The Troll King

by John Vornholt

Chapter 1
The Keep of Stygius Rex

Thud-squish, thud-squish came the heavy footsteps of the ogre as he marched down the dark, slimy tunnel. His hulking shape was outlined on the wall by the light from his torch, and he had to duck his bushy head to avoid the dripping moss on the ceiling.

The ogre's footsteps were followed by the scuffling noises of a little gnome named Runt, who struggled to keep up. His tiny oil lamp barely lit the greasy walls of the tunnel, which smelled like rancid boar snout mixed with wet dog. These were smells the gnome usually liked, but today the old scribe was in a bad mood. He hated it when the master sent for him in the middle of the day, when normal folks should be asleep!

"Runt spotted a fat, black beetle skittering through the scum on the floor. Swiftly he speared the bug with a curled claw and popped it into his mouth, crunching loudly. Burst it all, he didn't know when he would get breakfast!

"Why is the master awake at this hour?" grumbled the hunched little gnome. "If those crazy banshees were wailing, I'm going to send them into the Great Chasm!"

"You wouldn't do that," said the massive ogre, sounding horrified at the idea. "Not banshees--good dream."

"A good dream!" muttered Runt. "Good grief! Why in the underworld is he having good dreams? Doesn't he have spells to keep good things away?" Each time Runt said the word "good," his rubbery face scrunched into a scowl.

"I know nothing. What Stygius Rex sends me to get, I get." The big ogre grunted and took even longer strides, forcing Runt to run to keep up.

That's the way it is in the land of Bonespittle, thought the gnome. Whatever Stygius Rex wants, Stygius Rex gets. Everyone said he was a great sorcerer, but who knew for sure? For the last two hundred years, Stygius Rex had been the only sorcerer in Bonespittle.

A mysterious food poisoning had claimed the others at a banquet, leaving the sly young sorcerer in charge. Now Stygius Rex was old and lumpy with warts, and Runt suspected he was only a mediocre magic user. But Stygius made up for his faults with cunning and cruelty.

Even before they reached the quarters of the sorcerer, Runt smelled the distinct odor of a ghoul. They gave off a rotting stench, which made sense because ghouls were mostly dead. They smelled riper than rancid boar's snout, and the only way to stop a ghoul was to cut him up in pieces and scatter them. Runt heard a door creak open, followed by dripping and gurgling sounds, and he knew it was the worst of the lot--General Drool.

The gnome's bulbous nose wrinkled, and his pointed ears curled downward. Even to a gnome who lived underground, General Drool was creepy.

Dashing after the big ogre, Runt rounded a corner and saw a hint of light ahead. The hairy ogre stopped and bowed to a cloaked figure who blocked the light from escaping the open door. The ogre pointed to Runt and backed away, still bowing.

The ominous figure turned with a creaking sound and looked down at Runt. The little gnone tried not to cringe, but it was hard to look at the ghoul's rotting face and rheumy yellow eyes. Plus, he had gotten his name for a good reason--drool oozed from his slack lips that barely covered his sharpened teeth.

Runt winced a little when a drop of Drool's drool plopped on his pointed slippers. The skeletal mouth seemed to smile at the insult, and the ghoul gurgled a whisper, "The master sent for only the two of us. What took you so long?"

"I was asleep," muttered Runt. "What should I be doing in the middle of the day?"

Thudding noises came from inside, making Runt jump with surprise. Then he realized it was the sorcerer's staff, pounding the earthen floor of his abode. "Get in here!" croaked his aged voice.

Runt's legs twitched, and he almost charged ahead of the ghoul. But he jumped back and let General Drool lead the way with his black cloak swirling behind him. Runt tried not to slip in the pool of spittle left behind.

The sorcerer's lair looked more like a laboratory than a bedroom. There were tables with beakers and vials suspended in metal stands; they contained squirming tentacles and inky liquids. Some vials were resting over small oil lamps, and they boiled and bubbled, shooting horrible fumes into the already foul air. Oddities hung from the ceiling, and the tall ghoul had to duck under a blown-up puffer fish and a shrunken head.

Cockeyed shelves lined the walls, and they were packed with colorful jars of herbs, roots, seeds, and pickled newts. Stretched across a hole in the rear wall was a red curtain, covered in ancient symbols and runes. Runt had no idea what any of the symbols meant, but he knew the curtain covered the entrance to Stygius Rex's inner lair, a place the gnome would never dare to go.

In a far corner of the room, the great sorcerer sat on a stool at his sloping table. He called it his plotting table. Flickering lamplight made his face look more sunken and cadaverous than usual, and bristling gray eyebrows cloaked his eyes. Hair sprouted in tufts from numerous moles on his lantern jaw, but his spotted skull was hairless. People often said that Stygius Rex had some troll in him--and he looked it--but they never said that to his face.

