The War of Stardeon (The Bowl of Souls)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  “I wasn’t sure if the magic worked. Anyway, wouldn’t you have refused it if I had?” he asked.

  “I did not ask you to protect me,” she said.

  “I wanted to anyway,” he explained. “Besides, it’s only fair. Your gifts have protected me more times than I can count. Your training kept me alive and the bow defeated foes I would have had no chance against otherwise.”

  “Still . . .”

  Justan let go of her hand and grasped her shoulders. He turned her to face him, but her eyes still avoided his. His voice rose. “You don’t understand. I’ve never felt this way before, Jhonate. Not about anyone! All these months we’ve been apart and I haven’t gone a day without you being on my mind-.”

  She knocked his hands away and grabbed the front of his shirt in her fists, then pushed him backwards, slamming him into the chasm wall. She leaned in close, her eyes inches from his, her face trembling with emotion.

  “Stop right now. I cannot take this. Just tell me, Sir Edge,” her mouth worked as she struggled to get the words out. “Do you wish to court me?”

  Justan blinked in surprise, his jaw slack. He saw fear welling in her eyes and somewhere in his brain a voice shouted at him not to hesitate.

  “Yes,” he blurted.

  She sighed, the tension leaving her body. She leaned forward onto him, her head resting against his chest. He slowly brought his arms up around her and held her close. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had just agreed to, but at that moment he didn’t care.

  “Very well,” Jhonate said softly. “I will accept, but there are some conditions. We must do this properly.”

  “Of course,” he said, knowing that her people had very specific traditions. “What are the rules?”

  “First, the courting is not official until my father or guardian has given his permission. You have stated your intentions so we can see each other, but we are not allowed to kiss until it is a sanctioned courting,” she said.

  “That . . . will be hard,” he said.

  “We can touch and embrace,” she qualified. “But our hands must not touch improper places. That rule is in place until such time as our courting is over.”

  Justan’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. About any of it. “Well, that is how my mother taught me to act anyway,” he said.

  “Good. That will make it easier.” she said and snuggled in closer.

  Justan smiled. It was nice. All this time worrying and here she was in his embrace. He felt Deathclaw trying to say something to him, but he ignored it. “Are you sure about the kissing part?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “It will be hard enough to get father to accept you as it is. If he learns that you have kissed me without his consent, he will most likely have you killed.”

  “Okayyy.” It sounded like this was going to be more complicated than he thought. “I have a qualification of my own, Jhonate.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him, frowning slightly. “You do?”

  “Yes,” he said. “If we are courting, you can’t continue calling me ‘Sir Edge’.”

  “But that is your name,” she said, puzzled. “The Bowl of Souls gave it to you. Sir Edge is who you are.”

  “No,” he said. “Edge may be what I am, but Justan is who I am. The Bowl of Souls didn’t make me. It just named me. My closest friends and bonded still call me Justan and I need that. Especially from you.”

  “But . . . I cannot just call you Justan in front of others. It would be inappropriate . . . in their eyes at least,” she said, frowning.

  Justan sighed. “Then I will make a compromise. You will call me Justan when we are alone and in front of others you can call me Edge. Not ‘Sir Edge’. Just Edge. That is considered proper between friends and peers at least.”

  She nodded and leaned back onto his chest. “Very well . . . Justan.”

  Justan rested his chin on the top of her head. “Is it okay if I kiss you on the cheek or forehead at least?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Hmm . . .”

  “Come on, you kissed me on the cheek the day I left you in Reneul,” he reminded.

  “That was different. I had no idea that we would court one day,” she said. “We had better not risk it now. My father is very particular when it comes to the rules.”

  Justan chose not to quibble and just enjoy the moment. Deathclaw prodded his mind again and Justan reluctantly opened the bond back up. What do you want?

  There are short ones watching you, Deathclaw said in irritation.

  Justan whispered in Jhonate’s ear and she gave a short nod.

  Where? he asked.

  One on the ridge above. He has an arrow aimed at you. Several more are standing around the corner just ahead.

  Justan’s eyes moved down the chasm and with his enhanced sight, he saw the edge of a helmet peering around the corner. He whispered to Jhonate again and her hand tightened on her staff.

  Shall I kill the one up here before he fires? Deathclaw asked.

  No. Stay hidden.

  Shall I take his bow?

  No, as I told you before, dwarves are not usually enemies. These are likely dwarves from Wobble that are hiding out in the caves. If they saw you they might think they are being attacked. Something Lenny said pricked his mind. Show me its face. Justan relaxed. The dwarf wore a full beard. Just tell Fist to spread the word that the dwarves know we’re here.

  He whispered to Jhonate again and she pulled away from his chest. Justan pushed away from the cliff wall and walked forward with his hands held out to show he was no threat. Jhonate walked behind him, using her staff as if it were a walking stick. Tell me if the bowman looks like he’s about to fire.

