The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9) (15 page)

Fist was going to respond, but Crag suddenly waved at an ogre who approached them from a nearby fireside. “Ooh, good! Hurry.”

From the crossed-out flame-shaped scar on his chest, the oncoming ogre had once been Fire People. He was holding a metal rod in one hand that looked like it may once have been a human settler’s fireplace poker. The pointed end was glowing red.

Crag eagerly held out his arm.

“Wait, Crag,” Fist said. The branding thing that had started while Crag was gone was something he had hoped to stop. “You don’t need to do that.”

The ogre chief frowned at him. “All the Thunder People does this now. So must the chief.” He looked back at the ogre with the glowing brand enthusiastically. “Make it a big one.”

Fist turned away as the ogre brought the brand near. He started walking, but he still heard the sizzle of the hot iron and Crag’s grunts of pain.

Why he do that
? Rufus asked through the bond, watching the scene back over his hairy shoulder as they walked.

I don’t know
, Fist replied. He hadn’t thought Crag would so easily give in to that kind of ugly trend.

“You thqueamish about a little branding, ogre?” Charz asked as they walked away from the cave. His healing magic must have kicked in because his voice was already starting to sound better.

Fist still wasn’t sure how to explain what he felt. “It just seems . . .”

“Brutal?” Charz asked in amusement.

“You are ogres,” Maryanne pointed out.

“Yes, but this is new brutality,” Fist said. “I was hoping that we could change the way things are done in the tribes for the better. This feels like a step backwards.”

“Aww,” Maryanne replied, patting his shoulder affectionately.

They travelled along the cliff face, passing the multiple smaller caves that the Thunder People had used for sleeping throughout the years. The area was crowded. Despite the last gasps of winter’s cold, ogres stood around and talked in the firelight.

Fist’s group didn’t go by unnoticed. As they walked, people congratulated Charz about his fight and pointed at Rufus, whispering about the gwatch. Fist heard his name called out several times. “Fist!” “Hey, ogre mage!” “Big Fist is back!” Fist waved in the direction of the voices, but didn’t stop, hoping that he would be able to get to his imprisoned friends without further delays.

Then they passed the women’s caves. The crowds were thicker here as the men lingered, hoping to convince an ogress to pick him for the night. The voices calling Fist’s name changed tone. “Big Fist, come here!” “I will choose you, Fist.” “I missed you, Fist!”

“What’s that about?” Maryanne teased.

“Yeah, you leave a bunch a broken hearts behind in this place, Fist?” Charz asked.

“Just keep moving,” Fist replied, wanting to avoid any embarrassing explanations.

“Wait, Big Fist. Where is you going?” asked a gruffly alluring voice. The path in front of them was blocked by six imposing ogre females. These were perhaps not the prettiest or most well-endowed of the women, but they were the most influential ones; the women in charge of the cooking and healing and breeding done within the tribe.

There were some new faces among them, but Fist recognized Marg the Gutter and Fixer Fan. The woman that had spoken was Momma Zung. She was the woman in charge of all the females in the tribe. In reality, she had more influence than anyone except for the chief. Even so, Fist had seen her lead Crag around by the ear a few times over the years. 

“We are going to the Jail Cave to free the rest of my tribe,” Fist replied. The Jail Cave was at the far end of the shelf at a section where the cliff face was weakened by crumbling rock. The ceilings of the cave dripped constantly. This made it less than desirable as living space, but a perfect place to keep ogres that needed punishment. “It is good to see you again, Momma Zung.”

The ogress moved forward, the firelight gleaming across her face. She had once been Crag’s favorite and much of that beauty still remained. When Fist was small, he had thought she might be his mother, but Crag had told him that his mother had been stolen away by another tribe.

Zung reached out and cupped his chin with her hand. “We heared about Puj.”

“She was a good healer,” said Fixer Fan.

Fist nodded slightly, unwilling to correct her. It saddened him to think about Puj, but there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. “My tribe killed the ogres who hurt her.”

I did
, Squirrel corrected.

