Behemoth (The Jharro Grove Saga Book 6)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “We will be ready,” Fist said.

  “Then let’s call it a night. Both of us need our sleep.” Justan placed his hand on Fist’s shoulder. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight,” Fist said and everything faded from around him. He returned through the bond to an exhausted body.

  Despite the new worries tumbling through his mind, he drifted off, succumbing to sleep . . .

  Fist lay in soft comfort. His eyes were closed, his hands were behind his head, and he could feel the warmth of the sun on his body. This was a familiar feeling. The beginning of his dream. He was lying in the clouds high above the earth.

  He focused on that blissful warmth, held on to that feeling of comfort for as long as he could, knowing that any moment his peaceful nap in the clouds would be interrupted. His father would come, or Maryanne, and he would be knocked down from the clouds to plummet to the mountains below . . .

  But that didn’t make sense. His dreams were supposed to be about the future. Hadn’t all the events he had dreamt before come to pass? Fist kept his eyes clenched shut, curious yet afraid what he would find.

  Then came the slightest of vibrations underneath him. He realized that the ground beneath him was soft, but not as soft as the clouds. He shifted his weight slightly. What was it? Grass?

  He became aware of other differences. The air that was so warm on his body was also humid; smotheringly so. Sweat tickled down the sides of his body. Instead of the gentle sound of the breeze, Fist heard the buzzing of insects. A sour smell permeated the air. This wasn’t the stench of the Black Lake’s rot, but still unpleasant. Where exactly was he?

  Something crawled into his hair.

  Yelping, Fist came to his feet, his eyes opening as he swiped wildly at this hair. Something fat and many-legged was knocked loose from his head and bounced off of his arm before hitting the ground with an audible plop. He swung around, taking in his surroundings.

  Green. All the world was green. He was standing on a mass of deep grass surrounded by puddles of algae-filled water. Tufts of grass in the water were interspersed with lush trees that stood on tangled networks of roots.

  Fist had never been in a place like this, but recognized it from memories Justan had shared with him. He was in a swamp. His new dream was taking place in Malaroo.

  As he stood there, eyes wide, a mist began to flow in from the swamp around him. Soon it obscured the lush surroundings, making him feel like he was standing on a grassy island.

  There was a tremor beneath his feet.

  Without any warning a splash echoed out from behind Fist and he twisted to see Deathclaw emerge from the fog. The raptoid sprinted towards him, leaning forward with his tail out straight behind him. Deathclaw had a fierce expression on his face, his lips pulled back, his teeth bared.

  “Don’t just stand there, ogre!” Deathclaw hissed. “Run!”

  Yes! Run, Fist! Squirrel echoed and Fist realized that the small animal was on Deathclaw’s back, clinging to the sheath slung over the raptoid’s shoulder. Squirrel’s teeth were also bared and they were as razor sharp as the raptoid’s.

  Deathclaw leapt into the ankle deep water beyond the grass and kept running. Fist hesitated. A new dream. What did all this mean?

  The ground beneath his feet shook again, a great tremor that sent ripples throughout the waters around him. A monstrous beast erupted from the mist where Deathclaw had come from. It was Gwyrtha, her powerful muscles rippling beneath the patchwork mix of scales and fur that covered her body.

  Run! she echoed.

  Astride her was Justan, but Justan looked different than Fist had seen him before. He seemed somehow larger than usual and his brown hair was long and braided in the Roo-Tan fashion, trailing down past his shoulders with a green ribbon woven in the braid at the left side of his face. A red leather breastplate protected his chest and, perhaps most strangely of all, his eyes burned with a blue inner light.

  “What are you waiting for?” Justan bellowed as Gwyrtha ran by. “It’s move or die!”

  That last remark got Fist running. Dream or not, he did not want to wait for whatever it was that had his friends so worried. He leapt off of the grass and sprinted after them, the water splashing in wide sprays around his heavy feet.

  He ran as quickly as he could manage but was slowed by the shallow water. Gwyrtha soon outdistanced him, disappearing into the fog ahead. If only he had his mace. He was dressed only in regular traveling clothes without the harness on his back. Why didn’t he . . ?

