The Ogre Apprentice

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Things fell apart after that. The humans opened one jar out of order, releasing the poisoned basilisk first. To its credit, it followed its instructions admirably, working to release its siblings from their jars, but the humans got lucky. Boom!

  Vahn had laughed despite the crumbling of his plans. Five of the eight basilisks dead in one explosion, dozens of humans and elves downed. Oh, the chaos! His client would be well pleased.

  For a moment he had thought the contract over. Sir Edge had fallen. Vahn hadn’t been able to kill him personally like he had hoped, but all in all not too bad, He had given the Roo-Tan people an event that they would not soon forget!

  Then Sir Edge had risen unharmed, even helping to destroy the remaining basilisks. Vahn had been both disappointed and excited. There was still time to sneak in and kill the man during the chaos. He had been prepared to make his next move when Prophet had shown back up again.

  That interfering fool! For a moment Vahn pondered the possibility of attempting to kill the old man. Would his client object? He wasn’t sure.

  Better not to find out. He would have to go to his backup plan. He would wait until Sir Edge was on the road back to Roo-Tan’lan and kill him there. A tidy ending. A surprise crescendo at the end of a violent day.

  Then, to his frustration, Sir Edge walked away. He left his fellow wounded humans and left at the Prophet’s side. How inconsiderate! He prepared to hop down from his perch and follow them.

  “You have a fantastic view from up here,” said a human voice from below him, interrupting the nightbeast’s thoughts.

  Vahn shut his telescopic eye and held still. His disguise was perfect. He was just another branch in the tree.

  “You know, after that explosion happened, I thought to myself, if I were a nightbeast and I wanted to watch the proceedings, where would I be?”

  The voice was male and had an aristocratic tone. Vahn tried to decide whether the man truly knew where he was or was just guessing. Very slowly, he created a small multifaceted eye in one of the knots in his perfect disguise. The man turned his head and looked right up at him.

  It was one of his target’s allies, that Sir Hilt. Vahn had wondered where he had gone off to. The man hadn’t come out of that explosion unscathed. His clothes were blackened. His right side bloodied.

  Sir Hilt continued, “I figured that if it were me, I wouldn’t want to try and hide in the grove itself. That would prove difficult. I couldn’t pretend to be part of a Jharro tree. An elf could notice. Or the tree itself might. No, I would want to get as close as I could while remaining outside. The sudden change of the funeral’s location would have limited my options.” He pointed at Vahn. “This was the only spot. A single tree at the top of the slope, just high enough to see down into the gardens.”

  The man waited and when Vahn didn’t respond, he shrugged and drew his swords. “If you want to keep pretending, I could just cut you down from here.”

  Vahn formed a mouth in the side of the branch. “Oh very well.” He dropped from the tree, beginning his transformation in mid air. He struck the ground and when he stood, he was wearing his favorite human form, that of a Roo-Tan soldier. This was the same form he had taken when killing Yntri Yni.

  He smiled, showing the man a set of sharpened white teeth. It was a nonsensical addition, he knew, but Vahn found that little details like these were the things that humans found most terrifying. “You seem fairly confident, coming up here to confront me on your own.”

  “I felt that this was best,” Hilt replied, showing no surprise at Vahn’s appearance. “That way no one else has to get involved. There’s no one for you to threaten or hold hostage so that you can get away.”

  “Sensible,” Vahn replied. “But why would I choose to fight you? You are not part of my contract.”

  “That didn’t stop you from killing Yntri Yni,” Hilt pointed out. “That didn’t stop you from hurting all those people in the grove.”

  “Yes. A sad business, that,” Vahn replied. “The elf was in the way. Regrettable. As for the others . . .” he chuckled. “I asked my client about that. He said, ‘make it hurt’.”

  “That sounds like an expensive contract,” Hilt said, his tone unruffled. “Who is this client of yours anyway?”

  Vahn shook his head. “That would be unprofessional of me. Nightbeasts don’t give out information about our clients.”

  “You already told me that it’s a he,” Hilt pointed out.

