“Good boy,” Fist said and patted the apprentice on the head. He spared Coalvin’s unpleasant follower a glance before heading down the stairs. Rufus, he called through the bond.
Fist’s other bonded responded enthusiastically, his thoughts staccato. Ooh! You done reading?
I am. Meet me at the moat? Fist asked.
Yes! Rufus exclaimed, and Fist knew that he was rushing down off of the wall. Rufus liked to prowl the top of the wall. It made the guards that patrolled it nervous, but most of them were used to his presence by now.
Fist made his way out of the library, managing to weave his bulk through the press of students and out of the doors. He told Rufus what he had just learned and by the time the ogre crossed the moat Rufus was standing in the darkness waiting for him.
“Ooh! Jhonate named?” Rufus said, carefully pronouncing each syllable. He found it difficult to communicate in the common tongue, resulting in his breathy staccato way of speaking.
Rufus was a rogue horse, a rare magical creature that had been created by a powerful wizard named Stardeon long ago for the purpose of bonding to a bonding wizard. There were very few of his kind left and they all looked different. Each one was made of a bunch of different animals fused together by magic.
Rufus didn’t look much like a horse at all. His front half was that of a massive gorilla with black fur and dark gray skin. His eyes were wide and intelligent and his teeth were the size of dinner plates. His rear end was that of a great cat, with a tufted tail and clawed paws. The only things obviously horse-like about him were his ears and the mane that ran from his head down his broad back.
“That’s the rumor I heard,” Fist replied. “Do you want to take me to her house so we can find out for ourselves?”
“Yes!” the rogue horse replied.
Rufus’ natural height was the same as Fist’s, but one benefit of being a rogue horse was that Rufus’ body was malleable. His soul was like an enormous battery full of magical energy and he could use it to increase or decrease his size as he saw fit. Depending on what was needed, he could become the size of a small dog or the height of a towering giant. As soon as he knew the ogre wished to ride him, his body swelled proportionately.
When Rufus had grown large enough to accommodate Fist’s huge body, the ogre climbed on his back and they started off into the night. An ogre riding a giant ape-like beast was a fearsome sight and, although most people at the Mage School were used to them by now, they stayed off of the main paths and rode across the manicured lawns of the grounds towards the guest housing.
Rufus’ gallop was an odd-looking thing in action. He ran on the knuckles of his hands, but his gait was smooth and he was surprisingly agile. With his powerful hands in front and the claws on his cat-like rear legs, he was able to climb over any obstacles in his path with ease.
They quickly arrived at the guest house where Jhonate and Edge lived and Fist dismounted to approach the door. No light came from the window, but it wasn’t that late. It had only been dark for an hour or so. He knocked. “Jhonate?”
“She not in there,” said Rufus. The rogue horse had shrunk down until he was back to Fist’s height. He was sniffing at the air and had put his ear up against the side of the house.
It was Jhonate’s habit to retire early. She liked to be up before dawn putting the Academy students through a grueling training regimen. “She could be off visiting with someone. Maybe at the guards’ mess hall?” Fist could faintly hear the raucous laughter of the guards and students on the other side of the main road.
“Ooh! I check,” Rufus exclaimed and ran off towards the sounds.
Fist stood next to the house and stroked his chin. What could have convinced Jhonate to go before the Bowl? She was already pledged to the Jharro Grove.
Nope! Came Rufus’ mental announcement and he relayed to Fist what the guard commander had told him. Jhonate had resigned her training post and left the Mage School grounds.
Squirrel stirred at that bit of information. He exited his pouch and climbed up on Fist’s shoulder. He was a rock squirrel and his bond with Fist had made him as large as a house cat. He had brown fur and a thick fluffy tail, and he wore a leather vest made from dragon skin. His bond with Fist had extended his lifespan, but twenty years was still very old for a squirrel. There was gray in that fur and he moved much more carefully than he once had.
He folded his small arms. Jhonate wouldn’t leave without telling us.
