Deathclaw noticed Beth eyeing him thoughtfully, but she said nothing.
“Are you sure about that?” Hilt asked, looking dubious. “Some of those beasts are very fast.”
“They are not as quick as I,” Deathclaw responded. Besides, Talon was out there somewhere. He had promised Justan her death.
“I think it’s a great plan,” Charz said, letting out a yawn and Deathclaw wondered what had happened to the bloodthirsty giant Justan had told him about. Why wasn’t he excited to get out there and fight Ewzad Vriil’s creations? The giant closed his eyes. “But then what? Are we gonna just wait in here, or are we gonna go and scout around like the wizards want us to?”
“We should leave as soon as the witch’s eyes have left the area,” Hilt said, but he was still watching Deathclaw. “How will you find us again once you have evaded your pursuers?”
Deathclaw shrugged. He wasn’t sure he was going to. They really didn’t need him. The rock giant had a bonding wizard back at the Mage School. If he went off on his own he could sneak into places a group couldn’t and give Justan information the others wouldn’t have. “I can track you.”
“You think so?” Charz smiled.
“I am pretty good at covering our tracks,” Hilt said. “And Beth will be putting out magic dissuading anything that is trying to find us.”
“I can hunt anything,” Deathclaw replied. The more he thought about it, the more he preferred being on his own. The giant was big and loud, which could make him a liability. The warrior smelled every bit as dangerous as Justan’s father, which meant that he would be useful, but the woman . . . she was the one he found most disturbing. The feeling that he should trust her came far too easily.
“Wait,” Beth said as if hearing his thoughts. Deathclaw took a step back. Hadn’t she just told him she had to be close to hear through the bond? “Before you go, I have something to give you.”
Beth pulled a gray dagger from the sheath at her waist and Deathclaw recognized that it was made of the same material as Justan’s bow. She gripped its blade with both hands and twisted. To his surprise, the last third of the blade broke free.
Hilt seemed just as surprised as Deathclaw. “Beth! What did you-?”
“Relax. You’ve seen this before.” She put the rest of the dagger back in its sheath and held the broken piece of Jharro Blade between her right thumb and forefinger. The piece of wood changed shape in her fingers, becoming a narrow tube. She frowned at it for a moment and said, “It will have to do. Hilt, honey, I need a chain or string of some sort.”
Hilt nodded in understanding and began fishing through his small pack. “I didn’t know you could do that. I mean, I’ve only ever seen Yntri do it and he is a master.”
“It has nothing to do with skill,” Beth replied. She was still staring at the small Jharro wood tube and Deathclaw saw two tiny holes open up on the side. “It’s all about your understanding of the tree and how much it likes you.” Hilt tossed her a thin leather cord and she threaded it through one of the holes in the tube. “Mine really likes me.”
She stepped towards Deathclaw and the raptoid watched her approach with slight concern, forcing himself not to take another step back. “What is this?”
“A gift,” she said and placed the string over his head. “This piece of my Jharro dagger is connected to me by a bond that really isn’t much different than yours with Sir Edge.”
“What do I do with it?” Deathclaw asked.
“When you have evaded the creatures chasing you, blow it and I will be able to find you,” she explained.
Deathclaw cocked his head. Blow it? “I cannot. I don’t . . .”
She placed her ear against his chest. You don’t have lips, I know. I can see how it frustrates you not to be able to speak everything you want to say. “You will do fine. Like I said, you are an excellent communicator.” Blowing air through the whistle isn’t necessary anyway. The main thing is that you hold onto it and concentrate on reaching me. The connection won’t be as strong as your bond with Sir Edge is, but it will work over short distances.
Very well, he replied. “I go now.”
But she did not remove her head from his chest. I know that you are considering leaving us. Please don’t. I have a strong feeling that the four of us will need to stay together if we wish to survive.
I . . . will think on it. Deathclaw turned away from her and entered the curving side passage that led to the cave’s secret exit. He felt a desire to follow the woman’s wishes and that made him suspicious. Was this trust he felt his own inclination or one planted by her spirit magic? He would have to be careful.
