Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (9 page)

He rushed about the room, gathering items together. Then went in his bedroom and began to pack. His voice echoed out from the room. “Still, a double naming? Fascinating!”

“Locksher, where are you going?” Valtrek asked.

“I might have some crucial information for your apprentice! This could be very big for him. Big for us all, actually. I just need one more trip to make sure. Vannya!” He rushed out of the room and grasped her arm. “If you are willing, I just might have one more way that you can help Sir Edge.”

Arcon trembled in fear as he followed his mistress’ children deeper and deeper into the depths of the forest. It had started in such a small way. He had first heard her voice a little over a year prior as the
Mage
School
caravan traveled to the
Battle
Academy
for testing week.

They had been traveling down the protected road through the darkest part of the forest when one of the mages had stepped off the road and been bitten by a snake. While the others tended to the poisoned mage, a moonrat had fallen from above and landed in front of him with a crunch, dead. The light in its eyes had burned a dull green before winking out. As he watched in horror, the eyes had popped out of its head and rolled to his feet.

His first instinct had been to scream out in fright and run, but no sound came out of his open mouth and his feet did not move. After a moment, the fear left him. He grew curious instead and reached towards them. As his fingers neared the eyes, the dull light reappeared, gaining in strength until the green glow was all he could see.

At the time he had not wondered why these eyes were green while all the other moonrats’ he had ever seen had eyes that glowed a dirty yellow. It had taken a while for him to understand that the moonrat had been one of his mistress’ special children. She had sacrificed it to speak with him.

Now here he was walking through the woods towards his first true meeting with his mistress. The tangle of limbs overhead became so thick that the glow of the moonrats’ eyes was his only source of light in the darkness. His fear deepened. He had followed her willingly all of this time. Her promise of power had been so welcome, her promise of love so seductive. Still, he hadn’t expected it to go this far.

At first her only needs had been that of companionship. He would hold the eye that was her gift and speak with her for hours. She had been so willing to listen, so concerned about the tiniest problems with his life. Her first requests had been so small, a bit of information here and there. Her requests had seemed insignificant compared to the vast knowledge she had shared with him. At her suggestion, he and Pympol had coerced the elven herbs from Justan. She had also given him the information they needed to complete the golem.

By the time she had demanded Piledon’s death, he was hers completely and utterly. He hadn’t thought twice. He had enjoyed it even. He had basked in her approval and reveled in the thought of the pleasures that would come with his reward. It hadn’t been until later as he used the eye to awaken the perloi and watched them devour his friend’s body that he felt guilt and it wasn’t until Wizard Locksher had returned to the school that he felt any regret.

When he knew that he had been found out, he had run to the gates of the school, but they had been closed and the wizards were waiting for an escape attempt. Her voice had calmed him and led him up the stairs to the top of the wall. He had been sighted, but before they could get to him, clawed hands grabbed him from out of the darkness and pulled him over the edge. The moonrats had carried him down the wall and into the forest away from the wizards’ search. His mistress had rescued him and now he would finally meet her.

The smell of decay had been wafting around for a while already, but as he followed the moonrats deeper into the forest, the smell grew more and more noxious until it stung his nostrils and churned his stomach. The air was warmer and more humid here and the ground began to suck at his boots. He saw more glowing yellow eyes all around him. They were in the trees, on the ground, and even peering up out of the muck.

The moonrats became so many in number that it was no longer dark. It was like he was walking through a tunnel made entirely of yellow orbs. The only darkness was the narrow path at his feet leading to his mistress.

As he got closer, he forgot about the smell. He forgot about the ichor that sucked at his boots as he walked. He didn’t even feel the stings on his legs from the teeth of the insects that climbed up his boots. His fear was gone as well, replaced by yearning. He was about to meet his mistress for the first time. She was going to fulfill her promises. Oh how he ached for her.

The tunnel of yellow orbs faded to green as he walked among her special children and then he was before her.

In front of him stood the remains of an ancient tree. At one time it had been magnificent and beautiful, perhaps the largest tree in the forest. Now it was but a husk of its former glory. Its vast trunk was lightning scarred. Most of its branches were bare or broken, and blotches of mold and rot covered what remained.

On either side of the trunk sat a moonrat with orange eyes, his mistress’ most prized children. The two precious beasts weren’t looking at him, but had their eyes trained on the figure between them. In the middle, rising from between two large roots of the tree was his mistress herself.

Arcon’s heart thundered in his chest. She was dark, black as the darkest night and he could not make out her features, but her form was shapely in the glow of her children’s adoring gaze and her presence was all at once horrible and irresistible. He wanted to run to her, to leap into her embrace, but instead he fell to his knees in the muck and eagerly awaited her acknowledgement.

It was then that he sensed her anger. She was furious, seething with rage at something that had just transpired far away from here. He was grateful that her wrath was not directed at him. This close to her presence, he was sure that his heart would explode from the power of it. Then her form turned to him and the intensity of her fury dissipated.

“
You finally come to me, dear Arcon
,” she purred, her voice deep and beautiful and terrible.

“I . . . live to . . .” His voice was thick with emotion and the words were so confused that they would not come.

