Deathclaw noticed that the giant’s two puckered wounds, one in his side and one in his neck, still hadn’t closed. Neither were bleeding, but he had never seen the giant’s body keep a wound like that before. They should have healed right away.
Hurry, Beth sent from her position huddled behind the rocks on the slope. Her eyes were closed and her hands over head as she bent all her concentration on battling the moonrat mother. There is a large force approaching from the west. They have a lot of eyes with them and Mellinda’s pressing me hard!
How many? Deathclaw asked.
The behemoth wailed again, stunning them as it swung the two enormous limbs on either side of Charz and Deathclaw towards each other, intending to smash them in between. Deathclaw had been so focused on Beth’s message, he couldn’t react in time. The behemoth limb behind him slammed into his back. Troll arms protruding from the limb grasped him, latching on, their claws holding him in place as he was propelled towards the other oncoming limb.
Deathclaw tightened his battle senses further, his mind’s eye slowing down the approach of the oncoming limb even more. He felt each individual claw piercing his skin. There were four arms clutching him; two wrapping around his legs, one grasping his torso, and one of them pinning his sword arm.
He rotated his wrist, flipping the sword blade up, briefly touching Star’s white hot blade against the troll appendage grasping his sword arm. The appendage burst into embers and Deathclaw was able to thrust his blade towards the oncoming limb just as the two impacted.
The flesh of the behemoth burned away so rapidly that, with Deathclaw’s slowed down perception, he could see the flesh vaporize around him in a cone extending from the blade, never touching his body. He saw a faint blue glow extending from the sword’s hilt, protecting him from the heat as the force of the impact sent him hurtling through the limb and out the far side in an explosion of flame.
Deathclaw rolled across the rocky ground and came to his feet, looking back to see that the behemoth’s massive limb had burned in two, the ends of each half glowing with enormous red coals. His eyes widened as the half of the limb he had cut free convulsed and rolled down the slope, trailing sparks and smoke behind it.
A sudden fear jolted him. What if the half of the limb he had burned free became a second behemoth? He shoved the thought away. If it was that easy to make multiple behemoths, Mellinda would have had her orcs cut off its limbs long ago and they would be facing multiple behemoths instead of one. Hopefully there was enough pepper in it that the limb would just wither and die.
Hurry! Beth insisted. Mellinda’s force is just a few miles away. She’ll break through my magic any minute!
Charz roared as he tore free from between the two limbs, ripping several troll arms out of the behemoth’s flesh as he did so. The giant stumbled towards Deathclaw and looked at the glowing embers of the severed appendage with an appreciative nod.
“That hurt,” the giant said and Deathclaw saw that the giant was covered in troll scratches. Those wounds were already healing, but the wound in his neck had begun to bleed again. Deathclaw pointed at the wound and the giant reached up and felt the blood flowing. He chuckled. “Yeah, this trident is a nasty weapon! I think I might keep it.”
Hurry!
Hilt ran over and pulled the two of them just outside the behemoth’s reach. The named warrior was breathing heavy and there were two bloody and jagged tears in his scalemail vest, but he looked exhilarated. “I think the pepper is taking effect. Its wounds are closing much slower now.”
Deathclaw thought on it. Justan had told him that regular trolls would die from pepper poisoning and modified trolls would just stop regenerating. But the behemoth was different. “Do you think it is . . .” Deathclaw wanted to say ‘enough pepper’. Instead he said, “Will it die yet?”
“Who knows?” Hilt said. “No one has killed a behemoth with pepper before. We may have just made it sick. If we leave now, it could recover when we’re gone and this will all have been for nothing. It’s hard to know how much pepper is enough.”
No time to stand there and talk! Beth chided. They’re coming. Hundreds of soldiers!
“Let’s be sure then,” Charz declared. The giant rushed over and picked up the barrel of pepper. It was half full now.
“What are you doing?” Hilt said.
