“Your timing was perfect,” Justan said.
“An advantage of being in tune with my master,” Matthew said without looking up from the piece of wood. It wasn’t clear what the starting shape of the wood had been, but he had rounded off any hard edges, making it vaguely spherical. “I have come to tell you that we are leaving today. Warlord Aloysius received word that the Mer-Dan representatives are prepared to travel upon his signal.”
One of the first things Justan had told the Warlord when he had agreed to help him with the Protector of the Grove was that they would need to arrive in Roo-Tan’lan as quietly as possible. That meant he could not come with an army. He could bring a small number of guards and servants, but that was it.
This was a risky measure since Aloysius would be putting his life into Xedrion’s hands, but not only would a smaller group be able to keep themselves hidden longer, this would show that they did not pose a threat. In addition, Justan felt it was crucial that they catch the Protector off guard. Xedrion tended to undergo long planning sessions in preparation for such things and it would be to their advantage if he had to react without taking the time to listen to the volatile house heads first.
The plan was for them to travel until they were just a few hours ride from Roo-Tan’lan and then Justan would ride ahead to announce their arrival. If all worked as planned, Xedrion would agree to renegotiate the treaty and the Mer-Dan representative could be brought in.
“And Aloysius sent you to tell me this?” Justan said, slightly irritated by the gnome’s constant reminders of his authority.
Despite his intimate understanding of the reasons for the gnome’s past and personality Justan couldn’t help but feel frustration at his constant need for manipulation. How better to remind your allies of your superiority than to send one of the world’s most powerful people as your messenger?
“He did suggest it, but I wasn’t compelled,” Matthew replied. Aloysius had removed the sword from his back, which meant that he has no longer forced to do the gnome’s bidding, but Justan was well aware that Matthew had agreed to continue to follow his directions in most things. “I came here because I have received a revelation.”
“And this revelation involves me?” Justan asked.
“Indirectly, yes,” Matthew said, taking steady puffs from his pipe while continuing to round off the piece of wood. “I had a very strong feeling that something important has occurred. I am not sure what it is, but we must make a detour to my old home beneath the waterfall before we continue on to Roo-Tan’lan. I already spoke with Warlord Aloysius about it.”
“Okay,” said Justan, uncertain at first what this had to do with him. “Is this important thing good or bad?”
Matthew shrugged. “These kinds of promptings are rarely ‘good news’, but I won’t know until we get there.”
Then Justan understood. “How long will this delay our arrival in Roo-Tan’lan?”
“It means at least two extra days of travel time and maybe more depending on what we find when we get to my home,” the Stranger replied and glanced into Justan’s eyes, gauging his response.
Justan sighed. This meant that Fist and his Academy escort would arrive at the border before he had the chance to speak with Xedrion about it. “Then I guess I will need to have Fist wait near the border until I can manage to arrange for his passage.”
“Eh,” said the Stranger. He blew some shavings off of his hand before continuing his work. “I don’t feel like that would be best thing.”
Justan raised an eyebrow. “Another revelation from the Creator?”
Matthew chuckled. “Not everything’s a revelation. The Creator isn’t busy focusing on every moment in everyone’s lives at all times. If it’s something pivotal He takes notice, but on the day-to-day stuff, it’s more subtle. Call it a prompting if you will.”
He makes no sense, Deathclaw observed.
“If He’s not paying attention how can He prompt you?” Justan wondered.
“Describing the Creator’s ways is never a simple thing. Just a second.” Matthew slid the knife into his belt for a moment and pulled the pipe out of his mouth. He peered into the end, then turned it over and tapped out the ashes before storing it back in his robes. He then pulled the knife back out and began carving again.
“The Creator’s mind is set on the big things. Trust me. I’ve just glimpses of it and . . . I’ll just stay it’s stuff that we can’t comprehend. Now, while He’s focused on those big things, He still cares about what’s going on down here. So a part of Him lingers. It’s like a torrent of thought that blankets our world.”
