizard said. “I’m not sure who, but it felt female. Perhaps one of his old high priestesses. Whoever they are, they have very powerful bewitching magic.”

  “And earth magic,” Fist added, thinking of the rock house.

  “And air,” said Maryanne, fingering her wounded cheek.

  “And they have a seemingly endless supply of slaves and beasts being sent from Khalpany to feed this evil,” Locksher said. “They’ve opened up one of the old passes through the mountains that was blockaded after the last great war.”

  Fist nodded in understanding. “That’s how she can continue to lose scores of them every day fighting the Thunder
People.”

  “She arrived fairly recently,” Locksher added. “I caught just a glimpse of the operation before she noticed me looking. This is why we need the academy and Mage School up here right away. She could send an army of dead out into the rest of Dremaldria at any time.”

  Lyramoor looked up at the dark clouds above. “Unfortunately we can’t wait this storm out. We’re going to have to head back now before she sends more creatures after us.”

  There was a rumbling noise from the lake behind them as if in agreement.

  “I can do it,” Rufus assured them happily.