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

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  “Fine, fine. But if he ain't in the town then they’re gettin' a lead on us. Let's go!”

  They had their camp dismantled in moments and were just about ready to leave when Qyxal grasped Zambon’s shoulder. “What do we do with the dwarf? I don't see how his stubby legs will grip the sides of those warhorses, and I know that Gwyrtha will not let him ride her. He is just going to slow us down.”

  Lenny let out a curse. “I ain't yer regular dwarf!” He walked over to Stanza and reached into his pack. He pulled out a strange piece of equipment consisting of several long leather straps linked with metal clamps. On either end of this contraption hung a metal stirrup. Because of his long torso, Lenny was tall for a dwarf, being nearly five feet, and by standing on his toes he was able to loop a strap over the saddle horn and secure the metal clamps around the edges of the saddle. When he was satisfied that everything was secure, he leapt and pulled himself into the saddle using the straps for support. His feet fit comfortably into the new stirrups.

  “Well lookee there.” The dwarf gave Qyxal a triumphant grin. “Son, I dun spent more time on a horse in my lifetime than you ever will. Hell, even with my 'stubby legs', I can out ride any dag-blasted elf!”

  “Is that so?” Qyxal laughed in spite of himself. “Well we shall see about that!” He leapt spryly onto Gwyrtha's back. “Well, Zambon, it seems that the dwarf isn't going to slow us down after all. That equals bad news for the enemy.”

  “Yes it does,” the academy graduate agreed as he settled into Albert's saddle. He was hoping to get this over with quickly. If all went to plan, they would overtake the duke’s men, rescue his friend, and then he would be able to take his leave. His family was waiting.

  * * *

  Kenn whistled happily as he led Hamford and Justan down two more flights of stairs and past dozens of guards, some of whom didn’t look entirely human.

  They came upon a thick iron door which Kenn opened with a key. A vile stench assailed them as they entered the corridor beyond and Justan was sure that the smell came from something dead. The smell was all the worse for Justan because he had been frozen with his mouth closed and was forced to breath through his nose.

  It took all of Justan’s will not to use his magic to try and disperse the spell. Even if he could fight his way past Kenn and Hamford and all of the guards, breaking the spell would alert the wizard and Justan knew that he was no match for those powers. With great effort, he calmed himself down. He focused on his surroundings. Though he couldn't move, his senses were still working. Anything he could learn now would be of great use when he tried to escape later.

  The ceiling was low and Hamford was forced to hunch over as he carried Justan. The corridor they traveled was long and narrow and the walls seemed to be made of solid stone blocks that were blackened by mold and mildew. The air was thick and humid, making it feel as if he were trying to breathe under water.

  The only light in the area came from torches that sporadically lined the hallway, but the thickness of the air seemed to hamper the light so that they barely pierced the gloom. All of these factors combined to give the dungeon a weighty presence. It felt as if the walls were closing in on them.

  Moans and whimpers hung in the air as they passed row after row of cells and from his frozen perch on Hamford's back, Justan saw pale eyes peering out from within some of them. This section of the dungeon was crowded. In places there were even prisoners chained in the corridor itself. Kenn kept a stern eye on any prisoner they passed, but these men knew better than to bother their jailers and none cried out.

  Hamford finally stopped and Justan could hear Kenn chuckle as he fit a key into a lock. Hinges squealed. A cell door opened and Justan was dropped onto a rough rock floor. The awful stench was overpowering in this room. Justan was sure that if he could move, he would have gagged. As he lay facing the corridor with his cheek pressed into the wet stone, Justan heard Kenn chuckle again.

  The skinny man held a perfumed rag to his nose to keep out the stench. “I still can't believe that you are actually here, Justan! My master promised that he would bring me great blessings and here is the proof! It’s too bad I don't have the time right now to repay you for the misery you put me through, but don't worry. We will have plenty of opportunities to discuss it.” He chuckled. “Hamford, search him and take anything that might cause us problems.”

  The big man loomed over him. This was the moment that Justan had been dreading. It wasn't that he had anything of value upon him. The duke’s men had already taken his coins and his swords, while Gwyrtha had his Jharro Bow and dagger. Justan’s fear was that they would take off his gloves and find his naming runes. Kenn already knew about the frost rune on his chest, so there wasn't anything he could do about that, but he readied himself so that if Hamford started to pull off his gloves, he could break the spell and try to fight his way out of the dungeons before the wizard found him. It was a hopeless plan, but it was all he had.

  Luckily for Justan, the paralyzing spell worked in his favor, for his hands were frozen into clenched fists and Hamford didn't even bother to try pulling the gloves off. He did, however, give Justan a thorough going over and he removed Justan's boots, which was something that Kenn insisted on. Kenn and Hamford left him lying there in the mold. The hinges squealed again as the cell door shut with a clang behind them.

