Sir Edge

by Trevor H. Cooley

Several of the houses were occupied, but Nod was happy to see that no one stood around outside to witness his approach. He found the house that he was looking for right away. Jhonate’s house had a small stable next to it where Sir Edge’s rogue horse slept when he was around.

  Nod made certain that no one was looking his way before he made his approach. The lock on the door was no challenge. Nod picked it easily and slipped inside. He reached out with his senses, probing for the pure blaze of spirit magic that he had been told would be somewhere nearby.

  His senses betrayed him. He searched quickly and efficiently with practiced hands, careful to go through every hiding place in the small house without leaving a trace. Surely, the information he had been given wasn’t wrong.

  The item he was searching for was Tulos, the Ruby Dagger. It had once been one of the Dark Prophet’s ceremonial daggers like the one he had just retrieved from the vault. The Prophet had found Tulos and purified it, turning its power against its master. The once black blade was now the purest white and the rubies in its hilt held the power to destroy darkness. Nod had to retrieve this artifact in order to complete his next assignment.

  The information his informant had sent him told Nod that the Prophet had given the dagger to Jhonate during Ewzad Vriil’s attempt to conquer the land. She had used it to sever the power of the Mother of the Moonrats. It was still in her possession, but Nod had been told that she didn’t carry it on her person.

  Nod continued his fruitless search for several long minutes before giving up. He stood in the center of the house’s small dining area with fists clenched, knowing that he had somehow been thwarted. His source had claimed they had seen the dagger among her belongings here at the school. Either she had hidden it away or she had decided to go against habit and carry it with her for some reason.

  He had no choice but to lie in wait for her to return. Even if Jhonate appeared freshly named at the Bowl of Souls, he was confident that he could take her. If she had the dagger with her, he would kill her and retrieve it. If not, he would interrogate her. He had ways of making even the most stubborn of victims talk.

  As he considered the best place in which to stage his attack, his eyes fell on a letter lying on the table. Its wax seal had been broken. Curious, he picked it up.

  Nod read it, his eyebrows rising. So that was why she went before the Bowl. She didn’t know it, but she was heading for the same destination he was. Perhaps there was an alternative way to retrieve what his master wanted . . .

  Chapter Five

  Deathclaw - Horde

  Deathclaw sat high in a fir tree overlooking the raider camp, his body anchored to the trunk with his claws. He was confident that he would not be detected. He stayed absolutely still, and the color of his scales had changed to match the wood and needles.

  All dragons, even lesser species like the raptoids Deathclaw had once been part of, had adaptive magic in their blood that allowed them to survive in the most rugged of conditions. Raptoids lived in predatory packs that roamed the deadly Whitebridge Desert. Other dragons had adapted to live in icy snowbound peaks or deep in the ocean or within live volcanoes. The process of adaptation within their bodies was normally a slow one, taking weeks or even months. Deathclaw, however, was different from other dragons.

  Ewzad Vriil had captured Deathclaw and made changes to his body with a powerful artifact called the Rings of Stardeon. The rings had left a remnant of their magic behind, leaving his cells bound together by intricate and unstable energies. His dragon heritage, along with Deathclaw’s unique control over his body, let the raptoid use that instability to his advantage. He could alter his body in many small ways, such as lengthening his claws or the sharp barb on the end of his tail.

  The ability to shift his color was something he had only learned in the last decade, but he had spent the intervening years perfecting the process. He now did so almost without thinking. The only downside to making changes was that the process left him ravenously hungry, something that the large owl who had previously occupied this tree had learned. Deathclaw could still taste it on his tongue.

  Can you tell me anything more about these monsters? asked Edge through the bond.

  Sir Edge was riding through the darkness of early morning, his hands clenched around the horse’s reins. Deathclaw could feel the emotions warring within him. Edge felt sorrow for the girl who had lost so much, he felt pain from his own wounds that her words had reopened, and he felt rage towards the evil beasts that had destroyed that town.

  Calm yourself, Deathclaw advised. As much as you want your emotions to fuel you for the coming battle, all they are doing is distracting your mind. Use your sword if you must.

