“Something about Roo-Dan witches?” Justan said.

  “Right,” she said. “The elves teach the Roo-Tan people at a young age how to defend themselves from spirit magic attack. If they are on their guard, it is difficult for the witches of the Roo-Dan to affect them. To counter this defense, the witches employ enchanters.”

  Justan nodded. While witches were bewitching specialists and listeners were bonding magic specialists, enchanters were binding magic specialists.

  “They bind the spirits of small creatures into piercing weapons, often tiny darts that the witches can blow from a pipe. These darts act like a connection between the witch and their target. If the dart pierces their skin-.”

  “It pierces their soul,” Justan finished in sudden understanding. It all began to make sense. Fist had learned this when researching the maggots used by the evil in the Black Lake. “If your soul is pierced, they are already past your defenses.”

  “Right,” Beth said in approval. “My bow works on the same principal. When I fire an arrow, the spirit of the viper in my bow attaches itself to the arrow and strikes the target, piercing their spirit and paralyzing them.”

  “And that’s what I was doing when I stabbed Talon,” Justan said. “I pierced her soul and used Peace as a conduit for the bond. That’s how I was able to use my magic from within her.”

  Oh! said Gwyrtha.

  Deathclaw hissed softly as he mulled the possibilities of this new form of attack Justan could employ. There was something disturbing about him thinking such thoughts with a sleeping baby on his shoulder.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about!” Cletus said, employing a half grin so as not to stretch his stitches.

  Justan’s excitement drooped a bit. “I don’t know how I feel about using the bond in an attack, though. The idea feels . . . dangerous.”

  Hilt nodded. “Very smart of you, Edge.”

  “Right,” Beth agreed. “There is a danger inherent to using bonding magic in an attack. A bond goes both ways. If someone pierces you to enter your mind, whether by using a bound spirit or direct bonding magic, they leave a portal to their own mind open. The Roo-Tan are taught how to launch a counter attack in such situations.”

  That wasn’t exactly what Justan meant by the attack being dangerous, but he filed away the advice. “I see. I doubt people would be expecting it, but I would need to be careful for that.”

  “Maybe they wouldn’t expect it now,” Hilt said. “But if word got around that the famous, Sir Edge could see into your very soul with his blade, certain people would know to get prepared.”

  “I suppose,” Justan said, thinking specifically of the nightbeast Vahn and the possibility that the Dark Prophet could send another servant after him.

  “There’s also a very basic danger to consider,” Beth said. “If you send your thoughts into someone’s body and that connection is suddenly cut off . . .”

  Justan grimaced at the thought of having the bond severed while his spirit was partially inside. “Would part of me be . . . trapped behind?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Beth said. “But it could be damaging. It would be very disorienting to say the least.”

  “If you were stunned on the battlefield, you would be helpless,” Hilt added.

  Justan ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

  Justan! came a distant and irritated thought. What are you doing down there?

  “Uh, Jhonate has found me. I’d bet she’s on her way down here.” Justan said and replied through the Jharro ring on his finger, I was speaking with Hilt and Beth.

  We have training to do, she reminded him, her anger only lessening slightly.

  “I probably should go and meet her,” Justan said.

  Hilt gave him a knowing smile. “Ah! Well I hope we were helpful. We didn’t exactly solve your problem.”

  “Actually, you helped a lot,” he assured him. “I have a much better idea of what I’m dealing with now. I’m sure I’ll figure out how to get my sword’s magic under control.”

  “Sure. All you’ve gotta do is go around looking for volunteers to stab so that you can practice,” Tarah said.

  “Yeah, there is that,” Justan agreed.

  I’d let you! Gwyrtha declared.

  “I appreciate that, Gwyrtha, but that wouldn’t prove anything. I can already read your mind.”

  “I already got cut today,” Cletus said regretfully.

  Justan chuckled. “I’ll look for someone else then.”