  Fist realized that all of the differences in this new dream were throwing him off. He frowned and willed his mace to appear in his hand. Thankfully, he had control over that aspect of the dream and he felt the familiar girth of it in his fist.

  Suddenly, he was off; speeding through the marshy area at a pace that sent water in higher and higher arcs around him. He pushed the magic of the mace, increasing his speed in hopes of catching up to the rest of his bonded.

  A haunting cackle echoed from somewhere ahead of him. The ground lurched beneath his feet. He stumbled forward and nearly fell just as a wide shape bulged up from the water in front of him. Somehow he managed to plant a foot onto the shape and leapt over it, speeding ahead without looking back to see what it was.

  Fist broke free from the thick fog and the way in front of him opened up into a spectacular view. Ahead of him was an enormous pyramidal structure surrounded by water. It was made of great blocks of gray stone that were worn by time and partially covered with lichens and mosses.

  Fist could see Deathclaw and Justan ahead of him. They were heading straight for the pyramid towards a dark opening in its side. The water bulged all around his friends, dark shapes rising from the earth.

  The cackle echoed again and Fist saw a strange figure in the distance. A woman stood on a bank of grass watching their flight. She was voluptuous and wore gauzy finery that was clean despite her location. A wealth of black curls tumbled from her head marred only by one blond lock that sprouted at the top of her forehead.

  The woman raised her arms triumphantly and as she did so enormous green tentacles rose from the water. They were thicker than Gwyrtha was long and arched up as high into the air as the top of the great pyramid itself. The length of the tentacles were covered in sharp barbs.

  “Watch out!” Fist cried aloud and through the bond.

  The tentacles took wide swipes at Deathclaw and Gwyrtha, but his friends were ready. In an extreme show of agility the raptoid leapt and twisted, darting out of a tentacle’s grasp. Justan knocked another aside with a concussive swing of his sword.

  The three of them made it to the entrance, disappearing inside. Fist realized that he might not be so lucky. Two towering tentacles bent towards him, their barbed tips grasping for him.

  He reached out with elemental magic, quickly coating himself in a black strands of earth magic before sending a lightning bolt down from the sky above. Fist was protected from the electricity that arced through the water, but the reaching tentacles convulsed.

  For a moment he thought he was free and clear. Then something grabbed him from behind.

  Fist cried out as he was lifted into the air and carried forward. Then he was thrown through the air towards the pyramid’s dark entrance. His stomach rose in his chest and he grimaced as he braced for the painful impact-!

  Gasping, Fist jerked convulsively. It was pitch black. He was in his bed at the Mage School. Sighing, he relaxed.

  Ooh! Bad dream? Rufus asked sleepily through the bond.

  Yes, Rufus. It’s okay. Go back to sleep, Fist replied. He stretched his sore muscles stiffened by sleep and wondered briefly what the dream meant. How much of it would come true? But he was too tired to dwell on it long as he drifted back into slumber.

  Fist was awakened by a loud knock at his door.

  Groaning, he glanced at the room’s one window and saw only the dimmest light of early dawn. Why would anyone come so early? He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, hoping that
whoever it was would go away.

  This time the door was pounded so hard it rattled in its frame.

  “Just a minute!” Fist moaned. No need for whoever it was to be so rude. Other students were still sleeping after all.

  With a sad sigh, he rolled out of his bed and nearly tripped over Rufus while he shuffled over to answer it. As he began to inch open the door he was pushed aside by the bulky shoulders of a five-foot dwarf.

  Lenny barreled into the room and dropped an overstuffed pack onto the floor. “I’m comin’ with you.”

  “Wee!” said Rufus excitedly, rolling to his feet. “You come?”

  The dwarf’s bushy eyebrows shot up at the sight of the rogue horse, who was currently no taller than him. “How in mud did you get so small?”

  “I’m coming with you too,” said a deeper voice.

  Fist turned back around to see Charz’s large frame crouching uncomfortably just outside the doorway. The giant had a resigned look on his rocky face.