Zung smiled. “Do not worry, Fist. We will get another women for you.”

“Oh, uh. You do not need to do that,” Fist said.

“We must,” she insisted. “Crag promised you a women. Come with us and I will help you pick one.”

Maryanne cleared her throat and stepped between Fist and Momma Zung, forcing the ogress to take a step back. “You heard him. That won’t be necessary.”

“It touched me,” Momma Zung said in surprise.

“What is that skinny thing?” asked Marg the Gutter, stepping forward and eyeing Maryanne with distaste. She was the most imposing of the ogresses, large and smelly, in charge of the butchering of animals brought back by the ogre hunters. “Why does it wear shiny skins?”

“This is Maryanne. She is a gnome and she’s in my tribe,” Fist said.

“This thing is your women?” Mother Zung asked, looking both disgusted and amused at the thought. “Then we must get you a new one.”

Fist laughed nervously. This wasn’t going his way. “Well, she’s-.”

“That’s right,” Maryanne declared, stepping closer to the ogress and glaring. Though Mother Zung was probably twice her weight, Maryanne was taller than her by a good six inches and the intensity of her gaze was intimidating. “Fist is my man!”

Fist’s eyes widened. Charz took one look at the expression on his face and broke out into a fit of laughter. This confused the ogre women further and they looked at Fist questioningly. They understood that this woman, if that’s what she was, was terribly skinny and they found that amusing, but would Fist allow this giant to mock his choice in women, to guffaw and slap his knee so openly?

Maryanne turned and stormed at the giant. Her attack came so fast that Fist barely caught how she did it in the flickering firelight. The auburn-haired gnome was suddenly behind him.

First, she sent a sharp kick into the back of Charz’s knee. The joint crumpled, sending him teetering off balance. Then she was somehow in front of him and high in the air, spinning. Her right foot lashed out, then her left, catching the rock giant under the jaw both times. Charz’s head was rocked back and he fell to the ground with an audible oof.

She landed lithely, then flicked her hair out of her eyes and pointed, swinging her arm in a broad gesture that took in all of the ogres that had seen the spectacle. “That’s right! Fist is my man and if any of you dare challenge that, you will have to fight me!”

Several of the male ogres that were nearby looked at each other and muttered. A male fighting a female? How unbecoming. But the ogre females understood that the message was directed at them and they all understood that they were being given a warning. Fist was off limits.

She stormed away from the giant and walked over to Fist, linking her arm in his before turning back to say one more thing loudly to the crowd. “And this ‘shiny stuff’ I’m wearing is leather armor made by elves. It’s comfortable and allows me freedom of movement!” She tightened her glare at Mother Zung. “Unlike those bulky furs you girls wear.”

I like her now
, Squirrel decided.
You should choose her
.

Charz didn’t bother getting up. He lay in the dirt and sighed. “You know my face still really hurts, Maryanne.”

“That’s why I aimed for under your chin, you big oaf,” she replied. “Now get up and come along with us. It’s time we left these women behind.”

“Naw, I think I’ll rest here for a minute,” Charz said, placing both hands behind his head. “Hey, ogre ladies! You got a injured warrior over here that needs to be babied!” Several ogresses giggled and rushed to his side, some of them leaving disappointed ogre men behind.

Maryanne pulled Fist past the ogre women and he couldn’t help but note the offended glare in Mother Zung’s eyes. He hoped that this incident wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

“Why did you do that?” Fist asked her once they were out of earshot of the women.

“Do what?” Maryanne asked innocently.

“You told everyone that you were my woman,” Fist said.

“No. I said that you were my man,” she corrected. “It was a definite declaration.” The gnome warrior patted his arm. “Oh, don’t look flummoxed. I was doing you a favor. Now those ogresses won’t be trying to drag you off into some dark cave every time you turn around. Isn’t that something you wanted to avoid?”

“Yes,” Fist said slowly. “But-.”

“And don’t pretend that you haven’t noticed how some of those men have been looking at me,” she added. “You don’t want some ogre trying to lay his grubby hands on me do you?”