Deathclaw soon reached the exit. The floor of the passage sloped upwards and came out under a rock that jutted from the ground three hills over from the cave they had entered. The ceiling was very low at the end and Deathclaw grinned inwardly at the thought of the rock giant clambering up the slope on his belly, trying to pull himself out. Too bad he would miss it.
He paused in the shadows under the rock and sent out his senses. There was nothing dangerous in his field of vision. The grassy hillsides seemed pristine and green in the fading sunlight. But he could smell smoke and ash, mixed with the scent of the evil wizard’s power. His ears picked out the sounds of screeching trolls and other beasts, but they were on the far side of the hill.
He slid into the grass next to the rock and made his way back around towards the portal cave. A great black cloud of smoke still rose from the direction of the academy and ash had begun to fall, turning the green grass a dull gray. He stopped at the top of a hill and crouched watching the creatures mill about.
They were mostly those modified trolls and moonrats, but here and there were some of Ewzad’s creations that had survived. He looked over each of them until he found the perfect beast to help him create a distraction.
It was a giant; large and broad, but it stank of the wizard and he could see the changes made in it. The giant was hunched over, great bony spines jutting from its back, and one of its arms was large, knotted, and club-like with sharp yellow spikes protruding from the swollen fist on the end. A shriveled green eye was embedded in the side of its shoulder.
The giant didn’t see Deathclaw coming. It didn’t even register his presence until he had leapt on its back, digging in with his claws. It reared back and roared as Deathclaw climbed to its shoulder. In one smooth motion, he tore out the moonrat eye with his claws and sent his tail barb deep into its throat.
The giant reached over its shoulder at him, but he slashed at its grasping fingers and pierced its throat again, this time seeing a satisfying gush of blood as he tore a major vessel. It clutched at its throat and Deathclaw leapt to the ground. As he had hoped, the commotion had drawn the eyes of every creature to him.
He raised his arms and screeched out a challenge. All at once, the creatures came at him and he ran into the grass, making sure they didn’t loose sight of him until he had led them far away from the others.
Chapter One
“You have some partial knowledge, but it is incomplete.” The prophet’s voice was deep and clear and the unending tiers of crystalline chandeliers high above them jingled as his words echoed through the open spaces of the Hall of Majesty. “It’s time I told you the true story of Stardeon and his wife Mellinda.”
Those whom the prophet had assembled stood with their eyes upon him, transfixed. They didn’t understand why, but the prophet’s tone suggested that the tale was of crucial importance.
Justan looked around at the others standing in a semicircle facing the prophet and shook his head at the strangeness of it. It was true that gatherings in the Hall of Majesty were common occurrences, after all it was the resting place of The Bowl of Souls, but Justan doubted this proud hall had ever seen such an odd group as this.
Master Latva, Alfred, and Locksher had been there many times before, but the others stood out as outstanding exceptions in this place: Lenny Firegobbler, the dwarf, in his shining runed platemail, his boo
ts still encrusted with the blood of slain orcs; Jhonate, academy graduate and warrior of the Roo-Tan; Fist, an ogre bonding wizard carrying a large squirrel in a pouch at his side; and Gwyrtha, a rogue horse made up of a patchwork mix of various creatures.
On top of all of that, in between their semicircle and the prophet, on an expensive plush rug, lay the deceased bonding wizard Master Coal and the unconscious forms of his former bonded: Bettie, the half-orc blacksmith; Willum, academy graduate and nephew of Ewzad Vriil; Samson, the rogue horse centaur; and perhaps most oddly of all, lying at the feet of the others, their newly-named bonding wizard Tolivar, who was covered head-to-toe in dried orc blood, and whom, just a few short moments ago, had been known as Tamboor the Fearless, ex-master of the Academy Berserker’s Guild.
Justan forced his thoughts away from the oddity of the situation and focused on the prophet’s announcement. The story of Stardeon and his wife? He hadn’t known Stardeon had a wife. Neither Coal or Samson had mentioned anyone named Mellinda when they had told him about the creation of the rogue horses. He asked Gwyrtha through the bond, Did you know?
