The War of Stardeon (The Bowl of Souls)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

“I apologize, Sir Edge,” said Alfred, the tall gaunt gnome having just rejoined them. “We are still getting used to being able to talk freely about this. The prophet just released the ban on teaching spirit magic earlier this week.”

  “He did?” Locksher said, one eyebrow raised. “How interesting. So you two are bonded then?”

  Latva and Alfred looked at each other. “Yes,” Latva said finally.

  “I wondered if that was the case,” Justan said. “Ever since Charz said his wizard was at the school, I’ve been going over it in my mind and the way you two acted, always seeming to know what the other was doing . . . It just made sense.”

  “Yes, well we try not to make things that obvious,” Latva said. With a smile, he added, “But I do so enjoy putting the other council members on edge with how much I know about things going on outside the room.”

  “So you were Master Coal’s master.” Justan said.

  Master Latva shook his head. “I’m not the bonding wizard, Sir Edge.”

  Justan’s brow furrowed. “So . . ?”

  “I am,” said Alfred. “Gnomes aren’t usually wizards, but when our master died about one hundred years ago, his magic was passed to me.”

  “But why didn’t you say something when I was named and the other wizards captured Gwyrtha?” Justan asked. “Why send me away? Why not just teach me here?”

  Latva looked at Gwyrtha. “The rogue horse was the problem. Alfred could have taught you in secret as he did Coal, but we had to get her out of the school. We would not have been able to keep them from experimenting on her without explaining the bond and we were not allowed.”

  “Surely, the rogue horse would have been protected,” Locksher said. “After all, there are so few left.”

  “We were mainly worried about you,” Alfred said.

  Locksher sputtered indignantly.

  “The time of keeping these things secret is at an end,” the prophet said, walking back up to them. He stood next to the still forms of Coal and his bonded, then sat down cross legged at Coal’s head and rested his hands on either side of the wizard’s temples. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Coal for a moment.”

  Justan pondered that for a moment. The prophet was speaking with Master Coal’s spirit? Could he do that at any time or was it just because his death was so recent? No one really knew the extent of the prophet’s powers. Even the histories were vague about the prophet’s feats.

  Fist gasped and Justan looked up to see Tamboor standing in front of the altar again, his sword held high. With Zambon standing next to him, Tamboor dipped the tip of his sword into the bowl. A white light rose from the bowl and Justan switched to spirit sight.

  A tall white figure stood behind Tamboor with one hand placed on his head. The figure’s mouth moved and Tamboor’s mouth moved along with it. A low chant echoed from Tamboor’s mouth, rising and building, the language unrecognizable to most, but Justan remembered the chant. He could almost repeat it himself. He didn’t quite understand the meaning of the words and yet he felt that if he heard it enough times, he just might.

  Tamboor’s voice grew louder and louder until with a booming voice he yelled, “TOLIVAR!”

  “Good one,” the prophet said with a nod, still holding Coal’s head in his hands.

  Tamboor stumbled back and collapsed on the floor, sobbing as Zambon knelt next to him. Fist ran over to them.

  “Uh, John, sir. What about my Bettie?” Lenny asked. “Can you wake her up?”

  “I can negotiate the process, yes, but ultimately the decision isn’t mine,” he replied.

  “Coal said there has to be a transfer,” Justan said. “Can the bond be transferred to one of his other bonded?”

  “I am afraid not,” John said. “The bond has to go to someone who was born with spirit magic.”

  “I would like to volunteer,” Justan said. “I already like them all. I would be happy to include them as my bonded.”

  The prophet looked up at him briefly and smiled. “That is so kind of you, Edge. Coal is touched with your offer. Unfortunately you are not a candidate for the transfer. You already have bonding magic and so I cannot move Coal’s bond to you, it would most certainly drive you crazy.”

  “Then what can we do?” Alfred asked.

  “Tolivar!” the prophet said.

  The man whose name had been Tamboor rose from the stairs and walked towards them. Fist and Zambon followed.

  It seemed strange to Justan that the man was walking towards them newly named, yet still covered head-to-toe in orc blood. Only his cheeks were washed clean and that was from his tears.

  Tolivar stood before the prophet and Justan noticed that the sword on his back wasn’t his, but Zambon’s. A naming rune had appeared on the pommel, but there wasn’t a rune on the back of his right hand. So he wasn’t a named warrior? Now that Justan thought about it, Tolivar didn’t sound like a name given to a warrior, but how could Tamboor be a wizard?

  “Yes, John?” Tolivar asked.

  “I spoke to you about giving up your vengeance and starting life anew.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I know it is soon, but we have no choice. Here is your first opportunity to become something different,” John said. He motioned to Coal’s bonded. “These people have lost their bonding wizard. They will die in the next sixty minutes if their bond is not transferred.”

