Willum’s eyes widened. He was impressed with this gnome. “I find this all quite fascinating, Vincent, but what does that have to do with the imp in my axe?”
“Ah, well, the population of demon species has somehow always been linked to the need for a race with blood magic to be opposed. My people in particular, despite our numbers, have never truly been a threat. Our focus is both our greatest strength and weakness. Very few of us have ever felt it necessary to try to subject others. Most of us are scholars, and those of us that study the art of battle are inevitably too busy protecting the rest of us to bother going on the offensive.”
“Therefore, imps are rare,” Willum concluded.
“Precisely,” Vincent said with a nod.
He already knew that, though. “And my axe?”
“What I have been getting at, young Willum, is that with imps so rare and with spirit binding of intelligent beings so difficult to accomplish, it is very likely that there would be record of the creation of such an axe,” Vincent said with a smirk.
“And you found it in that book?” he asked.
“I believe so, yes,” he said. “I noticed right away that the runing style of the blade was not human or dwarven. This blade is of impish make. It is of the style of the imp warriors thousands of years ago. The runing, however, is of kobald make, and the iron in the runes has been infused with the blood magic of all four races.”
Willum swallowed. “That sounds bad.”
“Oh yes. This blade was built with quite an evil purpose. It is designed specifically to kill those with blood magic,” Vincent smiled wringing his hands in excitement. “There were four such blades made; each one bound with a spirit of a different race of demon. They were created by a coalition of dark wizards and given to four warlords that desired to conquer the known lands.”
“And to top it off, mine is the one with the spirit of an imp bound to it,” Willum said, feeling sick. “The most vicious of the demon races.”
“Not at all,” Vincent said. “The demon races mirror their counterparts. Bandhams are the most vicious of the demon races. The imps, on the other hand, are the most intelligent and most talented in the use of magic.”
He lifted the book and turned it so that Willum could see the illustration. It showed four weapons; a sword, a bow, a spear, and an axe, each one quite wicked looking. “Your axe, as you can see, is not exactly as pictured but I believe that’s just because the artist hadn’t seen it in person. Inaccuracy is one of the most common foibles of scholarly work.”
“Right,” Willum said, feeling sick to his stomach. He couldn’t imagine this having gone any worse.
“However, the translation of the runes is quite accurate.” He pointed to the red runes on the axe. They were currently glowing a dull red, which meant that the imp was either angry or showing off. “If you read around the runes of power that grant the axe its sharpness and resiliency, there is an inscription. It reads, ‘With my mind, I hew thee’.”
“Great,” Willum replied, rubbing his face with his hands.
“You seem disappointed,” Vincent said, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “I have just told you that you own an extremely powerful magic weapon. This axe alone could make you a legend.”
“What this is, is a disaster. What you’ve told me is that I own an ancient weapon of evil, forged by evil men, holding the spirit of an evil imp. That’s the kind of power I don’t need, thank you.”
“That isn’t what I said,” Vincent replied. Then he frowned and cocked his head. “Well, perhaps it is what I implied, come to think of it, but it most likely isn’t the truth. I never said the imp was evil.”
“And how is that?” Willum asked.
“The demon races are made up of individuals, just like any other. They may have general tendencies towards viciousness, but that could very well be cultural. As individuals, they could potentially be every bit as good as any human or gnome. If raised correctly, that is.”
“I understand that, but this imp was picked for the axe by evil wizards.”
“Ah, but the dark wizards made a mistake when binding this imp to the axe. You confirmed that to me earlier. The wizards picked a player and not a fighter. You see, the book states that when the axe was finished and delivered to the warlord, he spent weeks communing with it. During this time, his campaign crumbled. He complained that the axe refused to obey him and he hunted down the dark wizards that had made it one by one, killing them with the very weapon they created. He disappeared soon thereafter and the axe isn’t mentioned again.”
“That does sound like something the imp would orchestrate,” Willum said with a sigh. “So what am I supposed to take from that tale?”
“Hmm. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you tell me how you came to own the axe? That could help me explain,” Vincent said, lifting his green bound book and snatching up his quill.
“I . . . should probably get back to Sir Edge,” Willum said, looking back towards the door.
“He knows where I reside if he needs you,” the gnome said. “Please tell me your tale. It is a rare thing for me to learn something new about my field of expertise.”
Willum scratched his head, but did as the gnome requested, telling him a condensed version of what had happened with the axe. The gnome asked very few questions, but took fastidious notes and giggled at odd times. When Willum ended his tale with the way the imp had blocked his memories, the gnome pursed his thin lips, deep in thought.
“Well! I would say that your own experiences should have given you the answers to your questions,” Vincent said finally.
“I don’t follow you.”
“Well, for one your imp had multiple opportunities to betray you and it didn’t. It could have cast you aside at any time,” he said.
“He says it’s because I amuse him,” Willum said.
“Perhaps,” Vincent said. “But if his intentions were evil, why would he ask you to name him?”
“I don’t know. It felt important when he said it, though. What does it mean anyway, naming him?” Willum asked. “He asked Tad to name him too.”