Justan blinked at him. “A torrent of thought?”
“It might be easier if you think of it like a spell He’s cast,” Matthew said. “You can’t see it or sense it normally, but it permeates everything. This spell is attuned to His will. Those of us who He has marked as His servants can access that spell from time to time. It’s not a conscious thing. Not usually. But as we are His tools to influence this world, it will occasionally reach out and give us a nudge.”
Justan rubbed his chin. “That doesn’t exactly explain the way John described how he knows what to do.”
Mathew snorted. “John’s a special case. He always was the one in highest favor. He is so attuned with our master’s thoughts that he’s guided in everything he does. For me it’s always been the odd prompting or sudden bit of understanding into those around me. For others . . .” He looked at Justan. “It’s dreams.”
“You know about the dreams?” Justan asked.
He shrugged. “You’re twice-named. An enormously talented bonding wizard. You’re high in His favor. I’d be surprised if you weren’t having them.”
“They can be pretty awful,” Justan said with a frown. “Those come from Him?”
“Not always. But sometimes they come from your mind accessing that spell. Think back to what I said,” Matthew replied, blowing shavings away again. That piece of wood was now close to a perfect sphere. “His thoughts aren’t something you can process directly. When you have one of those special dreams, what you are experiencing is your mind’s attempt to translate those thoughts. What a human mind comes up with is not always pleasant.”
“Okay,” Justan said, finding all of this insight a bit of an overload.
A chill voice blew through the bond. You have gotten away from the point.
It was the first Justan had heard from the wizard this morning. You have been paying attention?
Since Matthew’s arrival, Artemus replied. His presence awoke me but I saw no reason to interrupt until now.
“So this ‘spell’,” Justan said to the Stranger. “It tells you that I shouldn’t have Fist wait at the border?”
“It’s a feeling I have,” Matthew said. “A subtle one.”
Justan sighed heavily and looked down at the Jharro ring on his finger. “If only there was a way for me to get a message to Jhonate. I don’t dare send-.”
There was a sudden thud as Deathclaw leapt down from the tree above them. “I can go. I will deliver the message and return swiftly.”
Another thud came as Talon came down to join him. “I sshall go as well.”
Justan hadn’t even known she was up there. He shook his head. “Deathclaw is known to the Roo-Tan, but you would cause a panic.”
“They would not ssee me,” Talon declared.
“No,” Justan told her. “Anyway, the path is too dangerous for both of you. Once you get away from the protection of this island the behemoth will be able to sense you. It could strike at any time.”
“Then I will avoid it,” Deathclaw said. “As I did that day in the valley. And if it gets too close, I have Star.”
“And set the whole swamp on fire?” both Justan and Artemus said at the same time.
Deathclaw’s shoulders slumped and he suggested with loathing in his voice, “I could take the gorc.”
“Yess,” Talon said.
“No,” said Matthew curtly. “I will need Du
rza with us here. And as much as you would like to join your brother on his journey, I think it best that you stay.”
Talon let out a low grumbling hiss.
“However, Sir Edge,” the Stranger continued. “I do think that sending Deathclaw is the right idea.”
“How do you suggest we go about that then?” Justan asked.
Matthew lifted the wooden sphere. “I’m working on it. It will take me some time to imbue it with the right magic, but by tonight it should be enough to protect him on the way to Roo-Tan’lan and back to us.”
Of course, Artemus said with a chuckle. How droll of him.
“You knew this was going to happen?” Justan said. “Why didn’t you just say so at the beginning. ‘Here. I’m whittling this ball to protect Deathclaw so that he can travel through the swamp without being attacked.’”
The Stranger’s brow wrinkled in amusement. “When I woke this morning I just felt like whittling. A perfect sphere is a fun little challenge. Its purpose didn’t occur to me until a short time ago.”
