“What was it, mom?”
“Honor.”
Justan shook his head, letting the memories fade. Faldon had always spoken of the Prophet with awe, but there was no way that the man his father met was the same man who had given the Bowl of Souls to the school. That would make him thousands of years old. Justan felt the theory that made most sense was that there were a long succession of wise men that took on the mantle of Prophet throughout the years.
This explained why Faldon never took part in the warrior naming ceremony. Faldon never truly forgave himself for his actions in the past, and Justan knew that deep down, his father still believed that he was not worthy of receiving a name. The fact that the Prophet was the one to deliver the Bowl of Souls to the MageSchool must have brought back those old feelings of shame.
Justan was beginning to see his father in a new light.
Chapter Five
The winter months grew quite cold in the land of Dremaldria, but the RuneTower seemed to radiate a presence that kept the worst of the winter weather away. If snow was falling softly inside the school, there was a blizzard in the surrounding lands. Justan was grateful for this, because it meant that he could continue to run all winter long.
His morning runs became a spectacle in the school. The students were dumbfounded. They couldn’t figure out why a person would voluntarily get up early in the cold and exercise. Some found it amusing, but many others were intrigued.
The six students who had started to run with him in the mornings turned into a dozen. Of course none of the runners could keep up with Justan, but they tried, and soon most of them could make an entire circuit of the school without stopping. By the time spring came there were over twenty people, both wizards and students that ran with him.
Professor Beehn was among them, his squat legs pumping and his lungs heaving as he struggled to get his portly body under control. He pulled Justan aside one morning after the run and praised him for the positive affect that his attitude was having among the other students.
“But why are they running with me in the first place, professor?” Justan asked.
The wizard smiled. “Some of them come because I force them to. Others come because they honestly want to get in shape. But, you know what? I think that some of them just run because you do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I can’t say as I do either. Not completely anyway. I had hoped that your dedication to keep fit would motivate others or at least give them the excuse to do something that they had been thinking about doing anyway. But I must say that I never expected this many people to come out.” The wizard frowned at Justan in contemplation and stroked his chin. “Do you want to know what I believe has truly caused this?
“The other wizards and I have been discussing it. I think that there is something about your presence that affects the people around you. It may be part of your magic ability or it may be something else, but either way your simply being there changes things. From the moment you walk into a room, the atmosphere is altered.
“Just about everyone within these walls has heard tales of Justan, the awkward boy who became a great warrior. The tales, both true and exaggerated, have spread like wildfire. Justan, the students look up to you, even the older ones, the mages that have been here for years. In fact, all of the wizards that have taught you ended up leaving the room liking you.” He paused for a moment, then clarified his statement, “well, almost all of them.”
Justan shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. I went through the training school for years working this hard and none of the students there felt this way.”
Professor Beehn threw up his hands. “Believe it or don’t believe it, but you can’t deny the affect you have had on these men.”
Justan looked around at the other students that were winding down their run. They were physically tired, but mentally full of energy, gabbing back and forth to one another.
“You have helped me prove my theory, you know,” the wizard said, a gleam in his eye. “Most of us are so busy exploring the mind that we ignore our bodies. I believe that this is a mistake. I have been saying it for years. Our magical powers draw upon our bodies’ energy. My theory is that the MageSchool would be much more powerful if we kept our bodies in peak condition.” There was an excited gleam in the wizard's eyes. “The results in class are supporting my theory, Justan. The people that run with you have increased their power levels significantly.”
The wizard grabbed Justan’s shoulder. “You may not know this about me, but I have very little magical talent. The most rudimentary spells come to me only with great effort. That is why I am in charge of the school grounds instead of teaching classes on magic. It took me many years longer than normal to gain the level of wizard. My strength lies not in magic itself-.” He pointed to his head. “But up here.”
“I understand how that feels,” Justan said. “But you know, if your theory is correct, Professor Beehn, maybe more of these morning runs can change that.”
“I can only hope.” The wizard patted Justan on the back and followed the students down the stairs that led to the grounds.
Later that day, Justan went on an errand for Vincent and happened to be on the third level in the far corner of the library. He was pulling a book on inter-elemental dependancies in phasi-illusionary magic that one of the wizard council had requested, when he noticed a tapestry against the east wall. He must have walked past it a dozen times, but for some reason, this time it drew his gaze.
The RuneTower was filled with amazing tapestries that spoke of great skill with weaving in times gone by. This particular tapestry was ancient and finely woven in a myriad of brilliant colors. It depicted a large battle between elves and orcs. The detail was exquisite but it wasn’t the artistry that drew Justan’s attention. His eyes were drawn to one particular scene in the chaos of battle. A solitary figure on a horse was fighting in the middle of a horde of orcs and it looked like he was winning despite the overwhelming odds.
