Priestess of War (The Bowl of Souls Book 10), page 26
“Were you trying to usse that power on me, Ssir Edge?” asked a raspy voice to Justan’s right.
Justan swung around, pointing his sword in the direction of the voice, chills running up his spine. “Talon?”
“My mussk sshould have made me impossible to detect,” Talon replied, her voice so soft it was hard to hear over the rain.
Gwrytha let out a low growl and ran over to Justan, standing between him and the raptoid. I kill her?
Wait-wait. Don’t attack yet, Justan sent. Wait to see if she makes a move.
Finally, he saw her. To his mage sight, the faint droplets of blue were disrupted by her cloaked shape. He prepared his sword to act again. Perhaps that freeze spell would disable her long enough for him to stab her with Peace and discover her true intentions.
Deathclaw leapt to the ground not far from them and darted over. His sword drawn and full of the power that came to the blade at night. “Did you come here to fight, sister?”
Justan had similar thoughts. Was she here in revenge for the mental pain he had inflicted upon her at their last meeting? He had hoped the understanding that had come between them at their last meeting would have changed her. But they had been interrupted before he could discover just how much of their shared experience had helped. “Why are you here, Talon?”
There was a crash in the bushes behind Talon’s dark form as Durza tripped forward in her soaked dress. “We is here, ’cuz the Master sended us!”
“Master?” said Deathclaw suspiciously.
“Matthew sent you?” Justan asked. That mysterious prophet was the man who most recently had borne that title in Talon’s memories.
“Yes! Yes! The Stranger man,” Durza agreed.
Talon hissed. “He sendss uss to bring you to him. He wishess to talk.”
Justan lowered his sword slowly.
Deathclaw approached his sister with a questioning chirp. He leaned in close to her cowl cautiously, his tongue flickering out of his mouth as he breathed in deeply to taste the air around her. “You smell different. Are you still broken?”
She chirped back at him and pulled back her cowl, letting the rain fall directly on her scaled head. “I feel . . . thingss. Thingss hurt that I do not like.”
“Are you still broken?” Deathclaw repeated with a hiss.
Her shoulders trembled. She reached out towards him. He backed away and raised his sword between them, but she stepped slowly towards him and at the last moment, he directed the tip of the blade away from her heart. It scored her side, tearing her cloak and igniting the wound with a light that flared in the night, exposing the sorrow in her eyes.
Talon fell forward, wrapping her arms around her brother. “I am ssorry, Deathclaw. Ssooo ssorry!”
Deathclaw’s body went rigid and he held his sword out over the barb of her tail, just in case this was a deception. Justan felt a confusing mix of emotions coming through the bond. What was this change? Was she more broken than ever?
“Don’t worry ’bout her,” Durza said, patting Justan’s arm. “Talon’s like this sometimes now, but not as much though. The Master says she’s gettin’ better. He thinks you doned a good job.”
Justan wasn’t so sure. Talon had gone from seeing human emotions as something alien, a curiosity to be torn apart and played with, to being overwhelmed by the understanding he had shown her at their last meeting. Sure she seemed repentant now, but considering all the horrors she had committed in the past, he wondered if it was possible for her to be reformed.
“So, you come with us now?” Durza asked.
Justan could smell the gorc’s intense perfume despite the downpour. Why hadn’t Deathclaw and Gwyrtha been able to sense her? Talon had mentioned something about a musk.
“We already have something to do,” Justan said suspiciously. “Your master will have to wait.”
“Noo. You must come now. It is big big important!” she pleaded.
“Yess,” said Talon, regaining control of herself. She let go of Deathclaw and pulled the cowl back over her head, paying no mind to the shallow wound in her side that now glowed with small coals. If not for the drenching rain, her cloak would have caught fire. “You musst not delay. Timing iss important.”
Justan frowned. Matthew was one of the prophets, a servant of the Creator. As such, it would normally be important that his requests be given priority.
