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

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  “We need to decide what to do before we talk to Master Coal,” Justan said. “If what Chuck says is true, we could be endangering everybody around us just by being here. Not only did we tear up his castle and try to kill him, but we know what Ewzad Vriil really is. What if he decides to come after us?”

  “Maybe, but he don’t know who we is,” Lenny said. “How’s he gonna’ know to look fer us?”

  “He knows who I am,” Justan said. “Kenn knew me as Justan, son of Faldon the Fierce. I never thought to check if he made it out of the dungeons alive. And I named myself as Edge right in front of the wizard. I showed him both of my runes.”

  “Don’t even consider leaving until we talk with Master Coal,” Qyxal said, seeing the frightened look in Justan’s eyes. “And if you go, we will all go. Right Lenny?”

  “Yer darn tootin’,” the dwarf said, though he looked dismayed at the thought.

  Justan nodded, but Fist knew that he was still considering leaving on his own to keep everyone else safe. They would find us anyway, Fist told him. Justan frowned in response and Fist added, You could not hide from Qyxal.

  “How is the rest of the kingdom reacting?” Qyxal asked Lenny.

  “It’s hard to say. Chugk don’t know much. The queen called the whole dag-gum army back to the capitol, sayin’ she was worried about attack from some other country and now they dun got Dremald locked up tighter’n an elf maiden’s skirt. Er, sorry Qyxal.”

  “The Barldag’s army!” Fist said, a new realization hitting him.

  “What was that, Fist?” Justan asked. Everyone turned to face him.

  “That wizard with the snake fingers led the Barldag’s army. If he is alive, the army is still in the mountains waiting to crush all the small peoples.”

  “Ah, there you are!” Master Coal said. The wizard approached with Bettie and Samson at his side. “I was down visiting Bettie in the forge and some of my men said you were looking for me?”

  Everyone looked at Justan, who somewhat reluctantly stepped forward. He told the master all that they had been discussing. The wizard listened, only stopping Justan a few times to ask him brief questions. When he had finished, Master Coal wasn’t panicked, just thoughtful. He leaned back against Samson’s sturdy shoulder and stroked his chin with one hand as he considered their options.

  “No one leaves until we know for sure that the farmlands are in danger,” he said finally.

  “But how would you know?” Justan asked. “There could be soldiers on the way here now. I learned your whereabouts from a shopkeeper. If they were able to track us to him, they could know where we were headed.”

  “I know the shopkeeper you speak of. Hugo is an old friend of mine. When you first arrived I sent someone to instruct him not to tell anyone of your whereabouts. Believe me, I have loyal people in the lands all around. I would know quite quickly if a force was on its way here.”

  “We can take care of ourselves, Edge,” Bettie added. “Don’t think we ain’t been through our own share of troubles.”

  “I don’t think they would dare attack this place anyway,” Samson added. “We are in the Kingdom of Razbeck. If Dremaldrian soldiers attacked the largest source of food for the kingdom, it would be an act of war.”

  “He wouldn’t send Dremaldrian soldiers,” Justan said. He has monsters, was the unspoken thought that only Fist could hear.

  “I will stand firm on this, Edge.” The wizard’s tone left no doubt as to his resolve. “I believe that you are quite safe here. There are other more pressing things you should be worrying about. How big is this army, Fist?”

  Fist was startled that the question was directed at him. “Uh, I do not know. They were gathering all the ogre tribes and the goblin peoples and the trolls in the mountains. After they took us from Jack’s Rest, we were brought through many armies and many camps.”

  The memory of the journey to the wizard’s castle was still fresh in his mind. The three of them had been taken in open cages atop a wagon, being pelted with rocks and filth from the howling army. Fist remembered the time with shame as well as horror. Tamboor and Petyr killed anything that got too close to the cage, but he had been immobilized with grief and despair, having lost his second tribe and not knowing that Squirrel had survived. He spent the journey curled up and weeping, unable to attempt even the minor acts of revenge that Tamboor and Petyr carried out.

  “Hundreds of hundreds of soldiers, all wanting to kill little peoples for glory and for the Barldag,” Fist said.

  “Barldag? . . . that ain’t good,” Bettie said, looking quite shaken. “That Barldag stuff is . . .”

  “It’ll be okay, Bettie.” Lenny put a comforting arm around her waist. “Dag-blast it, we don’t know that any of that stuff’s true. Gall-durn wizard’s a liar.”

  Master Coal gave the dwarf a sideways glance, but agreed. “The Dark Prophet was defeated a long time ago. If he had truly found a way to come back, there would be a lot more signs of his power. The most likely explanation is that Ewzad Vriil has simply been using the traditions of the mountain tribes to bring them together.”

  “I don’t believe in the Barldag,” Fist said.

  “The academy!” A sudden jolt of fear went through Justan, causing Fist’s heart to beat faster in response. “If Ewzad Vriil wants to take over Dremaldria, he would first have to destroy the BattleAcademy. What if that’s why he has been building the army?”

