Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) (40 page)

Hubrin embraced his father, but his expression was grim. “We arrived back in Roo-Tan’lan a few days ago and came straight here when Sen told us you were gone.”

“Then you did not find Xeldryn,” the protector said, crestfallen.

“Not a trace, Father,” Hubrin said. “We found nothing but two empty villages and these.”

He gestured to the men and shouldered their burdens onto the floor, their noses twisted in distaste. They unwrapped the bundles, rolling their grisly contents onto the floor with series of wet thumps.

“By the gods,” Hilt said with a grimace. “What are those?”

“I do not know,” Hubrin said, his gaze haunted. “They came upon us just outside the troll swamps. We dared not use fire, but laced our weapons with pepper.”

On the earth before them, lay three bizarre slime-covered creatures. They looked like mixes of troll and beast. One was small with a cat-like head and a troll’s body. Another looked to be ape-like, but with razor teeth. The final one was perhaps the most disturbing. It had the body of a troll, but the face of a man.

Mellinda found that once she started making changes to Arcon’s body she couldn’t stop. She had spent hundreds of years buried under a tree, living life through the thoughts of other creatures. Her only desire had been to escape and roam free again. Now she had that life back. Why settle for a body that wasn’t perfect?

When she was finished, the person looking back in the mirror was no longer Arcon, the thin blond-haired mage with eyes that made the girls swoon. No. There had been a tricky bit of modification involved, but the person standing before her was no longer a man in any way. She was Mellinda reborn. Her face was the same face she remembered seeing in the mirror a thousand years ago when she was young.

Her eyes were emerald green, her skin a light brown. Her figure was the same eye-stopping figure men used to look twice at when she walked down the street. The only blemish, and it was a slight one, was the single blond curly lock of hair that hung out of her long black mane, falling across her face.

For some reason no spell she tried seemed to affect that particular lock of hair. After some thought, she decided to make the rest of her hair just as curly. Now it looked like a specific choice instead of a defect. In fact, she decided she liked it.

Oh Arcon was going to be so upset when he found out what she had done to his body, well, her body now. Then again perhaps she wouldn’t tell him. After all, there was no need to ever let him out of his little lightless soundless prison.

“
What have you done
?” said Arcon’s voice in shock. Then it rose in anger, “
What the hell have you done to me you evil b-
!”

Mellinda shoved his thoughts back down to his prison and slammed the door. How dare he get out and harass her? She locked him in tight with thick black bands of her will. This was her body now.

Mellinda twirled in front of the mirror and allowed herself one girlish giggle before getting down to business. With a writhing wave of one finger, she dismissed the mirror spell and with a swipe of one undulating arm, the pillar of fire around her dissipated. Her smile fell as she saw the scene around her. Evidently she had taken longer than she’d thought.

The morning sun had broken over the horizon, revealing a broken camp. The bodies of dead dwarves and gnome warriors lay on the ground along with several humans. The rogue horse’s corpse lay where she had last seen it, but there was no sign of the prisoners. Mellinda allowed her lip to pout. She had looked forward to destroying the young man that had struck Arcon with his magic axe.

To her right, some wounded dwarves were hurriedly gathering up every useful piece of equipment they could find. While to her left, a gaggle of flustered stewards fawned over the unconscious form of Aloysius. She shook her head.

Mellinda heard a series of loud shouts and turned to look south. A large army was approaching and they had nearly reached the camp. Her eyebrow rose as she saw the distinctive wicked red armor of imp troops and the black shields of Kobald forces. What a mess Aloysius had gotten himself into.

She walked over to the stewards and commanded they step aside. Of course, none of them recognized her and one even went so far as to shout in her face. Mellinda waved a hand, paralyzing all of them. She then kicked them over one-by-one until they all lay in the dirt, their little self-important limbs sticking up in the air.

She crouched next to Aloysius, well crouched as much as her still partially out of control legs would let her, and hovered one squirming hand over his head. He had a minor fracture in his skull and one large goose egg. Easily fixable.

