“Uh-sure,” Lenny said, his face flushed as red as Bettie’s had been. “Please go ahead.”
Fist felt a nudge in his side and looked back to see Gwyrtha’s large shaggy head. He smiled at her customary greeting and scratched behind her horse-like ears the way he knew she liked. Squirrel chose that moment to leave his pouch at Fist’s side. The little beast had been asleep and wondered what all the fuss was about.
Coal is telling a story! Fist sent, scratching Squirrel’s back so that he wouldn’t be jealous.
Squirrel scurried up over Fist’s shoulder and down his arm to sit on Gwyrtha’s broad back. Squirrel had taken a liking to the rogue horse and whenever Justan wasn’t riding her, she had become one of his favorite places to sit.
Justan greeted Gwyrtha’s approach with a smile, but his eyes wandered to the bundle of leather tied behind her saddle. His smile faltered. Gwyrtha had insisted on being the one to carry Qyxal’s body until they could get it back to his people. As a result, Justan rode with Qyxal behind him every step of the way. The elf’s death weighed on him. It was the first time one of Justan’s close friends had died and Fist knew he felt responsible for it.
Coal continued on, oblivious to the somber change in Justan’s feelings, “I’ll tell you what I have been able to piece out from the things I know of the family Vriil and Willum’s memories, vague as they are.
“The Vriils are one of the oldest of the Dremaldrian noble families. Their lineage has a rather tarnished past that I won’t go into very much, except to say that they have been censured by both the Mage School and the royal family multiple times over the centuries. This has happened so often in fact, that they are now considered relatively minor nobility. Willum’s grandfather Ruprect Vriil had two children. The eldest was Willum’s mother, Jolie. His second child was Ewzad, who was born of his second wife.
“It was considered a major coup when Ruprect married his daughter to the second son of one of the major houses, the Prosses. Jolie’s husband’s name was Nedney Pross. From all accounts, the two had fallen in love and Nedney had forced the marriage upon his parents. With his legacy assured, Ruprect sent Ewzad off to be raised at the palace in Dremald, content to let Jolie and her husband take control of the family lands once he died.
“Jolie gave birth to Willum several years later and he became the pride of the Vriil family. When Willum was four, Ruprect and his wife died under mysterious circumstances. An inquiry was held and Willum’s parents were found guilty of their murders. They were sentenced to death.”
“I remember that,” Lenny said, his stubbly eyebrow raised. “Happened when I just done moved into my shop in Dremald. It was all anyone was talkin’ ‘bout back then. Them Vriils got their gall-durn heads chopped off right in front of ever’body an-.” Lenny noticed everyone looking at him. “What? I didn’t go to the dag-blasted thing! I was back at my forge makin’ swords.”
“A public beheading?” Justan said. “That’s not a common punishment in Dremaldria. Not even for murder.”
Master Coal nodded sadly. “In this case, the finding of the inquiry was that Willum’s parents had sacrificed Ruprect and his wife to the Dark Prophet.”
There was stunned silence for a moment until Justan finally asked, “Were his parents really guilty?”
“I don’t know. Willum has never in his heart believed it to be true. He has shared his memories of them with me and I have never seen any actions that would lead me to believe it was possible. However, the inquiry claimed to have proof.”
Fist didn’t understand the humanoid system of laws, but he understood the necessity of punishing a crime, even unto death. In ogre tribes, when one ogre brought an accusation against another before the chief, a fight was the only way of proving guilt or innocence. But only the crime of betraying the tribe was punished by an execution. In such a case, it was the chief’s job to kill the betrayer. It was the only time when the guilty ogre did not have the right to defend himself in battle. Fist had seen his father punish two such betrayals. One time it had been his responsibility to hold the ogre’s arms back while his father killed him. Fist knew how humans felt about their families and could see how sacrificing one’s parents to the Dark Prophet might be one such punishable offense.
“So how’d you end up with Willum then?” Lenny asked.
“I happened to be in town during the execution. The bond struck us just as his parents died,” Coal said. “I bound the men guarding Willum with a spell and took him back to Razbeck with me that very night.”
“Ewzad Vriil had to have been involved,” Justan said.
“I have wondered the same thing,” Coal said. “With his parents dead, Willum would have technically been the heir to the Vriil house. That would have made him the only thing standing between Ewzad becoming the last remaining Vriil and the sole inheritor of its fortunes.”
“Getting rid of a four-year-old wouldn’t be so hard for a person like him,” Justan said with a frown.
“At the very least, Willum would have been placed under his uncle’s care. Ewzad would have been the one in charge of the Vriil estates until Willum came of age, plenty of time for Ewzad to decide what to do with him,” Coal agreed. “However, he was at the palace with Prince Andre and Princess Elise at the time of Ruprect’s death. He couldn’t have killed his parents. At least not personally. And he was only seventeen at the time. No one had a reason to expect he could pull something like that off.”
“I still think Ewzad had to have been responsible,” Justan said with grim certainty. His anger towards the wizard had been constant since their battle with Kenn.