  I’ve been relying on it too much lately, Edge replied. I can’t let Peace’s power become a crutch.

  Deathclaw hissed in irritation. Edge had always been worried he would become lost in his powers. The raptoid understood his leader’s fears, though he didn’t agree with them. Edge was too self-aware to let himself lose control and even if he did, the rest of their tribe would be there to correct him.

  There is nothing wrong with using a crutch if your leg is broken. It is the proper tool for the job, the raptoid sent. Your swords are tools for battle. We face a battle.

  Edge shook his head. When did you become wise? That’s usually Fist’s job.

  This is not wisdom, Deathclaw replied. It’s strategy.

  Very well, Edge acquiesced and Deathclaw felt him embrace the power of his left sword. Peace’s magic eagerly sucked the emotions from Edge’s mind and converted them to pure energy. Edge felt Rage, his right sword, vibrating with the need to release it.

  When Edge spoke again his thoughts were clear and calculating. I’m ready. Show me what you see.

  Deathclaw opened his senses to the bond, letting Edge see through his eyes. This group of raiders should not exist.

  The camp below was populated by as motley a crew of raiders as Deathclaw had ever seen. Four bulky female orcs shared a campfire with two human men, a ten-foot-tall giant, and an elf. Perhaps most strange of all were the beasts that accompanied them. A huge mountain treecat lay stretched out on the ground not far from the fire and gnawed on a bone. Next to it were the piled coils of a massive fur-covered rock python. It’s slitted eyes gleamed in the firelight.

  The two animals seem to ignore the others. Perhaps they are pets? Deathclaw suggested.

  They’d have to be, Edge replied. He thought it likely that they belonged to the orcs. Orcs were known to train beasts for use in battle, though he had never heard of someone taming a rock python. Has anyone said anything that tells you what is keeping this group together? Which one is the leader?

  Edge’s focus was on the elf, though Deathclaw didn’t think he looked like a leader. His hair was cut short and he wore leather armor with a bow and quiver slung across his back. He sat next to the giant and stared into the fire, an odd smile on his lips.

  I cannot tell. They barely communicate, Deathclaw replied. Their mood seemed almost cheery despite the grim events of the day. There was a lot of rough laughter, but they did very little talking and none of the raiders seemed to defer to any other. When they do speak, they mainly chant one phrase. ‘Praise the Maw.’

  The Maw? said Edge. Maybe that’s the name of their leader. Could it be the giant’s name? It was a decent assumption. The giant’s jaw was wide and toothy.

  I don’t think so. He chants it with the rest of them, said Deathclaw. But that is not the only strange behavior. They have been at this campsite all night, yet they haven’t slept and none of them have bothered to keep watch. Also . . . He sent Edge the image of the wagon tethered just outside the camp. It was loaded with the bodies of dead villagers. A few hours ago, they dragged the corpses of three villagers to the fireside and ate them.

  Deathclaw shuddered at the memory. All of them, including the elf and the humans, had partaken of the gruesome feast. The remnants of the meal were scattered all around the raiders.

  C
annibalism? The power of his sword kept Edge’s disgust at bay, allowing him to think of the situation objectively. Of the races represented around the fire, only giants and the two animals were known to eat men. Even orcs looked down on such a practice. Why resort to that? The village was full of food.

  This was something that had bothered Edge ever since he had looked through Lillian’s memories. The raiders had left most of the village’s goods behind, only taking a few treasures. They had come in, killed everyone, loaded their bodies on the wagon, and rode off into the hills.

  Perhaps this Maw is their evil god, said Deathclaw. Eating the flesh of their enemies could be a ritual of worship.

  Edge considered the suggestion. It wouldn’t be the first time they had come across some sort of wizard or powerful beast that claimed to be a god. This was a strange group of worshippers, though. What kind of back country god could capture the imaginations of humans, elves, and orcs?

  Then they are under a spell? Deathclaw asked. He had already looked over the group with mage sight and spirit sight. The orcs’ weapons glowed the dull red of fire magic and the elf’s bow had the soft white glow of a bound spirit, but there was nothing strong enough to control minds.

