Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  He rushed over to the shelves and ran his hands along the spines of the books, counting them in his head. When he finally looked back at her the anger was gone. A slight grin began to spread across his face. “How did you do this? When did you do this?”

  “Yesterday after you left, I spoke to a few of the carpenters working on the tower. I paid them a little extra to get the bookcases finished and treated that evening so that they could cure overnight. I asked them to bring them up here while we were gone. I was going to leave the bookcases in the corridor as a surprise, but you took so long to get back . . . Luckily a couple of other mages were sweet enough to help me move them in. I had everything done just ten minutes ago.”

  “Did you touch anything else? My magic items on the walls, the things in my desk?” He rushed around the rest of the rooms, checking everything.

  “No!” she said, quite offended at the suggestion she would rummage through his things. “Just some light dusting is all.”

  “Vannya, I-I don’t know what to say. I suppose the real question is why did you do this?” He walked back to the bookcases and ran a hand along the wood. “This must have cost you a fortune.”

  “This is thanks for taking the time to help me prove Justan innocent. You were the only one willing to help. And you let me be a part of it. I really needed that. I have been quite tired of everyone treating me like a child.” Vannya’s voice was heavy with gratitude. “Anyway, don’t worry about the money. I made a lot healing at the BattleAcademy last year and I never have anything to spend it on. Just, please . . . accept my thanks.”

  “Thank you very much Vannya,” he said sincerely, and seeming a bit uncomfortable, motioned towards the desk. “Can you take a seat, please? We have a lot to discuss.”

  “What is it?” she said as she sat down.

  “The council has instituted a lock down of the school. We don’t want to give the killer a chance to escape. Right now whomever it is must be out of their mind with fear. The council wasn’t happy with me for flushing them out in this way. Wizard Randolph still insists that it was Justan, but the others are afraid that the killer may strike again in an attempt to escape. I don’t think it likely, but . . .” He shrugged. “They could be right about that one. I sure hope not.”

  “I think I know who it is.” Vannya blurted.

  “Oh really?” He leaned back and grinned. “Who, pray tell?”

  “Well I was thinking about it quite a bit and gathering all the evidence together, I had four possible killers. It was either Justan, my father, Pympol, or Arcon.”

  He nodded. “Wonderful, though you left out two possibilities.”

  “Whom?”

  “Wizard Randolph for one.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. For one thing he has been too intense in his attacks on Justan,” he explained. “What had the boy ever done while he was here to invite that? He had the time, the capabilities, and the clout to cover it up too. The motive is a bit shaky though. Maybe if Piledon caught him doing some underhanded deals or something . . . Anyway, it wasn’t him. Go on. Why those four? ”

  “But who was the other one I missed?”

  “Well, you of course,” he explained.

  “But it wasn’t me.”

  “I know. Go on with your explanation.”

  “But if you know it wasn’t Wizard Randolph, then why go through that whole explanation . . . never mind.” She shook her head and continued, “The rest of the students were either too inexperienced to understand how to awaken the perloi or just too stricken with sadness over Piledon’s death to be the killer. Pympol and Arcon were the only ones to give any hint of fear that they might be suspected.”

  “Okay, so narrow it down for me,” Locksher said.

  “Once I had the four main suspects, I eliminated Justan from consideration because of his personality, lack of ability to cast the spell on the perloi, and the . . . letter he left me. Some of the things he said in that letter could not possibly have been written if he had just left because of murdering someone.”

  “Are you sure that you won’t let me read it?” Locksher pleaded.

  “No! Next I eliminated my father. You might find my reasons suspect, but first of all, he is my father and though I know him to be capable of many underhanded things, he cares too much for the students in this school to kill one of them. Besides, if he was going to kill someone, he wouldn’t have murdered him in his bed with a knife or something. Blood is too easy to trace. He would have talked Piledon into walking with him to the edge of the moat and put a paralyzing spell on him before pushing him in with the perloi.”

  “My, you do know your father well.” Locksher had leaned forward, his elbow on the desk, his head resting on one hand, enthralled with her explanation. “So tell me how you decided that it was one of the other two.”

  “Well, I feel bad about it, because they are both friends of mine. But Pympol and Arcon along with Piledon were the ones responsible for that golem catastrophe last year. They were always around Piledon and if he knew something about it that he hadn’t told the council yet, they might have had reason to kill him. They were also both mages before their demotion and both had the skill to use the spell on the perloi.”

  “True,” he said.

  “Both of them were given a lot of extra duties around the school as punishment. That includes helping to feed the perloi, and extra library duty which would have given them the opportunity to study how to awaken them. Now Pympol hates Justan. He never liked him from the moment they met. It got even worse after Justan told the council about his involvement with the golem. That gives him an edge motive wise if he felt that he could frame Justan for the murder.

