Behemoth (The Jharro Grove Saga Book 6)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “Indeed,” said Matthew. “Though seeing how big she has become, I don’t see how that can happen. Still, it’s bound to be useful. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am overdue at that camp. I’ll bet those imps have already butchered that boar. Since they’re not allowed to use fire out here, they are probably trying to steam the thing,” he said in disgust and walked away.

  Deathclaw gripped the handle of his sword. “When I picked Star up, I only meant it to help me end Talon’s madness. And now . . .”

  Justan reached out and put his hand on Deathclaw’s back. “It’s strange how everything we do seems to serve a larger purpose.”

  The raptoid nodded and slid the sword back into its sheath on his back. “It is time I should go.”

  “Before you leave, Deathclaw, I have been giving some thought as to what you should do when you get to Roo-Tan’lan,” Justan said. “It’s not going to be an easy task. When you arrive without me they are going to ask you where I am and what I discovered. If they aren’t satisfied with your answers, Xedrion may even have a listener brought in and I don’t want him knowing that I am bringing Aloysius to him.”

  “I have been thinking about it as well,” said the raptoid. “I will not tell them anything but that Fist is on his way. If they ask where you are, I will tell them only that you will return and explain. Then I will leave before they are able to bring listeners.”

  Justan didn’t think it would go that smoothly.

  “I think I have a better idea.” Justan took Jhonate’s Jharro ring off of his finger and held it out to the raptoid. “Put this on and sneak into the city. When you get close enough for Jhonate to reach out to you, tell her about Fist and his group needing to cross the border. Then return before she can find you.”

  Deathclaw cocked his head. “Will this not raise her ire?”

  “Probably,” Justan said with a grimace. He was not looking forward to facing that ire when he returned with the Gnome Warlord. “Tell her that I am safe. That I will return in a few days. Ask her to trust me and . . . Tell her that I have missed her and that I love her.”

  The raptoid hissed. “I do not like saying such things.”

  “But you will tell her anyway, won’t you?” Justan asked.

  Deathclaw’s shoulders slumped. “I may phrase it differently.”

  “You can’t,” Justan insisted. “I need you to tell her that I love her, Deathclaw. That part is most important.”

  “Humans,” the raptoid said with a growl. “Very well.”

  “Thank you,” Justan said, “And in gratitude, I shall not try to hug you before you leave.”

  With another hiss, Deathclaw darted off into the night. Watch over him, Gwyrtha, the raptoid sent.

  I will! replied Gwyrtha. Bye Deathclaw!

  Neither of them noticed when Talon followed after him.

  It took another full day and a half of travel before Justan and Gwyrtha arrived at Matthew’s waterfall with the rest of Aloysius’s group. It was only a few minutes after that when Matthew realized why he had felt that something had gone wrong at his house. One of his white moonrat eyes, the twin to the one that protected the thull village, had been stolen.

  And the thieves were long gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Xeldryn looked into the floor-length mirror and grimaced as he buttoned up his flamboyant vest. The luxuriant fabric was colored with swirls of blinding yellows and oranges and clashed terribly with the bright green shirt he wore under it. It was ridiculous for a warrior to wear something so gaudy. Unfortunately, this was tradition.

  A Roo-Tan man’s wedding day was the one day that he was supposed to put his warrior life aside. It was a day of celebration. A day for openness. Not for armor. The silly vest was symbolic of this. At least he would likely never have to wear the thing again. Xeldryn told himself that he just had to get through this day.

  Unlike his father, Xeldryn would not need to marry again. Only clan leaders married multiple times and there were other respected warriors that were more likely to take over if Xedrion ever stepped down.

  That didn’t keep him from feeling naked without the hide breastplate that was his uniform. At least he wasn’t expected to leave his Jharro weapons behind. Xedrion felt it disrespectful for any of the Grove’s defenders to go around without the trees gifts at hand, wedding or no.

