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

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “Our numbers are small. They’ll go around us or overwhelm us,” Justan said.

  “I don’t fear them,” said Lyramoor. The elf had been disappointed when the enemy had scattered after the crysalisk’s destruction.

  Justan felt a chill and looked up in the air just in time to see Ewzad Vriil’s spirit form soaring through the air above, trailing a silvery thread. “We must go back.” He turned to the others. “We must go back! Ewzad is headed to the school!”

  They turned to run. “Gwyrtha!”

  Gwyrtha came to him, her body already in the process of changing back to her regular form. We ride?

  Yes, he said and swung onto her back. “Fist, stay with Jhonate!”

  “Okay,” the ogre said, running to keep pace with her.

  He spurred Gwyrtha towards the school and soon they caught up with the invading army’s forces. Just go past them, he urged, and she ran through, weaving between the men and beasts. When there was a point too cramped, he would swing Rage and blast an opening.

  The scene around the Mage School was chaos. Lightning bolts and fireballs crashed into the monsters all around, intermixed with volleys of arrows and boulders hurled through the air.

  Justan threw up a shield around him and Gwyrtha as they ran through, hoping to avoid being struck by a stray magic attack. He did it just as a bolt of lightning struck the ground right by him, felling several beasts in the vicinity. Even with his shield up some of it got through.

  Hurts! said Gwyrtha, but she didn’t let it stop her. She kept on running and then Justan saw him.

  Ewzad Vriil had once again created a giant image of his face that hovered over the defenders, laughing as he reached at them with his magic. People died one by one, some of them exploding into pieces like Randolf had, others swelling up and falling over, their heads or guts bursting. Ewzad didn’t seem to have particular targets in mind and was just selecting individuals randomly.

  Wizards hurled fireballs and lightning bolts at him, but they passed right through his face to no effect. Justan knew why. Ewzad had no physical form here for them to hit. He drew his Jharro bow. It made sense now. When he’d fired with Ma’am, his arrows had been enhanced with spirit magic.

  He brought Gwyrtha to a stop and wrapped the bond around an arrow, thickly this time, pouring his intention into it. He wanted this arrow to strike Ewzad Vriil down. He pulled back and felt Ma’am surge with eagerness. Get him, Ma’am. Destroy him! He released the arrow and it sped towards its target faster than usual, almost as if the golden string had been attached.

  Ten feet before striking him, the arrow shattered to pieces.

  Ewzad’s huge face turned his way and its eyes glowed red with flame. “Sir Edge, you return!” His voice reverberated throughout the grounds. “Yes-yes, I didn’t like your little arrows last time, so I decided to stop them!” Justan saw it then. A shield of solid air around Ewzad’s spirit form.

  A squad of archers lined up, led by Mad Jon himself. A volley of arrows arced toward the wizard. Some of them passed through his insubstantial face, while others clattered off of his shield. Justan knew he could break the shield with defensive magic if only he were close enough.

  “Arrows? No-no! Do you not learn?” Ewzad reached out with his magic and grabbed Mad Jon, lifting him into the air.

  “Stop!” Justan cried, but it was too late.

  Ewzad caused the archery teacher’s legs to swell and harden. Caused his head to turn green and shrivel. Justan swallowed. He hadn’t liked Mad Jon’s class when he was in Training School, but as he’d learned more about the bow, he’d learned to respect the man. Ewzad dropped Mad Jon and looked around for his next victim. Justan swallowed. Anyone could be next. Anyone!

  “Ewzad Vriil!” came a voice loud and clear and Tolivar strode into view. The bonding wizard was soaked in blood, but looked to be free of wounds. He lifted his healing sword and pointed it at the wizard. “Try me!”

  Ewzad laughed and went to him. Justan was grateful for the distraction. Ewzad couldn’t hurt Tolivar with the Rings of Stardeon since they wouldn’t be able to penetrate the bond.

  An idea came to him. Gwyrtha, find Professor Beehn. She ran forward and Justan hoped dearly that his friend was still alive. He didn’t know if anyone else could do what he wanted to ask.

  She found him quickly. He was next to Darlan, sitting in his chair gazing at the scene in horror. Justan leapt from Gwyrtha’s saddle and grasped the man.