  I guess there is only one way to find out, Edge said.

  Deathclaw nodded. We kill them and search their bodies for evidence.

  Or, said Edge. We kill most of them and I interrogate a few with Peace.

  I didn’t think that needed saying, the raptoid replied.

  There was a sudden stirring in the camp below. As if on cue, the raiders stood together and began kicking dirt over the fire.

  “Hail the Maw!” cried one of the female orcs. “The Maw!” replied the others.

  Edge saw the scene through Deathclaw’s eyes. It looks like they are getting ready to leave, but I’m still several hours ride from your position.

  Then I shall slow them down, said Deathclaw. He descended from the tree quickly but silently. The sky was just beginning to lighten, but the dark was cover enough for his darting form as he edged around the camp and headed for the wagon.

  The wagon was a large sturdy affair. It was painted a garish red and the words, “Farmer Oak’s Gourds and Honstule” were painted on the side in yellow paint. Not a likely raider wagon. Deathclaw could smell the corpses already beginning to turn. He examined the wheels. The spokes were thick and sturdy, not something he could disable with a single strike of his sword.

  No one had bothered to tether the two horses. They were still hitched to the wagon. This made his job easy. He snuck up to the horses and pulled a throwing knife from the bandoleer that crossed his chest.

  Quickly, he severed the harnesses. Deathclaw expected the horses to run, as most such animals did when catching his scent, but these horses seemed well-trained. They stood still. He spun and delivered a stinging slap across their rumps with his tail. He took care not to cut them open with his barb. There was no need to injure the beasts.

  Instead of galloping away, both horses kicked at him. Deathclaw was so caught off guard that he didn’t dodge in time. One of the horses’ rear hooves caught him in the shoulder.

  The force of the blow sent him colliding against the edge of the cart and he felt two of his ribs crack. Something was wrong with these animals. He backed away from the wagon, hissing at the inconvenience. His body’s regenerative magic would soon heal both his bruised shoulder and ribs, but the wounds would hamper him for a while.

  Shouts echoed from the camp, but before Deathclaw could run the horses turned on him and reared, their forelegs lashing out at him. The raptoid wasn’t caught off guard by their aggression this time. He focused his senses, slowing the world around him, and dove under one of the horses.

  Ignoring the pain of his injuries he rolled to his feet on the other side of the animal and lashed out with his tail again. This time his tail barb carved deeply into the beast’s belly. It was likely a fatal wound, but if they wouldn’t be run off, he felt no guilt in killing one of them to slow the enemy down.

  What just happened? Edge asked through the bond.

  Deathclaw replied while he ran. I cut the horses free, but they turned on me. So I had to disable one of them. He glanced behind himself and saw that the horses were galloping after him. I think that this group is definitely under a spell of some kind.

  Wow, said Edge. I’ve never been attacked by a horse before.

  Nor have I, but they are large and their hooves are shod with steel, Deathclaw replied. He could still feel the imprint of one horseshoe in his shoulder. It is surprisingly intimidating.

  This was especially the case since he was running on foot through an open field and they were gaining on him. Deathclaw reached up with his good arm and grasped the hilt of his sword. It was a bit awkward trying to draw the weapon while running, but he managed to pull Star from its sheath just as the first horse caught up with him. It was the horse he had wounded.

  The horse’s eyes were wild, its lips drawn back from its teeth as it tried to bite him. Deathclaw ducked under the bite and twisted to lash out with his sword. Star’s power wasn’t at its full might during the early light of morning, but as the blade carved into the horse’s throat, the wound sizzled. The animal stumbled to a stop and collapsed.

  The attack slowed Deathclaw’s stride and as the second horse caught up to him it screamed and reared up, its forelegs swiping at him. The raptoid spun to bring his weapon to bear, but before his sword could hit its mark, Deathclaw was struck from the side.

  He was borne to the ground by the attacking treecat. The beast was twice his weight and pinned him with its claws while its jaws reached for his throat. Deathclaw managed to bring his wounded arm up and jammed his forearm into its mouth to hold it back.