  He picked up his staff and the bow that Yntri Yni had presented to him upon his promotion to the Protector’s Elite Force. He strung the bow and had just slung it over his shoulder when he heard the outer door to his apartments open.

  Someone entered his sitting room and shut the door behind them. He took one last look in his mirror and grimaced again before walking out of his bedroom to meet them. His eyebrows rose. He had expected it to be his mother, arriving to take him to the procession. Instead he found his half-sister.

  “Good morning, Jhonate,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be out with the others?”

  The 14-year-old looked most unlike herself. Normally she wore the attire of a warrior in training but today she was wearing a flowing white dress with green embroidery that matched both the color of the ribbons in her braids and the color of her fierce eyes. Her customary frown was on her face. “Why do you do this, Xeldryn?” she asked.

  He smiled at her direct manner of speaking. The rest of their siblings found it abrasive, but he found it an endearing trait; a mirror of their father. “I am 40-years-old. Father married his first wife when he was five years younger than me.”

  It was a fact that had caused quite a stir at the time. Xedrion had been touted as the front running candidate to lead the Leeths Clan. For him to be unmarried was scandalous. It was the chief reason he had married Xeldryn’s mother.

  “So you feel you must marry, but why does it have to be Lindra Prath?” she said with distaste. “Why any Prath?”

  “You know the answer to that,” Xeldryn said with a sigh, though he couldn’t blame her for her distaste.

  The Prath Clan was one of the most highly respected of the Roo-Tan clans and had long been opposed to the powerful status of the Leeths Clan. This was an enmity that had been in place for hundreds of years and had only gotten worse during Xedrion’s years as Protector of the Grove. This was in large part because of his refusal to marry a Prath woman. Xeldryn’s marriage was an attempt to salve some of those age old wounds.

  “Besides, Lindra is a good friend,” he added. “And an excellent archer.”

  “Whom you do not love,” Jhonate stated, causing his smile to broaden. Of all his family members she was the only one who had bothered to point this fact out.

  Xeldryn forced the smile off of his face. If he wasn’t firm with her, he knew that Jhonate would never leave him alone about it. “I like her and she is a beautiful woman. Love will come.”

  “That was Father’s mantra. Has it always proven true for him?” she asked, folding her arms. “What of Alexis bin Hoon? What of Herlda?”

  Xeldryn frowned at her rather bold choice of lumping his mother in with Alexis. Sure, both had been political marriages, but they were nothing alike. “Herlda and Father were friends even before they got married. Alexis is . . . a special circumstance.”

  Xedrion had chosen Alexis because, despite her plainness, he thought that her devotion to the old Roo customs would be something that would bind them together. Instead, he had found her to be an insufferable bore. “Lindra would never be like that to me.”

  Jhonate opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted as the outer door opened again. Xeldryn’s mother walked in.

  Herlda bin Shun looked every bit as uncomfortable in her wedding day attire as Xeldryn was. Her white dress was long and flowing, with black onyx stones studding the bust, but her dress’ beauty could not conceal her warrior bearing. You could just as well put a dress on a stone. The Jharro sword belted at her waist didn’t help the overall look.

  “It is almost time,” she said, then frowned as she saw Jhonate. “What are you doing here, Muskrat?”


  Muskrat was Yntri Yni’s pet name for Jhonate. He gave one to all the children he trained. It was to teach them humility, important when dealing with the children of high ranking clan members. But word of this pet name had gotten around and many of Jhonate’s stepmothers and older siblings had taken to using it to knock her down a peg or two. Of course, she acted like it didn’t bother her at all.

  “Good morning, Mother Herlda,” Jhonate replied, making no attempt to explain why she was there.

  “Leave us! Go find your place in line!” Herlda snapped. “No doubt they are looking for you.”

  Jhonate gave Herlda a stony look as she replied, “Yes, Ma’am.” She left with a twirl of her skirts, her Jharro staff tapping the polished floors loudly with each stride.