This individual was a striking sight, his face fixed in a snarl of rage and his hair whipping about trailing lines of sweat or blood. The figure was human, for he didn’t have pointed ears, but the fact that he was the only human in the tapestry wasn’t what Justan focused on. It was his weapon.
It was something unlike anything Justan had seen before and he had grown up around the academy where they used every weapon imaginable. It wasn’t a sword or an axe, but something in-between; a two handed weapon nearly as long as the barbarian sword his father used.
It was a wicked weapon with a long curving blade. It started narrow at the top like a sabre, then widened to the width of a battle-axe at the center, and curved to an abrupt point at the bottom. The handle was inset into the back of the blade at about its widest point and was long enough for two hands to grip it.
Suddenly, Justan wanted it. His heart burned for the chance to wield it. He had found the ideal weapon. The problem was it didn’t fit his style. Justan used two smaller blades, not one big one. But the vision of the weapon set his mind ablaze with ideas.
His first free moment, he sat down and sketched out ways of making this weapon his own. He agonized for over an hour over the details until he grew too frustrated trying to design a good way to make it work. Justan was thinking about doing some research on blacksmithing when he was interrupted.
“Hey, what are you up to?” It was Vannya and Arcon. They eased over and sat beside him.
“Nothing really.” Justan covered his sketches with his hands. For some reason this particular project felt a little personal. “Just doing some battle strategy research.”
“Oh,” she said and nodded knowingly. “So you are ready to give up, then?”
“Give up?” Justan looked at her in puzzlement. “On what?”
“Well, if I remember right, you were supposed to be looking for flaws in the defenses of the MageSchool. You promised me that you could find ways to make this place fall in battle, and I told you that it was impossible. The d
efenses around this school are impregnable.” She sounded smug.
Justan chuckled. “Oh, that. Well I figured that out weeks ago. In fact I have been thinking about putting a paper together and sending it up to the wizard council so that they can fix some of the problems. There are just too many weaknesses.”
“Like what?” Arcon asked from the other side of Vannya. Justan outlined a few areas in which he thought that the schools defenses needed shoring up. Vannya shook her head.
“No way, Justan. Even if invaders had that kind of research and insight available to them, I am sure that the wizards have thought of all those things already. Nice try.” She laughed and slugged him in the arm.
Arcon didn’t seem so sure. “Actually, I think that Justan has some good points. In fact, I think that I will bring it up with Professor Valtrek next time I see him.” He looked at Justan with respect. “Good job.”
“Thank you, Arcon,” Justan said. He turned to Vannya, “Hey, what news has come in about the orc prisoners? I haven't heard anything in a long time.”
“Oh. I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” she said. “They are all dead. I heard about it last night. Evidently, the orcs were a problem the moment they arrived. They refused to speak and refused to eat. After a couple of days, the wizards began forcing them to eat, but they couldn't get them to speak, not even with powerful spells. The orcs were stuck in some kind of religious fervor that the wizards couldn't break through. One night one orc went into a rage and killed the other two.”
“What happened to the last one?"
The look on her face was ominous. “When the wizards approached him the next morning, he shouted something in orcish and snapped his own neck.”
“So we never found out why they kidnapped the guards?” Justan said. “That’s ridiculous. The jailers at the academy would have had answers in a couple of hours! Did they find out what the orc shouted before he died?”
“It was a prayer to the Dark Prophet,” she said.
Justan's jaw dropped. This held grave implications. If the orcs were worshiping the Dark Prophet again and scouting out the MageSchool, there could be big trouble. “Do you think . . .?”
“That the orcs are building up an army to try and conquer the school?” Arcon said. The mage laughed. “That's ridiculous.”
Vannya shrugged. “The High Council is researching the available evidence, but they don't think it likely. These orcs were probably an isolated group. There isn't any widespread worship of the Dark Prophet going on among the goblinoids as far as anyone can tell. Besides, the Dark Prophet was destroyed long ago.”
“True.” Justan said. There was no use worrying about it. Surely the wizards had the situation under control. Not that there was anything he could do about it anyway.
They chatted for a while longer. The subject shifted to how Justan’s studies were going and about the next big Elements tournament that was coming up. Then it was time for lunch. Justan folded his sketches up and tucked them away in his robes for later study.
As the two mages left the library, Justan found Vincent scribbling away notes behind his librarian desk.
“Vincent?”
The absent-minded gnome looked up at him with his glasses perched so far down his long nose that they looked as though they would fall off. “Ah, Justan. Did you find that book on the mating habits of the goblinoid tribes of the UpperTrafalganMountains for me?”
