Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  There had been a lot of talk during the weeks since the tragedy about what the charges would be. Most understood that the incident had been an accident. Murder was most likely the last thing on the minds of the golem’s creators when they built it, so no one expected the three students to actually be charged with the deaths of the six people. However, it was also suspected that for such a powerful creature to be made by three mere students, there must have been some shady work involved.

  The High Council stood, Headmaster Latva raised his hands and the crowd went silent. The charges were read. They began with several small charges like breaking curfew, then came the severe ones; destruction of school property, endangerment of other students, and illegal use of elven magic.

  After the charges were read, there was silence for several minutes while all in attendance stared the three students down. Then the verdict was read.

  Guilty.

  The judgment was handed out swiftly without any grandiose speeches. Pympol, being the leader of the group, was given the heftiest penalty. He was stripped of his mage status and demoted to the office of Cadet. Arcon, being also a mage and knowing far better was stripped of his mage status and demoted to the office of Apprentice.

  Piledon, on the other hand, had only helped the mages during the final two weeks of the construction of the creature. Since he was following the commands of the mages as a cadet is taught to, his sentence was not as severe. All of them were given multiple extra work duties, mainly consisting of rebuilding the parts of the school destroyed by the golem.

  Many in the crowd nodded when the sentences were read. Many others were outraged, feeling that the council had not been strict enough, especially those who had been injured and the friends of the people killed. Cries of anger poured from the crowd. The yells became louder as resentment built and Master Latva himself had to command silence.

  Of the three sentenced, only Piledon looked relieved. The two older students looked like their lives had been destroyed. It would take each of the former mages years to regain their status as mages and the road from mage to wizard was going to be an even more difficult one for them. All of them would face the anger of their fellow students.

  Justan felt the decisions stringent, but fair. Although they used shady methods to reach their goals, he couldn’t blame them for all the destruction. The three students had stumbled into something far beyond their ability to comprehend.

  Of the six killed, three were guards, two were students, and one was a prominent member of the faculty. It had been decided by majority opinion that all six of the funerals be held at the same time in one long procession.

  Most wizards were not religious by nature, but all of them knew the reality of an afterlife. Magic crossed between the realms of the living and dead often. This knowledge made their passing easier, but it could not replace the fact that they were not around in this world. As was custom, people who knew the deceased were allowed to stand and say a small homage to them, knowing that most likely, their spirits would be around listening.

  It was a solemn occasion. The bodies of the dead had been repaired by healers and preserved for this day. They lay in state for several hours so that people could come and see them if they wished. In the evening, a procession was held where the bodies were transported to the vast MageGardens behind the Rune tower. There, a monument was being erected that was dedicated to them.

  The next day, the bodies of the deceased were taken back to their homelands. Each body would be escorted by a wizard and two mages who would break the news to their families and friends. Then their loved ones could conduct a proper burial in the traditions of their people.

  To the normal eye, the procession was a dreary event, with the bodies of the dead being carried by on stretchers by close friends. To one using mage sight, however, it was a beautiful magical display. The air was filled with illusions proclaiming the beauty of the lives of those killed.

  Justan watched the elaborate procession go by in a whirl of colorful, magical images. He found himself filled with a mixture of awe and sullen anger. It was a wonderful tribute to the fallen, but why did they have to be killed at all? If only he had been faster or stronger or had learned how to perform offensive magic . . .

  He watched as the dead guards were brought past his position in the crowd. First came the body of Caldric, whom he had sparred with many times, then Kervek, who was a shy person that Justan had not been able to get to know very well, but had seemed very nice. Finally a large cadre of guards carried the body of their former leader, Alphonze.

  In the chaos after the clock tower fell, Riveren and Zambon had searched frantically, but were not able to get a wizard over the rubble to save their leader in time. Alphonze had only been coherent for a few moments before he died. He knew that he was dying and had asked that Riveren be made leader of the guards in his absence.

  Riveren had not wanted the position, but could not refuse his fallen leader. Justan thought that it was a great choice. Riveren was a respected and capable leader and would only get better with experience. He had changed much in the months since their close call with the goblins on the plains.

  The bodies of the two students were brought by next. Justan hadn’t known either of them, but one of the great tragedies of the day was that one was a fourteen-year-old female cadet who had just arrived the morning of the attack. A chunk of masonry had struck her in the head, killing her instantly. It was a very delicate situation and the wizards were still debating whether there was anything they could do to ease the shock for her family.

  Finally, the High Council came by carrying the last victim and what many felt was the biggest loss to the school. The magical images told the story of the scholarly wizard who, with much perseverance, had gained a place on the council. Even though he didn’t have much in the way of power, he had been respected for his intelligence and was a well-liked teacher. Justan felt a tear come to his eyes. He turned to the wizard who sat beside him.

