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

by Trevor H. Cooley

  As the earth wizards tried to halt its descent, the wall shook more and more violently. The defenders on top of the wall didn’t know what to do. Many of them were knocked off their feet and one retiree archer dropped an explosive arrow resulting in a blast of air that knocked ten defenders off the wall. Eventually when the wall was only twenty feet high, the leaders made the decision to abandon the wall and regroup.

  Getting off the wall was a more difficult prospect than it seemed. The ground around the descending rock was churning and anyone who stood too close would be sucked in. When the top of the wall finally sank into the earth, the ground closed around it, swallowing the few who hadn’t managed to get off in time. All in all, over a hundred died during the wall’s collapse.

  Ewzad didn’t give them time to build up new defenses. His army of scruffy men surged forward, roaring and bloodthirsty. The academy archers launched volleys of arrows and the wizards sent out lightning strikes and fireballs, but the protective bubble generated by the crysalisk surrounded the army. The men began to change, swelling and transforming into monsters.

  Justan charged forward, swords in hand, Fist and Gwyrtha at his side. He fell into the calm of battle, the world slowing around him, and danced among the monsters. Peace drained their emotions. Rage blew them to pieces.

  Fist kept pace, his enormous shield in one hand, his mace in the other, enhancing his speed. He charged both shield and mace with electricity, swinging with all his strength and knocking down beasts far larger than him. All the while, Squirrel sat in the observation room with Master Latva, cheering him on.

  Gwyrtha had transformed herself into a form similar to the one she had used to fight the raptoid, her scales enlarged and hardened into armored plates, her mane sticking up like stiff bristles, her claws and teeth lengthened, the scales on her tail turned to spikes. She leapt on the transformed men, the weight of her body bearing them down as she tore into them with claws and teeth, whipping her tail at reaching arms and tentacles.

  The berserkers charged into the men, led by Zambon wielding the sword newly renamed Efflina. Zambon howled with the rest of them, letting the sword build him into a terrible rage. The Howlers were sorely pressed, but Riveren and the Mage School guard joined with them, driving the changed men back; Zambon with his blade of fury and Riveren with wide swipes of his double-bladed axe.

  Captain Demetrius and his cavalry were forced to deal with a wave of orcs and gorcs. The enemy was armed with miss-matched armor and high quality weapons mainly purloined from the wreckage of the academy and other human settlements, but the cavalry was ready. Each horse had been fitted with a blast plate on the front of the animal, runed with air magic to shove enemies to the side upon impact.

  The cavalry charged through the center of the goblinoid forces with Demetrius at their head. The captain wore a new suit of armor dwarf-forged and runed with earth magic and a dual-chained flail gifted to him by the wizards. The two balls on the tips of the chains were covered in runes that would send spikes of air into the enemy on impact. Samson rode beside him, his skin altered to armor-like thickness and wielding a runed spear in each hand.

  On the far side of the school, a mix of regular and modified trolls poured out of the forest, running and screeching. The elves fought them back with arrows, swords and pepper, assisted by wizards and mages with fire and lightning spells. Antyni fought valiantly with her brother’s runed steel bow. She was a rare talent, shooting the beasts through their eyes and open mouths with pepper-laced arrows.

  Despite the ferocity of their counter attacks, the enemy army pushed forward, the crysalisk moving with it. The leaders of the defensive effort abandoned the command center to lead a charge of their own. Faldon the Fierce, Tolivar, Oz the Dagger, Hugh the Shadow, and Stout Harley, along with Darlan and Wizard Beehn gathered a group of graduates and retirees and made their own push into the enemy ranks.

  Faldon’s great sword, The Monarch, whose enchanted blade parted steel as easily as parchment, cut swath’s through the mutated ranks, cleaving great beasts in half at the waist. Tolivar danced through them, a whirlwind, slicing and dodging.

  Oz the Dagger’s attack style was more precise. He slipped between the enemy, striking at critical points, cutting hamstrings and tendons, incapacitating them, while Stout Harley followed, bashing in the skulls of the fallen enemies with his hammer, his armor protecting him from the most frantic of blows.