No, she replied. Father had no woman. There was just Father and Sam.
“The story I have to tell you is a long one,” the prophet said. He gave them a kind smile as his eyes swept across their battle weary bodies. “Unfortunately, this Hall of Majesty was designed for ceremony, not for comfort and you have all had a long day. Why don’t you collect some chairs from the other rooms down the hall and bring them in here so that we can sit while I talk?”
“Why don’t we simply have the conversation elsewhere?” Master Latva asked, watching with concern as Fist, Zambon, and Jhonate walked out of the hallway to do as asked.
Alfred gave the wizard an amused smile and explained, “Latva is worried that the other council members will give him grief about moving a bunch of chairs into the Hall of Majesty.”
“Well . . . mainly Wizard Auger,” Latva said, giving the gnome a slight glare for calling him out. It was evident to Justan that the two had been keeping their bond a secret for so long that Latva was still getting used to Alfred speaking his mind aloud.
“More of this wizard silliness,” the prophet said with a dismissive chuckle. “Why should we move? The bowl doesn’t mind. Besides, Tolivar and his bonded are lying here quite comfortably on that plush rug. This story is for them to hear as well and I see no need to drag them down the hallway.”
“But . . . they’re asleep, ain’t they?” Lenny asked, kneeling at Bettie’s head. He hadn’t left her side since finding out she was carrying his child.
“In a sense,” the prophet replied. “They are deep within the bond, learning how to deal with a new bonding wizard. The magic has a lot of adjustments to make to each of them so that the bond will work properly.”
A crash echoed from a room outside the hall and Latva winced. Alfred laughed. “I suppose I should go and show them where to look.” The gnome jogged out of the hall to join the others.
Justan opened his spirit sight and looked down at the man whose name had once been Tamboor. The silvery crown-like ring of the bond that the prophet had laid on the warrior’s head had moved down his body and settled within his chest. The thick ropes of spirit magic that connected Tolivar to Coal’s former bonded pulsed as if not yet stable. Justan thought back to the severe pain he had gone through following his bonding with Deathclaw and didn’t envy the man.
The prophet continued, “So to answer your question, Lenui, while they will likely not remember the telling of the tale, the words I say will remain imprinted in their minds.”
“Oh,” Lenny said thoughtfully. He tenderly moved a few strands of curly black hair off of the half-orc’s face, tucking them behind her slightly green tinted ear. He leaned forward and whispered something to her.
The doors to the hall swung open again and the others returned, carrying chairs.
Fist came back with two large and heavily padded chairs that Justan was pretty sure weren’t meant to be moved. The ogre dropped them down next to Justan and their stout legs hit the marble floor with a loud crack. Fist eased his large frame into one of them. The chair creaked in protest, but it was just big enough to support him. Fist let out an audible sigh and moaned, “Ohh that is nice. Squirrel, come and see how soft it is!”
Squirrel climbed out of his pouch and sat on one of the plush armrests. He felt around and nodded appreciatively, then began shelling a nut. The animal’s appearance was yet another oddity in this place but to Justan’s relief, no one batted an eye.
Justan sat in the other chair and he had to agree with Fist. Though it was much larger than necessary, it was so comfortable that he almost let out a moan himself.
Jhonate walked up carrying two ornate chairs with padded seats. She handed one to Locksher and placed hers next to Justan. She eyed the chair Fist had given him. “Is that chair comfortable enough for you? Would you like me to fetch you a pillow?”
“It will do fine, thank you,” Justan said with mock seriousness. “In fact there is room for two if you would like to sit on my lap.”
Her face colored and she glanced around at the others to see if they had heard him. The prophet looked amused but he said nothing. She pursed her lips and sat down in the chair she had brought with her. “That will not be necessary, Edge. I have my own.”
Justan grinned and opened his mouth to alter his offer, but his mouth slowly closed as he saw Alfred walk up to the plush rug and stand before Master Coal’s body. The gnome carried a long white robe he had taken from one of the wardrobes in the changing rooms. Justan’s smile faded as he watched the prophet take the robe from Alfred’s hands and spread it reverently over the wizard’s body.