  “In the meantime, get to know your roommate,” Kenn taunted. From his position on the floor Justan could not see the opening in the door, but he could imagine Kenn's face pressed up against the bars and an insane look in the man's eyes. “His name is Lewis and he has been here for a long time. I am afraid that he is a bed hog, though and you will have to share your cot. But, please, enjoy your stay. When I get the time I'll visit again.”

  He laughed again and Justan heard Hamford whispering urgently to Kenn as they walked away.

  Justan lay frozen on the damp floor with the reek of mold and death thick in his nostrils. He didn't believe his horrid luck. Why did it have to be Kenn Dollie of all people? He remembered Kenn's cruelty to Jhonate and knew that his life was going to be miserable for a while.

  As the minutes passed, the effects of the spell started to get to him. Justan had never felt so helpless. Adrenaline was pumping and his heart was racing, but he had no release for this energy. The loss of control was driving him crazy. In this state anything could be done to him and there was nothing he could do about it.

  The wizard had said that the spell would last an hour. How long had it been, fifteen, twenty minutes? Was the wizard paying attention? If he broke the paralyzing spell now, would the wizard notice? Justan didn't know the answers to those questions, but he didn't dare try it either.

  So Justan lay there with his face pressed into the wet floor and waited. He wondered why the person sharing his cell was being so quiet. The man hadn't made a sound, not even when Hamford was rifling through Justan's clothes. Then it occurred to Justan what might be causing the horrible reek in the room. It would be just like Kenn to leave him alone in a cell with a corpse.

  After a while, another problem began to surface. With his mouth closed and his face pressed into the floor, one nostril was closed off and the cold moldy floor along with the stench of death in the room was causing his nose to run. As the minutes slowly passed, his nose became more and more clogged and it was getting hard to breathe. Justan began to panic. He tried to control his breathing, to push hard and clear out his sinuses, but the paralyzing spell wouldn't allow for it. He knew that he was going to have to break the spell soon, but it had at least fifteen minutes left.

  His mind churned frantically until he had an idea. What if he didn't break the spell completely, but just altered it so that he could control part of his body? Such an alteration wouldn't break the spell completely and Justan doubted that the Wizard Duke was paying enough attention to him that he would notice.

  Justan concentrated on the area of the spell that covered his head. He used the technique shown to him by Professor Locksher and tu
rned his mage sight inward. He could see the complex spell was connected like a web through his muscle tissues, freezing them into the last stance given to them by the impulses from his brain.

  He didn’t think that he could break those strands without unraveling the whole web. Instead, he needed to bend the strands and reconnect them elsewhere. This was going to take longer than breaking the spell completely and his lungs were already aching for air.

  Ever so slowly he rerouted the paths of the spell strands, sometimes shorting out a muscle with painful effect. His nasal passages became completely blocked and he forced himself to work methodically and not panic. After what seemed like an eternity, his mouth opened with a gasp, and even though the rush of air that filled his lungs was putrid, it seemed as sweet as any air he had ever breathed.

  He had done it! At first, Justan felt a thrill, but his excitement was tempered by the reminders of where he was. By the third breath, the air didn't seem so inviting anymore.

  Ten minutes later the spell collapsed on its own. Justan was able to sit up and get a better feel for his surroundings. He hadn’t thought it possible, but his cell was even more dank and dark than the corridors had been.

  When he stood up, he struck his head on the crudely carved ceiling. The resulting pain was a reminder of how much of a beating he had taken that day. Running his hands along the walls, he discovered that the cell was six feet by seven feet. There was a half full bucket of filth in one corner of the room and protruding from the wall was a wooden shelf covered by a thin straw mattress.

  Lying on that mattress was Justan's cellmate, Lewis. He was the source of the stench in the room. The man had been dead for a while by Justan's reckoning and the humidity of the dungeons had aided his decomposing along. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that the corpse had bloated until its face was unrecognizable. Justan shuddered. He knew that he was going to have to move it if he was going to be able to sleep in this place.

  He ignored the smell as best as he could and grabbed the corpse by the ankles. Its flesh felt slimy in his hands. He tried to be careful as he dragged the body off of the shelf, but when it hit the ground, there was a popping noise and an even stronger smell filled the cell. Justan found himself on the floor, retching. Finally, he dragged the body to the empty corner of the cell.

  Justan had figured that once the body was gone, he could just turn the straw mattress over and sleep on it, but the mattress was soaked with rotting fluids and he couldn't make himself lay on it. Instead, he dragged the mattress over to the corner and covered the body with it, hoping that it would stifle the smell, but his nose couldn't tell any difference. At least he couldn’t see the body any more.

  With a disgusted sigh, he sat on the wooden shelf and leaned against the wall. He sent his mind out in search of Gwyrtha. Perhaps he could get a message to his friends. To his surprise, it wasn't hard for him to sense her. He could even tell which direction she was in, but her presence was faint. He strained and strained but her presence in his mind only grew slightly. She was farther away from him now than she had been since the bonding. It was much too far for him to communicate with her as he had earlier that night.

  Justan laid his head in his hands. His situation seemed hopeless.