The giant smiled and ran towards the Behemoth’s central body, the barrel tucked under one arm and the trident grasped in the other. As he approached, the behemoth wailed again. It hadn’t recovered from their last attack. The eyes the giant had stabbed were still burst, the tongue a jagged stump, but the gaping mouth with its crushing jaws was still open. Deathclaw thought he knew what the giant was going to do.
Charz bent over and ran right through the behemoth’s open jaws, leading with his trident held out in front of him. The behemoth’s jaws closed around him.
Deathclaw watched as the behemoth wailed again. Half of its bulk was in flames. The stump of the limb he had cut through still burned with embers and its most recent wounds weren’t closing. Its remaining limbs rose and fell as it tried to pull itself towards them.
“Charz’ll come out any second,” Hilt said. The warrior’s voice sounded confident, but there was concern in his eyes. “He’ll probably burst out its side, you watch.”
He’s in trouble! Charz is hurt! Beth sent, then a second later added, She’s through! Mellinda has broken through my magic. Her eyes can see! A moonrat moan echoed from the rocks to their right and was joined by more further down the slope.
Deathclaw ran towards the behemoth, Star at the ready. He called out to the blade. Don’t hurt him, Star. Burn the behemoth, but not Charz. He hoped that whatever spirit was in the sword was listening.
The behemoth kept its jaws shut, but Deathclaw made his own entrance. He slashed and Star burned the behemoth’s flesh open around him. He held his breath and ran forward, the interior of the beast parting before him like curtains of coals being drawn back. He saw Charz then. The giant was motionless, his body pierced in multiple places by enormous teeth. The trident was clenched in the giant’s hand, but the barrel of pepper was nowhere to be seen.
Deathclaw slashed the sword around them, burning the opening larger and larger, searing away the flesh and jaws surrounding the rocky giant. There was nothing he could do about the fangs piercing Charz’s body, but he needed the giant to move. He kicked the giant in the head and Charz’s eyes fluttered open in surprise.
“Go!” he shouted and the behemoth shuddered around him. Arms tried to sprout from the burned flesh around them, eyes tried to open, but the sword’s power burned them all away. Deathclaw felt the sword surge with power and the glow around the blade seemed to grow.
Hilt watched from outside as the hole Deathclaw made in the behemoth’s side smoked and belched flames. Coals poured out of the wound and fire crawled up along the surface of the beast, incinerating the limbs and torsos protruding from its skin as it went.
The body of the behemoth seemed to glow as if lit from within. It wailed one last time, then shuddered and went still. Fire exploded from the top of the beast. Charred chunks of troll flesh and burning coals rained down on the slope.
Beth shouted out, standing from her hiding place behind the boulder, slapping at a smoldering hole in the side of her bodice. She stared in awe at the destruction of the behemoth below.
Hilt ran up the slope towards her. “Are they okay?” he asked. “Are they alive in there?”
She gave a stunned nod and pointed as a hole burst in the rear side of the beast. Flames poured out and the opening widened as Deathclaw darted out, the white hot blade of his sword held before him. He tripped over a rock and fell to the ground, gasping.
Charz stumbled out after him. The giant’s skin was blackened and in places glowed a dull red. The iron chain hanging around his neck had sunk into the rocky skin around it and the crystal pendant had fused to his chest. He fell to his knees next to the raptoid and took deep shuddering breaths,
then coughed, spitting out black phlegm.
Hilt and Beth ran down to join them.
“Charz!” Hilt said reaching out to touch his shoulder. But the heat of the giant’s skin made him withdraw his hand.
“I’ll be fine,” The giant wheezed. “Just a sec.” The crystal in the giant’s chest glowed as he stood and grasped at the stump of something piercing his side. Charz ripped a blackened fang from his abdomen, then pulled another one free from his leg.
Deathclaw stood and stared back at the collapsing center of the burning behemoth. “Can we go now?”
“Please,” Beth agreed. “They’ll see us any second.”
“Then lets run,” Hilt said.
Chapter Thirty One
Star is silent now, Deathclaw sounded worried.
