The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Lyramoor’s attack was flawless, but the creature was a blur. It dodged most of his attacks, but those it couldn’t, it parried with a row of hardened and glistening scales on the sides of its forearms.

  “Just give me an opening,” Swen said quietly. Willum could hear the creak of his bow as the archer pulled an arrow back.

  “Name me,” the imp said.

  “Shut up about that!” Willum snapped. “Not you, Swen.” This isn’t the time.

  “It is!” the imp insisted.

  The creature went on the offensive, blocking Lyramoor’s attacks and striking out with a long spiked barb on the end of its tail. The elf was hit once in the shoulder, staggering him back. He blocked two more strikes, but was hit once in the hip and once in the abdomen. He grunted and hobbled over to stand protectively over Sabre Vlad’s struggling form.

  “Me first,” Lyramoor said and Willum knew that the fight was over.

  The raptoid made two slashing feints with his claws, then turned and whipped out his tail. The barb caught the elf on the side of the head and Lyramoor tumbled over the edge. Willum watched with a sick feeling deep in his stomach as the elf fell to the inside of the wall, a drop of fifty feet.

  A soft twang sounded as Swen released his arrow. At this range, nothing should have been able to dodge his shot, but the creature whipped its head around at just the right moment. The arrow, which had been aimed at the back of the creature’s head, struck the side of its cheek instead, passing through its mouth and ripping out half of its upper jaw on the way out.

  The thing stumbled back, but caught itself on the inside wall. Blood poured from its ruined mouth as it turned its red eyes on them. Swen stepped backwards, pulling another arrow from his quiver.

  I’m coming, Tolivar said.

  “Run, Willum!” Swen said.

  “Just ready your arrow,” Willum said, and stood with his feet planted, facing the thing. He pulled a scythe from its sheath at his lower back with his left hand, leaving the axe in his right.

  “You’re not ready for this, Willy. Just name me.”

  That won’t help, he sent, angry that it wouldn’t stop its nagging even at a time like this. Just be ready with a force strike.

  The imp was right about one thing though. He wasn’t ready. This creature was too fast and the axe’s magic would be no good if he couldn’t hit it. He’d been practicing hard, but switching from dual wielding scythes to fighting with a scythe and a waraxe had been a difficult transition for Willum. Even before making the change, this thing would have been too good for him and he’d only actually had a couple months of training with his new style.

  “I’ll try to help but I don’t know if I have a force strike in me,” the imp replied.

  The creature leapt at him. The torch glow wasn’t much to see by and its black scales didn’t help, but Willum was able to block one claw with his scythe and strike its other forearm with his axe. The claws on the creature’s feet struck his thighs, digging in deep, before the axe thrummed with power.

  The sound of a deep bell echoed through the night and the creature was thrown away, tumbling end over end along the top of the wall. The impact tore its claws from Willum’s thighs and all strength left his legs. He collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain.

  “Oh-ho, good hit! But Willy Yum, that blast was not as big as usual. My power is too drained. I’m no good to you now unless you name me.”

  The creature climbed to its feet and Willum saw what the axe meant. The hit hadn’t been strong enough. Its arm was bleeding, but intact. It ran for him.

  Swen fired. Somehow the beast dodged to the side and the arrow meant for its chest simply struck its arm. It staggered but kept coming.

  How could naming you possibly help?

  “Trust me,” the imp pleaded.

  The creature darted forward blood pouring from its mouth and arm, its eyes crazed and focused on him. Willum knew it was too late.

  Tolivar collided with the beast, shoulder first, driving it to the ground. He rolled over it and stood, swinging back with his sword as it sprung to its feet. His sword tip slashed along its back. The wound didn’t seem to phase the beast and it came at Tolivar, this time both claws at the ready.

  Tolivar’s style wasn’t anything like Lyramoor’s and it wasn’t like anyone else’s Willum had ever seen. His technique was a mix of berserker and swordwielder guilds. He swung wildly, leaving openings too hard for the creature to resist, then somehow was able to come around and close them with an expert parry. If he ever did get hit, he knew how to move his body in such a way that the wound was very shallow, seldom more than a scratch.

