Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (47 page)

“Yes sir,” she said, pushing down the frustration that tried to bubble to the surface. Once again she was forced to take up the rear with the mage.

The group quickly dismantled their tents and the three scouts went on ahead. Poz and Jhonate hid their supplies for quick retrieval later. While they worked, Locksher busied himself quizzing Vannya on various deduction techniques. She did well enough, but as far as Jhonate was concerned, the mage’s mind was little more than average.

A short time later, Jhonate received a badly handwritten message on her stone.

Road safe. Holding position.

Poz led them down to the road and they traveled to the spot where the corpses had been burned. Sure enough, Jhonate saw the heavy tracks of man and beast and the discoloration of blood under the snow that showed a battle had taken place there not too long ago. There was more evidence once they reached the burn pile.

“From the smell of it, that is giant spoor,” Jhonate observed.

“You can’t tell from the size of it?” Vannya smirked. Jhonate once again considered beating the girl.

“Vannya, look at this,” Locksher said. The wizard was standing near the burn pile. “What can you see?”

The mage padded over to the wizard, the enchantment he had placed on her boots muffling the sound of her feet in the snow. Both of them used the spell. It was necessary to keep them from being a hindrance to the stealthy group. But for the hundredth time since starting, Jhonate shook her head in disgust at the spell. Such magic was cheating.

“Hmm, let’s see.” The mage tucked a lock of blond hair behind one perfect ear and crouched next to her master. “The pile is quite high there must be . . . thirty or so corpses in there.” She stuck out a hand just over the pile. “It isn’t smoking and there is no residual heat so it is fairly old, at least a couple days.”

Jhonate had to admit that the girl wasn’t completely vapid. She was right on with her assessment. Once a pile of corpses this size got burning, the fats and moisture in the tissues kept it smoldering for a long time.

“What else can you see?” Locksher prompted.

She crinkled her pert little nose. “Well, I see no pieces of metal, maybe some bone weapons. It looks like this is all from the goblinoid army but it is kind of hard to tell exactly because there are-.”

“No skulls,” Jhonate finished.

“Right.” Locksher said. “Very good. Where are their heads? But I agree. From the bones and bits of burnt tissue that are left, there are no human bodies here. So what does that tell us?”

“Humans won,” Poz said with a smile.

“It certainly looks that way,” Locksher agreed.

Jhonate sent their findings to Faldon. The scouts moved ahead and Jhonate led the rest of the group through the trees parallel to the road. Faldon, Qenzic, and Jobar met up with them just before they reached the village. There were no signs of goblinoid forces around. But there was quite a bit of noise coming from the village ahead.

Fortress was the word that came to Jhonate’s mind as Jack’s Rest came into view. The forest had been cleared for a hundred yards around the village and it was surrounded by high walls made of thick logs. The work had been done with the practiced hands of war veterans, she could tell. There were no gaps between the logs and they had been cut smooth to prevent easy hand holds for invading forces. A trench had been dug around the perimeter of the wall and Jhonate was sure that it was filled with sharpened stakes. She could see a couple men in a guard tower above the gate.

“This looks far different from the Jack’s Rest I remember,” said Poz.

“Those are no slip-shod defenses,” said Qenzic. “To put up fortifications like that must have taken . . .”

“Months,” Faldon said in disgust. “They have been alone for months fighting off an army and we have sat behind the walls of the academy, leaving them to fend for themselves.” With that, he stepped out of the trees and walked down the center of the road towards the gate. Locksher was right behind him and after a few nervous glances, the others followed.

The smell of decaying flesh hit them as they exited the trees. On both sides of the road leading up to the gate were hundreds of goblinoid heads mounted on stakes. All manner of beasts from goblins, gorcs, and orcs, the occasional ogre, and even a few giants were represented. The freezing winter air had kept them from decomposing, but the heads had been half pecked bare of flesh by scavenging birds.

Jhonate saw a troll’s head impaled, the end of a stake protruding from one eye. It was still moving, its remaining good eye darting back and forth, its maw of pointed teeth opening and closing. Its neck had been cauterized to prevent it from regenerating, but Jhonate knew that the creature would stay moving like that for weeks until the tissue died from starvation. Evidently these men did not know how effective a little pepper would have been when killing the beast.

Jhonate had not seen a display like this in years. Not since leaving her people to enter the academy. It gave her a chill as she remembered that day. Smoke had filled the jungle and the air had been full of screams as her father’s men destroyed the bandits responsible. The men of Jack’s Rest had indeed been left to battle alone for too long.

 “Look,” said Qenzic. “Moonrats.”  Sure enough, next to the gate was a cluster of dozens of moonrat heads. All of them were missing their eyes.

Jhonate frowned. Why did they have to be missing the eyes? This was the first glimpse of a moonrat she had seen since leaving on their mission. She itched to get her hands on one.

“By the bloody gods! Is that Faldon the Fierce I see?” said an excited voice from the watchtower above the gate.

“It is!” Faldon shouted. “But I can’t see who’s talking!”

“Just a minute!”

They heard the thump of heavy boots climbing down. There was a grunt behind the gate as a bar was lifted and the gate slowly opened outward on heavy hinges. The loud sound of men working poured out as a weathered, squat, but heavily muscled old man walked out from behind the gate. Two full quivers bristled on his back.

“Rickon the Bug!” Faldon said and clasped the man’s hand.

