Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

Then, with the gnome in tow, they left the room together. The tournaments always lasted for several hours and by the time they were over, it was usually late enough that students had to go straight to their dormitories in order to observe the school’s curfew. So when Master Latva and his gnomish companion bid him goodnight, it was quiet outside. Other than a hurrying student or two, Justan was pretty much alone.

  He walked from the Hall of Elements to his dormitory with a spring in his step. After what he had accomplished that night, he felt thrilled and confident. It was as if at that moment, nothing could get in his way. In fact, he was so happy, that he had to share it with someone.

  He called Gwyrtha’s thoughts up from down in the recesses of his mind where he had pushed them during the tournament. He called out to her cheerfully, but all that he received in response was the faint sense that she was pouting. He sent thoughts and images trying to perk her up. He even apologized, but she continued to ignore him.

  Justan finally gave up and continued on his way. Soon he arrived at his room. To his relief, Piledon was lying in his bed quietly. Lately Piledon had been withdrawn and didn’t often speak to anyone. This didn’t bother Justan because he really didn’t feel inclined to talk to him either. Still, even though his roommate hadn’t played a prank in months, Justan checked his bed for tampering.

  As he was changing out of his clothes, he made a decision. Why not? After his experience that night, he felt like he could do anything.

  Gwyrtha? Justan called. I am really sorry. Can you forgive me? Her reply was a mental snort. Okay then. Would you forgive me if I came out and saw you?

  In response, he felt the familiar excitement come back into her thoughts. Justan chuckled and shed his robe. The robe would be too confining for what he had in mind this night. Instead, he opened his closet and pulled out his old road clothes and sturdy boots.

  Justan had already planned a way in and out of the school. This was one time when the flaws he had seen in the school’s defenses would come in handy. As Justan started to open the door he paused. On a whim, he decided to take his swords with him, just in case. After all, last time he had been outside of the school’s walls he had been forced to fight off a group of orcs. As he belted on his swords, he heard a noise in the darkness behind him.

  “Justan?” It was Piledon. The cadet was sitting up in his bed. He had been awake the entire time. “Where are you going?”

  Justan gritted his teeth. This was an unpleasant development. Piledon hadn’t bothered to speak with him in weeks. Why did he have to start now?

  “Uh, nowhere in particular. I just don’t feel tired right now and I thought I’d go for a walk.” It was a stupid excuse. After all, he was dressed for travel now. He just hoped that it was dark enough in the room that Piledon couldn’t see what he was wearing. “Why?”

  Piledon sounded as if he started to say something, but changed his mind. “No reason really. Never mind,” the cadet mumbled and lay back down in his bed.

  Justan hesitated a moment. He really didn’t trust Piledon. The cadet could tell others about Justan’s late walk and get him in trouble. But he was excited to see Gwyrtha now and really didn’t feel like turning back. Besides, he knew of many such late nights of his roommate’s. Surely Piledon wouldn’t dare tell the faculty about it with all that Justan knew.

  He finally just shrugged and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. After making sure that no one else was in sight, he left the dormitory behind and padded away, keeping to the shadows.

  Pympol sat between the bushes in front of his dorm with his head in his hands. His life had been pure misery since the public sentencing. It was humiliating enough, going back to the same classes that he had finished so many years ago, but here he was back in the dorm with the cadets again. Each one of the students in the place knew that being demoted upset him and they all seemed to enjoy reminding him of how far he had fallen.

  The worst part of staying in the cadet dormitory was that in just two days his roommate, who had only been at the school for two years, was going to become an apprentice. The stupid kid was walking about all day grinning like he’d just found a dragon’s hoard and Pympol knew that he did it just to spite him. It was terrible the way they treated him.

  Pympol looked up behind him to check, but the light was still on. His roommate hadn’t gone to sleep yet. He wished the kid would turn the light out so that he could come in without seeing his face.

  As he started to put his head back into his hands and feel sorry for himself again, he thought he saw a figure moving through the shadows. He looked closer and frowned. There was a full moon out that night and Pympol could see well enough to know that the person wasn’t wearing student robes.

  Curiosity banished his self-pity for a moment and he followed the figure across the grounds. As he got closer, Pympol noticed something sticking up out of the figure’s shoulders. It took him a moment to realize that what he had seen was a strange harness strapped across the person’s back. That was when Pympol realized that the person he had been following was Justan.

  A partial snarl rippled across his features. Pympol didn’t like Justan. He never had. From the first moment that Pympol had laid eyes on him, he knew that Justan was someone who always seemed to be able to get his way in life.

  Everyone instinctively liked him. Even the girls giggled when he walked by. And then Justan had the nerve to act innocent, like he had no idea how much his very presence manipulated the lives of those around him. It made Pympol sick.

