Eye of the Moonrat (The Bowl of Souls: Book One)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  “Concentrate,” he said and touched Justan between the eyes with the tip of his finger.

  It was if the man’s finger had left an impression there. The spot he had touched vibrated. Justan looked at the page again and thought he saw a faint glow in the signatures. He focused in and like when Vannya had been treating his pelvis, his vision shifted. The signatures were swirling with colors, some brighter than others and some with a different hue altogether. Justan’s shown the brightest. He couldn’t make out the colors.

  “Do you see?” Latva asked. “That is your potential. It says a lot of things about you.”

  “What does mine say about me?” Justan asked.

  The master looked at the clock on the wall above Justan’s bed and sighed. “I am sorry, we have no time to speak of it now, young Justan. Perhaps later.”

  Justan was disappointed. The things that the named wizard had revealed to him were so interesting. He wanted to know more.

  Master Latva turned to Miss Guernfeldt. “Matron, please let the welcoming committee enter.”

  To Justan’s horror, she opened the door to the room and a flood of people Justan didn’t know poured in to congratulate him on being a new student. They all seemed very pleased to meet him. Evidently, word had gotten out about his rescue of the missing guards and he was becoming somewhat of a celebrity. All that Justan knew was that he was mostly naked shaking a bunch of stranger’s hands.

  After about half an hour of introductions, he was just beginning to get used to being in that uncomfortable state. Then Miss Guernfeldt entered the room carrying a large washbasin full of soapy water.

  “Everybody out!” she shouted. “It is time for this patient’s bath!” She reached into her apron and pulled out a large sponge. Justan felt like screaming.

  So began his first day as a cadet in the Mage School.

  Epilogue

  “Marckus has failed you, Master. It is just as I warned,” she said.

  “Oh, has he?” Ewzad’s fist tightened around the eye and she worried once again that it might break. “Marckus? Fail me? No-no, he succeeds where the others fail.”

  “The orc arrived late, Master. The caravan made it to the school unharmed. He captured two of the guards, but they were rescued.” She tried her best to keep the sarcasm out of her tone for now. It would be much more delicious later.

  “Blast him! I needed that mirror!” She knew that he was stomping around his office enraged and the thought pleased her. The vein in his forehead was pulsing again. “Get him here, you understand? Get him here right away? That would be best, don’t you think? Yes, I think he needs to be taken on a tour of my dungeons and showed what failure means.”

  “Unfortunately, he would fail you in that task as well, Master,” she intoned.

  “Oh? Fail me again? Fail me in what? Showing up?”

  “Well, yes. That would be difficult for him. You see, he is dead.”

  “Dead is he?” Ewzad seemed so disappointed.

  “Killed by one of the guards, Master.” She didn’t tell him about the involvement of the man that had killed her sweet children. She had her own plans for that one. “And he allowed the other orcs to be captured. They are in the hands of the wizards as we speak.”

  “Idiot! That idiot!” Ewzad could feel his plans slipping through his fingers. “Blast him! What do they know? The orcs, that is. I cannot have them telling my secrets to the wizards before my forces are ready. No-no, that won’t do!”

  “They know more than they should. Marckus was a loud creature and his lips were too loose for my liking. But worry not, Master. They are true believers in the Barldag and their minds are weak. I will not allow them to talk,” she soothed and reached through their limited connection to drain his stress away. Oh how she hated fawning for the little man. But the dark voice demanded it and she could not disobey.

  Her manipulations were working. Ewzad’s tone softened and his pacing slowed. He was not ready to give up his concerns, though.

  “Yes-yes, but still. Still, the wizards are crafty old men. Yes, the orcs could be made to talk.”

  “They will not, dear Master. They will die before they talk. Worry not,” she assured him and moved more of her presence through the connection and into his mind. She reached to the pleasure centers of his mind and stroked gently. He let out a sigh and more of his tension drained away. “I will fulfill my duties, Master. I have plans in place to disrupt the schools while we build the army. When you are ready to strike they will be weakened. The Mage School in particular has some wicked surprises in store. You focus on your tasks and leave the rest to me, Master. I will not fail you.”

  He was vulnerable now. It would not take much to corrupt him, to change his perceptions of her. A bit more and she would be able to make him see her as she once was. The slimy little man would not be able to resist her then. She stroked the pleasure centers of his mind once again and reached just a bit further . . .

  “Stop!”

  Ewzad’s mind seized her presence and squeezed. She tried to pull away, but he twisted until she cried out. In the dark center of the forest, her real body convulsed and flailed about.

  “Let go! Release me!”

  “Oh, should I? Never, dear servant. Never. Never. Never touch me so again.” His anger was back, but along with it was pleasure at her pain. “Yes, stay out of my mind. Stay out unless I specifically request it. Do you understand? Do you?”

  “Of course, Master. I am sorry, Master. I meant no offense,” she simpered and tried to pull out of his grip, but he wasn’t letting go. She fumed at herself for forgetting how strong his will could be. The dark voice had chosen him for a reason. Somehow the wizard must have read her thoughts.