“Ah, well that is one of the rules of this particular type of binding magic. Any creature bound to an item in this manner is forced to follow the wishes of whatever creature picks it up. However, if the bearer of the object communes with the spirit bound to the item, he can claim it as his. This is done by giving the spirit a new name. If the spirit accepts this name, it becomes bound directly to the new wielder and is useless to anyone else.”
Willum frowned. What was the imp hoping to gain? “What exactly does that entail? If I was bound to the axe, I mean.”
“It means that a link would be created between you and the imp. Think of it as a lesser form of the bond you have with your bonding wizard. The connection would allow you to stay in contact with it when you weren’t touching it, for instance. Also, no one else would be able to wield the axe.” Vincent explained.
There was a knock at the door and Vincent stood so fast, he swayed on his feet. The gnome blinked and his brow furrowed with brief confusion. He looked at his bed as if startled to be sitting in his room. “Wh-who is it?”
“It is me,” said a deep rumbling voice.
“Ah, well come in then,” The gnome replied.
The door opened and was immediately filled by the crouching form of a musclebound ogre. Willum recognized his face immediately from Tolivar’s memories. It was Sir Edge’s bonded, Fist. Only he was dressed much differently that he had been in Tolivar’s thoughts. Instead of wearing furs and skins, his muscles were bulging under a button down shirt and leather breeches. Somehow he even had an enormous pair of work boots covering his feet.
“Hello, Mister Vincent,” said the ogre.
“Good gods, an ogre at my door!” the gnome said in surprise.
“I’m Fist, Mister Vincent. Justan introduced us the other day.”
“He’s bonded to Sir Edge,” Willum said, giving the gnome an odd look. The focus had gone
out of the gnome’s eyes and his glasses had slid back to the end of his nose.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Sir Edge’s ogre. Fist. Yes, forgive me. Come on in. Just don’t track mud on my floor.”
Fist looked down and lifted his boots, smiling when he saw that they were quite clean. “Willum, Justan said you might be up here.”
“Right. I’ll be right with you, Fist.” Willum said and turned back to Vincent. “Well, thank you so much for your help.”
The gnome smiled and nodded and the second pair of glasses on the top of his head clattered down to join the other one perched on his nose. “Of course. Any time, young Willum. You are welcome in my library. All I ask is that you return the books you borrow on time.”
Willum glanced at the book containing the story of the axe. “Would you mind if I borrowed that book, Vincent?”
The gnome swallowed and picked up the book, clutching it in his hands. “It is . . . part of my personal collection. But you can visit again and read it if you would like. I would like to hear more about what happens with your axe.”
“Of course,” Willum said. He looked to Fist. “Did they start the meeting already?”
“Yes, but they have just been arguing so far. Justan thinks we won’t miss anything if we hurry down.”
“Okay. Thanks again, Vincent.” Willum picked the axe up off of the gnome’s desk and slid it into the sheath at his side. Oddly, it had nothing to say.
Chapter Ten
Fist shut the gnome’s door and let out a small sigh of relief. It had been much too clean in there. Most of the rooms in the Mage School were too clean and the wizards tended to stare at him as though afraid dirt might fall off of him at any moment. He glanced at Willum to see that the human looked almost just as relieved to leave the gnome’s room. He flashed Willum a smile and got a hesitant nod in return.
“Please tell Sir Edge that I apologize,” Willum said. “I didn’t know how long my conversation with Vincent was going to take.”
“Okay,” Fist said and sent, I found him in Vincent’s room. He says he’s sorry for not being there.
It’s not a problem. Just get down here as soon as you can, Justan replied, then added a few more choice words.
“He is not mad at you,” Fist told Willum. “But he wants us to hurry. Wizard Valtrek insists that they wait for us, but the other wizard council members won’t shut the hell up in the meantime . . .” He scratched his head. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to relay that last part.”
“I am glad to meet you, Fist,” Willum said with a laugh. “Both my father and Tolivar had fond memories of you.”
“I am happy to meet you, too,” Fist said with sincerity. “Miss Becca asked me to tell you that she misses you very much.”
“She did?” Willum said, his smile fading.
“Yes, she was very nice to me. She made me a pillow.”
“I miss her too.” Willum said. “I’m worried about her. I don’t know how she’ll cope when she learns that father’s gone.”
Fist found it hard to keep smiling. He had wondered the same thing. But it seemed like he should be encouraging, so he told Willum what Justan had told him when he had asked that same question. “She will survive. She has Benjo and you to watch over her.”
“I hope you’re right. I don’t really know what’s going to happen when this siege is over. I’m bonded to Tolivar now. I’m not sure where he’ll want to go.”
“He is a good man,” Fist said, hoping he was being comforting. “He will do the right thing for you.”
“I hope you’re right,” Willum said.
They started down the stairway, Fist having to step carefully on the narrow steps to keep from slipping. Nothing in this place was big enough for him. It had been true at Coal’s Keep too, but the adjustments he had needed to make were minor in comparison. Here there were stairs everywhere and all the chairs had narrow seats with confining armrests. Even the doorways were narrow. He often had to hunch over and edge in sideways to get in.