However, the first time Justan had seen him, John had told Matthew he was under condemnation. His capture by Aloysius and his army seemed to be proof of that. Then there was his strange appearance at the treaty talks. According to Xedrion, he had led the gnome warlord safely away, leaving the rest of them to fight for themselves.
This is a strange gray area, Artemus agreed. Follow your instincts. The Bowl chose you because it trusted you to make the right decisions.
Great, Justan responded. He addressed Talon. “Is Matthew still a prisoner of Aloysius?”
Neither of them replied right away.
“Just cooooome,” Durza begged. “You will see.”
“He will have to wait,” Justan decided. “We must first see Stolz.”
“Stulls?” Durza asked. “You mean the man that makes those ugly fish that the weirdies like to eat?”
Deathclaw cocked his head. “He does make those strange fish that eat troll flesh.”
“He is a nice man. He feeded us sometimes,” Durza replied. “We camed from that way.” She shook her head sadly. “He was not there. It stinked like the smell of the monster that lives under the swamps.”
When the group arrived at the edge of the marshes that next morning, they discovered that Durza was right.
Stolz’s home was empty and there were conflicting signs as to whether he had left of his own will. The house was a mess, something that Jhonate assured Justan was common, but there was an uneaten plate of food on his table that was covered in maggots. This suggested not only that he had been gone for some time, but that he hadn’t known he wouldn’t be returning.
Outside the house, next to the open marshes, were the vats where he had kept his fish. They had been left overturned and empty. It was as if the old man had given up his plans to purify the swamp and had just set the fish free. There had been quite a disagreement as to what this meant.
“I think he got eated,” Durza said sadly, looking out over the marsh pond in front of his house. “The monster that lives under the swamps has comed all the way out here. It wants to eat us right now.”
“What do you mean?” Vannya asked, approaching the gorc with her notepad in hand. She had been fascinated by the idea of a goblinoid with bewitching magic. “Do you have a way to sense it?”
Durza eyed her warily. “I doesn’t know you.”
“Oh, I’m Vannya,” the mage said, holding out her hand. “I like your dress.”
Durza frowned, looking down sadly at the state of the garment. The gorc’s dress had once been a light blue but was now a tattered brown. “It was pretty one time.”
“Would you like me to clean it up for you?” Vannya asked.
Durza smiled, but took a cautious step back. “I can’t take it off now. Don’t gotta ’nother one,” she said, then whispered, “That’d make me noood.”
“You won’t need to. Watch,” Vannya said and reached out to touch the top of the gorc’s matted wig.
A shimmer of air magic floated down the gorc’s body and all dirt and gunk fell away from her, sliding into a circular pile around her feet. The filthy wig on her head was still just as matted, but it was now its original brilliant blond, while her ragged dress was a soft blue again.
Durza’s eyes widened. “You dood that with wizardy magic!”
“That’s right. I’m a mage,” Vannya replied. “Can you now tell me what you were talking about before?”
“Talon! Look!” Durza bellowed and ran across the bank, leaving Vannya with a scowl. “My dress is pretty again now!”
Talon and Deathclaw were standing apart from everyone else. Deathclaw had his sword at the ready, on guard in case Talon should change and become her old self again. The two of them spoke occasionally, sometime letting out hesitant chirps. Justan could feel that Deathclaw was unhinged about the situation. He had been communicating with his sister all morning and still wasn’t sure of her sanity.
Durza came up to them to exclaim over the restored beauty of her dress and Vannya followed her, determined to get answers. Justan stood by Jhonate and watched their interaction with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He still wasn’t sure what he should do.
“What is your plan, younger sister?” Qurl asked Jhonate, reminding her that he was still irritated that she had been given command over the mission above him. “Do we wait for Stolz to return?”
Jhonate frowned. “I am not certain that is a good idea. Look out at the water, Qurl. What do you see?”
He shrugged. “It is like the rest of the swamp.”
“It wasn’t this way the last time I was here,” Jhonate replied. “His fish had cleaned the area of slime. The water was brown instead of green. Now slime clings to the reeds along the bank’s edge and the air smells of trolls. I think the gorc is right. The behemoth has made its way under these waters.”
