The Ogre Apprentice (The Bowl of Souls Book 8), page 20
“You missed the center,” the raptoid pointed out.
Be nice, Gwyrtha reminded. The rogue horse was lying on the ground beneath Deathclaw’s perch. Her eyes were shut and she looked as though she were asleep, but her mind was awake and in full concentration as she absorbed the sounds and smells around her. She hadn’t gotten much sleep since they arrived in Roo-Tan’lan. It was a good thing rogue horses had plenty of energy to pull on.
Justan shook his head and walked over to retrieve his arrow. Deathclaw had difficulty comprehending the intricacies of ranged combat, especially the intricacies possible with Jharro bows. The archery range they were standing in was designed to train just that kind of skill. Justan had never seen another one like it.
The range belonged specifically to the Leeths family and was located out behind Xedrion’s palace. Since it was within the confines of the city, high walls had been erected around it to protect the populace from stray arrows.
The range was shaped like a key, with a large circular arena in the front and a long firing range at one end. The walls were especially tall at the sides and far corner of the range. The length of it was peppered with various types of targets, including some at the very end that laid flat on the ground for volley shots.
Justan stood in the arena. Half of the circle was taken up by a tall tower with platforms set at various heights so that archers could practice firing down on targets from above. The rest of the circle contained a tree nearly as tall as the tower. It was a dead tree, bare of leaves that had been trimmed to six thick overhanging branches. Brass hoops of different sizes had been attached to these branches in cunning arrangements. This was a range focused on training finesse shots.
Depending on where an archer stood and aimed, he could line up a soft shot that would pass through the center of multiple hoops. Beltry had demonstrated this for Justan by fired one arcing shot that had pierced five of them. And he wasn’t even the best. Supposedly the top archer in Xedrion’s guard had perfected a shot that pierced seven hoops and struck the center of one of the various targets on the ground.
Justan crouched and retrieved his arrow from the target. He put it away in his quiver and grabbed Deathclaw’s throwing knife.
“You’re getting better,” Justan remarked and he sent the knife back to the raptoid with an underhand throw. It arced a little higher than Justan had intended, flipping end-over-end above Deathclaw’s head. The raptoid reached up with his right hand, adeptly catching the weapon between two fingers.
“Yes I am,” Deathclaw agreed. He rolled the blade over the back of his scaled knuckles, something Justan had seen him practicing quite often since returning from his mission with Hugh the Shadow. Deathclaw stowed the knife in the bandolier he wore across his chest and looked down at the fingers of his right hand. “It is this hand. It makes many things easier.”
While Justan had been training his skill with the bow over the last week, Deathclaw had undergone training of his own. The raptoid had been teaching himself to transform his body.
Deathclaw had known for a while that the Rings of Stardeon had made the structure of his body unstable, but it was only recently he had found out that the adaptive blood magic of his dragon heritage allowed his body to transform its tissues much in the way that rogue horses could. He had discovered this after he had unknowingly changed the new lips that Justan had given him. Somehow he had made them firmer and more nimble, allowing him to speak more clearly.
This discovery excited Deathclaw because it allowed him to fix some of the errors Ewzad Vriil had made when transforming him. Specifically, the claws on his hands. They were long and deadly and made for effective weapons, essential for the life of a raptoid, but Deathclaw was something new. Effective as they were, they got in the way when he was using his sword or throwing his knives.
He had looked to Gwyrtha for advice on affecting the changes he wanted, but she was little help. Her makeup was more fluid than his and he didn’t have a rogue horse’s energy reserves to power his transformation. He had to use the energy in his own body. This meant that while Gwyrtha could change her form in seconds, changes in Deathclaw’s body were a slow and draining process.
Deathclaw had been eating twice as much food as normal to generate the energy needed. It also required an intense amount of concentration, something which he had little time for since protecting Justan was a full time job. Despite the difficulty, he had put his mind to it and was close to accomplishing his goal.
The fingers on his sword hand were now slightly shorter than before. The long claws at the end of his fingers, while still sharp and formidable, had shrunk considerably, leaving the pads of his fingertips larger and more sensitive. This allowed him a more deft and responsive grip.
Someone is coming, Gwyrtha said suddenly, raising her head. No, two someones.
“I’ll see who it is,” Deathclaw said. He turned and slid over the edge of the wall, falling out of view. The raptoid ran across the grass on the other side and scampered across one of the bridges linking the palace grounds to the rest of Roo-Tan’lan.
Roo-Tan’lan was the strangest city Justan had been in. Even though Jhonate had described her homeland to him, Justan hadn’t been prepared when he’d first seen it. The city jutted from the forest like a great white arm. Multiple layers of wide squat buildings made of white brick were built on top of each other and terraced, each one of them surrounded by canals swollen with water.
It was an amazing engineering feat. Before migrating to this forest, the Roo-Tan had populated the great delta where the Wide River emptied into the vast Green Ocean. The hub of their society and culture had been swampland, and their cities had reflected that, using the waterways to their advantage. But the forest that surrounded the Jharro Grove was little like their homeland. So the Roo-Tan had decided to bring the water to them. They had cut into the bank of one of the Wide River’s tributaries and dug channels, diverting the water to their new proud city.
