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

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  “Thank you,” Benjo said. He looked down at the floor and Justan decided to go.

  “Sir Edge,” Benjo said.

  Justan paused in the doorway.

  “I could have made it in, you know. I was at the top of our training class in both hand-to-hand and armed combat by the time the year was over.” Benjo sighed. “If only I hadn’t been so stupid.”

  Justan thought of all his wasted years training alone and shutting everyone out. How close had he come to losing it all himself? “We are all stupid sometimes, Benjo. It’s what we do after we realize how stupid we are that counts.”

  Justan left Benjo’s house and headed back towards the lodge house to get ready for bed. He had wanted to say something profound to Benjo as he left, but what had come out of his mouth had sounded so ridiculous. He chuckled at himself. Oh well, giving speeches wasn’t one of his strong points.

  Benjo however, laid awake thinking about what Justan had said late into the night. Finally, despite the hour, he walked over to his father’s house and knocked on the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Ewzad Vrill, how dare you enter these chambers? You shouldn’t even be in the castle! Your noble rank has been revo-!”

  The wizard silenced the man, freezing everyone in the room with one wave of his snakelike arm. “My-my, councilor. How rude of you to interrupt me before I even begin speaking. That won’t do, no-no it won’t. I am the only one who will be talking tonight.”

  He had caught all ten councilors in his spell. Just by looking at their faces, Ewzad could tell who his true enemies in the room were. It wasn’t the men who were half out of their chairs, faces frozen in anger. These were the men who knew nothing of Ewzad’s true power. The truly dangerous ones were paralyzed with a look of pure fear. One of them had gotten halfway to the rear door before being stopped in place.

  The Dremaldrian Council Room was opulently furnished. Silken tapestries lined the walls and a nine-tiered crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Each piece of furniture was a unique work of art carved from a single tree. Each councilman’s overly padded chair had its own lush rug for their feet to rest on and three separate fireplaces were always kept blazing to keep their old bones warm on the coldest of winter nights.

  The council table was the centerpiece of the room. Enormous and polished to a mirror-like shine, it was lined in gold and carved in the shape of a crescent moon so that all the men could gaze on the throne in the center of the room. The throne itself was quite plain in comparison. Though it was also highly polished, it had a plain wooden seat and a high back contoured to keep the king in an upright position. King Andre had often complained to Ewzad that its true purpose was to be just uncomfortable enough to keep the king awake while the councilors droned on.

  For generations, the Muldroomon family had sat in that throne and decided the direction of the kingdom based largely in part on what these old noblemen had to say. Their influence had only taken one brief recess. When Andre had first become king, he had caused quite an uproar among the noble class by replacing the old councilors with his own friends. Ewzad had been one of them.

  How delicious that time had been. Andre had ended his banishment and placed him right near the seat of power. But it had also been constricting. There was only so much that Ewzad could do to further his plans while under the scrutiny of the nobility of Dremald. Once Ewzad had convinced Andre to name him duke and moved back to his family keep, he had the freedom he needed. Unfortunately, in his absence Andre had succumbed to pressure from the nobility and reinstated the gray-haired councilors.

  “I hate this room, you know.” Ewzad stepped up and sat in the throne. It was as uncomfortable as Andre had described it. “I always have. Yes, even when I myself sat at the table I hated it. It always stank of old men. Revolting, yes?”

  He swallowed his disgust and began the speech he had prepared beforehand.

  “Gentlemen, oh esteemed councilors, I must thank you so much for your allowing me to speak in your illustrious presence. Yes, you see, I traveled here from my nearly completed castle because I was made aware of several terrible, nasty rumors about me that were being spread about the kingdom, especially in the noble circles. People were saying that I, Duke Ewzad Vrill, was a madman and torturer. Me! And that I consorted with goblinoids and monsters. Horrible! Scandalous rumors to be sure, I know!

  “Then I heard that you great, wise men had advised my friend, the king to revoke my dukedom. I am afraid that I was horrified by this news and came as soon as I could to discuss the matter. Yes-yes, I must set the record straight! Well, actually, I am embarrassed to admit that I cannot disprove those rumors. They are in fact true for the most part. Yes, I am not here today to refute those rumors, no. Instead, you see, I have come before you today to kill you all.”

  He waited for a moment, leering at them and then frowned in disappointment that there was no reaction.

  “They can’t move,” Mellinda said.

  He ignored her remark. Of course, they couldn’t move. He knew that. He had frozen them himself after all, but as he had prepared his remarks, he had always imagined gasps and whimpers of terror. Oh well, things couldn’t always be as one dreamt, now could they?

  “This freezing of victims is too quiet for my tastes. You know that they cannot harm you. Why miss out on all the running around and screaming?” Mellinda asked.

  “Oh my!” Ewzad laughed. He knew that he was the only one that heard her, but he didn’t care what his servants thought. Let them think he was crazy. That would add to their fear and fear was useful. “Dear Mellinda, your way is so unnecessarily messy. This is much more tidy and keeps me from having to kill every servant or guard within hearing distance that comes to their aid. My way is much better. Yes, much-much better, don’t you think?”