A short time later, the tents were packed up and loaded onto interesting types of canoes that Justan had never seen before. A Merman invention, they were flat-bottomed and maneuverable with narrow spoked wheels at the front and back so that they could be used on water or on land. These canoes weren’t paddled, but were pulled through the swamp by teams of soldiers with ropes. The Gnome Warlord’s stewards rode in similar boats.
As for Aloysius himself, he eschewed the canoes and sat on a covered palanquin carried by kobalds. As the sturdy demons carried him aloft, using their innate abilities with water and earth magic to keep their footing steady and thus keep his ride smooth, he sat in a plush chair free from the direct rays of the sun and read from a book.
Look at that gnome, Artemus said with a chortle. He rides the backs of demons and orders them about and they do it of their own free will! They don’t so much as complain.
Justan could see why the old wizard found that amusing. Unfortunately, he was stuck in a similar position himself. He was a human with a goblinoid clinging to his back. A smelly gorc. A talkative one.
“I like riding behind you, Mister Sir Edge,” Durza had said that morning when he was climbing onto Gwyrtha’s back. “You gots a nice sturdy Gertha to ride so my feets don’t get wet and a nice strong back to hold onto if I need to. And you don’t complain so much about my perfoom.”
He had been about to refuse her request until she had leaned forward and added with a conspiratorial whisper, “And you’s not mean to me like all the others.”
They had left the thull village to waves from the tall and gentle beasts, then set out through the swamps at what Justan felt was a far too leisurely pace. For all of the utility of those flat-bottomed boats, they still had to be led around common obstacles like stumps and logs. The kobalds were able to counter some such problems with their magic, but every such instance was a delay.
To Justan, the ride was misery. He worried over what would happen when Deathclaw delivered his message and the whole time his nostrils were filled with the acrid stench of Durza’s ‘perfoom’. At least she was able to use her bewitching magic to keep all of the annoying insects away.
It wasn’t until the hottest part of the afternoon that Artemus suggested Justan use his ability to reach through the bond and let his sword Peace take his discomfort away. He could have punched himself for not thinking of it on his own. After that the journey wasn’t so bad.
Deathclaw and Talon walked close by, Deathclaw wearing his sword sheath and bandoleer of throwing knives and Talon wearing the black robes that helped suppress her wilder emotions. They spoke to each other partially in the common tongue and partially in the raptoid language of chirps and hisses.
Justan’s magic had not fixed everything that was wrong with Talon. The jumble of new memories and emotions in her mind often led her to fits of sobbing remorse and self-hatred. But Deathclaw had slowly come to understand that her new ability to feel compassion meant that his sister, despite her previous life of evil, had a possibility of redemption.
That night as they set up their camp on a series of grassy knolls, Justan and Deathclaw were approached by the Stranger. Matthew had spent his day in one of the boats with the stewards, working on that wooden sphere.
“Here it is,” he said, holding it out to the raptoid. “This should keep the Troll Mother from attacking.”
The wooden ball was indeed perfectly round as far as Justan could see. The carving was so fine he couldn’t see any blade marks. To his spirit sight it gave off an intense white glow. He could feel the bewitching magic pushing at the edge of the bond.
Deathclaw took the sphere from the Stranger’s hand. “You managed this with a knife only?”
“I’ve had thousands of years to practice,” Matthew replied. “Also I cheated. I had an imp use air magic to polish it for me.”
“But how does it hold the magic?” Justan wondered. “There are no runes that I can see.”
“Not that you can see,” the stranger agreed. He reached out to clasp the raptoid’s shoulder. “Good journey to you, Deathclaw. I am going back to the demons’ camp. One of the imps managed to kill a boar and I will not let them attempt to cook it on their own. They know nothing of spices.”
“Stranger,” Deathclaw said, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I would ask something of you before I go.”
“Yes?” Matthew replied
“It is about Star. When we first met, you said you knew it. You said you knew its . . . purpose.”
Mathew looked towards the demon’s camp with mild anxiety, but sighed and turned back to Deathclaw. “It is a tale that you need to hear, I suppose.”