  “Yes. Yes he did. Don’t forget that, dear servant.” He flexed his mind and she cried out in pain again. “If you stood here before me, I would have you on your knees begging not to be turned into a beast as ugly as those nasty little children of yours. Oh yes, you would make a marvelous pet, wouldn’t you. Yes, oh the things I could make out of you . . .”

  “The Dark Voice would not like that, Master. He had you recruit me for a reason.” The stupid man was trying her patience. His grip was so tight that the only way to get free was to break his mind altogether. She was getting to the point where the option was more than tempting. If he didn’t let go soon, she didn’t care what the Dark Voice would think.

  “Perhaps you are right, yes?” His grip loosened and she withdrew from his mind, leaving only their vocal communication open. Ewzad laughed. “Yes, you go on and distract the Mage School and Battle Academy while we build our army. I go to solidify my position with the king soon and it will not be long until we are ready to strike. Oh yes. That moment will be so sweet. I can almost reach out and taste it.”

  “Of course, Master. I go now to prepare,” she crooned, but inside she was seething. For the hundredth time, she vowed to take the wizard’s life as soon as she was permitted. Ewzad was not aware of the enormity of her power. He did not know the things she knew. He wanted to rule the lands, but she had been given far greater promises. Yes, far greater promises indeed.

  The following is a preview chapter from:

  MESSENGER of the DARK PROPHET

  The Bowl of Souls: Book Two

  Now available

  Fist awoke in a panic, sitting up so fast that Squirrel flew from his sleeping spot on the ogre’s broad, hairy chest. It skittered to a stop on the floor, chattering angrily. Fist ignored his little companion and padded to the door, mace in hand. Something was wrong.

  A lot had changed in Fist’s life during the last year. His boulder-lined shelter was now truly a house, with a thatched roof and comfortable fur rugs lining the floor. Tamboor had taken many of the furs that Fist acquired and sold them, using the money to purchase Fist the things he needed for his home.

  They had chiseled away the rough spots on the boulders and filled in the gaps so that cold air couldn’t seep in. They built a chimney. Tamboor had even taug
ht the ogre how to cook inside and bought him a pot to use.

  Fist's life had grown comfortable. He got all the action he needed hunting the wild beasts that threatened the mountain town and in particular, Tamboor’s family. He now had a fine spear and massive steel mace that Tamboor had procured for him.

  He was content. Usually his sleep was deep and dreamless, but during the last night his sleep had been mixed with uneasiness. He had tossed and turned all night long.

  Now, as he charged from his home, he was filled with dread. His hackles were raised and his heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t know what was going on, but his instincts had him prepared for battle.

  Fist’s calm grove of trees seemed peaceful as usual, but something was amiss. He trotted around the grove a ways, then froze. He listened carefully and heard twigs snap. Holding his mace at the ready, Fist advanced towards the sound.

  He heard voices. Orc voices. What were orcs doing on his newfound tribal land?

  Soon he saw them through the trees. The invaders were two burly orcs and a gorc. All three were fully armed. The orcs wore leather hide armor with metal helms. Each carried a wicked long blade with serrated edges that looked more like saws than swords. The gorc was smaller than the orcs and had a patch over one eye. He carried a long sharp dagger and a bow with a crude arrow notched at the ready.

  With a growl, Fist approached them. He stood in their path and rose to his full height with his arms crossed. At his full height, Fist was just over eight feet tall and weighed close to four hundred pounds, most of it muscle. The one-eyed gorc squealed in fear at the sight of the enormous ogre standing in their way. The orcs gulped. They hadn’t seen many ogres quite so big.

  “Stop!” Fist commanded in the ogre tongue, his deep voice booming. “Don’t you see the markings? You are in territory of the Big and Little People tribe. Leave my land now or I kill you!”

  Two of them looked eager to do exactly that, but one orc stood his ground. “We seen yer marks,” the orc barked. “Our leader, Gerstag, sented us. He say to tell you we are big army of the Barldag. Your tribe joins us or dies like the humans!” The others seemed to gain courage from the orc’s speech and straightened their spines, looking up at Fist defiantly.

  Though he betrayed no emotion, the orc’s words struck Fist a mighty blow. It had taken him so long to find a place where he belonged. Now that he finally had it, he could sense it falling through his fingers.

  Fist had often wondered about the great army that the ogre mage had tried to raise back in high mountain wilds. Every time the thought had risen in his mind, he had ignored the threat. He hadn’t even mentioned it to Tamboor, hoping that the ogre mage had been unsuccessful in his attempts to unite the goblinoids and giants.

  “The Barldag’s army is here now?” Fist asked. The goblinoids nodded.

  His worst dreams were being realized. Now the only thought in his mind was to warn his human friends. Fist was trying to decide just how to kill the three goblinoids the fastest, when Squirrel appeared in a branch above them. Squirrel chattered fiercely, shaking one tiny fist at them and berating them for coming onto its land.

