The Ogre Apprentice (The Bowl of Souls Book 8), page 4
Charz’s quarters were located across the center square in a building next to Professor Beehn’s cottage. It was only a five minute walk from the dormitories, but Fist wanted to stop by the Dining Hall first and that would take him out of his way and all that walking around was going to suck away his time. Smiling, he switched the handle of his mace to his unprotected left hand and ran.
The magic of the mace increased his speed, helping him to run nearly twice as fast as usual. It had been an awkward feeling to get used to in the beginning, but he’d had the mace long enough by now that he was used to it. The downside of using the mace was that the increase in speed was tiring, which was why he carried it in the gloved hand most of the time.
Fist sped around the edge of the dormitory building and cut across the green towards the Dining Hall. The ogre made a fearsome sight, running at high speed with his wicked mace in hand. Luckily, it was still early enough that the area wasn’t crowded with students. Those few that were up and about took a few wary steps back when they saw him coming.
Fist switched the handle of the mace back to his right hand and slowed down just as he reached the open doors. He stumbled inside, his mace held high, causing several students to gasp. Breathing heavily, he lowered the weapon.
One old wizardess stood from her table and wagged a finger at him. “Be careful, ogre! Don’t you know that thing’s dangerous!”
“Sorry, Professor Landrine,” he said sheepishly.
“I don’t care what the new rules are. Weapons do not belong in the Dining Hall,” she grumped, sitting back down.
“Sorry,” Fist said again, bowing his head and hoping that she didn’t demand he leave and return without the weapon. Rules were one thing, but he was an apprentice. If Landrine told him to do something, he would have to do it. To his relief, she returned her attention to her breakfast and the open book beside her plate.
“Fist!” said a younger voice and the ogre turned to see his friend Neau sitting at a table nearby.
Neau was a portly young cadet wearing a red and blue robe that announced his strengths in water and fire. Jezzer was sitting next to him in his gray robe. They had half-eaten plates of food in front of them. The two men were part of a small group of friends Fist had cultivated at the school along with Charz and Antyni the elf.
“Come sit with us,” Neau said.
“Oh, I can’t,” Fist replied. He reached up and rubbed at his ear again. It still itched. “I’m just grabbing something quick and then I need to go to Charz’s place.”
“He won’t like that,” Jezzer warned in his aristocratic tenor voice. “You know how he is about his mornings.”
“I know,” Fist said. The giant liked to sleep in. Some days he wasn’t up before noon.
“Then stay here instead,” insisted Neau. “We were talking about what happened last night. Did you hear about the newest council member?”
Fist’s ears perked up at that. There had been a lot of speculation over who the last member would be. The rest of the council had been silent on the matter, including Darlan. “Sorry. I’ll meet you at the library later for study. You can tell me then. I have stuff to tell you, too. You won’t believe what happened to Justan yesterday.”
The two students nodded and Fist went to stand in line. To his relief, the queue was fairly short and he didn’t have long to wait. He grabbed a few dozen boiled eggs and all the cheese-filled rolls he could stuff in his pockets. The manager of the kitchens, Chef Richard, gave him a dour look and Fist explained that he was taking food for Charz. With a resigned grumble, the man stuffed a stack of sausages in a waxed paper bag handed them over.
The moment he left the Dining Hall, Fist switched the mace to his left hand and ran away, the sack of sausages clutched in his gloved hand. The quickest way to Charz would be to cut across the center square and head between the class buildings, but he knew there would be too many people there. So Fist took a more circuitous route, sprinting around the main part of the square.
He enjoyed the run. Moving at such a fast speed was the closest thing Fist could imagine to flying. He ignored the stares of the passersby and laughed as the wind whipped past his face.
As he passed the buildings, the wide expanse of the grounds opened before him and he looked past the manicured lawns with their winding paths, to the wall that surrounded the school. Fist’s laugh faltered. If there was one thing that showed the Mage School was a different place since the war it was the wall.
What had once looked like a fifty-foot-tall cliff hanging over the grounds was now only half its original height. Earth wizards worked on raising the wall higher every day, but it was slow going. The taller the wall became, the heavier it was and the more magic it took to get it to rise. In the beginning it had risen several inches a day, now it only rose a few inches a week. Some of the wizards predicted that, at the current rate of decline, it would take years to bring them to their former height and glory.
The other major change at the school was the academy presence. As Fist crossed the main road, he could see the new cluster of buildings and barracks at the base of the wall. Until work on the new academy was finished, trainees and students in their early years were being taught here. It was part of a bold new relationship between the warriors and wizards, one that was hoped to be beneficial to all. Fist couldn’t see why it wouldn’t be.
Once he had bypassed the main square, he curved towards the storage buildings. While the class buildings were finely built with ornate trim work, these were little more than squat warehouses. Charz’s place was actually a section of one of the storage buildings that had been walled off for his use.
