And me! said Squirrel, leaping up onto Justan’s shoulder.
“No,” said Fist and both Squirrel and Rufus faded from the room as the ogre sent them away.
Gwyrtha looked over at them and before fading away, said in a disappointed voice, I’ll leave too, then.
Thank you, Gwyrtha, Justan sent.
“Can you make sure no one is listening in, Justan?” Fist said. “Deathclaw likes to listen secretly sometimes.”
“Of course,” Justan said, wondering what could possibly be so private that Fist didn’t want the others to know. He closed off the bond to the others, discovering that Deathclaw had indeed left his part of the bond open just enough that he could hear what was said. Then he turned his full attention to the ogre. “What is it, Fist?”
The ogre’s face took on a pained expression as he said, “Um, I think I’m going to be a father.”
Justan’s jaw dropped. “You . . . and Maryanne? . . . What?”
Fist nodded. “I know! It’s strange. We didn’t think it could happen, but Maryanne says it has. Or she’s pretty sure it has.”
Justan’s brow furrowed. An ogre and a gnome. Who would have even thought they were compatible? “But . . . you two haven’t been together very long. How long has it been since you . . ? You know.”
“The first time?” Fist said, his cheeks coloring. “A bit more than a month. I think.”
“Then isn’t this a bit early to know that kind of thing?” Justan asked.
“Not for a gnome. Or at least that’s what Maryanne says,” Fist replied awkwardly. “Today she really wanted to eat fish and then she went and looked at her belly button and saw that there was a red mark. She says those are two signs that let a gnome know they’re pregnant.”
“Fish and a red mark?” Justan said.
The ogre shrugged helplessly. “That’s what she says. If it gets bigger, she’ll know for sure.” He blinked. “The red mark. Not the fish.”
Justan laughed. “Of course not the fish.” He’d never seen Fist so flustered. “Well, congratulations! That’s great news! Right? Isn’t it?”
Fist’s face alternated from grin to grimace. “Yes! Or no. What if it gets too big for her? Maryanne’s almost as tall as me, but ogres are . . . Wide.”
Justan reached out and grasped his arm. “Vannya’s here in Roo-Tan’lan. She can look at her. And so can Beth. She has a lot of experience with this sort of thing. If we need to we can get her back to the Mage School. We will do whatever we need to. She will be okay.”
Fist nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Justan. That helps me feel better.”
“You should feel better than better,” Justan said with enthusiasm. He shook the ogre’s arm. “You are going to be a father, Fist! I don’t know a single person who would be better at it than you.”
A smile spread across Fist’s wide mouth. “Really?”
“Really!” said Justan. “You’ll be fantastic!”
“You’ll help me? When I don’t know what to do?” Fist asked.
“Of course!” Justan assured him. “And not just me. You have the whole Big and Little People tribe who will be happy to help. And Maryanne has her bonded as well. Has she had the chance to tell Sarine yet?”
Fist’s smile faded. “Maryanne does not want to tell her. Not yet. She told me not to tell anyone either so you can’t say anything to her when you see her. I just couldn’t . . . not tell you.”
“Thank you, Fist,” Justan said. “I’ll keep your secret.”
“Even from Deathclaw?” Fist said.
“You can tell him when you’re ready,” Justan said.
The ogre sighed. “Okay. And it still might not be real. Maybe it is just a red dot and maybe Maryanne just wanted to eat fish. I didn’t think it sounded like a very good system when she explained it to me.”
“Who knows?” said Justan. “But everything will be fine either way.”
Fist embraced him. “Good night, Justan.”
“Good night, Fist.”
Justan awoke just as the sky was lightening with the dawn. He quickly dressed and rolled up his bedroll. When he lifted the bundle, Gwyrtha was already at his side, instantly ready as usual. Good morning, girl.
Ready to ride, Justan? she asked, excited by the knowledge that she had a good run ahead of her that day.
Just about, he said as he tied the bedroll behind her saddle. I need to speak to Aloysius and Matthew before we leave. Anything to report, Deathclaw?
