Behemoth (The Jharro Grove Saga Book 6)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Wait, said Squirrel through the bond. Fist turned back to see Darlan approaching him, Squirrel still on her shoulder. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips.

  “So Sarine tells me you are planning to leave for Malaroo right away,” she accused.

  “Yes, Mistress Sher-I mean-Dianne. I want to leave from the Mage School in the morning,” he said, correcting himself. It would take him some time to get used to her new name. “Justan needs me. I know the Council probably doesn’t want me to leave the school as an apprentice, but they can’t really stop me can they?” He looked down at his left palm. “I’m named now.”

  “That’s right, Fist,” said Maryanne in agreement.

  Darlan snorted. “I really don’t give a damn what the rest of the Council thinks. As far as the Bowl is concerned, they should all be calling you master.”

  Fist blinked. “Oh, they don’t have to.”

  “Oh yes they do! I’m sure as hell going to make them!” she insisted. “Now Sarine told me what you needed and I already talked with Faldon about getting together an Academy escort for your journey.”

  “And he was okay with it?”

  “Of course,” she said. “He already has some people in mind. He’ll have them waiting at the gate to the School when you are ready to go.”

  Fist smiled at her. “Thank you, Mistress Dianne. For everything.”

  She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Fist. You don’t have to call me ‘Mistress’ anything anymore. Just . . . call me Darlan. I want the people I love calling me by that name. It feels better that way.”

  “You two gonna kiss again?” said Maryanne.

  Darlan gave her a droll look. “From what I hear, you have that covered.”

  His cheeks coloring, Fist looked back at the pyre where Crag was laughing loudly with one of the other ogres. “I guess I should go and say goodbye to Crag now.”

  “Very well, but go and get Faldon first,” Darlan said. “He wants you there with him when he makes his proposition to your father.”

  Fist looked back at her in surprise. “What proposition?”

  “He thinks it’s time that the Thunder People and the Academy had a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  Chapter Three

  Fist laid down in his old bed at the Mage School with a sigh. It was good to be back in his old room. Even if it was only for one night.

  The trip through the mirror had been harrowing. The shimmering corridor through the world of dreams that connected the two mirrors had felt less substantial than before. The mist came up to Fist’s waist and his feet sank into the floor of the place almost as if it were made of mud.

  More frightening than that had been how thin the barrier between them and the nothingness around them had seemed. Strange shapes had floated around outside as if sensing that the barrier was near collapse. Rufus swore that on more than one occasion he had seen toothy faces in the darkness.

  After making it safely through to the other side, they had gone straight to the dormitories to rest. They had a long journey ahead and sleep was the most important thing. They would finish up any final preparations in the morning.

  Fist’s room was a tight fit for their party. Though the largest of the dormitory rooms, much of the space was taken up by Fist’s oversize bed, his roommate Jezzer’s bed, two desks, and two wardrobes. Rufus, not wanting to sleep in the stables, had shrunk down to the size of a small pony, but still took up most of the floorspace.

  Maryanne was in the second bed. Poor old Jezzer hadn’t had a choice in the matter. They had arrived just as the 65 year old spirit magic user was getting ready for bed and after a brief happy reunion between him and Fist, Maryanne had told him to sleep elsewhere that night. The old man had shuffled off to a friend’s room, reminding them that it was forbidden for a student in the male dorms to have a female staying in his room at night.

  The reminder of those rules had made Fist uncomfortable, but when he had said so Maryanne had just snorted at him and flopped onto Jezzer’s bed. The bed wasn’t made for a seven and a half foot gnome, but she didn’t seem to care. She was snoring away, lying on her belly, both legs dangling off of the end of the mattress.

  Sighing, Fist closed his eyes and enjoyed the comfort of his feather-stuffed bed. His exhaustion caught up with him quickly and he would have fallen right asleep, but there was something much more important to do. He reached his thoughts into the bond and through his connection to Justan.