  “Don’t forget the MageSchool,” Qyxal added. “As soon as they find out that Ewzad Vriil is a dark wizard, they will hunt him down and destroy him. Using magic to gain power over the kingdoms is not allowed. Otherwise there would be wizards ruling all the known lands.”

  “You are both right,” Master Coal said. “But the academy is where he would strike first. With Dremaldria’s forces withdrawn, the academy is weakened. If they were defeated, the MageSchool would be easier to strike.”

  “We have to warn them,” Justan said, his mind churning. “If I left with Gwyrtha now and didn’t stop, I could make it to Reneul in two weeks.”

  “Don’t be a goblin brain!” Bettie snapped. “We got Willum!”

  “Calm down everyone,” Master Coal said. “She is right, Edge. Write a letter to your father describing exactly what has happened. Tonight, I will contact Willum and dictate the letter to him. He can take it to your Father. With your word and mine together, they have to listen. I will also send an urgent letter to the MageSchool so that they can prepare.”

  “Can you get a message to my people for me?” Qyxal asked.

  “Of course, but realize that until we know more, I expect you two to keep to your studies. There is nothing more that you can do. Understood?” There were nods all around.

  “Yer a good man, Coal,” Lenny said. He had not moved his arm from around Bettie’s waist and she wasn’t making him. “I reckon I should warn my stupid brother too. Wobble’s too dag-gum close to the academy.”

  Darkness had fallen and the temperature dropped with it. Everyone scattered to write letters to send off. Fist took a moment to scratch Gwyrtha behind the ears and headed towards the lodge, heavy thoughts weighing his mind.

  When he arrived at the kitchens, Becca was waiting for him.

  “Well?” she said, tapping one foot and looking him up and down. Fist slumped.

  “I forgot.” The last thing he wanted at that moment was to go take a bath. “But I did not spar much. Look, no sweating!”

  “Okay, Fist. I will overlook it tonight,” Becca sighed, then put on a stern look and shook her finger at him. “But you are not getting out of that bath tomorrow. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Miss Becca,” Fist said and gave her a large hug in gratitude. Hugs were another of Fist’s favorite human traditions.

  “Oh!” She patted his back, but made a show of wrinkling her nose as he pulled away. “Now go on before I change my mind.”

  Happily, Fist headed to his room and unlatched the door. As the room opened before him, he froze in stunned astonishment
. Gone were the dust and cobwebs, gone were the crates and barrels of supplies, and gone was the pile of straw and blankets that he had been sleeping on. The room now had a clean floor with a thick rug in the center. Along one wall, there were two rows of shelving, one filled with books and the other with his clothes. A small table with paper and ink sat in one corner. But the thing that caught his eye most of all, was the enormous bed with an ogre-sized mattress that took up a large part of the room.

  “Miss Becca . . .” Fist turned and looked at her, tears in his eyes. “For me?”

  “Yes, for you!” Becca said, clapping her hands together in joy at his reaction. “And don’t forget Squirrel.”

  Mounted on the wall next to Fist’s bed was a large red birdhouse that had been converted to fit Squirrel’s size. Fist walked forward and held out his arm so that Squirrel could run down and jump to his new house. At first, Squirrel was irritated that his old stash of nuts between the two barrels of pickles had been cleaned out, but when Fist explained to him that the humans had built the place just for him, the creature was satisfied. Inside, there were several clean rags and scraps of cloth for him to nest in along with a large area to store his food.

  “He likes it!” Fist said and turned to embrace Becca again. “Why did you do this for me?”

  “Well, we all felt quite bad that you were sleeping on the floor in the corner like a family pet. You deserve a room just as good as anyone else’s. So some of the girls and I cleaned out the room while you were gone this morning. We decided to store those things in Old Honstule’s house for now. The reason I wouldn’t let you in earlier was that we hadn’t brought the mattress in yet.”

  “It is wonderful.” Fist walked over and laid down on the bed. He closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure. “This bed . . . It’s just like the one in Justan’s memories. Like laying on the clouds.”

  “Miss Nala and I worked on it together. A while ago, we got some of the men started on making your bed frame. We ordered the fabric and she made the sheets and the blankets, while I made the mattress with a mix of cotton and down. But wait! I’ll be back in just a moment.”

  Fist didn’t mind waiting. The bed felt so nice. He reached out with his mind and felt for the bond. His link with Justan was there, thick and tangible as always, but where was the bond he was supposed to have with Squirrel? He listened for Squirrel’s thoughts. The creature was still in his new little home, arranging the bits of fabric into his own comfortable nest of a bed. Fist followed the creatures thoughts in his mind searching for their source. Then it was there, the link he searched for.

  Squirrel, can you hear me? The creature’s thoughts twitched in puzzlement. I can talk to you without talking now. Squirrel shook his head, trying to dislodge the voice from his mind. The ogre laughed. It is me, Fist. We are bonded, you and I, like Justan is bonded to me. Is that not great?