Nothing, sent the raptoid from a treetop perch not far from the camp. He and Talon had patrolled the area during the night to make sure that there was no way they’d been followed. Are you certain you want me to stay behind?
Certain, Justan replied. It was crucial, in fact. Deathclaw needed to remain with Aloysius’ group in case something happened when Justan got to Roo-Tan’lan and the plan needed to be changed. If the worst case scenario happened and Xedrion decided to attack, the Warlord could flee back to the swamps.
They had stopped for the night in a copse of tall magnolia trees to reduce visibility from the road and Justan had to weave his way around the trees as he made his way through the encampment. He passed the morning cook fires of the sleepy-eyed Roo-Dan and demon troops before arriving at the Warlord’s tent. Justan had wanted everyone to sleep in the open that night so that they would be ready to move at a moment’s notice, but sleeping exposed to the elements was a concession Aloysius had refused to make.
He approached the small group of white-robed stewards that were cooking breakfast outside the tent. He spoke to one of the green-sashed stewards. “Tell me, how do you first know when a gnome is pregnant.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Um, she usually starts asking for fish and a red discoloration appears on her navel. It can happen any time within the first three weeks after conception.”
“Fish and a red mark,” another steward, an old woman, agreed. “Why do you ask, young man?”
“Just wondered,” Justan replied. “Is Warlord Aloysius awake?”
“We just brought him his morning tea,” said a steward with a black sash Justan recognized as Farette. She gave him a firm look. “You can see him after he has had his breakfast.”
“Thank you, but I’ll see him now,” Justan said and strolled past them to the tent. Farette shouted at him in outrage, but the two guards posted on either side of the tent flap didn’t bother to try and stop him.
Justan pushed inside to see Aloysius sitting at his table in front of a gaudy silver tea set. His red-sashed steward Oliver sat in a chair to the side, polishing a sword while Matthew sat on the other side of the table, puffing on his pipe.
“You’re not supposed to just barge in,” said Oliver with a glare.
Justan ignored him. “Good morning to you, Warlord. I am ready to leave for Roo-Tan’lan. Last night one of your stewards told me that you wanted me to come and see you before I leave.”
“Ah, yes,” said the Warlord casually. Aloysius was clad in his regal suit of black chainmail armor and was wearing the silver circlet on his brow that protected him from spirit magic attack. He placed his teacup down on the table and peered at Justan over steepled fingers. “After taking time to consider the variables, I have decided to make a slight adjustment to your plan.”
Justan frowned. “With all due respect, I don’t believe we have time for adjustments.”
“This adjustment will take no time at all. In fact, it will reduce time,” the gnome replied. “You will go ahead as planned and tell the Protector that I am approaching to discuss an adjusted treaty. However, I have decided it is best that we not wait here for you to signal your bonded dragon before we move ahead. Instead, we will wait two hours and begin our march.”
“For what purpose?” Justan asked. “If your approach is seen before I have explained the situation, it might be seen as an attack.”
“You will be on a rogue horse while we will be afoot. Your sudden arrival will get you in to see the Protector quickly. I foresee no issue,” Aloysius
said. He raised a hand before Justan could retort. “Please take no offense at my change. You have a fine strategic mind, Sir Edge, and your plan is a sound one. However, it is a bit on the cautious side.”
Justan’s hands clenched, but he kept his voice even. “There is reason for my caution. I do not know for certain what Xedrion’s response will be. There is a possibility that he will decide to capture you and if he does so you will need the time to make your escape.”
“The possibility you speak of is a slim one,” Aloysius declared. “I know of the Protector’s stern reputation, but I took his measure on the day of the treaty and he is far too level headed to incite a war when the threat of the behemoth is looming over us. Not while our approaching force is too small to be a threat.”
“The possibility may be slim, but why take the risk?” Justan argued. “What does it gain you?”
