Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) (9 page)

“I understand how that feels,” Justan said. “But you know, if your theory is correct, Professor Beehn, maybe more of these morning runs can change that.”

“I can only hope.” The wizard patted Justan on the back and followed the students down the stairs that led to the grounds.

Later that day, Justan went on an errand for Vincent and happened to be on the third level in the far corner of the library. He was pulling a book on inter-elemental
dependancies
in
phasi
-illusionary magic that one of the wizard council had requested, when he noticed a tapestry against the east wall. He must have walked past it a dozen times, but for some reason, this time it drew his gaze.

The
Rune
Tower
was filled with amazing tapestries that spoke of great skill with weaving in times gone by. This particular tapestry was ancient and finely woven in a myriad of brilliant colors. It depicted a large battle between elves and orcs.  The detail was exquisite but it wasn’t the artistry that drew Justan’s attention. His eyes were drawn to one particular scene in the chaos of battle. A solitary figure on a horse was fighting in the middle of a horde of orcs and it looked like he was winning despite the overwhelming odds.

This individual was a striking sight, his face fixed in a snarl of rage and his hair whipping about trailing lines of sweat or blood. The figure was human, for he didn’t have pointed ears, but the fact that he was the only human in the tapestry wasn’t what Justan focused on. It was his weapon.

It was something unlike anything Justan had seen before and he had grown up around the academy where they used every weapon imaginable. It wasn’t a sword or an axe, but something in-between; a two handed weapon nearly as long as the barbarian sword his father used.

It was a wicked weapon with a long curving blade. It started narrow at the top like a
sabre
, then widened to the width of a battle-axe at the center, and curved to an abrupt point at the bottom. The handle was inset into the back of the blade at about its widest point and was long enough for two hands to grip it.

Suddenly, Justan wanted it. His heart burned for the chance to wield it. He had found the ideal weapon. The problem was it didn’t fit his style. Justan used two smaller blades, not one big one. But the vision of the weapon set his mind ablaze with ideas.

His first free moment, he sat down and sketched out ways of making this weapon his own. He agonized for over an hour over the details until he grew too frustrated trying to design a good way to make it work. Justan was thinking about doing some research on blacksmithing when he was interrupted.

“Hey, what are you up to?” It was Vannya and Arcon. They eased over and sat beside him.

“Nothing really.”
Justan covered his sketches with his hands. For some reason this particular project felt a little personal.
“Just doing some battle strategy research.”

“Oh,” she said and nodded knowingly. “So you are ready to give up, then?”

“Give up?” Justan looked at her in puzzlement.
“On what?”

“Well, if I remember right, you were supposed to be looking for flaws in the defenses of the
Mage
School
. You promised me that you could find ways to make this place fall in battle, and I told you that it was impossible. The defenses around this school are impregnable.” She sounded smug.

Justan chuckled. “Oh, that. Well I figured that out weeks ago. In fact I have been thinking about putting a paper together and sending it up to the wizard council so that they can fix some of the problems. There are just too many weaknesses.”

“Like what?” Arcon asked from the other side of Vannya. Justan outlined a few areas in which he thought that the schools defenses needed shoring up. Vannya shook her head.

“No way, Justan.
Even if invaders had that kind of research and insight available to them, I am sure that the wizards have thought of all those things already. Nice try.” She laughed and slugged him in the arm.

Arcon didn’t seem so sure. “Actually, I think that Justan has some good points. In fact, I think that I will bring it up with Professor Valtrek next time I see him.” He looked at Justan with respect. “Good job.”

“Thank you, Arcon,” Justan said. He turned to Vannya, “Hey, what news has come in about the orc prisoners? I haven't heard anything in a long time.”

“Oh. I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” she said. “They are all dead. I heard about it last night. Evidently, the orcs were a problem the moment they arrived. They refused to speak and refused to eat. After a couple of days, the wizards began forcing them to eat, but they couldn't get them to speak, not even with powerful spells. The orcs were stuck in some kind of religious fervor that the wizards couldn't break through. One night one orc went into a rage and killed the other two.”

“What happened to the last one?"

The look on her face was ominous. “When the wizards approached him the next morning, he shouted something in orcish and snapped his own neck.”

“So we never found out why they kidnapped the guards?” Justan said. “That’s ridiculous. The jailers at the academy would have had answers in a couple of hours! Did they find out what the orc shouted before he died?”

“It was a prayer to the Dark Prophet,” she said.

Justan's jaw dropped. This held grave implications. If the orcs were worshiping the Dark Prophet again and scouting out the
Mage
School
, there could be big trouble. “Do you think . . .?”

“That the orcs are building up an army to try and conquer the school?” Arcon said. The mage laughed. “That's ridiculous.”

Vannya shrugged. “The High Council is researching the available evidence, but they don't think it likely. These orcs were probably an isolated group. There isn't any widespread worship of the Dark Prophet going on among the goblinoids as far as anyone can tell. Besides, the Dark Prophet was destroyed long ago.”

“True.” Justan said. There was no use worrying about it. Surely the wizards had the situation under control. Not that there was anything he could do about it anyway.

