The War of Stardeon (The Bowl of Souls)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  We can’t think about those things. If we hesitate it could get us killed. Don’t forget, I have been around Vriil’s men before. They are the worst kind of men. Right now I can hear the screams of women in their main camp. They were probably dragged from Sampo. Justan grit his teeth and tried to ignore the sounds. If I had the power to do so, I would destroy them all right now.

  Fist’s large hand patted his back. It is okay, Justan. I just wanted to be sure.

  Justan felt Deathclaw’s confusion through the bond. Do you understand why I would be hesitant to kill my own kind?

  Killing without reason is waste, Deathclaw replied. Raptoids kill for food or in defense of the pack.

  Then why are you confused?

  I cannot decide if you are a good leader, Deathclaw said. Sometimes you are weak. Sometimes you are strong. You keep surprising me.

  You do not know tact, do you, Deathclaw? Fist asked. He was proud of using his word of the day.

  Tact?

  We can explain it later, Justan sent. He and Fist had crept within a few yards of where Deathclaw was hidden. The grass seemed undisturbed. He would never have known where the raptoid was if not for the bond.

  He could see the stacked cages, only four-foot square, and the dark forms of the prisoners inside. The smell turned his stomach.

  Why keep them? Fist asked. Ogre tribes did not keep enemy prisoners. What good are the dwarves to these men?

  Yes, why not just kill them? Deathclaw asked in disgust.

  Killing is a waste, remember? Justan replied. Keeping them like this is a deterrent to others in Sampo that might want to revolt. Besides, slaughtering them would only cause Ewzad Vriil to look worse and possibly make the people want to revolt even more.

  We are ready, Gwyrtha sent.

  Wait for my signal. Justan pulled Ma’am from his back. He wished he could just run in with his swords and finally put Qyxal’s pain to use, but stealth was more important.

  He considered stringing her with his dragon hair string, but decided against it. The shots fired would be too loud and destructive. Besides, they could possibly pass through Vriil’s men and hurt the prisoners. He strung her with a regular string instead.

  I can slip inside the tent and kill the one with the wizard’s taint without being seen, Deathclaw sent.

  Justan thought about it for a moment, then nodded. Do it. I will fire when you are finished.

  As Deathclaw approached the tents, Justan looked at the five men drinking around the fire. He tried to determine which were the bigger threats, knowing that he could take out one or maybe two before they knew they were under attack. He shifted to mage sight. None of them seemed to have magic weapons, but two of the men had bows across their backs. Justan nodded grimly and cocked an arrow. Oz the Dagger had taught him a firm rule. When in doubt, always take out the archers first. He focused on Deathclaw’s thoughts, waiting for the proper moment.

  Fist pulled the enormous shield from his back and slid forward through the grass. He got as close to the camp as he dared and stopped, planting the shield in the grass in front of him. He hovered one hand over the handle of his mace, ready to pull it the moment Justan fired his first shot.

  Justan sensed Deathclaw sneak up behind the tent. The raptoid could hear snoring issuing from within and he smelled the wizard’s stench very strongly. Justan saw the glint of Deathclaw’s eye peering around the edge of the tent as he waited for the right moment. Then when all the men were looking away from the tent entrance, Justan saw his body slide into the firelight for a brief moment before slipping inside the tent.

  The raptoid paused. There is a problem. There are two sleeping here. One is a female.

  She is probably a girl taken from Sampo. Just kill the man, Justan replied.

  But the stink of the wizard is too strong. I cannot tell which one it is. I should kill both just to be sure.

  Just the man, Justan repeated.

  Very well.

  As Deathclaw tore out the sleeping man’s throat, Justan fired and Fist and Gwyrtha darted from the grass.

  The arrow pierced the first archer’s temple with a faint popping sound, stopping him mid-laugh. The other men stared with mouths open for the few seconds it took Justan to have another arrow ready.

  The first swordsman to stand caught the spiked end of Fist’s mace in his face and Justan’s second arrow caught the other archer in the throat before he could reach for his bow.

  Shouts rang out from the other side of the cages, joined by the thudding sound of Buster pounding away. Justan drew another arrow as Deathclaw leapt from the tent opening to take down the fourth man at the campfire. The fifth man shouted for help and he had just drawn his sword when Fist reached out and caught him by the throat. The ogre lifted the man up off the ground and swung him around his head, breaking the man’s neck.

  Why not use your weapon? Deathclaw asked the ogre.

  “It is stuck,” Fist said, straining on the handle before finally ripping it free of the first man’s skull.

  Just then the tent behind them swelled and tore open as a misshapen beast burst from within.

  It was the female, Deathclaw said sourly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lenui crouched in the tall grass and looked at the stack of cages. They looked to be made of steel. It was the only way they could’ve kept a determined dwarf from breaking free. Soft moans issued from the cages above, while the occasional curse came from below. The light from the fire kept him from making out any faces in the cages, but from the size and shape of the shadows inside, it looked like the dwarves were being kept on the bottom two rows.

