Priestess of War (The Bowl of Souls Book 10), page 32
The chanting grew louder. So did his heartbeat. He gritted his teeth as both sounds grew. The chanting and beating built until there was this pressure in his chest pushing up towards his throat. It wanted out. It hurt to hold it in.
His mouth opened and a strange series of words poured from his lips as if it wasn’t him speaking, but someone else. He raised his mace back out of the water, his voice increasing in loudness until he was speaking louder than he believed possible. Suddenly, his arms fell, thrusting his mace back into the waters of the bowl.
A burst of energy erupted from the bowl, surrounding him in a shroud of brilliance. The chanting stopped. The foreign words were gone from his mind. In their place only one word was left. It burned so brightly within him that there was nothing he could do, but shout it to the heavens.
“Fist!”
His name echoed through the immensity of the room, punctuated by the tingling of countless crystal shards in the chandeliers above.
“What?” said Darlan incredulously. “No fair! You get to keep your name? I wanted to keep my name!”
Fist pulled his mace out of the water and saw the rune, wide and intricately detailed, halfway up the handle. Trembling, he looked at the back of his right hand. Nothing. He opened his left hand. There, covering his entire palm, was a rune that matched the one on his mace.
“It happened,” he said numbly.
Like I said, Squirrel reminded him.
“Well,” Darlan said, putting her right hand on his shoulder and holding her left out next to his. “Look at us. The Mage School just got itself two named War Wizards.”
Chapter Twenty One
Justan’s journey to meet with the Stranger took a long and often miserable two days. Most of it was through shallow marsh lands and portions of that were thick with troll slime.
He rode most of the way on Gwyrtha’s back with Durza sitting behind him. He had learned to loathe that perfume she wore. He didn’t know where she was keeping it or when she found the time to put it on, but to his enhanced senses it was thick and overly flowery. It gave him a headache and he would have demanded she walk if she weren’t so incredibly useful.
The gorc’s bewitching magic not only kept them safe from the behemoth beneath them, it also kept away mindless trolls and a bevy of other dangerous and poisonous creatures that called this place home. At night, she would lure in dinner and Justan quickly learned that if he was nice and complimented her, he could request the creature he wanted.
Deathclaw stayed at Talon’s side, determined to discover just how much Justan’s magic had healed her. He found many of her behaviors slightly disturbing, like when she would break down into sudden fits of sobbing as they walked. But other times, he was encouraged.
She was able to carry on conversations with him, often in a mix of common speech and the chirping language of the raptoids. To Justan’s dismay, this discussion often had something to do with some aspect of Justan’s life. Talon remembered many things from the memories Justan had forced upon her and Deathclaw knew most of it from his own delving through the bond. With the different paths their lives had taken since being changed by Ewzad Vrill, this puzzling over Justan’s human faults was one of the few things they still had in common.
On the afternoon of the second day, Durza assured Justan that they were coming close to their destination; a place she called the “Village of the Weirdies.” Shortly before their arrival, Deathclaw contacted Justan through the bond.
I have had some time to speak with Talon and still I am unsure about something.
Is that so? Justan asked. What is it?
She is . . . not broken in the way she used to be anymore, but I am not certain that this changes anything.
What do you mean? Justan wondered.
Talon did so many things that I have come to see as . . . evil.
Justan’s eyebrows rose. This was the first time he had heard Deathclaw refer to that term. The raptoid understood the logical reasons for avoiding evil acts, but he had always struggled with the human definition of right and wrong. Yes. That is absolutely true.
She was very bad, Gwyrtha agreed.
Deathclaw was silent for a moment as he chose his next words. Before you changed her, I believed that it was my duty to destroy her. To end her evil in this world.
Justan wasn’t so certain that he was fully responsible for changing her, but that wasn’t Deathclaw’s point. And now?
I am not sure that my duty has changed.
Really? Justan replied. Do you feel like she would do those evil things again?