“Why did Willum want us to know this?” asked Fist.
“Last night Willum told me that there was a new Dremald representative at the academy. He showed up just hours before the siege began and Tad the Cunning thought he might be a spy. When Willum showed me his memory of this man, I recognized him at once. He is Dann Doudy, the noble that was in charge of the inquiry against Willum’s parents. He was the one who presented the evidence that convinced King Muldroomon to sentence them to death.”
“Dag-nab son of a hoop-skirtin’ camel!” Lenny said. “Didja’ tell him?”
“I couldn’t hide that kind of information. He deserved to know,” Coal replied with a sigh.
“So what is Willum going to do?” Justan asked.
“He is in a delicate position. We agreed that it wouldn’t be wise to tell them the truth of his lineage at this point. I told him to stay away from Dann Doudy, but to tell Tad how the man had been associated with the Vriils.”
Justan opened his mouth as if to reply, but paused for a moment and Fist knew he was communicating with Deathclaw. From the stern look on his face, it seemed that they weren’t agreeing. This happened quite often. Deathclaw didn’t understand Justan’s reasons for making decisions.
“Fist,” Justan said. “Deathclaw has found some meat to go with our dinner. Would you go help him with the kill?” I would go myself, but he seems more comfortable around you than Gwyrtha and I. Perhaps it’s because you have already fought together.
Fist had an idea it was more than that. Justan was a puzzle to the raptoid, and Gwyrtha . . . Fist didn’t understand it, but there was something about her that Deathclaw found infuriating. The reason Deathclaw preferred his company most likely had to do with the fact that they were both new to humanity. That and their shared hatred for Ewzad Vriil.
“Yes, I will go.” Fist said. Actually he was glad to have something besides Lenny’s stew to eat. He had gotten more and more used to it, but the stuff still sat like rocks in his stomach. “But will I miss Master Coal’s story?”
“That’s alright, Fist. I have already told you most everything there was to know,” Coal said.
“Listen, ogre,” Lenny said, pointing a menacing finger at him. “Whatever you and that lizard bring back, it’d better be good eatin’. No more cats or giant bugs or nothin’.”
“It will be good,” Fist replied, though he didn’t
understand the dwarf’s preferences when it came to food. His philosophy was that if it couldn’t talk back to you, it was okay to eat.
He felt a slight click in the bond as Justan connected his mind with Deathclaw’s. The raptoid was only a short ways into the forest, shadowing their prey. From its smell, Fist instantly knew what it was. Lenny was not going to be happy.
Ogre, the human wants you to come, Deathclaw grumbled. He didn’t like being told to hold back.
Justan worries for us. He wants you to be safe, Fist explained.
Deathclaw gave a mental hiss. Safe? I have killed much worse.
Fist shrugged. Justan had become both more cautious and more reckless since Qyxal’s death. He was far more concerned about keeping his bonded from harm, yet at the same time eager to rush to the academy and do battle with thousands of goblinoid troops. He and Master Coal argued about their course of action constantly. Justan favored a direct route, wanting to get there as soon as possible, while Coal thought it best that they take a slower approach.
The wizard felt that the academy was in no immediate danger. They were well stocked with provisions and well defended and the goblinoid army did not have the means to mount an efficient assault. He thought it best that they act as scouts going from village to village learning what was going on in the land and letting Willum tell the council their findings.
Justan understood the wizard’s reasoning, but feared that the army could decide to assault the academy at any moment. Fist knew that if Justan’s mother or friends were killed, he would blame himself for not being there. He was a named warrior now and felt that meant that he had the responsibility to protect them.
Fist would have felt the same in Justan’s place. He had not been able to stop the wizard’s goblinoids from killing Tamboor’s family and though he understood that he had done everything in his power to save them, he still felt guilty at being unable to stop their deaths.
So far, Fist hadn’t confronted Justan about the way he was acting. It was alright for a leader to mourn, but Justan was letting his emotions rage out of control. If he didn’t come to his senses soon, Fist would have to talk to him.
Faster, Ogre! Deathclaw said impatiently. Daylight is fading.
Fist rolled his eyes. The raptoid recognized that he wasn’t the leader of their tribe, but that didn’t stop him from bossing Fist around all the time. Fist didn’t think that he did so intentionally. Deathclaw had been a leader his whole life. He expected others to follow. Unfortunately this also meant that he chafed under Justan’s orders.
Fist headed into the forest in the direction the bond told him, slogging around leafless trees just beginning to bud and trudging through deep piles of wet leaves. He was tired of the cold nights and wet days that were spring in the lowlands of Dremaldria. Summer could not come fast enough.
Silence, the prey is near, Deathclaw hissed. Your stomping is loud.
I know how to hunt, Fist replied.
He reached for the mace that Lenny had made him. The weapon was long and ugly, with runes carved into the length of the shaft. Spikes covered one half of the mace’s head for piercing, while the other half was covered with ridges for bashing and gouging. As he pulled the weapon free from its place on his back, his muscles sped up in reaction to its magic. While he held his mace, he was twice as fast, but he also used up twice as much energy.