Maybe a hundred and fifty years ago, the young sorcerer had been somewhat handsome, but now he was old and blighted. Stygius Rex was the only one of his race left alive in Bonespittle, so he was an object of incredible awe and fear.

Runt gazed upward from the sorcerer's black riding boots, encrusted with silver runes, to his red silk pants and yellow tunic. His outfit was highlighted by a black cloak lined with blazing red silk. When he raised his head and jutted his wart-covered jaw, his red eyes burned with madness.

"Welcome," said Stygius Rex, sounding unusually cheerful. "You look well, General Drool. Fit as a pitfall. Hello, Runt, sorry to have woken you. Get out your book."

Runt often wondered why he wrote down any of this, because he and Stygius Rex were the only ones in the land who could read. If it was important, they would probably remember it. Nevertheless, the lumpen gnome got out his book, dipped his quill in a vial of ink, and wrote down the phase of the moon.

The sorcerer swept his hand grandly through the air. "Just before I went to bed, I cast a superb prophecy spell. I'm sure it was effective, because I never have cheery dreams like this. I dreamt that a mighty leader would emerge from Bonespittle, and people all over the land were cheering him. I saw him crowned at his glorious inauguration... from a great distance, like a bird flying overhead."

The sorcerer quickly added, "Of course, I can fly... but not usually so high as in this vision. I followed a column of travelers, and I soared over the Great Chasm. Below me was a sparkling new bridge, uniting our land and theirs, and it was full of pilgrims going in each direction."

He speared a crooked finger triumphantly into the air. "At that instant, I knew what I had done to make myself so beloved. I, Stygius Rex, built that bridge across the Great Chasm!"

Runt chuckled under his breath. "You built a bridge over the Great Chasm? Surely, Master, this was a symbolic dream. You've had many prophetic dreams that... er, we have yet to interpret. Besides, you already are the ultimate despot of Bonespittle. Your subjects tremble at your name and live in absolute dread of you. What else could make you more kingly?"

The old sorcerer's burning eyes narrowed, and his hairy warts bristled. He leaned down from his stool and peered at Runt with sneering disdain. "They don't love me. I'm tired of seeing sniveling fear and knocking knees--why can't my subjects ever smile at me?

"Besides," he scoffed, straightening, "this prophecy was different. The spell worked, I could feel it! I saw people coming and going on that bridge--do you know what that means?"

Runt cowered, knowing he should keep his mouth shut. "That they have to pay a toll to cross?"

"That, too, but the important thing is that I will add the Bonny Woods, land of the fairy and elf, to my domain. My kingdom will double in size overnight!" Gleefully the sorcerer rubbed his hands together. At his side, General Drool smacked his rubbery lips at the thought.

"You're going to attack them?" asked Runt with a squeak of alarm. "Fairies and elves are ferocious fighters who will cut us up and feed us to their children! They have horrible magic and will turn us into toadstools and dung heaps!"

The sorcerer chuckled with delight, and the ghoul gave an amused wheeze. "You old fool!" said Stygius Rex. "Do you really believe the fairy tales we tell our children? The residents of the Bonny Woods have magic, yes, but they are not of my caliber. The elves are good archers, but... never mind that. At the moment, we intend to build a friendly bridge--to promote friendship."

Runt's bulbous face twisted into a grimace. "Ooh, that really was a good dream you had. I remember when you dreamt that you turned all the butterflies into bats!" He made a few notes. "I will make sure to write it down, Master, and we can archive this dream with the others."

"You weren't listening," said Stygius Rex with an icy edge to his voice. "I intend to build that bridge across the Great Chasm. We will crawl out of this hole in the ground to visit my loyal subjects--to enlist their support. Bring the entire keephold, because we will be above ground for however long it takes to build that bridge."

The gnome gulped, thinking that this was really bad. The sorcerer was serious. "And if this adventure ends up in war with the fairies and elves, are you ready for that?"

"Who said anything about war?" asked the sorcerer magnanimously. "I saw no fighting in this dream, and there are other ways to subdue your enemies. Aren't there, General Drool?"

The ghoul gurgled a reply, "I can think of several."

The sorcerer's red eyes gazed faraway, as he seemed to see beyond the earthen walls. "Perhaps this bridge will answer the mystery of the Great Chasm. Our oldest tales say that Bonespittle and the Bonny Woods were once joined, and there was no gorge between them. Who, or what, cleaved that great barrier?"

Runt twittered nervously. "These mysteries are not to be known, Your Wickedness!"

"No matter. I will still be the one who joins both lands into a new kingdom--mine!" Stygius Rex turned to his ghoulish general and wagged a finger. "Drool, you go saddle Old Belch."

For a moment, the ghoul actually blanched a shade to pure white. "Old Belch?" he asked with a shudder.

"Yes, now hurry!" roared the great sorcerer, rising to his feet. He straightened his cloak and waved his arms regally over Runt's head. "My subjects await. And so does my destiny!"