The imp rolled to his feet and stood without spilling a single drop of the red liquid in his glass. He took a sip nonchalantly, but Tarah saw a bruise forming at the corner of his white lips. She had hurt him. That was a small triumph. Too bad she was now stuck in a chair.
“That will be the last of that,” Theodore said. Then he gave her a smile. “Ho-ho! I haven’t been surprised like that in years. I should have seen it coming, though. You do so remind me of one of my past contractors. Marl the Aggressor. He was so aggressive.”
“Let me out of this stupid thing,” Tarah grumbled. She had to prop herself up with her hands so that she could keep her eyes on him.
“How about we have a parlay, Terri,” the imp said. Another chair appeared behind him and he sat down, sipping from his glass again. “You want information about your staff. I want something from you.”
Tarah growled. “Tarah Woodblade doesn’t put up with humiliation. If you want to talk, let me out of this chair.”
“Done,” the imp said, clicking his fingers, and the chair disappeared. Tarah fell to the soft cloudy ground and he said, “There is no reason to have a confrontation. This is a business meeting.”
“Willum told me you might try to get me to sign something,” she said as she climbed to her feet. “I won’t do it.”
The imp rolled his eyes. “Yes, Willy spoke to me about that too. I promised him I wouldn’t use my ledger.” He looked longingly at the fireplace mantle and Tarah saw a thick book bound in white leather appear next to her staff. “The poor thing. It gathers dust.”
“One more thing, imp. Just in case my fist didn’t convince you, I was serious before.” Tarah said, pointed at him. “If you want to negotiate something from me, you’d better call me by my real name.”
“I’m sorry, Terri, but that’s not negotiable,” Theodore said. “Ho! No that wouldn’t be right. The name thing is one of my favorite jokes. It’s what I do.”
“It isn’t funny,” she growled.
“I believe what you are trying to say, Terri Woodstaff, is that it isn’t funny to you,” said the imp with a grin. “I find this sort of thing endlessly amusing. It’s one of my tastes, you see.”
Tarah glowered at him, itching to get her fingers around his chubby little neck.
Physical violence is not the only way to make your point, suggested Grampa Rolf. Tarah raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t heard Rolf’s voice in some time. She had begun to think he had gone away completely. Tarah Woodblade uses her wits.
Tarah pursed her lips. Okay, Grampa. “Then I suppose I should find a name for you as well. Teddy, maybe? No. Timmy?” She saw a slight bit of irritation in the imp’s eyes and pushed it a bit further. “I took a rich woman from Sampo to Dremald once. She was a delicate lady and she carried a little fluffy dog every where she went. She even held it up off the ground while it pooped.”
The imp narrowed his beady red eyes. “Your point?”
“Poofie was its name,” she said with a smile. “I think that works for you. After all you are kind of like Willum’s little dog he carries around.”
“That is a bit childish, don’t you think?” the imp asked.
Tarah reached out and attempted to will another copy of her staff into existence. The red wood materialized in her grasp and she leaned on this new copy feeling quite pleased with herself. “Evidently being childish is one of my tastes, then. Besides, it really does fit. You have that cute little blouse with the poofie sleeves.”
The imp looked at her for a moment, his eyes assessing her. Then he laughed. “Ho-ho! I like you, Tarah. I do! Fine, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll call you Tarah. You call me Theodore. Not Teddy. Not ‘imp’. My only other condition is that you don’t tell Willum about it. I don’t want him to get any ideas. Agreed?”
“Done,” she said with a curt nod. “Now tell me what you want to tell me and let me out of here.”
The imp shook his finger at her. “Now-now. First I would tell you what I wish of you.”
She sighed, placing one hand against her forehead. “What?”
“We are heading into great danger and I need assurances. Now, my spirit magic doesn’t work the same as a human’s, so I don’t have premonitions in the same way. But, ho, I have been around for a very long time and my own subconscious mind has been working hard.” He took another sip from his glass and Tarah noticed that it wasn’t getting any emptier. In fact it seemed to have more liquid in it now than when he started. “I am getting a very bad feeling about what is coming up for us. I think it likely that at least one member of our group will die. Maybe two.”