  “Dwarves!” he said. “We know you are watching. We mean no harm!”

  A string of curses echoed down the chasm and ten of the most well-armored dwarves Justan had ever seen came around the corner. They were covered in platemail head-to-foot, yet strangely they made barely a sound. Two of them held crossbows cocked at the ready while the others had swords or axes.

  “What’re you doing here?” asked one of them with a gruff voice.

  “We are friends of Lenny Firegobbler,” Justan said.

  The dwarves looked at each other. “Bah! If you was friends, you’d know his name right.”

  “Wait, it’s Len-uh. Lenawee Firegobbler,” Justan said, trying to remember the nuance of how others pronounced it.

  “You do not know how to say his name?” Jhonate whispered.

  “It’s kind of a long-running joke between us,” he replied.

  “Yer full of it!” cried one of the dwarves.

  “Seriously, he’s just a few miles behind us,” Justan said.

  “He is telling the truth,” Jhonate said.

  “Yeah right. Yer comin’ with us,” one dwarf said. The dwarves moved forward and surrounded them.

  “I don’t like this,” Jhonate said and Justan could tell that both she and Deathclaw were a hairsbreadth from attacking.

  “It’s really not a big deal,” Justan told her. “They are just going to take us to the caverns and we were headed there anyway. Lenny will be here soon. It’s fine. No problem.”

  “Now hand over yer weapons,” a dwarf said.

  Now Justan knew it would be a problem. He could hear the wood of Jhonate’s staff creak as she tightened her grip.

  We come!

  Justan smiled. “Gentlemen, if you will wait just a few moments, I believe we will soon have proof that we are not your enemies.”

  “What are you talking about, boy?” said one dwarf.

  They could hear him coming before they saw him.

  “Slow down! Dag-blasted dirt-lickin’ grass-chewin’ turd-ploppin’ rock-sniffin’ crab-snatchin’-!” Gwyrtha came into view, bolting along the smooth floor of the crevasse towards them. Lenny clung helplessly to her mane, his body bouncing up and down on her saddle, his feet having nothing to grab onto. His grip hurt Gwyrtha a little, but she was
having too much fun to care.

  The dwarves saw her and raised their crossbows in alarm. Justan drew his swords and in one smooth motion cut down through the end of the crossbow in front of him, severing the bolt tip, then kicked out with his right foot, knocking the other dwarf’s crossbow wide. The bow twanged, but the bolt skipped harmlessly off of the cliff wall. There was a cry up above and Justan knew that Deathclaw had been forced to disarm their dwarf sniper.

  Gwyrtha roared and slid to a halt in front of them, throwing up a plume of sand and causing the dwarves to yelp and scramble back a few steps before brandishing their weapons again.

  “-Corn-sniffin’ leg-breakin’-!” Lenny realized she had stopped and glared over at Justan. “Confound-it, son! What’s the blasted hurry?”

  Justan gestured to the other dwarves. “They don’t believe that I know you.”

  Lenny slid to the ground and dusted off his travel clothes, then pulled Buster off of his back, puffed out his chest and turned his glare on the armored dwarves.

  They gasped in recognition and Lenny yelled, “Who the hell’re you?”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  “We wait, you horrible thing. Yes-yes. We wait for her return,” Ewzad told the witch. He flung the cell door open and reached out, his fingers writhing at the hissing spider within. The creature now frozen, he motioned at Hamford to bring it into place.

  “She is dead, I tell you. Send your force now. The bonding wizards must be destroyed.”

  “No-no. If she were dead, I would have felt it, yes?” Ewzad walked into the large center chamber and ignored the large man’s depressed grunting as he pulled on the spider’s legs, trying to maneuver its large red body through the door. Ewzad cocked his head and looked at the other creature frozen in the room.

  The giant tortoise looked ridiculous now. Its shell grown out of proportion to its body, its legs and head hanging limp. He had accidentally killed the beast while growing it. Such was a problem with haste. He had severed its spinal column, but as long as it remained frozen, its body remained useable. Not until the cells were dead was it wasted. That was something that Ewzad wished he had learned long ago, then he would have had many more servants like Talon.

  “The seed of power I planted within her still glows. I sense her somewhere out there. Not far. No, not far at all,” he said.

  “But I felt it, Master,” Mellinda insisted. “I felt the power of his sword tear her to pieces.”

  “Yes-yes. You’ve shown me,” he said absently.

  “And what of the dagger, then?” she asked. “Are you not concerned it could be used against you?”

  “It will not come to that,” he said dismissively. “Not with the Battle Academy and Mage School paralyzed. No, they are hardly a threat.”

  “This isn’t a threat?” Mellinda shoved the memory into his head once more.

  Ewzad felt Talon’s fear of the warrior’s weapon, the one that stole her emotion. He felt the witch force her to attack, saw her dive at the man with a clumsy strike, felt the sword touch her arm. There was a roar of power and he felt Talon’s consciousness torn away as the arm flew into the darkness. Then he saw that man, that Sir Edge, hold the damaged eye up to his face and he heard the promise the man made before tossing it into the fire.

