Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (4 page)

Justan moved towards Gwyrtha and pulled some straw aside. He draped a sheet over it, before grabbing the other blankets. He started to lay down, then paused guiltily. “I didn’t think to bring an extra sheet. Sorry Fist.”

“Why you sleep here?” Fist asked. “The other ones sleep in the big stone house with . . . blankets and beds.”

“It didn’t feel right,” Justan tried to explain. “I . . . couldn’t sleep in comfort like that knowing that you were out here in the straw alone.”

“She is here,” Fist said, pointing to Gwyrtha’s sleeping form in the darkness.

“So, uh, have you decided what you are going to do?” Justan said, changing the subject once again. It was okay that Fist did not understand his gesture. He didn’t fully understand it either. There was just something about the thought of leaving the ogre out in the stable alone that made feel as though he was treating Fist like he wasn’t as important as everyone else.

It was so dark that Justan couldn’t see the ogre shaking his head, but he could sense it through their bond. Fist had not yet decided whether he was going to come with Justan or go back into the mountains, perhaps with Zambon and Tamboor if that is what they wished to do.

“Well, I would be honored if you decided to come with me.” Justan said sincerely. The ogre nodded again.

It was quiet for a while and Justan’s thoughts wandered back to darker matters. He could sense that Fist was still awake too. “Do you think that Ewzad Vriil was really an agent of the Dark prophet?”

“Don’t know,” Fist replied.

“Well, let’s say he wasn’t. What do you think that his armies in the mountains will do once he is dead?”

“They fight each other. Then they go home,” Fist said. “The tribes do not like the goblins and slimy ones.” There was a snap of hatred in Fist’s voice with the mention of the goblins and trolls. Several of the horses, already nervous over the smell of an ogre in the stable, whinnied in fright.

“But what if the wizard was speaking the truth?” Justan whispered.

I do not know,
Fist’s mind rumbled, speaking through the bond this time for fear of scaring the horses again.
The Barldag sends someone else. Then they attack the little peoples again.

Somehow, Justan felt that the latter scenario was going to be the correct one. He hoped that his instincts were wrong. It would be better if Ewzad Vriil had been lying. It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing he could do about it anyway. His mission was to find Master Coal. Justan closed his eyes and despite his troubled thoughts, he soon fell asleep.

The next morning Fist shook Justan awake with the approach of dawn.

“I will go with you,” he rumbled.

Justan wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Zambon and Tamboor might need you.” Justan said, though he was truly glad that Fist decided to stay with him.

The ogre shook his head. “They have each other. They are part of my tribe, but they do not see me as part of theirs.” He hesitated, not knowing how to express in words what he was feeling. Instead he sent his feeling to Justan through the bond. Fist was concerned that his presence would just remind them of the enemy that killed his family.

“Surely they would not see you that way. They know it wasn’t your fault.”

“But I do not,” Fist said, truthfully. “They need to be alone so they can . . . get better. I would be in the way.”

“I am glad you are coming with me,” Justan said, impressed with the wisdom coming from this ogre. His grasp of the common tongue was pretty good as well. He was looking forward to getting to know Fist better.

Fist smiled but his eyes were sad. “You should not be. I lose two tribes already. The Thunder People and The Big and Little Peoples are gone now. Maybe it is not good to be with me.”

When they left the stable, Justan was surprised to see that it had snowed during the night. A thick blanket of whiteness laid over everything. Justan crossed the courtyard toward the unfinished castle and he saw a group of people gathered in front of the stairs. Zambon and Princess Elise were arguing while Lenny and Captain Demetrius stood to the side, bewildered expressions on their faces.

“I command you not to leave!” Elise shouted.

Zambon put a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked it away. He looked the Princess straight in the eye. “I am sorry, dear Elise. But I must.”

“This is an outrage!” The princess’ face was beet red and tears began to roll down her cheeks. “You dare leave me in my time of need?”

Zambon looked away.

Elise’s voice quieted. “Don’t you love me?”

“More than you could ever know.” Zambon said. Justan could see that the guard’s fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white. “But my father needs me. I am all that he has left.”

For the first time, Justan noticed Tamboor sitting on the snow-covered steps behind them. He was ignoring the argument and silently polished a long wicked sword. Lying next to Tamboor was a cloth covered bundle strapped to a pair of long poles.

Zambon bent to kiss the princess’ hand, but she pulled back and fled up the stairs, crying. With a sigh, Zambon turned to Captain Demetrius. “Captain, please be sure to bring her home safely.”

“I will.” The Captain promised. “I offered clemency to those of the duke’s garrison that were still alive. They have agreed to escort us on our trip back to Dremald. We leave in a few hours. She will be safe back at home by the end of the week.”

Tamboor stood and with barely a nod to his son, picked up the end of the poles and began to walk away from the castle, dragging the package behind him, a grim look on his face. Resolute, Zambon bent to pick up a full pack of provisions that lay at his feet and turned to Lenny.

“Good luck be with you, friend. Thank you again for the sword. I have a feeling we might need its magic.”

“Sorry ‘bout what happened to yer kin, son. Kill a hunnerd of the dag-blasted beasts fer me,” the dwarf said. “And give that sword of yers a name. She’ll see you through the hard times.”

Zambon nodded and trudged through the snow after Tamboor. The veteran warrior hadn’t stopped to wait for his son.

Justan ran to catch up to him. “Zambon!”