It is hard to say. At the moment, no. But even if she were never to hurt people again, it would not erase the things she has done. The people she tortured. The innocents she slaughtered? They will remain dead.
Justan nodded. I think I understand your dilemma. This is the question of proper punishment. Should she suffer as her victims suffered?
Yes! Gwrytha decided, memories of Talon’s misdeeds ruminating in her head. She killed Coal.
She did do that, Justan said sadly. And that cannot be changed.
Deathclaw cocked his head. You speak as if you agree, but your thoughts feel as though you disagree.
Durza, who was sitting behind Justan, suddenly jerked his shirt. “Stop! Stop Gertha! I gotta pee!”
Gwyrtha stopped so that the gorc could splash down into the ankle-deep water and crouch behind some marsh rushes. While they waited, Justan tried to answer Deathclaw’s question fairly.
It’s a complex issue. One that has been argued throughout our history. Let me ask you a question. If you were to kill Talon right now, in punishment for all her evil acts, would that erase the things she had done. Will those she killed return?
No, said Gwyrtha.
Some believe that the punishment should follow the crime. Those that murder should receive death, Justan said. Others believe that by killing those who murder, we become murderers ourselves.
“Okay, I’m done peein’,” Durza said, sloshing back over to Justan. He sighed as he reached down to help her back up, knowing that she had just peed in the same water that was now dripping off of her feet and down Gwyrtha’s side.
They continued on and Deathclaw’s thoughts were filled with irritation. Why do you tell me what these ‘others’ believe? And what does this have to do with Talon’s evils?
I told you those things because I want you to fully understand both sides of the issue you are asking me about, Justan replied. What do you think is the correct way?
I am not the human. If I knew the answer I would not be asking you, Deathclaw grumped. Stop asking me questions and tell me what you think I should do!
Deathclaw’s frustration reminded Justan of the way he had felt when his mother would try to teach him philosophical concepts. His thoughts soured. He was sounding like his mother.
Alright, Deathclaw. This is what I think. I believe that we should do what is necessary to stop evil from happening. We should not hesitate to kill an attacker if it will save a friend. We should not hesitate to hurt someone if that keeps them from hurting others.
As for punishment after the fact? It depends on the situation. Will the punishment save others in the future? Then yes. If it is just for our own selfish desire for vengeance, then I feel it is wrong.
You are right, Justan, Gwyrtha said. You are good.
Hmm, said Deathclaw. I understand your thoughts on this. But when it comes to Talon I still do not know which is the right answer.
Neither do I, Justan replied. However, I did learn something that may help. When Talon first met the Prophet, she asked him to kill her and he refused. He helped her to combat the evil feelings inside her and sent her to Matthew. When she met Matthew, she asked him to kill her and he refused. If those two men, who know more about the possible future than we do, were not certain enough to kill her, how can we be?
Deathclaw grew silent as he digested what had been said. I will continue to watch her, he decided.
Not long after that, they arrived at a short slope that took them onto dry land. The area was bordered by wide trees with massive roots that dipped into the water and in between the trees were well trodden trails.
It was at this point that Durza called out for them to stop, saying happily, “Master is comin’!”
“Finally,” Justan sighed. He looked around, noting a distinct lack of troll trails. How could that be when they were so far into the Troll Swamp? It was the first time he had seen a dry patch that wasn’t crisscrossed with the stuff. It had been particularly annoying when trying to find a place to sleep for the night.
“There you are!” said a cheerful voice.
Walking between two of the large trees was Matthew. Like John, he was a man of average height with an average face that faded from memory when one wasn’t looking directly at him. Unlike the haggard and sickly man Justan had seen in Talon’s memories, he looked quite healthy. The robe he wore was a fine one and he held a lit pipe in his left hand.
Durza pranced over to him with a beaming smile and he patted the top of her head. “You did a very good job, Durza. Thank you.”
“You still have that sword in your back, I see,” Justan said. The handle of the weapon was sticking up at an angle over the Stranger’s left shoulder. It looked as if it were simply sheathed on his back, but Justan knew the blade was sheathed in the man’s skin.