Fist crept through the leaves as quietly as possible, not an easy task for a four hundred pound ogre on any occasion, but even harder when his movement was increased. It was something he was still getting used to. He wished he had a way to switch off the magic until he was ready to use it, but that wasn’t a function the dwarf had built into the weapon.
Deathclaw chirped out a command through the bond and Fist recognized that the raptoid wanted him to circle around. Deathclaw sent him an image of the prey and Fist was impressed. This was a big one. He pulled the massive oval shield from the harness on his back and called out to Squirrel through the bond.
A battle comes, Squirrel. Fist couldn’t help but grin. Though he had enjoyed farm life for a time, his warrior instincts were heating up. He was ready to hit something.
Squirrel left its leather pouch and scrambled up to Fist’s shoulder. It leapt onto a nearby tree branch and cocked his head, questioning Fist on how long this battle was going to take.
Not long. We will kill it quickly. Since Justan had discovered that Fist was a bonding wizard, he had been teaching the ogre more and more about how the magic worked. Now Fist’s understanding of Squirrel’s thoughts had gotten even better.
She smells your scent, Deathclaw sent. Come now before she flees.
Fist knew what the raptoid wanted. He was to dart in and get the beast’s attention so that Deathclaw could leap in from behind and strike the killing blow. It was as good a plan as any and had worked for the raptoid for decades. Fist moved forward through the trees with swift strides, no longer trying to be stealthy. Soon the prey came into view. She was looking right at him.
The bear was standing on its hind legs, a full foot taller than Fist’s eight feet. She was a mountain grizzly. Fist had faced their kind before. Back when he lived in Jack’s Rest, he had killed a few that had come too near the human’s territory. He had no idea what one was doing this far south, though. Perhaps it had fled the goblinoid army.
The bear roared and came at him on all fours. Fist met her advance, stepping forward and swinging the dull side of his mace at her head. His strike was fast. He put all his muscle into it and the impact rocked her head to the side, shattering the bear’s jaw, sending teeth and blood flying. The bear’s momentum carried it forward into him and he shoved its bulk aside with his shield. It crashed to the side, unable to move, but still breathing.
Fist swung the spiked end of the mace this time, finishing its life with a crunch. When he looked up, Deathclaw was standing next to him. Fist could feel the raptoid’s disappointment at not being the one to strike the fatal blow. He wrenched the mace free and smiled. “I killed it for you.”
Deathclaw stepped forward and lifted the bear’s rear leg. With a few precise cuts of his claws, he cut the leg free from the knee down. He tucked this portion of the kill under his arm and regarded Fist with his head cocked.
You are useful, ogre. Take it to the others, Deathclaw sent, then slunk into the trees to eat his dinner alone.
Fist snorted in disbelief. You are not going to help?
You killed it without my help, Deathclaw replied. You are big. You can manage.
Fist frowned and looked down at the enormous bear. Deathclaw had a lot to learn about being part of the Big and Little People Tribe. He hefted one of the beast’s remaining legs over his shoulder and began to drag it back towards the camp.
Squirrel leapt back to his shoulder and skittered down to sit on the bear’s hide as they went. He chattered his opinion of the hunt, informing Fist that he should have killed it in one hit.
I will do better next time, Squirrel, he replied.
The bear was heavy and hauling the kill through the forest in the dim light was a struggle. Luckily Squirrel’s eyes were sharp and he saved Fist some grief by pointing out various obstacles in the way. To Fist’s relief, Justan noticed his discomfort and asked Gwyrtha to come help the ogre with his burden.
When they arrived back in camp, Lenny was the first one to see the kill. The dwarf jumped up and down. “Gall-durn it! A dag-gum bear? Again?”
“Good one, Fist,” said Bettie, who was standing by the fire. The half-orc had a smile on her face. “Maybe a tough meal will shut the dwarf up.”
While the dwarf sputtered in protest, Bettie came over to help Fist skin the kill. She tossed him a knife. “Why is this thing missing a leg?”
“Deathclaw is eating it,” Fist explained.
“Raw?” Bettie asked, then shook her head and smiled. “Never mind. What am I saying?”
They were efficient and had the bear cleaned in minutes. They then cut away several large portions to
go with dinner and took them over to the fire, leaving the rest for Lenny to deal with. The dwarf grumbled as he brought over leather wraps and divided up the rest of the carcass, rubbing the meat down with salt and ground spices before packing it away for later.
Bettie chopped some of the bear meat and combined it with Lenny’s stew, then set the rest of the meat to cooking on spits. It would take some time before dinner was ready to eat, so Fist walked over to join Justan, who was unsaddling Gwyrtha while having a very animated discussion with Master Coal.
“I am sorry, Master Coal, but I still don’t see how waiting around and visiting towns is helping the academy,” Justan said. “At least not down here. We are far too far away from Reneul for any local information to make a difference.”
The War of Stardeon (The Bowl of Souls) Page 3