The ancient man reached into his pocket and pulled out his pipe. He stuffed it with tobacco and somehow lit it with his finger. Then he took a long draw.
“Star was made long ago. It was the time of the Troll Queen. Mellinda had taken a group of thulls back to her palace in Razbeck. Do you know how she turned those thulls into the trolls we have today?”
“The bonding wizard Stolz told me,” Deathclaw replied.
“Yes, well, the process was torturous and horrific for those thulls. She tortured and modified them for months until she had the end product she wanted; soulless monsters that were easily controlled by bewitching magic,” Matthew said. “The creation of the first troll behemoth, the one that became known as the Troll Mother, was quite accidental, but she used it to farm an army of trolls.
“Mellinda took her horde of trolls into Malaroo and while she was off waging her war it had grew quite quiet back at her palace in Razbeck. After a time, the compulsion she had over her servants began to fade. One of them was a gnome scholar by the name of Bonadess. He had once been well respected and from a high house, which was of course why she had chosen him. Scholar Bonadess’ specialty, you see, was the study of binding magic.
“Upon realizing what Mellinda had done with him, his first thought was to flee. However, Bonadess was not a coward and he had horrific memories of the evil bindings that woman had made him do. He also knew of the creation of the trolls and the scourge that they would be on the world and he became determined to do something about it. This became Bonadess’ new focus in life and he bent all of his considerable knowledge on the task.”
Matthew paused the tale to look back at the demon camp again.
“Do not stop, ” Deathclaw pressed. “What of Star’s creation?”
Matthew smiled. “Old Bonadess had an idea that he thought most poetic and it was an idea that fell right in line with his old studies. You see, one of the demeaning duties Mellinda had enjoyed forcing the scholar to do was muck out the cages of the thulls she had experimented on. All of the poor creatures had been destroyed in the process of creating the trolls. All of them but one.
“That one thull that remained was a sad tortured thing. Its body had become so deformed during her processes that she had cast it aside, forgetting about it while its soul was stil
l intact. But Bonadess remembered. He came to the thull and used his minor bonding magic skill to communicate with it. He sympathized with its pain and with its anger at what had been done to its fellows and, sadly, its mate.”
Poor thull, said Gwrtha.
Matthew nodded his head at her. “Bonadess had a sword forged by Mellinda’s own weaponsmakers. He had it made with a very specific power. In honor of the thulls and their worship of the lights in the night sky, he called it Star and had it runed with a fire that burned brightest at night.
“Then one evening he went again to that tortured thull. He brought it out of its cage, dragged it out under the stars, and told it of his plans. He wanted this sword to become a powerful weapon against Mellinda. It would be a troll slayer. Made specifically to destroy the abomination that was the behemoth. Bonadess felt it would be most poetic if the sword was powered by the soul of the thull whose mate had been turned into the Troll Mother by Mellinda.”
“That thull’s mate was the Troll Mother?” Justan said in shock.
“In a sense it was,” Matthew qualified. “Mellinda had torn Star’s mate’s soul into thousands of pieces until what remained of its original body mutated into the Troll Mother.”
“I hatess her sso much,” Talon hissed, her eyes streaming with tears.
Matthew placed a comforting hand on her head. “The tortured thull, its eyes full of the stars agreed to Bonadess’ wishes. Bonadess slew the thull with the sword, then ate of its flesh and placed one of its teeth inside the hilt. He gave this newly bound weapon to a warrior whose family had been killed by Mellinda’s trolls and . . .”
He reached up and scratched his head. “To tell you the truth, I never heard what happened to that warrior. He was a human, not one of my races, and he never accomplished anything with the sword. I know that Star was passed around quite a bit after that, rarely used in the way it was purposed.” He looked to Deathclaw. “But I think that has changed in your hands.”
Deathclaw had drawn the sword and was holding it in his hands, looking at the stars reflected in its polished blade. “Star was made to kill the Troll Mother.”
Behemoth (The Jharro Grove Saga Book 6) Page 15