“I wouldn’t think so either,” Fist said. “Maybe she left a message?” He reached up and pushed on the door, but it seemed to be locked.
You pull, remember? Squirrel said.
“Right,” Fist said, his cheeks coloring as he pulled on the handle. The door opened easily. “I knew that. It’s just that I usually knock and they open it for me.”
Fist stepped into the house, hunching over and sidling through the doorway as was his custom. The house was embarrassingly small for heroes of Edge’s and Jhonate’s stature. The Mage School really needed to give them a permanent home on the grounds. They were here often enough. Fist made a mental note to bring it up to Wizard Beehn again. The wizards had offered them apartments in the Rune tower but Jhonate preferred to stay out near the guards.
Fist reached out and palmed a sconce on the wall and a glow orb lit the room. Jhonate always kept the place tidy, but this seemed empty. Fist checked the bedroom and Jhonate’s equipment was gone, as was her bedroll. Where had she gone?
When he turned around and headed back into the small kitchen area, Rufus was there. He had shrunk down to half his regular size and was sniffing around the place. A man was here with her.
Fist felt a sensation from the bond, faint but insistent. Edge wanted to talk. He reached a tendril of thought through their connection. Just a moment.
Squirrel pointed, and Fist saw two folded letters on top of the table. One of them said “Fist” in large neat lettering. He picked it up and read the message under his name.
Fist,
Read these letters to Edge, but no matter what he tells you do NOT come after me.
He frowned and opened the letter. He felt another urgent prod from Edge through the bond, but he ignored it as he read.
Dearest Husband,
I have much to tell you, but little time to write before I must leave. First of all, I was named today. I know this will shock you considering how long I have resisted the idea, but you will understand once you read the letter I received from Seer Rahan.
Secondly, I have found a way to rid myself of this curse, but I must do it without my companions. This means that neither you nor any of our other tribe members can accompany me. Seer Rahan’s letter explains this partially. Do not worry, I am not completely alone in my journey. Another person who seeks the seer is joining me. He knows where to find him.
I know that you will refuse to accept these conditions, so to be certain that you cannot follow, I have cut off communication with my ring. Please forgive me for these measures I have taken. I will contact you as soon as the curse is lifted.
I am sorry, my love.
Your wife, Sar Zahara
“Sar Zahara?” Fist said considering the meaning. Of course, Sar was the feminine version of Sir, the title for any named warrior. Her new name was a mystery, though. He would have to look up the meaning of it later.
Edge is not going to like this, Squirrel observed.
Fist grimaced. As happy as he would be to learn of her naming, Edge would not like the way this letter was worded. Nor would he like the thought of her going on such a mission alone. “That is undoubtedly true.”
The ogre picked up the next letter. It was written on a different type of paper, more yellowed and stained by travel. The blue wax that had sealed it was broken. He opened it and saw that it was the letter from Seer Rahan that she had been referring to.
As he read it, the worried frown on his face deepened.
“Ooh!” huffed Rufus, who was still snuffling around the room. I don’t
like this man.
“What do you mean?” asked Fist. “Her visitor? The other person seeking the seer?”
“Stinks,” Rufus replied, and he sent the ogre the impression he had gotten from the man’s scent. He had carried with him a faint odor that reminded the rogue horse of the Black Lake, a foul place of great evil.
“How could the man smell of the Black Lake? We destroyed it years ago.” It had been the summer before Edge’s wedding, in fact.
Rufus shrugged. “He stinks.”
Squirrel sniffed a few times. I don’t smell it, he declared. Fist didn’t dare tell him that his sense of smell wasn’t what it used to be.
Fist felt Edge’s insistent nudge in the bond once again. The ogre sighed. “I suppose I’d better tell him.”
Chapter Nine
Sir Edge - Letters
Edge and Deathclaw waited impatiently for Fist’s response. Edge was lying in his bedroll in a trance-like state, while Deathclaw sat in a tree above the small camp. The raptoid was keeping his senses alert, letting his subconscious mind stand watch.