  “Wizard Beehn, I can stop Ewzad Vriil but I need your help!”

  “He’s-he’s killing everyone, Edge,” the wizard said, looking dazed. “He killed Auger. Ripped the old man in half.”

  Justan grabbed him by the front of his robes and shook him. “You’ve got to focus!”

  “What is it?” Darlan asked, her hand to her mouth in horror as she watched Ewzad attacking Tolivar.

  “Running? That’s your plan?” Ewzad shouted with laughter.

  Justan glanced over and saw that the wizard had given up trying to use the rings’ power and was now hurling fireballs. Tolivar ran and jumped, avoiding most of them, but his clothes had caught fire.

  “Listen, Beehn!” Justan snapped.

  “What?” His improper use of the wizard’s name seemed to break through the fog in Beehn’s mind.

  “I need you to hurl me at him!”

  “Hurl you?” Beehn said, aghast.

  “Yes! Throw me at Vriil. I need you to aim right behind the nose on that ugly face he is projecting!”

  “But what if I miss?” Beehn asked, his eyes wide with concern.

  “For the sake of all of us, don’t miss!” Justan said. He turned and drew his swords. A calm enveloped him. “Do it!”

  “But you’ll fall!” Darlan said.

  “Beehn will have to catch me with his magic.” He didn’t look at her, just focused on the task ahead. “Or you’ll have to heal me if I survive the fall but we don’t have time. Just do it!”

  Justan, Gwyrtha said in concern.

  Justan felt a tightening around his waist and he shot up from the ground as if he’d been picked up by a large invisible hand. Then he was hurtled through the air towards Ewzad’s giant floating face. The wizard laughed as a fireball struck Tolivar, but Justan didn’t dare watch.

  He focused and the world slowed around him. He saw Ewzad’s spirit form and the shield of air around it. As he inched towards it, he reached out with his defensive magic and started picking the shield apart.

  Ewzad felt the intrusion and his visage started to turn. But the wizard was too late. The shield disappeared. Justan held out Peace and Rage, ready to strike.

  Then Ewzad moved. Impossibly, he moved his spirit form out of the way and Justan swung past him. In desperation he reached back, swiping down with Peace, and the sword touched the silver wire that stretched behind Ewzad’s spirit.

  Justan felt a surge of emotion. For a brief moment, he felt the wizard’s sense of triumph. He was invincible! Untouchable! Then his emotion turned to horror as he realized that Justan’s sword had landed. He panicked. This couldn’t happen! What about the babies?

  Then Justan’s sword sheared through the silver cord and he fell, watching Ewzad’s form speed out of view.

  Ewzad felt the cord snap. His awareness of his body disappeared. The cord darted away, receding into the distance and Ewzad followed after it in a panic. He couldn’t let it get away. He had to grab hold! Had to reattach himself! He burned the energy he had brought with him, soaring after the silver line, reaching for it, inching closer and closer!

  He sped past the fighting, sped past his advancing armies. He’d almost reached it. Just a few more inches. He saw the Clench stir. It was holding something in its hands.

  Hamford awoke from what seemed like a long sleep. Something was wrong. He hurt. His very bones hurt. All of him hurt. He felt swollen and hungry. Where was he? He was kneeling. He looked down and saw some trees and a road below. How was he so high up? Was this a dream?

  There w
as something on the back of his neck, scratching him. He reached up and grabbed it with his raw and bloody hand, then lifted the thing in front of his face.

  There were two things. A tiny chair and a tiny man. The tiny man was wearing fine clothes embroidered in black and gold and wore a tiny crown. He was like a little living doll. He started to smile but there was something about the man’s face. What was it? There was something he didn’t like.

  Then he remembered. Visions flashed before his eyes. This man hurt him. This man enslaved him. Then one more vision flashed before his eyes and he remembered the most important thing. He remembered his brother.

  Ewzad grasped the silver cord just before the Clench slammed his open palm into the ground.

  Ewzad felt a brief flash of pain and then the silver cord vanished. The Clench moved its hand and looked down at Ewzad’s crumpled body. The giant smiled and crashed to the ground as its enormous body began to deflate and melt away.

