This was all Edge was able to learn, because as his mind had recognized the thoughts of the Maw, its mind had recognized his. The Maw had done so eagerly at first, thinking that the connection forged by the magic of Edge’s sword was a weakness it could plunder. But as it glimpsed Edge’s powers and saw the nature of his mind, the Maw cut its connection with the goblin.
Edge stood over the body of the small dead creature and withdrew his sword. His mind was going over what he had learned when Deathclaw called out to him. The raptoid was standing at the bottom of the cliff, furious.
Edge! You are wounded! How could you let a goblin stab you?
Edge turned his attention to the raptoid and winced as he noticed the raptoid’s own hideous wound. Me? You’re missing a hand.
“My hand will grow back!” Deathclaw snapped aloud, his hissing voice carrying to Edge’s ears from the pass below. Your flesh will not heal so easily.
Deathclaw had a good point. If his wound was severe, he had no way of healing himself. Artemus was no good to him as a healer either and Fist was too far away to reach until nightfall.
We have some elf potions in our saddlebags, he reminded him.
They heal you too slowly, Deathclaw replied.
There was a rush of icy mist and Artemus appeared at Edge’s side. He had shrunk down until he was the same height as Edge and looked more like the old wizard he used to be. Until he opened his mouth and Edge saw that his teeth were still razor sharp.
The old wizard examined the wound in his lower back. “It is deep. It barely missed your kidney. We are lucky. But it could still get infected.” He shifted his focus to Edge’s hip. He pulled out the small dagger and tossed it aside. “This one was just a flesh wound, but the blade was filthy. Either of these could get infected.”
“We’ll treat them,” Edge said. “It’ll be fine until we can reach Fist tonight.” He glanced at the setting sun. “It’s almost dark anyway. Just an hour or so and we can try. Maybe he will be able to heal me through the bond.”
The ancient wizard growled. “My own healing powers are gone. Useless!”
Artemus had difficulty explaining why he couldn’t heal with the Scralag’s powers. He had use of air and water magic only. Water worked best with earth magic when it came to healing, but there were ways around that. Some things could be done with water magic alone.
Artemus’ healing ability wasn’t on the forefront of Edge’s mind at the moment, though. He had his own bone to pick with his great grandfather. Why did you attack before my command? he asked and even though Peace was draining his emotions, the question still came out as a demand. Why did you rush down and announce the name of our tribe to the enemy?
Artemus raised his eyebrows at Edge’s sudden interrogation. The master of this horde needed a name to fear, he explained. As for why the elemental and I attacked? He looked down at the back of his pale hand and the black nails that tipped his fingers, then turned it over to peer at the naming rune on his palm. There’s something new stirring in the bond. Have you felt it?
No, Edge replied. Felt what?
Artemus touched his naming rune, running his finger along the same line that matched the crack on his dagger. We can feel it from the source on the other side of the rune. The time of the Dark Prophet’s return is near. Our purpose will soon be fulfilled.
You can feel his return coming? Edge said, and his hand fell to his hip where Artemus’ dagger was sheathed. Ice encrusted the base of the blade, sealing the crack in the naming rune. When is this going to happen?
I don’t know. But the time for me to use my powers solely to protect has passed. He let out a wide yawn, and Edge saw that his teeth were human once more. The elemental and I will sleep now. I fear you will need our power again, and soon. He reached out to touch Edge’s chest and disappeared in a frosty mist.
Deathclaw let out a grunt and Edge turned to see him climb up over the cliff’s edge. Somehow, he had managed to make the climb with one hand. His magic was working quickly. The half-melted stump on his left arm wasn’t even bleeding anymore.
“Next time, do not call him out until we know it’s time to fight,” Deathclaw chided. There was a throwing knife sticking out of the meat of his left shoulder. It was the magic knife that Lenny had made him.
“How did Speedy end up there?” Edge asked.
Deathclaw pulled the knife out of his shoulder and stowed it in his bandoleer with the others. “Retriever was being mischievous while returning it.”