“Hello to you too, Sir Edge,” Matthew replied, his smile fading only slightly. “And you have a rogue horse I see. This one looks familiar to me. Gwyrtha, isn’t it? It is nice to see you again. That bond is good for you, I think. You seem much brighter than the last time we met.”
Hello, Matthew, she said neutrally and he nodded as if he had heard her.
When did you meet him? Justan sent.
With John, she said, her memories flickering back to times that the Prophet had ridden her into Malaroo. He isn’t always this nice.
“Talon,” the Stranger said. She approached him slowly and he pushed back the cowl that covered her frightening face. He cupped her cheek with one hand and nodded. “Better. Remember what I told you. A bit at a time.”
“Yes, Master,” she said with tearful eyes and pulled the cowl back over her head.
“And you must be her brother.” He approached Deathclaw and held out his hand. The raptoid cocked his head in curiosity, but shook it. “Ah, you are much further along than she is. It is good to see a dragon that has chosen to expand his mind. Tell me. Have you yet decided Talon’s fate?”
“I have . . . not,” Deathclaw replied.
Matthew nodded sagely. “I am sure you will make the right decision.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “My, that sword that you wear across your back. Is that . . . Star?”
“Yes,” said the raptoid uneasily, removing his hand from the man’s. “You know it?”
“I do,” he said. “Would you mind if I looked at it?”
Deathclaw looked at Justan and Justan gave him a shrug, unsure what this was about. His eyes wary, Deathclaw drew the sword and held it out flat across his palms.
Matthew placed his pipe firmly in the corner of his mouth and let out a thoughtful grunt as he took the sword from the raptoid. “I haven’t seen this sword in centuries. How strangely fortuitous that it should appear here now in your hands. I wonder if John had something to do with that.”
“I would doubt that,” Deathclaw said. “I took it from one of Ewzad Vriil’s servants I killed. I kept it to help me kill Talon.”
Justan glanced at Deathclaw’s sister to gauge her reaction. She stood silently, her hood casting a shadow over her features. If this information was at all disturbing to Talon, she did not show it.
Matthew nodded. “Yes, well Star has been passed around many times by people who did not know its intended use.” He held it back out to Deathclaw. “It seems to have taken quite well to you. Do you know its intended use?”
Deathclaw took the weapon back from him and slid it into its sheath. “Star likes to kill trolls. It burns hotter when used for that purpose.” His brow furrowed slightly. “It . . . hates these swamps.”
“I imagine it would,” he said. Matthew turned to Justan and Justan wondered if he had chosen to speak to everyone else first so that he would be disarmed by the man’s newfound charm. “Well, Sir Edge. You look like a man full of questions.”
“And you look like a man who has turned over a new leaf,” Justan said. “Is that real or is it due to the sword in your back?”
The Stranger sighed, but his smile didn’t lessen this time. “I would say that the answer is yes to both those questions.”
“That’s a cryptic answer,” Justan replied. “People who use those are usually trying to cover a lie.”
“No lies. I believe I have changed and part of it is because of this sword in my back. Let’s just say that I required a lesson in humility.” Matthew studied Justan’s reaction and took a draw on his pipe. “Tell me. What do you think this sword is?”
“From the runes on its hilt, I’d say it was a spirit magic weapon, though I knew that from my spirit sight before I saw the hilt. Also, Tolynn mentioned it when talking about your appearance at the treaty talks,” Justan replied. “The prevailing rumor is that the sword is piercing your spirit, allowing the gnome warlord to control you. The demons in his army believe that. Is that true?”
“It is no longer true,” Matthew said. “I am bound by promises made, but not by the powers of this weapon. Right now the sword is just a symbol. A symbol that Warlord Aloysius does not yet fully trust me.”
“I can’t say as I blame him. I am partially tempted to stab you with my own sword to find out for sure.” This was true, but something told Justan that was an incredibly bad idea.