  “Listen Willum,” the imp said. “If you name me, I’ll be able to use more than just elemental magic in my attacks. My spirit magic is locked, see? I can’t use mental attacks unless you unleash me!”

  Willum swallowed. He watched Tolivar battle with savagery and precision. The warrior was good, but even wounded, the creature’s skill was even with his. He needed help.

  Alright! Willum said. He shoved aside his doubts about the imp. Coming up with the name wasn’t hard. He had picked out the name months before, not long after talking to Vincent about it. He just hadn’t been ready. I name you Theodore.

  “Theodore?” the imp chuckled. “Oh, I like it. I like it, Willy. It’s a very proper sounding name. A bit of a gnomish name perhaps, but good.”

  It was Tad’s given name before he entered the academy, Willum replied. He told me he changed it to Tad because he thought Theodore sounded like a scholar’s name.

  “I accept,” the imp said. There was a strange click in Willum’s mind and he had a flash of insight as he felt the imp’s emotion’s pour through him. It was happy, exhilarated. It tasted freedom from solitude and to Willum’s surprise, what it felt towards him was something close to affection.

  A sound echoed from the axe. This one was much different than the bell sound. It was more like a whooshing sound. Willum saw a wave of white energy rush from the axe’s blade and strike the creature full-on.

  The creature paused mid-attack, stunned. Tolivar struck out twice in quick succession. One swipe split its left hand in half, the other caught it in the chest just above the orange eye, cutting deep. He spun around and followed through with a kick that caught it in the midsection, knocking it towards the outside of the wall and sending it over the edge.

  As it fell, Swen’s bow twanged again and an arrow caught it in the abdomen, sending it spinning into the deep darkness below.

  Willum let out a sigh of relief and fell to his side. Thank you, imp.

  “Ho-ho, it’s Theodore now, remember? Don’t forget my name already,” the imp said. “Your legs are cut up pretty good, Willy. It hit an artery. You’ll bleed out if it’s not tended to.”

  That’s okay, Theodore, Willum said. I think I’ll be fine. He was watching Tolivar crouched over Sabre Vlad. The fallen warrior wasn’t moving.

  Tolivar turned and came to him. His eyes gleamed sad in the flickering torchlight. “I’m sorry. Vlad’s dead. Samson couldn’t get a wizard to come with him, but he has two elf healers on his back and they’re coming here now to check on Lyramoor.”

  Willum’s eyes were droopy. “I’ll sleep till they get here,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t sleep Willy,” Theodore cautioned.

  “The axe is right,” Tolivar said, surprised that he heard its voice. “Time to try this, I suppose. Stay awake for me.”

  Willum felt a strange feeling as if a door opened somewhere inside him and then he could feel Tolivar’s energy inspecting the injury. He felt a warmth gather around the wound, then a jolt. It felt somewhat like when Coal had healed him in the past, but a lot more intense.

  A moment later, Tolivar took a deep gasp and opened his eyes. Willum realized the man had been holding his breath.

  “What did you do?” Willum asked. He felt wide awake now and the pain in his legs was gone.

  “I don’t have elemental magic,” Tolivar said. �
��But Sadie’s a healing sword. Alfred’s been teaching me how to intensify her power with my spirit magic. He says it’s only possible since she’s my naming weapon.”

  “Sadie?” Willum asked.

  “I hated the name Elise,” Tolivar said. He sat on the ground next to Willum. The man was tired. Willum could feel it through the bond. Fighting the creature without going into a berserker state, along with healing Willum, had taken a lot out of him. “I didn’t want a sword named after the stupid princess that broke Zambon’s heart. Once Zambon changed the name of my old sword, I felt better about changing the name of his.” He paused. “You know why I named my old sword Meredith?”

  Willum shook his head. He was curious, but it seemed surreal that they were having this conversation mere feet from Sabre Vlad’s body.

  “He’s protecting you, Willy,” the imp said, sounding impressed. “He’s keeping you distracted from what just happened. Oh-ho, your wizard’s a true general.”

  “Meredith was the name of my first girlfriend,” Tolivar said. “Oh, she was such a nag. She’d get angry at anything and she won every fight, it didn’t matter what it was. Considering the sword’s angry nature, her name seemed appropriate.”

