Priestess of War (The Bowl of Souls Book 10), page 11
You, however, did not ask for such a thing. Nor would you. The very thought of abusing this power repulses you and that is the correct reaction. No doubt the Bowl of Souls saw this in you when you were named. Otherwise, your swords wouldn’t have been given this ability.
Justan frowned. But I didn’t have these swords when I stood before the Bowl. Lenny was the one who gave these swords their power.
Actually, that’s not true, Fist said. Remember what Lenny told you when he gave them to you? When he put the blades of your knife into the swords, they runed themselves. He wasn’t even sure how they worked.
Artemus smiled. There you are, my boy. Do you really need further proof? The power of your swords came from your naming runes. Those runes came from the Bowl of Souls, and you know who the Bowl’s ultimate master is. The mere fact that you have this power proves that it is the Creator’s will you have it. This means He trusts you to make the right decision with it.
See, Justan, Gwyrtha said, sending him a toothy mental grin of her own.
Justan couldn’t find the strength to smile back. Now he understood that this newly realized power had come with a weighty responsibility. Somehow, the confidence his bonded had in his ability to handle it made it feel all the heavier.
Chapter Seven
“It is dangerouss for you!” Talon said. “They would fear uss and attack!”
“The Master says go. So we goes,” Durza reasoned. “They is not so many as you said.”
“Thousandss sstill,” Talon replied. “We are two.”
The Mer-Dan army camp was a shadow of its former self. The Roo-Dan warriors and spirit magic users had been the hardest hit with two thirds of their numbers dead or swallowed by the Troll Mother. The large mass of tents and campfires still stretched across the grassy plain, but more than half of the tents were empty and the fire sites cold. The survivors were superstitious about going through the belongings of the recently deceased and had left them where they stood.
Only one section of the camp was fully manned and this was a new group of perhaps two thousand Roo-Dan warriors that had arrived after the treaty disaster. They were camped on the outskirts of the army and were waiting while their leaders met in the command tent.
The imps and kobalds had taken heavy losses as well. Despite their wily use of magic, a full third of their combined army was gone. Far more practical than their human allies, they had dismantled and removed the tents and dirt mounds of the fallen. The result was that a much wider gap had opened up between their side of the camp and the human side.
Durza noted the gap. “We go in the middle and run. If they catches us, we will tells them of the Master.”
The gorc adjusted the blond wig on her head and began to stand up from the bushes that concealed them, but Talon pulled her back down.
“No, Durza! Do not letss them ssee you!” the raptoid pleaded. “I have been here before. Masster is prissoner here. We musst wait for dark. I will go in firsst, then come back if it iss ssafe.”
Durza doubted that would work. Talon wasn’t herself. The raptoid’s cat-like eyes were red-rimmed and her voice hoarse from the constant weeping she had indulged in since Sir Edge’s attack. Durza, though a constant weeper herself, was growing quite tired of it. The gorc gave Talon an uncharacteristic scowl.
“No more waiting, Talon,” the gorc replied. “We is already late!”
The journey to the Mer-Dan encampment should have taken no more than two days at the most. Talon’s moaning and dragging her feet mixed with bouts of hysteria had turned those two days into an agonizingly long week. Durza was unaccustomed to being the assertive one. She was a hider and a sneak. Not a leader. She was eager to get back to her master so that he could take over again.
“These peopless could hurt you!” Talon said worriedly.
Durza grasped the hood of Talon’s black robe and pulled it over the raptoid’s head. She wasn’t sure how much it would help but there was magic within the robe that was supposed to calm Talon down. “Master says to come. So we come! We tells them we is here for the Stranger Man. They will listen.”
“I don’t like it,” Talon whispered, but this time when Durza stood the raptoid didn’t stop her.
Durza grasped Talon’s hand and strode for the gap in the encampment between the human and kobald lines. The army was truly in a state of disarray, but they were still soldiers. Talon and Durza didn’t make if half way before they were surrounded by short stocky warriors whose skin was covered with stony scales. Swords and pickaxes were pointed at them.
