The Bowl of Souls: Volume 2
Messenger of the Dark Prophet
By Trevor H. Cooley
copyright © 2012 Trevor H. Cooley
All Rights Reserved
Dedication
So many people encouraged me on this series since I started writing it years ago. I dedicate this book to all of you: First, my family. My wife, Jeannette, who has always been my first reader and main editor. My mother, Nancy Cooley, who has always supported my writing. My father, Wayne Cooley, who has been one of my biggest fans and supporters since my first draft, and who has been one of the most willing to remind me to keep writing new chapters. In the 70’s My father first created the Universal deck and the card game that became the game of elements. The way that the symbols and colors in the deck matched up with the magic system in my world just seemed meant to be. I must also thank my brothers and sisters who have always been readers and supporters, Justin, Megan, Jared, Kirsten, Keith, and Kevin, and my daughter, Paige, and son, Steel, who pleased me by becoming fans.
I must also thank my friends and extended family that read my books over the years and offered support and suggestions and editing help: Kami Jenkins, John Williams, Steve Jackson, John Stewart, Brenton Brown, Carrie Snider, Darren Defrain, and many others that have influenced me over the years including many wonderful fantasy writers that inspired me with their worlds.
Thank you all, and please, spread the word.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty One
Chapter Forty Two
Chapter One
Justan’s eyes opened to a blinding white light. He had to blink for a moment before his vision cleared enough to make out his surroundings. He was in a long room painted a brilliant white. White beds were laid out in rows. Only one bed other than his own was occupied. Then he remembered; he was still in the MageSchool infirmary.
He swung his legs over the bed and made to stand but stopped himself as he remembered. He was still naked. Justan cursed. The last thing he remembered from the day before was standing wet and shivering, demanding clothing. Then the matron had cast a spell . . .
Justan’s face went red with embarrassment. Matron Guernfeldt had insisted that she bathe him herself, and she had not been gentle. He hadn’t been bathed by another person since he was a small child, much less by a large muscular woman with arms like tree trunks and rough hands. He was eighteen years old, a grown man after all.
He looked atop the bedside table and saw a neatly folded pile of thin white linen clothing. He sighed in relief that his request had not gone unanswered. A small slip of paper had been pinned on top. He picked it up and read the small neat handwriting.
Justan,
So sorry about what happened. I know the matron can be a bit rough. But she means well. I’ll try to convince her that you are well enough to take care of yourself. See you soon,
Vannya
Justan’s face reddened yet again. What state had he been in when the beautiful mage had brought that clothing? He hoped he hadn’t still been sprawled out unconscious and naked on the floor. He pulled the shirt on gingerly, wincing as his skin, still tender in places from the matron’s vigorous scrubbing, came in contact with the material.
As he pulled up the white linen pants, he felt a twinge in his hip and reminded himself that his pelvis had been broken just the day before. If it wasn’t for magic, he would have been crippled for life. As it was, he was confined to bed rest for two days and wasn’t going to be allowed to leave the infirmary for a week.
Justan picked up a small hand mirror from the table and examined his reflection. He saw the familiar dark brown hair and the piercing brown eyes that analyzed everything he looked upon. Justan was of average height with a wiry but muscular build that spoke of someone with warrior training. He nodded, satisfied that at least in one way he looked out of place in a MageSchool hospital.
He sat back down on the bed and started to lay back when the double doors at the end of the room creaked open.
“Hello?” A short, portly man in wizard’s robes took a hesitant step through the doorway. When he saw Justan sitting there, he strode forward with confidence. He was middle aged and balding and had kind eyes. “Pardon me for barging in.” He saw the sleeping occupant in the bed across from Justan’s and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I am Professor Beehn. I’m the wizard in charge of the grounds here at the MageSchool. Are you Justan, son of Faldon the Fierce?”
“Yes sir, that’s me.” All his life he had been known only as Faldon’s son; son of the greatest warrior in the DremaldrianBattleAcademy. Justan looked forward to the day he would be able to step out from his father’s shadow and receive a warrior name of his own. It was strange to think that he had almost made it into the academy himself just two weeks ago. He would be there now, training under the best warriors in the land if the wizard Valtrek hadn’t talked the academy into forcing Justan to go to the MageSchool for two years. He was here against his will, trying to understand magical powers he didn’t even want.
