The War of Stardeon (The Bowl of Souls)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  “Then why have we not been teaching this at the academy all these years?” Faldon asked. “Imagine how useful it would be if some academy-trained guards and soldiers could see when an enemy carried some kind of magic!”

  Locksher scratched his head. “I can’t say that I know the answer to that question. Surely it should have been thought of, unless . . .”

  “Unless?” Faldon prodded.

  “Well, unless at some point the Mage School High Council decided that teaching such a thing to the masses would be a bad idea.” He saw the glower on Faldon’s face and added, “I don’t know this for sure. I mean, it has never been discussed when I have been with the council. It is a supposition, but one that makes sense. We wizards enjoy a bit of anonymity from time to time. If everyone who had the slightest trace of magical ability was trained to use mage sight, they could pick out our magic. If they learned enough, they could tell what amounts of magic were used, how powerful the spell was, or even who cast it. Why every wizard has their own style, I can pick many out by the spell that was cast . . .”

  Jobar was looking hopelessly lost. “Uh, are we going to talk about the troll?”

  “Troll?” Locksher said, relieved to be changing the subject. “You have a question about trolls?”

  Faldon’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Jobar, bring it in here.

  As Jobar retrieved the troll’s body, Jhonate told Locksher of the events earlier in the day. By the time Jobar returned, the wizard was practically hopping on his feet with excitement.

  “Bring it here!”

  They laid the body on the floor by his feet and unwrapped it. The troll still twitched, its head continuing its empty gnashing. Though the power of whatever Locker had done when he touched her forehead was fading, Jhonate thought she saw a faint white haze emanating from the body.

  “Incredible!” Locksher said. “An inflammable troll. It’s just like you said; bulky, muscular . . . it’s been peppered and yet it still lives.”

  He bent down and sliced into its chest, cutting out a chunk of skin and muscle. The flesh writhed as he picked it up. He extended a finger and a small flame sprouted from the tip. He waved it under the troll flesh but it did not catch fire. He held it over the flame a bit longer until the edges began to blacken, then he placed it on a coal brazier that stood beside the workbench and let it sizzle.

  He turned back to face them. “Amazing. Jhonate, tell me, what did you see just now as the beast was unwrapped?”

  “Spirit magic,” she said, looking down at it.

  “Right. This troll’s body is crawling with spirit magic. The only conclusion I can come to is that somehow this mother of the moonrats has modified its body in some way.”

  Jhonate felt a chill. “If she can do this to other trolls . . .”

  “Then the goblinoid army just got harder to fight,” Faldon said. He looked to the wizard. “What can we do to combat this?”

  “I am testing that right now,” he said, gesturing to the brazier. “We know that it still reacts to pepper. It doesn’t kill it, however. It lives, but at least so far its body hasn’t regenerated. If we come across more, we should be able to pepper them and dismember them and their threat will be neutralized.” He turned the meat over on the coals. “If heat still kills it, we can burn their bodies as usual after the fact.”

  After a few moments, he took the flesh off the brazier and laid it on the bench. He cut a thin slice from it with his knife and examined it closely. As far as Jhonate could tell, the flesh was no longer moving.

  “Aha, see? The flesh is cooked through and the tissues are dead. The spirit magic has left it.” He looked at the bit of cooked flesh thoughtfully for a second and to Jhonate’s horror, popped it into his mouth and began chewing.

  Faldon looked concerned. “Locksher, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Trolls are filthy. You could get sick.”

  “Nonsense. It is thoroughly cooked through. Troll meat is perfectly safe if well cooked. It is a bit gamey maybe and cooking it is usually hard because of the way it tends to burst into flame, but there are worse meats out there. Musk toad for instance . . . disgusting.”

  “I can’t believe you just swallowed that,” Jobar said, looking sick.

  Locksher shrugged. “I experimented on troll meat as an alternative food source back in my old days at the Mage School. We had a troll that we kept imprisoned in a cage. It was a fascinating study. We would cut off a limb every once in a while to experiment on and the creature would grow it back.” Noticing their looks of unease, he added. “Please understand, it was quite necessary. Consider the possible value of a regenerating meat supply. If we could find a way to get people to eat it, we could solve the world‘s hunger issues. Their flesh has healing properties as well.”

  “No matter how hungry they were, no one would eat that,” Jhonate pronounced, feeling a little queasy.

  “There was an old goblin by the name of Honstule that lived at the school back in those days, I tell you he was smarter than half the mages there. The whole concept was his idea. He helped me with the testing for awhile before the impracticality of keeping a herd of monsters that constantly tried to kill you finally brought us to our senses.”

  “So what you’re saying is that fire will still kill it?” Faldon asked impatiently.

  “It would seem so. Please leave the head with me and I will examine it further. ” He gestured at the head, which was trying to drag itself towards them by its tongue. “But um . . . take the body with you and burn it. Lets make sure I was correct.”