  “As you like, Master,” she grumbled.

  “Now be silent. You are disrupting my fun.” He cleared his throat and resumed his speech.

  “Yes, I know what you are thinking, dear councilors. ‘Kill us? He wouldn’t dare! Why, there would be a cry of outrage if anything happened to us.’ Oh yes, I know your thoughts. I know you all so well.” Ewzad cackled with glee, “How pompous those thoughts of yours, don’t you think? What you should be thinking is, ‘We are frozen! Why can’t we move? How did he do that? Where are the guards? Please, don’t kill us, Duke Vriil!’ Well it is much too late for that! Don’t you think so, Arcon?”

  The mage stood by the throne and nodded slowly, his face betraying no emotion. Ewzad’s gaze narrowed on the man for a moment. Surely that statement had deserved a laugh. The man had appeared at Ewzad’s keep two weeks ago and announced himself as a gift from Mellinda. She had promised Ewzad that having a mage at his side to help with the magical burden would be of great help to him. Ewzad had been skeptical then, but with Kenn still gone on his errand, this gift of Mellinda’s had indeed proven useful. Still, he didn’t trust him. Any gift from Mellinda was suspect.

  “Why do you still think him suspect, Master?” Mellinda crooned. “Has he not been all that I promised?”

  “Have I not commanded you to stay silent?” Ewzad snapped, inwardly cursing the moonrat eye imbedded in his arm. She was always listening to his thoughts now. Always, always listening. “Yes, yes I have! So shut it, you horrible beast!”

  “Of course, Master,” she replied meekly, but Ewzad knew that she would interrupt later anyway.

  He looked back on the paralyzed councilors and his scowl turned to a giggle. Even thoughts of Mellinda’s treacherous ways couldn’t dampen his spirits tonight. In fact, they had given him an idea.

  “Oh, Hamford! Come to me, please. Bring my dagger.” The large man came from the doorway and held out a dark bladed dagger with a jeweled hilt.

  Ewzad had found it along with several other very interesting trinkets within the wardrobes of the Dark Prophet’s chambers. It was quite similar to the dagger that Elise had stabbed him with that day in his throne room. He was glad that he had brought
this new dagger back with him. He never had been able to find his old one. He was still upset about it too. Such memories he had made with that dagger.

  “Thank you, dear Hamford,” Ewzad said and took the blade from the man. He could feel the hum of its connection to his master as he held it in his hand. “Arcon, would you be so kind as to take this dagger and kill these men? Yes-yes, please do.”

  Ewzad kept a keen eye on Arcon’s reaction. The mage’s eyes widened at the command, but he did not refuse. Arcon merely cocked his head for a second as if listening to someone before nodding slightly and walking forward to take the dagger. With only the slightest bit of hesitation, he walked up to the nearest councilor.

  “Why test Arcon this way?” Mellinda asked. “These are not his close friends. This won’t seal him.”

  “No, but he will sense it, won’t he? Yes, Mellinda, each sacrifice will give him a feel for what the Dark Prophet offers. A good taste of what’s to come, yes?” Ewzad whispered, though the way Arcon stiffened, it was obvious that the mage heard him.

  “Yes, of course,” Mellinda agreed.

  Arcon raised his blade to the first old man’s throat. His hand shook.

  The rear door to the chamber flew open and King Andre Muldroomon strode in. At his rear were the two guards that he kept at his side at all times. Their excellent academy training was evident in the way they immediately grasped the situation and moved to protect the king.

  “Gentlemen, you must leave the-.” Andre stumbled and his hand went to his mouth in shock at the scene before him.

  Ewzad imagined what his friend must be seeing. The council members were frozen in place as if in a painting. A strange painting where his old friend Ewzad Vriil was young and handsome and sitting on his throne. The thought brought the wizard great pleasure.

  The two guards stepped in front of the king, their swords drawn and at the ready. They began backing him towards the door.

  Ewzad’s arm shot forth and with a squirm of his finger, the door slammed shut behind them, blocking their escape. Ewzad stepped down from the throne. “Oh my, how rude of me, Andre. I am in your seat, aren’t I? No-no, I apologize. Truly I do.”

  “E-Ewzad!” Andre stammered. One of the guards tried to open the door. It wouldn’t move. The king’s face went from a look of shock to one of rage. He opened his mouth to call for more guards.

  That was as far as he got before Ewzad’s spell froze them. The wizard shook his head as he approached the king. “Oh, dear Andre, how you have changed! Were we not friends? I brought you this power, killed your father for you and how do you thank me? By declaring me a monster and taking away my family lands? Unacceptable, yes? Of course it is!”

  Ewzad stood in front of the king’s guards and placed one hand on each of their helmets. His arms undulated as he wove a heat spell. The helmets burned a bright red as he boiled the water in their skulls. Steam rose with a sickening aroma and he released their paralyzation, letting their bodies fall to the ground. He approached the king.