While their bodies were in this semi-awake condition, their thoughts remained deep within the bond. Both of them had formed mental representations of their physical forms and waited within a chamber that Edge had created. The room was wide and square with walls and ceilings made of white cloud.
Edge paced the chamber worriedly, his form fidgeting. Deathclaw leaned against one wall, his body partially translucent. His arms were folded and his eyes were focused on the other member of their tribe in the room.
In the center of the room was a polished wooden table surrounded by four plush chairs. At one of them, slumped forward onto the table and snoring softly, was Artemus. The ancient wizard still retained aspects of the Scralag in his form. His skin was light blue and his beard was made of icicles. The fingernails on his hands were long, black, and pointed and covered in mud.
It hadn’t been easy for Edge to rouse him enough to send the Scralag back out and dig a mass grave for the dead villagers, but he had managed to do so. The mud clinging to this mental representation of Artemus was clear proof that the elemental was still sulking about it.
Edge walked to one wall and stuck his hand through it as he reached into his connection with the ogre. “Come on, Fist! Answer me!”
“He is most likely just getting ready for bed,” said Deathclaw. “First he must change into his nightgown and clean his teeth. Then he must tuck Squirrel in and think about what big words he’s going to use tomorrow. Then he may deign to speak with us.”
Edge looked over at the raptoid, but in his current mood he felt no compulsion to smile at Deathclaw’s accurate depiction of Fist’s habits. “He keeps telling me, ‘Just a moment’ like he can’t tell how urgent this is. If he doesn’t-.”
I’m here, sent Fist and Edge felt a large hand grasp his own.
Edge pulled with all his mental might and as he backed away from the wall, the hole he had made opened wider and the ogre’s huge arm followed his own. Fist slid out of the wall and into the room with the rest of them. The gravity of the place didn’t seem to affect him at first. He didn’t fall to the ground, but floated forward a short distance before pulling his feet under him.
Fist soon stood, towering over him. He reached out to grasp Edge’s shoulders, and concern etched in his features. “Edge, you’re wounded!”
“We had a battle today. But we can talk about that later,” Edge replied. He lifted his hand to show Fist the ring. “Something is wrong with Jhonate! I can’t feel her presence.”
“Does the wood still live?” Fist asked.
“Yes, but I can’t even tell what direction she’s in.”
Fist nodded. “She’s doing that on purpose.”
“Why would she cut off her connection to me?” Edge asked and as secure as he had always felt with their relationship, a small jolt of fear came unbidden to his mind. He had been gone a long time. Had she met someone else?
“Of course not,” said Fist. “The point is she’s not hurt. I’ll explain everything I know, but after you let me heal you.”
“Can you do it from this distance?” asked Deathclaw.
“I should be able to. Rufus is back at the Mage School boosting me with his energy. That’s why he isn’t in here with me,” said Fist he returned his focus to Edge. “I learned that trick from you. You’ve done it with Gwyrtha often enough.”
“Right,” said Edge. After spending two years away from his own rogue horse, he had momentarily forgotten that Fist wasn’t as impaired. “Where is Squirrel?”
“He’s on your shoulder,” said Deathclaw.
Edge turned his head and found himself being proffered a nut from a scaly outstretched hand.
When inside mental confines of the bond, Squirrel’s appearance wasn’t limited by his physical form. Instead of an old graying squirrel, he had taken a form very similar to Deathclaw’s. He looked like a miniature raptoid, covered in scales, his hands and feet tipped with talons. The one remnant of his true self that remained was a thick bushy tail that curved up his back.
His appearance wasn’t the only thing he could alter in this place. He shook the nut at Edge. “Eat this,” Squirrel said in a hissing voice similar to Deathclaw’s. “It will help strengthen the connection.”
“What has Fist been teaching you lately?” Edge asked as he opened his mouth.