“
Of course you do
,” she said. Her voice dropped lower and carried such a sultry tone that his mouth watered. “
You have served me well and your reward awaits. Come closer to me, my dear
.”

He shuffled forward on his knees in the muck, his mind void of any thought but her promise. As he came closer, her features remained too dark to make out, but the orange glow of the eyes of the children to either side glistened on the edges of her, hinting at a form so perfect and desirable that he faltered and stopped. He was too overcome to move.

She chuckled and the delight in her voice almost killed him. “
Stand, dear Arcon. Come closer. Closer still, that I may touch you.
”

Numb to everything except his devotion, his body followed her commands taking step after step towards her. It did not occur to him to wonder why she did not move towards him. Her smooth black arms reached for him and he tensed every muscle in his body, aching for her touch. Then she grasped him.

Her touch was not as expected. The hands that gripped him were powerful and rough, and as she pulled him closer, her breath was rancid. Her body and countenance were still so black that he could not make out what she looked like. Her presence though, was sultry as ever and he ignored everything else, filled with gratitude for her attention.

“
Oh, my dear Arcon how I have longed for this moment as I know you have
,” she breathed and though her body smelled of decay, her voice was filled with such passion that he did not care. “
Now that you are here, I require one more task
.”

“Anything, Mistress,” he gasped.

“
I must ask you to go on a journey for me
.”

His heart cried out in agony at the thought of leaving. She pulled him closer and whispered in his ear. Her lips touched his earlobe as she spoke, leaving behind something thick and wet.

“
Do not worry. I will give you a piece of me to take with you. After this night, we will never be apart again
.”

“Yes!” he cried, overcome with gratitude.

“
Very well
,” She chuckled again and ran one finger down his chest. Where her finger passed, the cloth of his winter robes tore and fell open, exposing his skin. She leaned closer and he shuddered at the chill of her breath on him.

“
Now, you mustn’t die. What happens next will be too much for you, but you must live. You can not serve me if you are dead and you can not collect your reward. Do you understand?
”

“Yes!” he cried. “Do it!”

She ran a finger between two of his ribs and his flesh parted underneath. He cried out at the searing pain, but did not move. She then reached out and one of the special moonrats with the orange eyes approached her. She stroked its head lovingly, then squeezed. There was a horrible crunch and a shuddering squeal. Her hand returned holding one glowing eye.

His mistress lifted the orange orb and brought it to his chest. A small clawed appendage sprouted from the bottom of the orb and grasped blindly at the air.

“P-please,” he gasped, his eyes filled with terror.

“
Shhhhh . . .”
she whispered gently and reached her black fingers inside of him.

He cried out again as she parted his ribs with her strong fingers and there was a crack of yielding bone. The pain was too much, but he kept his promise and did not die. She pushed the glowing orb inside him, he felt it slipping around his lung to nestle next to his beating heart, which she caressed gently before removing her hand from his chest.

She squeezed the wound shut and with another swipe of a finger knit the wound shut. The healing was far more painful than the wounding had been. He could feel traces of her like decayed leaves remaining inside of him.

“
There Arcon. We shall be connected as long as you live
.”

“Th-thank you, my mistress,” he said.

“
Now for the reward I promised you
,” she breathed. The words were throaty and deep with promise. She pulled him in closer and when her arms wrapped around him it was as if she had a thousand arms. She ran a slithering tongue up his neck and along his jaw until her lips finally found his. As his screams echoed through the night, they were indistinguishable from pain or pleasure.

Ewzad Vriil was dead.

Or at least Ewzad thought he was. He had seen the pommel of Tamboor's sword protruding from his chest. He had felt Elise Muldroomon stab him with the dark dagger. He had seen the swirling blackness and had felt his body being sucked away by the dark power of the knife.

His mind now wandered through nothingness, wracked with pain. Every inch of his nonexistent body was on fire. It seemed to last forever. Was this the afterlife? An empty eternity filled with misery? Perhaps not. The darkness calmed him. The pain began to fade. Ewzad grew sleepy. He let his thoughts slip away. Perhaps there was an end.

The nothingness was penetrated by a voice that jolted Ewzad back into awareness. The voice seared through Ewzad's mind and laid it open, pouring through his thoughts. He knew this voice. Ewzad could hide nothing from the voice of the Dark Prophet.

“
Why do you try to escape, Ewzad Vriil?
” the voice said. “
You are mine. You cannot hide from me.
”

“Leave me alone,” Ewzad whimpered. “I am dead. Yes, dead.”

“
You are not.
Not yet.
”

How could that be? Ewzad wondered. How could he survive that? The voice jolted Ewzad again.

“
Awaken.
”

Ewzad opened his eyes, but he still saw nothing. Wait, he had eyes. Then he could feel his body again. He took a deep breath and gasped in pain. He was lying naked on cold dusty ground. Ewzad reached down and felt the gaping wound in his chest where the sword had pierced him. No, still pierced him. He grasped the sword with squirming fingers and slowly pulled it out of his chest inch by inch until it clattered to the ground. Hot wetness pumped from the wound, pooling underneath him. Ewzad cried out and his mind tried to slip back into nothingness, but the Dark Voice would not let him go.