The fact that his master was gone struck him once more and a lump rose in Justan’s throat. He owed the man so much and here he was joking around. Guilt welled up inside him and he felt Fist’s large hand close over his.
The ogre had tears in his eyes. There will be time to mourn him later.
Yes. I know, Justan replied. But when? The war had only just begun.
“Lenui,” the prophet said. “Don’t you want to sit?”
Zambon had brought a chair for the dwarf, but Lenny was still kneeling next to the plush rug with Bettie’s hand held in his. “Naw. I ain’t much fer sittin’ in chairs that ain’t dwarf sized. ‘Cides, Bettie’s on the ground. Wouldn’t seem right fer me to sit all comfy.”
“Of course,” the prophet said. He looked away, but then he paused and turned his eyes back on the dwarf. His brow creased and he cocked his head slightly. “Do you have a question for me, Lenui?”
Lenny’s bushy red eyebrows rose. “Don’t think so.”
John nodded but still didn’t look away. His eyes narrowed. “There is something you need. I can feel it.”
Lenny scratched his head. “Well, uh . . . I wanna make sure Bettie and my kid’re gonna be okay, but you already said-.”
“It’s not that,” the prophet replied with a slight shake of his head. “No, you have brought something here with you . . . Something that really doesn’t belong in this hall. I can feel the tension from its influence right now.”
Lenny’s face wrinkled in confusion and Justan was just as puzzled. What could Lenny possibly have that could bother the prophet? Lenny looked down at his shining breastplate and ran his hand across the golden F that rose from the center. “Well, uh . . . is it this gall-durn armor? It’s been through a lot of war over the years. Tell you the truth, I ain’t comfortable in it neither.”
“No. It’s not on your person. It’s . . . there.” The prophet pointed towards the doorway to the hall.
Everyone turned and looked. There was nothing there but the overstuffed pack that Lenny had left at the door when he came in.
“What the?” The dwarf scratched his head. “In my pack? Ain’t nothin’ there, though.”
Justan’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Lenny! It’s the dagger.”
“The da-!” The d
warf brought a hand to his head. “I’ll be dag-gummed. I done forgot all ‘bout that cursed thing.”
While the dwarf ran to get his pack, Justan explained to the others. “It’s the dagger I found at Vriil’s castle. The one Queen Elise stabbed him with. Master Coal said that it was one of the Dark Prophet’s talismans. It somehow made me forget I had it and Lenny was carrying it for us because he’s a dwarf and we thought that his blood magic might counteract its influence. I . . . I never thought I’d forget about it again.”
“I forgot too.” Fist said with a shake of his large head.
Not me, Gwyrtha said.
Lenny jogged back with his pack, his armor clanking all the way. He opened the pack and thrust it out towards the prophet. “It’s in here, John. I’d get it out fer you, but I can’t touch the durn thing. It makes my head hurt.”
“I see,” said the prophet, a frown darkening his face. “Do you wish me to destroy this thing?”
Lenny looked at Justan. “We need this thing anymore?”
“Well . . . I don’t see why we would. At this point Dann Doudy is dead and we don’t need to convince the Mage School of anything,” Justan said. “Please, John. We would like it destroyed.”
John reached down deep into the pack and when he withdrew his hand, he held a cloth wrapped bundle. To Justan’s spirit sight, the prophet’s hands glowed with a soft white light, while the bundled object blazed forth with blackness. The prophet unwrapped the dagger and when he saw it his face twisted with disgust.
“This is Tulos, the ruby dagger; one of six daggers the Dark Prophet had made and bound to his soul. In the height of his power, the Dark Prophet was worshipped like a god and the high priests used to sacrifice innocents to him with these blades.” The prophet held the dagger with the tips of his fingers and turned it so that they could all see the way the rubies glinted evilly in the light. “When someone is killed with this dagger, their spirit is torn and a small portion of their essence is transferred to him.”
The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat Page 2