The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9) (16 page)

“No, we will not hide this,” Fist said, making up his mind. “Rufus come here. Maryanne, help me put the body on his back.”

Rufus came over to the cave entrance and Fist and Maryanne each grabbed one of the dead ogre’s thick arms. They began hoisting him up.

“Are you sure about this?” Maryanne said as they laid the body awkwardly on the rogue horse’s back.

“Yes,” said Fist, moving to Rufus’s other side. He pulled the body into better position. “The way of the Big and Little People should be better than other tribes. I will show the Thunder People that we do the honorable thing.”

“Will you be bringing Lyramoor with you? So that he can tell his reasons for doing what he did?” Locksher asked.

“No!” said Qenzic and Fist at the same time.

“It will be best if they do not see him until their anger has died down,” Fist added.

“If that is what you wish, Fist,” Locksher said and there was something akin to approval in his voice. “But what will you do if they decide they want blood?”

“Yeah, I ain’t sticking my neck out for them to wring, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Lyramoor.

“I will not allow you to be executed,” Fist assured him. “We will have to make it up to them another way.”

“That sounds like it could be tedious,” Lyramoor said irritably.

“Um, at least you won’t be dying,” Qenzic reminded him.

“I’ll come with you,” Maryanne said.

“No,” Fist said. “I need you to stay here and talk to Professor Locksher. Tell him everything that happened to us this morning. Then if I’m not back yet, you should all set up camp nearby.”

Locksher opened his overstuffed pack and pulled out a notebook. “That sounds like a grand idea. Come, Maryanne. Don’t leave out anything. I’ll have Fist fill in any details you may not have when he returns.”

She gave him a regretful look, but as Fist headed back towards the big cave the gnome warrior was telling Locksher everything she remembered. Fist felt a sense of relief. He was confident that he was making the right decision. Crag had changed much from the angry brutish stickler for traditions that he had been when Fist was younger.

You are too nice
, Squirrel admonished him as they walked past the multiple firesides of the camp. The little creature was still sitting on his shoulder, and was working on a particularly thick shelled nut. His thoughts were punctuated by sharp cracking sounds that echoed in Fist’s ear.
You should have hided it
.

“You need to stop trying to act so mean, Squirrel,” Fist replied aloud. “You may have killed one ogre, but that doesn’t make you like Deathclaw.”

I am
, Squirrel insisted.

“Hey, that thing killed a ogre!” said an ogre nearby, pointing at the body on Rufus’ back.

“That’s Glum! He killed Glum,” said another ogre.

Fist realized that they had overheard him speaking to Squirrel and had assumed he was talking to Rufus. “No,” he said. “That was someone else.”

“You sure he is dead?” asked another one, an ogre female. “Maybe he is sleeping.”

People began to crowd around them. One of them was Dirt, the ogre that had come looking for glum. He had a sad look on his face. “There is a hole in his eye. You telled me you did not see him.”

“We found him,” Fist said and immediately felt bad at how quickly the lie came even though he had been determined to tell the truth. “Uh, I’m taking him to Crag.”

“Hey! Tell Crag Fist is coming,” Dirt yelled. “Somebody killed Glum!”

A few of the ogres ran towards the big cave. Others were asking, “Who is Glum?” “Did Big Fist kill him?” “It was the gwatch!”

“Me?” Rufus asked, concerned.

“It’s okay, Rufus,” Fist said, patting the rogue horse’s arm. “I’ll tell them you didn’t do it.”

It was out of control now. Ogres were spreading the news as fast as they could yell. “It was not the gwatch!” “It was the gwatch!” “Grum is dead!” “Fum?” “Oh no. Fum is dead?”

By the time he came at the fire where Crag was sitting, the camp was abuzz with misinformation and Fist was surrounded by a sizeable retinue. Old Falog and Momma Zung were sitting with Crag and all three of them stood expectedly when he arrived. Momma Zung was giving Fist a particularly intense glare. Fist instantly regretted letting Maryanne offend the ogress, not that he could have stopped her.

“What is this, Fist?” Crag asked. The outside of his arm was red and badly swollen. It looked painful. Big blisters had formed where the brander had done his work.

“I have brought you the body of the ogre that was guarding the Jail Cave. I was told his name is Glum,” Fist said.

“Take him down,” Crag said and two ogres took the body off of Rufus’ back and laid it before the chief. Crag looked at it for a moment and then turned to Falog. “Who is Glum?”

“He was once a Spider People, but becomed a Thunder People when you was gone,” Old Falog answered, shaking his head at the body. He was still wearing his red fur cloak, but spoke to Crag deferentially. “He was guarding Fist’s little peoples tonight.”

Crag frowned at Fist. “What happened? They telled me that Big Head killed him.”

“No!” Rufus said worriedly.

It’s okay
. “Rufus wasn’t the one who killed him,” Fist said.

“They finded him like this,” said Dirt, trying to be helpful.

“They finded him with a hole in his eye?” Crag asked.

Momma Zung was leaning over the body. She held up a bloody finger. “And in his heart. Glum was stabbed. Maybe by a spear.”

Fist winced at how quickly that lie had come back to bite him. “Actually it was someone in my tribe that killed him.”

“They did?” said Dirt, his voice hurt.