“Stop, intruders!” one of the soldiers barked. She was a bulky female brute with a gold circle painted on her forehead, denoting that she was a kobald captain. Her lip curled in distaste. “What is a gorc doing here?”
Durza straightened. “We is servants of the-.”
“She wears a human wig!” one of the kobalds chortled.
“I am Durza. I is a proper lady,” Durza declared.
Another kobald spat. “Disgusting. I say we kill it!”
The kobald lunged forward, swinging a pickaxe. Talon darted forward and lifted her arm. The weapon speared through her forearm. She hissed in the soldier’s surprised face. “Touch Durza and I sspill your innardss!”
His eyes widened at the horrific visage under the hood. The rest of the soldiers growled, readying themselves for attack.
“Stop it!” Durza shouted, sending out a command with the weight of her considerable power behind it.
The force of the bewitching magic caused the mighty kobalds to cringe. The one who had attacked let go of his pickaxe and stumbled backwards.
Durza used that stunned moment to turn back to the female kobald captain. “We is servants of the Stranger Man. We was told to come here!”
The human side of the army had felt that pulse of bewitching. Some were stunned stiff by the command. Others were approaching. There were shouts of “Witch!”
Talon tore the weapon from her arm and tossed it to the ground. “Take us to our masster, sstony one!”
The kobalds took another wary step back.
“Hold your ground!” the captain growled to her soldiers before replying to Durza. “If your master really is the Stranger, then you may be our enemy. Wait here while I send a messenger.” She jerked her head towards Talon. “If the Warlord wills it, your friend will be healed of her injury.”
“I care not of thiss wound,” Talon said, raising her arm. The kobalds were shocked to see that, though there was still a gaping hole in her flesh, the bleeding had already stopped. The raptoid’s voice took on a pleading tone and tears welled up in her eyes once more. “I musst ssee him!”
“Do you have any weapons?” the kobald captain asked.
“Only my eating knife,” Durza said and held out her small belt knife.
The kobald took it from her and glanced at Talon, “And you?”
“I am a weapon,” Talon said and opened her robe, letting it fall to the ground.
The sight of her wicked claws and barbed tail had almost as great an effect as Durza’s magic. The kobalds took one look at her fearsome appearance and brandished their weapons again.
The kobald captain tilted her head. “What are you?”
“An evil thing.” Tears ran down Talon’s scaly cheeks and she collapsed slowly to her knees. “A monster that killss. Perhapss you sshould kill me.”
“Do not listens to her,” Durza said, forcing a nervous laugh. “She just misses the master.” She tuned her voice down to a harsh whisper. “Now is not a good time for this, Talon. Stand. Be brave for Master, yes?”
The kobalds kept a close eye on them while a messenger was sent. By the time he returned, the number of soldiers surrounding the pair had grown, including crossbowmen and four Roo-Dan witches prepared to counter any spell the gorc might cast.
“You are to bring them to the command tent, Captain,” the kobald messenger said, a sour expression on his face. “The Warlord says he has been expecting them. Bring only one witch with you.”
The captain gave the messenger a dubious look, but nodded to the two prisoners and started towards the command tents at the center of the encampment. Durza pulled Talon to her feet and picked up her black robe before following. One of the human witches broke off from the others and followed, a scowl and a spear at the ready.
In front of the command tent were stationed two heavily muscled guards with wary expressions. The captain nodded to them as she approached. “I have two servants of the Stranger here. Warlord Aloysius has summoned them.”
A man exited the tent at the sound of her voice. He was a rather mild-faced man with a shock of brown hair atop his head. He wore a white robe with a red sash.
“You can go, Captain,” the man said, then pointed at the witch who stood behind them. “You. Follow behind.”
The massive command tent was sectioned into multiple rooms by canvas walls that had been runed with sound deadening spells. The spells were effective. Outside, not a sound was heard of the dealings going on. When Durza and Talon entered the main hall, they were surprised by the sound of loud voices in disagreement.