“If I remember right, the last time we met, you were the one being straightforward and I was the one being standoffish.” Matthew laughed. “Enough already! If you’re trying to impress me, it isn’t necessary. I have been impressed with you from the moment John brought you into my home.”
“I’m not attempting to impress you,” Justan replied, though once the words left his lips, he realized that wasn’t quite true. “I am trying to figure you out.”
“I’m kind of complicated,” the Stranger said. “I’ve been around a long time.”
Justan gritted his teeth, refusing to be charmed. “Yes, but the real question is, has your condemnation been lifted?”
Matthew sighed and held out his hand. “You were named by the Bowl of Souls. You are a bonding wizard. The Creator has placed his favor on you. Grasp my hand and tell me what you believe.”
Frowning slightly, Justan reached out and took the man’s hand. A tingling warmth flooded up his arm. It was the same feeling he had felt in the presence of the Bowl. He was immediately overcome by the assurance that this man had his Master’s approval.
Justan let out a breath that he didn’t even know he’d been holding. “I believe you.”
Matthew smiled and patted his arm. “My power isn’t fully back yet. It’s a process. I am not the man John is. I never was. But I am trying my best.”
“Alright,” said Justan. “So why did you ask me to come here?”
The man let go of his hand and leaned back, taking a draw on his pipe. As he spoke, fragrant smoke floated into the air like tendrils. “I brought you here because I need your help convincing Warlord Aloysius and Xedrion bin Leeths to save the Known Lands.”
Justan stared at Matthew long and hard. “Saving the Known Lands is an important task. Still, I’m not so sure I grasp your premise.”
“Walk with me,” the Stranger said, “And I will explain on the way.”
Matthew led Justan down a well-trodden path through the trees, Deathclaw and Gwyrtha following with Talon and Durza close behind.
“As you know, Sir Edge, before my recent rousting, I had my head in the sand for a very long time. During that time I let several situations around me develop to the point that they have gone out of control. One of them is this situation with the Troll Mother.”
Justan frowned, not liking the sound of that. Just how much had the Stranger’s laziness affected the world? “She is one of your responsibilities?”
“Directly? No. Trolls are not a species under my supervision. I’m not sure they qualify as a species at all. They are more like a malignancy, a disease left over from Mellinda’s evil plans centuries ago. However, I did take a responsibility upon myself that is directly related to her creation.”
They rounded a large tree and a wide open clearing came into view. Taking up this area was an odd village. The buildings were very basic in construction; tall round shacks whose walls were made of logs and long poles that were held together with a mix of mud and swamp grasses. Walking amongst the shacks were tall, muscular creatures who looked vaguely troll-like. They were naked, but sexless, with bushy black hair atop their heads and a slight greenish tint to their skin.
“Thulls,” Deathclaw said, sending Justan an image of the beast that Stolz had been bonded to.
“Yes, that’s right,” Mathew said, pausing for a moment for Justan to take the village in. “The thulls were once a populous people, living very basic and wild lives in the swamps. That is, until the Roo people began domesticating them and using them as slave labor.”
“And they are the race Mellinda created the trolls from,” Justan said, remembering the story. As he watched the thulls move by, he noticed that a few of them walked with small children at their side.
“Correct,” Matthew replied. “She found it amusing to use the Roo’s own slaves against them. One unfortunate side effect of the horrible magic she used to make her stolen thulls into trolls was that it removed their souls.”
“Nice rhyme, Master!” Durza enthused.
“That was unintentional, but thank you,” Matthew said with a sigh. He started walking forward again, leading them towards the village.
“When the Roo people fled their swamps to escape Mellinda’s armies, they left the thulls behind to fight for themselves. As you know, trolls will attack anything, but for some reason they seem to instinctually see the thulls as having the souls that they are missing. They have an odd habit of banding together in large groups to attack thull settlements. As a result, the species was almost entirely wiped out. Only this one village remains.”