  “Very well. We shall leave you to it. I for one need to eat. Even if I have lost my appetite.” Faldon started for the tent flap, but turned back. “And Locksher, our discussion about mage sight isn’t over. I want you to start thinking of a way to figure out who among my men can learn. This could be of great use in our fight against a wizard like Ewzad Vriil.”

  “Uh, yes,” Locksher said reluctantly. “Yes, of course.”

  The wizard stooped and picked up the troll’s head by the hair. He nodded at them and placed it on the workbench, his eyebrow raised as they followed Faldon , dragging the troll’s body out of the tent.

  When Jhonate arrived at her tent later that evening, a soft glow already shone from within. She ducked inside to see a glowing orb floating against the ceiling. Vannya was sitting cross-legged, looking down at a small mirror and brushing her hair for what Jhonate could only assume was the hundredth time that day. Beside her, neatly folded, was the letter that Justan had given the mage. For some reason, Vannya always liked to mention it when Jhonate was around.

  “So you survived the battle without injury?” Vannya asked sweetly without taking her eyes off the mirror.

  “Of course,” Jhonate said. “Otherwise you would have seen me earlier.”

  “That’s true. When the wounded were brought in and you weren’t among them, I assumed you had survived without a scratch. Either that or you were dead. A terrible thought, since I am so used to having you around.” She smiled and looked up at Jhonate. “But to my relief, here you are. Alive as ever.”

  Jhonate forced a smile on her face in return. “I am just glad that you were able to stay behind so that you could heal the warriors that were out doing the difficult work.”

  “Indeed. Why I did just fine without my babysitter today,” Vannya said with a haughty look. “I would have you know that even without you looking over my shoulder, I wasn’t raped once.”

  “Do you really think that is why I agreed to be assigned here with you?” Jhonate frowned. “I am not here to protect you from the other students. They are not so base as that. I am here to protect them from you.”

  “From me?” Her tone was shocked, but Jhonate was sure that she knew exactly what she meant.

  “Yes, Mage Vannya. You are a distraction. The way you strut about and . . . flaunt yourself makes the men unfocused. I stay with you to ensure that your presence here does not get one of my fellow students killed.”

 
Vannya looked down at her full-length robe and looked back to Jhonate. “Flaunt? I am more covered than you.”

  “You do not need to expose your body to be a distraction. Your very face is a problem.”

  “My face? What would you have me do? Wear a mask?”

  “That would be helpful,” Jhonate suggested.

  “You are being completely ridiculous!” Vannya said, and stood as much as their tent would allow, hunched over, hands on both hips. “Why you are just as pretty as I am. Why am I a problem when you aren’t?”

  Jhonate’s face flushed. That was nonsense. “I most certainly am not as . . . I . . . I do my best to discourage any distracting thoughts.”

  “Oh, it’s that easy for you, is it?” Vannya asked.

  As a matter of fact it hadn’t been. In the beginning, several of the students had been a problem. Qenzic was the perfect gentleman and focused on his studies, but Poz was easily distractible and Jobar still had to be corrected from time to time. “I have needed to be firm for them to understand. But yes, you must put forth the effort.”

  “Well, sure. If I spent all my time glowering and hitting the boys, maybe they would learn not to see me as a woman too.”

  Jhonate blinked. Is that how the mage saw her? “I keep them focused on the job at hand, but they are aware that I am a woman.”

  “Of course they are. Just look at you. They’re men,” Vannya said and then said more quietly, “I . . . I try not to encourage them.”

  “You laugh at any joke they say, no matter how stupid,” Jhonate pointed out. “And you reach out and touch them as you do it.”

  “I most definitely do not!” Vannya’s face was flushed.

  “And you primp yourself and scent yourself, and spend too much time . . . washing.”

  “That is simple hygiene!” Vannya said with a glower, shaking her fist. “I do no more than necessary.”

  “You are shaking your brush at me right now,” Jhonate pointed out and Vannya looked down at the brush she still had clutched in her fist. “We are at war. How straight does your hair need to be?”

  “Y-you! If I don’t brush it my hair becomes a tangled mess. You keep your hair perfect so easily.” She pointed an accusatory finger. “Why you have just returned from battle and there is not one hair out of place.”

  Jhonate snorted. She was very aware of the giant’s blood, troll slime, and dirt in her hair. “I keep my hair braided in the traditional style of my people. When done correctly, it does not require constant attention.”

  “Aha!” Vannya laughed in triumph. “You care just as much about your hair as I do! You-!”

  They were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat just outside their tent flap. The two women scowled at each other in embarrassment.

  “Who is it?” Jhonate asked.

  “It’s me,” came Locksher’s voice.

  “You can come in, Professor,” Vannya said.

  “No-no. That won’t be necessary. I-uh, just wanted to let you ladies know that your . . . conversation has not gone unheard. You see, um . . . sound travels farther at night and-.”

