Deathclaw already knew the story, but let out a hissing laugh at Justan’s description. “An ogre. Killed by a vegetable.”
Jhonate’s brow rose at the description of Squirrel’s brutality, but all she said was, “A fitting end for a beast such as that one. Tell Fist to congratulate Squirrel for me. That is an impressive feat for someone his size.”
“I will,” Justan said. If he survived the night to tell him.
They walked down a long white hallway and soon reached the door to Xedrion’s conference room. Most of the doors in the palace were plain and unadorned, but his was the room where the official business of the Roo-Tan was conducted. The door was made of dead Jharro wood. Carved with loving attention by Yntri’s people themselves, it was a representation of the day that the Roo-Tan dedicated themselves to the grove. A short bald figure with elf ears stood next to a tall woman with braids. In front of them was a faceless man wearing a robe, holding out a scroll and quill.
Jhonate gave the door a soft knock. The door cracked open and a Roo-Tan guard poked his head out. Upon seeing Jhonate, he motioned them in.
The conference room was hexagonal in shape with a domed ceiling. On the far wall were six chairs made of Jharro wood, one to represent each of the Roo-Tan houses. Wicker benches lined the remaining five walls for additional parties to the meetings that might need a place to rest.
The benches were currently empty except for one that was taken up by the lounging of Jhonate’s mother. Jhandra bin Tayl was Xedrion’s favorite and currently very pregnant wife. Justan always saw her wherever the protector went. Jhandra gave Justan an approving nod. Because of his wardrobe choices, he supposed.
In the center of the room was a six sided table covered with maps. This was where everyone else was standing. The others consisted of some of Xedrion’s oldest sons, Hubrin, Sen, and Qurl, along with some of the representatives from the army and one of the grove’s ancient elves. Justan realized that he and Jhonate must have arrived at the end of the meeting because as they entered, the others began filing out.
The Protector of the Grove snagged the lead servant on his way. “Did you hand-select the wine for the feast as I asked?”
“Yes, sir,” the man said. “Twelve of the seventy-year jars, just as you requested. They were delivered to the grove this morning.”
“Thank you, Slen. You are the only one I would trust in that part of my wine house,” he replied.
“Of course. It is an honor, sir,” the servant replied and headed out of the door. Justan idly wondered what seventy-year-old Roo-Tan wine was made from.
Probably more of those bananas, Deathclaw assumed.
Xedrion bin Leeths turned to look at them. The man that faced Justan now was a different person than the man Justan had first met four weeks prior. His gray speckled hair was now neatly braided and though he didn’t look any less imposing, his eyes had lost that permanent sheen of anger.
Xedrion focused his gaze on his daughter. “There you are, Jhonate.” He held out his hand. “You are the last one.”
Jhonate reached for the tip of her Jharro staff and twisted off a small piece. She concentrated and by the time she placed it in her father’s hand, the wood had taken the shape of a ring. “I did not know you would finish so quickly. I was picking up my betrothed.”
“I see that. Good morning, Sir Edge,” Xedrion said. The piercing green eyes that were so much like his daughter’s gave him an assessing look. Xedrion always looked at him like that. It was almost as if he was expecting Justan to break down somehow.
“Good morning, Protector,” Justan said, inclining his head slightly but not breaking eye contact.
Xedrion spun the ring through his fingers, then slipped it onto his right forefinger joining the four other Jharro rings on that hand. He turned his eyes back on Jhonate as if he were instantly aware that the reason she had delayed giving him the ring was because she had desired one last passionate moment with her betrothed before giving her father access to her thoughts. Justan half expected him to say something about it, but Jhonate showed her father no measurable response and he turned away.
“The last of our preparations have been made,” Xedrion said. “The funeral procession will begin shortly. We have guards stationed at every entrance to the grove with testing kits. Even Tolynn is confident that the event will go smoothly.”