  Darlan followed behind her husband, using her decades of experience as a war mage to enhance his attacks and protect the rest of their forces. She staggered enemies with fireballs, threw stone spikes up from the ground to impale them, and even pulled a great gout of molten rock up from the earth below. Professor Beehn, in his wheeled chair, floated just above them, providing a moving shield of air that thwarted projectile attacks and sending blades of air into enemies that the others missed.

  Hugh the Shadow darted about between them all, assisting with cunning throws of his seemingly inexhaustible supply of magic throwing weapons, potions, and assassins devices. All the while, complaining about the difficulty of retrieving them when he was done.

  Jhonate led a charge of advanced students and graduates, her goal to find and destroy the crysalisk. She wore a new breastplate fitted and designed by Bettie, made of firedrake leather and runed to make it as resistant as the hardest iron. With her was Poz, son of Weld, whose sword, Limber, lived up to its name as he carved through great monsters, his blade shearing through bone like it were butter.

  Qenzic, son of Sabre Vlad ran beside them, wielding his father’s magic blade and a new shield made of earth-runed steel. With him was Lyramoor, who hadn’t left Qenzic’s side since Sabre Vlad’s funeral. The elf, fully healed from his injuries, was as deadly with his dual blades as ever and, to Qenzic’s tastes, far too overprotective.

  Willum ran next to them, eager to use his new weapon, a scythe with an air-enhanced blade that cut enemies farther and deeper the quicker he sliced with it. Theodore didn’t like this new acquisition and spent the battle belittling its abilities even though it was obvious his axe was still the main weapon.

  “It’s really quite a puny thing, Willy. Though it’s good for cutting tall grass, I suppose,” said the imp.

  Shut up, Willum said as he dodged the swipe of a tall black beast with a bladed pincer for an arm. He swung the axe at the creature’s knee. Force! A deep bell rang out and the lower part of the beast’s leg disappeared from view as it shot into the crowd. The black beast toppled over and Kathy the Plate chopped its twisted head off its body.

  You should be happy, imp, Willum thought, jumping over the smoldering body of the fallen beast as he tried to keep up with Jhonate and the others. You’re lapping up plenty of energy from these things.

  “Ho-ho, that’s true, Willy. That wizard’s power is quite tasty, but you really must remember to speak properly. Call me Theodore.”

  Imp is faster, he sent.

  “You’re the one that named me,” the imp reminded.

  You’re right. I should have named you Teddy, he said, watching as Jhonate changed the end of her staff into a thick spiked ball and swung it with two hands, catching a red-skinned beast right in its ant-like head, knocking it down.

  “That only saves you one syllable,” the imp pointed out.

  The ant beast fell in Willum’s way. He swung the axe. Force! And blasted the beast to the side, tripping another beast that fell into Kathy’s waiting axe. That’s right. I could save just as much time pronouncing it ‘Theedore’.

  “Hey, Odd Blade,” shouted Kathy the Plate, smacking his rear with a gauntleted hand. “Do you really need to make that gong sound every time you hit somthin’? Sounds like you’re announcing it’s time for dinner!”

  “I’m . . . not sure,” he replied. “I’ll ask!”

  “Good,” she said and the way she cocked her head, it was possible she thought he was crazy. It was hard to tell with her full helmet on. She smacked his butt again and ran over to slice the eye
stalk off of a hovering beast with razor-like antennae.

  Do you have to make that bell sound, Theodore? he asked, wondering why she had smacked him. Her gauntlet had likely left welts.

  “I like it. Ho-ho, the bell tolls letting you know a debt has been paid.”

  We aren’t keeping that ledger anymore, Willum reminded.

  “You might not be,” the imp mumbled. It changed the subject, “I think the dishes lady likes you.”

  Don’t be ridiculous. That was more of a . . . you know, fighting slap. And her name’s Kathy the Plate.

  “Oh-ho, you like her too, don’t you?” the imp taunted.

  Willum slashed out with the scythe in his left hand, splitting the grasping claw of an insectoid creature. Now’s not the time for this discussion.