  “Look what I sees. Little meats for breakfast.” The one-eyed gorc smiled and brought up his bow. He began to pull the arrow back and didn’t even see the metal head of the mace coming. Fist’s new weapon plowed through its skull, leaving a ruined mess and the gorc dropped to the ground soundlessly.

  Fist smacked the bloody head of the mace into his palm. “No one hurts my tribe!”

  The orcs started to laugh, thinking the death of the gorc nothing but an ogre joke. Fist threw the mace at the first orc. Its laughter ended in a squeak as the round steel head thudded into its chest. The force of the strike knocked the orc off its feet, shattered its ribs, and pulverized the vital organs beneath.

  The remaining orc backed up, “The Barldag commands that you join us!”

  “If the Barldag comes, I will kill him too!” he promised and charged.

  The orc desperately lashed out with its sword, scoring a minor hit along Fist’s side. The ogre took the scratch with a slight wince and grabbed the orc’s helmet between his giant hands. He squeezed and the metal screeched until there was a loud pop and the orc stopped thrashing.

  Fist threw its crushed helmet to the ground and spat at the bodies of the goblinoids. He then picked up his mace and whistled. Squirrel jumped from the tree to his shoulders.

  Fist stood in his quiet grove for a moment while Squirrel munched a seed and wondered how far away the army was. The orcs had said that Gerstag was their leader. That was an ogre name and it sounded familiar to Fist. Though he could not place where he had heard it, the name confirmed to him that at least some of the ogre tribes had joined the Barldag's army. This did not bode well at all.

  He had to warn his human friends so that Tamboor could get word to the rest of the town. The Barldag's army would destroy everything in sight. He looked at his beautiful territory and felt like weeping. How much time did he have?

  Fist sniffed the air and his heart sank even further. With squirrel safely in its pouch, the ogre ran to a nearby clearing and saw with his eyes what his nose was telling him. Smoke. Great columns of smoke were rising from the human town of Jack’s Rest. He had no time at all.

  Fist ran back to his house and retrieved the fine steel spear that Tamboor had purchased for him. The ogre took one last sorrowful look at his marvelous home and hurried through the woods. He couldn’t save the land, but he had to at least save the only family he had left in the world.

  Fist ran through the familiar trails of his woods, the smell of smoke thick in his nostrils. He felt a pang in his heart as he thought of the friendship that the humans had shown him. Right now in the village, people were fighting and dying at the hands of this evil army.

  As Fist sprinted, he caught sight of a party of four goblin scouts slinking through the trees just inside of his territory. They were moving toward the home of his human friends. Once again, anger surged through the ogre.

  The little goblins looked up in surprise just as Fist’s spear took one of them in the belly. He followed with an underhand blow of his mace, caving in the pelvis and belly of another goblin, sending it soaring up through the air. Before the two remaining scouts could do anything more than squeal, he smashed their heads together with a wet crunch, his enormous strength ending their lives quickly.

  Adrenaline surged through his massive body as he retrieved his weapons and raced recklessly through the forest. He didn’t give much thought to what would happen once he found his friends. Maybe they could escape down to the towns in lower altitudes. He didn’t have time to worry about how the humans in another town would receive him, his only concern was getting to Tamboor's family. They were his tribe now.

  As he got closer to the house, he saw with relief that there wasn’t any smoke coming from that direction. Perhaps he would get there in time. Squirrel crawled out of its pouch and curled up along the back of his neck as he ran, its furry warmth helping to comfort the ogre. Fist rounded the big rocks that lined the edge of Tamboor’s property and sighed with relief. Everything seemed to be untouched.

  When the ogre’s presence had first been revealed, Tamboor hadn’t let Fist have anything to do with his family. But as the friendship between the human and ogre had grown and his wife and children kept insisting, Tamboor had relented. Fist had become a regular visitor to their home.

  The inside of the house was small for the ogre and he had to hunch over more than usual to move inside the place, but he didn’t mind. The children loved Fist and climbed all over him, including the ogre in their games. Fist pretended that he was putting up with the children’s attention, but both Tamboor and his wife knew that he enjoyed the children’s play just as much as they did. Their only problem had been keeping Fist’s existence a secret to the town.

  Tamboor had taken the credit for killing all of the monsters that Fist hunted. Though the ogre had not known it, he had even bought Fist’s
land from the mayor of Jack’s Rest so that none of the townsfolk would go up there without his permission. It had worked so far. No one in the town even suspected the ogre’s presence.

  As Fist approached the house, Tamboor’s wife Efflina opened the door. At first she smiled, but when she saw the state the ogre was in, she became worried. Blood was spattered on his arms and ran from the cut along his side.

  “Fist! What’s going on? Are you okay?” The two children, Cedric and Lina, darted out from behind her in the doorway and ran to the ogre, laughing and yelling “Fist! Fist!”

  “No! Stay inside!” the ogre commanded. As the kids pouted and walked back, Fist looked to their mother. “Where is Tamboor?”

  “Why he left a little while ago and told us we had to stay in the house. Evidently there is a big fire in the village or something because smoke is everywhere.”