  Vahn tried not to show his irritation. Why had he let that slip? This was indeed a bad day for him. “So I narrowed the list down to millions of males. You still haven’t told me why I should fight you.”

  “For the challenge,” Hilt said, giving him a short bow and twirling his swords with a flourish.

  Vahn laughed. “Sir Hilt, you’re wounded.” From the pattern of the blood it was likely the man’s hip that was damaged. “I could slip away from here easily. You couldn’t keep up.”

  Hilt’s face hardened. “I’m a named warrior. You aren’t the first nightbeast I’ve faced. I killed the last one.”

  “So I’ve heard,” said Vahn, This man had his interest piqued. “I didn’t know the fellow if that’s what you were hoping. But he was young and I have been away for awhile.” The nightbeast stuck out his hand and a sword began to grow out from his palm. “What is this really about? Are you here as Sir Hilt the named warrior trying to protect his pupil? Or are you George Slarr, son of a nobleman, still trying to prove himself? Hoping to add another beast of legend to the notches on your scabbard?”

  “You have done your research,” Hilt said, his body in an attack stance. He began pacing around Vahn in a circle.

  Vahn matched his movements, noting the man’s slight limp. “I thought it best to know about you. You’ve been in the way enough during this contract. Let’s see. What have I learned? You are Xedrion bin Leeths’ friend and confidant. You’re-.”

  Hilt dove forward, sending his swords in a series of slicing and piercing attacks. Vahn parried them expertly, the sword that was an extension of his body as hard as the finest steel. Vahn was irked. He hated being interrupted.

  Hilt slashed with his left sword. Vahn stepped back, letting it pass by harmlessly. Vahn’s sensitive eyes caught a flare of golden magic. A thin blade of air extended from the human’s sword tip, passing through Vahn’s wrist. The nightbeast’s hand, and the sword in it, fell to the ground.

  “I know who I am,” Hilt said.

  Vahn bent to pick up the severed extension of his flesh before it turned to stone. Hilt swiped with his sword’s again, this time sending out a gust of wind that knocked the nightbeast back. Vahn growled as his lost flesh petrified, becoming useless to him.

  Hilt smiled. “My question is, who are you?”

  Vahn simmered. He had underestimated the magic of the man’s swords. Most runed weapons were limited in their effectiveness, using their magic in the same way at all times. Somehow this Hilt had found a way to control the magic of his swords as he fought.

  The loss of his flesh hadn’t hurt him, but it was an inconvenience. It would take his body time to regenerate what was gone. He caused both of his arms to elongate, taking the form of sword blades from the elbow down. It took quite a bit of concentration to keep that much of his body hardened to steel, but he wouldn’t need to do it for long.

  “You bore me,” Vahn said, leaping towards the swordsman.

  This time Vahn didn’t plan to let him have the opportunity to use his magic. He kept the named warrior on the defensive, swiping and stabbing with his heavy blades, forcing Hilt to block and parry.

  Once again, the man surprised him, spinning and executing a sweeping parry that Vahn had never seen before, knocking both of the nightbeast’s sword blades to the side with one of his swords while following through with the other. Once again, there was a flash of gold and a deep wound split in Vahn’s side.

  If Vahn had been any other type of creature, this would have been a fatal wound, spilling his gu
ts on the ground. But Vahn didn’t have guts to spill and the slash didn’t come close to touching his vulnerable core. Still, the nightbeast considered his situation. This human had something he found difficult to match; gifted talent honed by decades of single-minded focus. Vahn had over 1500 years of sword fighting experience, but it had not been his sole endeavor.

  Vahn could see that it was no longer wise to try to fight the man on his level. It was time to fight like a nightbeast. He leapt at the man, swiping his sword arms down in a powerful attack, forcing Hilt to block with both his swords high. At the same time, a spear-like talon sprung from Vahn’s side and plunged into the man’s injured hip.

  Hilt grunted and Vahn swung his head down, bashing the man’s face and staggering him. Then the night beast knocked the man’s swords aside and sliced down, catching Hilt’s left wrist.