“No,” he said, even more slowly. That wasn’t exactly an observation he had made, but it seemed like a very bad idea to point that out.

She gave him a wry smile. “Besides, you know you’ve been thinking about it anyway. And since we now have to keep up appearances, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make up your mind.”

I’m confused
, Rufus said.

So am I
, Fist replied.

It is good
, Squirrel said.
Fist has a mate now. He will be more happy
.

That is not what just happened
, Fist said unconvincingly. Maryanne had been so in charge of that conversation he wasn’t quite sure what he had agreed to. He was trying to figure out how to talk to her about it and set some things straight when they arrived at the Jail Cave.

The jail door, consisting of several tree branches lashed together and held in place by large rocks, had been thrown open and Fist could see two large feet sticking out from the dark entrance.

“Fist! Maryanne! There you are!” Whispered Qenzic urgently. The academy graduate looked quite upset. “Come here. Quietly.”

As Fist moved closer, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he noticed a dim light coming from around a bend in the back of the cave. Standing next to him was Lyramoor. A large ogre lay at the elf’s feet. He wasn’t moving. A sick feeling rose in Fist’s stomach.

“What happened?” Maryanne asked.

“Lyramoor killed the guard,” Qenzic replied.

“I was sitting around for a long time waiting to see if Fist would get them to free you,” Lyramoor said to Qenzic. He glanced at Fist irritably. “You took too long.”

Fist placed a hand over his face. This was his fault. He knew that Lyramoor was volatile. He should have done something about it when the elf had disappeared, but there had been so many other things for him to worry about that he’d let it slide.

“What were you thinking?” Maryanne snapped at the elf. “Charz fought a big acid licking giant to free them. We were delayed getting here a little, but come on!”

“Alright. I may have acted a bit too quickly, but I had no way of knowing what was taking you so long,” Lyramoor replied.

“You could have stuck with the plan and stayed with us,” Maryanne said.

The elf sighed. “It’s not that big a problem, right? It’s just one dead ogre.”

“It’s a problem,” Fist said numbly.

He crouched next to the guard and turned him over. Fist didn’t recognize him. He was a youthful ogre. He had a stout face with a prominent brow and a jutting jaw. Fist sent his magic into the body. The elf had been efficient. A throwing dagger to the eye and a finishing wound to the heart.

Fist gritted his teeth in anger. “Just one dead ogre? What if I said, ‘Just one dead human?’or ‘Just one dead elf?’”

“Yeah. Sorry about the way I said that,” Lyramoor said.

Fist closed his eyes and shook his head. “This is my fault. I brought you all here. I was proud to have you all in my tribe.”

“Surely it’s not that bad,” Maryanne said. “Ogres are violent types. They expect accidental deaths to happen from time to time, don’t they?”

“Yes, ogres are violent,” Fist replied bitterly. “That does not mean that we don’t care about the lives of others in our tribe. We have strong bodies. We can handle violence. Accidental deaths are rare.” He pointed to the body prone at their feet. “He may not have had a family like the smarter races do. But this ogre had responsibilities in the tribe. This ogre had friends. He will be missed. And the Thunder People are always harsh when someone kills a member of their tribe.”

“I . . .” Lyramoor looked away, uncharacteristically chastened. “I was only thinking of Qenzic and Wizard Locksher.”

 “No, you were dwelling on your past like always, Lyramoor,” Qenzic snapped. Lyramoor had barely left his side since Sabre Vlad’s death and months of frustration over the elf’s dour behavior were bubbling over. “I know your feelings about being imprisoned, but we were only locked up because of a misunderstanding. The Thunder People aren’t dwarf smugglers. They aren’t even our enemies. They’re supposed to be our allies on this mission.”

The elf looked down, his hands clenched, but said nothing, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

“What do you think the Thunder People will want to do about this?” Maryanne asked.