The guard gave Justan a weary smile but kept walking. “Good luck on your journey, Sir Edge. I guess mine is just beginning.”

Justan kept up his friend’s pace. “Zambon, I want to thank you.”

“No thanks are needed.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to come after me.” Justan said.

“It took me where I needed to be, didn’t it? I should be the one thanking you for freeing my father.” Zambon patted Justan’s back and looked forward to where Tamboor was striding ahead silently. “Perhaps one day, he’ll be able to thank you himself.”

“When did he show up?”

“Last night after everyone had gone to bed. He had been searching for the weapons storage, I guess. Anyway he found Meredith, his sword. He also brought up Fist’s mace. He gave it to him this morning.”

“Oh, yeah,” Justan said. “Fist has decided to go with me.”

“I know. He told us. Father seemed to understand.” They entered the edge of the forest that surrounded the castle and Justan stayed with his friend a while longer.

“So, what will you do?” Justan asked.

“Right now I suppose we go back to Jack’s Rest and kill any monsters there. Give my family a proper burial.”

“Is that why he insisted on bringing Sneaky Pete too?” Justan asked, the contents of the white cloth bundle now obvious to him.

“The man loved Jack’s Rest more than anyone. He deserves to be buried there after everything he did for my father. You know, I think it is a good thing. When I saw my father bundling Sneaky Pete to that litter I realized that his mind wasn’t completely gone. He is just . . . lost.”

Justan looked ahead to Tamboor. “Will this journey be enough for him? Will you be able to come back afterward?”

“I don't know.” Zambon shrugged. “I guess we’ll be done whenever Father finds what he is looking for.”

“Good luck.” Justan couldn’t think of anything else to say.  He embraced the guard with one arm awkwardly as they walked. “I would help you if I could.”

“Even if you didn’t already have your own journey ahead, you couldn’t help. My father and I have to do this together.”

“I understand.”

“Actually . . . there is one thing that you could do for me, Sir Edge.” The guard stopped and gave Justan a serious look. “Kill as many goblinoids as you can.”

Justan nodded solemnly and watched Zambon until his friend disappeared through the snow covered trees. He stood pondering for a moment, then yelped as a clump of snow landed across his shoulders, sending an icy trickle down his back. He looked up in irritation to see a large gray squirrel standing on the branch directly above him.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be asleep this time of year?” he grumbled, trying to dig the snow out of his collar. “You are lucky I don’t have my bow with me or I might spit you on an arrow.”

The squirrel cocked its head at him then gave a little hop. More snow plopped onto Justan’s upturned face. With a growl, Justan backed out from under the branch. He scooped up a handful of snow and threw it at the squirrel hoping to frighten it off. The creature stepped to the side, avoiding the snowball and chattered angrily, scolding him with one raised fist.

“Squirrel!” came a deep booming voice.

Justan turned to see Fist running up the trail toward him, a wide grin on his chiseled face. He could feel a surge of joy pounding through the bond. The squirrel jumped down from the branch to land on Fist’s shoulder and promptly began scurrying all over the ogre as if searching for something.

Fist grasped the little animal and hugged it to his hairy chest, laughing. The squirrel put up with the affection for a moment before scrambling back up onto Fist’s shoulder and pointing at Justan, scolding him loudly.

Fist looked back at Justan. “Did you throw something?’

Justan sputtered. “He started it!”

Captain Demetrius had given all of the escaped prisoners leave to take what they needed for their journeys from the duke’s stores. This included warm clothes and shoes. He had made the servants unload the vast wardrobe of the Vriil family. Some of it was very valuable. Elise had protested halfheartedly at the sight of a noble family’s heirlooms being ransacked by peasants, but soon gave in to the captain’s way of thinking. The group of emaciated men walking away from the castle in various mismatching finery was an amusing sight.

As Justan packed away what supplies he could, Qyxal spoke to Captain Demetrius.

“Do you feel at all guilty for letting all those prisoners go free?” the elf asked.

“Why would you wonder that?” the captain asked.

Quxal shrugged. “Surely some of these men were truly criminals. They can’t all have been wrongfully imprisoned.”

“It was a judgment call I made in the dungeon and I stand by it. I have no way to sort all of the prisoners out and I needed all of them for my plan to work. So, no, I feel no guilt. Hopefully this experience has reformed them. If not, I’m sure they will be captured again.”

“I hope that the king does not kill you.” Qyxal shook the man’s hand. “We will need men like you if those creatures do come to war.”

Lenny already had Stanza saddled up and rigged with his special riding harness when they arrived at the stables. He pulled himself into the saddle and Justan was surprised by how at ease the dwarf looked on the back of the enormous warhorse. “Good, yer finally here. I’m itchin’ to be off!”

“You’re coming with me?” Justan asked, pleased.

“Well, what’d you think I’d do?” Lenny sounded offended. “Leave you with nothin’ but an elf and an ogre to keep you company? ‘Sides, I got a feelin’ that wherever you’ll be is where the action is.”

Justan chuckled. “Let’s hope not.”

They left the stable to find Fist standing outside tugging at his new clothes uncomfortably. He was wearing a large woolen coat that they had found in the duke’s stores. It was the biggest one that they could find, but still looked small stretched over his large frame. The ogre didn’t know what to think about his new clothing, though he had been pleased to find a fur-lined pouch for Squirrel to stay in. Justan could see part of its gray tail sticking up out of it.