The organization of the security for the funeral was impressive. There were five separate groups that were keeping a lookout for Vahn and his basilisks. Each of the groups was headed by a Jharro specialist that had the ability to create a ring with a mind link. Xedrion himself would coordinate everyone’s efforts. He now had a ring made from the Jharro wood of all of the five group heads so that he could communicate with them during the ceremony.
Qurl was in charge of the group of guards that were testing the blood of every attendee to the funeral, while Hubrin was in charge of inspecting all equipment and foodstuffs that were carted in. These precautions should have been plenty, but with Vahn’s experience and reputation it was assumed that the nightbeast would find a way in anyway. What this vetting process did was assure the people attending the event that the people around them were safe.
The real trap for Vahn came with the three other groups. First was Tolynn who had her own ways to connect with the rest of the elves in the grove. The basilisks were one of the grove’s oldest enemies and most of her people knew how to sense them by smell. Beth and Hilt were another group. Beth was able to line the grove with a faint cloud of bewitching and bonding magic, sensing for strange types of thoughts, while Hilt had fought and killed a nightbeast before and knew well what to look for.
Jhonate was the last of the group heads. Her responsibility was Justan and his bonded. Deathclaw was highly sensitive and was confident that he could pick the nightbeast out, while Gwyrtha was the only creature with the proven ability to do so. Justan himself was Vahn’s target and was therefore the likely focal point of any attack.
“Protector, sir,” said Justan. There was something that had been bothering him and he felt like he had to speak up. “I have a concern about today’s events.”
“As well you should,” said Xedrion in what seemed like a rare attempt at humor. It didn’t come out in his voice, though. “Go ahead.”
“Sir, Vahn has already shown that he can get in to the palace grounds whenever he wishes and we have been making these plans for weeks. I think it is likely that he has found a way to listen in on our plans. He could be ready for us.”
“I do not doubt that, Sir Edge,” Xedrion said. He lifted his hand with the five Jharro rings. “But not all of our plans have been discussed verbally. What our preparations have done is set up a framework that gives the assassin very little room for error.” He gave Justan a rare smile. “Tolynn and I have a few wrinkles in mind that should disrupt whatever counter plans he has come up with. Then, when his plans are in disarray, he will make a mistake. That is when we will have him.”
“Of course, sir,” said Justan, giving him a nod of respect. He felt his confidence rising. After all, Xedrion bin Leeths was the only other man known to have survived a direct nightbeast assassination. His life couldn’t be in better hands.
Xedrion walked over to his wife’s side. “Jhandra, love. I need to take Jhonate and Sir Edge on a slight detour before joining the procession. Would you like some help getting to your palanquin?”
“Oh, I can manage it, love,” she replied, patting his cheek sweetly. “I am just pregnant. My legs are not broken.”
With a grunt, she stood up. Xedrion gave the two guards at the door an urging glance and they walked along behind her as she somehow managed a graceful half-waddle towards the door.
Once she had left the room, Xedrion turned back to Justan. “Follow me. I could use your help with something.”
The protector turned and led them towards a door on the other side of the room. Justan was surprised. Xedrion had never asked his help before. He sent a silent message to Jhonate.
He wants my help? What is this about?
I have no idea, she replied.
Xedrion led them down several hallways to a section of the palace that Justan had only seen once before. This was the area where foreign visitors to the palace were taken. The place was nice enough, filled with gardens and comfortable spots to rest, but there was no privacy to be had and guards were everywhere. Some of the Roo-Tan warriors had deposited Justan here upon his arrival at the city. Jhonate had found the placement insulting and raised enough of a stink that, Xedrion had ordered him moved to his current apartments.
Xedrion led them to a narrow walkway behind the walls of one of the palace’s atriums. He stopped behind a taller section of the wall and slid back a tiny metal plate. He pointed at the mesh window within. It was a peep hole, one of several along this wall, a way for the guards to keep track of undesirable guests without their knowledge. Justan and Jhonate took turns peering in and gave each other confused looks.
