“Here.” Hamford tossed a bundle of clothes at Kenn’s feet. “I had to wait until the princess was gone before I got in line for the clothes with the escapees. Luckily none of them recognized me.”
“Good.” Kenn busied himself getting dressed. He was eager to put on anything after a day and a half of sitting around in nothing more than a loin cloth. He lifted something gold and lace embroidered. “Hey, what’s this? I asked you to get me some pants, what are these? They only go down to the knees!”
“Those are the duke’s court pants. You are lucky I didn’t bring you a dress. There wasn’t much left and I had to hurry before anyone figured out who I was,” Hamford snapped. He tossed Kenn some bread. “I got us some food too, though I don’t know how I am going to keep it down it stinks so bad in here.”
Kenn caught the bread and eagerly stuffed half of it in his mouth before pulling the pants up. “At least it fits. You know our Master would kill me for wearing this stuff.”
“Good thing he’s dead,” Hamford said. “On the bright side, once we get back home you’ll be able to sell it for a fortune.”
“So when can we leave?” Kenn asked as he tore into the rest of the bread.
“I don’t know. I didn’t dare get too close, but I overheard the captain saying they were getting ready to depart, so I say we wait until night and take our chances getting out without being seen.”
“Why not just lower the ramp leading to the back tunnel again and leave out that way? No one would know. Besides, the dragons have to be long gone by now.”
“Do they? What if they aren’t, Kenn? We are finally free and you want to get eaten by those things?” Hamford shuddered. ”We go out the front. Even if we are captured and taken to Dremald for trial, at least we will still be alive.”
“I guess.” Kenn said. “Got anything more?”
“Yeah.” Hamford opened the sack of food he had procured. He took out a hunk of cheese, but as he was handing it to his brother, he froze, letting it drop from his fingers. He clutched at his chest.
“Yes! I knew it!” Kenn laughed. “It’s back! Its weak, but its back! The master isn’t dead!” Then a look of horror spread across his face and he began taking his newly acquired clothes back off.
Hamford fell to his knees, nearly in tears. The seed of power deep inside of him had returned.
Chapter Seven
It was still early morning. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon and the forest was alive with scents and sounds. Two weeks had passed since Justan’s party had left Ewzad Vriil’s castle and as they traveled further away from the higher elevations in the mountains, the winter became relatively mild. There had been a fresh snowfall during the night, but it had already melted for the most part.
Justan crept forward through the wet leaves carefully, wincing at every sound he made. His prey had very sensitive ears and he didn't want it to notice his presence. Despite the training Qyxal had been giving him, Justan still wasn't very stealthy. He was getting better at tracking though, and he could see that his prey had passed this way recently.
He looked down and examined the tracks again. It was four legged and walked on the balls of its feet. From the depth of the impression, he could see that the beast was heavy. The toes were widely spaced and ended in long claws. This was a dangerous creature. Justan grinned. He was definitely getting better. He was so close and she didn’t even know he was following her.
The next thing he knew, there was a loud crash behind him. Justan found himself lying with a mouthful of mud, his face pressed deep into the leaves, a heavy weight on his shoulders.
“Hey!” He protested, spitting out mud and turned his head to see a large reptilian snout full of wickedly curved teeth snap shut right before his face. “Get off me!” The beast pressed him down harder and Justan felt his mind being prodded.
“Okay!” He sighed and said more calmly this time, “Please get off of me, Gwyrtha.”
She gave a satisfied snort and the weight was gone. Justan got to his feet and sent Gwyrtha a strong burst of irritation through the bond.
“You cheated. You used the bond to know where I was!” She just snorted again and turned to the side, presenting her flank to him in an invitation to ride. Justan looked at her and frowned. “How did you sneak up on me?”
He had been deliberately ignoring the bond so that he could test his tracking skills. He looked around and his jaw dropped as he figured out what she had done. “You jumped out of that tree?”
Perhaps she had more cat in her than he thought. The bark of the massive oak beside him was torn and chipped from her claws. It was the only tree around large enough to support her weight. The winter wind had left the tree bare of leaves. If he hadn't been so intent on the ground, he would have seen her easily.
Gwyrtha huffed her version of a laugh and Justan could sense her amusement. She nudged him and presented her flank again. Ride, she said through the bond and Justan smiled again.
When they had first met, she had been mostly a creature of instinct. The bond had changed them both. Justan had gained stamina and quicker reflexes; she had gained intelligence. They had been bonded for a year and her mind was still evolving. Not only had she started to laugh, she had begun to think in words now and then.
“Fine,” Justan said. “You win, we’ll go back now. Just don’t try so hard to throw me off this time.”
He climbed onto her back and held tight to her mane as she started off toward their camp. They both enjoyed their rides. Justan had gotten much better and clinging to her back was almost second nature to him now. Gwyrtha knew that he had become comfortable and liked to make a game out of trying to jostle him loose. She was only occasionally successful, but even when he rode her with perfection, she still found ways to make him sore the next day.