  Communicating through the bond at a long distance meant that both individuals had to be completely focused on the connection. This meant that they had to be lying still and relaxed and the sheer distance between them made it difficult to coordinate the time correctly. The end result was that when Fist was ready to talk it often took a while for Justan to get in a situation where they could become in sync.

  This time he didn’t have to wait at all. The moment he reached his thoughts into the bond, Justan grasped hold of Fist and pulled him the rest of the way through. Fist found himself standing in the soft white room that represented Justan’s side of the bond. Justan was standing there, alongside images of Deathclaw, Gwyrtha, and Artemus. It felt real, as if they were all tangible.

  “That was fast,” Fist said and was surprised when it sounded as if he were truly standing right in front of them.

  Deathclaw let out a snort. “We have been waiting.”

  “So!” said Justan, wearing a grin. “What do we call you now?”

  “What?” Fist asked.

  “We know you’re named now,” Justan said.

  Fist had so many things to tell them that he hadn’t thought to start off with that part. “How did you know about that?”

  “I felt it the moment it happened,” Justan replied. “Like a shockwave through the bond.”

  “Tell us. How did such a thing come to be?” Deathclaw asked in an almost accusing tone.

  You are supposed to be in the mountains, Gwyrtha agreed.

  “And yet, you are not,” added Deathclaw.

  “You are a lot closer to us right now than you were when we talked last night,” said Justan. “The connection is easier to maintain and I was able to bring your thoughts here fully.”

  “Oh. That’s because I’m at the Mage School right now,” Fist explained.

  “How did you achieve this?” Deathclaw pressed.

  “Let him start with the naming,” Justan said, the smile still on his face. “What is it?”

  Artemus cleared his throat and said in a dusty tone. “Now-now. Give him a moment to reply.”

  Fist grinned back at them, encouraged by their enthusiasm. “Well, my name is still just Fist.”

  “The Bowl let you keep your name?” Justan exclaimed, letting out a laugh of delight. “How did you pull that off?”

  Fist shrugged. “It just sort of happened that way.”

  Artemus stepped closer. The old wizard was dressed in light blue robes that glittered with frost and gold thread. His thick brown hair was only lightly streaked with gray and he wore a short beard that was thick across his chin, but left his lips bare. His skin had a slight blue tint.

  “May I see your rune?” he asked.

  “Maybe I can send the memory, but I can’t . . .” Fist looked down in surprise, realizing for the first time that his mental form looked just like his physical body. He was wearing his breastplate and harness, his mace attached to the back.

  This was new. In the past the distance had been so great that all Justan was able to achieve in this place was giving him sort of a cloudy face in the wall. Being three weeks journey closer must make this distinctly easier. That or Justan was just getting better at this.

  “I guess I can,” Fist said. He held out his left hand, palm up and saw his naming rune represented in great detail.

  Justan’s eyes widened. “On your left hand?”

  “Fist is a wizard’s name?” Deathclaw scoffed.

  “And why wouldn’t it be? He uses magic, doesn’t he?” Artemus asked
, raising one frosty eyebrow.

  I like it, Gwyrtha said. It is a good name.

  “But it doesn’t sound like the names the Bowl gives to wizards,” Justan said.

  “That is a common misconception. Yes, there are two types of names. Some are seemingly commonplace words. Others are the names of ancient people of note. But either type can be given to warrior or wizard. Why in my day, I knew a Mistress Blade and a Master Spur that were wizards and a Sir Ben and a Sar Katrina that were warriors.”

  That said, Artemus grasped Fist’s hand in his and examined the rune closer. Fist knew that he wasn’t being touched directly. This was just a communication between minds. However, to Fist’s mind, the wizard’s fingers were icy cold.

  Artemus nodded slowly. “Fist. That is indeed the gist of it.”

  “You can read naming runes?” Justan said.

  “Certainly. I studied the subject extensively after I was named. The runes are written in an ancient written language. Instead of the letters we use now, they used a symbols to represent whole words.” He motioned Justan closer and showed him the rune on Fist’s palm. “This here is the ancient symbol of the hand, fingers down, crossed with the symbol for spirit.”

  “Spirit?” Fist said.

