The Ogre Apprentice

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “You have done well with him,” John said, referring to Deathclaw. The Prophet didn’t raise his voice, but Justan found that he could hear him as if they were riding side by side. “When you consider where his life began, it is quite impressive.”

  “Yeah, well we have our trials,” Justan replied hoping that whatever magic the Prophet was using to communicate with him went both ways. “I just try to be open with him and understand where he is coming from. He doesn’t often agree with my decisions.”

  “And yet he stays with you,” the Prophet replied. “That isn’t always the case with the wilder ones.”

  “You make it sound like this happens a lot,” Justan said, thinking of Coal’s bonding with old Honstule and Alfred’s bond with Charz.

  “That’s part of the nature of the bond. A pairing requires mutual need and those that are most wild need a calming and steadying influence.” The Prophet sighed. “Unfortunately, people don’t always want the thing that they need. I could give you so many examples of times it hasn’t worked.”

  They reached an area where there was a break in the Jharro canopy. The sky opened up to a sight that caused a smile to spread across Justan’s face. This was the newest section of the grove. Widely spaced rows of Jharro saplings, over a hundred strong, were planted here. Each one of them was the size of an apple tree. Justan thought that was an impressive growth rate for two years.

  “This place brings joy to my heart,” the Prophet said, grinning widely. “Yntri gave Beth all the credit for finding the seeds, but this is his legacy. When I gave him the quest to bring life back to the grove, it was because he truly understood the trees. He knew what it was like to be ancient and worn out. He had also taught the humans for centuries and knew what it was like to have his life revitalized by an insurgence of youth. Yntri was the only one of his people that could have coaxed these seeds to grow.”

  They passed very close to one of the saplings and a branch swept down, smacking Justan across the face. As it struck him, Justan’s mind was filled with melodic laughter.

  The Prophet laughed along with it. “Be careful. These are children and much more lively than the adults.”

  Justan was forced to duck low in the saddle to avoid being smacked again. He smiled at their playfulness. As soon as they passed the last sapling, Steff sped up. Her trot became a run. They left the grove, and began traveling through regular forest, or the Malaroo version of it anyway; lush and green and hot and humid.

  The cat bounded over undergrowth and fallen logs and Gwyrtha followed suit. She felt a twinge of pain at each jolt and Justan realized that he had never gotten around to healing her after the explosion. He held tight to her mane and looked through the bond, checking her for injuries.

  Sorry, girl, he said. Gwyrtha had been battered pretty good. There were no major injuries, but she had extensive bruising along her ribs. He set to work soothing her aches. Please, next time, tell me if you’re hurting.

  I was fine, she said. Having fun now.

  A short time later, they broke free of the forest and into the open fields on the outskirts of Roo-Tan’lan. They hit a road that ran south and west of the city and the rogue horses really picked up the pace.

  They went from a run to a full on sprint, attaining speeds that no other land animal could match. Gwyrtha’s happiness surged through the bond. She and Justan had been limited in their riding time and this was the first time in a month that she had really been able to let loose. The rogue horse let out a roar, startling a field full of birds into flight.

  “My, they are feeling sprightly, aren’t they?” John said.

  Justan held tight to Gwyrtha’s mane and let her lead, his body moving with hers in a way that was only possible because of their extensive experience together. Justan looked up at the Prophet and saw that he was doing the same. “John, how long have you been riding her?”

  “I just picked her up from the valley a few weeks back, but this isn’t the first time we’ve ridden together,” the Prophet replied, his voice easy to understand despite the wind whipping past Justan’s ears. “I’ve known Steff for centuries.”

  Justan thought about that for a moment. “How many rogue horses are still left?”

  “Not many,” John said sadly. “There are several with bonding wizards, but now that I have Steff with me there are only three left in the valley. Other than that, there were a few that managed to stay free on their own, but I discovered that one of them died recently.”

  Justan felt a wave of sadness at the thought of the rogue horses dying out. “I don’t understand why Stardeon would create such a beautiful race, just to make them unable to procreate.”