  “We are coming for you, Ewzad Vriil,” said Sir Edge.

  Ewzad found his lips moving to the words. He slapped the witch’s thoughts away in anger. As if he would fear such empty threats. How dare she overpower his thoughts without permission! He reached for that part of her that was attached to him and throttled it, sending bolts of rending power through their link. “Enough, you filthy thing! If the Dark Voice didn’t command me not to, I would tear your very mind to pieces. Yes! Yes I would!”

  Mellinda cried out in pain, then went silent. Ewzad reached up to his throbbing temples and let his squirming fingers soothe away the beginnings of a headache. Every once in a while he had to hurt the witch to remind her who was in charge.

  “That is the last time I let you do that,” Mellinda warned. She sent him a mental image of the commotion his punishment had caused. Far away in the City of Reneul twenty of her children had fallen over dead, allowing a hundred trolls to run screeching into the nearby orc ranks. Many had died, both troll and orc as she tried to regain control. “You disrupt our plans with your petty attacks. Next time you try, you will not withdraw unscathed.”

  “No more of your empty threats, foul one.” Ewzad snapped. A few dead orcs and trolls would alter nothing. Their presence around the academy was merely a delaying tactic until his own army of creations was ready to be unleashed. That moment was just days away.

  He watched Hamford pull the giant red spider into the room and gestured for him to drag it next to the tortoise. The man did so glumly and tromped away to lean against the wall. Ewzad walked to it and noticed that the guard had torn one of its legs partially free while trying to extract it from its cell.

  “Hamford, you fool!” He lashed out with his magic and the guard crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach, his face red with agony. For a brief moment Ewzad considered ripping the man’s guts out, but for some reason he stopped. What did it matter, really? He could repair the spider’s damaged leg easy enough. Ewzad laughed. “Come, dear Hamford. Be careful next time, yes?”

  “Yes, Master,” the guard intoned and laid there on the filthy dungeon floor, not even bothering to stand.

  Ewzad returned his attention to the shell of the giant turtle, wondering how he was going to attach it to the spider’s body. He reached into the dark corners of his mind and released a flood of voices, each one promising answers.

  The day he had received his true name, the Dark Bowl had forced the memories and knowledge of every previous incarnation of Envakfeer into his mind. There were four Envakfeers before him and each one had been a wielder of Stardeon’s rings. Each voice had different experiences, different techniques. His head was full of them now, and they argued.

  He weeded through the voices. Only two of his predecessors had modified a tortoise before and only one of them had done so successfully. Ewzad locked the other voices away, leaving the one to explain. Ewzad giggled. “Very clever. Yes, very clever, Envakfeer. Yes, I am clever indeed.”

  He reached out, both arms undulating as his fingers writhed in complex patterns. He tore away the body of the tortoise and cast it aside. It was unneeded. Strong, yes, but slow. He enlarged the shell slightly and added more openings in its side for the spider’s legs. He then changed the shape of the shell to conform to the spider’s central body and abdomen.

  Ewzad reached towards the spider next, quickly repairing its torn leg. He slashed with one hand, his magic stripping off the spider’s carapace, then thrust forward with the other hand, sliding its body into the shell. Though large, the spider was still small for the shell, so he spread both hands wide, expanding the creature’s size until it filled the shell perfectly.

  Then came the tricky part, attaching the spiders body to the shell and fusing its nerves with the shell’s built in vertebrae. If done incorrectly, the new creature would not be able to move, but Ewzad did not hesitate. The minutiae of conflicting nervous systems was one of the hardest things to learn according to the past Envakfeers, but for Ewzad it had come almost instinctively.

  Once satisfied, he tweaked his design, reinforcing the spider’s musculature so that it could carry the extra weight, and hardening the chitin that covered the spider’s legs to protect it from attack. There, he had finished it. He had enough spiders and tortoises to make three more. They would be the centerpieces of the wall breaker unit that would end the siege on the academy. The magic that held the creature together would only last two weeks after it left his side, but that would be just long enough.

  Ewzad scratched his head. “That is the biggest puzzle, dear Hamford, isn’t it? Yes, how to make the changes permanent?”

  Ewzad knew how to plant the seeds of change within men, and as long as they weren’t activate
d the power lay strong and dormant for long periods of time. But in a way, those changes were even more unstable. The previous Envakfeers did not know the answer. They were missing the most important holder of knowledge and that was Stardeon himself. But since the creator of the rings had never used the Dark Bowl, his memories were lost to time.

  “What could it be, dear Hamford, hmm? The only successes have been Talon and her brother and your sweet Kenn. What is the common thread? Blast! What is it?”

  “I don’t know, Master,” Hamford said. Tears began to fall from his eyes at the mention of his brother’s name. The man hadn’t moved from his position on the floor.