He looked down into the library below as they descended. From the topmost steps, the people milling about looked tiny, but at the same time the library somehow looked even bigger from up there than it did from below. Fist had been in the library multiple times over the last four days and he was still in awe of how many books there were. Humans had so much information. Why hadn’t the Thunder People ever tried to learn like humans?
He felt the pouch at his side move and knew Squirrel was trying to push the flap open. Fist paused on the library’s fourth floor.
“No, Squirrel. Stay,” he whispered.
Out, Squirrel insisted and pushed the flap again.
Fist held it shut. Squirrel had been learning more and more words lately. Fist was proud of him. Still, We are in the library. I’m not supposed to have you in here with me.
Not eat, Squirrel said, intimating that he didn’t intend to eat any of the books. He didn’t like the taste anyway.
“Your, uh, Squirrel wants out?” Willum asked.
“Shh!” Fist hushed putting a finger to his thick lips. He looked around to make sure no one heard and explained in a gravelly whisper, “He likes it in here. The smell of the books is very . . . appealing to him. But on the first day here, he chewed up an old book to make a nest up high and the wizards found out. He was banned from the library.”
“Oh,” Willum replied.
Squirrel didn’t like his explanation and tried to push open the flap again, Look!
“I don’t believe you, Squirrel,” There was no way Squirrel would just get out and look around. You would get into trouble again.
Squirrel stopped pushing and sulked. Fist continued down the stairs, knowing that he would hear about it again. In fact, he’d probably wake up with an ear full of seeds in the morning. Why did Squirrel have to be so unreasonable? Justan never had it this bad with his bonded.
“I’m sorry that you had to come up here looking for me,” Willum said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Oh. That’s okay. Justan had a pretty good idea where you were. Besides, the meeting started off with wizards questioning why I was there, so I didn’t mind coming to get you,” Fist said as they reached the bottom floor.
Justan had warned him that it would be hard to get humans to accept him and he had expected to face some people that hated him for being an ogre, but that hadn’t been a problem here. Everyone at the Mage School was perfectly polite. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the way they seemed to discount anything he did or said. Some looked at him like he was just an intellectual oddity, while others treated him as if he were Justan’s pet or something.
They reached the library’s main doors and Fist turned down a long hallway. After a short distance, he turned and led Willum down a wide hall with marble floors.
“You really know your way around here,” Willum said, impressed.
“Justan has shown me the way. He says I need to know my way around to be a student here. It is too easy to get lost,” Fist said.
“You’re becoming a student? Here at the Mage School?” Willum asked, eyebrows raised.
“I became a cadet yesterday!” Fist said with enthusiasm. “Master Latva had me sign the big book and everything.”
“Father mentioned that you had bonding magic, but he didn’t say anything about you having elemental magic,” Willum said. “He-. Where are we going?”
Fist had stopped in front of a plain doorway. “We are going down.” He led Willum down some rough stone stairs. “I do have some magic, but we don’t know how much yet. Professor Locksher is going to test me after the meeting.”
“Good, um, why are we meeting here?” Willum asked when they reached the bottom of the rough hewn stairs.
Fist opened an old door. “Wizard Valtrek’s office is down here.”
Fist took him down an overly dusty corridor that at that moment was covered in multiple foot prints. He lifted his hand to knock at another plain door, but Justan answered it first and whispered, “Come o
n in and . . . just both of you do your best to look like you’re good at hunting spies.”
They entered to the stares of the assembled group. Valtrek had told Justan and Vannya to add an accomplice or two; someone they knew they could trust. Vannya had brought only Locksher, but Justan had brought in Fist, Jhonate, and Willum. He would have brought his mother too if she hadn’t been so busy with her job as provisional mayor of Reneul.
At any rate, Fist knew that Justan hadn’t expected the Mage School High Council to attend the meeting. The wizards had been difficult to deal with, complaining about every choice Valtrek had made. They didn’t like Justan being chosen because he was too well known at the school; they disapproved of Vannya bringing in Locksher because they felt he was too obvious a choice for rooting out spies; they thought Fist would stand out too much as an eight foot tall ogre, though they grudgingly admitted his usefulness when it was learned he could use spirit sight. Now it seemed they were disputing the choice of Jhonate.
“I for one wonder why her presence is necessary at all, Valtrek,” said Wizard Auger, the council historian, ignoring Fist’s and Willum’s presence. “We already have a warrior involved, a fact that makes her redundant. She knows nothing of the school. She would stick out like a sore thumb among the students, and she has no way of sensing moonrat eyes.”
“That is incorrect, Professor Auger,” Justan said and Auger’s eyebrows rose in surprise at being contradicted. Fist could tell that Justan was losing his patience. “Jhonate knows how to use mage sight and when I told her how I use the bond to help me use spirit sight, she discovered something.” He paused and turned to her. “Why don’t you show them?”
The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat Page 14