  “Hmm, true. All you’ve ever seen is her face since she never takes that armor off. For all you know, she’s got a pot belly under there.”

  You’re changing the subject. No more bell sound.

  “You disappoint me, Willy.”

  Force! Willum sent as a furry wolf-headed monster with tentacle limbs climbed into his path. The axe blew its head off its body and there was no bell sound. As the creature’s body deflated, the imp gave out a sigh.

  “See? It’s just not right.”

  I like it better this way, Willum decided.

  The imp grumbled. “I miss the sound already.”

  Willum saw the others pause ahead. They had found the crysalisk. It was sitting on top of a wooden wagon being pulled by a team of heavily armed ogres. It was a tall cylindrical object made of two large crystals stacked on top of each other that had been charged with elemental magic and held in a metal frame. The shield was generated at the point where the two crystals touched.

  Latva had told them the crysalisk could be destroyed by smashing either crystal. The problem was that they were encased in a thick iron sleeve covered with protective runes. They were going to need a lot of force to break through that sleeve. Willum hoped his axe would be enough.

  “I don’t know, Willy,” Theodore said. “That is some major protective magic.”

  “I-!” A sudden wave of pain swept over Willum, gnawing deep in his chest. He cried out and fell to his knees behind the others. Had he been hit?

  “What is it, Willy?” the imp asked in concern.

  “Shield!” he cried and a dome of air interwoven with fire surrounded him.

  Kathy the Plate knelt beside him, tapping at the shield, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. Tears streamed down Willum’s face and he realized it wasn’t a physical pain he was feeling. This was grief.

  “What is it?” the imp demanded.

  “It’s Tolivar,” he gasped. “Something’s happened. Something horrible.”

  Tolivar saw Zambon fall.

  It was a bear that felled him; a bear twelve-feet-tall that breathed fire from its mouth and had eyes like a spider. Zambon took out its leg at the knee with one swing of his sword, but as the beast collapsed, it swung down with its enormous claws and tore him from shoulder to hip.

  Zambon collapsed and Tolivar disappeared.

  It was Tamboor who ran to his son’s side; Tamboor who shoved Riveren away from his son; Tamboor who thrust the healing sword into Zambon’s hands, ignoring the battle around him.

  “Live!” Tamboor shouted.

  The berserkers surrounded them, protecting their former leader while the battle raged around him. Tamboor didn’t notice. He could see only his son’s lifeless eyes. They were Efflina’s eyes. He blew air into Zambon’s mouth. Tamboor tried again and again, but it didn’t matter. The bear had torn his lungs.

  Zambon had hunted bears with Tamboor the year he went to the academy. It was Tamboor’s first year in Jack’s Rest and he was just getting used to retired life. Zambon had been excited when they found one of the beasts on their property. It had been a big beast, but Tamboor had let Zambon use Meredith and Zambon had struck the killing blow . . .

  Tamboor grasped his sword and stood. But the sword in his hands wasn’t Sadie. He shoved the berserkers aside and launched into the beasts around them. Tamboor dodged their attacks and struck them down. Meredith found their hearts. Meredith found their throats. The only reason he didn’t let them land a blow on him was because he could not die yet. He could not die until he killed them all. The mutated men, the goblinoids, all of them, and once they were dead, then he could die. Then he could see his family once again.

  Justan saw Jhonate and the others from a distance. They were fighting in a circle around someone who’d fallen. He ran towards them, blasting aside any beasts that got in his way.

  Fist was having difficulty keeping up. The combination of using the mace and his elemental magic was taking its toll on the ogre. Justan reached into Gwyrtha and siphoned some of her energy stores, giving Fist what he needed.

  Thanks, Fist said, his steps picking up. He saw Jhonate now. What are they doing?

  I’m not sure, Justan said. He sped up, ignoring the beasts he didn’t have to fight. They moved so slow in his mind’s eye that it wasn’t too difficult. As he got closer, he saw that Jhonate and the other advanced students were fighting around a small dome shield made of fire and air. It’s Willum.