  “We understand, Professor,” Vannya said, exchanging an uncomfortable glance with Jhonate. The rest of the camp must have been finding their discussion quite amusing. “Thank you. Is there anything else?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Good evening then, professor.”

  “Yes, good evening.”

  Vannya hid her face in her hands as Locksher walked away. “I’m going to sleep now.”

  “That would be best,” Jhonate agreed.

  Jhonate waited until Vannya had dispelled her glowing orb before changing out of her battle-stained clothing and slipping into her bedroll. She laid in silence and began preparing her mind for a light sleep. Lately she had been forced to go to bed ready for combat.

  “You should have let Professor Locksher take care of it, you know,” Vannya said from her much more plush sleeping pad.

  “What are you speaking about?” Jhonate replied.

  “The mother of the moonrats,” Vannya clarified. “You lost critical information that could have been helpful to us. If only we knew-.”

  “I am fully aware that I lost the information.” Jhonate said. She thought about it constantly, in fact. What that woman thing had done to her . . . she still had headaches from time to time as a result and her dreams were strange. She thought back to the troll attack earlier in the day and the voice she had heard in her mind. Something wasn’t right. “Are you attempting to start another argument, Vannya?”

  “No . . . I am just frustrated is all. I hate being up here in the mountains, not knowing what we are up against. Not knowing what is happening with the Mage School or with Justa- . . . the rest of the world.”

  “As do I.”

  Jhonate’s mind wandered from her meditation. She laid in the darkness and twisted the ring on her finger, knowing that the cool glow of its protection covered her body. It was almost as if Justan were there with her. Again she had the urge to take it off, but instead she held it more tightly. If only the ring would protect her from her dreams.

  Chapter Five

  Race me, Justan sent.

  He shivered as he looked into the upper branches of the tree in front of him. The sun had not yet broken the horizon, but with the heightened senses he had gained, Justan saw movement in the branches above. He smiled. His request had caught Deathclaw off guard.

  Race? Why?

  I need to run, Justan sent, his tone matter of fact. And I need someone to push me.

  Why would I do this? Deathclaw’s tone was suspicious.

  Deathclaw was getting much better at communicating. In the beginning, their conversations had been complicated because the human language was so full of foreign concepts to the raptoid. Over the past few days, Justan had started sending along a mental explanation of words he felt Deathclaw would have difficulty with as they spoke. This seemed to help and to his surprise, Deathclaw had begun to do the same when talking to him.

  You have raced Fist before. Justan responded. Why not me?

  You will lose, came the raptoid’s response.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Justan said aloud. “Come on. I need someone to push me.”

  You are the leader. You would lose face in front of the pack? Deathclaw seemed surprised.

  “We don’t think that way in our pack. We all have our different strengths,” Justan replied. “We all know that Fist is much stronger than the rest of us but that doesn’t matter. Why should this?”

  The leader is the best of the pack. Deathclaw sent. Justan was curious what he meant by his statement, but the raptoid kept his thoughts quiet.

  This isn’t a raptoid pack, he reminded. “Will you race me or not?”

  Deathclaw somehow managed to climb down from the tree so silently that Justan’s sensitive ears barely heard the sound of his claws against the trunk. He soon stood before Justan, arms folded, reptilian eyes black in the faint light of daybreak. The sword slung across his shoulders was his only adornment. Where?

  “Across the ridge. To the base of the hanging cliff.” Justan sent an image of the area he had seen when they had stopped to camp the day before. At the edge of the valley they were in, a plateau rose out of the forest. A large section of the cliff face had split away from the side of the plateau and hung outward ominously like it might fall any moment.

  It is far.

  Justan smiled. It was probably five miles. An easy morning run for a student of Jhonate bin Leeths. “That’s why it will be a challenge. Do you have the stamina?”

  I will win. Deathclaw sent with confidence.

  “We will see.” Justan turned towards the cliff face. He could barely see the edge jutting out against the brightening sky. “Are you ready?”

  Deathclaw had not moved. Run then.

  Justan took off in a loping jog, smiling to himself. Fist was right. This was just what he needed; to get his blood pumping, clear his mind. He sensed
Deathclaw’s amusement.

  This is a run for you? the raptoid asked.

  Justan turned his head to see Deathclaw running alongside him at the same speed, exerting very little effort. Justan dodged around a tree. I am pacing myself. Conserving my energy. This is a long run remember?

  Raptoids run all day through the desert. Deathclaw let out a hissing chuckle. You are exposing your weakness. Humans tire so easily. The pack leader should not be the slowest member of the pack.

  Justan smiled back at him. There was a time in his life when Deathclaw’s remarks would have been right. He had been weak once. A year of training with Jhonate and the increase of abilities from his bonding magic had changed that. I am not as slow as you think.