They were only a mile from the camp, but Gwyrtha made the most of it, dodging trees and leaping as high as she could. Justan listened to her movements through the bond as they rode, so he was able to anticipate most of her moves. She even threatened to try a somersault, but Justan pleaded with her not to until she complied.
Qyxal looked up as they rode into camp and smiled, his white teeth bright in the morning light. The elf looked out of place in the wilderness with his hair braided immaculately and his robes unsoiled from the road. “So who found whom?”
“Did you know she could climb trees?” Justan asked as he slid from her back.
“We asked her not to. It’s hard on the trees,” Qyxal replied. “So I take it you lost?”
“She cheated,” Justan remarked. Gwyrtha snorted indignantly and Justan added, “Okay, she outsmarted me. Your lessons are catching on, though. I did better this time. But I think pitting me against Gwyrtha is unfair. She can hear a rabbit's heartbeat in the brush from a hundred yards away and smell whether it's male or female.” He pulled at his travel worn shirt. “I haven't been able to bathe in a week.”
“You would rather track after me for practice?”
“No,” Justan said. He was tired of tracking the elf. Qyxal knew how to disguise his tracks too well and Justan could never quite manage to find him. “At least not for a while. I want to get better before I track you again.”
Qyxal shrugged. “Then go after Fist or Lenny.”
Justan's stomach growled at the mention of the dwarf. “Does Lenny have breakfast ready yet?”
“No. And he isn’t too happy about it either. I’ve had to put up with his grumbling all morning.”
Justan walked over to the fire where the dwarf was going through their supplies and muttering angrily. The dwarf had been getting in a fouler and fouler mood over the last week. Justan frowned. “What’s wrong, Lenny?”
Lenny had become their cook for the journey. When Justan had suggested that everybody take turns cooking, the dwarf had scoffed at the idea. Now the dwarf cooked and cleaned and even repaired any equipment that broke. He had become invaluable as a traveling companion and the food was good, though it had taken some of the
m a while to get used to the level of spice the dwarf used.
“Whaddya’ think’s wrong?” The dwarf's red handlebar mustache was pulled down in a scowl. “Where’s the gall-durn ogre, boy? He was ‘posed to bring the meat. How am I ‘posed to cook our dag-blamed breakfast without the meat?”
“Let’s see . . .” Justan felt through his bond with the ogre. Fist had left the camp to go hunting before Justan had even awakened that morning. Justan conversed with Fist briefly over the bond and smiled. “Oh, Fist will be here any minute. He’s pleased with his catch.”
“Well, it’d better be good this time. Remember the-? Hey . . .” Lenny cocked his head and looked Justan up and down. “You look different, son. You’ve filled out some lately.”
“I know.” Justan looked down and flexed the muscles in his arms. His forearms bulged quite nicely. His grin grew wider. Right now, his body reminded him of his childhood memories of his father. He even felt taller somehow.
“Hah! Good dwarf cookin’ will put meat on anyone’s bones,” Lenny said, his gap toothed grin beaming with pride.
“It’s because of Fist actually,” Justan said. “I felt stronger the moment we bonded. I guess my body is just catching up.” With the benefits of speed, stamina and strength he received from his bonds with Fist and Gwyrtha, Justan was now in the shape he had always wished to be. He wondered if he would continue to get stronger.
“Dag-nab it, son, you have all the luck,” Lenny said with a bemused shake of his head..
“Here he comes,” Justan said. He could hear the ogre’s deep rumbling voice coming through the trees.
Soon Fist came into view. He was weighed down with something large and furry that he had half slung over his shoulders. Whatever it was, it was big enough that its hind legs dragged on the ground behind him. His face was animated as he talked with the gray rock squirrel that was perched on top of his kill, calmly chewing a nut. Justan could see that the bond had changed the ogre too.
Fist didn’t walk quite as hunched over as he used to and he didn’t look at all uncomfortable in his new traveling clothes anymore. At first, the pants and button down shirt had looked ridiculous stretched over the ogre’s bulging muscles, but Lenny had let out the seams a little and they fit him much better. Fist had even done some alterations to the pants himself. Lenny had been teaching the ogre to sew, something that Qyxal found endlessly amusing.
“ . . . and then, Squirrel, we have our own territory again,” the ogre was saying as he approached the fire.
He dropped his kill at Lenny’s feet, then stretched, reaching out his long, thick arms and rose to his full height of over eight feet. His back popped with several loud cracks and he sighed in relief. The moment that Lenny got a good look at the kill, he went into a fury.
“A bear?” The dwarf jumped up and down, shaking his fists at the ogre. “What the garl-friggin’ hell am I ‘posed to do with a bear, you big dumb varmint?”
“It is good meat. This bear will feed us many days,” Fist said, scratching his head in puzzlement. Squirrel shook one tiny fist and chattered at Lenny angrily.
The bond had affected the ogre in other ways as well. He had always been intelligent for an ogre, but his range of thoughts had expanded over the last two weeks. The rest of the companions had been working with him and his pronunciation of the common tongue had improved greatly.
“Good meat? Thing’ll be tougher than a horse’s hind hoof! I shoulda’ gone huntin’ myself.”