  A large beast that looked like a centipede with gelatinous segments for its body reared between Justan and the others. Justan tightened his concentration and threw Peace in front of him. The heavy sword spun end over end and pierced one of the creature’s segments. The thing turned and looked at him in confusion and he buried Rage between its insectile eyes, blasting it into nothingness.

  He retrieved Peace and reached Jhonate’s side. She pointed towards the wagon. The ogre handlers continued in their forward march, but several of them paced by it protectively, keeping their eyes on Justan and the others.

  “The crysalisk is there,” she said.

  “What’s wrong with Willum?” Justan asked.

  “We do not know,” she replied, her brow furrowed in consternation. “He just fell and that shield appeared around him.”

  “It’s that axe of his,” said Kathy the Plate. He couldn’t see her face through her visor, but her voice was filled with concern. “It won’t let us touch him, but we don’t dare leave him here alone.”

  “You go,” Justan said. “Take out the ogres and destroy the crysalisk if you can. I’ll take care of him. Fist, go with them. Gwyrtha, stay here and watch me.

  The others ran off, but Kathy didn’t move. “I’ll stay. You help him and I’ll help your monster horse keep these other beasts off you.”

  He nodded and reached out to touch the shield. It sparked and he drew back his hand, his fingertips singed. “Imp! Listen to me. Let me through!”

  The shield faded. Willum was curled into a ball, his hands over his head, sobbing.

  “Willum!” he said, but the academy student didn’t answer. He reached out and touched the axe. What’s going on, imp?

  “It’s Tolivar. He’s gone crazy with grief. His son died.”

  Justan’s stomach lurched and he told the others, Zambon’s dead.

  Gwyrtha growled, launching herself at a beast that came too close. Fist yanked the point of his mace out of an ogre’s skull. Poor Tolivar.

  Justan grasped Peace’s hilt, letting the sword take his grief away for a moment. Then he pried Willum’s scythe from his left hand and replaced it with Peace’s handle.

  Willum gasped and his eyes opened. His brow furrowed in confusion. “Sir Edge. Wh-what’s going on?”

  “It’s my sword. It’s draining the pain.” Justan said. “What happened?”

  “Tolivar’s gone from the bond,” Willum said. “The only thing in there is anger and sadness.”

  “What about the others? What about Bettie and Samson?” Justan asked, worried that they could be somewhere prostrate on the battlefield with monsters all around them.

  “I-I’m not sure. Tolivar doesn’t keep the bond open between us quite like father did,” Willum said.


  “Alright, listen to me,” Justan said. “Keep holding on to my sword. Go through the bond and let it draw Tolivar’s pain away until he will listen to you. Talk to him and make sure the others are okay. Imp! You help him.”

  “His name is Theodore,” Willum said numbly.

  “Just go and do it.”

  Justan stood. Sorrow over Zambon’s loss filled him again. He turned it into fuel. Rage buzzed in his hands, aching to release the power of Tolivar’s pain. Justan turned his eyes on the crysalisk.

  Willum’s mind swam through the bond, heading towards the source of pain and anger. With the imp’s help, he was able to drag the power of Sir Edge’s sword with him.

  “This isn’t easy, Willy,” Theodore complained. “We need to do this quick.”

  They came over a form in the darkness, but it was Samson. Willum reached out and touched the rogue horse with the power of Edge’s sword. Samson stirred.

  Are you alright? Willum asked.

  I fell in the middle of a charge, Samson said. I think I broke some ribs, but a healer’s working on me. Samson’s mind was uncertain. All this pain . . . It’s worse than when Coal died. I-I don’t know how to handle this, Willum.

  Just hold on with me, Willum said. We need to find Tolivar. He shared the sword’s power with Samson and the centaur calmed. They found Bettie next. She recovered quicker than the rest of them, needing just a light touch of the power.

  Why’d Zambon go off and get himself killed like that? Blasted fool! She sighed. Let’s wake Tolivar up. Lenui’s about to crap himself worried about the baby.

  Is it okay? Willum asked.

  Yeah, the battle ain’t reached us yet. I just fell on my backside. Come on.

  She grasped the power and together they surged through the pain and anger, reaching with the sword’s power to suck it all away. They headed towards the source of the pain and finally they found him.