The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9) (49 page)

He wondered what would happen if he was sucked into one of those mouths. Would it be a quick death, then a sudden rebirth as one of those things? Or would it be a painful prolonged experience as his body was taken apart and broken down and recombined. Would he be awake as his memories were stripped away? Would he realize what was happening to him?

Nevertheless, he continued to fight. It wasn’t a question he was eager to find the answer to. He was so focused on the tentacles around him that he almost didn’t hear Jhonate’s cry through the ring.

Jhexin
!

Xedrion knew then that he had lost a son. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He had already lost his first born. He wasn’t ready for another. And his foolish children were still close by, trying to get to him.

Jhonate, go! All of you
! He demanded. He was so distracted that he didn’t see it when it happened.

“Xedrion!” cried Tolynn.

He turned just in time to see Herlda’s wide and pleading eyes as she was pulled into the mist. “No!” He ran for her, slicing as he went, but she was gone.

Jhonate cried out again.
Fleen’s gone
!

A numbness swept over him. He had failed them. Xedrion swung his staff a few more times, keeping the tentacles at bay, but the strength had left his limbs. He let his staff droop.

“What are you doing?” Tolynn snapped, jumping in front of him and lopping off the tip of a tentacle that had come inches from his head. She delivered a stinging backhand across his face. “Mourn later! Let anger fuel you.”

He snarled and slashed out at another tentacle. Easy for her to say. She had lost so many in battle over the centuries.

“Duck your heads!” shouted an unfamiliar voice and the tentacles blocking the ramp across the marshes briefly parted as a narrow body passed through.

Xedrion and Tolynn crouched down low as the odd gnome friend of Tarah Woodblade’s landed in the midst of them. He crouched beside Xedrion and spun his chain weapon in a wide arc over his head. Cletus built his weapon’s momentum, picking up a blistering speed and slicing apart any tentacle that came within the weapon’s range.

“Hey, can I save you guys?” he asked, blinking at them innocently.

Xedrion simply stared back at him in shock. Where had the gnome come from?

Tolynn recovered faster. “We will accept any help you can give us.”

 “Okay, Pretty Elf. I like your bald head,” he said, smiling at her. Cletus stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and watched the movements of the mouths at the edge of the platform. “When I say go, run fast like a bunny rabbit and jump. There’s boards on the other side.”

They nodded and he grinned, his eyes darting back and forth as he timed his move. “Go!”

With one last great loop of his chain, he darted forward and slashed at a downward angle, cutting off the blocking tentacles at the base. Tolynn jumped first, Xedrion right behind her, and ran up the partially broken ramp that led to the base of the slope.

Jhonate was there just ahead, only partly obscured by the mist. As were her brothers Qurl and Sen. They were fighting alongside what was left of Xedrion’s personal guard. Their sisters had followed orders and left with the rest of the army. They were surrounded by open grasping mouths, but worked in concert, keeping the Troll Mother’s tongues at bay.

Xedrion glanced back to see if Cletus had followed them, but the gnome was still on the platform, the tentacles closing in. The wood groaned and with a sudden lurch, the platform rose into the air. Something huge had bulged up beneath it. The platform crashed to the side and the gnome disappeared from view, thrown into the mist.

A great mound rose from the center of the marsh where the platform had been. A series of eyes formed in the side of it.

Xedrion did not want to stay and find out what it would become. He ran to his children’s aid, Tolynn at his side. They arrived just as the sound of a great bell echoed along the valley slope.

A mighty gust of wind struck Xedrion, nearly knocking him over. The mist was blown away. Xedrion saw the horror of the valley slope before him. Where there had once been twenty thousand proud Roo-Tan warriors now sat a minefield of countless mouths and grasping tongues.

The slope was mostly cleared of men, but coming straight toward him was Sir Edge astride his rogue horse surrounded by his bonded and comrades. The ground around him froze as he rode, presenting a clear path to escape.

“You had to bring back the bell, did you?” Djeri asked Willum. The imp had used it all through the war any time Willum had used its power. It was only towards the end that he had got the imp to stop.