Me too, said Gwyrtha. This place smells like that big thing.
“Gwyrtha agrees,” Justan told them. “Waiting here is probably a bad idea. It could attack at any moment.”
“Then why has it not?” Jhonate wondered. “What is it that makes the behemoth decide when to attack? Stolz lived here on the borders of the swamp for decades. If it did attack him, why now?”
Justan rubbed his chin. That was a good question. What was the motivation of this Troll Mother?
She is a troll behemoth, said Artemus. Perhaps her motivations are just those of a troll. Devour and devour. It is very possible that the whole reason she has been changing her habits of late has been Mellinda’s doing. That explains its uncharacteristic attack at the treaty signing.
It could be, Justan said, though he wasn’t so sure.
“We really should have brought Tarah Woodblade with us,” Willum suggested. “She would have been able to tell us what Stolz was thinking before he disappeared and if the thing did attack him she might have been able to tell us what its reasons were.”
Jhonate nodded. “Then that is what we must do. We will return to Roo-Tan’lan swiftly and bring her back with us. Everyone! Do not touch anything!”
Justan thought back to the day of the Troll Mother’s attack. He had sliced parts of the behemoth with Peace and destroyed parts of her with Rage. Never did he receive any feeling or emotion from the flesh he was cutting. He doubted that Tarah would be able to glean anything about the behemoth’s thoughts either.
He frowned as he made a decision. He knew who might have answers.
“Hey!” Vannya ran up to them, smiling and dragging Durza by the hand. “You should hear this. Tell them, Durza. Tell them what you can do.”
The gorc’s eyes darted around at each of them. “I has witchy witch magic.”
“And?” Vannya said with a nudge. “Tell them why the ‘monster’ isn’t attacking us right now.”
“I telled it we ain’t here,” Durza replied.
“You spoke to the behemoth?” Jhonate asked, suddenly interested.
Durza wrinkled her nose. “Huh?”
“I don’t think she meant she actually had a conversation with it,” Justan explained. “She has bewitching magic. Not bonding magic. Durza, how did you tell it we aren’t here?”
“Uh. I just used my witchy stuff and I telled it we ain’t nothin’” Durza replied. She waved her hands out in front of her. “We’s just air.”
Qurl put a hand to his forehead. “It has to be some variation of the magic Roo-Dan witches use to try and sneak by our patrols. Can you imagine if we had known this before? Our witches could have saved so many lives.”
Jhonate’s back straightened. “Very well. We are taking her with us. She can teach our witches how to do this spell.”
“Sorry, No!” Durza said with a shake of her head. “I gots to go back to Master!”
Jhonate’s jaw clenched and Justan knew that she was about to put her foot down. At the same time, he saw that Talon had heard the gorc’s exclamation. She was ready to leave Deathclaw’s side and head straight for them. If he didn’t do something fast, there was about to be a confrontation.
He cleared his throat. “Durza is right. She can’t go to Roo-Tan’lan.”
Jhonate gave him a sideways glance. “Why not?”
Justan thought quickly. “Durza, who taught you how to use your magic to hide from the troll behemoth?”
“My Master,” she replied.
He nodded. “Jhonate, I am going with Talon and Durza to speak with the Stranger. I have a feeling he has the answers to many of our questions. If you were to try and take Durza back with you, he might not be very understanding. She is his servant.”
Jhonate pursed her lips, searching him with her eyes. Her voice came to him through his Jharro ring. Why are you doing this?
It is the only way, he replied, grateful she was communicating this way instead of arguing in front of the others. Matthew will know more about the situation. I could come back with valuable information that will help your people in the war.
It could be a trap, she reminded him. The last time he was seen, he was helping the enemy.
I know. They had already had that particular conversation earlier that morning. But Talon is certain that he had a good reason for doing so. We are dealing with one of the prophets, remember?
While they were talking, Poz returned from inspecting behind the house. He walked up to the group and saw everyone watching Justan and Jhonate. “Hey, there was nothing for me to find back there, uh . . . what are you two doing? Staring contest?”