Moments later, the scholar opened his eyes and sat up. He looked at the paralyzed stewards and the mess around him and stood. To his credit, he took it all in stride. He straightened his robe and looked at Mellinda. “I take it you are the one who healed me?”

“I am,” she said. “Whoever struck you did you a favor. It was a very precise blow. One quarter inch to either side or slightly more force applied and permanent damage would have been done.”

“Yes,” said the gnome. “Cletus is kind that way. And who am I addressing?”

“We have already met. I am Mellinda,” she replied.

His brow furrowed for a moment, but then understanding entered his eyes. “I see. So Student Arcon is no more?”

“He is gone,” she confirmed. “This does change our relationship, you and I. I’m afraid I won’t be continuing our little venture as Arcon had previously negotiated.”

“Is that so?” he said, reaching up to give his nose a tug. “Then why, pray tell, did you see fit to heal me?”

“Because one thing hasn’t changed. I still think you are going to rule this land and that kind of person is the kind of person I like to be attached to. I have a proposal for you that I think you will find beneficial,” she replied. Mellinda glanced at the approaching army. Their scouts had reached the edge of the camp. “Do you wish to continue this discussion here? Imps are approaching.”

“I know this,” Aloysius said glancing at the oncoming soldiers. “I invited them after all. Though I didn’t expect them to arrive until this evening. I had also hoped to have a powerful artifact in hand to make the negotiations go smoother, but I still think I shall do fine. Would you mind freeing my stewards, though? I will need their help.”

 “Very well,” Mellinda replied. While she released them, she thought on the things she had just learned. So Aloysius’ plan to bind the rogue horse’s spirit had failed. Why? He had also found a way to raise an army of imps and kobalds and planned on negotiating with them. First merpeople, now two other demon races? How interesting.

When the stewards rose, sputtering at the indignity they had just been put through, Aloysius put them to work, giving each of them specific instructions. He wanted an assessment of all damage that had been done and he wanted his tents prepared for seeing visitors.

The moment he was done, Mellinda cleared her throat. “Would you like to hear my proposal?”

“I would be delighted,” the gnome replied as he bent and picked up his sword, slipping it into his robe. “However, could you do me one quick favor first? Could you revive Steward Oliver for me? He is a useful servant and he still seems to be breathing.”

“Alright.” The man he pointed out looked horrible. He was covered with what seemed like several gallons of blood. Fortunately for him, the blood wasn’t his.

The wounds on the red-sashed steward were only slightly more serious than Aloysius’ had been. He had a nasty puncture wound through his wrist and the blow to the back of his head had caused a fracture and severe swelling. Mellinda healed it all quickly, her fingers undulating as she did so. He would have a severe headache, but she really didn’t care.

Shade stood, his clothes clotted and matted with dirt. He was wincing with his headache, but immediately looked to the scholar. “Scholar Aloysius are you alright?”

“I am fine, but do not touch me,” Aloysius said. He addressed Mellinda again. “I know you have a proposal for me, but do you suppose you could do one more favor for me before you begin? Oliver here, as you see, looks like he has been sleeping on the floor of a slaughter house. Would you mind cleaning him off for me with one of your spells? I will need him to meet the leaders of this incoming army, you see. Otherwise they will just come here and disrupt our conversation.”

She gave him a slight glower. She knew he was manipulating her, but his request made sense. Using one of Ewzad’s spells, she touched the top of Shade’s head and the grime and gore fell right off of him, leaving his clothes and appearance as if he had been freshly bathed and dressed. The steward gave Aloysius a short bow, then gave Mellinda a nervous, though interested look, then trotted off towards the oncoming imp scouts.

“That was the last spell I’ll do for free,” Mellinda said to the scholar. “Do I now have your full attention?”

“Undivided,” he said.

She gave him her most alluring smile, the one that had melted men back in her youth. “It became evident to me as Arcon tried to recreate the process of making a rogue horse that it was a difficult endeavor that would take years of practice and failure before we had any chance of success. Now that I am in control I see no reason to continue.”

He frowned, unimpressed by her smile or her dour prediction. “And your proposal?”