Squirrel placed the nut on Edge’s tongue, then reached a hand under his chin and shut his mouth. “Not all things are learned from others. This is something I discovered on my own.”
Edge chewed the nut and found that Squirrel was right. Though nothing had changed physically, it felt like the distance between himself and the ogre had halved. Almost immediately, he felt Fist’s magic enter his physical body. His lower back tingled as his flesh began to knit together. Within less than a minute, his wound had closed.
Fist gave him a warm smile and clapped his shoulder. “All done. The elf magic that currently proliferates your body should ensure that the healing doesn’t fatigue you.” He shifted his gaze to Deathclaw and raised a thick eyebrow. “You’re missing a hand.”
The raptoid shrugged. “It’s not the first time.”
“True,” Fist replied. He gestured curiously towards Artemus’ sleeping form. There was a frozen puddle of drool on the table under the old wizard’s head.
“He helped with the fight,” said Edge. “Now . . . Thank you for healing me, but please tell me what is going on with Jhonate?”
Fist reached up and scratched his head. “First, you should know that she decided to go before the Bowl.”
Edge’s eyes widened. “Jhonate? When? Why?”
“Today. Coalvin heard about it and told me. As for why?” A folded letter appeared in Fist’s hand and he held it out. “I found this on the table in your house.”
Edge first read the note to Fist that she had scribbled on the outside of the letter, then opened it and read the message inside. His concern increased as he read. After all these years, she decides to go before the Bowl because of a letter received from a stranger?
Edge knew of Seer Rahan by reputation. Listener Beth was the one who had recommended they find him. He had once specialized in breaking curses and was supposedly one of the few living people who had the ability to see future events. Edge and Jhonate had been seeking him for over a decade, but until now he had remained hidden.
While Edge read, the rest of his bonded followed his thoughts. Deathclaw’s response was different than his own.
“Sar Zahara?” the raptoid said. “What does it mean?”
“Zahara . . ? In the days of the first gnome warlord there was a general by that name. She was a brilliant teacher and . . . commander . . .” said Artemus. He had done a lot of research on naming back in his living days and evidently the discussion had stirred his mind. The ancient wizard didn’t move from his spot or even open his eyes, but his lips moved all the same, his voice echoing in a lazy whisper. “In one ancient
dialect it could be translated to mean . . . ‘trainer of men.’”
“That fits her,” said Squirrel.
Edge couldn’t help but agree and normally he would be ecstatic over Jhonate’s decision, but that was the only part of the letter he did like. “But why does she think she has to find him alone?”
Fist held out another letter. This one was old and worn and had once been sealed with wax. “This is the letter she referred to.”
Edge snatched it from his thick fingers and read the salutation.
To Jhonate bin Leeths of the Big and Little People Tribe, Defender of the Grove, Daughter of Xedrion Bin Leeths, Wife of Sir Edge, Academy Graduate, Mother of Arriana and possible mother of many more,
Edge froze, his fingers gripping the pages tightly. He and Jhonate had not told anyone the name they had picked for the daughter they had lost in childbirth. Her people didn’t believe in giving a name to a child that had never drawn breath. Only his bonded knew.
By writing her name, the Seer had given proof of his power and identity. But Edge did not like reading her name written in this stranger’s hand. It felt disrespectful and manipulative, especially the last part. ‘Possible mother of many more’? He read on.
I know of the curse upon you and I have long known that you seek me. You wish to have this curse removed, but I warn you that doing so will not come without cost. There will be conditions and there will be sacrifices. They will not be easy to bear, and you will feel the weight of most of it alone.
Before you undertake this quest, you should consider something very important. You are already a mother. That your child was taken from you does not change that fact and this curse upon you does not keep you from fulfilling your purpose in this world. If you can find peace in this knowledge, you need not sacrifice more. In fact, I would not have sent you this letter except for the fact that the knowledge I have been given is not for me alone. If I refused to tell you, I would be taking away your choice.
Sir Edge Page 9