  “You are?” Fist said. “What about the Thunder People? I thought you wanted to stay with them.”

  Charz shrugged. “Can’t go back through that stupid mirror. Besides, Sir Edge needs help. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be back at my old cave swattin’ at challengers.”

  Fist was certain there was more to it than that, but the giant’s reasons didn’t matter. Charz would be a great help in the fight ahead. He grinned and reached through the doorway to clasp the giant’s shoulder. “We’ll be glad to have you with us.”

  Charz grunted and sprouted a smile of his own. There was a shout behind Fist and the ogre turned to look back just as Lenny hit the ground with a thud. Rufus, excited that the dwarf was coming along with them, was feeling playful.

  Lenny was on his back, his hands holding off Rufus’ advance. “Dag-blast it!”

  “Huh?” Maryanne said, lifting her head from Jezzer’s pillow to take in the scene with bleary eyes. “Oh it’s you two,” she grumbled, sitting up and yawning broadly. She glanced irritably at the dim light coming through the window, then looked at the giant in the doorway. “What’re you doing up this early, Charz?”

  “I’m comin’ with you,” the giant said.

  “What about Alfred?” the gnome asked. “Haven’t you already spent enough time away from him?”

  The giant scowled. “And you’re stayin’ with Sarine?” He snorted. “Naw. It suits us fine. We get on each other’s nerves a lot less when we’re not talkin’ in person.”

  “Oh. I hear you there, ” she said, then flopped back onto the bed, pulling the blanket up over her head.

  Meanwhile, Rufus was still grappling with Lenny. The dwarf barked again, “Get offa me, you cat-arsed nose-picker! I ain’t in no mood fer wrastlin’!”

  “Let him up, Rufus,” Fist rebuked and the rogue horse reluctantly let go of the dwarf.

  Rufus backed up a step, his expression both disappointed and confused. “Cat . . . arse?”

  Lenny climbed to his feet, brushing off his shirt. “Sorry ’bout that one, Rufus. It’s been a long night.”

  “I am glad you decided to come with us too,” Fist told the dwarf. “But why? You just got home.”

  “It’s ’cause of Djeri. Got home last night and gave Bettie an earful about it, and the durn woman tried to lie about why she didn’t tell me he got swallowed up!” He let out a bitter laugh. “Like she’d really just forget somethin’ like that.”

  “She was probably worried you would go down there looking for revenge,” said Maryanne, her voice only partially muffled by the blanket over her head.

  “I wouldn’t run off to Malaroo for that! Even if I could kill that swamp monster, it wouldn’t bring Djeri back,” Lenny said, then admitted, “I’d’ve thought about it maybe, but-. Anyway, I durn near had to holler my garl-friggin’ lungs out ’fore she’d tell me the truth. See, Willum’s got a theory. He met a bondin’ wizard down there in the swamps who said that his cat got swallowed up by that same behemoth that got Djeri.”

  “That’s right. Uh, Stolz!” Fist said, remembering the name Justan had told him. “He raised fish that like to eat trolls.”

  “Yeah, well all I care about is his cat,” Lenny replied. “It was changed into one of those troll things, but it got its memories back and came home actin’ like it’s old cat self.”

  Fist nodded, “Yes. His cat was one of those creatures. But I’m sorry to tell you, Lenny. Stolz got swallowed up too.”

  The dwarf’s shoulders slumped momentarily. “That’s too bad. Wanted to talk to him.” He shook his head and looked back at Fist, his gaze firm. “Don’t matter. What’s important is there’s a chance that Djeri’s not gone forever. Bettie knew that and didn’t tell me ’cause she knew I wouldn’t give up on him.” He scowled. “She was right. Don’t matter what that dag-blasted thing has done to my nephew. I’m gonna bring him back!”

  Chapter Four

  Mellinda stood on the banks of a secluded swamp lake in a place called Solitude. During the height of Khanzaroo’s power it had been the centerpiece of the gardens of the Roo High Priestess. The beautiful flowers and greenery that had once populated the place had been killed by the Troll Mother’s slime. Now hundreds of years later the gardens were filled with different types of flora, hardy plants that could survive the toxic environment.