“I have been giving some thought to the army that you are raising in Malaroo,” she said, doing her best to puff out her chest. That had usually worked well on males in the past. “Before my imprisonment I was working on a project of my own in Malaroo.”

“I have heard of your ‘project’, Troll Queen.” Aloysius said.

He wasn’t even looking at her chest. Was she doing something wrong or was he really just that focused of a gnome?

“
You know what your problem is
?” Arcon asked suddenly. His voice sounded like it was coming from inside her mind and yet she could hear it in her ears at the same time. “
You don’t really remember what it is to be human. If only you could watch yourself from the outside right now you’d see that, while you’re trying to be alluring, you’re just coming off as unsettling
.”

She frowned.
What are you doing, listening in? I thought I put you away
.

“
I got out
,” Arcon replied angrily. “
Get used to my voice. I don’t think you have the ability to completely lock me away
.”

We shall see about that
. She shoved him back down again.

The gnome scholar cleared his throat. “Would you come to your point? I do have other business to attend to.”

“You have no business more important than what I am about to offer you,” she promised. “That little project of mine was incomplete. What I am offering you is the Jharro Grove.”

*          *          *

An ogre should not leave his tribe
, Burl thought as he climbed the steep, cliff-like slope. The hand-holds were shallow for his large fingers and he often had to scrape ice from the rocks with his fingernails in order to gain secure purchase. The wind was stiff and cold. The snow blasting against the exposed skin on his face and arms felt like daggers.

Burl believed that nature itself was trying to tear him free from the rock. He hadn’t grown up believing in any gods, but he was no longer the ogre that had descended from the mountains with the Barldag’s army. After everything he had seen and heard, Burl found himself believing in many things. He was sure that the wind itself could taste these changes within him and the spirit of the wind was angry.

He pressed his thick forehead against the cold mountainside and closed his eyes, feeling the wind pulling at him, attempting to send him tumbling to his death. His prizes from the war were no help. The chainmail shirt he wore under his skins weighed him down, and the long sword sheathed at his waist was nearly as heavy and burdensome. A lesser being would have fallen already, but instead of feeling fear, the ogre smiled.

Burl knew he deserved the wind’s fury, but the wind would lose this battle. The rock under his fingers was strong. This was firm rock, unlike the crumbly rock of the land of the small peoples. He had grown up on this mountain and despite the anger of the wind, the spirit of the rock had not rejected him. This cliff felt like home. In fact, the pattern of the handholds seemed oddly familiar.

Was it possible? Had he been in this area before? Burl breathed in deeply. The way the cold stabbed at his lungs felt right. The splotches of dead lichen on the face of the rock looked like the lichen he had grown up with. He ground his fingertips into the rock, feeling the grain. A laugh escaped his lips. He was close. After so long away, he was close.

He continued upwards slowly but steadily, his heartbeat quickening as he went. When he crested the ridge, Burl saw that he was right. A familiar landscape opened up before him.

Stubby pines and junipers dotted the mountainside, scattered among tufts of stubborn grass and boulders. Wearing a wide grin, the ogre climbed up to the edge of a winding mountain path and placed his hands on top of a large boulder parked next to the trail. Carved into the rock was a jagged lightning bolt, the mark of the Thunder People tribe.

Letting his guard down for the first time in months, Burl raised his large arms into the air and let out a roar of joy. His deep voice echoed along the mountainside, causing a bevy of snowbirds to take to the harsh winds in fright. The carvings on this boulder were fresh. The Thunder People still existed.

Rumors had spread throughout the Barldag’s army that the Thunder People had been destroyed. The Dark Mistress herself had even told him of their demise. But Burl had refused to believe it.

When the war ended, the other ogres had told him to forget his former tribe and stay down in the vibrant green lands to the south. But Burl had refused to become weak like them. Staying off of the usual paths and roads and avoiding the other remnants of the Barldag’s army, he had finally found his way home.

Now he just needed to convince the current chieftain to let him rejoin the tribe. He wasn’t sure who that was. When he’d left to join the Barldag’s army, the position of chief was still very much in doubt.

“You! Stop!” shouted a gruff voice.