“What are you talking about, Lenny?” Justan asked.
Lenny ignored Rahbbie’s scowl and said, “Look, on the west side of the mountains, ‘bout fifty miles east of Dremald’s a narrow passage right through a crevasse that takes you right to Wobble. Dwarves use it sometimes ‘cause it’s a lot faster than goin’ the long way around. Anyways, there’s a set of caves ‘bout half way to the town. It’s big enough to hold all Sampo’s families while we’re off fightin’.
“The dwarves’ve piled enough stores there over the years to last a durn long time. Old Stangrove Leatherbend planned out the place well. He meant it to be a refuge in case Wobble ever got attacked. Thing is, the town never grew as big as he thought it would. Now them caves’re only used as a place to stop fer the night on the way through.”
“The narrow paths make it easy to defend too,” Rahbbie admitted.
“I’ve been thinking for awhile that Wobble would be a great area for us to stay in while we staged raids on the army,” Justan said. “This makes it even better.”
Coal nodded and looked at the named warrior. “It sounds like we know where we are going, Sir Lance. The question is, will your people come with us?”
“We have to do it, father,” said Aldie.
The grizzled warrior frowned. “Very well. I suppose this is the plan that makes the most sense. I’ll take it to the others and have you an answer by morning.” He stood with a scowl and left the tent.
Aldie sighed. “It may not look like it, but I can tell by the look on his face that father is going to push for your plan. The people here respect him. They will follow.”
Lieutenant Jack stood. “Sir Edge, this back way to Wobble may very well be the path Captain Demetrius has been looking for. I will go and report back to him. If all goes well, we may just join you along the way.”
Chapter Fourteen
“You are marked for death, Jhonate Bin Leeths.”
Jhonate spun, her staff forming a razor edge, and took the troll’s arm off at the elbow. The thing barely noticed in its hungry rage, swinging its other muscular arm at her. She leaned back to dodge, but not far enough. Its filthy claws dug at the skin of her face. The ring’s enchantment held, deflecting the blow. If not for Justan’s gift, she would have earned some disfiguring scars.
“You are marked.”
Jhonate swung her staff again, this time making it hard as steel. The blow barely moved the troll, but she was able to use the impact to push her body out of the way of its next lunge. She rolled to the side and up to her feet, backing up a bit, hoping to give herself a little fighting room.
This was the third modified troll they had come across in the last week. The mother of the moonrats knew they were somewhere nearby and she had started laying traps. Faldon kept them on the move so that she wouldn’t find their main camp, but every caravan they attacked now carried a few nasty surprises.
To Jhonate’s left she could hear Tamboor’s Howlers screaming as they dealt with the witch’s latest trick. Several of the orcs in this particular caravan had looked ill and when the howlers cut them down, their bodies had burst open to release a swarm of stinging spiders.
She would have to go and help them once she had dispatched the troll. She didn’t think it would take long. It just hadn’t given her enough room to use her own trick yet.
The troll swung around and screeched at her, ravenous hunger blazing in its beady eyes. The stubby fingers of a new hand had already begun to grow from its elbow stump and as it charged her again, she saw black claws sprouting from the fingertips. It truly was unfair how quickly these things regenerated. Locksher said it went against the laws of nature and energy. She just thought it immensely inconvenient.
“Death, Jhonate Bin Leeths,” the voice said again.
“Enough, witch!” she spat. Jhonate glanced behind her to make sure she had plenty of room and waited for the troll to come. The thing most difficult with these modified trolls was their sheer size and weight. Try to hold your ground and they would bowl you over. It had forced her to change her fighting style.
The troll lurched towards her and Jhonate formed the tip of her staff to a fine point. One advantage she had was that even modified trolls were predictable when hungry. It charged, arms straight out, mouth agape.
Jhonate ran backwards. It was a form of training she had forced upon herself years ago in order to train her agility and balance. Now it came in handy as she was able to match the troll’s pace. Unfortunately, it was also very dangerous. One trip and the troll would be on her.
She needed to time her attack just right. She slowed down to let it get just close enough that it could almost reach her, then she thrust her staff forward and up. The point jabbed through its open mouth, piercing its tender soft palate. Once it started to spasm, she knew she had hit the right place.
Jhonate opened a small hole in the tip of the staff, and injected pepper directly into the base of the troll’s brain.
The trick had been her idea. Her people often stored water inside their Jharro weapons. There were many places within the jungles and swamps where clean water was hard to find and having a few swallows of water in a hollowed section of your weapon could keep you alive. Wizard Locksher had prepared a liquid pepper solution at her request and this had been her first chance to use it.
Stabbing the troll anywhere would have allowed her to poison it and stop its regeneration. But these modified trolls were slow to go down, peppered or not. Locksher had suggested a dose directly to the heart or brain could stop it quicker. She hoped he was right.