  Ewzad flew down to his body. His crushed remains. Luckily, his head was still intact. Hopefully the brain wasn’t damaged. He reached into his broken form with his magic and began rebuilding the tissue. He felt dizzy. His thoughts were losing cohesion. The rings were starting to reappear on the broken fingers of his hands.

  He worked harder, focusing on the vital organs. He fixed his skull, rebuilt his lungs and heart, reformed his ribcage, got his heart beating.

  There was more to be done but he had no time. He would fix the rest once he was inside. He climbed into his shattered body, forced his spirit to fall in place. He willed the rings to obey him; reconnect him.

  It started to work. He could feel his chest rising. He could feel the agony of his mangled limbs. Oh how it hurt, but pain was sweet because he was alive. He was alive! He pulled at the power of the rings, turned them inwards. He worked on his intestines and liver and kidneys.

  A shadow passed over him. It was Arcon. The mage looked down on him. Ewzad blinked, worked his jaw. “A-ar . . . Arcon. H-heal me . . . Yes?”

  The mage bent and pulled at something. Ewzad couldn’t see what it was. But it hurt. His shattered arms jerked and he cried out. The mage took one last look at him and shuddered. Then he left. Ewzad forced his attention back on his body. He reached out with his power . . . Where was it? He couldn’t feel his power. He couldn’t feel it! All he could feel was the pain. The pain was horrible and throbbing.

  Arcon had taken the rings. He had taken them! That was the only explanation. He wanted to kill the mage, throttle him, burst him to pieces, but how could he? He was going to die. He, the King of Dremaldria was going to die and Elise . . . Poor Elise would have to raise the babies herself.

  “You have failed me, Envakfeer,” said the Dark Voice. “Pity.”

  Envakfeer? What a stupid name. He’d never liked it. Still, perhaps there was a chance. Surely the Dark Voice could do it. He forced his jaw to move. “S-save me . . . Master.”

  “There has been a change of plans, you imbecilic fool,” said Mellinda, her voice angry. “We’re keeping both of them. We’ll rule without you.”

  Ewzad screamed in frustration. He screamed from the pain. He screamed for his babies. Then another shadow passed over him. It was a demonic face. A beautiful face. After all this time searching, it was there. “Y-you. You came.”

  Deathclaw cocked his head at the wizard. “Die,” he said and tore out Ewzad’s throat.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  When Ewzad died, his power died with him. All across the battlefield, his monsters, and the unfortunate men who had been in mutated form at the time of his death, smoldered and collapsed. Of Ewzad’s changed beasts, only the modified trolls survived.

  Any of his men that hadn’t yet turned into beasts felt the kernel of power inside them disappear and ran. Mellinda withdrew her forces, taking the goblinoids and trolls back to her forest, leaving their dead where they lay.

  For the defenders there was no time for celebration.

  Wizard Beehn and Darlan organized the wizards and mages into groups and set about healing the injured. Matron Guernfeldt herself took charge of the worst cases. Organs were mended, limbs reattached. As long as a soldier was still alive, their bodies were repaired. Only severe damage to the brain or spine was irreparable.

  Despite these efforts, their losses were palpable. Once the wounded were found and taken to the healers, the sad work of reclaiming their dead began. Record keepers and scholars went about with the soldiers and identified the bodies of the slain. Later, records of their deeds would be written and families notified.

  Justan’s injuries were not as bad as they could have been. Professor Beehn’s attempts to halt his fall had slowed his descent, but his hip had been dislocated and one leg broken when he struck the edge of the lava bucket. The wall’s collapse had left the anti-siege device sticking partially out of the ground.

  Darlan saw this as a teaching moment.

  “But I can’t heal him!” Fist objected.

  “You can and you will,” Darlan said firmly.

  “Do I get a say in this?” Justan knew that if he hadn’t been holding on to Peace, he would be screaming in pain. As it was, the way his leg sat outside of his hip joint was extremely unnerving. “What if he does it wrong?”

  Darlan’s glare told him she was a hairsbreadth from slapping him. “Fist needs the experience and you are going to be a responsible bonding wizard and help me teach him.”

  “What if I do it wrong and his leg is wrong forever?” Fist asked, his face white with anxiety.

  “Nonsense,” Darlan said. “I am here to help and Justan can observe within the bond like he does. Right, Justan?”