Deathclaw slid over and looked inside. “A fat elf?”
The man sitting on the bench inside did indeed have the pointed ears of an elf, but was unlike any elf Justan had seen. He was rotund and wore thin robes made of golden silk that were partially soaked through with sweat, which was strange because the morning air was barely warm yet. In one hand, he held a lacy parasol, angled to protect him from the sun’s rays and in the other hand he held open a small book that he was reading from.
“I would like to borrow your rogue horse, if that would be alright with her,” Xedrion said.
“You want to verify that he is what he looks to be,” Justan surmised.
“Exactly,” the protector replied. “I would also like to see his reaction to her. That could tell me more about his nature.”
“Are you okay with that, Gwyrtha?” Justan asked.
She gave Justan a mental shrug and paced along the wall towards the entrance of the atrium. They watched as she entered the atrium, cocking her head and sniffing the air. The mysterious figure was so involved in his reading that he didn’t register her presence.
Gwyrtha let out a low growl and approached the man steadily. Not an elf.
“He’s not an elf,” Justan told the protector.
Xedrion nodded as if expecting that. “What does she think he is?”
The finely dressed figure heard the growl and looked up. His eyes widened and he backed towards the wall. “Guards! Guards there is a beast here!” he said with an aristocratic sounding voice.
She continued her approach and he threw up the pudgy arm that held the book. A shimmering curtain of water coalesced in the air, separating him from Gwyrtha. The rogue horse settled low to the ground, ready to pounce through the shield of water.
Kill it? she asked.
What is he? Justan asked her. She replied by sending Justan an image that he recognized right away as the group of attackers that had helped the Roo-Dan on the day Yntri was killed.
“He’s a merman,” Justan told the protector. “A fat merman.”
Xedrion snorted and turned away from the peep hole. “You can tell her to stand down. I just wanted to be sure that he wasn’t your nightbeast or a disguised wizard.” He started down the walkway grumbling, “Fat merman. What an insult. How dare he retain water as if our people would not be able to provide him water here. He might as well have called us all dry feet!”
You can come back, Gwyrtha, Justan said, turning to follow the protector. Leave the merman be.
Jhonate frowned, keeping pace at Xedrion’s side. “Who is he, father?”
Xedrion scowled. “He calls himself Elder Qelvin. He showed up last night claiming to be an ambassador for the new Mer-Dan Collective. I had your brothers place him here until I decided whether to see him or not.”
“The Mer-Dan Collective?” Jhonate said in disbelief.
“It is ridiculous, isn’t it? He says that the merpeople and the Roo-Dan have joined together and plan to create a new nation encompassing over a third of Malaroo, including most of the coastline,” Xedrion’s hands tightened into fists. “He wants to negotiate a peace treaty with us and begin work on a border agreement.”
“They wish to split Malaroo?” Jhonate said, aghast.
Justan didn’t see why that was a problem. The Roo-Dan and Roo-Tan had split nearly a thousand years ago. The Roo-Tan had settled the land around the Jharro grove and the land westward and southward to the troll swamps. The ‘Dan had spread out into the eastern side of Malaroo and the coastline. Geographically, what would change?
“Would that be such a bad thing, Protector?” Justan asked. “The ‘Dan have always been a thorn in your side. Wouldn’t it be better if they were part of a stable nation? Someone that policed themselves? Someone you could deal with?”
Xedrion gave him that assessing look again. “That is one side of the argument, Sir Edge. There will be strong proponents of this once word gets out. Others will say that this is a very bad idea for us. The Roo-Dan outnumber us by a great deal. Our latest estimates have their numbers as twice ours. As a thousand independent savage villages, they aren’t much of a threat to the grove, but unified? Given advancements in culture by the merpeople?” He shook his head. “Knowing their past hatred for us, that could be very dangerous indeed.”
“You speak of this as if this ambassador’s proposal is legitimate,” Jhonate said, her tone unbelieving. “Yesterday you were planning for war. Your spies said the Roo-Dan were building for an attack.”