The design of Roo-tan’lan preserved their former culture. The flowing canals were used for transportation as well as the moving of goods around the city. A series of sluice gates could raise and lower the water levels as needed, channeling the water in different directions. The various buildings and walkways were connected by a series of bridges that could be raised if there was ever an invasion.
Deathclaw wasn’t gone long before Justan felt a mix of familiarity and irritation coming through the bond. It is Beth. And she brought her child with her again.
Oh. Gwyrtha put her head back down and closed her eyes again. Good.
Justan smiled at Deathclaw’s discomfort. Beth had become a regular visitor since their arrival in the city. She mainly came to see Deathclaw. The two of them had been through a lot together during the siege of the Mage School and she had forged a connection with the raptoid that Justan found intriguing. She was the only human besides Justan that Deathclaw ever opened up to.
The baby was the reason for the raptoid’s discomfort. For some reason, Sherl-Ann adored Deathclaw. She smiled and reached out for him whenever he was near. Holding the child made Deathclaw uncomfortable. She was so delicate and helpless and he worried that his claws might scratch her. Beth wasn’t concerned. She forced the child onto him whenever possible. She said it was good for him to hold an infant.
Justan turned his attention back to his training. He notched another arrow on his bow and looked up at the tree, trying to find a good target path for his next shot. He let the world slow around him as he lined up a shot and did as Beltry had instructed him, envisioning the shot, letting Ma’am know exactly how he wanted her to fire. If things went perfectly, he would pierce two of the brass rings before striking the target on the far side of the tree.
“Practice shots again, Sir Edge?” came a female voice from behind him. Justan lowered his bow and turned to see that Beth had entered the arena.
Beth was a pretty woman in her mid thirties. She wore a loose white blouse with long sleeves and a pair of extremely baggy trousers cuffed tightly at the ankles. Her long blond hair was pulled up above her head in a bun. She carried a bow made of dark wood in one hand and a quiver holding a single arrow was slung over one shoulder.
“Good morning, Beth,” Justan said. He gestured with his bow. “Yeah, I’m getting better. Another design faded today.”
“Oh. That’s nice,” she said, not sounding at all impressed. She glanced up at the tree. “A Roo target tree. How many rings can you pierce?”
Justan blinked at her. She hadn’t shown any interest in his target shooting on her previous visits. “Three. But I’ve only managed one while still hitting a target.”
“Come, come. The great, Sir Edge? Surely you can manage better than that.” She smirked and drew her single arrow. It had a thick white shaft and a black tip. It was an odd-looking arrow and Justan wondered if it had some sort of spirit bound to it. “It’s been a while since I tried one of these, but let’s see what I can manage.”
Without taking a step closer, she pulled the arrow back and aimed high into the air, preparing an arcing shot.
Gwyrtha raised her head with sudden alarm. Not Beth! she sent as she jumped to her feet.
Justan’s eyes widened and he took a step backward, but the woman didn’t turn the bow on him. She lined up her shot towards the tree and fired. The arrow soared up into the air and fell, piercing three small rings before burying itself into one of the targets beneath it. The woman smiled in triumph.
Justan drew back an arrow, but hesitated to fire. She seemed so real. What if Gwyrtha was wrong? Are you sure?
Get back, Gwyrtha said. She was approaching Beth slowly, a low growl rising in her throat as the scales on her body hardened and her teeth lengthened. I will kill it.
Beth heard the sound and looked back at Gwyrtha. A look of irritation crossed her face. “Sir Edge, your rogue horse is growling at me.”
Justan fired.
His arrow burst through the woman’s right eye, rocking her head back. She didn’t fall, but slowly looked back at him, the eyebrow above her undamaged eye raising. No blood poured from her wound. “You like to go for the face, don’t you? Do you really think I’d keep my brain there?”
Justan drew another arrow. His heart raced. It was the nightbeast. After all this time waiting, here it was, standing before him.
“How did you know it was me?” Vahn asked, still using Beth’s voice. It was disturbing for Justan to see her standing there talking so calmly with his arrow still in her head.
“Beth wouldn’t refer to Gwyrtha like that,” Justan said.
Vahn snorted. “Of course. It would have to be one of those small detai-.” Justan’s second arrow caught it in the throat. Vahn winced. Its throat contorted around the arrow, pushing the shaft to the side, and it spoke again, “I shan’t be so careless next time.”
Gwyrtha let out a roar and darted towards it, but Vahn stepped aside at the last moment, letting the rogue horse skid by in the soft dirt of the range.
“We’ll continue this conversation at a later date,” the nightbeast said. It dropped its bow and ran for the gate. It was fast, running much quicker than Justan had expected Beth’s form to manage.
Gwyrtha chased after it and Justan fired again, his arrow catching the retreating figure between the shoulder blades. If it had been human that shot would have severed its spinal column, but the nightbeast only looked like it had a spinal column. Vahn made it through the gate, Gwyrtha at its heels.