“It was that skinny women,” Momma Zung guessed.

“No,” Fist said. “It wasn’t Maryanne. It was the elf, Lyramoor.”

Crag’s eyes tightened. He and the elf hadn’t exactly been chummy during the journey up the mountains, but he knew him well enough to be surprised at this. “Why did he do this? What did Glum do to him?”

“Glum was guarding the cave like he was supposed to,” Fist replied. His jaw shook as he tried to think of the best way to put it. “It was a mistake. Lyramoor killed him while trying to free the other members of my tribe.”

“He stabbed him in the eye and heart by mistake?” Old Falog said in disbelief. There was a low rumble among the ogres.

“No,” Fist admitted. “He did those things on purpose. His mistake was that he thought he was saving his friends. He did not know that they were being released.”

Crag folded his arms, a quiver of his lip the only sign that the movement had stretched his burned skin. “You telled me our tribes is allies. That means we do not kill you and you do not kill us.”

“You are right,” Fist said. “We are allies. Still, a member of my tribe did this thing. That is why I am here.”

“You do know the rules about this?” Old Falog asked, but before Fist could answer he said, “If we is not at war and a ogre from another tribe kills one of ours, that tribe must bring us the head of the killer or we will go to war on them.”

There were nods of agreement throughout the crowd.

“I will not kill him for this,” Fist replied. There were rumbles of outrage among the ogres. “My tribe is already at war!” Fist yelled. “But not with the Thunder People. We are here to fight the evil! Lyramoor is a good fighter. We cannot afford to lose any more good fighters if we are to win this war!”

The angry rumbles faded a bit at this, but Crag wasn’t mollified.

“Our tribe losed one good fighter too! What is you telling me, Fist? Your Big and Little People Tribe, the one you think is so good, can kill my people and you will do nothing to make this right?”

“No. I . . . My tribe will take responsibility for what happened. We will try to make this right in whatever way we can, but we will not kill one of our own just to make you feel better.” Fist turned so that all the ogres gathered could see him. “We are here to fight for you! We are here to fight this evil, not just to save ourselves, but to save the Thunder People too!” He looked back at Crag. “Does that not count for something?”

Old Falog cocked his head. “Maybe if they gived us some of their womens.”

Fist sighed. “We don’t have any ogre women to give you.”

“Then another member of your tribe,” Momma Zung suggested. “A male one to replace the warrior that you killed.”

“Yes!” said Crag. “Or you could give us a wizard that can fix us with magics.” He grew excited. “Or-or a cook that can make us those human foods.”

“Yes!” cried Rub, who was standing nearby. The ogres had become quite enamored with the taste of the food that the Mage School had provided for their journey.

Fist resisted the urge to put his face in his hands. He told himself that this was a step in the right direction. They weren’t talking death anymore. Perhaps the best thing was to give the ogres time to calm down about Glum’s death.

He forced a smile. “It sounds like we will be able to come up with something you will be happy with. Uh, but much of what you are asking for are things we don’t have with us. Perhaps we can discuss this later once the evil has been killed?”

“That will be good. Bring us a cook after the war,” Crag said, nodding.

“A cook?” Rufus said.

“We will talk about that again . . . then,” Fist said.

“Good,” Crag said. “Go tell that elf little people that we will not kill him for this.”

“Thank you, Crag,” Fist said, feeling both relieved and uneasy, not sure what exactly he had accomplished.

When he finally made his way back to his friends it was late. They had made a campsite not far from the Jail Cave. It was next to a small stand of stunted fir trees a short distance away from the Thunder People campfires. They had a fire of their own going and were cooking up some carrion birds that Maryanne had been able to bring down with arrows. There were usually many of them flying around ogre camps and there were even more now with the evil so close by.

Everyone gathered around when Fist came into view. Maryanne linked her arm with his. “How did it go?”

“Are they determined to kill me?” Lyramoor asked.

“We heard a bit of a ruckus from over here but some ogres appeared with our horses and gear a little while ago,” Qenzic said. “No one attacked us so I assume things went well.”

“No, Lyramoor, they are not going to kill you.” Fist said. “But they are demanding that we make up for what you did and I promised them that we would.”

“And how are they expecting us to do that?” Maryanne asked.

“They want me to replace their lost tribe member with one of ours. Hopefully someone that can cook,” Fist said.

Qenzic scoffed. “You’re giving one of us away . . . to the Thunder People.”

“No,” Fist said. “I’m not. What I told them was that we would talk again once the evil was destroyed and figure something out.”

“That something being a person that has to stay behind and live with the ogres,” Qenzic repeated.

“Nonsense,” said Locksher with a chuckle. “They’re ogres. They will have calmed down and mostly forgotten about this by then. They will be happy that we helped them defeat their enemy and Fist will be able to appease them with some loaves of bread or something.”

Really
? Squirrel said, sounding unsure.

“That is my plan,” Fist replied. He looked around. “Didn’t Charz come back yet?”

“Where is he anyway?” Locksher asked. “I had hoped that you would bring him back with you.”

“I didn’t see him in the camp,” Fist said.

Maryanne chuckled. “He’s probably still at the women’s caves.”

“He was healing from an injury. Maybe he fell asleep,” Fist said. “I’m sure he will make his way back to us sooner or later.”