  Chapter Six

  Hello, Peace, Justan sent through his bond with the weapon. The only response he received was the familiar hungry serenity that he usually felt from the sword. Uh, this is Justan speaking.

  He winced, feeling incredibly silly trying Hilt’s suggested method. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that there was some sort of intelligence there. After all, Master Coal had suggested something similar. But even if there had been a sort of intelligence given to his swords by the Bowl of Souls, it was very basic. In the past, when attempting to commune with the swords, he had simply sent them his intentions. Why should they respond to something as complex as the common tongue? Nevertheless, he tried again.

  I need you to listen. There are times when I don’t want my emotions sucked away. Justan waited for a moment and thought he might have felt a sort of questioning emotion. Encouraged, he continued, I am going to touch your handle. And when I do, please don’t use your magic on me.

  He reached up with his left hand and touched the leather-wrapped handle. His heart surged as, for a moment, he felt no change in his emotions. Then he felt a stinging whack across his buttocks.

  “You are slowing down!” Jhonate declared, shifting her staff back to her other hand where she held it loosely at her side, her legs pumping. “Don’t let your mind wander. Focus on the trail.”

  “I doubt I slowed much,” he replied, breathing heavily. After all, they were heading through the forest at a break-neck speed. Despite the stamina and reflexes given by his bonds, he was still uncomfortable with the pace.

  Jhonate was really pushing her limits. From the moment he had joined her on his way back from Beth’s house, there had been an intensity to her emotion. Perhaps this was the way she was handling her grief over her lost family members.

  I was communing with my swords, he explained through the Jharro ring.

  “Talk and run,” she reminded him. “Mental communication is cheating.”

  Justan smiled at Yntri Yni’s old training tips coming from her lips. It reminded him of the days when he had first met her, when she was the mysterious taskmaster and he was just a stubborn teenager. How things had changed between them. Then again, she was still a taskmaster. Perhaps he was the only one who had changed.

  “Hilt suggested I try speaking to my swords,” he said aloud, focusing on keeping his breathing steady. “He thinks that the Bowl of Souls gave them a sort of intelligence and that talking to them could coax them to do what I want.”

  “Why would that not be the case?” Jhonate asked, jumping over a log that had fallen over the trail. She made a mental note to send someone to clear that obstruction later. “Many magical things have thoughts. You had to commune with your bow, did you not?”

  “It’s not exactly . . . the same thing,” Justan replied, wincing as a low hanging branch gave him a face full of leaves.

  “No?” she asked, having ducked low to avoid that same branch. “Your bow was given you by our Jharro tree. Your runes were given you by the Bowl of Souls, both ancient and intelligent beings.”

  “I guess you have a point,” he admitted and as he thought about it, her point triggered a memory. “You know, when I first came to the Mage School, Master Latva taught me that there is intelligence in all things. He used his magic to show me tiny sparks of intelligence in the basic elements that make our world.”

  Jhonate grunted. “This is why my people have long distrusted wizards. The reason why your magic works on the elements is because your powers subjugate that intelligence. You bend it to your will and force it to do that which is against its nature.”

  Justan’s eyebrows rose at the intensity in her tone. “Is that what you believe?”

  She frowned. “Not I. That is the old Roo way. Back then, my people worshiped the elements as gods. This is no longer so, but . . .” She hesitated a moment, then made a decision, taking off down a narrow side trail. “This way.”

  Justan was caught off guard by the change of course and it took him a moment to catch back up. This new trail was too narrow to run side-by-side so he stayed right behind her. “But what?”

  “We no longer worship the elements. Instead of gods, we have the Grove,” she replied. “Yet another reason to distrust wizards.”

  “And yet your father seems to be considering letting them into the country,” Justan said. “What do you think?”

  “Most of them would not be a problem. Many that I have met are good people,” Jhonate replied. “But they would all be interested in our country. Especially in our use of spirit magic. They would want to visit the Grove and if we allowed it, there are those who would be tempted by its power. It has happened in the past.”