“Theodore is in a good mood,” Willum grumbled and said in a mocking impersonation of the imp. “‘Ho-Ho, Willy! Let’s do it again. More rogue horse blood!’”

“He calls you Willy?” Djeri asked.

The imp’s massive spell hit the thick fog like a wave, blasting it up into the air and dispersing it. There was no sign of Mellinda or the trollkin army. Only the Troll Mother remained and she was angry.

Where the center platform had once stood was now an enormous mound of troll flesh. Eyes had sprouted all over it and great long tentacles were growing from the sides, stretching outwards like long curving arms. Djeri shook his head. He did not want to get any closer to that.

But that’s where they were headed. Xedrion and Jhonate were not far from it, battling a ring of grasping mouths. Sir Edge pressed forward. As they approached, the mouths surrounding Jhonate and her siblings froze solid. The line of frost reached the edge of the marsh and stopped.

“We’ve got to go now!” Edge shouted. “Artemus is spent!”

The named warrior jumped down from Gwyrtha’s saddle and ran to Jhonate, who seemed ready to collapse with exhaustion. He clutched her to him briefly, then turned to her father.

“Protector,” Edge said. “Get on Gwyrtha and take Jhonate with you. Ride to the top. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Wonderful,” said Tarah from beside him. “They ride. We get the death march.”

“They’ve been fighting long and hard,” he reminded her. “We’re the rescue squad.”

“I know,” she said with a frown. “Doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it.”

Xedrion didn’t hesitate. He jumped into the rogue horse’s saddle and reached down for his daughter. Jhonate protested, but her father and Edge pushed her up in front of him.

“I’ll take Tolynn as well,” Xedrion said. The elf leapt nimbly up behind him and Gwyrtha galloped away, up the swiftly defrosting path.

It wouldn’t be so easy for the rest of them. A horrible screech echoed along the valley as a vertical mouth split the side of the mound. The enormous tentacles began curling inwards, closing off their escape.

The party ran, keeping to the center of the frozen path as best as they could. Mouths and tongues reached from either side and the great arms reached ever closer. They were ten feet high and covered in tiny spikes.

It looked like they would all make it past the tentacles’ reach, but Djeri’s shorter legs made it hard for the dwarf to keep up. He pulled off his helmet and held it in his free hand so that he could breathe easier.

Tarah kept pace with him shouting, “Move it, Djeri! This is why wearing full plate armor’s stupid! What happens when you have to run?”

“I’m just as fast in the armor as out!” he snapped back. Which was true for the most part. But those arms were closing fast and being a few pounds lighter sure wouldn’t have hurt. All the layers of steel in the world wouldn’t protect him against getting swallowed.

These were his thoughts as the tentacle wrapped around his midsection, binding his sword arm to his side and jerking him to a halt. His sword clattered to the ground.

“Djeri!” Tarah shouted in horror as the dwarf was yanked backwards towards one of the waiting mouths on the side of the trail. She ran after him, smacking the tentacle ineffectively with her staff. Several tiny Esmine’s appeared, slashing at the tentacle that dragged him, but they had no effect. “Someone cut him free!”

She glanced back and saw Willum and Edge’s panicked expressions just as the arms of the Troll mother closed behind them, cutting off Tarah’s escape.

“Tarah, my sword!” Djeri shouted.

She turned and saw the Ramsetter lying on the ground. Tarah slid her staff through the loops on the back of her armor as she ran and picked the sword up off the ground. She turned back. The dwarf was bucking and straining and dragging his feet, pounding the tentacle with his free hand, but it was no use.

“I’m trying!” Esmine cried, continuing to saw at the tentacle, pouring every ounce of her power she had into it, but there was no physical effect. “I’m trying, Tarah! I promise!”

“No!” She arrived just as he reached the grasping mouth. Tarah swung the sword, partially severing the tentacle, but it was too late. It was dragging him in.

“Run, Tarah!” Djeri said and she caught one last glance of his green eyes before his head disappeared from view.

She dropped the sword and grabbed his leg, straining against the tentacle’s pull. She slowed it down, but still he slid inside. The teeth made a horrible scraping sound against the polished steel of his magic armor.