  The man’s hand and sword fell useless to the ground. Hilt cried out and clutched his wounded arm to his chest, his right sword still gripped in his remaining hand.

  “That, I believe, makes us even,” Vahn said. “However, I am not as rude as you. Here. Have your limb back.” The nightbeast speared the human’s severed hand with one of his swords and swept it up off of the ground, slinging it at the man.

  Hilt let the hand bounce off his chest, his eyes fixed on the nightbeast in a tight glare. He pointed his remaining sword at Vahn and snarled. A blade of pure air shot forth from the tip, piercing through the center of Vahn’s chest and out the other side, striking deep into the tree behind him.

  Vahn’s eyes widened. The blade had not hit his core, but it had come close, just a few inches below it. Once again, he was surprised by this man. Had Hilt known he had this ability? What length could he keep the blade at and how long could he keep it up? It was best not to find out.

  The nightbeast’s right arm split, changing into the form of a wicked pincer. He grasped Hilt’s right wrist, keeping the man from moving his air blade further. He squeezed, but his pincer would not cut through the man’s wrist. He supposed that the naming rune was responsible for that. Shrugging, Vahn stepped in close and stabbed his other blade into Hilt’s belly.

  “Y-you . . .” Hilt grunted. The blade of air dissipated and he dropped his sword.

  Vahn grinned, enjoying the man’s pain. “I think you’ve earned the right to have your question answered. I’ll tell you who I am. My name is Vahn. Killer of a hundred nobles. Murderer of a dozen kings. Assassinator of a priestess, a handful of wizards, and an orc warlord. You, sir, are my third named warrior.”

  The nightbeast chuckled. “You are probably wondering why you haven’t heard of me before. Well, my last official contract before taking this one was a thousand years ago. A coalition of royal families hired me to kill the Troll Queen. When I arrived-.”

  “I really . . . don’t care,” Hilt interrupted.

  Vahn’s smile faded. He slid his blade out of the man’s stomach and eased him to the ground. “Be still now, I missed your vital organs, but your intestines are perforated. Elven magic cannot heal this kind of wound, so this will be a slow death for you. I find it ironic that you chose to spend your final days here, in a country that forbids wizards.”

  The nightbeast stood. “Consider it my parting gift. You will have time to say goodbye to your wife and daughter. If they can find you. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a target to track.”

  Vahn saluted, then strode off into the forest, leaving the named warrior bleeding on the ground.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Justan followed the Prophet to a part of the grove he had not seen before. The Jharro trees here were not as wide as the trees in the center, likely because they weren’t quite as ancient. This allowed other types of foliage to spread out between them, including some thriving berry bushes.

  Justan had to increase his stride so that he could keep up. “Do you know where we’re going yet?”

  “Almost,” the ancient man replied. “It will come to me.”

  “Really?” Justan had a hard time fathoming that. “You spend your days wandering from place to place, not knowing where you’re headed?”

  “That isn’t an entirely accurate way to put it,” the Prophet replied. “Although I don’t always understand the reasons why I am traveling from place to place, I don’t wander. There is always a sense of purpose to where I go.”

  “I don’t understand,” Justan said.

  “I have a large realm of responsibility. The human race is populous and wide spread and all of them go about making choices of their own free will. My job is to guide and shape them, protect them when I can, but I am just one person. There are too many variables and I have no way to know them all. So I have no choice but trust in the guidance of someone who can.”

  “The Creator,” Justan said.

  “Yes. My master. He directs me in several different ways, sometimes with wide visions showing me possible future events and other times with gentle promptings. Sometimes events occur at the same time. I have to pick and choose my spots; decide where my help will make the most difference.”

  “That sounds like an impossible job,” Justan remarked.

  “Overwhelmingly so,” John agreed. “The end result is that I usually have a main reason to go from place to place, something I am completely aware of, but things come up along the way that I don’t always see coming. Especially when major players are nearby.”

  “Major players?” It wasn’t the first time Justan had heard the Prophet use that term. He had heard Beth use it as well.

