The Ogre Apprentice (17 page)

He looked to the First for help with the answer. The troll with the human eyes and mouth was the oldest of them and the smartest. Surely he would know. But the First said nothing. He only gave the king an encouraging nod.

There was only one thing for the king to do. He raised his voice and addressed all of them. “Shall I ask the Mother what she wants of us?”

“Yes!” cried several of his subjects. “Ask the Mother!”

They watched with eagerness as he knelt by the edge of the water and dipped his trollish hand through the film of slime floating at the surface. The pores of his skin opened up, releasing a chemical message into the water, then he sat back and raised his hands into the air.

 “Speak with me, Mother, I plead!” he shouted. The verbal part was unnecessary. He had done that for his people’s benefit. The chemicals that he had released carried his prayer. The water stirred in response to his summons and the people hissed, excited to discover their god’s message.

What happened next was different from the rising of the Mother’s mouth or womb. A slender cylindrical form rose from the water. It was long and green and neck-like with a pulsating lump of pink tissue on top. It waved over them, then bent and descended towards the king.

A hush fell over the assembled people. This was a holy moment. Many among the people could call forth one of her mouths, but the ability to commune with the Mother’s mind was something given to the king alone.

Keeping his arms outstretched, the king bowed his head in readiness to receive the Mother’s wishes. The center of the pink flesh opened up as it approached the top of his head. Multiple rows of white fangs ringed the inside of the opening and reached for his flesh. Then it sank over him, covering his head and stopping at his shoulders.

The king did not panic as his head was enveloped and his face pierced by the teeth of the Mother’s mind. He had done this once before. There would be no need for him to breathe or see while he was communing with her and the pain was easy to ignore, knowing that his flesh would heal. He relaxed instead and opened up his mind to her.

What he felt from her right away was a vague sense of curiosity. What did her servant want of her? The Mother’s mind was unlike others. She knew so much; saw so much more than he could fathom, but she did not communicate with words. She used chemicals from within her body to give him impressions.

The king did his best to project to her what he wanted. His list of questions for her was long, mainly dealing with her wishes for the future. But within those questions was a more deep seated concern. Her children were strong, but they all had a weakness. They hated their existence. They protected the Mother and obeyed them only because they were predisposed to. Sooner or later that wouldn’t be enough. They needed something more.

Her response wasn’t what he expected. The Mother didn’t give him specific answers. After all, so many of his questions were small and petty to a being as vast as she was and she expected her king to figure such things out for himself. Instead, she presented him with a broad sweeping vision. He saw what she wanted from her children and for her children. As the king understood, he saw that he had a great work ahead of him.

Their communion lasted most of the day. The king knelt there unmoving, his arms slack at his sides, his head consumed by the Mother. His servants, led by the First, prostrated themselves in prayer to their goddess, pleading for answers to the questions that plagued them. Finally, with a soft sucking sound, the Mother released the king and her neck-like stalk sank back into the water.

The king slowly rose and turned to face his subjects, the wounds in his face quickly healing. He understood something more clearly now. As he looked down on his people and saw their disfigured pleading faces, he knew what they needed. They needed an identity.

 “I know what the Mother wants of us!” he cried, raising his arms in exultation.

“What is that, oh king?” asked the First.

He smiled at them, knowing that doing so twisted the trollish side of his face horribly. It did not matter. This was a moment for joy. “She wishes for us to live. The Mother wants us to thrive!”

“But how?” asked the half-dwarf culler. The look on her face was pained. “How c-can c-creatures like us thrive?”

The king turned to her, feeling pity wash over him at her agony. “Do you wish to have a name, culler?”

“A name?” she asked, frowning. “I am . . . just a c-culler. A servant of my k-king and the Mother.”

“Yes you are, but you are more than that.” He swept his arm out in a wide gesture, taking all of his people in. “We all are!” He focused back on the culler once more. “The Mother loves you. She wants your happiness. You have importance.”

The culler blinked in surprise at this statement. “The Mother ‘loves’ me?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “And she finds you beautiful. All of us are beautiful in the Mother’s mind.”

“But . . .” she said hesitantly as she touched her face. “Look-k at us. We are part troll. How c-can she find that beautiful?”

“No!” He raised his voice. “We are not simply ‘part troll’! These deformities we have, they are not imperfections. They are pieces of the Mother’s flesh that have become one with us! We are each of us from the body of the Mother.”

“The Mother’s flesh?” she asked in wonderment and the king saw that many others among his people were touching the trollish parts of their bodies.