“You need to spend more time communing with her,” Edge said. “What if she had stabbed you with one of your magical daggers?”
“Do not change the subject,” Deathclaw hissed. “Today’s assault was reckless. We cannot depend on the wizard to follow orders.”
Edge rubbed his hand over his chest and sighed. His great grandfather’s words had left him troubled. The Dark Prophet’s return was nigh? Wasn’t John out there working to stop it?
Deathclaw put his hand and stump on his scaled hips. He had listened in to Edge’s conversation with the wizard and had also heard Edge’s unspoken mental question. “We can only leave that to John. If he needs us, he’ll come and tell us. For now, what do we do about this ‘Maw?’”
“The Maw is a threat that needs to be hunted down,” Edge replied. “Though I’m still not quite sure about his nature. I . . .”
Edge paused and cocked his head. Something had changed and that feeling was coming from somewhere among his bonds. Peace sucked away the stab of worry that entered his mind at the thought. Had the Maw done something to him during their brief connection? He did a mental check through the bond, evaluating each connection. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Then he found it.
Edge’s clutched the wooden ring on his finger. It was still warm to his touch, but that faint connection to Jhonate was gone. He couldn’t sense her anywhere.
Chapter Eight
Sir Edge - Aftermath
“Jhonate’s gone,” Edge said, his eyes wide with shock.
Deathclaw came to his side, the urgency in Edge’s thoughts clear to him through the bond. “Where has she gone?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, his will probing at the ring in an attempt to find her. The only thing preventing him from full on panic was the power of his sword which was draining his emotions.
His ring was a piece of Jharro wood that had been fashioned from Jhonate’s staff. It was tied to her life force in a bond that was similar to his bonds with his own swords. For that connection to be cut off could only mean bad things. The only proof that she wasn’t dead was that the wood was still alive. If she ever died, the wood’s connection to the Jharro tree that had birthed it would be severed and it would become cold and dead. He twisted the ring on his finger and shook his hand as if that would jar the connection to his wife.
Deathclaw listened carefully to his thoughts through the bond. “Her connection to the ring is weaker than our bonds,” he said. “Could she simply be far away? Perhaps she traveled somewhere.”
“I don’t know,” Edge said again.
There had been many times over their sixteen years of marriage where he and Jhonate had needed to travel apart for whatever reason, but this had never happened before. He thought of how far apart they had been in the past and the distance between them had never been more than a month’s travel at the most.
“Perhaps she has gone farther away than you have been before,” the raptoid suggested.
“The Mage School is only two weeks away from here by horse. How far could she have gone?” He had spoken to Fist just two nights ago and the ogre hadn’t mentioned her leaving the Mage School. He squared his jaw. “We’ve got to go. We must head back right now.”
Deathclaw narrowed his eyes. He could feel the intensity of Edge’s worry begin to crackle through the bond and he knew that the bonding wizard had altered the sword’s magic. He was still allowing it to take away the pain from his wounds, but was forcing it to let him feel his emotions. “You’re bein
g remarkably self-indulgent right now.”
Edge shot him a glare. “She deserves my emotions. Besides, sometimes I need my feelings in order to think clearly.” He walked to the edge of the slope and searched for the path that he had used on the way up.
“We can’t simply leave,” the raptoid pointed out. “Your wounds need to be tended.”
Deathclaw had a point. His injuries weren’t life threatening at this point, but he could feel warm blood still dripping down his lower back. It was going to be hard climbing down the cliffside. “I’ll drink an elf potion when we reach the horses and when I talk to Fist later tonight we’ll see if he can heal me.”
“And what of the Maw?” Deathclaw asked.
Edge’s stopped just before beginning his descent. “A dark wizard. The Mage School’s responsibility. We’ll tell them to send some hunters.”
“Maybe so, but wasn’t it the will of the Bowl that brought us this way?” Deathclaw said.
Edge clenched his fists. He had no desire to follow the raptoid’s logic. “We’ve defeated the Maw’s forces as directed.”