  “I have half of a mind to call that child back in and give her a beating to remind her of her place,” Herlda growled.

  “You are too harsh with her, Mother,” Xeldryn chided.

  Herlda snorted. “She is Jhandra’s child. And as such, has your father twisted around her finger. She knows it too, the way she struts around the house lording it over her siblings.”

  “You assign her motivations she does not have,” Xeldryn argued. “It is not her fault that Father dotes on her.”

  “You are too tender hearted. But I do not wish to speak of her any longer.” Herlda looked at him and shook her head, a smile curling her lips. “Look at you in that awful vest. I bet it burns you to wear it.”

  “The colors alone may have already given me blisters,” he agreed.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am proud of you for doing this, Son. I know that marriage has not been foremost on your mind. But this will be for your good. It will quiet the rumors.”

  “The false rumors,” he said, his own smile fading.

  The reasons for his extended bachelorhood had been a hot topic of gossip. Some suggested that he was content to indulge his manly urges at brothels, something that was frowned upon in Roo-Tan society. Others had suggested that his tastes were in men.

  “I do not doubt you. Nor would I care if they were true,” said Herlda. “I am not as bent on tradition as your father. At any rate, that will be past you today.” She reached out to touch the braids that framed his face. “I must admit I will be sad to see you change your ribbons.”

  During childhood, Roo-tan children wore the ribbons of their mothers. At adulthood the women were able to choose colors of their own, but for Roo-Tan men this didn’t change until marriage. During the ceremony today, Lindra would remove the black ribbons from his hair and weave in two of her own.

  “I do not mind brown,” he said, for that was Lindra’s color.

  She arched an eyebrow. “It is the color of mud.”

  “And it doesn’t stand out when in concealment, which is why she chose it,” he replied, knowing that the woman’s practicality was the only thing Herlda liked about her.

  Lindra was a scout and a very good one at that. Her job was often to sneak into Roo-Dan territory and report back on enemy activity. In fact, thanks to her efforts, Xeldryn’s team had been able to thwart a major Roo-Dan attack. It was during that incident that he had befriended her.

  “Well, at least she isn’t a Tayl,” Herlda said in an attempt at humor. “Come with me to the kitchens. There is time for you to get a bite before the procession starts. Believe me, it is going to be a long day until the wedding feast tonight.”

  She turned and headed for the door, but Xeldryn called out, “Mother.”

  “Yes?” Herlda replied, her hand on the handle.

  “Do you believe as Father does? That love will come after marriage?” he asked.

  She looked back at him, cocking her head. “Love is just one component of what makes a marriage work. But yes, I believe it can come. Why ask this now? We have been planning this marriage for months.”

  “What of Father?” he asked. “You have been married forty-three years. Do you love him?”

  “Yes. But there are many types of love, Xeldryn,” Herlda replied. “Ours was never a romantic love though. Which was a good thing, otherwise I never would have been able to share him with six other women.”

  She still hated that, Xeldryn knew. But forty years had made her used to the situation. It didn’t fully answer his question though. “Then we can be happy? Even if we are only ever friends?”

  “That is the most important part,” Herlda said, then laughed. “And you don’t need romantic love to make children. I bore four sons and a daughter to prove it!”

  Xeldryn smiled. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

  She opened the door and he followed her out into blinding sunlight . . .

  The Troll King awoke in his room in the Axis Palace and let out a low growl. This happened every night. He slept dreamlessly, instead reliving some important memory from his past. Some of these memories were agonizing, some of them beautiful. But each time he woke, those memories soon faded. Whatever the Troll Mother had done to him the last time they had spoken had made sure of that.

  He rolled off of his cloth-covered grass-mat bed and sat up, focusing on the memory while parts of it were still bright in his mind. His own identity was always the first thing to leave as were some of the lesser details, but he was still able to hold on to some very important things.

  He had been married. The Troll King didn’t remember much about the woman, but he did have a wedding day. Also, he had a younger sister. A pretty and headstrong one. He couldn’t hold onto her face, but those green eyes were strong in his mind.