Silent how? Justan asked. Once again Deathclaw had contacted him just before dawn. In the week since the behemoth attack, they had been doing a lot of traveling during the night and this was the best time for Deathclaw to communicate. Fist had taken to calling him Justan’s rooster. Not that he needed help getting up. Jhonate loved to wake Justan at dawn anyway. She was always eager to train.
It no longer hungers, Deathclaw replied. The scar on my hand is still here, but I feel nothing from it.
Maybe that’s because it just ate, Justan suggested. The idea Beth had that it was a sword designed to fight trolls seemed likely from the descriptions the raptoid had given him. I’m sure it will hunger again. When you get back here, we can have Lenny look at it for us.
Perhaps, Deathclaw said, but Justan could tell it still worried him. He changed the subject.
Where are you now? Justan asked. You feel a lot closer.
We crossed the river Fandine today. We are west of the Mage School now. Hilt says we will circle around and approach Sampo from the plains.
That’s good. We could use you there. We got word late yesterday that Ewzad Vriil arrived in Sampo. Valtrek’s spies there are too terrified to scout the area and our own scouts are having difficulty getting an accurate count of his forces. Justan said.
Yes, Charz told us, the raptoid said and his anger poured through the bond. I would love to be the one to tear out his throat.
Please talk to me before you take that kind of chance, Justan said. He didn’t like the idea of Deathclaw getting that close to the wizard. Maybe since you’re so close, you could even stop back in and visit us.
I will discuss that with Beth.
Good, I will speak with you tomorrow then, Justan said.
Wait, Justan. Deathclaw hesitated and Justan could tell that something else was troubling him and whatever it was bothered the raptoid even more than the quietness of his sword. I have . . . difficulty speaking with the others.
Justan was aware of that issue. It was one of the reasons Deathclaw kept to himself so much. Doesn’t Beth’s whistle allow you to communicate? Justan asked. It had seemed a handy solution to Deathclaw’s difficulties.
Yes, and that is fine with her, but when I try to speak to the others, I . . . Deathclaw struggled with his emotions for a moment. Justan can you give me lips?
Give you? Justan asked, stunned.
I have been thinking about the changes you made to Gwyrtha. Could you perhaps make this change to me as you did with her? Deathclaw asked.
But you aren’t a rogue horse. You . . . Justan thought about it further. In some ways Deathclaw was. He didn’t have the reserve core of power that came from multiple souls bound together as one, but Ewzad Vriil’s changes to his body had made the cells of his body unstable like hers were. It would be more difficult than with Gwyrtha because he wouldn’t have that core of power to draw on, but perhaps it could work if he pulled the power from somewhere else.
You sure you really want me to try this? Justan asked. This wouldn’t be like the changes I make with Gwyrtha exactly. It might take a long time to do and it could be painful. Modifying Gwyrtha’s structures is different than adding something that wasn’t there before. He didn’t add the fact that he was afraid he might make it look stupid.
I do, Deathclaw decided.
Alright. The more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed. But not until after this siege is over. Or at least until I can have you here in person. I don’t want to try this at a distance.
Very well, Deathclaw said and Justan could tell that he was kind of relieved he wasn’t going to try it right away.
Justan got dressed, his mind whirring over the possibilities. The way Deathclaw’s body adapted, he wouldn’t need Gwyrtha’s type of power to hold the changes together. If Justan added lips, Deathclaw’s body would likely adjust and see them as a permanent addition.
It would be an uncomfortable thing for the raptoid to get used to, though. He would have to learn how to use them. Eating would be different. He might accidentally bite them all the time. Justan frowned. The way Deathclaw’s upper teeth overlapped the bottom could affect the design. This was more complicated the more he thought about it.
Justan opened the door and heard soft voices. He stepped into the center room of the house assuming his parents had already woken. He froze in surprise.
The prophet was sitting at the table. Darlan was sitting next to him, smiling as if she had known the man for years. She was watching the prophet read the Scralag’s book, Artemus’ glasses perched on his nose.
