Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (36 page)

We are waiting for you.

I am on my way.

“He will be here soon.” Fist said, “Do you need to wait for Qyxal to get here before we start?”

Benjo snorted. “I think I will be okay, thank you.”

While the two men currently sparring finished their match, Fist and Benjo went to the training closet and selected their weapons. Both of them chose practice spears. Fist had always been proud of his skill with the spear, but Benjo was brilliant with the weapon.

Before meeting the man, Fist had only considered using the spear as a stabbing or throwing weapon. Benjo on the other hand, almost never threw his spear. He wielded it more like a quarter staff, only using it to pierce the enemy when he had a good opening. His technique had taught Fist a new way to look at the weapon and as always, the ogre enjoyed the opportunity to learn.

They walked to the center of the circle and bowed to each other. This was a human tradition Benjo had picked up at Training School that Fist liked. It showed respect to the opposing warrior as well as a lack of fear. Fist felt a slight twinge in his back as he bowed, but he ignored it. A little back pain wouldn’t stop him from defeating the man.

Benjo was quicker and more polished in his spear skills, but Fist was stronger and had superior reach. He also had one other thing that Benjo didn’t and that was years of practical battle experience. Fist decided upon a plan of attack and roared as he came at the man.

Benjo leapt out of the way of the first strike, but Fist wasn’t about to give him time to counter attack. He kept the man at a distance with long sweeping slashes of his spear, waiting for him to lose patience and try to rush in. It didn’t take long.

Benjo timed his move perfectly, waiting for the instant the wooden weapon flashed by before darting forward and extending his own spear towards the ogre’s unprotected ribs. But Fist was waiting for it. The moment Benjo made his move, Fist let go of his spear with his right hand and reached out to grasp the man’s spear below the head, halting it mere inches from his chest.

He twisted his torso to jerk the weapon from Benjo’s grasp, and felt a slight pop in his back. A sharp stab of pain arced through his body and Fist let go of the spear.

Benjo didn’t hesitate. He reversed the weapon and swung the butt end around in a powerful swipe that caught the stunned ogre in the jaw. Fist crashed to the ground and yelled in agony, but the ache in his jaw was an afterthought. He arched his back and his legs twitched as he tried to find a position that did not aggravate the injury.

“Sorry! That strike was a bit harder than I intended,” Benjo said, his face lined with concern.

“It is okay, Benjo,” Fist grunted and laid still on the ground, his muscles spasming around the wounded area. “It was not you.”

Squirrel leapt down from the tree and ran over to scamper around on Fist’s chest, chattering in concern. Fist wasn’t supposed to get hurt.

“It is okay Squirrel.”

“Fist, are you alright?” Justan had arrived just as Fist hit the ground and was now kneeling beside him.

“Yes,” Fist said with a grimace. Squirrel ran up to his shoulder and he rolled over and got to his knees in an attempt to stand. He got his legs underneath him, but his back cried out in protest and Fist hobbled hunched over to sit on one of the benches. “My back.”

“Sorry, Justan,” Benjo said. “It’s my fault.”

“It was not you, Benjo,” Fist said again through clenched teeth.

“
Can I look at it?
” Justan asked, both aloud and through the bond.

“Yes,” Fist said. He opened his mind to allow entrance and felt the now familiar sensation of Justan’s magic searching around in his body.

You have a bulging disc
, Justan said. Fist had no idea what that meant and Justan added,
I see the hurt place in your spine. Master Coal has been teaching me how to use my magic to heal, but I shouldn’t try it yet. I could hurt you more.
He was silent for a moment, then said,
Gwyrtha is bringing Qyxal. I will try to numb it a little for you until he gets here.

Fist felt a sensation of coolness in the tender tissues around his spine and the sharp twitching pain subsided. He sighed in relief. “Thank you, Justan.”

Qyxal soon arrived and Fist felt Justan watching closely from within him as the elf used his magic to correct the problem. Once Qyxal was finished, Fist thanked him and stood, raising his arms and arching his back in a mighty stretch. There was a slight crack and he let his arms fall, sighing in relief. Squirrel stepped up close to nuzzle his ear and Fist patted his friend’s little head.

“If it bothers you again, come see Master Coal or I,” Qyxal said. “We don’t want this to become a reoccurring condition. Alright?”

“Yes, Qyxal. It feels good now.” Fist felt Justan withdrawing through the bond and was surprised when his friend cried out.

“Fist!” Justan’s eyes were wide and he was pointing at Squirrel with one hand while his other was pulled up to his mouth in surprise. “What is that?”

“What?” Fist turned his head and looked at Squirrel in concern. The creature was busy opening a nut, only slightly irritated at Justan’s pointing. “It is Squirrel.”

Qyxal recognized that Justan had to be seeing something to do with magic and cleared his throat to get Justan’s attention.

“But! . . . oh.” Justan looked around and let his hands fall, realizing that everyone was staring. He grinned to the crowd and forced out a laugh. “Sorry, for a second I thought it was something else.”

Fist, come with me!
Justan sent as he came closer, the fake grin still frozen on his face. He put his arm around the ogre and turned him away from the workers, then walked Fist away from the training area a ways before continuing. “Fist, um . . . I’m going to try and show you something, okay?”

Fist felt a distant sensation as if something fine and delicate had been wrapped around his head. Then he sensed Justan reaching into his mind through the bond and there was an odd sensation of pressure in his head, like Justan had planted a finger firmly right between his eyes. Fist’s vision shifted.