  “You know, I think I am going to miss Professor Nichol the most.”

  Wizard Beehn looked up at Justan and smiled sadly. “Nichol was a great friend to me. We were so much alike that we hit it off right away. You know, they say that at the end, just before the rock hit him, he sent a fireball at the golem. That was one thing he had always struggled with, old Nichol. He had always wanted to summon a fireball.” The wizard looked down at the blanket covering his lap and shook his head.

  “I’m not proud of this, Justan, but as I sat there watching the sentencing of those three students, part of me felt that they should be the ones being buried.” Justan winced at the harshness of statement and Wizard Beehn patted his shoulder. “Oh, Justan, worry not. I haven’t been completely embittered by the events of that day.”

  “That’s not it, Professor. When I was watching the sentencing, part of me felt that way too. The thing is that I really couldn’t blame them for the destruction that their creation caused.” He looked the Professor straight in the eyes. “I have to fault the school.”

  Beehn’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? And why is that?”

  “Ever since I arrived here, I have noticed how inadequate the defenses are. Considering the nature of what is being taught here, I am surprised that more incidents like this haven’t happened.”

  “But Justan, things like this have happened many times through the years. Monsters escape and forces are unleashed. It is part of the dangers that go with a school of magic. We were just unprepared for the sheer power and ferocity of that golem. Part of it was bad timing. On any other day, we might have been better prepared and it wouldn’t have been so bad.” Justan wasn’t about to accept that excuse.

  “I think that you are avoiding the truth here. The school’s defenses need improving,” he said. “It has been so long since you have been attacked, that you have become lax. Look at how few guards you have! If an enemy army had come while that golem was attacking, this place would have been overrun easily. You think that your ‘great wall’ w
ill keep you safe from invaders, but forty guards is a ridiculously small force to protect such a large area. The wall is two miles long. It would take a thousand guards to effectively protect the school during a siege!”

  As he finished his tirade, Justan saw the pained look on Wizard Beehn’s face and realized that he had gone a bit too far. “I’m sorry, professor. This is not the time or place to talk about such things.” The procession had passed by and everyone was going to the garden for the dedication of the monument. Justan changed the subject.

  “So, professor, how are your legs feeling? Will it be long before you are back on your feet?” The wizard reached down to the wheels on either side of his chair and turned himself in the direction of the gardens.

  “Will you push me to the monument please, Justan? I am afraid I don’t quite have the knack of it yet.” Justan nodded and grasped the back of the chair. “I still have no feeling in my legs, Justan, and I don’t know if I ever will. I should have died, you know. It was close, too. I could feel my life slipping away. If it weren’t for that apprentice that you brought over, I would be in the other world right now.”

  “I don’t understand. If the mages at the BattleAcademy can reattach limbs, why can’t the full wizards here fix your back?” Justan asked.

  “We can usually fix a broken back if it is caught in time. Unfortunately, the apprentice was inexperienced. Even though the healing he was able to do saved my life, he repaired my spine incorrectly. Matron Guernfeldt is doing research and working on ways to fix it, but I doubt that anything can be done.”

  “I am sorry, professor.” Justan said. “I can’t help but feel it was my fault. I should have gone and found someone better.”

  “No, Justan. You did exactly as you should have. Besides, if that boy hadn’t saved my life, I wouldn’t be enjoying what I am today.”

  “And what is that, Professor?” Justan asked. He couldn’t imagine a more horrible thing than losing his mobility. Except for losing his mind, perhaps.

  “Justan, I am going to tell you about something that I haven’t dared tell anyone else. Part of me is scared that if I told anyone, it might go away.” He chuckled at the thought. “When I was lying there in the ruins of my home with my back broken and saw the golem reaching down at me and laughing that hideous laugh, something snapped inside my head. Suddenly I had the one thing I had missed my whole life as a wizard. I had power.”

  “Power?” Justan had seen the golem blasted away from the rubble of Professor Beehn’s house, but it wasn’t until now that he understood how it had happened.

  “Yes. I have done some testing on myself when I have had time alone, and it is amazing. Justan . . . I may now be one of the most powerful wizards in the school. Perhaps even as strong as Master Latva.”

  “But how?” Justan asked. “If you had that kind of power, why weren't you able to use it?”

  “I don't know. I am sure that the other wizards on the council will want to look into it once I tell them.” He looked back at Justan. “Will you promise me that you won't tell anyone about this? It is something that I must do on my own. Perhaps I will bring it up at the next council meeting.”