Justan chased after them, drawing another arrow. He passed through the gate, expecting Vahn to run towards the palace where the largest group of people would be.
Beyond the gate was a wide walkway bordered by long grasses that led to the palace’s main building. A few of Xedrion’s servants were walking busily by, but Vahn didn’t head towards them. It turned and ran to the right, heading across the grass towards one of the wide canals that ran past the palace.
Gwyrtha gained on it, but just as she was about to run the nightbeast down, Vahn spun and swung a vicious backhand. The nightbeast’s arm grew in size and hardened as it did so. The changes happened much faster than with any of the basilisks Justan had seen. Vahn’s fist was the size of a small boulder when it connected with the side of Gwyrtha’s head.
The force of the blow staggered her and Vahn let out a whoop of a laugh before running again. Gwyrtha shook her head, growling again and rushed after it.
Justan swore. It was going to reach the canal.
The canal was deep, one of the cities arteries, and its waters were flowing swiftly. It was wide enough for two of the Roo-Tan poleboats to pass side-by-side, but from the agility it had already displayed Justan had no doubt that Vahn would be able to leap across. If the nightbeast did so, Justan wouldn’t be able to follow. He’d have to run further ahead to find a bridge and by that time, it would be out of sight.
I’ll catch it, Gwyrtha promised and Justan knew that she could probably manage the leap, but that wasn’t what he wanted either. He didn’t like the thought of her chasing Vahn down by herself.
Justan stopped and forced the world around him to slow as he pulled back another arrow. He focused in on the escaping assassin. It looked back at him and made the mockery of Beth’s face it wore stretch in a wide smile. Justan tried not to let that distract him. Where was the best place to strike? It could be keeping its brain anywhere.
Vahn reached the bank of the canal and took a short leap into the air. As it did so, it underwent another transformation. Its body, its clothing, even the quiver on its back faded, losing any coloration and turning translucent. Justan understood. Vahn wasn’t trying to clear the canal. It was planning to disappear into the water.
Just before Vahn hit the water, Justan saw his target, a dark lump within the nightbeast’s clear form. Justan knew there was little chance his arrow would strike true, but he released it anyway. Ma’am reacted to his intentions, stiffening as he let go, pushing the arrow forward at a speed that she hadn’t fired since the loss of his dragon hair string.
The arrow hit just as Vahn struck the water. Gwyrtha followed, hitting the water so hard that it splashed up over the edge of its banks. Justan couldn’t see whether he had hit the mark. Gwyrtha thrashed, trying to grab hold of Vahn’s translucent body, but her teeth found nothing but water.
Justan ran up to the edge and watched helplessly as the current swept Gwyrtha down the canal. She passed under a footbridge and disappeared around a bend. Justan swore again and chased after her.
Gwyrtha! he shouted through the bond.
I’m swimming, she replied. The water is fast.
Get to the bank and get out of there! Justan slowed and stopped chasing her. He told himself that she would be fine. Gwyrtha was a strong swimmer.
He stomped his foot, furious with himself. He had missed. He was sure of it. If the arrow had struck true, Vahn would have turned to stone and Gwyrtha would have found him.
He headed back the way he had come, scanning the banks of the canal. The nightbeast very well could be clinging somewhere along the side, disguised as part of an abutment or piece of debris. But there was no debris. Jhonate’s people were efficient at keeping the waterways clear. Justan made it most of the way back to the gates of the archery range without seeing anything suspicious.
“There you are, Edge,” said Beth’s voice.
Justan came to a stop. She was standing next to the archery range dressed just as she had been earlier. Her clothes were dry but the paving stones under her feet gave her away.
He raised his bow, pulling an arrow back. Vahn must have made it to the bank and circled back around. “Your footprints are wet.”
Beth stopped. “Hey, watch where you’re pointing that.”
“Your footprints are wet,” Justan repeated.
She saw the threat in his gaze and raised her hands, palms out. “I stepped in a puddle. What’s going on, Edge?”
“Where’s Sherl-Ann?” Justan asked accusingly. Deathclaw had said she and Beth were together. He should have noticed that when Beth showed up alone the first time.
“I left her with Deathclaw,” she said, her expression puzzled as she watched his firing hand.
“You left her alone with him and came here alone?”
“Of course. She adores him.” Beth said defensively, placing her hands on her hips. “Put that bow down. What’s this about? Were you attacked or something?”
Justan reached out to Deathclaw but before he could ask any questions, the raptoid came running up the path from the palace. He had the child cradled in one arm and a throwing knife gripped in the other. Sherl-Ann was giggling as if it were a fun ride. Where is it? Where did Gwyrtha go?
At the same time as Deathclaw spoke, Justan felt a probing touch at the edges of the bond. Justan lowered his bow. This was Beth attempting to use her bewitching magic to calm him down. Her magic was something that the nightbeast couldn’t duplicate.
“I’m sorry, Beth,” he said. “Vahn was here. He was disguised as you.”