  Solitude was created to be a place of peace and reflection. It had become the Mother’s birthing place and this morning it was anything but peaceful.

  “What is taking her so long? Where is the womb?” Mellinda demanded. Her ire was directed at the oldest of the trollkin, the one known as the First. He stood nearly two feet taller than her, but there was no questioning whose presence was the dominant one.

  Mellinda’s anger deepened as she heard a soft murmur of unease among the thirty other trollkin present. The First had become something of a holy figure to them. She wasn’t sure why. Of all of them he looked most like a troll. His eyes and mouth the only things human about him. Nevertheless, he was somehow special. He had a clear familiarity with the Mother that no one understood.

  The First blinked his intelligent eyes at Mellinda slowly, absorbing her brusque manner with his own characteristic calm. Though his voice was raspy, he enunciated with aristocratic precision. “The Mother comes when the Mother will.”

  “What is going on with you today?” wondered Arcon. His voice originated within her mind, yet at the same time she heard it in her ears as if he were speaking right next to her.

  She ignored the mage’s impudent voice and continued to direct her fierce gaze on the First. Normally, she treated this one with the utmost respect, well aware of the influence he held over his people. At the moment, however, she had no patience for pretense. “Go, then, First! Speak with her! Find out what her ‘will’ is. She has tens of thousands of children left to bear and I have much more to do besides stand around and wait!”

  The First did not move right away. Though she had the power to destroy him at a moment’s whim, he wasn’t intimidated by her. Mellinda realized that if he refused her she would lose some of her status within the people. He did her wishes only reluctantly, willingly obeying only the commands of the Troll King, who had been absent for several weeks. A few tense moments passed before he inclined his head.

  Moving gracefully, he approached the water’s edge and dove in. His entrance left only the barest of ripples in the lake’s still and slime-coated surface. Once again a disapproving rumble flooded through the crowd of trollkin onlookers.

  Mellinda looked in after him and wondered, not for the first time, just what his purpose was among these people. She turned and faced the trollkin and noticed looks of unease on many of their faces.

  Their looks stoked her ire. These were her closest supporters. She had hand-picked them to be her assistants and cullers while the Troll King was gone. She had used her magic to beautify them and improve their lives. Some of them had even begun to call her their queen. How dare they even think to question her? She ha
d the urge to use the rings to punish them. A snarl rippled across her features.

  “Hey, calm down,” Arcon admonished, sensing an angry outburst coming. “They already follow you. If you push them they’re going to start pushing back.”

  She had no need to be lectured by him. With a snarl she shouted at the crowd, using threads of air to amplify her voice. “Do not give me those looks! A war comes! The Mother is growing the army that will carry us to victory, but time is short! Do you not understand the urgency?”

  The trollkin flinched. They understood the situation well, but were unused to such rage from her. They nodded, a few of them even saying, “Yes, my Queen.”

  “This isn’t like you,” Arcon observed and in a way he was right. She had observed early on that aggression wasn’t a tactic that got her anywhere with these people. Obtaining their subservience required a more cunning and seductive hand. He let out a chuckle. “Actually this sounds like the way you were when dealing with Ewzad Vriil. He’s not back is he? Are there other voices in your mind that I can’t hear?”

  Fuming, she turned away from the trollkin and headed towards the Lone Chair. Carved out of a solid block of stone, it had stood for centuries facing this lake. It was a place for reflection and when the ruler of the Roo had sat there, no one dared speak. The Troll King had carried on that tradition and it was seen as a sacred spot among the trollkin.

  Mellinda flopped down in the chair to wait for the First’s return. She didn’t have to look back at the trollkin to know that there was more disapproval behind some of their eyes. Yes, this seat belonged to the king, but she was their leader now. They would have to get used to it. She shifted her hips. If only the thing weren’t so confounded uncomfortable.

  “What is this all about? If you were a real woman I’d wonder if this was your moon time.” Arcon snorted. “But you aren’t motivated by such mortal concerns. No, this is something different. It’s . . . Wait a minute!” A knowing sneer entered his voice. “This is fear.”