  “Of course, Professor,” Justan said. He looked back over his shoulder at the center square with its missing clock tower, stunned as to how much one day’s events had changed the school.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Life at the MageSchool went on. Students went back to classes and most of the damaged buildings were repaired. The clock tower was a larger undertaking, though. Architects from throughout the kingdom were brought in to help. Stone masons and construction workers set up a large camp outside the walls of the school so that they could work nonstop until it was finished.

  The three creators of the golem kept low and worked hard at trying to show a diligent face. Pympol was the worst at it, attending the cadet classes with reluctance and participating as little as possible. Justan had several classes with him and learned to ignore the resentful glares the ex-mage gave him. Arcon, on the other hand, kept a stoic face and paid real attention to the professors, making sure that he learned every drop of information he had missed his first time through.

  Piledon continued to room with Justan, but their little feud grew quiet. The cadet no longer had any heart for his old tricks and seemed to spend most of his time staring off sullenly as if lost in memories. Justan took that as a good sign and let the man keep to himself. Perhaps the cadet had learned some important lessons.

  Justan shifted his focus to learning everything he could about offensive spells even though he couldn’t cast them. The more he knew about how offensive spells worked, the more effective his defensive spells would be.

  His teachers were impressed with his work ethic. The students, on the other hand, seemed to have mixed feelings. Though most of them were still in awe of him, the students that he shared classes with soon became annoyed by the fact that he seemed to know the answers to every question the professors asked.

  Justan continued his morning runs and sword practice, and with Professor Beehn’s backing, the number of students that ran with him swelled. To his dismay, the students began to jokingly call it “Professor Justan’s morning class of pain.” Despite his best efforts, the name stuck. Some of the wizards even started threatening unruly students with the phrase “Don’t make me send you to Justan’s class.”

  Gwyrtha continued to plead with him every night to let her come and visit him. It was getting harder and harder for him to refuse her request. He truly missed her as much as she missed him, but he wouldn’t let himself waver. He made a promise to the elves and so far he had been able to stay firm.

  His friendship with Qyxal, had been strained by Justan’s anger towards Vannya. They seldom spent time together any more. Riveren and Zambon were constantly busy with their new positions as head of the guards and first lieutenant. So Justan spent most of his spare time alone studying. The one exception was the one night a week when he was at the Elements tournament.

  Justan had become one of the best Elements players in the school. He shot up on the points boards until he was one of the top three students alongside Qyxal and Arcon. They seemed to score higher, but he made it to the final game more consistently than they did. Justan didn’t play for points; he played to win. His bidding in the games was consistently accurate and he focused on making sure that as he got his bid, everyone else missed theirs. In three months, he won five trophies. That was close to a school record.

  Not everything was wonderful for Justan. The MageSchool was a big place and there was so much to learn and do, but he became distracted. Often he was consumed with thoughts of the outside world. How was his family doing? What was Lenny up to?

  Most of all, he thought about Jhonate. Where was she now? Did she still think of him? Thoughts of her were like a beacon he could not resist. Once he started, it was hard for him to pull away. His heart would pound and he felt sick to his stomach. He remembered what a remarkable teacher she was, how her fighting skill amazed him. He thought about how much she had changed him, but most of all he thought of those few times when she had let him see her dazzling smile. He remembered how that smile had brightened her features and let her true beauty show. Any doubts he had about his feelings for her in the past were now gone. He was absolutely smitten.

  His only refuge from those lonesome thoughts was the library. It was the one place where he could completely focus in on his studies and not become distracted. He had a friend and someone to look out for in Vincent, and a wealth of the knowledge at his fingertips. It was only there that he felt at peace.

  One evening, Justan was up late studying in the library. He was deep into a book when he felt a presence in front of him. He looked up to see Vincent standing in front of the table. The librarian was smiling at him in an odd sort of way Justan hadn’t seen him do before. Vincent kept standing there looking down at him with that strange smile and tugging at the end of his long nose until Justan could not take it anymore.


  “Yes, Vincent, sir, is there something I can help you with?”

  “Oh, Justan, I was just filing away the minutes of the last council meeting for Master Latva, when I noticed something.” The grin never left the gnome’s face for a second as he spoke, “Now don’t get me wrong, it is not my practice to read those reports, but I accidentally glanced across the notes for the third hour of the pre-lunch meeting, sub paragraph four, line two and I noticed that they were speaking about you.”

  “Me?” Justan was vaguely surprised. He didn’t think that the high council gave that much thought to him. “Vincent, what did they say?”

  In the brief time it had taken Justan to ask the question, the gnome’s thoughts had wandered. Vincent walked over to the nearest shelf and pulled out a book.

  “Oh, my! How did this get here? This book belongs in the mathematics section, second floor, fifth row, section A, between ‘Geometric Patterns in the Third Galaxy’ and Professor Vyornik’s book on the significance of the number three!”