“It would be different if the guard had attacked and he was just defending himself, but as it is? They might want to execute Lyramoor,” Fist replied. He looked around. “Where is Professor Locksher?”

“He’s in the back. Around the corner,” Qenzic replied, giving Lyramoor a look of worry mixed with irritation.

“All of you, stay here,” Fist said and ducked down as he walked deeper into the cave. He wished Justan was there. Hopefully, Locksher would know what to do.

The interior of the Jail Cave was chilly, but warm enough that the water dripping from the ceiling didn’t freeze. The result was that it was wet year round, with puddles of water here and there along the floor of the cave. Decades of being used as a jail had also left it smelling like stale urine.

The ceiling lowered further in the rear of the cave and Fist had to hunch over to turn the corner. Wizard Locksher had found the one dry place in the cave and was sitting with his knees drawn up in front of him. He was reading a book by the soft light of a glow orb that sat on top of an overstuffed pack that was gaping open on the floor beside him.

“Master Locksher,” Fist said.

Locksher held up a finger as he finished the paragraph he was on, then looked up from his book. “Oh, there you are, Fist. I assume that your arrival means the matter of our imprisonment has been settled?”

“Yes,” Fist said. “I’m sorry it took so long to get you released. I . . . it’s a long story. We need you at the front of the cave.”

“Very well.” He placed the book back into his pack, but kept the orb out as he pulled the drawstrings closed. The wizard stood. “We had a fairly eventful journey after you left us. I learned a few interesting tidbits about this ‘evil’ we are facing. It is a bit larger than we expected.”

“Yeah. Maryanne and I saw it this morning,” Fist said.

“‘It’?” The wizard raised an eyebrow in interest. “What do you mean, you saw ‘it’.”

“The black lake of larvae,” Fist replied. He turned and walked back into the depths of the cave. “We had to fight our way past it on our way.”

Locksher picked up his pack and followed behind him. “Don’t leave it at that, apprentice. Describe it to me. What were its dimensions? What kinds of beasts did you have to fight past? These are all crucial facts that will help me better understand the nature of our enemy.”

“I will tell you all about that later, Master. I promise. but-,” Fist turned back to look at him again. “I should warn you before we reach the others. I bonded with a rogue horse this morning. You’ll see him. His name’s Rufus. Also, Lyramoor murdered your guard.”

“I . . . see.” Both of the wizard’s eyebrows were up now. “Carry on then.”

When they reached the front of the cave, Lyramoor and Qenzic had finished dragging the ogre’s body the rest of the way into the cave. Locksher paused as they walked past Rufus, who was holding his nose, quite disgusted by the stench of the place.

“Stinks,” the rogue horse complained.

“Sorry, Rufus,” Fist said. “I would have you wait outside, but people would see you and we don’t want more attention.”

“Fascinating. He can speak and he’s part gorilla,” said Locksher. He lifted his glowing orb and stepped forward to examine Rufus closer.

“You can look at him later,” Fist said. He grabbed the wizard’s arm and pulled him past the rogue horse. He placed him in front of the corpse. “What do you think we should do, Master?”

Locksher threw an irritated glance over his shoulder at Fist, then crouched down and examined the guard. After a moment, he looked over at the elf and tut tutted, “Couldn’t you have rendered him unconscious instead?”

The elf snorted. “I’m Swordweilder’s Guild. I never trained to knock ogres unconscious.”

Locksher inclined his head. “This is a sticky situation. Ideally, of course, we would report the death of this ogre to the proper authorities and plead our case.”

“Good,” Fist said, feeling better. “I hoped you would say that.”

“However,” Locksher added. “We are in a bit of a peculiar circumstance, aren’t we? We are on a mission of crucial importance and if an incident like this could possibly hamper our ability to complete our mission, it might be wise to take a less ideal route.”

“Fist thinks that the ogres might want to kill Lyramoor in exchange,” Maryanne said.

“That is not a desired result, I suppose,” Locksher said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Thanks, wizard,” Lyramoor said bitterly.