  “Stardeon’s priorities weren’t the same as yours or mine,” John said. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have created them in the first place.”

  The rogue horses continued throughout the afternoon, keeping up their manic pace. Justan’s legs and lower back began to ache and he was reminded of the beating that he himself had taken during the explosion. He was going to be very sore the next day.

  As the sky began to darken, the Prophet pulled up at a stream to let the rogue horses drink. Justan slid down from Gwyrtha’s back and groaned, wondering how he was going to be able to continue. His whole body felt stiff. Was he going to have to try and hold onto Peace the whole way?

  He was trying to think of the logistics of trying to hold on to his sword while Gwyrtha galloped at full speed when John walked up and placed a hand on his shoulder. Justan’s weariness instantly melted away.

  He gave the Prophet a grateful smile. “What kind of magic did you just use on me?” He hadn’t felt the invasive tingle that came from elemental magic.

  “What I just did would be considered blessing magic. I was able to tell your body that it was tougher than it thought and it believed me,” John replied. “Now get a drink. We still have a few hours ride ahead of us.”

  Justan knelt by the stream and drank his fill, then closed his eyes and reached out to Deathclaw. How are things going? Is Jhonate upset with me?

  The raptoid’s response was quick and unsettling. We just found Hilt. He fought the nightbeast on his own.

  “He what?” Justan exclaimed aloud and through the bond. From Deathclaw’s tone Justan knew Hilt hadn’t won. He felt John’s hand grip on his shoulder again.

  Hilt was close to death when we found him. The nightbeast cut off his hand and gave him a belly wound, Deathclaw replied. The elves are trying to help him now. He seems somewhat better, but I have smelled wounds like that before. It is not good.

  The raptoid’s emotions were confused. He was feeling fear and sorrow in a way he hadn’t felt before. Justan knew that feeling. Deathclaw was already mourning his friend.

  Poor Hilt, Gwyrtha said, listening in.

  Justan tried to reassure Deathclaw. He’s not dead yet. Surely there is something the elves can do. Their magic can heal most anything,

  The words felt hollow in his mind. Could the elves really heal a wound like that? Even if they could, they couldn’t reattach a hand. He tried to imagine how a warrior like Hilt would be able to handle life with one hand. The thought made him sick to his stomach. What Hilt needed was a wizard.

  There is something else, Deathclaw said. Hilt cut a piece of his enemy free. The fool nightbeast left it behind.

  A piece that had turned to stone? Deathclaw seemed excited by this, but Justan couldn’t understand why.

  Yes, but there is a scent left behind in the stone, Deathclaw said. It is faint, but once I knew what to look for I also smelled it on a tree nearby.

  Are you telling me you have a way to track him? Justan said.

  Yes! Deathclaw replied. I have already followed it a short ways. He changes his sent often, taking on odors of things nearby. But always this trace odor remains.

  Good! Hold on to that scent, but do not track him down on your own! Justan said.

  Deathclaw glowered. Why? This Vahn will not be able to defeat me.

  He defea
ted Hilt! Justan reminded him. Wait until I return and we will hunt him down together. You, Gwyrtha, and I.

  Yes. We will track him, Gwyrtha agreed.

  The scent may fade by then, Deathclaw said and Justan knew that he planned to do it alone anyway.

  Listen. Please. Okay, if it has to be done now, go to Xedrion. Tell him what you have found. Let him get together a group of men to go with you.

  I will think on it, Deathclaw replied.

  Promise me! Justan demanded.

  The raptoid hissed. Very well.

  Justan dropped the connection and looked up at the Prophet. “You heard?”

  John nodded, his brow twisted with concern.

  “I have to go back,” Justan said. He stood up and walked to Gwyrtha’s side.

  “How will that help?” John asked. “Can you heal Sir Hilt?”

  “No,” Justan admitted. “But I can’t let Deathclaw go after Vahn alone.”