  More importantly, he could still picture the face of his human mother. He grabbed tightly to that memory, tried to burn clearly in his mind. Her name was Herlda. Herlda bin . . . Her-her name was . . .

  He came to his feet and let out a roar that has half trollish screech. He grabbed the Jharro staff that was leaning against the wall and the tip of it narrowed to a spear-like point as he threw it across the room. The staff stuck quivering into the wall right next to the door.

  He stood there, enraged and breathing heavily as he heard the oncoming stomp of heavy running feet. The door slammed open and Murtha stumbled inside. The part-dwarf had come quickly from her room next to his, the king’s roar having startled her from sleep.

  “K-king! Is there something wrong?” she asked, her bleary eyes taking in the anger in his face.

  “Remember this, Murtha! I was married. I had a sister. My human mother was-. Her name . . . agh! I have forgotten.” He pointed at her. “Remember for me! It is important. Green eyes. She wore a sword.”

  “Your human mother had green eyes?” Murtha said in surprise.

  “No! My sister did. My mother, uh . . .” He clutched at his head. It was all leaving so fast! “What was the other thing I said?”

  “She wore a sword?” She said. “Or you were married?”

  He blinked his mismatched eyes fiercely. “I was? Is that what I told you?”

  “You said you were married,” Murtha repeated. “You had a sister. I think-k you said she had green eyes. Your mother wore a sword? Maybe? I don’t think you were married to either of them bec-cause humans don’t do that. I think-k.”

  “It’s gone.” The king growled again and his claws dug painfully into his scalp. Then he relaxed. His shoulders slumped. He released his head, ignoring the blood that now streamed down the trollish side of his face. “I remember none of it.”

  “You were married. You had a sister. Your mother wore a sword,” Murtha repeated faithfully and she worried that something was wrong with him. It didn’t seem right that he should forget so fast.

  “Married?” said the king in disbelief. His eyes grew troubled for a moment, but he shook it off. The king sat back down on his mattress. “What does it matter? Even if it is true, it is in the past.”

  The part-dwarf frowned back at him. “It was very important to you when I c-came in. You made me promise to remember for you.”

  “Then I was being foolish. A night-time stupor.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “If the Mother wished us to remember our pasts, she wouldn’t have hidden them.” He lay down and placed his hands behind his head. “Go back to your bed. There is still time to sleep before the work of tomorrow is upon us.”

  Murtha hesitated, but bowed in acquiescence. “Yes, K-king.”

  She left his room and shut the door behind her, then returned to her own quarters. She lay down and tried to sleep but was too troubled by the king’s behavior. One image kept returning to her mind; that gray wood staff sticking out of the wall.

  * * *

  Djeri was content with the way his life was going. He enjoyed his working culling the new members of his race. The births started in the morning and continued through evening. There were hundreds of newborns every day, each one unique in some way. He liked the fact that his ability allowed him to see things about them that neither Mellinda nor the king could. It was nice being invaluable to the Mother’s great work.

  Using his power so extensively still gave him a horrible headache by the end of the day, but he learned to keep the pain manageable. As long as he didn’t continue to use his power in the evening it didn’t grow stronger than a dull throb and as long as he had a decent amount of sleep he always woke in the mornings with a clear head.

  Every day as the Mother’s birthing was finished, Djeri would walk with Murtha as she escorted any potentially dangerous newborns to the portion of the city that had become known as New-Kin.

  This newly-uncovered section of KhanzaRoo was made up of a grid-like series of floating grass islands that surrounded a pyramidal stone building that was almost as large as the Old Hospital. The place had once been a Roo prison, but now it was where those with potential for magical talent were housed until the extent of their talents could be determined.

  This group was made up mostly of part-demons but also included the occasional part-human that Djeri’s vision had shown wearing the clothing of magic-users. Their numbers had grown over the last several days until there were now well over a hundred of them.