The troll’s teeth clamped down on the staff and it lunged for her. She backpedaled, but her heel caught on a rock.
“You are marked,” the voice said. She fell backwards, the troll looming over her.
“Death.” Her back struck the ground. The troll descended on her.
“Death!” Jhonate wedged the butt of the staff into the ground next to her head and ordered it to harden and lengthen. The staff’s pointed tip jammed up against the inside of its skull.
“Death!”
The troll jerked to a stop, its arms dangling just above her, its weight suspended by the length of the staff. The troll hung there for a moment, unmoving and she wondered if it was dead. Then its lower body sagged and the tip of her staff popped through the back of its head.
The troll slid down the shaft of her staff and collapsed on top of her. She swelled the staff within its head, stopping its descent at the last possible second to keep its face from resting against her. Its eyes twitched and its jaws worked soundlessly, but she knew it to be from reflex only. She had injured its brain and with the pepper inside it, the damage would not heal.
“You are-!”
“Silence!” Jhonate yelled in disgust and the voice quieted. The troll was abominably heavy, the weight of its lower body pinning her legs. She tried to push it off of her but it was slippery with slime and she could not find any leverage.
Jhonate pushed and shoved at the troll, trying to work herself free. She could still hear the howlers running about and some of them were pretty close. Hopefully they hadn’t brought the stinging spiders with them.
She had finally worked one of her legs out from under the thing when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Jhonate turned her head and scowled. How had she forgotten the arm she chopped off?
A miniature version of the troll, maybe one-foot-high, was coming at her with hunger in it eyes. Its approach was slowed by the enormous forearm and hand it dragged behind it.
The little thing got closer and her struggles to free herself produced little progress. Finally, she thinned the staff within the poisoned troll’s head, letting its drooling face fall against her shoulder. Ignoring the way its tongue slithered against her skin and the way its teeth grazed her, she reached around and pulled the length of the staff from the back of its head.
The miniature troll let out a tiny screech as it neared her side. She was barely able to shape the butt end o
f the staff in time to jab it into the troll’s tiny chest. She pumped the last of the pepper into its body and it fell to the ground, twitching.
With a sigh, she wedged the staff next to her and tried to use it as leverage to pry the thing off. She had nearly freed herself of the thing when Jobar and Faldon appeared to help her.
“Are you alright, Daughter of Xedrion?” Jobar asked as she stood and wiped the slime from her arms. His face looked truly concerned.
“I am unharmed,” she replied. “Though my tactics were successful, the beast’s weight worked against me.”
“You are marked for death . . .”
“I wish Tamboor’s men could say the same,” Faldon said. “Many of them were stung badly before crushing the last of the witch’s little surprises.” Faldon, like most of the men, had followed her lead and now referred to the mother of the moonrats as simply, ‘The witch’. “They’re making brave faces, and none of them act like they’re poisoned, but I want all of them checked out as soon as we get back to camp. Somehow I doubt she left those spiders there simply to provide an inconvenience.”
“The worst part is that the wagons contained nothing useful,” Jobar said. “Just junk and empty crates.”
“I am afraid we are wasting our time hiding out in the mountains,” Jhonate said. “We have done little to help the academy lately. The last two caravans we have hit were nothing but traps.”
“You’re right,” Faldon said, his face darkened with a deep frown. “It’s time we changed our tactics. I will think on it tonight.”
Later that evening she sat cross-legged outside of Locksher’s tent. She closed her eyes and rested her staff across her knees as she tried to calm the nervous energies that tussled inside her. Justan’s ring had protected her from injury twice that day. She needed to train more.
Jhonate opened her eyes briefly and focused on turning on her mage sight. As Faldon had hoped, nearly one out of every ten men in their force had just enough magic ability to use it. Locksher had them practice every night, though he felt guilty for doing it.
Her vision flickered a little bit before finally shifting. Locksher’s tent glowed in a myriad of colors with all the magic at use inside. She turned her gaze to her hands and sighed at the soft blue glow that outlined her skin. The sight both comforted and confused her. She thought on it time and time again but still could not understand why, which was one of the reasons she needed to talk to the wizard.
It was nearly another hour before he showed up, his arms folded, his brow furrowed in thought. He was so distracted, he walked right by her. He would have entered the tent and not even known she was there if she had not spoken.
“Wizard Locksher,” she said and the wizard jumped in surprise.
“Jhonate! So sorry I didn’t see you there,” he said with a smile. “Are you wanting more of that pepper mixture? I am glad it worked for you.”
“No, it is not that,” she said. “Though I would like you to make more.”
“Of course,” he said.
“My question is of an . . . uncomfortable nature. I hesitate to discuss it with anyone, but I thought perhaps you-.”