“Yes. We are all part god,” he announced. “We are not trolls. We are not like the rest of those mindless hungry beasts that fill these swamps. We have minds. We have souls. We are the Trollkin!”

A murmur of excitement rushed through the people and the king’s twisted smile broadened. They were starting to understand. He pointed back to the female culler. “Do you see? You deserve a name of your own. There is one already there deep within your mind I know it. What is your name, Culler?”

“I . . .” The culler’s gray dwarven eyes widened. “I am Murtha.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder, sending her a chemical confirmation of her choice. “That is good, Murtha. I have something to ask of you.”

“Yes, k-king,” she breathed,

“I would have you leave the job of culler to others. You are strong. I will need you at my side,” he said.

“Yes, my k-king,” she said, her smile revealing her razor-like teeth. “Gladly.”

He looked to the others. “Did you hear? This sister of yours is named Murtha. Each of you has a name just as grand as hers. Think deep. Find it within yourself!”

The king exulted as they buzzed over this revelation, each of them searching for their name. This would work. The sense of identity would give them mental strength and they would need it because the Mother’s vision for their future was grand.

“What of you, First?” the king asked.

The trollkin with the human eyes and mouth was frowning. He shook his head. “I do not need a new name.”

“Very well. You remain the First,” the Troll King said, nodding in acceptance. He understood the First’s reasons. The king had a name inside him too that he refused to think about. Instinctively he knew that there was a power in it that could undermine his purpose. He was satisfied being known as king.

He focused back his subjects. “There is more! The Mother showed me a vision! I saw the Mother grow. She increased the size of the swamps until they covered all of the lands. I saw our people, the Trollkin, become a great nation! But we will not do it by remaining here!”

No, this patch of the swamp was insufficient. Everything in it was temporary, even the grassy island they stood on shifted and changed with the flow of the water. They needed a home to stand in. Roofs over their heads to protect them from the elements. More than that, they needed a position of power that they could fortify.

“The Mother has prepared a place for us to the north of here!” he announced. “We leave for our new home in the morning!”

“But what of the Mother’s womb?” asked the First. “How are we to care for her new children?”

“The Mother tires of this place,” the king assured him. “She will bring her womb closer to us.”

“Where is this place that she has prepared?” asked Murtha.

“It is a place of power,” he replied in excitement. “We go to the ancient city of KhanzaRoo!”

“
You need to make your move soon
,” said Tarah’s papa as he peered out the shattered window of the ruined building. He looked as he had when she was a child. Tall and strong, with keen eyes. “
Otherwise your target isn’t gonna make it
.”

“Stop it, Esmine,” Tarah whispered. She was crouching beside her papa’s insubstantial form with her bow in her hand. She needed to focus on the task at hand.
Just talk to me yourself if you have something to say
.

I can’t
, complained the soul of the rogue horse residing in her staff.
I don’t have . . . words. Your memories have the words I need
.

Tarah gritted her teeth and focused her eyes on the scene below. The wide central square had once been the main gathering place for the medium-sized village. Their market had ringed the area and the center green had once been host to community activities and religious ceremonies. Now it was filled with the surviving villagers, all of them huddled together in fear, watched over by a score of orc captors.

War was raging in Alberri. The long held peace between the gnome homeland and the dark wizards had been broken. Key figures on both sides of the conflict had been assassinated. Large sections of the capitol city were burning and skirmishes had spread to villages and cities all around. This particular force, led by a dark wizardess and her imp henchman had invaded the village the day before, intending to use it as a staging ground for further attacks on the capitol city.

The dark wizardess had set up an altar on the far side of the square from where Tarah hid. The woman was dressed in a long red robe and, though her face was young and beautiful, she had a full head of long white hair. She was standing next to the altar conversing with her gray-skinned imp, a short muscular male wearing spiked ceremonial armor.

The village’s ruling council must have been defiant in the face of the invaders because the wizardess had slaughtered them before Tarah and her friends arrived. Their bodies, eyeless and eviscerated, had been taken for the orcs’ cook fires. Tarah’s trained nose could smell the orcish cooking wafting in through the window.

The person Tarah was here to save, a gnome scholar, was currently stretched out on the altar awaiting whatever evil ceremony the wizardess had planned. He was rather calm about it, too. He had allowed himself to be stripped naked and bound, making only the most feeble of protests. He was staring up at the sky, his brow furrowed as if making calculations in his mind.