The bulk of the wide rectangular room was taken up by a long table. Sitting at the table were representatives of different factions within the Mer-Dan collective along with the imp and kobald generals of the warlord’s demon army. Inkwells and quills and stacks of paper cluttered the table before them. One of the Roo-Dan chieftains was currently arguing with a merman councilman.
At the head of the table, on a high-backed and intricately carved chair, was Warlord Aloysius. The gnome had a full head of hair and a regal bearing. He was wearing a suit of black chain armor and a silver circlet sat on his brow. He was listening to the ensuing argument with a bland, but patient expression. Behind him, standing against the rear wall was a line of stewards wearing green and black sashes, waiting in case the warlord needed them. The chair to his right was empty, belonging to the red-sashed steward that had ushered the visitors in. Sitting to his left was the Stranger.
Matthew looked quite different than he had the last time Talon had seen him. He was cleanly shaven and no longer looked sickly. The robe he wore was still brown and plain, but clean. The hilt of the sword still protruded above his left shoulder. A lit pipe hung from the corner of his mouth and his eyes brightened when he saw Talon and Durza enter the tent.
One of the stewards at the rear of the tent rang a gong and the two arguing parties quieted. The red-sashed steward cleared his throat. All eyes in the room turned towards the new visitors. Faces twitched at the appearance of a garishly make-upped gorc in a wig and dress accompanied by a reptilian creature out of nightmares.
“Ah, they are here,” the gnome warlord said and rose from his chair. The rest of the assembly rose with him. He gestured to Talon and Durza. “I would speak with you privately. Stranger, attend us.”
“Yes, Warlord Aloysius,” Matthew said obediently, inclining his head. He stepped away from his chair.
The warlord then nodded to two of the black-sashed stewards who stood at the back of the tent. “Jessica. Andred. Continue the discussions until I return.”
The two accomplished negotiators bowed and came to the table, sitting in the chairs at either side of the warlord’s throne.
The Merman ambassador, a plump and sweaty individual wearing a gaudy silk robe, cleared his throat. He was missing an ear and three fingers from his left hand. The scars looked pink as if the wounds were freshly healed. “Warlord Aloysius, we did not gather here to speak with representatives! Our fledgling nation teeters on ruin. These discussions need your presence here.”
A few of the other representatives harumphed in agreement. Others looked down at the papers in front of them, too cowed to speak.
Aloysius’ expression hardened. “Elder Qelvyn, I would think that your remarkable survival of the behemoth’s attack would have taught you some humility.” He waved a casual hand. “These talks have gone on for hours longer than necessary. You already know my instructions on each pertinent matter. But perhaps if you gather your minds while I am gone, you will have something new to say when I return.”
Qelvin’s plump face reddened and he gave a short bow. “Yes, Warlord. I apologize for my outburst.”
Aloysius gave him a perfunctory nod and turned to enter a flap at the rear of the chamber. Matthew followed close behind, careful not to let the sword hilt snag on the canvas. Durza and Talon hurried after him, excited to see their master alive and well. Behind them walked the red-sashed steward and the human witch who had accompanied them from the camp.
The room they entered was a familiar one for Talon. It was the room where she had found her master imprisoned the last time she had infiltrated the camp. The decorations were bare, but for two plush chairs that faced each other.
As soon as the flap fell shut behind the red-sashed steward, Aloysius addressed the witch. “You. What is your name?”
The human blinked and fell to his knees, his hands clasped before him. “Uh, Eldris, Warlord. Eldris of Baeve.”
“You are an experienced witch?” the gnome asked.
“So it has been said, Warlord.”
“I understand that this gorc demonstrated bewitching power of her own upon entering the camp,” Aloysius said. “Did you witness this?”
The man’s face wrinkled. “Demonstra- . . . uh, she made an attack, yes, Warlord. A big one. Every witch ’cross the camp felt it.”
“How powerful would you say this gorc’s power is?” prodded the red stashed steward, following his master’s line of questioning. “We did not notice it behind the spells on this tent.”