  “Yes. This could be most directly translated as Ghost Fist.”

  Ghost Fist? Gwyrtha said in amusement and Deathclaw let out a short laugh.

  Fist frowned at the raptoid. “The Bowl just said Fist.”

  Artemus chuckled. “Well, that’s accurate too. In the old language when they overlaid symbols the heavy symbol is the root word while the secondary symbol specifies its purpose. The ancient symbol for spirit is nearly identical to the symbol for magic. So it could also be translated as the Fist of Spirit or the Fist of Magic.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a very precise language,” Justan said.

  “In actuality it is extremely precise,” said Artemus. “If you lived at the time and grew up with it, the nuances would be plainly evident to you. Unfortunately, my understanding comes from scholarly texts and is thus only as complete as the understanding of the persons who wrote them.”

  The wizard reached for Justan’s hands and turned them so that both runes were facing up. “Your runes are a combination of the symbols for magic and physical strength laid side by side.”

  Fist leaned over to get a closer look. The two symbols fit together like two parts of one whole. He realized that the symbol for magic on his rune was the same as the magic half of Justan’s rune.

  Artemus continued, “You will note, however, that the bold part of the rune is the line between the symbols.”

  Justan nodded, remembering the Prophet’s words to him long ago in the Mage School Gardens. “The edge of might and magic,” he quoted.

  “An accurate way of saying it,” Artemus agreed. “And, as with Fist’s, the symbol for magic could be used to convey spirit. In fact . . .” He looked closer. “Have you noticed the difference between the two runes?”

  “Yeah,” said Justan. He had spent countless hours staring at them since his naming. “On my right hand the symbol that you say means magic or spirit is shaded differently than the other. It’s the same way on my swords. The symbol on Peace matches my left hand while-.”

  Deathclaw let out a loud yawn. “Is this all you are going to speak of? Fist still has not told us how he arrived at the Mage School.”

  “No need for rudeness,” Artemus huffed, his expression injured.

  “No. He’s right. We can discuss this more later,” Justan said.

  Fist, who was fascinated by what Artemus had to say, blinked as he remembered how much he had left to tell. “Oh. Uh, Head Wizard Valtrek sent his mirror up to the mountains in one of the wagons Lenny rode up on.”

  Justan’s eyes widened in understanding. “So that was his secret weapon.”

  “Yes,” said Fist. “A bunch of wizards and fighters from the Academy came through to help in the battle and your mom grabbed me and made me go back through to the Mage School with her. She is the one who took me up to the Bowl.”

  Fist smiled again as he got to impart this next bit of news. “She was named too.”

  “My mother?” Justan’s jaw dropped. He leaned forward eagerly. “Show me. Show me everything.”

  Fist readily obliged and the gathering of bonded changed somewhat. Everyone was quiet and focused as Fist sent Justan a torrent of memories and Justan left his mind completely open so that the others could absorb the knowledge.

  Each of them experienced Fist’s naming, the battle with the Priestess of War, and Lyramoor’s funeral. It had been a long day of discover and battle and victory and sadness. No one spoke until he was finished.

  Poor Lyramoor, said Gwyrtha.

  “A worthy member of his pack,” Deathclaw agreed.

  Justan gave Fist a firm embrace. “I am proud of you, Fist. I am sorry I was not able to be there to aid you.”

  “I applaud your victory over such a dangerous foe,” Deathclaw added, which Fist knew was high praise coming from him.

  Yes. Good job, Fist, Gwyrtha agreed, coming up to give him an affectionate nudge. We love you.

  Fist laughed and patted her head. “I love you too, Gwyrtha. I am coming to join you soon. Me and Squirrel and Rufus and Maryanne. We leave in the morning.”

  “I look forward to seeing you in the flesh!” Justan said. “How did your father take the news of your leaving?”

  Fist hadn’t shown them his memories of that part of the evening. Some of his feelings had not been ones he wanted everyone to experience. “Crag was not happy that I was leaving so soon, but he had come to understand that I would not stay.”