  The mage turned cadet, started to turn back as soon as he knew the identity of the figure, but his dislike of Justan made him change his mind. What was Justan up to anyway? It was late, past curfew and yet here he was, sneaking about the school grounds in regular clothes, armed to the teeth.

  This was too good an opportunity to pass up. Perhaps if he reported what Justan was up to, the cadet would be taken down a peg or two. Maybe if what Justan was doing was bad enough, the council would be glad that Pympol had turned him in and rethink his position.

  Pympol followed Justan to the front gate of the school and then watched in astonishment, as the warrior climbed the portcullis that barred the entrance. It took Pympol a moment to figure out just what it was that Justan was doing, but then he realized that when the portcullis was lowered, there was just enough of a gap at the top that Justan could get over the top of it and climb down the other side.

  Pympol grinned. Justan was leaving the school grounds.

  This was even better than he had hoped for. Leaving the school grounds without permission was expressly forbidden, especially for cadets. Pympol could get Justan in quite a bit of trouble. But it wasn’t enough. The worst that the faculty would do to him was give him extra work duty and Justan didn’t seem to mind that at all. No, he needed to find out exactly what Justan was doing out there. It was obvious that he wasn’t leaving the school permanently. He didn’t have his beloved bow with him.

  Being demoted didn’t take away Pympol’s magical experience and he knew of a way to find out what he wanted to know. What he was about to attempt was very dangerous. He had seen Professor Valtrek do it once to search for Justan when he had run off into the Tinny Woods.

  He crept under one of the hedges that dotted the pathways by the front of the school grounds and closed his eyes. He didn’t want his body to be found before he got back. Pympol took a deep breath, gathered his energies and enacted a spell to free himself from his body.

  It took several tries, but finally, with a strange, gut wrenching sensation, Pympol was floating above the hedge. He looked down and saw a thin stream of iridescent energy connecting his spirit to his body. It was an amazingly free feeling, being unhampered by a physical body and the sensation of flight was every bit as wonderful as he had dreamed it would be.

  Outside of his body, Pympol’s vision was expanded. In the moonlight, he could see as if it were noonday. He almost lost himself in the glory of it all, but then he remembered what his purp
ose for being outside of his body was. He flew off in pursuit of Justan.

  At first he was afraid that he had taken too long and lost track of his quarry. He flew quickly around the edge of the school and saw Justan skulking around along the side of the wall. Then Justan paused, pressed himself up against the wall and waited. It took a moment for Pympol to realize what Justan was waiting for, but from his vantage up in the air, he saw a guard walking along the top of the wall.

  After the guard passed by, Justan sprinted off towards the woods that ran along the perimeter of the school. As Justan neared the edge, Pympol was startled by the sight of a large beast lurking at the tree line. It hurtled out of the trees and tackled Justan.

  At first Pympol thought that it was attacking, but he heard Justan laugh, and climb out from under the beast. Intrigued, Pympol came closer and saw that Justan was, in fact, embracing the large creature. The beast was incredible. It looked part horse and part lizard, though its stance seemed to be feline in nature. It was unlike anything that Pympol had ever seen and he couldn’t comprehend how Justan had come to know about it.

  It was obvious to Pympol that this was no natural creature and when he strained his mage sight, he could sense traces of magic in the beast’s makeup. It was a marvel of magical workmanship. It wasn’t as powerful as his golem had been. The magic used when creating this creature was much more subtle. This intrigued Pympol even more. This was a marvelous creature and he ached to be able to study it in more detail.

  As he watched Justan mount the beast’s back and ride it swiftly into the forest, an idea came to his mind. Pympol gave a mental chuckle. He had originally intended to simply tell the council of Justan’s breaking of the rules, but now he had some more interesting ideas. There were ways that he could turn this to his advantage. Things were suddenly looking up for him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Two days later, Justan sat down at his regular place in the library with a wince. He had been standing around waiting for Master Latva for half an hour before finally succumbing to the earth’s downward pull and sitting down. His nighttime ride with Gwyrtha the night before last had really given his body a beating.

  He had been sore the day afterward, but now the soreness had settled into an aching stiffness in muscles he didn’t even know he had. It felt much better now, after his morning run than it had when he had first awoken, but it was still quite uncomfortable. He was going to have to get more practice.

  He had truly enjoyed his time with Gwyrtha. They had raced through the night, sharing emotions and experiences through their bond, communicating on a level that Justan would never have thought possible. To Justan, she had become more than a friend, more than a sister even. She had become a part of him.

  For what must have been the twentieth time that morning, Justan considered meeting her again in the evening. As quickly as the urge came, he pushed it down. It was too dangerous a thing to toy with. If he went out to visit her too often, the chances of being caught increased. It would be too easy to become complacent and it would only be a matter of time before he made a mistake and someone saw him. If they ever found out about Gwyrtha, he didn’t know what he would be able to do about it.