  “But I am not a bonding wizard,” Tolivar said.

  “No, but you do have spirit magic and that makes you a candidate. I can transfer Coal’s bonding ability to you. I have spoken with Coal and he finds you acceptable,” John said. He placed his hands gently on each of the bonded’s heads. “Now look at each of them closely. This is not something being forced on you. You can choose to refuse. The bond is permanent. Your mind and soul would be linked with theirs forever.”

  Tolivar’s eyes moved over each of them and Justan noticed them linger on Bettie. The edge of his lip curled up and a look of pain passed over his eyes.

  Will he do it, Fist? Justan asked.

  I don’t know, Fist said. He placed a heavy hand on Justan’s shoulder. Every time he saw her, he would remember what happened to Efflina.

  “Please,” Lenny said. He held Bettie’s hand in his. “Just ‘fore she fell, Coal made Bettie tell me . . . she was gonna wait, but-.” Lenny looked into Tolivar’s eyes. “She’s gonna have my baby. First new Firegobbler in a hunnerd years. Please!”

  “Oh, Lenny,” Justan said.

  Tolivar looked at her again and his countenance changed.

  That’s right, Tamboor, Fist thought, his hand tightening on Justan’s shoulder. She’s not an orc, she’s a mother.

  Tolivar closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, he said, “I’ll do it.”

  “Very well,” said the prophet. He lifted his hands from Coal’s head and to Justan’s spirit sight, it looked like he lifted a white crown from the wizard’s brow. He stood and walked to stand behind Tolivar and as he did so, Justan saw the trails of the bond linking from each prone figure to the crown in the prophet’s hand.

  “Tolivar, the bond is yours,” The prophet said and placed the crown on Tolivar’s head.

  Tolivar’s hands flew to his head. His face twisted in pain and he cried out, then fell to the floor next to the rest of them. As he hit the ground his hands opened and Justan saw the wizard’s rune on his left palm.

  “Will Tamboor be okay?” Fist asked in concern.

  “Tolivar will be fine,” the prophet said. “The process of bonding can oft times be a painful one as I am sure Sir Edge and Alfred can attest. Right now all four of them are getting used to it. This may take a while.”

  “You sure she’ll be okay now?” Lenny asked.

  “Yes, Lenui. She is perfectly healthy as is your child,” John said. He folded his arms. “Now for the main reason that I have gathered you all in this room with me today. Today was a victory and a defeat for both sides, but the war has just begun.

 
“I am usually not allowed to take part in wars or disagreements. However, this time the Dark Prophet is involved and since he has gathered his champions, I have been allowed to gather mine. Now before I send you forth to vanquish these enemies, I felt it would be best to tell you the truth about them.

  “You see, this war isn’t Ewzad Vriil’s war. No, the seeds were planted thousands of years ago. It’s Stardeon’s war. If only I could have foreseen what his actions would bring about, I could have stopped this long ago.”

  Father . . . Gwyrtha thought.

  The prophet smiled sadly and patted Gwyrtha’s head. “You have some partial knowledge, but it is incomplete. It’s time I told you the true story of Stardeon and his wife Mellinda.”

  Epilogue

  “Speak to me, you horrible thing. Speak!” Ewzad said, paced back and forth outside the entrance to the dwarf menagerie. He had to know what happened. Had to! There had been nothing but silence from the mother of the moonrats for two solid hours.

  Several dwarves within the menagerie were staring at him, fingering magic talismans. Hamford and Arcon stood behind him, sharing uneasy glances. The last he had heard, his beautiful creations had breached the academy walls. Then Mellinda had screamed so loudly that Arcon had fainted and Ewzad himself had nearly collapsed.

  “Speak, blast you! Or so help me, I will reach through this nasty little eye and tear you to pieces! Would you like that? Hmm?” His arms and fingers writhed. His head throbbed. But there was no answer. Whatever had caused Mellinda to go silent had to be bad for him. “Arcon!”

  “Yes, Master,” said the mage, looking pale and drawn. The mage had been unresponsive for nearly a half hour and Ewzad had been forced to heal a hemorrhaged vessel in his brain in order to wake him.

  “Yes, Master? Is that all you have to say?” Ewzad spat. “Tell me what you know!”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I only know that my mistress has been greatly wounded. She is too focused to the situation at the academy to be able to respond. She hasn’t spoken with me either.”

  “What did they do? Did the Mage School find her lair? Did they-!”

  “Gone,” said Mellinda in his mind, her voice weak and wracked with pain. “All of them gone.”

  Ewzad stopped mid-stride. “All of whom, my dear? Hmm?”

  “A third of my sweet children . . . and over half of their precious gifts . . . all gone. Destroyed by the wizards and their vile tricks,” she moaned.

  “Destroyed you say?” Ewzad shouted. Several of the dwarves ran for their ringmaster. “And the academy?”