Deathclaw cocked his head. “Are you certain that’s all we’re supposed to do?”
“I won’t have you be my conscience,” Edge replied. “This is Jhonate we’re talking about. I will not take the time to chase after a wizard when she could be in danger. She is far more important.”
“I do not disagree. She is an invaluable member of our tribe,” the raptoid said. He had move to peer down at the goblin Edge had killed. “I only suggest that we learn more before acting. Wait for a few hours, at least until you have spoken with Fist. There could be a simple explanation.”
Of course Deathclaw made sense. He usually did. But Edge wasn’t ready to concede his point. “A few hours won’t be enough time to hunt down this wizard.”
“No, but we can gather information to pass on to the Mage School,” he replied, crouching next to the small corpse. “Let go of your emotions so that you can focus.”
Deathclaw had grown much over the time since he and Edge had bonded. He had learned the ways and language of human kind and had shifted his behavior from being a pack leader to being a tribe member. He had even accepted Edge as the leader of the tribe. That didn’t keep him from talking like he was the boss.
Edge let out a slow sigh and allowed the sword to take away his emotions once more. The irrational urgency in his mind faded. “What have you found?”
Deathclaw reached out and jerked something free from the goblin’s neck. He held it out to Edge. “A dart.”
Edge took the small item from the raptoid. The dart was a cruel barbed thing and seemed to be made of bone. He switched to spirit sight and focused in. There was only the tiniest trace of magic, but he saw it, a dark wisp of energy. “This could be how the Maw controls them.”
Spirit magic could be used to influence people, making them excited or afraid for instance, but the spirits of intelligent beings resisted being controlled. The body that a spirit resided in was a natural barrier of protection from mental attack. The only way to truly control someone was to pierce through their defenses and that meant piercing the body.
Deathclaw had already moved to examine the corpses of the other goblins Edge had killed. Each of them were also pierced with a dart, though in different spots on their bodies.
“Okay,” said Edge. He put three of the darts side by side on his palm. The magic in them was already fading. He was starting to regret killing the two men and the elf.
“There was no way around it,” Deathclaw said.
“If we had known with a certainty that these people were being used against their will we could have gone about this differently,” he pointed out.
The raptoid shook his head. “We couldn’t have known.”
Edge put the darts away in a pouch he kept on his belt. “Now we do. We’ll have to tell the wizards about this when we get back. Maybe Locksher will get something more from these darts.”
Deathclaw reached out with his good hand and touched the side of Edge’s head. “Your temperature is high. We must see to your wounds now.”
Now that the raptoid had pointed it out, Edge knew what he was talking about. The sword was taking away his discomfort, but the symptoms were there. The goblins knife had been dirty and infection was already setting in.
Careful not to further aggravate the injury, Edge made his way down the crumbled section of the cliff face. As they walked to the horses to retrieve the elf potions another thought occurred to him. “We can’t just leave all those corpses lying there in the pass.”
“Now you think of reasons we cannot leave?” said Deathclaw. He waved his stump dismissively. “The monsters can rot.”
“It’s the bodies of the villagers I was thinking of,” said Edge. “Leaving them the way they are is disrespectful.”
“We avenged their deaths already!” The raptoid let out a derisive chuckle. “The villagers are dead. Their spirits do not care that they rot.”
“This isn’t about dead. It’s about the living. The other people that live here would care.”
Deathclaw hissed. “I have one hand and you are feverish and cannot bend over. Would you have us digging graves?”
Edge stewed over the dilemma as they approached the horses. Deathclaw helped him out of his armor and washed out the wound as well as he could with one hand. It was all the more difficult because raptoid claws were terribly filthy. He then poured a bit of the potion into each wound and Edge drank the rest.
Edge could feel the life magic in the potion begin to work right away. His skin was already beginning to cool. The potion wouldn’t heal the wound instantly, but it would bolster his body’s natural healing. He thought about things while he helped Deathclaw apply bandages.