“You could have, if you weren’t so busy sleeping off your firewater,” Justan said. Gwyrtha ambled over to Fist and nuzzled his side. The ogre absently scratched behind her horselike ears.
“Don’t go takin’ his side, boy,” Lenny said. “In the last two weeks since we left the duke’s castle he’s brung us a wolf, a couple polecats and a big damn snake! I wanna eat somethin’ normal fer once!” He scowled at Fist. “Why couldn’t you just kill a deer?”
The ogre shrugged. He had grown used to the dwarf’s tantrums. “They are too damn fast.”
“You are a bad influence on him, Lenny,” Justan said to the dwarf.
Qyxal strode up to see what the commotion was about. “A black bear? Good job, Fist. I haven't had bear meat in a long time.”
Lenny fixed the elf with a glower. The elf smiled sweetly in response. Justan was pretty sure that Qyxal had taken Fist’s side just to needle the dwarf.
“The pelt will fetch us a good price the next time we come to a town if we prepare it right.” Justan said, trying to smooth it over. “We are running low on funds, you know. Besides Lenny, I have faith in your cooking. If you can make a snake taste like chicken, you can make anything taste good.”
“It's gonna take us all mornin' to clean the durn thing and wrap it all up, much less prepare the blasted pelt! We’re not gonna find yer Master Coal ‘till spring if we don’t get a move on.” The dwarf was still complaining, but he had lost the argument and he knew it. “Alright, Fist. Well, yer gonna have to help me clean it this time.”
They dragged the carcass away from the camp and began dressing it. Fist was actually pretty handy with a knife. Justan turned to Qyxal.
“Have you ever really eaten bear?”
“Once when I was little. One of the other children in my hunting party accidentally killed a bear cub and our teachers made us eat it.” The elf shivered. “It was awful.”
“You can't help yourself can you?” Justan shook his head in exasperation. “What's your problem with Lenny anyway?”
“Oh, don't worry about him,” the elf said. “He's just upset because he woke up this morning and discovered that Gwyrtha had buried him again.”
Justan looked at Gwyrtha with a frown. The rogue horse just huffed silently in amusement. Justan still hadn't quite figured out why Gwyrtha didn’t like dwarves. She had grown quite fond of Lenny after a fashion, but she continued to take her anxieties out on him with her little pranks. It had something to do with her past and every time Justan pressed her about it, she shrugged him off. She was too frightened of those old memories to relive them through the bond.
“Well both of you need to treat him better,” Justan said. “The only reason he is journeying with us is out of friendship for me. He cooks your food every day and if we were ever in a battle, he wouldn't hesitate to save your life.”
“He doesn't hesitate to complain about me either,” Qyxal muttered in irritation. “Especially lately.”
“I know what you are saying, but still . . . that's just Lenny being Lenny. You two should know better.”
The elf's face stiffened at the rebuke.
“But of course, Sir Edge.” Qyxal bowed and strode away. Gwyrtha ignored Justan and calmly chewed on a tuft of dead grass.
Justan winced at Qyxal’s parting remark. He had stung his friend’s pride, but the things he told the elf had needed to be said. Justan had a feeling that the journey was going to get dangerous before they reached Master Coal and he wanted his group to be as together as possible. They didn't need any turmoil that could tear them apart when times got tough.
He looked down at the new fingerless gloves on his hands and resisted the urge to take them off and stare at the runes. He felt that compulsion a lot lately. He needed to understand why the bowl had chosen to mark him. Since he wasn’t the perfect warrior or wizard that the runes marked him as, what did the runes really represent? He hoped that Master Coal could give him some answers.
Until he felt worthy of his new name, he had again asked all of his friends to continue to call him Justan. Lenny and Qyxal weren’t comfortable with the idea. They thought it a sign of disrespect to the bowl itself. Justan had given them the excuse that he didn't want to advertise his named warrior status to anyone who might overhear. It was a legitimate concern. There were many rogues and bandits that would love to be able to say they had defeated a named warrior in battle. Though Justan’s skill had greatly improved along with his physique, he was still far from being ready to take on challengers.
/> Justan walked over to his saddlebags and rooted through them. He felt a tinge of unease as his hand brushed against the silken bundle that contained the dagger he had found in Ewzad Vriil’s remains. He had showed it to Qyxal and the elf did not seem to like the look of it, but he didn’t feel the same sense of menace that Justan did. Maybe Master Coal would know what it was about.
He moved the bundle to the side and pulled out the map that Professor Valtrek had given him. Justan had looked at it so many times since leaving the MageSchool that he practically had it memorized by now. Still, he gazed at it. Looking at the map helped order his thoughts.
They had left Ewzad Vriil’s castle in a westerly direction. For the first few days they had traveled as quickly as possible in case the king ordered any retaliation over the duke's death. Maintaining a fast pace was difficult because, even though they had two stout warhorses and Gwyrtha with them, Fist had to walk. He was far too big for either horse to handle for long. It wasn’t until after they had put a comfortable distance between themselves and the castle that they could slow down to a comfortable pace.
Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) Page 8