“
This ain’t the kind of situation Tarah Woodblade should be putting herself in
,” said Grampa Rolf. Tarah could hear his voice in her ears as well as in her mind. He was standing beside the window, leaning with his back to the wall. For some reason Esmine had him whittling a piece of wood as he berated her. She couldn’t tell what it was he was making, but she never had been good at guessing the result until he was nearly finished. “
You’re a tracker. Not some academy archer
.”

Tarah didn’t respond to him. She was well aware of what her training was, but she had no choice but to adapt. Djeri knew her skill set and what she was capable of. He had put her in what he felt was the best position for her to help the group.

Still, it didn’t feel right. She was confident that Esmine’s magic would protect the group where she was, but she didn’t like sitting up above, firing arrows like an assassin. For some reason she ached to be on the ground with the others. Her father was nodding in agreement with her thoughts. Of course, rushing headlong into the fray was what berserkers were trained to do.

Tarah’s current position was in the top floor of the recently ruined three story building at the center of the town. Tarah supposed that this had been a church of sorts before the dark wizardess’ bombardment because of the various reliefs of the Kneeling God that were carved into the two surviving walls. She knew very little about the obscure Alberri religion, except that the practitioners believed in a god that would possess the bodies of those that knelt in supplication. Supposedly, while possessed, their god gave them visions of the future and granted them protection from physical harm.

“
Well, evidently none of ‘em knelt in time
,” said Grampa Rolf in response to her thoughts. He leaned over and looked away from his whittling long enough to glance down at the prisoners shackled in the center of the square below. “
Instead, look at ‘em. All slaughtered or taken captive
.” He shook his head. “
If their god was real, he could’ve at least warned them that this was coming
.”

Tarah nodded. She herself had never bothered believing in any gods. In her experience, the only thing she could put faith in was herself. And Djeri. She knew she could trust him. “They put their faith in the wrong place . . . still, this gives me an idea.”

“What was that?” whispered Swen the Feather.

“Nothing,” Tarah said with a wince. She had been so busy deciding how to handle the situation that she had forgotten that he was standing there.

The wooden-faced archer’s tall form was mostly hidden in the shadows at the corner of the window opening. He held his oversized bow in one hand and a long arrow in the other. He was peering down out of the corner of his eye, picking out the best target for his opening volley. He placed the arrow against the string and lifted the bow. “Are you ready to give the signal?”

“Not yet,” said Tarah.

Swen’s mouth made the slight downward tilt that was his version of a frown. “What are you waiting for?”

She bit her lip as she considered the new plan that was blossoming in her mind. Yes, this was better. It would sate that need for action that was burning inside of her. “I don’t think this is the right place for me. I’ve got a better plan.”

“Isn’t it kind of late for changes?” Swen asked. His voice was as bland as ever, but she imagined a note of worry in his tone. “Everything could fall apart if you deviate from the plan Djeri gave us.”

“I’m just not sure my magic can hide everyone from this distance,” she lied and swung her bow over her shoulder. She picked up her staff from where it had lain at her feet. “It’ll be safer if I’m on the ground with the others. Don’t worry. Nobody else’s job will change. Just stay here. I’ll give the signal from below.”

“
Yes! This is more like it
,” said her papa, drawing his huge sword from the sheath on his back. “
We’ll take them head on
.”

His eagerness should have given her confidence, only he wasn’t real. Her papa was long dead and his sword was actually in a building across the square in Djeri’s hands. She could practically feel the dwarf over there fuming. Djeri was probably struggling to keep Cletus in check until she gave the signal.

Enough, Esmine
, Tarah sent, gripping her staff as she stealthily made her way down the pile of rubble that had once been the staircase to the ground floor.
The apparitions of my papa and grampa are an unneeded distraction at this point
. The thoughts they had been expressing were the rogue horse’s ideas, not theirs. Esmine didn’t understand ranged warfare. She preferred sneaking in close to do battle.

Tarah reached the bottom floor and paused, leaning back against the wall. W
hen you use their voices . . .  when you show them to me as if they were alive
-.

They make you feel sad, but good
, the rogue horse replied.
Is this bad
?

No, but . .
. How did Esmine not understand that Tarah had just recently gotten to the point where she was able to let go? The deep sadness that had plagued her for years had finally began to fade before Esmine had started bringing them back again.

Tarah swallowed back the lump that had risen in her throat.
Look, let’s continue this discussion later. Right now I need you to concentrate on the mission in front of us. You have been monitoring my thoughts. Do you know what I want you to do
?

Yes
, Esmine said and there was an increased eagerness in her thoughts. After all, this was the kind of approach the rogue horse had wanted all along.