  “Did he require payment for the ogre Lyramoor killed?” Deathclaw asked.

  “It did come up,” Fist said. He had been hoping that the ogres had forgotten about that, but it had been one of the first things Crag had brought up when Fist informed him that he was leaving. “But Justan’s father had an idea that solved that problem. He is going to establish a new Academy outpost in Thunder Gap. He promised the Thunder People that if they would help defend the gap, the Academy men would also help them with their defenses if they should be attacked.”

  Fist didn’t bother adding that Crag had insisted these men know how to cook.

  “Very smart,” said Deathclaw approvingly. “When the Dark Prophet’s armies rise again, we shall have the ogres on our side.”

  “It’s a good start anyway,” Justan said.

  Fist looked to Artemus. The wizard was quiet. He stared down at the cloudy whiteness of the floor as he stroked his beard, likely dwelling on Fist’s memories of Sarine and his dagger.

  “I am bringing your dagger back to you,” the ogre promised.

  The wizard looked up at him and for a moment Fist saw the beady red eyes of the Scralag looking back at him. Then Artemus blinked and his eyes returned to their icy blue. He forced a smile. “Yes. I should thank you, Fist. I was so deep in thought, I . . . Thank you for destroying the one who killed me and thank you for retrieving Whisper.”

  “Have you been able to remember what happened?” Justan asked the wizard.

  “When I saw Cassandra’s wicked face in Fist’s memories it came back to me.” He lifted his hands and Fist could see that his nails were lengthening, darkening to black. “The Dark Prophet sent her, you understand. He had heard of John’s prophecy and wanted me destroyed. She taunted me with that fact before she crushed me.”

  “Fight it, Artemus,” Justan said. “Keep the Scralag at bay.”

  “I must leave for a time and think on this.” The wizard licked his lips and looked to Fist. “If you see Begazzi again, tell her that you showed me her face. Tell her I said she is beautiful as ever.”

  “I will,” Fist said and the wizard was gone.

  Justan glanced after him worriedly. “He is getting better.”

  “You are helping him. One day he shall be free of that thing,” Deathclaw said confidently.

&nb
sp; “I hope so,” Justan replied, his voice not as certain as the raptoid’s. He returned his attention to Fist. “Did father arrange an escort to get you to Malaroo?”

  “He says that he already has some people in mind,” said Fist. “They should be here in the morning when it’s time to leave. “

  “There may be a problem,” Justan said. “An Academy escort will get you safely to the border, but that’s not going to get you inside. There is no way that Roo-Tan guards will let you into the country.”

  “You can’t get us permission?” Fist said, surprised.

  Justan sighed. “I am not in Roo-Tan’lan right now and getting a message to Xedrion could be difficult. When I do see him, he may not be too happy with me either.”

  “That’s right. You were going to meet with the Stranger,” Fist remembered. With all that he had gone through, he had forgotten what Justan was supposed to do that day. “What happened?”

  “The Stranger brought us to the Gnome Warlord,” Deathclaw hissed.

  “Is everything okay?” Fist said slowly.

  “We’ve been put in a difficult position,” Justan replied. He sent Fist his memories of his meeting with the Stranger and Aloysius and, though he couldn’t share the lifetime of experiences he had gleaned from the gnome as they were a bit of a blur in his own mind, he let Fist understand the gist of what he had come to understand.

  “Then . . . he was guilty of all those things,” Fist said, appalled.

  Justan nodded grimly. “And yet, we need him. I have to find a way to get Xedrion to listen to him. If we can’t get the Roo-Tan and Mer-Dan to work together we may lose everything.”

  “I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Fist promised. “We’ll sneak across the border if we have to.”

  “That may be the best plan,” Deathclaw agreed.

  “No,” said Justan. “Not unless there is no other way. If you sneak across and are caught they will try to kill you.” He chewed his lip. “We have time. It’s a week’s journey from the Mage School to the border. This problem with Aloysius and Xedrion could be all sorted out by the time you arrive. If not, I will figure something out. We’ll have a plan together before you get here.”