  Justan couldn’t argue that point. Wizards were greedy by nature. Even the best of them could be dangerously curious. He thought of Wizard Locksher and his experiments with trolls. Justan shook his head. Perhaps the Roo-Tan had been smart to keep wizards out.

  The narrow trail came to an end at a clearing. The trees opened up in front of them and Justan saw that that they had come to the edge of a cliff.

  Jhonate stopped at the edge and stood there, looking into the distance, her shoulders rising and falling as she breathed heavily. He listened through the Jharro ring and, though she was trying to keep her thoughts reigned in, Justan caught a glimpse of a confusing tide of emotions warring within her.

  He stepped up next to her and looked out over the valley below. It was a grand view. A landscape of lush green treetops covered the valley floor, edged on the left side by the leaves of the Jharro trees that flickered green and blue. At the bottom, he could see a section that had been cleared by the elves; the newest section of the Jharro Grove. The year-old Jharro saplings were the size of fully grown oaks, but the elves had planted them quite far apart and from this distance, it just looked like a very sparse orchard.

  “A beautiful sight,” Justan said, then examined the clearing around them. A fire pit had been dug nearby and he could see several grass mats next to it. “So-?”

  “Where are Deathclaw and Gwyrtha?” Jhonate interrupted, her eyes fixed on the trees below.

  “Not far back on the trail,” he replied. They often roamed the forest while Jhonate took Justan on his runs. Deathclaw liked to hunt and Gwyrtha liked to pester him along the way.

  “Tell them to keep their distance,” she said. “And to let you know if anyone comes this way.”

  “Okaayy,” he said slowly. The feelings she was letting leak through the ring were starting to make sense. His heart beat faster. “What is this place?”

  Jhonate turned towards him but did not meet his eyes. “There are those among my people who come here when they do not wish to be disturbed.”

  Justan swallowed. “And you don’t wish to?”

  She lunged towards him and threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a deep kiss. No longer able to hold her mind in check, the connection between them overflowed with the intensity of her emotions; a mix of fear, grief, love, and overall, passion.

  Justan kissed her back, letting his feelings join with hers. He lived for times like this. With all the tension in Malaroo, combined with the stress of keeping proprieties, they came far too seldom. The kiss was a long one and with every moment that passed, their ardor grew. Finally, he pulled back, a wide smile on his face. “I love you.”

  “And I you,” Jhonate said, her green eyes burning. She fell backwards, pulling him to the ground on top of her and kissed him harder, her hands gripping the back of his head, her lips crushing his.

  Justan pulled back, laughing. “Slow down. One of us is going to lose a tooth.”

  “I do not care!” she said, a snarl curling her lips. “I do not care about any of it! Not customs. Not propriety! Nothing matters but right now.”

  She shoved her hands up under his shirt and ran her fingertips across the muscles of his chest. She traced the Scralag’s frost-encusted scar. Justan’s breath caught as Jhonate ran her nails down his sides. She grasped the waistband of his pants.

  “Wait!” Justan gasped. He grabbed her hands. “We are heading towards dangerous ground, here.”

  “I am tired of waiting,” she growled.

  He looked into her hungry eyes and pleaded. “Stop it! You are forcing me to be the good one and I don’t want to be the good one!”

  “There is no bad here. Just us,” Jhonate said. She tried to pull her hands out of his grip.

  Justan held tight. “Yes there is. We have waited a whole year. If we give in now, it would be wonderful, but you would regret it later. I can’t do that to you.” He forced a smile. “Also, I promised your father and I have no wish to fight him again.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “When did you discuss this with him?”

  “He has mentioned it a few times,” Justan said. On three separate occasions, actually. They hadn’t been comfortable talks. “He says that you are too much like him and that I needed to be prepared to defend myself.” He gave her a firm look. “We should wait until the wedding.”

  Jhonate groaned and all fight left her. She lay limply, tears welling in her eyes. “The wedding may never happen.”

  Justan laid on his side next to her. He kissed her gently on the cheek. “Why not?”