Jhonate raised a palm in front of the Academy graduate’s face.
“They are talking through that Jharro ring,” Qurl explained, folding his arms.
“Oh,” he said embarrassedly. “Sorry.”
Then I am coming with you, Jhonate decided.
Justan shook his head slightly. You can’t. Talon said that he requested me and my bonded only. Besides, you are the Protector’s daughter. If Aloysius is there, you can’t be seen as negotiating with the enemy behind his back. I, however, am just a dry foot.
Her eyes narrowed. Father may be furious with you.
He sometimes starts out that way, but he always sees reason, Justan said. After a second thought, he qualified that statement. Usually. One more thing, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to return here with or without Tarah Woodblade. You can see what Xedrion wants to do, but if Durza wasn’t with us that behemoth very well might be trying to swallow us now.
Frowning, Jhonate nodded and said aloud to the group, “We will leave the gorc with Sir Edge and his bonded. The rest of us will return and report to my father what we found here. Maybe we can take what Durza told us and see if our witches can figure out how to reproduce it.”
Begrudgingly, she sent, It is a good thing I love you.
And I you, Justan replied.
Chapter Seventeen
. . . A buzzing sound filled the air. Palky couldn’t move. He was frozen there, on his hands and knees in the dark. He could breathe, but that was it. Blast it, not again! He’d been so careful. What had he done? What kind of trap had he tripped?
“Hoo-wee! We got us somethin’ boys!” shouted a rough voice.
It was still completely dark inside the cave, but Palky heard the distant stomping of heavy feet. A light flared somewhere behind him. To his surprise, he was staring right at a large hairy leg that was tipped with an enormous set of claws.
“Whoa ho ho!” the rough voice laughed. “What the hell’s he doin’ here? Donjon, go get yer daddy. Tell him that Palky’s escaped again and that he durn near got himself et!”
Palky recognized that voice now. It was Whian Dill, one of the meanest of the dwarves that owned him. His heart hammered in his chest. Palky knew that whatever happened to him next wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“Yes, boss!” said the younger dwarf and Palky heard him stomp away.
Whian walked up behind Palky, the light in the cave growing brighter with each step. The dwarf launched a kick into Palky’s buttocks, causing him to pitch forward onto his face. Without any way to break his fall, he smacked his nose onto a rock right next to that fearsome hairy paw.
“Yer a gall-ram idjit, Palky! I know we raised you to be stupid, but this has got to be yer worst escape attempt yet!” The dwarf grasped Palky by the back of his ragged shirt and yanked him up into the air.
The thick dwarf was able to lift him easily. Palky was light for an elf his age. Though he was fifteen years old, he only weighed a slim hundred pounds. Self-imposed starvation was one of his few ways to rebel.
The collar of his shirt digging into his throat, Palky found himself face-to-face with a fearsome visage. It was an enormous beast with thick sloping horns and fangs that protruded from the side of its mouth. As blood dripped from his nose, Palky wished the thing had eaten him.
“Dunno how you got outta yer cage, but only you would be dumb enough to run yerself right into the cave of an oxbear! If we hadn’t’ve been settin’ traps fer the thing ourselves, youd’ve been dinner!” Whian mocked.
The dwarf threw Palky over his wide shoulder like a bony sack of flour with legs and trotted to the cave mouth. Palky’s mind worked hard on his current problem, trying to come up with a way out. Unfortunately, the dwarves’ paralyzing spells were just too effective. He could wait for the moment that the spell lapsed and then try and make a run for it. Only, all of the dwarves carried those spell rods in their holsters. He’d just find himself frozen again.
Whian grunted out a laugh as he waited for more dwarves to arrive. “You just wait, Palky. This time Blayne ain’t gonna take it easy on you.”
Palky would have shivered if he’d had the ability. This would be the tenth time he’d been caught in the act of escaping and each time the punishment had been more severe. There was only one time he had gotten farther. Two years ago he had spent ten glorious days out in the forests of Razbeck before they had found him.