“True strategy, Sir Edge, is all about positioning,” the gnome said with an arrogant wave of his hand. “You were right when you decided that the best course of action was to off-balance the Protector by pushing him to make his decision quickly without the torrent of meetings he is so fond of. What I am doing by making my move sooner is forcing his hand. If we time this correctly, by the time you tell him of our approach, his scouts will be reporting in.”
“Xedrion does not like to be forced,” Justan said. “And after the way you tried to force his action at the treaty signing, he will be even quicker to anger.”
Aloysius inclined his head. “I was wrong in the way I handled the treaty last time and I will freely admit the fact to him when we are face-to-face. The difference today is that I am not forcing him with hostages or a mighty army. The only tool I am using is the simple element of surprise.”
“And you are losing the possibility of escape,” Justan said.
“I will not need it,” Aloysius said with a tone of finality.
Justan looked to Matthew. “You have nothing to say?”
The Stranger blew out a perfect ring of smoke. “Oh, I already had my say when he told me about this last night. He won the argument.”
“He is the Gnome Warlord,” Oliver said. “He always wins the argument.”
Aloysius picked up his tea cup and took another sip.
Justan let out a slow sigh. “Then I’d better get started.”
Fuming, he left the tent. He was so bothered by the Warlord’s casual change to his plan that he made several steps before he realized that the guards had been missing from their posts at the tent entrance.
He looked back at the stewards, all of whom were at the fire side chatting away at each other as if nothing was amiss. “Steward Farette, where are the guards?”
Farette didn’t reply, continuing to chatter on, but one of the other stewards gave him a smile and said, “They went to pee. They’ll be right back.”
Justan continued on his way, but something about the situation felt strange. He had never heard a steward use such casual language before. And why would both guards leave to urinate at the same time?
He stopped in his tracks and switched to spirit sight. He looked back at the stewards, but saw no signs of bewitching magic. Still, the stewards were acting oddly cheery. He looked across the encampment and saw similar scenes at each fire. People were having pleasant conversation.
He reached out to Deathclaw and Gwyrtha. Do you sense anything strange?
No, replied the raptoid, still at his perch in the treetops. What have you noticed?
No, said Gwyrtha happily and Justan realized that she was running swiftly away down the road to Roo-Tan’lan. She thought he was riding her back.
“Oh no,” Justan said. Gwyrtha, come back! It’s Esmine!
Deathclaw hissed. Illusions!
Justan turned and ran back towards the Aloysius’ tent. “Everyone! We are under atta-!”
He hadn’t seen the tree trunk in front of him. Justan ran into it face-first with a mind-numbing thud. He felt a series of pops in his neck and collapsed to the ground, his vision swimming and his ears ringing. The spell of illusion was momentarily broken.
The calm campfire chatting had been a facade. The encampment was in chaos. People ran in all directions, some of them flailing with weapons at imagined enemies. Others screamed incoherently.
Justan! I’m coming! Gwyrtha sent as she felt his pain through the bond.
Justan wheezed as he tried to blink his vision clear. He tasted blood and his teeth felt loose in his mouth. An elf child appeared next to him, looking down at him in disapproval.
“Why are you here with the enemy?” she asked.
Justan rolled to his knees. “Not . . . the enemy.”
“He is a monster!” Esmine insisted.
Justan grasped Peace’s hilt and the pain and disorientation was sucked away. Somehow they had made a mistake. They must have been seen. “Esmine, how far away is the army?”
The elf child snorted. “We don’t need any army.”
“It’s just Tarah then? Alone?” He blinked in understanding. She had tracked Deathclaw and Talon.
“You better not try to stop her,” Esmine warned him.
Justan swallowed as he realized what was happening. He stood shakily to his feet. “Esmine. Please listen. Tarah can’t kill Aloysius.”
“Oh yes she can,” she said with a glare. “He killed me.”
“Yes. He did,” Justan said. “I know. But we need him. Otherwise we can’t win the war.”
Esmine’s lip curled in a snarl. “So you are with the enemy.”
“I . . . no. He’s really not the enemy, Esmine,” Justan said. “Not anymore.”
“Betrayer!” the elf child accused and spat at his feet before disappearing.