  There was no surprise, just slight irritation at Fist’s intrusion. Squirrel had known of their bond. Even though his thoughts were too small for Fist to hear at first, Squirrel had heard the ogre all along. The bond is how he had tracked Fist all the way through the mountains to the wizard’s castle, even though he hadn’t dared get too close to the monstrous army.

  The door to the room opened.

  “Fist, I’m ba-, oh . . .” Becca lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you asleep?”

  Fist opened his eyes. “No. I am still awake.”

  “Good.” She walked over to the bed and pulled something from behind her back. It was a thick pillow in a soft cotton cover with the name Fist sewn into the fabric. “I made you this. It is stuffed with flowers from the honstule plant. They are the most amazing thing. When the flowers wilt they don’t degrade, but turn into the softest, most fluffy material. And they smell wonderful forever.”

  “My name is on it.” Fist sat up and reached out. The pillow was light, as if it weighed nothing and she was right about the smell. He pulled it in and crushed the softness to his face. The scent was sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. Just nice, like a freshly cut melon. “Thank you, Miss Becca. You have done so much. I . . . I will work extra hard for both of you from now on.”

  She laughed. “Fist you are already the hardest worker we have. If you promise to bathe every other day like I have asked you, I will be satisfied.”

  “I will!” The thought of bathing didn’t seem so much of a punishment at the moment.

  Becca leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night then, Fist.”

  Fist laid back down and placed the pillow under his head. He felt so comfortable, that his body did not want to move, but he was too excited to sleep. He called out to Justan and made him come down so that he could show him everything. Justan was genuinely happy for him and even tried out the bed and pillow, saying that they were much nicer than the ones in his room.

  After Justan left, Fist undressed and pulled the blankets over himself, enjoying the way the fresh blankets felt against his bare skin. He blew out the lantern that lit his room and communed with Squirrel through the bond until they both fell asleep. It wasn’t long before Fist dreamt.

  He was floating peacefully on a bed made of cloud, unafraid of being so high in the sky above the earth below. Fist was content just feeling the hot sun on his body. Life was perfect, but his peace was interrupted by a thudding noise. He sat up and turned his head to see his father Crag running at him, his feet obliterating the clouds beneath him with every step. Following closely behind Crag was an army of winged beasts, dark and terrible.

  Crag yelled at him to stand up and fight, but Fist didn’t want to. He laid back on the cloud and closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of the sun, willing the darkness to go away. But they didn’t. The sounds of his fathers footsteps and the approaching army grew louder until Fist opened his eyes and his father stood over him, blood running down his body from several open wounds, his face pummeled and swollen as it had been when Fist had beaten him on the night he had left the Thunder People forever.

  “Toompa!” his father yelled and swung his arm down in a mighty punch that knocked Fist through the cloud.

  Fist watched his father’s disappointed face get smaller and smaller as he fell unprotected through the sky towards the earth below. The dark army roared and dove through the air after him, but it didn’t matter, he was going to die anyway. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth waiting for the impact, but he didn’t hit the hard earth. His body plunged into the icy depths of a deep river, the shock of the cold blasting the air from his lungs. He struggled to swim to the surface but the current dragged him down and down deeper and deeper until he knew he was going to die. As he was about to open his mouth and suck in the deadly water, a hand closed over his mouth.

  Suddenly he wasn’t cold anymore. The hand moved away and he could breathe easily. Fist turned to see brown hair framing a face with familiar kind eyes and a short trimmed beard. The man pulled him in for an embrace and Fist was as small as a child again.

  “It’s okay, Fist. You will be fine, someone is coming for you,” the man said.

  “But why must I go, Big John?” he asked. “Can’t I just stay here with you?”

  The man held him close again and patted his head. “I wish you could stay, but you do not belong here with me. You have too much work to do. Do not worry, we will see each other again.”

  The man’s voice faded away and Fist was in the icy depths of the river again. He wasn’t panicked anymore. He kicked upwards and as his face cleared the water, he saw Justan standing on some rocks not too far away. The river brought them closer together and Justan reached out his hand to pull Fist from the river. As they grabbed each other by the wrist, the dream changed.

  Fist was sitting naked in a tub of soapy water. But he wasn’t in the washing area. Somehow he had forgotten and started to bathe in the main room of the lodge. It was dinner time. Everyone was sitting around the table laughing and feasting. He was petrified. What if they saw him? He slowly rose from the water. If he could
only make it to the kitchen door before someone noticed. But as soon as he stood, one of the women screamed and pointed at his-.

  Fist was startled awake by a loud knock on his door.

  “What?” he said, his thick rumbling voice even thicker from sleep.

  The door opened and in came Miss Nala’s second oldest boy, Jerrold, followed by Master Coal. The wizard was carrying a lamp and from the state of his rumpled bedclothes, looked as though he had just been roused from sleep himself.

  “Sorry to wake you Fist, but Jerrold refused to tell me what was going on without speaking with you first,” the wizard said.

  He sat up, and the young teen threw himself into Fist’s arms, shaking in fear. The ogre was startled, but pulled the boy in close, patting him on the back awkwardly. “What is it, Jerrold? What is wrong?”