Justan now glowed softly as if filled with a strange shimmering light. Fist could see multiple tendrils of cloudy white light reaching from the man in every direction, pausing every once in a while to brush against someone nearby as if feeling them out before moving on. One of them practically danced around Qyxal, examining the elf several times as he looked around, trying to see what Fist was staring at. One thicker cord of light arced from Justan directly into Fist’s chest, and he realized that what he was seeing was the spirit magic that Justan talked so often about.

I see the bond!
Fist thought and a smile stretched his face.

Good! Now look at Squirrel!
Justan demanded.

Fist turned his head the other way and saw another thick cord of white light arcing from himself to the creature sitting on his shoulder.

When did that happen?
Justan asked?

“What?” Fist said aloud. “Did you do that?”

“No!” Justan whispered loudly, then sent through the bond,
That magic isn’t coming from me. It is coming from you, Fist. You are bonded to Squirrel!

“You bonded just can’t say things aloud, can you?” Qyxal grumbled, having been trying to follow along in the conversation from their expressions alone. Neither of them registered the elf’s complaint.

Fist was still trying to digest what Justan had said. He stared again at the cord of light tying Squirrel to him and reached for it with his forefinger extended, almost expecting it to have a tangible substance. But his fingers passed right through it without disturbing the light at all. So he was bonded with Squirrel and the magic was coming from him? Fist smiled, finding the knowledge pleasing. “Oh . . . how?”

 “I don’t know!” Justan’s intense curiosity was oozing through the bond and it was beginning to make Fist nervous. The ogre’s smile faded. Was there something wrong with being bonded to Squirrel?

Justan sensed Fist’s confusion and paused a moment to calm himself before continuing. “Can you hear Squirrel’s thoughts?”

“No. Well . . .” Now that Justan put it that way, Fist realized that he had been able to understand Squirrel’s thoughts for some time. “Yes. I know what he wants.”

“So you are bonded to Squirrel?” Qyxal said, suddenly understanding what was going on. “Good for you, Fist! How did you not know until now, Edge?”

“How long have you been able to do that?” Justan asked Fist, ignoring the elf.

“I am not sure. It started a little bit and then got so I could understand more.”

“So it came gradually?” Justan noted Fist’s confusion and added. “Gradual. It means something that starts one way and changes over time. That can be your new word tomorrow. ‘Gradually’.”

“Yes! It came gradually.” Fist wondered how to spell this new word . . .

“Okay, we can get to that later,” Justan said. “Just think back to when this bond with Squirrel could have happened.”

“Right,” Fist said. “I will show you.”

He closed his eyes and thought back to the first time he had met Squirrel and allowed Justan to share in the memories. Fist started with their meeting at the stunted mountain tree the morning after he had fled his tribe’s territory, his head throbbing from the beating his father had given him the night before. From the beginning Squirrel was persistent, unwilling to leave the ogre’s side, but Fist hadn’t been able to understand why it followed him. As they got to the part of the story where Fist and Squirrel were reunited outside of the duke’s castle, they were interrupted by Lenny’s loud voice.

“Edge!” The dwarf ran up to them. He was sweating and a worried look was stuck on his face. “I got bad news, son!”

“What? Don’t tell me your magic powder isn’t working.” Justan said, preparing for disappointment.

“That ain’t it, son,” Lenny said. “The king’s dead.”

“Dremadria’s King? King Andre?” Justan asked and the dwarf nodded in response. “But how? He isn’t that old, maybe in his thirties.”

“They’re sayin’ it was assassins from some other country.”

The other men in the training area caught part of the conversation and were coming closer to listen. Most of them were from the
Kingdom
of
Razbeck
, but being this close to the border, the goings on in Dremaldria affected them as well.

“Where did you hear this, Lenny?” Qyxal asked.

“When the courier came in this mornin’ he also had a letter from my brother Chugk in Wobble. I was just so excited ‘bout my other shipment, that I didn’t read it ‘till just now.”

“That’s too bad,” Justan said.

Fist could tell that there was some sense of guilt within Justan that he wasn’t more upset by the news. Justan felt that a Dremaldrian was supposed to love their king. The attachment humans felt for far off leaders they had never met was something that the ogre didn’t understand.

“At least we don’t have to worry about the king sending men after us anymore,” Qyxal said.

“You ain’t heard the bad part yet,” Lenny said. He looked at the ogre. “Fist, I hate to tell you this, but yer pal, the wizard duke with the wiggle fingers ain’t dead.”

“What?” Fist said numbly, caught off guard by the dwarf’s statement. “But he is dead. I saw him . . . melt.”

“I can’t ‘splain it,” Lenny said with a shrug. “But that’s what Chugk’s letter says. Zambon’s girl, Elise, is the Queen of Dremaldria now and Ewzad Vriil got raised to the rank of Lord Protector to the Queen.”

“If he’s still alive, then he must have used some kind of spell to take him out of the throne room at the last moment,” Qyxal said. “That was some clever illusion work.”

“I saw Tamboor’s sword go right through him. I don’t think that was an illusion,” Justan said. “When I searched the pile of clothes after he was gone, the sword wasn’t there.”

“Then when he left he must have taken it with him,” the elf replied. “I don’t know how he survived. Someone must have been waiting to heal him, wherever he went.”