John was wearing travel clothes. A plain woolen tunic and loose fitting pants that seemed to be cut for riding. Darlan was wearing robes Justan hadn’t seen before. They looked formal, made of silk and equal parts red and black as befitted a magma wizard. It was as if she’d known the prophet was coming and dressed for the occasion.
“You’re right, Darlan, that is a good recipe,” John was saying. “Artemus made it for us once when we were on the road. He didn’t have a proper oven, so he had Brevan reach down into the earth and fashion one out of the bedrock. Brevan thought it was a waste, naturally, but-.” He looked up at Justan and smiled. “Ah, you’re awake.”
“You’re here,” Justan said, feeling stupid, but unable to think of anything better to say.
The prophet smiled. “Please join us, Edge. I hope we didn’t wake you. I was just telling Darlan some stories about your great grandfather.”
“Would you like some tea, John?” Darlan asked.
“I do suppose we have some time before the others arrive,” John said thoughtfully. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
Darlan walked to the small cupboard and pulled out a teapot. She made do without a stove by pouring cool water into the pot from a pitcher she had filled the night before and heating it with magic.
“We have more people coming?” Justan asked, taking the chair opposite the prophet.
“Not many,” the prophet assured him. He picked up Artemus’ book again, “I was quite surprised to see this when I came in. Artemus was always writing in the thing. It was in better shape back then, of course.”
“You knew him well?” Justan asked. He had never thought of the prophet as spending much time with anyone.
“Yes, well during the war, we traveled together quite often. He was one of my companions,” John said. “He was supposed to face the Dark Prophet with me. I was truly saddened when he didn’t make it to the end.”
“What happened to him?” Darlan asked. She sat some teacups in front of them. The slightly medicinal scent of strong herbs filled the air as she poured.
“I was hoping the book would tell me what he was up to before it happened. We had separated for a short time as we prepared the different forces for our assault.” John shook the journal with an exasperated look. “I knew it the moment he died, but I’ve never known where he was or why he died. Unfortunately he had to choose this accursed thing to write in.”
“It’s been frustrating me too.” Justan said with a frown. “It won’t tell me anything useful. When mother reads it, it’s just Artemus talking about family gossip and recipes. When Locksher reads it, he’s talking about spells and mysteries.
But when I read it, it’s just stories from his childhood!”
The prophet chuckled. “It’s called a ‘living journal’. It was all the rage back when spirit magic use was at its height. I never liked the things myself. Artemus’ mother gave it to him when he was young. I have no idea where she got it, since they had gone out of style by that time. Artemus used it all his life. Wrote in it every day, actually.”
“He used that one book all his life?”
“Yes.” He took off the spectacles and rubbed his eyes. He then took a sip from the teacup Darlan had filled and smiled. “Why thank you, Darlan, that’s lovely.”
Justan looked down at his tea with distaste. He’d never liked tea. The brown liquid swirled slowly in the cup and he could see tiny bits of herb in the bottom. His mother arched an eyebrow at him and he reluctantly took a sip. The hot water scalded his lips and he stifled a grimace. As expected, it just tasted like hot water with leaves in it.
“The journal is enchanted of course,” John said. “Why with the way Artemus wrote, this thing probably contains an entire bookcase full of writings. There is a spirit bound to it. Yes, a deer I think.” He flipped the book over, pursing his lips. “A miserly little doe the way she hoards his entries.”
“Oh,” Darlan said, sipping from her own cup. “So this spirit is deciding what we see.”
“Unfortunately,” the prophet said with a shake of his head. “When these things were created, the idea was that as you kept the journal, the spirit got to know you. It would come to understand your entries and the way you thought. Then when you passed away, your future generations could ask the book questions and the spirit would direct them to the place in your journal that would give them the advice you would have given if you were alive.” He snorted and took another sip. “Unfortunately bound spirits are individuals, each one with their own personalities.”
“Over the last week, it’s just been showing me the same entry over and over again. On every page,” Justan said. “He’s talking about his awakening.”
The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat Page 37