  “Gone,” she whispered.

  “Show me, witch! Yes, show me! Show me all of it!”

  She pushed the vision into his mind. Ewzad saw his creations climbing the walls, saw that the interior of the academy had been emptied, and saw the great explosion and the smoking hole where the academy once stood. She showed him the ragged chase of their remaining forces against the fleeing academy survivors and Talon’s attack and the death of the bonding wizard. Then he saw the wizard’s arrival and support of the enemy’s escape. Finally she showed him the empty portal they left behind.

  “They fled to the Mage School,” she said. “I don’t know why I did not hear of their plan beforehand, but my eyes inside say the grounds have been flooded with refugees.”

  The wizard quieted as the enormity of it hit him. Two thirds of his goblinoid army dead. Three quarters of his army of creations gone. He giggled.

  “Oh my! Dear Mellinda, you had me frightened for a moment.”

  “Why are you so happy?” she growled.

  “Today was a success, of course! Yes-yes, the academy gone. All went to plan!” He turned to his two assistants. “You hear that, Hamford? Arcon? It’s gone!”

  “But they got away.”

  “Some escaped, true. But their losses must have been heavy yes?” Ewzad said.

  “It is hard to say. I saw many fall, but the destruction was so complete . . .” Mellinda paused. “And what of our losses?”

  “Losses? Oh my, no. They were fodder!” he said. Ewzad began pacing again, but this time in excitement instead of worry. “Goblinoids and moonrats? Easily replaceable don’t you think? You have more of your children breeding than ever before and once the goblinoid survivors spread the word that we destroyed the academy, worship of the Dark Prophet will spread and recruits will pour in. Yes-yes, this is a battle won!”

  “And what of your army of creatures?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is too bad about my creations. I so wanted to watch them kill more, but they would have died in a few days anyway, don’t you think?” he reminded her with a shrug.

  “Yes, of course,” she said and his excited attitude began to cut away at her gloom. “What do you wish done with your creations that survived?”

  “So sad. They will melt away before we have a chance to use them again, yes? Hmm . . . even if I wanted to throw them at the Mage School just for fun, they wouldn’t survive the journey. No-no. Send them to the place where you build your troll horde and let them be devoured. The magic your trolls absorb should give you another useful generation or two.”

  “An excellent suggestion, Master,” she said and he could sense that she was pleased.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” He giggled again. “Now I want you to tell Talon to come back to me. I have another adjustment to make before I send her into the Mage School.”

  “I . . . cannot find her,” Mellinda admitted. “She ran off after she was gravely wounded. She is either hiding or-.”

  “She lives,” Ewzad said, unconcerned. “Yes, sweet Talon will return soon enough. Until then, bolster our presence around the school. Just don’t get too close, no. We will let them sit while we prepare our final assault. Yes-yes! All our enemies cowering in the same place. This war is almost over!”

  “Hey, Lord Protector!” said a gruff voice and Ewzad whirled to see the dwarf ringmaster standing at the entrance, his beefy arms folded in front of him, his face twisted into a scowl. “You done bein’ crazy so we can do some gall-durn business?”

  Ewzad heard Hamford swallow and the big man grabbed his sword in preparation. But the dwarf’s insolence flew right past Ewzad’s ears for once. It was a good day. “Lead on, Ringmaster. But your delivery had better be good this time, yes? I shall be quite perturbed if you made me wait out here for nothing?”

  “I wasn’t makin’ you wait, dag-gum it!” he grumbled. “But come on in. I think you’ll like what we got fer you.”

  Ewzad followed him in, excited to get started on a new series of creations. The walls of the Mage School would provide an even greater challenge. The ringmaster led past the wary eyes of the other dwarves to the rear of the menagerie.

  “Got a present fer you, yer lordship,” said the ringmaster, giving his black handlebar moustache a twist. He turned and walked to stand before a row of six cages covered in tarps. Screeches issued from within and Ewzad could see that the tarps were punctured and torn. “Show ‘em what we got, boys!”

  The tarps came off and Ewzad squealed, clapping his hands in delight. “Excellent! Excellent! Oh yes!”

  “You was right about these things,” said the dwarf. “Meaner’n hell and hard to control. One of ‘em even resisted the paralyzin’ orb just like you said it might.”

  “They are beautiful!” Ewzad cooed. “Yes, Hamford. Don’t you think?”

  The large man’s eyes were wide with terror. Standing in the cages were six raptoids.

  The Bowl of Souls series will conclude in:

  MOTHER of the MOONRAT

  Coming fall 2013

  See http://trevorhcooley.com/ for updates and details.

  In the meantime, to get your Bowl of Souls fix, follow @lennyswears on twitter for daily adventures and excerpts from the personal diary of our own Lenui Firegobbler.

 

 
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