  “Father wants to wait until this ‘situation’ is over!” she said bitterly. “But this is no longer just a ‘situation’. A war started in that valley. Wars can last years, Justan, and anything could happen to us in that time.” She looked at him pleadingly. “What if we never have the chance?”

  “Nothing is going to happen to either of us. I won’t allow it!” he promised. “And we aren’t going to wait that long. There is still hope for us to end this war quickly. If not, we’ll still make it happen. Even if we have to do it behind your father’s back.” Justan hesitated. “Surely there is someone nearby who will marry us without his permission. We could ask Tolynn?”

  Jhonate smiled at the thought. “Oh, that would rankle him! And she might do it. But no.” Her smile faded. “That would not work. If we did that, your parents would not be here either.”

  Justan bit his lip. “They would understand. Mother would bluster, but she would forgive us.”

  She sat part way up, leaning on her elbows. “And Fist? He is in the middle of a war of his own. How would you feel about having the marriage without him there?”

  Justan frowned thoughtfully.

  Jhonate let out a sigh. “I thought as much.” She rolled to her feet.

  “Hold on,” Justan said, sitting up. “The Academy’s army should be joining Fist in three weeks. With the wizards’ help, they should have that cleared up. Then Fist can come down to join us. My parents, too. That’s a couple months at most. Then we can marry.”

  She folded her arms and gave him a dull look. “You are certain of this?”

  Justan wanted to be able to assure her, but that would just be a lie. Even with the might of the Academy and Mage School, the power in the Black Lake had the Dark Prophet behind it. That made it too dangerous to be discounted. He fell back to the ground.

  “Never mind. I’ve changed my mind.” He reached one arm up to her. “I give in. Take me now.”

  Jhonate gave him a playful scowl and smacked his hand away. “That moment has passed. Now get up. We have a run to finish.”

  Justan moped. “Can we walk?”

  “No,” Jhonate said and reached for his hand. She pulled him to his feet and kissed him again. She looked deep into his eyes. “Thank you for stopping me, Justan. I love you.”

  “And I you,” he replied.

  That night there was another long meeting. Again, nothing was decided about the course of action against the Mer-Dan Collective or Mellinda and her budding army of trollkin. Instead, the house heads were worried about funeral arrangements.

  Justan understood why they felt it necessary to decide these things. With nearly 10,000 lost, the Roo-Tan people needed to be able to mourn. Families were still being notified. Yet there were no bodies to bury. No Jharro weapons to be returned to their trees. Technically, he wasn’t sure that those swallowed up should actually be considered dead. Everything considered, wasting time on funeral plans made little sense.

  In the end, Xedrion said much the same. Though he had lost two sons and his first wife on that day, it was not time to sit still with their hearts in their hands. There would be time for wakes and memorials later. He ended the meeting with the declaration Justan had been wanting to hear. Now was the time to act.

  Knowing that the next day would be a long one, Justan had decided to retire early. He ate a quick meal with Jhonate, thankfully one with a small banana quotient, and retired to his rooms in the palace. He sat on his bed and drew Peace. A calculated calm settled over him.

  Changing his mind, he set the sword onto the bed next to him. He couldn’t go into this with his mind already calmed. He would speak to the sword first, then test to see if it had worked.

  Gwyrtha laid on the floor next to his bed and yawned. Talking to swords again?

  It is something he must do, Deathclaw told her. The raptoid was sitting on the roof of the building, looking over the palace grounds as he rolled the blades of his throwing knives across the backs of his long fingers. As leader of our pack, he must learn to use all of his talents.

  But this is a boring one, she complained.

  Not so, Deathclaw replied. It would be a great advantage to us if Justan could pierce an enemy and pore through his knowledge.

  A sense of disquiet rose within Justan at that remark. He tuned out the rest of their conversation and dove deep into the bond. He came to the point where the connections of his two swords converged. Though these bonds were just as real as any of his other bonds, they felt different. Smaller somehow.

 

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