He inched further in. Screaming in denial, she straddled the mouth, pulling with all she had. Tears streamed down her face as the teeth closed again, this time inches from her hands. Still she refused to let go. “Help! Somebody help!”

Strong hands grasped her around the waist and pulled. Her hands slipped free and Djeri’s leg was sucked inside. “Djeri!” she screamed.

“I’m sorry, Pretty Tarah,” Cletus said sadly, from behind her. She turned in a fury, swinging a fist. The gnome ducked under it and threw her over his shoulder. “Gotta go!”

He ran. Tarah flopped along numbly, her eyes latched onto Djeri’s helmet. It lay proud and shiny and empty on the ground next to the Ramsetter. Tarah half expected Djeri to walk over and pick them up. But that didn’t happen.

Both the helmet and her father’s sword were quickly obscured by a moving wall of troll flesh. For the first time she noticed that the long arms of the Troll Mother had curled further inward. She and Cletus were being herded inexorably towards the behemoth’s waiting maw.

Cletus ran and the arm closed. Tarah saw it sweeping closer. There was no way he would outrun that. Not with her added weight.

“Cletus. Put me down,” she said. “I mean it.”

“Nope,” he said.

“That’s right. Keep running, Cletus,” said Esmine, running behind him, looking right at Tarah. “Help’s coming.”

The arm sweeping in behind them exploded. Fragments of troll flesh littered the ground around them, striking Tarah and Cletus both with painful effect. The gnome yelped and stumbled, but somehow kept his feet.

Gwyrtha burst through the gaping hole where the tentacle had been. Sir Edge was leaning forward in her saddle his right sword outstretched. He let out a smile of relief as he saw Cletus standing there with Tarah on his shoulder.

“Jump on!” Edge said as the rogue horse sidled up to him. “It’s not going to be an easy ride back to the top!”

The Troll King stepped to the side of the procession, letting his people march triumphantly by. He should have been elated, but for some reason, he felt sick to his stomach.

It had all gone according to the Troll Mother’s plan. Half of the Roo-Tan forces and more than two thirds of the Mer-Dan forces and their demon allies had been consumed. They were now within the Mother’s immense body being divided and processed, their souls and tissues stored and ready to be reattached and rebuilt.

Mellinda had been furious at first. She had expected the Mother to eat the prisoners only. She had been horrified as the Mother began to feast and her plan fell apart. The king had felt some satisfaction at that point, but her fury had quickly turned to calculation. Then a wicked smile had spread across her face and his spirits had fell.

After that, the fog had obscured them once again and all he could hear were the horrified screams of Roo-Tan men and women. Human lives ending in pain and terror. Of course he had told himself that they weren’t really ending.

Sometime within the next two weeks or so, the mother’s womb would open and they would begin to spill forth. They would be born anew, their past suffering forgotten. They would love the Mother and they would love their king. The trollkin would go from a race of less than a thousand, to a nation nearly thirty thousand strong. They would be a people to be respected. A people to be feared.

So why wasn’t he happy?

The king walked deeper into the swamp away from his people. He wished to be alone, though he didn’t understand why. Of course he wasn’t truly alone. He never was in the Troll Swamps. He could feel the chemical messages of the Mother in the water that sloshed around his feet. She was happy, content in her harvest. But he knew that wouldn’t last. The Mother would hunger again and soon.

The king knew her goal. It wasn’t enough to fill KhanzaRoo and the surrounding swamps with her new children. She would continue to grow. She would expand the swamps, taking over more and more land. She would swallow and she would conquer.

Lately a new goal had entered her thoughts. She had something else to hunger over but she would not share it. For her to hold something back from him made the Troll King uneasy.

The king’s wanderings took him to a section of the swamps he had not been in before. It smelled of rust and rotting leather. This sparked his curiosity and he sought out the source of the smell.

Then he saw it. Piles and piles of metal and wood and treated leather goods scattered across a long stretch of shallow water. This was the Mother’s refuse pile. All the things she couldn’t or didn’t want to digest ended up here.

As he watched, a mound of the Mother’s flesh rose up and disgorged a new pile of shiny treasures. Swords and axes, some of demon make. He picked up a polished breastplate with a red letter F in the center, then cast it aside.