They chatted for a while longer. The subject shifted to how Justan’s studies were going and about the next big Elements tournament that was coming up. Then it was time for lunch. Justan folded his sketches up and tucked them away in his robes for later study.

As the two mages left the library, Justan found Vincent scribbling away notes behind his librarian desk.

“Vincent?”

The absent-minded gnome looked up at him with his glasses perched so far down his long nose that they looked as though they would fall off.
“Ah, Justan.
Did you find that book on the mating habits of the goblinoid tribes of the
Upper
Trafalgan
Mountains
for me?”

As he spoke his head bobbed up and down. It was a miracle that the gnome’s glasses stayed on their precarious perch.

“Yes, I found that for you this morning. In fact, your elbow is leaning on it, sir.” Justan smiled, as always having a warm feeling towards the awkward librarian. He found the gnome’s eccentricities somehow comforting.

“Oh, yes,” Vincent muttered. He lifted the book up, peering at it at arms length because his glasses were perched so far down his nose that it was the only way he could read the cover.

“Fascinating book, you know.
Especially page two hundred forty-seven, paragraph two.
Goblins, gorcs and orcs are actually different parts of the same race, you see. One out of every ten goblins born is bigger than the others and grows to be a gorc. When gorcs mate, one out of every ten of them becomes an orc. Over the years, the tribes have grown so far apart that the orcs use gorcs and goblins as slaves. The tribes have quite a rivalry.” He looked around conspiratorially. “I am sure that an orc wouldn’t be too happy if you called him ‘a son of a goblin!’” The gnome chortled. “Ha! What an absolutely marvelous joke!
Page two hundred fifty-eight paragraph one, line two!”

Justan laughed along with the gnome.
“Actually, Vincent.
I came to tell you that it is time for lunch. I happen to know for a fact that you haven’t eaten all day and I'm determined to force a meal down your throat.”

“Ah,” the gnome muttered with a bored sound in his voice. “Well that can’t be true, I sent Chauncey out to bring me breakfast this morning.”

Justan shook his head. Chauncey was one of two gnomes on Vincent’s staff. “That was yesterday and Chauncey didn’t even make it out of the door without being distracted. I believe he ended up reading Professor
Bandarb’s
dissertation on the wing symmetry of an air fish. I doubt that he has eaten anything today either.”

Vincent waved Justan away. “Then why
don’t you
be a good young man and bring me some food back from the kitchen.”

He looked back down to his notes and yanked on the end of his nose. His spectacles finally fell and hit the ground with a clatter. Justan quickly bent over and retrieved them before Vincent could step on them. The gnome didn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t leave here now. I must get the research books together for Professor Locksher. I sent
Hibbel
and
Gaxen
to retrieve those books hours ago. Where have they run off to?”

Justan gave a frustrated grunt. He knew where the two apprentices were, taking advantage of the poor gnome once again. They were two of the worst ones about it. The problem was that even when Vincent suspected that they were lax in doing their duties, he got distracted and forgot.

“Vincent I believe that they were waylaid in the anatomy section and are now playing Elements in the aisle.”

The gnome gasped and Justan handed him back his spectacles. The gnome thrust them back on his nose. Once again, they slid down and teetered on the brink of falling off. “Why I can’t believe the nerve of those two. I am going to give them a piece of my mind and then I’m going to report this to the professors!” Vincent huffed and stormed across the library floor.

Justan called after the librarian, “Remember, they are in the Anatomy section! Aisle sixty-two between rows four and five.” He didn’t want Vincent to forget.

Chapter Six

Once a week, the
Mage
School
held an Elements tournament right after dinner. It was located in the Hall of Elements and any student who wished could participate. It was a time of enjoyment and competition. Over half the school joined in.

The students signed up the night before. Everyone was assigned a seat in a random pattern so that each student played with a new group of people every time. This was done to foster a greater sense of community in the school. It kept cliques from forming and made the students associate with one another.

The magic of the hall was intensified on these nights. The four colored sections of the room reverberated with energy. For the students in the air section, there was a constant breeze, those in the fire section were buffeted by random blasts of heat, the earth section was filled with the smell of soil and every once in a while a tremor would shake the floor. The water section was particularly interesting for when each student entered it, their entire body felt wet. Even though they could breathe normally, everyone’s hair and robes moved about as if they were playing the card game underwater. These extra
magics
in the different sections could be uncomfortable at times, but that was part of the fun of the evening.

The master of the event was none other than Master Latva, head wizard of the school. The old man with the youthful eyes would enter from a door in the back of the hall decked out in a splendid robe colored in each of the elements. Every week the hall grew silent until he raised his staff in the air and proclaimed, “Let the tournament begin!” With a flash, the room would blaze with light and the games began.

To the casual observer, the Hall of Elements would be a chaotic mix of light and sound, but everything was well organized. There were six players at every table and the three with the most points at the end of the game would pass on to the next round. This process continued throughout the night until there were only six players left. The winner of that last game received a free day with no classes and a trophy. The free day was nice, but every player coveted the trophies.