  “He won’t be alone,” John assured him.

  “So I should sit back and wait here safe with you while others are in danger?” Justan shook his head. “This is my fight!”

  “Is it now?” John asked. “Did you start it?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so. I don’t even know who sent him. But he is after me. That makes him my responsibility.” Justan jumped into Gwyrtha’s saddle.

  The Prophet placed his hand on Justan’s leg. “Do you trust me?”

  Justan gritted his teeth. Oh, how those words sounded like a trap. “Yes.”

  “Then hear me,” John said. “The most effective place for you to be is where I’m going.”

  Justan’s hands tightened on Gwyrtha’s mane. He wanted to ignore the Prophet’s words. He wanted to charge back to the grove and find that nightbeast and blast it to pieces.

  You should listen to John, boy, said the dusty voice of Artemus, speaking up for the first time in hours. He knows best.

  Justan let out a roar of impotent rage. “I’m tired of feeling useless!”

  “Useless?” said the Prophet. “You?”

  “Yes!” he said. “I have all these powers and abilities, but I rarely get to use them. Why? Because I know that fighting alone puts my bonded at risk. Deathclaw won’t let me forget it. Any time I want to do anything the least bit reckless, he complains until I back down.”

  “I see,” John said, removing his hand from Justan’s leg. “This is about more than the nightbeast.”

  “He’s just part of it,” Justan replied. “Even before that, my bonded were over protective.”

  That’s because we love you, Gwyrtha said.

  Justan ignored her. “Vahn being after me has just made it worse. Not only has Deathclaw been watching my every step, I’ve had others do it too. I’m a named warrior! I have powerful weapons and I have worked diligently to improve my skills. But what good are those skills? I have spent the last four weeks like a bird in a cage, surrounded by people trying to protect me.” His voice shook. “Then today, all I could do was watch them die.”

  The moment Justan finished his tirade, he felt foolish once again. The feelings were real, but now that he had said them out loud, they seemed incredibly self-centered. He waited for the Prophet to reprimand him, but he didn’t get the response he expected.

  “You have the burden of leadership,” John said. He snapped his fingers and Steff padded over to him. The rogue horse crouched while he climbed onto her furry back. “It’s a tale as old as the concept of having kings. When a warrior is exceptional enough, those around him put him into power. His life is given value. It is now his responsibility to lead those weaker than him and inevitably watch them die in his name. It’s an uncomfortable feeling for someone who knows they could fight just as well or better on their own. How do you think your father feels when danger comes and he has to stay back and send other men to fight it?”

  Steff began trotting away. She hopped over the stream and Justan urged Gwyrtha to follow.

  “Well . . . that’s different,” Justan said. “That’s his job. I’m sure father misses being on the front lines, sometimes. But it is his responsibility to oversee the battlefield. He knows that. He embraces it.”

  The Prophet nodded. “That’s right. He understands the importance of his position. He knows that the way he can best serve his men is by finding the best tactical advantage for them to use. His men are looking to him for that help and he knows that if he were to go out there on the front lines and be killed, his whole army could fall apart.”

  Justan frowned. “This isn’t quite the same thing as what I’m going through, tactically speaking. And the academy doesn’t usually function as an army-.”

  “Don’t skip past the validity of my point,” John said, chuckling. “The burden of leadership is part of what it means to be a bonding wizard. Yes, you are formidable in your own right. That is a good thing. Your bonded need you to be able to fight with and for them. However, you have to look at the big picture. Your greatest power isn’t your skill. It isn’t the weapons you wield and it most definitely isn’t your name. Your greatest power is your ability to lead them.”

  The Prophet paused for a moment to allow Justan to absorb that information. “Think on it. You are a bonding wizard because the Creator himself chose you. He saw these qualities inside of you. Not only did he see your tactical mind, he saw your open heart and your willingness to let others in.”

  Justan winced at that last part.

  It’s true! Gwyrtha said.