The Troll King explored the place further, finding wagon wheels, farm implements. There was so much of use. He wished he had known about this place sooner. How much easier would these tools and weapons make his people’s lives? He smiled and sent out a chemical signal, thanking the Mother for bringing him here. She didn’t respond, too busy digesting.

Then he saw something that sparked his curiosity. Not far from him was a pile of gray wooden weapons. He recognized them as Jharro wood. These were the types of weapons the Roo-Tan warriors that he had seen today had wielded.

He felt a sudden compulsion to search through that pile. Without knowing why, he started sorting through it. He picked up the weapons on top and spun them in his fingers, but they didn’t feel right. He put them aside and went through the pile further.

Under the weapons were cloth garments and belts. He pulled them out of the way, then more gray wood weapons. Those weren’t it either. There was something further in the pile. Something that tugged on him.

Then his hand gripped something warm. The feel of it excited him. It was pinned under more junk. He threw it all aside and frowned. The thing he had touched had been another piece of Jharro wood like the others. This one was a staff. He grabbed it again. It was warm to the touch.

He lifted it out and saw another piece of wood sticking out of the bottom of the pile. It was also warm to the touch. He pulled it free. It was a Jharro bow, unstrung. For some reason holding these items made him smile. It was as if they were greeting him somehow.

He peered at them closer. The bow had a few tiny engravings in it. The staff though, was almost completely smooth and featureless but for one line. He ran the tip of one claw down that line and shook his head. He knew that line well. How many years had he worked to smooth out that last line of engraving on his staff?

The Troll King froze at the memory. He understood. These weapons had once belonged to him. He had wielded them before the Mother had birthed him. Along with that realization came another memory. It was one he had purposefully suppressed. It was his name.

He frowned. The king didn’t need a name. Did he? His other subjects had a name. Why did this one seem so dangerous? He licked his lips and said it out loud.

“I am Xeldryn bin Leeths.”

*                      *                      *

“They’re here,” said Esmine’s child-like figure, giving Beth a pleading look before vanishing.

“Hilt! They’re back!” Beth said and rushed to the door, Sherl-Ann in her arms. She opened it just before Tolynn knocked. The elf woman’s face was grave. “Have you heard, Listener Beth?”

“Esmine was just here. She didn’t tell me much, though. I’m glad to see that you are okay,” Beth replied and her eyes moved beyond the elf to the woman standing behind her.

Tarah Woodblade looked drained and weary, her eyes red-rimmed, but empty of emotion. Beth handed the child wordlessly to Tolynn and reached out her arms to Tarah. The woman’s lip trembled and she took a hesitant step forward. Then sobs took her and she fell into Beth’s arms.

“Shh,” Beth said gently. She stroked her hair and Tarah clenched her tighter. Beth opened herself up and Tarah’s emotions flooded through her. Beth saw the pain, saw the horror of what had happened and saw burning most brightly the disappearing eyes of Tarah’s love into that awful maw. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“Tolynn,” Hilt said, appearing from the bedroom in the back of the house, still bucking his sword belt. He found fine motor skills difficult with his maimed left hand, so he forced himself to do everything with it. He was determined to retrain his muscles and overcome the disability and Beth was confident that he would succeed. His face was grim. “Who did we lose?”

“Herlda, Jhexin, Fleen,” the elf said. Sherl-Ann cooed questioningly and patted her dark face. She brought the child in close and kissed its forehead. “Countless others. Xedrion lost half his forces. The list is still being put together.”

Hilt nodded grimly, his eyes moving to Tarah. “Djeri?” he asked.

Tolynn shook her head slowly. “Also, there was one other that Sir Edge mentioned. One of the Battle Academy children that you brought with you. Son of Lance?”

“Aldie,” he said. “Poor kid. What an awful day. I’m heading up to the palace. You going to the grove?”

“No,” she said. “I will accompany you. I just wanted to bring Tarah here.”

“I see,” Hilt replied. He placed a hand on Tarah’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Beth?”

“I know. You’ll be home when you can. I will likely join you at the palace anyway. Xedrion’s family may need me.”