Tarah swallowed. “You are sure of this, i-uh, Theodore?”
He shrugged. “As sure as I can be, stuck in an axe. I cannot give you the specifics, but these are my impish impulses. If I had a physical form and was in one of the dirtier gambling establishments in Alberri. One that would let an imp in of course, ho, I would place a big fat wager on it.”
“Can we stop it?” she asked. “Is there something I can do to stop one of us from dying?”
“No.” The imp snorted. “Ho! You could call off the hunt. Tell everyone to go home and let your rogue horse die. Or you could send the rest away and continue on just you and your dwarf boyfriend, but then you two would likely be the dead ones. No, Tarah. As I see it, any way this goes down there will be death on our side. I hope I am wrong, but I know I am not.”
Tarah looked down, her heart flooding with guilt. The imp was right. There was no backing down for her now. She just had to hope he was wrong about his certainty that one of them would die.
“The only thing I am completely sure of, however, is that I will not die. I will continue to be stuck in this axe. Which brings me to my request,” the imp continued. “If Willum is the one that dies, I want you to promise me that you will not leave me behind. I do not wish to be left alone on the ground in the wilderness alone for decades until someone finds me. Ho-ho, I’ve been there before. I also would rather not end up in the hands of one of those dwarves. Terrible creatures for an imp like me. Too resistant to magic. I’d likely be unable to communicate with them.”
“This is about Willum’s potential death?” she asked incredulously.
“Now-now, Tarah. I don’t wish Willum dead. I’ve become rather fond of him in fact. I shall protect him to the best of my abilities, don’t you worry. But if he does die, yes, I’m watching out for myself,” Theodore replied. “Just for clarity, I’ll repeat myself. If Willum falls, pick me up.”
“But I don’t use an axe,” she said.
“We would be good together, you and I. I can feel it,” he said giving her a meaningful look. “But if you don’t wish my services, I only ask that you allow me to decide who I go to. You won’t just pass me off to the first available human.”
Never sign a contract unless you know they can pay up, Rolf reminded.
Tarah sighed. “Before I agree I want to know that you actually have information of value.”
“Ho! A sly negotiator,” the imp said. He grinned, showing her his sharpened teeth. “I will give you a taste of what I know, then. Three points. First, your staff is ancient, made back in my day. Second, it was made by impish hand. Third, it really isn’t made from some rare tree with red wood.”
Tarah looked at the representation of the staff that she held in her hands. “Done. I agree to your terms.”
“Good. Would you have a seat, then?” The imp gestured and both of them were back at the fireplace and she was standing in front of her chair while he was resting in the other.
She settled into her chair and looked at him over steepled fingers. “Tell me.”
The imp placed his wine glass on the table between them. It was almost completely full now. “That weapon you carry is called a blood staff. It was crafted by those of my race as I said before. We made and sold items like this by the thousands to the warlords in those days. Ho! We imps are quite proficient at binding magic, you see, and back then we were renowned for it. Are you
familiar with the steps of binding magic?”
“No,” said Tarah. “I’ve heard of it once, I think.”
The imp looked disgusted. “Oh what an age you live in. Alright I’ll give you the short version. One must first kill a creature you wish to bind. Eat part of it. Create an item using part of the creature’s body, then commune with the spirit of the creature and convince it to work for you. Once the creature has agreed, you can use bands of spirit magic to tie it to the item and you have a bound spirit.
“Ha! It’s a tedious process to be honest. The purpose of a blood weapon is to make binding easier. Ho! You can skip steps in the process. Let me show you.”
He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a brass pocket watch dangling from a silver chain. It was covered in runes that looked similar to the runes on her staff. “Now let us say that I wish this watch to run forever without having to wind it. I could take it to wizards and have them enchant it, but wizard enchantments are crude and expensive and difficult to control. Instead I go out and kill, say, a rabbit. All I have to do is dip my blood watch.”
