Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) (42 page)

Huck was caught off guard, but wasted no time in beating Gwyrtha about the head with a flurry of punches as he lay on the ground. She shrugged off the blows and she continued to hold on to his head with her teeth and slash away with her claws, but did little actual damage.

Justan looked for the two other men, but they had run into the woods at the sight of Gwyrtha's fury. He looked back at the scuffle. Gwyrtha had released the
orc's
head from her jaws and was trying to pry a piece of the body armor from his chest. Huck was roaring in defiance while still raining blows upon her thick head with his armored fists. She was beginning to look pretty beat up and was bleeding in several places.

“Stop, Huck, if you want to live!” Justan shouted.
Stop Gwyrtha!
Justan sent.

The two paused and Justan walked up to them. Gwyrtha had torn a small chunk of armor away from the
orc's
chest in her fury and Justan pressed the tip of his remaining sword against the wound.

“You may be tough. But I can still kill you if I press right here.”

Justan didn't know what he was going to do with this monster. His instincts told him that he should just kill the beast outright, but the situation was strange enough that he wanted some answers first. How had the orc come to be changed magically like this and what was a creature of this power doing as a simple bandit?

Huck laughed and spat. “I don't fear you, human!
Or this beast!”
Then, so quickly that Justan could not respond, the orc kicked him in the shin, knocking him to the ground with the force of the blow. At the same time, Huck brought his leg up, kneed Gwyrtha in the neck and skittered out from under her on his hands and knees.

Gwyrtha choked and huffed, trying to draw breath through her damaged throat. Justan groped along her side, using her saddle strap to help him get to his feet. The pain in his shin was excruciating.

Huck rummaged through the leaves and found the mace that it had dropped. As it bent to pick its weapon up, the orc grimaced and once again groped at its back, pained by steel still stuck in its flesh.

 “Hah! Through all of your attacks I still live! I have nothing to fear!” The orc howled and lifted its wicked mace. “My master has made me too strong. I will crush you and your monster!”

Justan quickly
unstrapped
the Jharro Bow from Gwyrtha's back. It was his most powerful weapon. When used with the dragon hair string it did explosive damage. He rummaged quickly, but he couldn't find the golden string. A plain one would have to do. Keeping one eye on the orc, he strung the bow and pulled a bead on the armored orc, searching for the right spot.

“What’s this?” the orc laughed.
“An arrow?
Hundreds of arrows have broken on my skin. Please, shoot and I will catch it out of the air!”

The orc was making it too easy, but this time curiosity would not stay his hand. He found the one spot where he knew the arrow would kill the orc. He focused, and when the arrow left his fingertips, he knew it would strike true.

Huck did not even see the arrow’s flight. As fast as this orc was, it still was not quick enough to dodge an arrow from a Jharro Bow.

The arrow pierced Huck's eye and shattered against the back of the
orc's
thick skull, leaving just the
fletchings
sticking out. The force of the shot jerked the orc back a few feet before it collapsed in a heap on the ground.

Justan breathed a sigh of relief, but looked to the earth in front of Gwyrtha sadly, for lying on the ground was half of the sword that had been stuck in the
orc's
back. When Gwyrtha had landed on top of the orc, the sword had snapped off half way up the blade.

Justan hurriedly checked Gwyrtha to make sure that she was all right. Her throat was bruised and her head was a bit battered, but other than that she appeared to be fine. He sent thoughts of gratitude to her, but couldn’t help but chastise her a little.

“Next time I fall asleep, don't wander so far off. If you had been here with me, they might not have even attacked and we'd both be in better shape.” Justan looked over at the body of the slain orc. “Then again, I’m probably wrong. This orc would have attacked anyway.”

Justan limped over to the body of the armored orc and to his disgust, it seemed as though the armored plates were melting away. With his mage sight he could see that the magic that had been forcing the
orc's
body into its enhanced state was unraveling, leaving what was left a smoking mess.

He lifted up one, now rubbery, plate and pulled out the length of his sword that had broken off in the orc. A sigh escaped his lips. The swords were a gift from his mentor, Sir Hilt, and it hurt to see this one broken. He wondered if he would be able to get it
reforged
.

“Hey, what happened here?”

Qyxal and Zambon entered the clearing wearing confused expressions.

“Did either of you see two men running through the forest?” Justan asked.

“No,” Qyxal said and hunkered down beside the remains of the orc. “If you don't mind me asking, what is an orc doing here? And . . . what are these slimy things hanging off of its skin?”

“Look at it with your mage sight and tell me what you think.”

“Strange . .
. ”
Qyxal scratched at the back of his neck as he pondered the remains.

“What are you two talking about?” Zambon mumbled. He looked over Qyxal's shoulder. “Ooh. That's not pretty.”

Justan related what had happened and Qyxal rushed to Gwyrtha's side, checking her injuries. The elf spent a moment healing her and when he was sure that she was okay, he checked Justan.

“You know, all these magic runes make it difficult for me to scan you properly. They interfere.” The elf's brow furrowed. “But you don’t have any broken ribs. The worst injury is the one to your shin. I think that the bone is bruised but I can fix that . . .”