  “That wasn’t the case when I was chosen,” Justan replied. “Before I bonded to Gwyrtha, I let no one in. I was self-centered and stubborn.”

  “Nonsense! You were merely a teenager,” John said. “Why, you are still young. How old are you now?”

  “I’ll be twenty one at the end of summer,” Justan said.

  “Amazing. Think of where you are at that age! Dual-named and bonded to four powerful people,” the Prophet said. “It’s no wonder the people around you give your life value.”

  Justan didn’t know how to respond to that logic.

  “Understand, Edge, I don’t point this out to stroke your ego. I doubt you need that. But you should know your place in things,” John said. He looked up as he rode and closed his eyes. “Now be quiet for a while and think on what I said. I need to concentrate.”

  Steff picked up speed and Gwyrtha followed suit. Soon, they were rushing through darkening skies. The land gradually sloped downwards and Justan could see a wide basin spreading out to the east of them, containing a multitude of streams and rivers. The whole area was shrouded in mist and highlighted by the pink light of the setting sun. Somewhere out there were the troll swamps, the ancestral lands of the Roo people.

  But Justan didn’t spend too much time thinking about the scenery. He was brooding inwardly about what John had said regarding his purpose. He couldn’t refute the man’s insight. After all, he was the Prophet. Still, it hadn’t been what he wanted to hear.

  Growing up, all Justan had wanted was to be a great warrior. He idolized powerful men who could single-handedly overcome great obstacles. Men like Sir Hilt.

  Justan’s father was a man who, in his youth, was that exact ideal. Roaming the countryside, adventuring, defeating monsters and villains and building a reputation. Faldon had left that life behind when he had joined the academy. Now that Justan thought about it, that was when he had become a leader. No longer did he fight solo battles. He had become part of a team.

  Currently Faldon trained special groups; small teams of highly trained fighters that, with a strong leader, could accomplish tasks that a large army or an individual warrior could not. Justan smiled in understanding. Those groups were much like his own.

  We are better, Gwyrtha corrected.

  They continued into the night, branching off onto roads seldom used. A bright moon had risen early, casting a soft blue glow over the lush wilderness. The throbbing rhythm of frogs and cicadas filled the air. Once the road became little more than an overgrown tr
ail, John pulled Steff to a stop.

  The Prophet slid down from the rogue horse’s back. “Steff and Gwyrtha will have to stay here. You and I will continue on foot.”

  But why? Gwyrtha complained to Justan. I want to go with you.

  Evidently Steff had similar complaints because John rolled his eyes. “This will give the two of you time to play together. Won’t that be fun? It has been years.”

  The two rogue horses looked at each other and Steff got down close to the ground, squaring her shoulders. Okay! Gwyrtha said and darted to the side, avoiding the cat-like beast’s pounce.

  “This way,” the Prophet said and led Justan into the trees.

  “So we’re near our destination?” Justan asked, using the moonlight to pick his way through the undergrowth. This was good. If they were done quickly, he could head back with Gwyrtha and hopefully get to the grove before Deathclaw tracked Vahn down.

  “Close,” John said. “Do you hear that sound?”

  “Insects,” Justan replied.

  “Beyond that,” John replied.

  Justan paused a moment and listened closer, calling upon the enhancement to his senses that his bond with Deathclaw gave him. “Rushing water. A waterfall?”

  “That is our destination,” John said. “I’m taking you to meet a man that very few humans have ever met.”

  “A hermit?” Justan asked.

  John laughed. “That is a valid description. His name is Matthew and he is one of the prophets.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  “One of the prophets?” Justan asked, stumbling in the darkness. As far as he was aware, there were only two; John and the Dark Prophet. “Please tell me you are going to elaborate.”

  “You will need to know in order to understand the coming events.” He started to climb over a fallen log, but stopped and turned to face Justan. “The things I am about to tell you are not common knowledge. They used to be, but truths are often lost to time. This particular truth is there for people who search hard enough to find it, but most of the histories are incomplete.”