  Before he could ask about it further the Prophet came to a stop. He put his hands on his hips and exclaimed, “So there you are! I told you not to wander.”

  Standing up from behind a large berry bush was a huge cat. Not one of the great cats like a treecat or a desert lion, but an enormous house cat, its shoulders at the same height as Justan’s. Its fur was a thick mix of tan and orange and it had large blue eyes. As it stepped out of the bush towards them, Justan saw that, even more strangely, it had six legs and a chitinous tail that curved up behind it like a scorpion.

  Steff! Gwyrtha exclaimed, bounding over to it. The cat squared up its shoulders and the two large beasts tackled each other, growling and clawing playfully.

  “That’s a rogue horse,” Justan said, though if Gwyrtha hadn’t been so happy it would have been hard to tell. The only thing horse-like about it was its ears.

  “Yes, I often use them as transportation,” the Prophet said. “There is no faster way to get to the places I need to be and it gets them out of the valley for awhile. Besides, they make for good company.”

  It was at that point that Deathclaw caught up to them. The wound on his head looked much better already. “I was not yet able to find evidence of the nightbeast’s presence.” He saw Gwyrtha wrestling with the cat and reached for his sword hilt. “What is that . . . oh. One of those.”

  “Ah! That makes sense now,” John announced suddenly, clapping his hands together. “I think I have figured out where we’re headed. Come, we must leave right away. It’s a good day’s journey away from here.”

  Justan balked. He had thought this was a minor diversion. A quick walk. “But . . . I can’t just travel that far away right now.” He looked back towards the center of the grove. “Not without notice. Not with people in the grove lying there dead or dying because they were protecting me.”

  The Prophet gave him an understanding look. “It is your choice, Edge, but the events of today are just the beginning of a much larger battle to come. I have a feeling that accompanying me to the place I go next may help you save many more lives in the future.”

  Justan couldn’t argue with that. “But Vahn is still around here somewhere.”

  “Do you wish to fight him here in the grove, now while all these people are in danger?” John asked. “Would it not be better to lead him away from this place?”

  Justan groaned. “Ohh, Xedrion is going to be furious. Jhonate may well murder me.”

  John laughed.
“So tell them the Prophet said you should go. What can either of them say to that?”

  Justan couldn’t argue with that either. “Alright.” Gwyrtha. Let’s go.

  Yes! she said, excited. She gave Steff another playful swipe and came to Justan’s side. Ride!

  “Where are we going?” Deathclaw asked.

  John leapt onto Steff’s back. Her fur was so fluffy that his legs were barely visible. “He would need to ride with you, Edge. We’ll be keeping a tight pace and won’t be able to wait for him.”

  “I can move fast enough,” Deathclaw replied. He didn’t like riding behind Justan. He thought it made him look ridiculous.

  Justan had a sudden thought. “Deathclaw, I need you to stay behind.”

  The raptoid narrowed his eyes. “Why is this?”

  “Because Jhonate and Xedrion don’t know that I’m going. We don’t need them sending a search party or something.” Or just being terribly angry with me, he thought. “I need you to tell them why I’ve gone.”

  “Just tell her through your ring,” Deathclaw replied.

  “I tried. I can’t reach her from here,” Justan said. “Just tell Jhonate that I have gone somewhere with the Prophet.”

  Deathclaw gurgled his displeasure. “Very well. But I am not staying behind. I will catch up to you.”

  “I’d rather you stayed. Just in case they need to get a message to me,” Justan said.

  “I would rather not,” the raptoid replied. “I am no messenger.”

  “It’s time we left,” the Prophet reminded Justan.

  Justan climbed onto Gwyrtha’s saddle. “Just consider it. You don’t have to stay at the palace. You could spend time with Beth and Sherl-Ann.”

  Deathclaw hissed in irritation and turned away from them, before running back towards the gardens.

  The Prophet directed Steff forward and the great cat-like creature headed southwest at a brisk trot. Justan would have thought that the second set of legs would get in her way, but the rogue horse’s gait seemed completely natural. Gwyrtha followed along behind them.