“Thank you, Qyxal.” The icy tingle that was the elf's healing magic entered Justan’s leg and he gritted his teeth against the sensation. It was like an intense itch inside his bone. “And how did you get Gwyrtha to sit still through that healing?”

“Oh, she has been healed magically before. Her first master was a wizard, remember?”

“I see.” Justan gestured back to Huck’s remains. “Can you explain this?”

“This is beyond me,” Qyxal said. “Zambon has been telling me what he learned in Sampo on the way up here. I think you will find that the information he has gathered will give us a better picture of what is going on.”

“Good,” Justan said. “But first let’s get out of this clearing and be on our way. The two men that escaped may come back with reinforcements.”

The three companions led their mounts away from the clearing and through the forest to a trail Qyxal had found that paralleled the main road. It was there that Zambon told them what he had found in Sampo.

 “Evidently the Sampo merchants have been having a horrible time with orcs and bandits on the road from Dremald. The main caravans being attacked have been the arms merchants. As a result, the armor and weapons trades in the town are suffering heavily, and in a place where it is against the law to leave one’s home without a weapon, the whole city is in an uproar.”

“But the
Battle
Academy
should be patrolling that road,” Qyxal said.

“That was exactly my reaction,” The guard replied. “From what I was able to learn, the
Battle
Academy
's resources have been sorely taxed as goblin and orc raids along Dremaldria’s border have increased recently. For some reason, King Andre has refused to send any more soldiers to assist them. He says that he needs to send his soldiers elsewhere.”

“Why?” Justan asked.

“I heard something about the new duke losing a whole regiment of king’s guards fighting goblins on his own border. I don't know. It wasn't too clear. The point is that the academy can't spare the men to patrol the road now and the king refuses to do even that.” 

 “That doesn’t make sense,” Justan said, concern darkening his features. “As long as I can remember, the academy has been able to handle all of the patrols without a problem. Even the year they had that troll infestation in the upper marshlands, the academy made sure that all the other patrols were filled.”

“Something strange is brewing in the world,” Qyxal said. “I can practically feel it in the very earth.”

Zambon nodded. “In the marketplace, I heard whispers of ogres and trolls and giants fighting alongside the goblinoids.” Zambon said. “One man claimed that the Dark prophet was returning!
The Dark Prophet!”

“Army's of goblins in the mountains, the academy hard pressed . . .” Justan thought about the remains of Huck on the ground. “Mutated orcs attacking caravans alongside humans . . .” He shivered. “Qyxal is right. Something bad is going on, but there's nothing we can do about it. We have our own quest to work out. This just means that we need to be extra careful in our journey.

“Zambon, we need you to scout ahead. You know the lay of the land on the way to Dremald better than us. Qyxal, you keep a sharp eye out for danger as well. Use your magic if you have to. I don't want to have to fight another orc like that if we can avoid it.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

They had to stay off the main road and even though it was deep into the fall, the undergrowth in the area was so thick that they couldn’t ride. They had to lead the horses through the trees, sometimes hacking their way through, while being careful to scout ahead so that they could avoid being seen by anyone. The journey from Sampo to Dremald would normally have taken four days on horseback, but it took them twice as long.

They had to go out of their way to avoid bandit ambushes three times in the first two days alone. Zambon said that these groups were mixed of orcs and men, but he saw no orcs looking anything like Huck.

It also didn’t help that the air grew colder as they traveled closer to Dremald. The companions couldn’t build a fire at night because of the bandits and soon, they were all quite miserable. Out of all of them, Gwyrtha was the only one who kept her cheer. Her mood was starting to grate on Justan’s nerves.

Justan spent the journey upset about his broken sword. He had no idea how he would replace the perfectly balanced weapon. It wasn’t until they were only a day away from Dremald that it occurred to him.

“Hah! I am so
stupid,
I can’t believe that I didn’t think of it before!”

“And what is that, oh Loud One?” Qyxal grumbled.

“I don’t need to worry about my broken sword. I have a friend in Dremald that would be happy to fix it for me.”

“Who?”

“Lenny!” he said.

“The dwarf?”
Zambon asked, having just come back from scouting the rocky ground ahead.

“A dwarf,” Qyxal spat in distaste.

“Yes,” Justan said. “He is a master blacksmith and he promised me that if I ever saw him again, he would make me a weapon that sings.” The elf didn’t look too impressed

“Look, Qyxal, he gave me this dagger.” Justan drew the double-bladed weapon from its sheath and handed it to him. “Look at the craftsmanship!”

Qyxal’s eyes opened wide when he saw it.

“Justan, you can’t show this to anyone,” he said. Zambon came over to see what the elf was talking about. “This is a rune-marked weapon.
With two runes nonetheless.
This would give you away just as easily as the runes that you hide under those gloves.”

“He’s right, Justan.” Zambon said. “Not to mention the fact that the handle is made of silver. It cries out for someone to try and steal it. I suggest that you pack it away.”

Justan nodded and put it away. He understood their reasoning, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He was looking forward to seeing his friend.

He nudged Qyxal. “You know, you might actually like this dwarf.”