Chapter 12: Upgrade

I sit up, rubbing my arm and looking down at the glowing white letters and numbers as they adjust themselves. Apparently my plan to stop the statue and its magic has increased my ME by one number and I'm now a thirteen. Mental, my mind whispers. The use of intelligence despite my circumstances has given me a new advantage. My head aches a little though the clarity I've returned to is likely the cause.

It's a slow climb to my feet while Vosh sloshes his way out of the water still leaking from the gap in the fountain, big head down and shaking slowly from side to side, his massive hands clenched into fists at his sides. The others emerge from the feast door but I'm focused on the troll and his slumped shoulders, his lowered face, worried now as he shivers all over I still have to face his wrath.

Instead, when he raises his chin and meets my eyes, his are blue again, the raging red fire long gone. But sorrow has replaced his fury, worse to me than any deadly threat. I knew he'd be unhappy with this plan, the only viable option or not. When in the short time I've known him has the state of his soul become more valuable than the condition of my hide? Apparently the BL designation has something to do with it because it no longer reads FH but now sits at HH. From faithful hero to heartless in a single decision. My mind whispers the shift has to do with my own heart and I believe it because the guilt I feel is less than it should be.

"Well done, you two." Damaris treats the last few minutes like we planned it instead of me prodding my new friend into reverting back into his monstrous heritage. Yes, it saved us from the spell of the fountain, the statue now shattered and useless on the floor. But what damage have I done to him and the connection he has to his own power as a druid?

"What happened?" Blossom yawns, blinks, scratches at one armpit in absent confusion. "I was having the best dream."

"We were under the influence of some kind of magic," I say while Graldor stomps forward, bending to examine the fallen statue, his face crinkling under the thick hair of his beard and heavy eyebrows.

"How did I miss this?" He kicks the head, the stone tumbling away with a cracking sound while it bounces off the toe of his boot. "Devouring spell, tied to sleep. A sorceress, if I'm reading her magic rightly, trapped here by whoever set this spell. If we'd been taken fully, none of us would have woken." He pales, glancing back into the room he just left, one hand on his stomach. "That food we ate?"

"Would have eaten us in return." Fleur sounded like it was no big deal while I winced inwardly before sighing.

"We have Vosh to thank for saving us," I say, knowing my attempt to buoy his state of mind won't help. Nothing will but his own courage and strength to move past what I've done to him.

"I did nothing." He sounds like himself again, though far more subdued than before.

The troll turns from me, stares down into the water and the others go on about their business as if they have no idea what just happened to him, unconcerned for his state of mind and spirit. Because they don't understand, I suppose, all but Damaris who helped me prod him into his fury. Still, it's my responsibility and I need to find a way to make it up to him if I can.

While the paladin leads the others away from the fountain, toward the banquet room and possible provisioning in the hope the offered food is no longer tainted with magic, I pass the statue and tentatively attempt to breach the barrier that knocked Blossom on her backside. But when I hesitantly approach, Vosh's deep voice interrupts my caution.

"It's gone," he says. "With the spell and the statue's control. We can move on now." He sighs deeply. "The hobgoblins knew not to touch the water, the food, sleep in the beds. When we gave in to the lure and drank, we sealed our fate."

I can't help but think he's talking about himself more than us as a group. Is there a fate he's been trying to escape I don't know of? And then it hits me. Strikes a blow like none other. He's a troll. Surely those instincts that roused him from his sleep and saved us aren't just a peripheral irritant. Does he fight against those feelings, that need to revert to his true nature, on a constant basis? And have I irreparably harmed him in forcing him to abandon the troll he's become?

I turn toward him, hand on my hilt to keep my sword from swinging and to give me somewhere to put it so I don't run it through my hair in agitation and regret. "Vosh."

He shakes his head, moves to join me in slow, deliberate steps, huge feet soft on the floor. It amazes me how agile he seems despite his massive size, how quietly he can move. When he comes to stand at my side, one hand rises and gently settles on my shoulder. Correction, two fingers. His hand could easily engulf my entire upper body if he really tried. "Webb, I understand. And I'm grateful for your quick thinking. My heritage isn't lost on me and nor am I in denial how close to the surface the monster in me lives. I just wish..."

"So do I." I hesitate a moment before rushing on. "You saved all of us. We'd be lost without you. And though I know what I did is unforgivable, I'd do it again."

Vosh's attempt at a smile is slightly horrifying, though the spark in his eyes makes me feel better about what I've done to him.

"I think someone else went against his nature to save us," he says, far more insightful than I've given him credit for. I rub at the altered BL ranking on my arm as he goes on. "For that I will remain grateful. I blame you not, my friend. And there are times when a troll's deep rage is a blessing in disguise. We will call it that in this instance and talk of it no more." I don't think he can brush it off that easily, but if he wants to try, that is up to him. "I shall meditate on my loss of control and strive to do better."

I could have argued with him, talked of his weariness, of the spell's controls, that he likely couldn't have stopped the reaction. Instead, I let him have his quiet and his time to think and hate that I feel like a coward for doing so even while knowing it's my own form of punishment for treating my friend like a tool.

My arm shivers and I look down to find my BL is back to FH. At least something positive has come from it, perhaps? Though I meant what I said and wonder what that says about me.

The others emerge once more from the banquet room, small sacks made from napkins holding provisions and, with a flourish from Blossom, a wine flask. But when Damaris scoops it out of her hands and opens the nozzle, the halfling's protests are ignored while the paladin then empties the dark red drink before rinsing the skin in the fountain and refilling it.

She smacks the thief in the chest with the still dripping skin, a grin on her face while Blossom's breath oofs out of her mouth at the impact.

"Stay sober, little one," Damaris says before whistling as she strides past. The look Blossom shoots her could have cut her open from neck to hip given the right opportunity and weapon.

I turn from my own grin, happy to be moving on, to find Graldor on his hands and knees near the chest of the fallen statue. He's digging inside it with a dagger and whispering words over the stone. When it cracks, the sound is loud enough to make all of us jump, even Vosh, whose rumbling protest makes goosebumps stand up on my arms.

Graldor holds up a small, black stone about the size of his fist. It flickers once with a pale blue light before falling still. "Any magic is helpful magic in the right hands." He stands, firmly pocketing the core of the statue while Blossom's acquisitiveness shows in her narrowed eyes and her clutching hands now grasping the edges of the water skin so tightly I can see her knuckles have turned white.

"Time to move on." Damaris leads the way and I'm content to follow this time, to let her take point while I ponder this last challenge. That's what it feels like, a task, a puzzle to be solved and makes me wonder if there are more such ahead and, if so, what their meaning might be.

***