“Our preparations haven’t stopped, Jhonate,” Xedrion replied. “But the warnings of attack are old. The only true skirmish we had was on the day you arrived and that was Alexis’ doing. Our spies have been quiet of late. All they speak of are gatherings of villages and the strange disappearances of some of their people. They say that their leaders are waiting for something. Then, without warning, this Elder Qelvin arrives at our gates.”
They left the guest section of the palace grounds and arrived in front of the gates where the rest of the family was gathering in preparation to lead the funeral procession.
“Do you think this merman ambassador is merely a stalling tactic?” Justan suggested as the thought occurred to him. “To keep you mired down in negotiations so that your forces don’t strike until they can gather strength?”
“Perhaps, but . . .” Xedrion waved a weary hand. “Enough talk of the Roo-Dan. Today we have a friend to say goodbye to and an assassin to kill. We can worry about the treachery of our savage cousins tomorrow.”
A short time later, the procession started out from the gates and headed down the main road. They were led by a score of the finest elf-trained guards, followed by the highest ranked members of the six Roo-Tan families living in Roo-Tan’lan. Xedrion and his wives came next, followed by his children and their families.
Jhonate walked next to Justan and his bonded at the tail end of the Leeths family and just before the bulk of the military leaders. Jhonate held his hand and Justan realized that she had been right about her father’s feelings towards him. The fact that he was allowed to walk with the rest of the protector’s family was proof enough.
“I do not like this,” Deathclaw complained as he did every time they entered the city proper. He was receiving a large number of open looks from the solemn crowds, but it was more than that this time. Justan sensed added stress to his thoughts. There are too many possible threats. The nightbeast could attack now and it would be very difficult to protect you.
Lots of smells, Gwyrtha agreed.
Justan looked out at the crowd with a new, chilling, perspective. He hadn’t considered that Vahn might strike during the procession on the way to the funeral. The more he thought about it, the more tempting a target it seemed. If Vahn did know about Xedrion’s plans, this would be the easiest time to do it. How spectacular would it be to kill Justan at this point, right in the middle of the Leeths family and in front of hundreds of spectators?
Just keep as alert as you can, Justan said, feeling terribly exposed. He still doubted that
Vahn would decide on arrows shot from afar, but was suddenly grateful for the protection of the vest he was wearing. Perhaps he should have taken Jhonate up on her offer to wear the protective ring. He shrugged off the thought. He was a named warrior and bonding wizard with a powerful set of weapons and skills. This was not the kind of battle he had been trained to fight, but fear was unbecoming.
Do not worry, great grandson, said a cool soft voice. We can protect you for a short time.
Artemus? You are aware today? Justan asked, feeling a sense of relief. With the Scralag’s ice magic available, there would be little Vahn could do. Justan doubted that the nightbeast knew of the elemental’s power.
The wizard’s battle for control over the elemental within him had been marred with its own series of ups and downs over the last several weeks. The nights were the best times to try. After he was finished speaking with Fist, Justan was usually able to coax Artemus out to talk. Sometimes, Artemus was coherent hours at a time, but then something would happen between him and the elemental and Artemus would be silent for days.
We have an agreement in place, Justan, said Artemus’ weathered voice. The elemental and I will help to protect you against this assassin. After all, an end to you would be an end to both of us. However, I should warn you that I fear that the elemental will break our agreement once you are close to the grove. It’s hatred of the magic of the trees is too strong.
I understand, Justan said. Thank you, great grandfather.
That is good, Gwyrtha said, feeling a sense of relief.
Deathclaw wasn’t as impressed. I do not trust that thing. It is too wild for the likes of one old man to control.
You may be right, dragon, replied Artemus to Justan’s surprise. This was the first time he had spoken to one of Justan’s other bonded directly. I will depend on you to help Justan if I should lose my grip.
The Ogre Apprentice Page 36