Tarah pushed off of the wall and walked toward the gaping hole where the front doorway had once stood. She had nearly reached the light before hands grabbed her and yanked her back into the shadows beside the doorway.

 “What the hell’re you doing? We’re all waiting for your signal!” whispered Helmet Jan angrily. Her near brush with death hadn’t done anything to sooth the academy graduate’s temper. Jan had awakened, both upset that she had missed the battle and perturbed that Tarah had become more powerful during that time.

“I’m about to give the signal,” Tarah replied, jerking her arm from Jan’s grasp. “The only difference in the plan is that I’m gonna come out fighting with you instead of shooting down from above.”

“But why?” Jan asked.

“Just do whatever you’re going to do,” said Dinnis, who stood nearby peering out of a hole in the wall. He had Master Tolivar’s old sword in his hands and he was twitching in anticipation of using it. “That gnome’s about to die.”

Tarah pushed past Jan and strode quickly into the light, confident in Esmine’s ability to hide her from the orcs outside. Dinnis was right. The dark wizardess had finished conferring with her imp.

The woman was standing in front of the altar and was chanting loudly over the scholar in a strange language. As Tarah watched, she threw back her head and raised her arms high over her head. A black dagger was clutched in her hands. For the first time, the scholar had fear in his eyes.

Now
! Tarah commanded and Esmine gave the signal.

To Tarah and her friends nothing changed, but everyone assembled in the square flinched. Villagers and orcs alike shaded their eyes and cried out as Esmine sent out the illusion of a blinding flash, followed by a deep echoing boom. The wizardess screeched and turned around in shock. To her eyes, the sky had become filled with dark clouds and a brilliant pillar of light had descended from the heavens.

Now it was time for Tarah’s new revisions to the plan. Tarah stepped out of the ruined building and the crowd of villagers and their captors gasped as they saw an enormous figure appear as if falling from the sky above. It struck the ground in front of the remains of the ruined church and towered over the square like a looming giant.

The figure looked very much like Tarah herself, but with a glowing visage and a staff of pure light in one hand. The god-like being opened its mouth and bellowed with a voice like thunder, “I HAVE COME TO DELIVER JUDGEMENT!”

The giant raised its foot and Tarah darted forward. The orc in front of her crumpled to the ground, its skull caved in by her staff, but to the assembled it looked like it fell beneath the giant’s foot. All around the square, more terrified orcs fell bleeding as Tarah’s friends, invisible to the eyes of the crowd, rushed out of nearby buildings and attacked. What the crowd saw was bolts of light firing from the giant’s eyes, slaying the orcs.

The dark wizardess overcame her shock quickly and hurled a ball of fire up at the giant, but the spell passed harmlessly through the illusion, exploding into the air far above Tarah’s head. Several orc arrows joined the wizardess’ spell in its futility.

The wizardess roared in defiance, giving Swen the target he wanted. A long arrow darted in, filling the evil woman’s open mouth. The white-haired woman stumbled backward and fell, gurgling as she clutched at the fletchings that jutted from between her teeth.

Tarah finished off another orc with two quick strikes from her staff, then made her way towards the gnome bound on the altar. It took her longer than expected to get there as she had to bob and weave around cowering and praying villagers. Finally, she arrived at the altar and pulled the gag from the gnome’s mouth.

Before Tarah could say anything to him, he spoke with a voice that was calm and precise. “Excuse me, miss, but you and your friends seem to have forgotten about the imp.”

Tarah’s eyes widened and she turned, looking around for the dark wizardess’ assistant. Suddenly, she felt something tight clamp around her wrist and the imp appeared from thin air. His clawed hand was gripping Tarah’s arm right behind where she held her staff.

“I’m not so easily fooled, human. I see through your illusion!” sneered the imp. The clever demon had acted as soon as the flash of light had appeared. He had pressed himself against the wall of the building behind him and wrapped himself in air magic, disguising his presence.

Tarah wasn’t intimidated. She was a full foot taller than the imp and much stronger. She tried to pull free from its grasp so that she could bring her weapon to bear, but she found herself unable to move, bound by flows of air.

“Release your weapon!” the imp snarled, his red eyes flaring at her.

The imp’s claws dug painfully into her wrist, but Tarah refused to let go of the staff. Calling upon Esmine’s magic, she snarled back and flooded the foul creature’s senses with a torrent of horrible images and sounds. It grimaced in discomfort.

Esmine amplified her voice to sound like that of an enraged beast and Tarah’s eyes blazed with fire as she commanded, “Let go of me or face an eternity of torment!”