“Yer a welcome sight, Faldon!” the man replied. “Is the academy sending up reinforcements?”

Faldon’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry, Rickon. The academy is overwhelmed. We are all that could be spared.”

The man nodded resignedly. “Well come in then. We haven’t been attacked fer a while but you never know.”

Jhonate was impressed as they walked through the village. They had come expecting to find either no survivors or a small few hanging on for dear life, but Jack’s Rest was bustling. Refugees, both men and women packed the street hard at work. Most were dirty and their clothes were tattered, but everyone seemed healthy.

The village center showed signs that it had been attacked just months ago. The old original log buildings that still stood were fire damaged and hastily repaired. Smaller shacks and shelters had been packed between them and several wood frame houses were being built.

“People are sheltering here from villages and homesteads all around,” Rickon explained. “We bring back any survivors we find.”

“Why do they still build when the army could attack at any time?” asked Qenzic.

“We’re mountain folk. It’s what we do,” Rickon said.

“Who’s in charge?” Faldon asked as they walked.

“Why yer old friend, Tamboor the Fearless.”

“Tamboor?” Faldon laughed. “Of course Tamboor’s alive. It would take more than an army to take him down.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Rickon shrugged. “If you can call that living.”

“What do you mean?” Locksher asked, struggling to keep up with the conversation as they weaved through the crowded road. Jhonate didn’t have as much difficulty. A few sharp glares and people gave her a wide berth.

“I might as well warn ya about Tamboor,” Rickon said. “He ain’t right in the head. Had his wife and two youngest killed right in front of him the first day of the attack. He was hauled off to some dungeon somewhere and when he came back . . . well, Tamboor don’t talk much anymore.”

“Then how is he in charge?” Vannya asked.

The old man laughed. “We can’t help but follow him. His craziness is the only reason we’re alive.”

“Can you take us to see him?” Faldon asked.

“Sure. Headquarters is right around the corner, but he’s probably down training. I’ll take you there.”

They walked down the center street. The sounds of wood being chopped and the grunts of men laboring mingled with the chatter of women and the occasional laughter of children. The smell of various simple dishes being cooked for
noon
meals filled the air and set Jhonate’s mouth to watering. She realized that she hadn’t eaten that morning.

“Those moonrat heads back there at the gate,” Jobar said. “Why are they missing the eyes?”

Rickon snorted. “Any rat we find, we burn ‘em out. That’s the rules. They are
her
eyes, you know. The witch that commands this army. It is how she keeps track of her soldiers. How she gives orders.”

“The mother of the moonrats,” Jhonate said with a scowl. “I know her.”

“Yep. Uh . . . that’s the one,” Rickon the Bug said. He gave her a wary sidelong glance, but she ignored it.

 They left the busiest section of town. The buildings and shacks were spread farther apart now and they passed several blacksmiths hard at work making weapons. Then the clang of hammers against anvils was replaced by the ring of swords clashing and the whistle of arrows firing. 

As they rounded the corner, a busy archery range came into view. A dozen grizzled men were taking shots at straw targets while a younger few sat at benches making arrows. On the far side of the street, men practiced sword forms and axe play. Jhonate quickly noted the skill of each participant. Most of these men were past their prime, but all were well trained. These men were veterans. Surely these were the academy retirees Faldon had told them about.

“There he is,” said Faldon. Jhonate followed his eyes to a man on the edge of the training area. They weren’t the only ones watching. Half the men in the area had stopped to watch him.

Tamboor was practicing sword forms at a furious pace. Sweat streamed from dark hair streaked with gray and poured down his scarred and thickly muscled frame as he worked bare-chested. Steam rose from his skin in the crisp winter air, but he seemed unaffected by the cold. His face contorted in anger as he spun and jumped and parried and stabbed invisible foes in a series of forms Jhonate had not seen before. Each slice of the sword was quick and strong and full of rage. Even in their ferocity, the moves were tight and precise. Jhonate did not see an opening in his movements. She was struck by the realization that she would stand no chance against this man in battle.

“I would suggest you let him be for now,” said a man standing nearby. He was tall, dark haired, and with a warrior’s build. He wore a chain hauberk under scalemail and a long sword was sheathed across his back. The man was young, probably in his twenties as far as Jhonate could guess, but his eyes were lined and full of sorrow as he watched Tamboor work. Something about him seemed familiar, but Jhonate could not place it.

Faldon shook his head. “Interrupt Tamboor’s sword forms? I wouldn’t dream of it. Even back at the academy we knew not to bother him while he was training. He looks mad, too. Angrier than I’ve ever seen him.” Faldon looked at the man and gestured to the weapon on his back, “Excuse me, son, but why is it that you wear Tamboor’s sword? I would recognize Meredith’s pommel anywhere.”

The man reached up and touched the hilt of the weapon lightly, but did not take his eyes off of Tamboor’s dance. “It is part of our agreement. Father is only allowed to wield Meredith in battle. At all other times, he is to wear my sword, Elise. She’s a healing sword, you see. He’s calmer when he has her in his hands-.” The man turned to Faldon with a puzzled look. Then his eyes widened in recognition. “I’ll be thrice hung . . . Faldon the Fierce!”

He walked toward Faldon hand extended, but was intercepted by a flash of blond hair as Vannya rushed in. She threw her arms around him.

“Zambon!”