  Samson called out through the bond, letting them know he’d arrived at the base of the wall. The elves he’d brought with him had found Lyramoor. To Willum’s relief, he was still alive. His wounds were bad and he had multiple broken bones, but the elves thought Lyramoor would live. They had been quite surprised to find out he was a full blooded elf. He had hidden his secret from them all the time he’d been at the Mage School.

  Are there more of those creatures out there? Tolivar asked.

  We don’t know, Samson replied. The commotion seems to have died down, though.

  “So why did you call your sword Sadie?” Swen asked. He was standing next to them, another arrow cocked on his bow. His sharp eyes were looking out for any more danger, but it was obvious he had become interested in their conversation.

  Tolivar lifted the blade in the torchlight and the white gem at its base sparkled, surrounded by fiery golden runes. “This sword’s the opposite of Meredith. She’s a proper lady. And she cares. She wants nothing more than to heal. So I named her after my own mother.

  “Sadie was the best of women. She would heal a wounded bird. Even let spiders free if they got in the house.” He climbed to his feet and Willum could see that Tolivar’s wounds were closing up as he spoke. “Something else about my mother, she was fiercely protective of us. I once saw her beat a cork snake to death with a broom handle. That thing’s head was bigger than mine. She broke my dad’s nose once when he got too drunk and slapped my sister.”

  “That’s a fine name, then,” Swen said. Willum agreed.

  Tolivar reached out his hand and pulled Willum to his feet. Willum’s legs twinged slightly, but they felt whole.

  You need to get down here, Bettie sent, interrupting their thoughts. The leaders are gathering to assess the damage. This thing was bad.

  “I’m going down to meet Samson,” Tolivar said. “We’ll go outside the wall and check to make sure that creature is dead.” He ran to the nearest set of stairs leading down to the ground below. You head to the meeting for me. See what’s happened.

  “Yes, sir,” Willum said. “Will you man my post, Swen? I’ll send some men back for Sabre Vlad.”

  The tall archer nodded and Willum ran.

  Gwyrtha’s new form was not made for riding. Her torso was short and much narrower than before. It was a struggle to stay in the saddle. Justan was knocked about by every bump or jostle and was forced to grip her bristling wiry mane tightly.

  They paused at the center square. People were milling about, some of them sobbing, and Justan saw several wizards tending to wounded on the ground. One of the raptoids had cut right through the center of these people, causing as much damage as it could on the way.

  Several people screamed at Gwyrtha’s appearance, but Justan was enough of a recognizable figure that no one tried to attack. He talked to one of the wizards and told him about wounded wizards in the Hall of Elements. Munsey was dead, but a few of them were still breathing when he left.

  Jhonate, Gwyrtha said, sniffing the air. She chased after this one.

  Go! Find her, Justan said, tightening his legs on her sides. Gwyrtha sped away, skirting the center square and heading for the main gates. They passed two fallen academy students along the way. One of them cried out, but Justan couldn’t stop to help him. Is it Talon? Justan asked. Is it Talon’s scent you’re chasing?

  No. Another, Gwyrtha said and Justan felt slightly better. Still, though Jhonate was as good a fighter as anyone with her staff, he doubted she’d faced anything like one of these raptoids.

  Justan soon saw two figures struggling in the distance just off the lit section of the main road among the twisting walkways. Gwyrtha headed right for them. It was Jhonate. She had caught up to the creature.

  The raptoid she was facing was male and tall, though not so big as the one Justan had faced. Its skin was dark green with diagonal stripes of gray. A long set of spikes ran down its back from its neck all the way to the end of its tail. The moonrat eye was set in the center of its forehead, surrounded by a row of protective spikes.

  As Justan neared, he saw that Jhonate was more than holding her own. The raptoid’s torso was covered in slashes and punctures and it was missing one long finger from its left hand. Jhonate seemed uninjured, though her shirt was torn and her leather breastplate damaged.

  The raptoid hissed at her as it slashed, calling her all kinds of foul epithets, things even Lenny would never say. Justan’s lips twisted into a snarl as he slid off Gwyrtha’s saddle. He drew his swords, watching Jhonate fight as he edged around the beast.