  “Arcon on the other hand, had extra cleaning duty and would have had the opportunity to switch the mattresses in Justan’s room to try and cover his tracks.”

  “Amazing. Well done. Well done indeed. You made good use of the evidence available and puzzled it out. So who do you think did it?”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. They looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Locksher got up to answer it, but Vannya whispered after him urgently.

  “Wait! What if that is the murderer? Right now, since he can’t leave the school, the best thing for him to do is make sure that you don’t live to reveal him!”

  “True,” he said. “But I am not defenseless.”

  He opened the door and Vannya’s father barged in.

  “It was Arcon!” Valtrek blurted. “I couldn’t believe it, but he went missing an hour ago. One of the guards saw him on the wall and he disappeared over the edge. They are out looking for him now. I-.” He paused. “It is quite clean in here, Locksher.”

  “I knew it!” cried Vannya. “That’s what I was going to say!”

  “I had confirmed it too,” Locksher said. “Just before I came up here I spoke with Professor Beehn and confirmed that Arcon was the student on cleaning duty at the cadet dormitory that week.”

  “Vannya?” Valtrek said. “What are you doing here?”

  “She has been helping me with this mystery, Valtrek. And she has done an admirable job too, I might add,” Locksher said. Before Valtrek could say anything else, he continued, “I still have some questions for you regarding Justan, though. Why did you send him away? Where did you send him? I have crucial information for the boy regarding that frost rune on his chest.”

  Valtrek sighed. “I might as well tell you now. I was going to tell everyone at the council meeting tonight anyway. Justan has had plenty of time to arrive at his destination by now.”

  He told them everything from Justan’s unexpected naming at the apprenticeship ceremony, to his bond with Gwyrtha and his journey to find Master Coal. Vannya was stunned, Locksher was ecstatic.

  “Of course! By the gods, why didn’t I figure it out before? The way the council has been avoiding calling Justan, er, Sir Edge by name and the rogue horse incident . . .What a fool I have been!”

 
He rushed about the room, gathering items together. Then went in his bedroom and began to pack. His voice echoed out from the room. “Still, a double naming? Fascinating!”

  “Locksher, where are you going?” Valtrek asked.

  “I might have some crucial information for your apprentice! This could be very big for him. Big for us all, actually. I just need one more trip to make sure. Vannya!” He rushed out of the room and grasped her arm. “If you are willing, I just might have one more way that you can help Sir Edge.”

  Chapter Five

  Arcon trembled in fear as he followed his mistress’ children deeper and deeper into the depths of the forest. It had started in such a small way. He had first heard her voice a little over a year prior as the MageSchool caravan traveled to the BattleAcademy for testing week.

  They had been traveling down the protected road through the darkest part of the forest when one of the mages had stepped off the road and been bitten by a snake. While the others tended to the poisoned mage, a moonrat had fallen from above and landed in front of him with a crunch, dead. The light in its eyes had burned a dull green before winking out. As he watched in horror, the eyes had popped out of its head and rolled to his feet.

  His first instinct had been to scream out in fright and run, but no sound came out of his open mouth and his feet did not move. After a moment, the fear left him. He grew curious instead and reached towards them. As his fingers neared the eyes, the dull light reappeared, gaining in strength until the green glow was all he could see.

  At the time he had not wondered why these eyes were green while all the other moonrats’ he had ever seen had eyes that glowed a dirty yellow. It had taken a while for him to understand that the moonrat had been one of his mistress’ special children. She had sacrificed it to speak with him.

  Now here he was walking through the woods towards his first true meeting with his mistress. The tangle of limbs overhead became so thick that the glow of the moonrats’ eyes was his only source of light in the darkness. His fear deepened. He had followed her willingly all of this time. Her promise of power had been so welcome, her promise of love so seductive. Still, he hadn’t expected it to go this far.

  At first her only needs had been that of companionship. He would hold the eye that was her gift and speak with her for hours. She had been so willing to listen, so concerned about the tiniest problems with his life. Her first requests had been so small, a bit of information here and there. Her requests had seemed insignificant compared to the vast knowledge she had shared with him. At her suggestion, he and Pympol had coerced the elven herbs from Justan. She had also given him the information they needed to complete the golem.

  By the time she had demanded Piledon’s death, he was hers completely and utterly. He hadn’t thought twice. He had enjoyed it even. He had basked in her approval and reveled in the thought of the pleasures that would come with his reward. It hadn’t been until later as he used the eye to awaken the perloi and watched them devour his friend’s body that he felt guilt and it wasn’t until Wizard Locksher had returned to the school that he felt any regret.