  Justan forced himself to admit she was right. This was a good learning opportunity for the ogre. “Fist, it’s okay. I’m alright with it, really.”

  “Besides,” Darlan added. “If you get it wrong, we can always re-break it and have you try again.”

  She had Fist take off his breastplate just to be sure that the runed metal didn’t get in the way of his spellmaking and set him to work. The ogre’s ministrations were clumsy at best. Justan tried to guide him from within the bond while Darlan barked instructions from without. The two of them had the poor ogre frazzled by the end, but the ogre was successful. Justan was whole and on his feet when Deathclaw arrived.

  Gwyrtha tackled the raptoid and licked him over and over despite his protests, calling Deathclaw’s name repeatedly, until Justan was able to pull her off him. Justan helped the flustered raptoid to his feet and wrapped him in a hug.

  “I’m glad to see you,” Justan said.

  It is good you survived, Deathclaw replied.

  He examined Deathclaw’s wounds. The raptoid was covered in scratches and punctures, but they were mostly healed. “Looks like you had a good fight of your own.”

  “I killed the wizard,” Deathclaw said. There was no joy in the statement. Just cool satisfaction.

  Justan pulled back, a little disappointed. “I thought that I killed him.”

  Deathclaw cocked his head. He was still alive when I got there.

  “You’re the one who killed him?” Fist said with a grin and wrapped Deathclaw up in a hug of his own. “That’s great!”

  “Let go, ogre,” Deathclaw complained. There’s more.

  The raptoid pointed and Justan waved as he saw Beth, Hilt, and Charz coming down the road towards them. Gwyrtha darted over and Beth greeted her enthusiastically, laughing and putting up with her licking.

  “Gwyrtha! Yes, I know. I’ve missed you, too. Oh what a good beautiful girl you are! No, I can’t ride right now. Later, though, I’d love to!” Beth said, then ran up and threw her arms around Fist. She placed her ear over his heart and sighed, a contented smile spreading across her lips. “Mmmm. You good boy, I missed you too.”

  “Uh, hello, Beth,” Fist said, patting her back. When she didn’t let go, he looked to Hilt for help, but the warrior didn’t seem to notice.

  “We have a problem,” Hilt told Justan. He ge
stured to Charz. The giant was carrying two bloody bundles under his arm.

  “We brought gifts,” the giant said. He dropped both bundles on the ground.

  They gathered the leadership and stood around the two bundles as they were opened. The first one contained the remains of the black-skinned raptoid. It had been slashed and stabbed multiple times and its head had been caved in.

  “That’s the one that got Vlad,” Lyramoor said coldly from the side, relieved that it was gone, yet upset that he hadn’t been the one to kill it. “You do it?” he asked Deathclaw.

  Deathclaw shook his head. “Charz killed her.”

  “Well, I can’t take all the credit,” Charz corrected. “Beth shot her with a paralyzing arrow. I just stomped on her head.”

  “What’s in the other one?” asked Hugh the Shadow.

  “Ewzad Vriil,” Hilt said and there was a hush from those assembled.

  “Show it to me,” said Tolivar. His face was grim, his clothes bloody and half burned away, but his skin was whole. They withdrew Ewzad Vriil’s corpse from the bag along with the crumpled crown that had been on his brow. Tolivar gave a brusque nod, then looked away.

  “I don’t think he’s coming back this time,” Fist said, wrinkling his nose at the mangled remains.

  Wizard Locksher knelt down by the body and examined him. “Where are the Rings of Stardeon?”

  “That’s our problem. The rings weren’t on him when Deathclaw killed him,” Hilt said.

  “We must find them,” Locksher said, concern creasing his brow.

  “You killed him?” Hugh the Shadow said, eyeing Deathclaw with interest.

  “He was . . . dying when I got there,” Deathclaw admitted.

  “Describe it to me,” replied the Assassin’s Guild master. “What did you see when you arrived there?” Locksher came closer to focus on his every word.

  The raptoid swallowed. Justan, you may have to help me. “I was fighting the other . . .”

  “Raptoid.” Justan came over and stood next to them.

  “Yes, and the giant that carried the wizard died. It . . . crashed down.” This next part was more difficult to say so he passed the information on to Justan.