“Wait,” he said, holding up one hand. “Is this a . . . womanly concern?”
She frowned. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Evidently not.” He looked relieved. “Why don’t you come on in so that we can discuss it, then?”
She followed him inside his tent and was instantly surprised by how cluttered it was. Books were piled haphazardly, many of them spilling over his rumpled bedroll. Several stacks of loose parchment stood at the rear of the tent and his overlarge pack lay tipped over on the other end, its contents scattered about haphazardly. Many of the items looked innocuous, but they radiated a sense of danger. Likely it was these things that made the tent glow to her mage sight earlier.
“How did you acquire all these books?” she asked.
“I picked up most of them in Jack’s Rest. One of the retirees that died in the raids was a wizard. Let me tell you, old Vincent will be quite happy when I return these to the library,” he said with a laugh. “Please sit down.”
Jhonate pursed her lips. “And where would you like me to sit, sir?”
“Oh!” Locksher shoved a few of the items aside to clear a space for them to sit. Once they had done so, he pulled a small pot from the pack.
He yawned and poured some water into the pot and reached into his robes to pull out a thin leather case. He opened it and pulled out two small pouches full of greenish powder, then took a pinch from each and added it to the pot.
“Sorry, I have been far too busy to rest lately and-.” Locksher yawned again. “I need something hot to keep my mind going.”
He held the pot between his hands and the water began to boil. A slight minty aroma began to fill the tent. He flashed her a smile. “So! Were you waiting for me long?”
“Just a few hours, sir.”
“I’m sorry about that. Vannya needed my help at the infirmary. Those spider bites Tamboor’s men had were nasty.” He shook his head. “It ends up they were bitten by redhost spiders. They’re parasites. When they sting you, they pump eggs into your body. If untreated, the eggs hatch into larvae that burrow to your bloodstream where they feed off of you and multiply until you die and they find their next host. Terrible little things.”
“Will the men be okay?”
“Yes. Vannya and I had to burn out all the little wounds. It is a painful process, but Vannya has a way about her that seems to distract the men from their pain.”
“I am not surprised,” Jhonate said.
“At any rate, what do you need to talk about?” Locksher asked.
“It is . . . about the ring I wear. It confuses me and I fear there may be something wrong with it.”
“Oh? How so?”
She frowned. “I am reluctant to remove it. I find this disturbing because . . . Among my people, magic is a tool, but we are taught not to depend on it. When the ring was given to me, I was not told its properties and unknowingly I allowed it to protect me during battle.”
“So you feel it to be dishonorable to use the ring to protect you in battle?” he asked.
“Well, no. But . . . I fear that relying upon such protection could make me lose my edge in battle. Then one day, if the protection was not available, I would no longer have the conditioning needed to survive,” she said. It was the same argument she used against herself, but it seemed even more hollow spoken aloud.
“If you are concerned, why don’t you simply take it off?”
“I have tried,” she said, leaning forward. “This is why I have come to you. For the last two weeks I have tried to remove it multiple times, but when I do and I see the blue glow flicker and go out, I feel. . .” she lowered her eyes in shame. “I feel such a panic well up inside me that I have no choice but to put it back on.”
Locksher raised one eyebrow and gave her a thoughtful look. “That does seem a bit unlike you. And you feel that this compulsion is something coming from the ring itself?”
“It is the only answer I can think of,” she replied.
“May I see it for a moment?”
He sat the pot of boiling liquid to the side and held out his hand. Jhonate slid the ring off her finger and winced only slightly as she placed it on his palm. He rolled it over in his fingers. “Do you feel any panic now?”
“I . . . no.” She didn’t like it being off her hand but there was no sense of panic.
“Hmmm. Can you switch to mage sight?” He waited for her to do so. “Good. Now let’s look at it together, shall we? What do you see?”
“It is dark blue.”
“Good, let’s look closer.” An image appeared above his hand, a hazy vision of the ring but much larger in size. The vision zoomed in much closer. “Now what do you see?”
Her brow furrowed. “Blue and black strands sort of . . . woven together.”
“Yes, the earth and water magic are what forms the barrier.
But what’s fascinating to me is that I can’t quite make out how it knows what to . . . Oh! Oh my!” He grinned and pulled out his smoking pipe. He picked through his packets of herbs until he found what he was looking for and stuffed the pipe. “This is great. Wow, Jhonate, you have no idea how fantastic this is! This is old magic. Ancient stuff!”
Jhonate looked at him curiously. When Locksher became excited, he stopped sounding like a wizard. He sounded more like an average man.
Locksher reached into his robes and handed her a pair of glasses. She put them on as he lit the herbs and smoke began billowing from the pipe.
The War of Stardeon (The Bowl of Souls) Page 22