  “Now if you will excuse me, dear, dear Andre, I need to make a visit to your sister. Perhaps she will decide your fate, hmmm?” Ewzad turned his head and shouted back to his servant, “Oh, Hamford, please take good King Andre and carry him over to his rightful place on his throne, would you? Yes, I think he should spend some time contemplating the final advice of his councilors until I return. ”

  Ewzad giggled in amusement at his own dark joke.

  “Arcon!” The mage was still standing in front of the first councilor, staring at the dark blade in his hands stupidly. “Continue on! I will expect them all dead by the time I get back, yes?”

  Ewzad grinned as he strode from the room. The mage would be sickened by his own actions at first but it would get easier. The dagger would help him along. With each kill, the mage would feel the pull of the Dark Prophet’s power on his soul and by the time the last man was dead, he would probably enjoy it. Oh yes he would.

  “My-my, what a delightful evening this is turning out to be!”

  “He comes.”

  Elise Muldroomon curled into a ball in the middle of her lush oversized bed and pulled the blankets over her head. She had been plagued with bad dreams as a child and since it was unbecoming for a princess to awaken screaming in fear, her loving father had brought in a wizard to create an enchantment to end her nightmares. Her father told her that her blankets were now magic and that no ghosts or monsters could harm her when she was under them. All she had to do was hide under her covers and she would always be safe. It had worked. The bad dreams left. Unfortunately, her blankets didn’t bring her the comfort now that they had back then.

  Since returning from Ewzad’s castle Elise stayed in her bed most of the time. Everyone thought that she was traumatized from the events that happened while she stayed with the duke. She heard the servants whisper about it outside her door. There were even rumors that she was with child now. The mere thought of it still made her skin crawl. She had rushed out into the hallway and beaten the servant woman that uttered that bit of scandal. How dare they think such a thing? She shuddered at the idea of Ewzad’s squirming fingers reaching for her.

  “He is here.”

  She held her hands over her ears, but it was no use. The voice did not come from outside the bed. Her blankets could not protect her. It came from within her own head.

  She heard a muffled sound at the door. Elise released her ears and sat up. There was a light knock. She pulled the covers off of her head. It was still dark. The thick velvet curtains on her canopied bed shut out the light of the fireplace that she demanded was kept lit at all times.

  “I do not wish to be disturbed!” she shouted.

  “Oh, but sweet dear Elise, surely you wouldn’t keep out an old friend?”

  Elise gasped. It was true. He was still alive! It frightened her that he was standing outside her room, but even more frightening was the small part of her that was glad. Why hadn’t the guard at her door stopped him? “Go away, Ewzad!”

  She heard her door open, the door that had three separate locks, the door with an iron bolt engaged that sealed it to the floor. How dare he overcome her precautions and stroll right into her private quarters? A few short weeks ago, she would have stormed out of bed and slapped him for such insolence. That was before she had seen what he could do. She pulled the covers back over her head and curled back into a ball. The blankets would protect her as they used to. Her father had promised.

  “Elise? Dear sweet Elise, come out and talk to me, won’t you? Oh yes, you must.”

  He was standing just outside the curtains, she was sure of it. What would he do to her? She had stabbed him the last time she saw him. How angry was he? Was that one large vein pulsating on his forehead at that moment?

  “Go away, Ewzad! G-get out of my room this instant. H-how dare y-you . . . I . . . I-I wasn’t trying to kill you, I promise,” she whimpered.

  “Oh, my-my. Dearest Elise, of course you weren’t.” She heard the curtains open and the faint glow of the fireplace penetrated her blankets. She felt her bed move as he sat down. “Yes, my love. It is alright, yes-yes it is. Come out and see. I am quite alive. I couldn’t very well be speaking with you if I were dead, could I? No-no, of course not!”

  A light laugh came from his throat and the sound of it reminded her of the old Ewzad. The Ewzad that was her friend. The Ewzad that helped her plot her power plays. In fact, now that she thought about it, his voice sounded like the old Ewzad as well.

  “Y-you are not mad?” she asked.

  He laughed again, and she felt his hand on her hip through the safety of the blanket. “Angry? At you? Why no-no sweet Elise. You did me a service. Come out from under there. Look upon me, you will see.”

  A warmth spread through her body from the place where his hand rested on her. Her heart beat faster in her chest and she felt an odd kind of hunger. She had to swallow back the saliva that filled her mouth. Part of her wanted to resist, but despite the cries of terror that
echoed from the back of her mind, Elise found herself reaching up and pulling the blankets down. The firelight revealed his face.

  “E-Ewzad . . . you are beautiful,” she said. And it was true. Gone were the sallow cheeks and sunken eyes. His skin shone with health and his eyes were vibrant and filled with life. His black hair, no longer thin and greasy, was full and flowing. She wanted to touch him.

  “Yes, Elise. This is why I cannot be mad at you. No-no, what you did, I understand. It was all a misunderstanding. Yes, a misunderstanding is all it was, yes?” He grinned, showing perfect white teeth.

  “B-but my father. You killed him.” Elise remembered the anger and sadness that had poured through her as she had plunged the dagger into his arm. She shook her head and it felt as if a fog was clearing from her mind. She withdrew from him, pulling her hip out from under his hand.