  The guards probably thought it was funny, leaving the dwarves to be crapped and pissed on. Of course, the dwarves’ constitutions could take it. It was humiliating, but if the human prisoners had been left on the bottom, they’d likely get sick and die.

  He clenched his fists around Buster’s handle. He couldn’t stand just watching the prisoners in misery while the guards sat there, laughing and playing cards. Edge needed to give the dag-blamed signal already so he could bust some heads.

  The six men sat around a wide table and played from a universal card deck. Such a stout oak table was an odd thing to be sitting in a camp of men out on the plains. Lenui understood when he saw the house crest of Sampo’s mayor on the side, engraved in fancy gold filigree. One of the men wiped his snot on the underside and laughed.

  There was a sudden movement behind him and Lenui was nearly bowled over as Gwyrtha streaked out of the grass, heading right for the card players. Was that her idea of a gall-durn signal? He stumbled a few steps before charging after her, Buster at the ready.

  Gwyrtha had a specific target in mind. She made a beeline for a man wearing a red hat sitting on the far side of the table. The guard saw her coming at the last second, but only had time to widen his eyes before she pounced. Her leap cleared two men sitting with their backs to her and, stout oak or not, the table was smashed to kindling by the weight of her body as she caught the man’s head in her jaws.

  The guards cried out in shock and fear. Cards fluttered through the air as Lenui swung Buster into the back of one man with a booming thud. Lenui spun, satisfied that the man’s insides were turned to jelly and swung at the man beside him, a balding fellow with a yellow-dyed goatee. He threw up his hands, but Buster smashed them aside and crashed through his lower jaw before shattering his ribcage.

  Gwyrtha wrenched her head back and forth, her claws tearing into the man beneath her. He screamed and began to change, his limbs growing and turning black, his hands sprouting long glistening claws. Gwyrtha jerked her head one last time and there was a crack. The man shuddered and his body started to smoke and deflate.

  One man managed to unsheathe his sword before being impaled by Samson’s spear. Pall had his sword in another’s gut. The remaining man, a wiry and sickly looking fellow wearing a blue cap backed towards the cages, his brow sweating profusely. His face contorted in fear as he begged, “Please!
Please! Don’t kill me!”

  The dwarves in the cages yelled, some calling out to him. Lenny saw Nhed in a cage at the bottom of the stack. His nephew, his eyes haunted, pointed at the man. “Don’t listen to him, uncle! That’s Bouto the Jailer!”

  The wiry man smiled and his body exploded outwards in sudden transformation. His arms and legs extended and hardened, while a long tail sprouted from his back. His head bloated and swelled before shooting upwards on a long snakelike neck. Rams horns sprouted from his swollen temples.

  Gwyrtha turned from the melting mess of the thing underneath her and leapt at the creature. It swung an arm in a backhanded blow that caught her in the side and tossed her heavy body into the cages, causing the stack to teeter. One cage at the top fell and crashed to the ground, the man inside crying out in pain.

  Dag-gum thing was stronger than it looked, Lenui thought. He ran towards it, his hammer pulled back. Bouto swung its long neck and its misshapen head caught Lenui’s midsection before he had the chance to bring Buster around. The air blasted from his lungs and he was knocked high in the air.

  Lenui crashed into the grass and quickly regained his feet. His chest ached, but once again, he was glad to be a dwarf. A human would have busted his dag-burned ribs. Still, his vision swam as he watched Samson and Pall attack the thing.

  The centaur dodged one swing of Bouto’s ugly head, and jabbed out with his spear, piercing its neck. Bouto reared its head back, blood spurting from the wound. Pall slashed with his sword and cut a shallow wound in its side before its tail whipped out, knocking him to the ground.

  Samson charged and the creature spun. His spear plunged into Bouto’s back, but it swung its tail low, sweeping the centaur’s legs out from under him. Samson crashed hard to the ground and struggled to stand.

  Lenny started forward, but realized his hands were empty. He frantically searched the grass around him for Buster. Where was the blasted thing? He looked back to see Gwyrtha grapple with the beast.

  It tried to hold her at bay with one arm. Her jaws snapped at it and one of her front legs tore at the arm, but her other front leg hung limply and Lenui knew it was broken. With a mighty shove, it tossed her into the cages again.

  Pall ran forward and stabbed his sword deeply into its side. Bouto screeched and drew back its long neck, then launched its head forward and smashed the dwarf like a battering ram, driving him into the ground.

  Samson had regained his feet, but Lenui watched in misery as Bouto jumped forward and crashed into the centaur, knocking him down again. Lenui swore. He was just going to have to do this without his hammer.

  “Hey, Bouto!” He shouted, stepping out of the grass. “I think yer head’s a dag-gum joke!”

  Justan shook his head as the creature rose out of the remains of the tent, roaring in anger.

  “You killed him!” it cried, its black lips parting to reveal a fang filled mouth and white tongue. She had swelled to just over ten feet tall, a wide fleshy giant with skin as black as coal. “You killed my David!”

  Justan drew another arrow. He heard some startled cries over the laughter in the camp behind him. So much for the idea of stealth. They really needed to hurry or they would be dealing with a much larger force.