“This is bad.” Justan said. Deathclaw, Gwyrtha! Tarah is around here somewhere. Try to find her before she attacks Aloysius!
* * *
Tarah hurried in the direction Esmine had indicated, her mind afire. This was it. That monster would soon be in her sights. Her very skin tingled with anticipation.
Tracking Deathclaw and Talon hadn’t been as difficult as she had thought it would be. Once she got a feel for their thoughts, she discovered the pattern to their movements. Still, tracking took time and they had known exactly where they were heading. Deathclaw had been able to tell Sir Edge’s position through the bond they shared.
At first she had been so disappointed that Sir Edge would help the enemy. Then, through Deathclaw’s thoughts, she began to understand that he had been deceived. Aloysius had tricked Edge into thinking that he was somehow crucial to the known lands. Deathclaw had believed it too.
Talon’s feelings were a bit different. She didn’t care about the Gnome Warlord. She helped him only out of loyalty to her master.
That was the one thing that had given Tarah pause. The Stranger believed in Aloysius. Even after having been captured and tortured by the gnome, he still thought that Aloysius was redeemable. For a while she had questioned her course of action.
Then, the night before as she had stopped to sleep, she’d had her dream again.
Tarah, large with child, had stood on the hillside looking down on her two choices. She could go left and save the Grove or go right and save Djeri. While she had stood there, her stomach churning in indecision, she had made a realization. She hadn’t seen Aloysius in either scenario. The giant from her past dreams had been absent. She had seen forces of the Roo-Tan and Mer-Dan, but no Gnome Warlord.
When Tarah had woken this morning, her indecision was gone. This was her chance to kill the monster that had slaughtered Esmine. This was her chance to kill the monster responsible for the behemoth’s attack on the treaty signing. She would do this for her unborn child who might never know its father.
Esmine’s child-like form walked beside Tarah, giggling in anticipation. “This is going to be so easy, Tarah! I have all of them so confused. I got Gwyrtha running away. I even made Sir Edge run into a tree! Head first! Splat!”
“Is he okay?” Tarah worried.
“He stood up. He’s probably fine,” Esmine said, her grin never faltering. “He deserves it anyway for helping that gnome.”
Tarah’s steps faltered.
Esmine pointed. “They’re just over this rise. All you gotta do is walk up and clobber him. He won’t even see you coming!”
She could hear the enemy encampment now. People were shouting and screaming. He would be defenseless. She could take him out with an arrow from a distance . . . No. That wasn’t right. This was more personal than that. She would use her staff.
Tarah imagined herself striding through that chaos, invisible as she approached the gnome, then swinging her staff and striking him down with all the strength she had. His skull would flatten and he would fall.
She shook her head. That was wrong too. Not while he was helpless.
Her grampa’s old words came to mind. “No, Esmine. Tarah Woodblade ain’t no assassin. You let him see me. Hide me from everyone else, but I want him to know who killed him.”
“Are you sure?” Esmine asked. “What if he tries to use his sword on you?”
“Oh, I’ll never let him pierce my skin,” Tarah promised.
The encampment came into view. Tarah could smell the cook fires. A Roo-Dan man ran screaming, his pant leg on fire.
Esmine, help that man!
“Fine,” said the child boredly. Reality crushed in on the man and he hit the ground, rolling to put the fire out.
I told you already, Tarah sent. I don’t want anyone else dead. Just Aloysius!
“He wasn’t dying. Just on fire.” Her little eyebrows rose. “Uh oh, here comes Deathclaw and Talon. I think they can kinda see through me.”
“Great.” Tarah said as the raptoids came into view, making odd chirps at each other.
They were stalking in her direction, but hesitantly, their arms held out wide. Esmine was throwing illusions of every kind at them. Deathclaw kept alternating between closing one eye and then the other. Tarah didn’t understand how that helped, but he must have figured something out and told Talon what to do because she was doing the same thing. The hood of her black robe thrown was back, her nightmarish face exposed.
Behemoth (The Jharro Grove Saga Book 6) Page 20