Tolynn held out Sherl-Ann and Beth accepted her awkwardly with one arm. The two of them left and Beth kissed the top of Tarah’s head. The poor girl had lost her mother so young. Beth supposed she could be that for her for a while.

“Come, dear,” she said, walking Tarah to the side of the room and the cushioned wicker bench that stood there. “Sit with me.”

Tarah cleared her throat and tried to compose herself as she sat down. “I’m sorry Beth. Tarah Woodblade doesn’t weep.”

“Nonsense,” Beth said and placed Sherl-Ann in Tarah’s arms. A baby always helped and Sherl-Ann knew what to do. She was a very perceptive little one.

“Did you listen? Did you see?” Tarah asked, accepting the child reluctantly.

“I did, child,” she said. “A horrible horrible day.”

Sherl-Ann saw the grief well up in Tarah’s eyes once more and patted her face with concern. “Rah? Rah?”

Tarah kissed the child and pulled her in tight, then looked up at Beth, the edge of her sorrow briefly lessened. “He’s gone, Beth.”

“Oh, Tarah. No he isn’t.” she said, reaching out to stroke Tarah’s hair again.

 Tarah pulled back. “How can you say that?”

“That bond you share,” Beth said. She placed a finger on Tarah’s forehead, touching right between her eyes and focusing the woman’s spirit sight. Beth pointed to the soft silvery line that began atTarah’s chest and stretched to the south. “He still lives.”

*                      *                      *

Elise Muldroomon followed Nod through the thick jungle underbrush grumbling all the way. She followed the sneering and uncouth man because the dark voice made her, but after a month of travel, mostly by foot and not even on nice roads, she’d had enough.

The moment they reached a main road, she was heading out on her own no matter what pains the voice brought her. It would be worth it to sleep in a real bed, to take a bath in a real tub with soap and hot water and without Nod’s filthy eyes on her.

The man always insisted on that. He never touched her. The Dark Voice would not allow that. But he watched. And he talked. He said such horrible things. Oh how she longed to be rid of him.

“Where are we going?” she asked him once again.

Nod chuckled. “Like I said, I don’t rightly know. I go where the voice leads and I don’t know the thoughts of our master, now do I? All I know is he says head this way. So this way we goes, Queenie.”

“My name is Elise!” she snapped.

“Can’t rightly call you that though, can I. Not unless you want some unwanted ears to hear. Folks know the name Elise. They know you gone missing.”

“And ‘Queenie’ is somehow better?” she asked.

He laughed louder. “You got a good point there, Queenie. That you do. Tell you what, why don’t you finally come up with a new name for yerself, eh? Names is like clothes if you think about it. I mean, my name ain’t really Nod, now is it? It’s just the name I’m wearing now.”

“Ugh. This new name thing again?” she griped. Elise didn’t want a new name. She was proud of her old one. She was the rightful queen after all. Somehow it seemed in her mind that giving in to Nod’s suggestion and picking a new name would lessen her, perhaps even make the loss of her kingdom more of a reality. “No. I don’t think so.”

Nod ducked under a fallen tree trunk and smiled as he found a narrow path. “Very well, then. I shall pick one for you. How about Doris? That’s a fine name. Knew a whore named Doris.”

“Doris?” she snorted. “I don’t think so.”

“How about Sally. That’s a right fine name. I knew a woman named Sally. Half noble blood. Had bosoms the size of-. Oh!” He clapped his hand together. “Here we are.”

They had entered a wide clearing in the underbrush where it looked like a large group of people had camped recently. The trees had been cleared away and several small blackened spots showed where cook fires had been.

She could hear the rush of water. Perhaps there was a creek nearby that she could bathe in or even better . . . Elise gasped. “A waterfall!”

“That it is, Sally. That it is,” Nod said. “But this ain’t where we’re stoppin’. The voice says go inside.”

“Inside the waterfall?” she said dubiously.

“Look at the trail. It goes behind,” he said and climbed a path up the rocks.

Sure enough, the path did lead behind the waterfall where a rather plain, but solid-looking door stood. “A door under a waterfall?”

“And locked,” he said, trying the knob. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of lockpicks. “Well, good thing I’m me. Ain’t it, Sally?”