  A crash resounded from the far side of the cages. The stack swayed and Justan could feel Gwyrtha’s pain through the bond. One of her front legs was broken. She had killed one man with Vriil’s taint, but evidently he hadn’t been the only one.

  You said there were two! he sent at Deathclaw as he fired. The arrow pierced the she-beast’s chest and disappeared within. It howled but didn’t seem to slow.

  You said, kill only the man! the raptoid replied, using his claws to climb up the beast’s fleshy back. When he reached its head it grimaced and flexed. White spikes twelve-inches-long sprang out all over its body. Deathclaw was thrown away and the white spikes detached and came with him, jutting from his skin in multiple places.

  Fist held his heavy shield in front of him and swung his mace. The spiked end caught the beast in the face, knocking her head to the side and tearing black skin away, revealing white flesh and blood underneath.

  She staggered to the side, then swung a fist in retaliation. Fist caught her punch on his shield. The white spikes protruding from her knuckles shattered, but the force of the impact threw him to the ground. He rolled to his knees and held up the shield again as she swung down with her other fist.

  Gwyrtha cried out in pain again and Justan knew time was running short. He slung his bow across his back and drew his swords. Immediately, he felt the calmness of his left sword overtake him. His right sword raged to release its power and he ran towards the beast.

  Deathclaw arrived first, ignoring the painful white barbs that protruded from his body. He spun and lashed out with his tail barb, avoiding more of the beast’s spikes and slashed the back of her leg. The she-beast cried out and fell to one knee.

  Justan rushed forward and stabbed her foot with his left sword. She froze in confusion as all her rage and pain was sucked away. She looked at Justan in wonder as he brought his right sword around. The moment the tip of his sword touched her chest he released the energy pent up within.

  The impact of the energy was devastating. The beast’s chest caved in and her back exploded. Debris sprayed into the night beyond and she crumpled to the ground, smoking as she melted.

  Justan said goodbye to Qyxal’s pain and turned to check on his bonded. Fist stood, a bit bruised, but otherwise okay, while the spikes in Deathclaw’s flesh had fallen out upon the beast’s demise. Both of them stared at him in surprise at the ferocity of his attack.

  Justan pulled his left blade out of the creatures melting foot. Deathclaw, go and slow down any men approaching from the camp, Justan sent. Fist, start opening cages. I need to go around and help the others.

  Deathclaw blinked, then nodded and disappeared into the grass. Fist and Justan didn’t take two steps before the stack of cages bowed out again from an unseen blow. This time the stack crashed to the ground all around them.

  Lenui readied himself as Bouto’s head streaked towards him, propelled on its snakelike neck. He clenched all the muscles in his chest and abdomen, bracing for the impact, holding his arms at the ready.

  It hit harder than he expected.

  He was smashed to the ground, throwing up a plume of dust. Luckily his dwarven muscles, hardened by centuries at the forge, absorbed most of the impact. Even so, he barely remembered to reach over the creatures head and wrap his arms around its neck.

  Bouto reared back, withdrawing its head and taking Lenui along with it, his legs draped over its eyes. It lifted him into the air, its neck quivering and straining with his weight. Lenui clenched his arms as hard as he could, pinching off the blood supply to its misshapen head.

  It swung him around wildly, crashing into the cages and slamming him into the ground. Lenui held tight, his eyes squeezed shut, ignoring the pain from the repeated beating his body was taking. He concentrated on one thing only and that was killing the dag-blasted thing. It seemed like he was bashed about forever. Then he felt something give within its neck.

  Bouto collapsed. Its body began to smoke and its neck turned slick and rubbery in his arms. Lenui tried to let go, but his muscles were clenched so tight, he couldn’t release his arms. Finally, its head popped free and he rolled to the side.

  Voices shouted out all around him.

  “Lenui!”

  “Lenui Firegobbler!”

  “By the da-gum gods, its the hero of Thunder Gap!”

  “Shut yer face,” he mumbled. “You know I hate bein’ called that.”

  Strong hands grabbed him and lifted him to his feet. He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by dwarves, some of them old friends, some of them only acquaintances, all of them stinking like the gall-durn Dremald sewer. Then someone thrust Buster’s handle in his hands and the cobwebs cleared from his mind.

  “Let go of me, you stinkin’ hog-lickers!” he shout
ed and they backed away long enough for him to draw a breath. He glanced over to see that the stack of cages had crashed to the ground. Half of them still looked unopened. “What’re you doin’ standin’ around me? Break everyone loose so we can hightail it out of here!”

  “Uncle Lenui,” said a voice behind him.

  “Nhed,” said Lenui, and he turned to find that his nephew wasn’t as chubby as usual and his curly red beard had been stained a filthy brown. He smiled anyway. “Glad to see yer alive. I’d hug you, but dag-nab it, you smell like a fresh turd.”

  “Yes, uncle. Uh . . . thanks fer-.”

  “You done busted yer arm?” Lenui asked. Nhed’s arm hung limp at his side and he could see it was swollen and purple.