  Justan looked around the library for Master Latva. He was excited to learn all about this new card game. Not only was he looking forward to the pleasure of learning the game itself, but it was also an opportunity to socialize with the school’s great wizards.

  He was beginning to wonder how long he should wait before giving up, when a hand settled on his shoulder. Justan jumped instinctively and looked up to see Master Latva’s assistant Alfred standing over him. He didn’t understand how the tall gnome had arrived so quietly.

  As soon as the Alfred saw that he had Justan’s attention, he uttered a single word. “Come.”

  The gnomes voice was deep and dusty, as if it had been unused for a long time. When Justan thought about it, he realized that he had never heard the gnome speak before. Once again he wondered what made this gnome so different, but he didn’t have time to give it much thought, for the gnome was swiftly walking away. With another wince, Justan stood and followed the gnome out the library door.

  They walked a ways deeper into the RuneTower before Justan caught up to him. “Alfred, where are we going?”

  The gnome continued to stride quickly forward, ignoring the question.

  “Oh, so is the game held in a secret location? Am I not supposed to tell anyone?”

  Alfred glanced back briefly and gave Justan an annoyed twitch of his eyebrows, but otherwise said nothing.

  “So . . . am I not supposed to talk . . . here . . . then?”

  Alfred simply upped the pace and Justan gave up asking questions. He followed behind the gnome in silence.

  They traveled past many doors and hallways until Alfred started up a curving stairwell that Justan had never been allowed admittance to before. At the top of the stairs was a gilded door with a crystal knob that entered into a long, elaborately decorated hallway.

  The floor was covered in a plush red carpet that stretched the hall’s entire length. There were flameless torches mounted into the wall every ten feet that bathed the hallway in a soft glow. Magnificent paintings hung between each of these lights.

  On the right side of the hallway, each painting was a portrait of a named wizard. Justan could tell because each one stood with the left hand raised palm out showing the rune on their hand. On the left were portraits of a long line of named warriors. It was obvious to Justan that these warriors had not posed for the paintings because there was not as much detail to their faces as in the wizard’s paintings. However, Justan could plainly see the detail on the runes on the back of their right hands as well as on the weapons each warrior held.

  He felt a thrill shoot through him as he looked at these glorious people of times past. How wonderful would it be to have his own portrait hung in a hallway like this with such a rune on his hand? He thought of Sir Hilt and Master Latva with their sheer power and confidence and laughed inside at his audacity for considering such a thing.

  Justan began to wonder why the wizards decorated the entrance to their game room so elaborately when the hallway opened up into a round room with one door on the end. There were cushioned benches lining the wall around the room and Alfred stopped and gestured for Justan to sit on one of them. The gnome then exited through the door at the end of the room and left Justan alone.

  Justan barely registered the gnome’s departure for he was busy gazing about the room in awe. If the hallway had been decorated elaborately, this room contained a level of extravagance Justan had never imagined.

  Every inch of the walls was lined in gold or silver. The ceiling stretched twenty feet overhead and was covered in intricate carvings so small that Justan could not register what they were all about without taking time to look at each and every one.

  Moments after he sat down, the door opened with a gust of air and Professor Beehn wheeled himself into the room. Justan looked at him in surprise, first wondering how he had come up all of those stairs and then noticing what the wizard was wearing. Beehn wore fancy bright yellow robes that seemed to be made of silk lined with gold at the edges.

  “Justan, I am so glad to see you here,” the wizard said, beaming.

  “It is good to see you too, Professor. Why are you so dressed up? I didn’t realize that the game would be so formal. I could have worn my better robe.”

  “Game?” Beehn asked, puzzled.

  “Yes, Master Latva told me that he was going to teach me Unity today,” Justan said.

  “Oh, that.” Professor Beehn waved his hand absently. “Unity can wait for another day. Today is the day that we are calling the new apprentices. There were only going to be five this year, but after the tournament the other day we decided to make it six.”

  Justan’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean it?”

  “Yes!” Beehn laughed. “We voted on it and decided that you are ready. You are right about o
ne thing though. You can’t be called as an apprentice in that ragged robe. There are traditions to uphold after all! Come, follow me,” the wizard said and led Justan through the door into a short hallway. They entered another door on the right that led into a rather plain room with a short wooden bench, a closet and a washbasin.

  The professor asked Justan to clean up in the basin while he wheeled himself over to the closet. When Justan was finished, the wizard handed him a clean set of bright white robes.

  “Put these on. Don’t bother with your shoes. The only thing you are allowed to bring in with you is your ceremonial dagger. Do you have it with you? You will need it.” Justan nodded. “Good. Now hurry, the others are waiting for you.”

  “But, wait!” Suddenly Justan felt nervous. This was a big thing and he didn't feel prepared. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I mean, I've done a lot of research, and the books that I have found on the subject refer to the elevation ceremony on the day that one becomes an apprentice, but they don't give any detail. What is going to happen in there?”