  While its teeth pierced his arm, Deathclaw kicked out repeatedly, slashing its belly with the talons on his feet. The cat let go of his arm and backed off, growling. Deathclaw wasted no time coming to his feet and lashed out with Star, gashing the treecat’s nose open with the tip of his sword.

  The wound sizzled, and the cat flinched and Deathclaw dove to the side again as the horse tried to trample him. The raptoid hissed in fury at being harried by mere animals.

  Are you going to survive until I get there? Edge asked, unable to keep from needling him despite the danger of the situation. They might have a cow with them.

  A hiss of laughter escaped Deathclaw’s lips. A cow would be preferable.

  The cat’s bite had severed an artery in his arm and he had to pause a moment to will his arm to stop bleeding. His body’s healing magic focused on the area and while the wound knit closed, the horse reared up at him again.

  Deathclaw tired of the beast’s madness. He slashed out with Star and lopped off the horse’s leg at the knee. Then, as it came down he stabbed out with his tail and sent his barb through its eye.

  As the horse collapsed to the ground, he spun to avoid the treecat’s claws. A backhand swing of his sword slashed it across the nose a second time and the beast howled. It backed away, but Deathclaw didn’t let up. He darted forward and stabbed, carving a steaming gash in the side of the cat’s head.

  His senses focused, Deathclaw saw its next lunge coming. He leapt into the air, jumping over the beast and as he stabbed down, his sword pierced its back. It howled again and thrashed and Deathclaw had to let go of the sword.

  He backed away, fearing that it would run away and he would have to track the dying beast down to retrieve his weapon. But the cat turned to face him again despite the searing sword sticking out of its back.

  It growled and Deathclaw pulled a throwing dagger from his bandoleer. This was one of his favorites, a gift from Hugh the Shadow, leader of the Academy’s Assassin’s Guild.

  As the beast launched itself at him, he threw. The point of the dagger struck between the cat’s eyes and the magic of the blade parted the thick bone of its skull as if it were made of clay. The great cat was dead before it came to rest at his feet.

  Deathc
law bent to retrieve his blades and an arrow flashed by his face.

  “The Maw!” shouted out a chorus of voices and he looked out across the field to see the raiders approaching. The elf was already nocking another arrow and the enormous furry python was slithering at the front of their charge.

  The raptoid grabbed his sword and dagger and ran.

  Close call, Edge said. Are you able to outrun them?

  I can run, Deathclaw assured him. Though my wounds may slow me.

  Suddenly, Deathclaw felt a surge of energy flood him through the bond. He picked up speed and he felt Edge’s magic enter him, working to close his wounds even faster than the raptoid’s own magic could.

  Don’t be so foolish! He admonished with a hiss. It was reckless for Edge to transfer his own life energy through the bond. The raptoid ducked a second arrow and darted through a thick stand of trees, putting more distance between himself and his pursuers. You will need your energy for the battle ahead!

  I’m siphoning the energy from my sword, Edge explained. Rage was full and you needed help. You never know. You may still face a cow in the coming battle.

  Then I’ll let you fight it, Deathclaw replied. I’ll take the giant.

  Once Deathclaw was certain he had outdistanced his pursuers, he circled back around to the camp. By the time he got there, his wounds were fully healed. He watched as the raiders left the area. They hitched the wagon to the giant and the four orcs helped to push the cart from behind.

  Where are they taking those bodies? Edge wondered.

  I will find out, Deathclaw replied. When you get here, stop to collect my horse. He sent Edge the memory of where he had left the Academy-trained animal. I will follow them by foot.

  The raiders continued their journey higher into the foothills, taking turns pushing the wagon, until they came to a mountain road. They stopped to rest and Deathclaw climbed the rocky cliffside to get a better vantage point.

  When he reached the top, he heard a rattle. His approach had startled a viper that had been sunning on a nearby rock. Deathclaw reached for it and as the viper struck at him, he snatched it out of the air and wrung its neck. He ate the snake as he surveyed the raiders below.