He lowered the watch into his full snifter and most of the thick red liquid disappeared. When he pulled the watch out, the runes on it were red. “You see? The blood becomes part of the watch. There is no need to create an item. We have done that part for you. Then all you have to do is eat some of the creature and commune with it. The blood item is already set up to bind the beast the moment it agrees. The soul of a rabbit is strong enough to keep the watch going indefinitely.”
Tarah frowned, trying to understand exactly what he meant. “I’ve seen my staff absorb blood before. But . . . you’re saying it’s binding the souls of the things I kill?”
The imp shook his head slowly. “Pay closer attention. There are more steps than just absorbing blood. Have you been eating the creatures you slay? Communing with their souls? Ho, I would know if you had, because your staff would have something bound to it already.
“No, your staff is prepared, though. It wants to do what it was created to do. I can feel its hunger like it wants my soul. Your staff has been absorbing the blood of creatures for centuries without being used. That’s what makes it this red.”
Tarah wrinkled her nose at the staff. “It’s got the blood of hundreds of creatures in it?”
“Yes! Ho! Originally it was gray. This was Jharro wood once. Dead Jharro wood, of course, if my people got hold of it. That wood is powerful stuff. Ready to hold a big enchantment,” he said.
“So it isn’t magical yet,” Tarah said. For the longest time she had thought that her staff was the source of her powers. She had recently learned that wasn’t the case, but the origin of her staff now felt underwhelming.
“Of course it is!” said the imp, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Have you not been listening? It is Jharro wood. That has magic in it. It was runed by my people and strengthened by magic. It also has so much blood in it I’m surprised it isn’t leaking all over the place! It is very magical. Ho-ho, an ancient and powerful item. Do you see the value of what I’m telling you? All you have to do is kill something, eat it, and commune with it and you would be able to make your staff enormously powerful.”
“Enormously powerful?” she asked, seeing the whole thing in a new light.
“Think of it this way, Tarah Woodblade,” said the imp, leaning forward. “My axe was a blood weapon, forged by an apprentice of mine. Alas, my people betrayed me. It is my blood that makes the runes red. Ho-ho, you haven’t seen Willy wield me in battle yet.” He lifted the wine cup and drained the rest of the glass in one gulp. Licking his lips, he said, “You have no idea the extent of what he can do with my power.”
Chapter Seventeen
Tarah woke with a fierce headache. After the imp had set her free from his domain, her dreams had been restless and disjointed. She threw back the top of her bedroll and shoved her feet into her boots, then rubbed her temples as she watched a beautiful sunrise erupt from behind the mesas to the east. It lit up the entire sky, lining every wisp of cloud with a golden glow.
Southeastern Razbeck was a different type of landscape from the mountains and valleys of Dremaldria. The skyline was dominated by canyons and plateaus and the plants that grew here were mostly cacti and scrub brush. The only trees to be found were near small lakes or streams and those were sparse.
The worst part was the wind. It was relatively calm at the moment, but sometimes it threatened to blow them off their horses. The temperatures here weren’t as cold as the winter in Dremaldria but, when those gales hit, everyone was chilled to the bone. It was during those times that Tarah was most grateful for her new suit of armor. It kept her torso nice and warm, though that didn’t keep her from feeling like her ears were going to freeze off.
Tarah tore her eyes away from the view and looked down at the axe that still sat in her bedroll. It was a wicked looking weapon with a wide curving blade on one side and a curving spike on the other. The red runes on the side of its blade seemed to gleam at her.
She grabbed the axe and stomped over to Willum’s bedroll on the far side of the fire. He was sleeping on his side, a blanket pulled over his head.
“Wake up, Willum,” Tarah said, giving the man a little kick.
Willum turned over and looked up at her, wincing at the brightening sky. “What? Oh it’s you, Woodblade.” He yawned and placed his hands behind his head. “Thanks for taking Theodore for the night. I haven’t slept that well in months. How were your dreams?”