“Very good to meet you, cadet.” The balding wizard beamed a welcoming smile. He shook Justan’s hand. “I understand that Master Latva signed you in yesterday. I am sorry that I was not able to be here with the rest of the welcoming committee. I was waylaid elsewhere on the grounds.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a packet of papers. “I am here to deliver you this packet. It contains the basic rules and standards of behavior expected of all students here at the MageSchool.”
“Oh . . . thanks.” Justan looked down at the pages with trepidation. The last thing he wanted was more rules. He had already looked up some of the regulations he was most concerned about the day before. He had already formulated a plan to maintain his identity as a warrior despite his forced sentence here at the school. Hopefully nothing in the packet would foul him up.
Professor Beehn misunderstood Justan’s apprehension at the packet in his hands. “Oh my. Cadet, I am sorry but . . . you can read, can’t you?”
“Can I read?” Justan’s brow darkened. “Sir, I was accepted into the DremaldrianBattleAcademy before I was dragged here. I have read every book on strategy and warfare that I have been able to get my hands on. Of course I can read.”
The professor’s face reddened. “I-I did not mean to offend. Students that arrive
at the MageSchool come from a variety of circumstances. They are required to come here as soon as it is discovered that they have magical talent. Sometimes we have to start from the very beginning.”
“I apologize, Professor. I should not have taken offense. It’s just . . . all these rules that I was worried about,” he explained.
“Well then.” The wizard smiled again and sat down on the bed next to his. He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Why don’t I go over them with you? This way we can answer any questions you have. Hmm?”
Justan agreed, eager to get this out of the way. He needed to find every loophole that he could to make sure that he did not lose his identity as a warrior. Two years trapped among a sea of wizards could change him in ways he could not foresee.
Professor Beehn started going over the basic school rules. Some of them were obvious like, “don’t swim in the moat”, or “don’t tamper with the clocks”. Other rules were a bit harder for Justan to understand the purpose of, like “no spell-casting in the dormitories” or “no dancing in the gardens.”
Though Professor Beehn was obviously intelligent, he was also quite boring. The wizard droned on for nearly two hours thoroughly describing all of the detailed guidelines of life at the school. Despite his resolve, Justan found his mind wandering.
When the wizard had finished, Justan realized that one of his questions had gone unanswered. “Um, Professor, While I am here, I would like to keep my skills honed. Where will I be allowed to exercise?”
The wizard’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why . . . No one has ever asked me that before. Most students have to be forced to exercise.”
“Well, it is important to me, sir.”
“I see. Very well. There are specific areas designated for walking. The paved paths in the grassy area just inside of the front gate were set-aside for just that purpose. As far as practicing with the sword goes . . .” The professor shrugged. “Perhaps if the guards don’t mind, you can practice with them. There are no regulations against it that I am aware of. However, this must be done in your free time only. Is that clear?”
Justan nodded.
Professor Beehn was also in charge of the “volunteer” work assignments for the students. When the wizard pulled a list of work suggestions out of his robes, Justan was already prepared with an idea.
“May I volunteer for library duty?” he asked.
The wizard looked delighted at his initiative. “Well, of course you can. That would put you under the care of Mr. Vincent, the head librarian. This is what you wish?”
“Yes sir.” He had already met the gnomish head librarian before his encounter with the orc that had put him in the infirmary. Justan had quite liked him.
“Very well. I will inform Vincent of the extra help.”
After Professor Beehn left, Matron Guernfeldt appeared and forced Justan to get some rest despite the early hour. Justan grumbled but acquiesced after the threat of another sleep spell. To his surprise, he slept soundly, his body still tired from the exertion it had gone through during the last week.
Justan awoke the next day with hardly a twinge in his hip. He stretched and yawned, feeling great. In fact, he wanted to go running. He knew however, that the infirmary matron with her powerful arms and meaty hands would stop him. So having nothing better to do, he slid to the floor, hooked his feet under the edge of the footboard of his bed, and began doing sit-ups. A few moments later, he heard someone moving.
He turned and looked up to see the infirmary’s only other patient sit upright in his bed with a gasp. The guard eyes flickered around the room frantically. He obviously didn’t know where he was.
“Zambon.” Justan stood. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re at the infirmary in the MageSchool. Both of us were put in here by the same orc, I understand.”
Zambon stared at Justan without comprehension for a moment, then blinked in understanding. “Oh, wow. For a moment there I thought I had died.”