By the time Fist stopped at Charz’ door he was breathing heavily, his energy drained by the use of the mace. He used to have more stamina, but he had spent the last few months focused on his magical studies, letting his physical training suffer. Fist knew that Justan would have had him training more. He made sure never to bring it up during their late night talks.
He didn’t bother knocking. Charz would never have answered. So, his mace gripped in his gloved hand, Fist pulled open the heavy warehouse door and walked in. The interior of Charz’s place was dark and dank, almost cave-like. Fist left the door hanging open behind him to let some light in.
Wizard Beehn had put in a few windows, but Charz had boarded them back up. The light from the open door illuminated a room quite different from Fist’s. For one thing it was much larger, a necessity when housing a ten foot giant, with ceilings twice as high as Fist. It was also a mess.
There were multiple dressers and wardrobes and desks around the room for the giant to use, but they were mostly empty. Charz was what Darlan called, ‘a pile person’. He kept his clothes piled on top of one table, his other various belongings piled on top of other various pieces of furniture. Scraps of garbage were cast around everywhere else.
As for the giant himself, Charz was sleeping in the corner of the warehouse farthest from the door. He was laying face down on a pile of fine mattresses that Beehn had hauled up from somewhere deep inside the Rune Tower. Charz thought the mattresses a hilarious waste since, with his thick rocky skin, he would have been just as comfortable sleeping on straw or wood shavings or gravel.
Fist figured that the giant would have been fine with anything, as long as it was a pile.
The ogre walked up and prodded the giant with his foot. “Charz! Wake up.”
“Mpf,” the giant mumbled and planted his face more firmly into a mattress that looked to be covered with pink silk. The wide wet spot under his face told Fist that Charz had been drooling in his sleep. Fist nudged the giant again, but he refused to respond. The ogre pursed his lips, pondering the best way to wake him, preferably without getting beat on.
Me! said Squirrel mischievously and the fuzzy beast exited his pouch, a chunk of bread clutched in one hand. Fist raised an eyebrow. He didn’t remember putting a roll in Squirrel’s pouch.
Squirrel jumped down and scrambled across Charz’ back, heading towards the giant’s head. The little beast let out a little snicker of anticipation and Fist took a couple steps backward, knowing what was coming. “Careful, Squirrel. He might squish you.”
Squirrel crept in close, sneaking over Charz’s neck to press his furry face into the giant’s ear. He then let loose with a loud high pitched, “Chi-chi-chi-chi-chi-chi!”
Charz rose to his knees with a roar. Squirrel darted away just in time to avoid the rocky hand that slammed into the side of the giant’s face with a thunderous crack.
“Gah!” echoed Charz’s booming voice. His mouth was wide open, his eyes confused.
“That’s enough!” Fist said in alarm. But Squirrel was already at the giant’s other ear.
“Chi-chi-chi-chi!”
Charz yelled again and grabbed for him. “Die, you fur-covered mosquito!”
Most people underestimated the rock giant’s speed. Charz’s body was enhanced by magic and despite his size, he moved as fast as a man. Luckily, Squirrel was faster. The little beast darted out of his grasp, then slid down the giant’s back and skittered across the floor of the warehouse to hide behind one of the piles of trash.
“Calm down, Charz!” Fist said, holding out a pleading hand. He hastily began preparing a spell in the back of his mind.
“What the hell was that, Fist?” Charz demanded. He jumped to his feet, towering head and shoulders above the ogre. He was wearing nothing but a tight pair of small clothes and a heavy iron chain with a crystal pendant that hung around his neck.
“I came to ask for your help with something,” Fist said.
“Well that was a stupid way of doing it!” The giant growled, his lips twisted with rage.
“I didn’t know what Squirrel was going to do,” Fist lied.
“Yeah, right.” Charz said and some of the anger left his voice as he let out a wide yawn. “What time is it, anyway?”
Fist knew the giant wouldn’t be happy about the hour. He shrugged and generalized, “Morning time.”
“Morning? You woke me up early and you brought your mace?” Charz asked, eyeing the weapon. “You know better than this.”
“I know you like to sleep longer, but-!”
“And I was up late last night, too! The new council historian arrived and I had to carry all her heavy stuff into the tower!” Charz complained. “Blasted old lady with her trunks full of books . . .”
“I brought breakfast.” Fist lifted the paper bag. “Sausages and eggs and cheesy rolls.”
Charz sniffed at the savory smell rising from the bag and jerked it from the ogre’s hand. “I guess I do usually miss breakfast.” He stomped over to the nearest table and shoved a pile of empty liquor bottles off of an oversized chair. He plopped down onto it, causing the chair to creak in protest as he looked in the bag. “There ain’t that many sausages in here.”
Fist rubbed at his ear again. It really was itching something fierce. Maybe Squirrel had scratched him somewhere deep in there. “I was kind of hoping we could share them.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Charz grumbled, tossing a handful of sausages in his mouth. He spoke while he chewed, “You said something about eggs and rolls?”