  Chapter Thirty One

  From his perch in the trees near the castle, Deathclaw watched the group of men stalk his trail. The dogs leading the men on their chase sniffed about busily.

  Deathclaw looked down on the dogs, his face twisted in a silent snarl. He hated the furry beasts. They were but another new trick brought in by the humans. In the last few days, they had led the humans to his position several times and it was getting difficult for him to hide.

  At first the packs of dogs were led by the human Hamford that he had followed out of the desert a year ago. Hamford was easy to avoid, Deathclaw knew his search patterns all too well. But recently a new human began leading the dogs. This one had blood red hair and a twitchy nose. Unlike Hamford, this one’s scent smelled like the dogs and he hunted like them too. He was not so easy to stay away from.

  Deathclaw had learned not to be afraid of the humans. He was confident that they were no match for him in small numbers, but they searched in parties too big for him to take on at once. Besides, killing the humans wasn't his goal anyway. He knew that his brood mate was inside this building and he was determined to find her.

  He and his brood mate used to be raptoids, a small species of flightless dragon that hunted the desert in packs. The wizard had ambushed his pack and changed him. His arms and torso grew long and powerful. His skull was expanded, his snout shortened, and his faced changed to a more humanoid appearance. The wizard tried to take him, but Deathclaw had escaped and learned to use this new body.

  He had been miserable at first, but now he liked this body. He could do things that he would never have been able to do as a raptoid. With his expanded mind, he thought about things that the old Deathclaw would not have been able to comprehend. He was smarter, stronger, more agile, and . . . lonely. There was only one other being like him in the world. He just needed to know where she was being kept.

  He had been trying to get in the unfinished castle for a long time now. He just hadn’t found the right opportunity. Too many people were around the entrances during the day and when they were gone at night, the doors were locked.

  One night just after his arrival at the castle, a door had been left open and Deathclaw had almost darted from the cover of the trees. Then the one human that he feared came through the door. It was the thin one. This was the wicked man that had killed his pack and taken his brood mate away. This was the man that had changed him forever. Deathclaw had hesitated and the moment was lost. Many more men had followed the man out of the door.

  Now he waited and watched, patient that the right opportunity would present itself. He had seen the thin one with the wavy fingers many times since then and he had a new motivation for his existence. He would find his brood mate and then he would kill this man. No, they would kill him together.

  His thoughts were interrupted by an unwelcome development.

  The man with the blood red hair had somehow brought the dogs to the small grove of evergreen trees that he was hiding in. Deathclaw hissed silently to himself in displeasure. How had this new human known to bring the dogs to look for him here? He had spent the night laying false scent trails among the trees all around the castle. This tactic had worked well for him in the desert with other beasts that hunted by smell.

  The dogs began milling about, having caught a whiff of his scent. The red haired man pulled a long shiny sword and grinned, while the rest of the group of humans began looking up in the trees nervously.

  When Deathclaw had first come out of the desert, the trees frightened him. He had thought them to be large green predators like some of the plants and cacti in the desert. But when following Hamford through this moist land, he had found out that the trees were his allies. Their green leafy boughs hid him from detection and gave him a great vantage point over his prey.

  This worked wonderfully at first. Then the weather began getting colder. Deathclaw’s new body adapted to the cold, but the leaves on the trees turned brown and fell, leaving only skeletons behind. Now the leafy trees gave him no protection and he had learned to use evergreens to hide in. These were more difficult to use as the slightest movement could cause the boughs to shake, but over time he had learned to hide in them effectively.

  Deathclaw made good use of that experience now. As the humans searched for him, he made no sudden movement, letting his body sway with the subtle movement of the branches. The humans couldn't distinguish him from the branches, but the dogs weren't fooled. They had his scent.

  Then the barking began.

  Deathclaw hissed as the dogs gathered around the base of his tree. He had avoided situations like this in the past by being cunning enough to hide in a place that had easy routes of escape, but the hunting party had caught him by surprise this time. The o
ther trees in the grove were too far away for him to leap to.

  The humans still couldn't see Deathclaw in the branches, but this was the best reaction they had seen in the dogs yet. Some of them began shooting arrows wildly into the tree, while others unfurled a wide net and waited for the dragon to try and escape.

  Deathclaw didn't want to fight. Their numbers gave them an advantage. He tried to wait them out, but some of the arrows flew too close. He had no choice.

  In an explosion of pine needles, Deathclaw leapt from the tree in an arc over the men unfurling the net. They had misjudged his leaping ability. As he landed, he whipped his tail out behind him. His tail barb ripped through the chest of one of the humans holding the net. He was now in the midst of them.

  It was chaos. There was screaming and cursing. The men were shouting orders at each other. The dogs barked madly. Horns blew, and in the middle of it Deathclaw was a whirlwind of death. His body twisted and contorted as he lashed out at the men around him with teeth, claws, and tail. Three men, then four fell. The archers couldn't get off a shot for fear of hitting each other.