As he spoke his head bobbed up and down. It was a miracle that the gnome’s glasses stayed on their precarious perch.
“Yes, I found that for you this morning. In fact, your elbow is leaning on it, sir.” Justan smiled, as always having a warm feeling towards the awkward librarian. He found the gnome’s eccentricities somehow comforting.
“Oh, yes,” Vincent muttered. He lifted the book up, peering at it at arms length because his glasses were perched so far down his nose that it was the only way he could read the cover.
“Fascinating book, you know. Especially page two hundred forty-seven, paragraph two. Goblins, gorcs and orcs are actually different parts of the same race, you see. One out of every ten goblins born is bigger than the others and grows to be a gorc. When gorcs mate, one out of every ten of them becomes an orc. Over the years, the tribes have grown so far apart that the orcs use gorcs and goblins as slaves. The tribes have quite a rivalry.” He looked around conspiratorially. “I am sure that an orc wouldn’t be too happy if you called him ‘a son of a goblin!’” The gnome chortled. “Ha! What an absolutely marvelous joke! Page two hundred fifty-eight paragraph one, line two!”
Justan laughed along with the gnome. “Actually, Vincent. I came to tell you that it is time for lunch. I happen to know for a fact that you haven’t eaten all day and I'm determined to force a meal down your throat.”
“Ah,” the gnome muttered with a bored sound in his voice. “Well that can’t be true, I sent Chauncey out to bring me breakfast this morning.”
Justan shook his head. Chauncey was one of two gnomes on Vincent’s staff. “That was yesterday and Chauncey didn’t even make it out of the door without being distracted. I believe he ended up reading Professor Bandarb’s dissertation on the wing symmetry of an air fish. I doubt that he has eaten anything today either.”
Vincent waved Justan away. “Then why don’t you be a good young man and bring me some food back from the kitchen.”
He looked back down to his notes and yanked on the end of his nose. His spectacles finally fell and hit the ground with a clatter. Justan quickly bent over and retrieved them before Vincent could step on them. The gnome didn’t seem to notice.
“I can’t leave here now. I must get the research books together for Professor Locksher. I sent Hibbel and Gaxen to retrieve those books hours ago. Where have they run off to?”
Justan gave a frustrated grunt. He knew where the two apprentices were, taking advantage of the poor gnome once again. They were two of the worst ones about it. The problem was that even when Vincent suspected that they were lax in doing their duties, he got distracted and forgot.
“Vincent I believe that they were waylaid in the anatomy section and are now playing Elements in the aisle.”
The gnome gasped and Justan handed him back his spectacles. The gnome thrust them back on his nose. Once again, they slid down and teetered on the brink of falling off. “Why I can’t believe the nerve of those two. I am going to give them a piece of my mind and then I’m going to report this to the professors!” Vincent huffed and stormed across the library floor.
Justan called after the librarian, “Remember, they are in the Anatomy section! Aisle sixty-two between rows four and five.” He didn’t want Vincent to forget.
Chapter Six
Once a week, the MageSchool held an Elements tournament right after dinner. It was located in the Hall of Elements and any student who wished could participate. It was a time of enjoyment and competition. Over half the school joined in.
The students signed up the night before. Everyone was assigned a seat in a random pattern so that each student played with a new group of people every time. This was done to foster a greater sense of community in the school. It kept cliques from forming and made the students associate with one another.
The magic of the hall was intensified on these nights. The four colored sections of the room reverberated with energy. For the students in the air section, there was a constant breeze, those in the fire section were buffeted by random blasts of heat, the earth section was filled with the smell of soil and every once in a while a tremor would shake the floor. The water section was particularly interesting for when each student entered it, their entire body felt wet. Even though they could breathe normally, everyone’s hair and robes moved about as if they were playing the card game underwater. These extra magics in the different sections could be uncomfortable at times, but that was part of the fun of the evening.
The master of the event was none other than Master Latva, head wizard of the school. The old man with the
youthful eyes would enter from a door in the back of the hall decked out in a splendid robe colored in each of the elements. Every week the hall grew silent until he raised his staff in the air and proclaimed, “Let the tournament begin!” With a flash, the room would blaze with light and the games began.
To the casual observer, the Hall of Elements would be a chaotic mix of light and sound, but everything was well organized. There were six players at every table and the three with the most points at the end of the game would pass on to the next round. This process continued throughout the night until there were only six players left. The winner of that last game received a free day with no classes and a trophy. The free day was nice, but every player coveted the trophies.
The point totals for the students were posted on the wall outside of the Hall of Elements the next morning and were added up throughout the year. At the end of the year, the student with the highest amount of points received the Grand Trophy, a highly prized possession for any wizard.
Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) Page 6