  If Jhonate noticed him, she gave no indication. She worked, spinning and slashing, her staff morphing into whatever shape she needed. It dove at her and she rolled to the side, slashing out with her staff. The sharpened edge caught the raptoid in the neck and as it turned to face her, bright gouts of blood sprayed from the wound.

  It clutched at its neck with one hand and backed away a few steps, then spun around to run, but Gwyrtha was there, growling. It turned again, but Justan was ready for it. With a gurgle, it threw itself at Jhonate.

  It screeched and when Jhonate slashed at it again, it caught her staff in its right hand. Jhonate morphed the staff again and spikes sprouted from the wood, bursting through its skin. It ignored the wound and pulled back on the staff, bringing Jhonate in close, then slashed down with its other hand.

  Jhonate spun and its claws tore through her shirt, but glanced off the protective magic of her ring. Jhonate followed through with a high kick that caught it under the chin and staggered it back. She withdrew the spikes and pulled the staff from its ruined hand, then pivoted and thrust the now sharpened tip of the staff through its chest. With a twist, she made the tip of the staff sprout spikes again, this time through the heart and lungs of the raptoid.

  It quivered and fell to its knees. “You will die,” it gurgled. “The mistress will see to it.”

  She spat into the moonrat eye in its forehead. “Tell her I will see to her first.”

  Jhonate tore the staff free and severed its head with a two-handed chop.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Faldon the Fierce slung the corpse of his raptoid next to the others. This one had black and green mottled skin and its body was covered in wounds, including one massive gaping gash that stretched from its right shoulder to its left hip. Darlan rushed over and hugged him, careless of the raptoid blood that covered his body.

  “It attacked Hugh and I as we were exiting the infirmary,” Faldon explained.

  The Hall of Elements had been cleared of tables and the injured wizards taken to the infirmary along with the bodies of the dead. The Hall’s magic had been shut down and the surviving leaders gathered to view the raptoids and decide what to do next. Reports were still coming in and they still hadn�
�t heard from half of the High Council. Randolf was there, but Beehn, Latva and Auger were still unaccounted for.

  “This thing was a nasty piece of work,” Hugh the Shadow added as he tossed the raptoid’s head down beside the body. “It took nearly everything I had before Faldon finally hewed it down.” He began plucking the various thrown daggers and stars and blades that protruded from wounds in its body, tucking the retrieved weapons quickly into different places hidden within his assassin armor.

  “Fascinating.” Locksher’s eyebrows were fully raised. The wizard was kneeling beside the bodies and examining them with tiny metal instruments. Every once in a while he would cut a tiny piece of a raptoid free and tuck it into a tiny pouch, then hand it to Vannya to put away. The mage looked both disgusted and intrigued at the same time. “This one’s eyes seem to have been cut from a snow tiger. Somehow Vriil placed them inside this raptoid and adapted them seamlessly to its nerves.”

  “Still no sign of Talon,” Justan said. They had killed four raptoids in all. The one Tolivar had kicked off the wall hadn’t been there when he went to retrieve it.

  “I don’t know that she was here,” said Valtrek, leaning on Fist for support. The wizard was still very weak from Darlan’s healing, but had insisted on coming anyway. “There were supposed to be six assassins, but Ewzad Vriil knew nothing of Talon being here. According to my source, he still thinks she’s missing.”

  “Gwyrtha smelled her. She’s sure of it,” Justan insisted. “Talon was here.”

  The door to the hall swung open and the room hushed as Alfred stepped inside. The tall, gaunt-faced gnome was grim faced as he walked towards them, the end of his polished cane making a loud click each time it struck the floor. His fine clothing had been torn, leaving half his shirt hanging in tattered rags, exposing sculpted and thickly corded muscle beneath. He didn’t appear to be injured.

  “Latva is gravely wounded,” the gnome pronounced. There was fear in his eyes as he said it. “Wizard Auger and Wizard Beehn were able to get him stabilized before the healer arrived, but whatever poison the thing injected him with is vicious. They are still working on him.” He threw the severed end of a raptoid tail onto the ground.