“I know what we have to do.” Edge said.
“What?” the raptoid asked. “You’re not still talking about those corpses and your human traditions are you?”
“We cut Artemus’ nap short,” he decided. “Let the Scralag do some labor for once.”
***
Coalvin son of Tollivar, second year apprentice of the Mage School, ran into the library of the Rune Tower. He was careful to circle behind the main desk in the center of the floor so that Vincent, the gnome librarian, wouldn’t see his hurried approach.
The Mage School library was an enormous place. Wide, open, and several stories tall with ladders and stairways to the different levels sprouting from multiple places on the floor. High above, a domed ceiling arced overhead, painted with fantastic murals. The place was packed with students and wizards and as Coalvin had hoped, Vincent was distracted by others. He bolted up a set of stairs to the second floor and saw the wizard he was looking for.
Fist was rather hard to miss. At eight feet tall and weighing at least 600 pounds of pure muscle, the ogre war wizard dwarfed the table he was hunched over. He wore richly embroidered robes of black and gold that were covered in protective runes. Over the robes, stretching diagonally across his back, was the leather sheath for his naming weapon, a huge mace whose head was spiked on one side. The chair Fist sat on looked grossly small for him. Coalvin almost felt sorry for it.
“Master Fist!” said the young apprentice, breathing heavily as he came to the ogre’s side.
“Coalvin,” Fist said in a deep rumbling voice, not looking up from the dusty tome he was reading. “There is no need for vociferousness in the library.”
Coalvin pursed his lips at the named wizard as he puzzled out the meaning of the word.
“It means you were being loud,” Fist said, smiling inwardly. He enjoyed stumping students with his vocabulary.
“Oh!” said Coalvin. “Sorry. It’s just exciting news!”
Fist put one thick finger on the page and looked over at the 17-year-old. As usual, Coalvin wasn’t alone. Standing silently just a few feet behind the apprentice was a gaunt hooded figure, its features as always in shadow. It appeared to be unarmed, but radiated menace and danger. Coalvin found
it hard to gain friends at the school with that thing following him around.
“What could be so exciting that you’re willing to risk the ire of Librarian Vincent?” the ogre asked.
“It’s about Sir Edge’s wife,” Coalvin said, his grin returning. “Have you heard the news?”
Fist looked back to his book. “She would prefer you to call her Daughter of Xedrion.”
Coalvin rolled his eyes. “Why won’t she just let me call her by her real name? She’s known me since I was little. Is it just ’cause I’m a student? She lets your kids call her Jhonate.”
“That’s her business,” said Fist reprovingly. “She’ll tell you when she decides you’ve earned the right.”
“Hmph,” he said and shrugged. “I guess it don’t matter so much after today.”
“Use proper language. You’re no longer on the farm,” Fist replied. Then he frowned and looked at the apprentice again. “What do you mean, ‘after today?’”
Coalvin grinned. “She’s gone and got herself named.”
Fist’s jaw dropped. “Surely you’re mistaken.” Jhonate had refused to stand before the Bowl for years. Not even a direct invitation from the Prophet had swayed her.
“I’m not,” Coalvin declared. “I heard it from Jack. He was stationed at the petitioner line and he saw her come out and she had a naming rune on the back of her hand.”
Squirrel, did you hear that? Fist asked through the bond.
I told you it was only a matter of time, Squirrel replied from inside his pouch.
Fist wasn’t just the only ogre to ever be named at the Bowl of Souls. He was also the only ogre bonding wizard. His bonding magic wasn’t all that strong, though. He only had two bonded. One of whom was Squirrel, who was getting old and tended to spend most of his time curled up in the fur-lined pouch that Fist kept under his bulky robes.
Fist shut the book he had been reading and stood. He held the book out to Coalvin. “Thank you for telling me. Would you put this away for me? It goes in aisle 341c fourth shelf. In the section on Khalpan thaumaturgy.”
Coalvin grunted with the weight of the tome. “Uh, sure, Master Fist.”
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