Justan watched the guard reach down, feeling his stomach. The orc had left a ghastly wound which would have been fatal if not for a mage’s careful attention. The grievous wound was gone, leaving a fresh scar. Zambon winced.
“Still feeling a little sore?” Justan asked.
“Yeah.”
“I took a sword to the stomach one year at the tests. The mages healed me right away, but it hurt for days afterwards. Yours was a lot worse, though.”
Zambon leaned forward and rubbed his face with his hands. He looked back at Justan. “Wait, the last thing I remember was Riveren riding in just as that huge orc cut me open. How did you get in here?”
Justan had only been at the MageSchool for a few short hours before he had heard that Zambon and Riveren, the two academy graduates escorting their caravan, had not made it to the school. He, along with the mages Vannya and Qyxal, had ridden out to rescue them. The battle that ensued is what had landed him in the infirmary in the first place.
Zambon shook his head in amazement as Justan recounted the story. “You are telling me that you came in with two mages and decided to clean out the orc camp all by yourselves?”
“That is pretty much what happened, yes.”
The guard snorted and shook his head. “That was a stupid idea.”
“Hey, I didn’t have the time to plan anything out. It was the best I could do under the circumstances,” Justan pointed out. “Besides, you are lucky I did. If I had waited and gathered up a bigger group to come after you, you would have been dead before we arrived.”
Zambon raised his eyebrows. “I was that far gone, huh?”
“We were barely able to get to you in time.”
“Well, I am in your debt then.” Zambon started to get out of bed, then stopped. He laughed, a rare thing for the guard. “I would bow, but I seem to be naked.”
Justan laughed as well. He knew the feeling. They chatted for a while as Justan brought the guard up to date. Finally, Justan felt compelled to ask a question.
“Zambon, I hope you don’t mind me asking . . . I mean, it’s none of my business, but Riveren and I were talking the other day and he-.” Justan winced. “Uh, I mean I . . . was worried about you.”
“Worried? What do you mean?” The guard gave him a dubious look.
Justan was uncomfortable bringing this up, after all he had only known the man for a short time and they were more acquaintances then friends. But there was something inside of him that insisted upon it.
“Throughout the journey here, you were a little, I don’t know . . . distant. I commented on it, and Riveren said that you normally aren’t like that.”
Zambon’s expression gave away nothing. “Why should I tell you?”
“Sorry,” Justan said, ready to drop the subject. “It’s not my place to ask.”
But Zambon wasn’t finished, “Then again, why shouldn’t I?” He chewed on his bottom lip. “Okay, Justan, I’ll tell you what’s been bothering me. It’s been driving me crazy, keeping it secret this long. Maybe talking about it will help me figure it out.” He pointed a stern finger at Justan. “But you must promise me not to speak of it to anyone, not even Riveren, whose hind quarters I am going to kick as soon as I get out of here.”
“Of course.”
“Alright.” The guard leaned back against the headboard of his bed and placed his hands behind his head. “It started last spring. I was put on a six-month guard duty at DremaldCastle. Everyone hates that post because when you’re at the castle, all the nobles treat you like a servant. You know, asking you to do stupid menial jobs and things. Especially when Prince Andre is about.”
The guard frowned. “Though I guess he’s King Andre now. He seems to take particular pleasure in showing academy-trained guards that they aren’t anything special. Anyway, the first two months at the castle were miserable for me. I was counting the days until I could go home. Then something happened that changed my mind.”
“I knew it!” Justan said. “You met a girl.”
“A girl?” Zambon guffa
wed, looking miserable. “Oh, if it were only that simple! I didn’t meet just any girl. I was placed as the personal guard of Elise Muldroomon.”
“The Princess?” Justan said a bit too loudly.
Zambon jumped as if startled and looked around, almost expecting to see someone else listening to the conversation, but the room was empty other than the two of them. He motioned for Justan to be quiet and took his voice down to a whisper.
“Yes, the Princess. Well it started out innocent enough. I thought she was beautiful and all, but I kept it professional like I had always been taught. Then I noticed her giving me the look. Now I know what that means. I have been training all my life to learn when a girl is . . . interested.”
Zambon started to get a far away look in his eyes. “But she isn’t just any girl. Elise is gorgeous, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and she didn’t treat the guards like the other nobles do.”
Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) Page 1