She crouched next to him and dropped the axe onto his stomach, causing him to double over. “You could have prepared me better.”
“How? You know he listens to every word I say. It isn’t beyond him to change his tactics just to mess with people.” He set the axe to the side and sat up. “He says you were lovely company, by the way.”
“Did he tell you I punched him?” she asked.
Willum smiled. “Wait. In your dream or his?”
“Well,” she replied, thinking about it. “I stomped on him in my dream, but we were in his realm when I punched him in the face.”
“He says it didn’t hurt,” Willum said, then laughed. “That tells me it probably did.”
He threw back the top of his bedroll and stood, then began strapping on his sheaths. Tarah shook her head. He had slept in his boots. Why did all these academy men sleep with their boots on? Didn’t they know how filthy the inside of their bedrolls were getting?
“So was the information he had for you helpful?” Willum asked.
“He told me things about the origin of my staff that I didn’t know before,” she replied. “So I guess so.”
“Yeah, but what did he ask for in return?” Willum asked with a knowing smile. “He never gives anything away for free. Theodore says that you can’t tell me the details, but was that worth it?”
Tarah shrugged. “I actually think I came out on the better end of that deal.” She frowned thoughtfully and asked. “Tell me, Willum. Does Theodore ever foretell the future?”
“The future?” Willum said. “Wow. I don’t know about that. He seems pretty focused on the present most of the time.” The look on her face unsettled him and he opened his mouth to say something else, but Helmet Jan spoke up.
“Hey, Jerry! Don’t it bother you that your girlfriend’s sleeping with Willum’s imp?” She was sitting by the coals of the last night’s fire, getting a kettle of water boiling.
Needling Tarah was one of the few things that Jan took great pleasure in, especially once everyone found out about her relationship with Djeri. It had happened the morning they left Coal’s Keep. Evidently the farm hand that had seen Tarah straddling Djeri on the road had a big mouth.
Lem the Whip laughed along with her. He was sitting next to Jan, his arm around her shoulders. The two of them had gotten closer and closer recently. Djeri didn’t like his soldiers fraternizing, but there was nothing he could say considering his relationship with Tarah.
“I don’t have tim
e to worry about every weapon she spends time with,” Djeri replied. The dwarf was standing at the edge of the camp looking to the south. He had taken the last watch of the night as was his custom. He wore a long winter cloak over his shining armor to keep it from glaring in the sunlight.
Tarah liked the way he looked in his new armor. If only it didn’t stand out like a beacon. The suit was so highly polished that it shone like mirrors. Tarah had suggested Djeri paint over the armor to keep their quarry from seeing them coming, but he had refused to mar his uncle’s fine work. In the end, the heavy cloak and a loose fitting shirt that he wore over the breastplate had been his compromise. He kept the helmet in a bag tied to Neddy’s saddle.
Tarah walked up to Djeri and put an arm around his shoulders. Leaning in to kiss his cheek, she whispered, “Djeri, I’m worried.”
The dwarf looked at her, his eyes searching. Tarah had decided that something had changed with Djeri. Ever since they had started this mission, he’d begun this habit of staring a person down before he talked. It was almost as if he were looking past her eyes and seeing directly into her intentions. The frustrating thing was that he was usually right.
“Yeah you are,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You look incredibly guilty. What happened? Did the imp tell you something?”
“He told me that one of us was gonna die.”
He kept his voice low. “And you believe it, don’t you? How did it know? Some kind of vision?”
“Something like that,” she replied. “He didn’t know what the specifics were. He just said that he was sure that at least one of our group, possibly more, was gonna die.”
Cletus’ long nose pushed between them. “Who’s gonna die?” he asked loudly. The gnome was silent as a ghost when he wanted to be, but he had no idea how to keep his voice down.
Tarah tried to think up something to tell him, but Djeri beat her to it. “All those dwarves who captured the rogue horse. Right, Cletus?”
Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) Page 25