  When he knew that he had been found out, he had run to the gates of the school, but they had been closed and the wizards were waiting for an escape attempt. Her voice had calmed him and led him up the stairs to the top of the wall. He had been sighted, but before they could get to him, clawed hands grabbed him from out of the darkness and pulled him over the edge. The moonrats had carried him down the wall and into the forest away from the wizards’ search. His mistress had rescued him and now he would finally meet her.

  The smell of decay had been wafting around for a while already, but as he followed the moonrats deeper into the forest, the smell grew more and more noxious until it stung his nostrils and churned his stomach. The air was warmer and more humid here and the ground began to suck at his boots. He saw more glowing yellow eyes all around him. They were in the trees, on the ground, and even peering up out of the muck.

  The moonrats became so many in number that it was no longer dark. It was like he was walking through a tunnel made entirely of yellow orbs. The only darkness was the narrow path at his feet leading to his mistress.

  As he got closer, he forgot about the smell. He forgot about the ichor that sucked at his boots as he walked. He didn’t even feel the stings on his legs from the teeth of the insects that climbed up his boots. His fear was gone as well, replaced by yearning. He was about to meet his mistress for the first time. She was going to fulfill her promises. Oh how he ached for her.

  The tunnel of yellow orbs faded to green as he walked among her special children and then he was before her.

  In front of him stood the remains of an ancient tree. At one time it had been magnificent and beautiful, perhaps the largest tree in the forest. Now it was but a husk of its former glory. Its vast trunk was lightning scarred. Most of its branches were bare or broken, and blotches of mold and rot covered what remained.

  On either side of the trunk sat a moonrat with orange eyes, his mistress’ most prized children. The two precious beasts weren’t looking at him, but had their eyes trained on the figure between them. In the middle, rising from between two large roots of the tree was his mistress herself.

  Arcon’s heart thundered in his chest. She was dark, black as the darkest night and he could not make out her features, but her form was shapely in the glow of her children’s adoring gaze and her presence was all at once horrible and irresistible. He wanted to run to her, to leap into her embrace, but instead he fell to his knees in the muck and eagerly awaited her acknowledgement.

  It was then that he sensed her anger. She was furious, seething with rage at something that had just transpired far away from here. He was grateful that her wrath was not directed at him. This close to her presence, he was sure that his heart would explode from the power of it. Then her form turned to him and the intensity of her fury dissipated.

  “You finally come to me, dear Arcon,” she purred, her voice deep and beautiful and terrible.

  “I . . . live to . . .” His voice was thick with emotion and the words were so confused that they would not come.

  “Of course you do,” she said. Her voice dropped lower and carried such a sultry tone that his mouth watered. “You have served me well and your reward awaits. Come closer to me, my dear.”

  He shuffled forward on his knees in the muck, his mind void of any thought but her promise. As he came closer, her features remained too dark to make out, but the orange glow of the eyes of the children to either side glistened on the edges of her, hinting at a form so perfect and desirable that he faltered and stopped. He was too overcome to move.

  She chuckled and the delight in her voice almost killed him. “Stand, dear Arcon. Come closer. Closer still, that I may touch you.”

  Numb to everything except his devotion, his body followed her commands taking step after step towards her. It did not occur to him to wonder why she did not move towards him. Her smooth black arms reached for him and he tensed every muscle in his body, aching for her touch. Then she grasped him.

  Her touch was not as expected. The hands that gripped him were powerful and rough, and as she pulled him closer, her breath was rancid. Her body and countenance were still so black that he could not make out what she looked like. Her presence though, was sultry as ever and he ignored everything else, filled with gratitude for her attention.

  “Oh, my dear Arcon how I have longed for this moment as I know you have,” she breathed and though her body smelled of decay, her voice was filled with such passion that he did not care. “Now that you are here, I require one more task.”

  “Anything, Mistress,” he gasped.

  “I must ask you to go on a journey for me.”

  His heart cried out in agony at the thought of leaving. She pulled him closer and whispered in his ear. Her lips touched his earlobe as she spoke, leaving behind something thick and wet.

  “Do not worry. I will give you a piece of me to take with you.
After this night, we will never be apart again.”

  “Yes!” he cried, overcome with gratitude.

  “Very well,” She chuckled again and ran one finger down his chest. Where her finger passed, the cloth of his winter robes tore and fell open, exposing his skin. She leaned closer and he shuddered at the chill of her breath on him.

  “Now, you mustn’t die. What happens next will be too much for you, but you must live. You can not serve me if you are dead and you can not collect your reward. Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” he cried. “Do it!”

  She ran a finger between two of his ribs and his flesh parted underneath. He cried out at the searing pain, but did not move. She then reached out and one of the special moonrats with the orange eyes approached her. She stroked its head lovingly, then squeezed. There was a horrible crunch and a shuddering squeal. Her hand returned holding one glowing eye.