Fist dug a half-dozen eggs out of his pockets as well as several rolls and set them down on the table next to the giant. He grabbed another roll out and bit into it himself. As with all Mage School food it was really good. The bread was crusty and the cheese was savory and, as he swallowed and took the next bite, he could already feel the stirrings of extra energy that only magic could provide.
Charz looked at the food in front of him and snorted. “More of a snack, really,” he said and tossed two eggs into his mouth, not even bothering to peel them.
Fist heard it crunching in the giant’s teeth and wondered what it tasted like. He had never tried eating them that way before. Did the shells have a flavor of their own? He pulled one out of his pocket and bit into it. He chewed and grimaced at the way the shell shattered under his teeth, leaving crunchy bits of flavorless grit behind. Not pleasant.
Charz finished off another egg and bit a large roll in half. “What are you doing here, anyway? Ain’t you supposed to be studying with Sir Edge’s mom in the mornings?”
“Mistress Sherl is in a council meeting, so I thought I would come and get you to spar with me,” Fist replied. He took out another egg, but shelled it this time.
“Spar?” The giant raised a hairless rocky eyebrow as he chewed some more. “You mean you want to try out your new spells on me.”
Fist looked away from Charz and chewed the egg, wishing he’d had some salt and pepper. “While we are sparring, I will use my magic. So, yes. That too.”
The thing that made Charz an ideal sparring partner for Fist was the giant’s unique ability to shake off damage. The crystal pendant that hung from the iron chain had once been sealed in the wall of the giant’s cave. Now he wore it around his neck and it allowed him to heal from most types of wounds. Fist had seen huge holes blown into the giant by Justan’s bow. He’d even seen the giant half melted to glass. Both times, the magic had healed him back to normal.
“But you’re not supposed to be practicing those spells without Sherl around,” Charz said. He pointed a finger at Fist. “She says they’re ‘too dangerous’.”
“I know,” Fist said, rubbing his ear against his shoulder. “But we’re going to do it anyway and hope she doesn’t find out. It’s called, ‘skullduggery’.”
Charz frowned. “I don’t think you understand what that word means.”
“Yes I do! It’s my word of the day,” Fist replied. “It’s in my book if you want to look.”
The giant rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say. Still, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna just stand there and let you shock me with lightning spells.”
“It’ll be more than that,” Fist promised. “We’ll fight, too. I need the exercise.”
“Yeah, right. If you really wanted to fight, you would have brought your shield and armor.” The giant upended the paper bag into his mouth, knocking in the rest of the sausages.
“I know you like the challenge,” Fist said in a tempting voice.
Charz’s attitude was quite different from the way it had been when Fist first met him. At one time, the thrill of the fight had been the only thing the giant cared about. That mindset had gotten him into trouble and was the reason he had spent a century imprisoned next to a cave. He was reformed now and wasn’t a danger any longer, but the thought of a good battle still excited him.
“Hmph,” Charz said, his mouth full. He gave Fist a sideways glance, then swallowed. “Well, you are one of the best fights in this place, I’ll give you that much.”
“Then you’ll come?” Fist said.
“I guess so. I-.” He slammed a heavy fist on the table, barely missing Squirrel, who jumped out of the way at the last possible moment. “Don’t you even think of eating my food, you little weasel!” He swung his hand, causing Squirrel to jump over to Fist and scurry into his pouch. Charz gestured at the ogre. “You tell him that I’m not forgiving him that easy. He’ll have to make it up to me.”
“He hears you,” Fist assured him. He dropped a roll into the pouch. Thanks for waking him. He received a satisfied chuckle through the bond in response.
“Alright, let’s go then,” Charz said. He stood and walked towards the door.
“You’re not going to get dressed?” Fist asked.
Charz’s shoulders slumped and he walked over to the table piled with clothes. He shuffled through them and pulled out a torn pair of pants and a shirt that wasn’t too badly stained. He began pulling them on. “I’m tired of these stupid wizards, insisting I walk around dressed all the time. I’m terrible on clothes.”
“I know what you mean,” Fist said. And he did. No matter how well humans tried to tailor clothes for him, they usually ended up damaged in some way. “Better material is what we need.”
“I know!” Charz replied. “I keep telling Alfred that all I need is a pair of pants that stretch.”
He bent over beside his pile of mattresses and picked up his trident. The three-pronged weapon was large and frightening, as tall as the giant was. The two outer prongs were sharpened like swords while the taller center prong was shaped like a spearhead. The metal had been etched with water runes and Fist knew that the magic of the weapon made it so that wounds it caused healed slowly. His goal for the day would be not to get hit by that thing.
They left the warehouse and headed west towards the Magic Testing Center. It was a large rectangular building consisting of rows of large rooms specifically made for the purpose of testing out dangerous types of spells.
Fist stopped just outside the main door and opened Squirrel’s pouch. “You should get out, Squirrel.”