“Right mighty, Sir,” the man said. “Made our ears pop. Maybe only four or five witches I know of could top it. Maybe the high shamans too. Maybe.”
The steward’s expression turned to anger. “And yet you saw fit to accompany it into the tent with the leadership of this nation alone?”
The witch groveled. “There was four of us watchin’ it, Sir. But I was the only one told to come along!”
“Dismissed,” Aloysius interrupted with an off-hand gesture.
The steward glared at the witch. “Leave us! If I hear of another slip like this I shall slit your throat!”
The witch scampered out of the room.
“Masster!” Talon stumbled towards Matthew and clutched his robes. Her body trembled as she looked at him with pleading eyes and sobbed. “Please . . . I am hurt. I hurt sso manyyy. Can I die now?”
“My, my. What did that boy do to you?” Matthew reached out and cupped her face, “Oh. I see. He gave you the understanding I could not. John chooses his champions well. Unfortunately, I do not have the time to discuss it with you at present. Sleep now.”
Talon’s eyes rolled up in her head and she slid silently to the floor. Durza crouched next to the raptoid and draped her black robe over her. She patted her friend gently. “See, Talon? It’ll be okay.”
“Seems your assassin is broken, Stranger,” the red-sashed steward observed.
“No. Just recently pieced together, Shade,” Matthew responded. “Talon will recover eventually. I doubt the same can be said for you.”
Aloysius watched the interchange with passing interest, then spoke to Matthew as if Talon and Durza weren’t even there. “Your opinion on the talks, Stranger?”
“The merman wasn’t wrong,” Matthew said with a puff from his pipe. “This nation you stitched so cleverly together is fraying at the seams. Despite the assurances some of these chieftains are giving you, it is obvious they hesitate to speak the truth in your presence. They are hiding things from you.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Shade said.
Matthew ignored him. “I fear that away from your ears, these leaders speak of you as a tyrant leading them to destruction. Frankly, your responses in the meeting so far likely reinforce that judgement.”
“When I agreed to listen to your advisements, I did not ask for impertinence,” Aloysius warned.
“As you wish, Warlord,” Matthew said obediently. “Though may I point out that you did command me to tell you openly of my opinions when we were alone.”
The gnome took a deep breath. Unexpectedly, he nodded. “So I did. Continue, then.”
Shade scoffed. “There is no need to listen to him, Warlord! I could advise you just as well as he can.”
“You, Oliver?” Aloysius said with an arched brow. “Pray tell.”
“Yes, Shade,” Matthew agreed. “Tell him why those leaders don’t tell him the truth of the situation.”
“If they lie it is because they are hiding something,” Shade replied. “Not because of anything he did wrong. The Warlord is infallible. So it was foretold.”
“Is that what was foretold?” Matthew said in mock surprise. “I don’t recall that, which is awkward since I was the one who foretold of his coming in the first place. What say you, Warlord Aloysius? Have you never made a mistake?”
Aloysius stood very still. “I do not like being questioned.”
Shade nodded. “Then let me strap him back to that chair, Warlord. He will no-!”
“Oliver!” the gnome commanded. “You have been my most trusted servant. Still yourself before my opinion of you changes.”
The red-sashed steward’s face reddened and he went down to one knee. “I apologize, Warlord.”
Aloysius returned his gaze to Matthew, his expression hard. “I do not like being questioned. However, I would be foolish to let my dislike rule me. All rulers, no matter how great, benefit from being questioned from time-to-time. I will hear you. What I will not stand for is being insulted.”
Matthew took one deep draw from his pipe and smiled. Smoke poured from his mouth as he replied. “Then our relationship needs to change, Warlord. You see, as your advisor, I will need to tell you hard truths. Things that you will not like to hear. Depending on your willingness to accept them, you may take these hard truths as an insult. I cannot control your feelings.” He paused to rethink that comment. “Well, I could, but I never would. The thing I can promise you is that I will never attack you personally. But I cannot promise you won’t be insulted.”