“That might not happen,” Fist replied unconvincingly. Ogre law was pretty specific. The punishment was equal to the crime. “Since we are in a war against the evil and our tribes are allies, Crag might make an exception. The rest of the tribe wouldn’t be happy about it, though.”

“You’re all thinking too hard about this,” Lyramoor said. “I say we just lie about it. Make it look like he died some other way.”

“I’m not very good at lying,” Fist said.

Not good
, Squirrel agreed.

“Come on, we have a wizard here with us,” Maryanne said. “Surely, it wouldn’t be too hard for Locksher here to make it look like there was an accident. You know, change the injuries with healing magic or whatever.”

Locksher nodded. “Well, if you were trying to cover up a murder, I am likely the best person to have at your disposal. As Wizard of Mysteries, I have spent many years solving crimes like this. Some of them very cleverly hidden. I must admit that I have given quite a bit of thought as to how it could be done right. Hypothetically, of course.”

Good
! Squirrel agreed.
Hide it
!

“I don’t like this idea,” Fist said with a groan. “Plans like this always go bad.”

“These are ogres,” Lyramoor said. “They ain’t gonna figure nothing out.”

Locksher gave the elf a dull look. “You do realize what you just said.”

“What?” asked the elf.

“You used two negative words that changed the meaning of what you were trying to say,” Qenzic explained. “You basically just said that they would figure something out.”

Lyramoor’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “No I didn’t.”

Locksher rolled his eyes. “I will leave this decision up to you, Fist. You know the ways of your people best.”

Fist’s shoulders slumped. It would have been so much easier if the wizard had just taken the decision out of his hands. The thing was that they were right. Locksher could change the wounds with magic and make it look like something else had happened and there was no way for the ogres to tell. But that just felt . . . wrong.

“I see you are having some difficulty deciding,” Locksher said. “Very well. In the meantime, let’s discuss something more crucial to our mission. What I want to hear is what you and Maryanne found at that black lake today.”

“You were there?” Qenzic asked.

Fist sighed. “Well-.”

“Hey! What are you . . . oh!” shouted a coarse voice and Fist turned to see a startled ogre standing at the entrance of the cave. Fist recognized him as Dirt, one of the ogres that he had grown up with. “Uh, hey, Big Fist. I saw you at the big cave. It is good that you are back with us.”

Fist glanced down and saw that the body had disappeared, covered by a sheet of air magic. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Dirt. It is good to be back.”

“Good,” the ogre replied and stood there staring at them with a smile on his face. Fist cocked his head at the ogre questioningly and Dirt blinked. “Um, sorry. I was looking for Glum. He was supposed to be here guarding the Jail Cave. Did you saw him?”

 “Uh, no,” Fist said. His voice sounded unnatural to his ears and he hoped that the ogre didn’t notice. He looked at Maryanne. “Did you see him?”

“No,” she said, looking to the others. They all shrugged in unison.

“Oh,” Dirt said. He scratched his head and turned around, looking into the darkness around the outside of the cave. “Hey! Glum!”

“Uh, maybe he went back to the main camp,” Lyramoor suggested. “You know, since we ain’t prisoners anymore.”

“Huh? Oh,” Dirt said. “I go look for him there then.” His brow furrowed in confusion for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Bye, Fist.”

“Bye, Dirt,” Fist replied. The ogre turned and walked back towards the camp and Fist sighed, exhausted as if he had run five miles. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“Focus back on the matter at hand,” Locksher replied. “You were going to tell me what you found this morning.”

“Well, we first saw it from up above. We were pushing through a trail that was deep with snow. Then there were so many flies in the snow . . .” Fist found himself staring down at the sheet of air magic covering the ogre’s body. With his mage sight it glowed a bright yellow. He couldn’t think straight. He kept wondering what Justan would say about the situation.

“We were at the opening of a canyon gorge,” Maryanne said, trying to be helpful. “We could see the black lake at the bottom. It was making a lot of heat-.”

“No,” Fist said.

“No?” Maryanne repeated, unsure what part of the story he was objecting to.