Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) (48 page)

Chapter Thirty

Gwyrtha’s roar pierced the night sky, startling
nightbirds
into flight and causing a farmer that lived a mile away to grab his sword and stand guard nervously over his family.

“What’s wrong with the gall-
durn
thing now?” Lenny grumbled as he raised his head from his bedroll.

Qyxal, who had also been trying to sleep, gave the dwarf an irritated glance as he got to his feet and ran over to Gwyrtha. “I don’t know what is wrong, but something just happened.
Something bad.”

Zambon, who had been out keeping watch, came running into the camp. “What was that? Stanza and Albert went crazy when Gwyrtha roared. Is anything wrong?”

“Yes,” Qyxal said. “But I don't know what it is yet.” He turned back to Gwyrtha, stroking her mane and whispering to her soothingly.

“Do you think Justan's hurt?” Zambon asked.

Lenny let out an exasperated sigh. “What in
tarnation
? Listen here! The boy's
bein
' held in a camp full of drunk fools. He can't be too comfortable right now. But
until they move him, there ain't
nothin
' we can do about it
!” He glared at them and
laid
back down. “I don't like it no more than the rogue horse does, but
dag
-nab it, we can't have her
hollerin
' all night. We'll have every gall-
durn
monster hunter in the city out
lookin
'
fer
us!”

“Perhaps if anyone did come, your constant grumbling would scare them away,” Zambon replied.

He walked over to Gwyrtha with concern. During the journey from the
Mage
School
she had been playful and fairly well behaved. But now she was agitated, shuffling back and forth with her feet, her eyes fixed on a single point straight ahead. Zambon patted her flank in an effort to be comforting and could feel her powerful muscles rippling beneath her scaled hide.

In that moment he felt a pang of envy for the bond Justan had with this creature. The first time that Zambon had seen Gwyrtha, his mind was focused on thoughts of his family and he had not shown his shock at seeing her. She had been frightening at first glance, a nightmare amalgam of horse and monster. It had taken a while for him to trust her, but after seeing her interact with Justan, Zambon had realized that she was a noble beast that dearly loved her companion.

“Don’t worry, Gwyrtha. We’ll get him back for you,” Zambon soothed and turned to Qyxal. “What's wrong? What do you think is bothering her?”

Qyxal's brow furrowed and he moved directly in front of her. The elf grasped her large head on either side and stared into her eyes. This went on for several moments and Zambon was about to go back to his guard post when the elf muttered.

“He's gone.”

 Lenny sat up again. “What was that?”

“He's gone,” Qyxal repeated. He continued to stare into Gwyrtha's eyes. “Justan isn't in the camp anymore.”

“How do you know this?” Zambon asked.

“After Justan cut off his communication with us last night, Gwyrtha was staring at the city. It was like she was trying to reach him. But now look at her. She stares to the north of the Duke's camp. I looked into her eyes and she stared right through me. She must still be trying to reach him but I think he's been moved.”

“Well I'll be horseshoed!” Lenny exclaimed. “They've already left the camp. And this
dag
-gum late at night at that!
Id’ve
sworn they wouldn't leave 'till
mornin
'.” He began packing up his bedroll and belongings.
“C'mon boys, we
gots
to move, now.”

Zambon hesitated. “But what if they haven't taken him out of the city? What if he's escaped? The direction that Gwyrtha's looking . . . He could just about be in the inner section.”

Lenny shook his head. “I reckon you could be right about that, but I don't think it's likely.
Gettin
' in the inner section ain’t an easy thing to do ‘less you got permission from the king.”

“Agreed, but I suggest we check her again on the other side of Dremald.” Zambon said. “If she is still facing towards town, we'll know to go in and get him.”

“Fine, fine.
But if he ain't in the town then they’re
gettin
' a lead on us. Let's go!”

They had their camp dismantled in moments and were just about ready to leave when Qyxal grasped Zambon’s shoulder. “What do we do with the dwarf? I don't see how his stubby legs will grip the sides of those warhorses, and I know that Gwyrtha will not let him ride her. He is just going to slow us down.”

Lenny let out a curse. “I ain't
yer
regular dwarf!” He walked over to Stanza and reached into his pack. He pulled out a strange piece of equipment consisting of several long leather straps linked with metal clamps.
On either end of this contraption hung a metal stirrup.
Because of his long torso, Lenny was tall for a dwarf, being nearly five feet, and by standing on his toes he was able to loop a strap over the saddle horn and secure the metal clamps around the edges of the saddle. When he was satisfied that everything was secure, he leapt and pulled himself into the saddle using the straps for
support
. His feet fit comfortably into the new stirrups.

“Well
lookee
there.” The dwarf gave Qyxal a triumphant grin. “Son, I dun spent more time on a horse in my lifetime than you ever will. Hell, even with my 'stubby legs', I can out ride any
dag
-blasted elf!” 

“Is that so?” Qyxal laughed in spite of himself. “Well we shall see about that!” He leapt spryly onto Gwyrtha's back. “Well, Zambon, it seems that the dwarf isn't going to slow us down after all. That equals bad news for the enemy.”

“Yes it does,” the academy graduate agreed as he settled into Albert's saddle. He was hoping to get this over with quickly. If all went to plan, they would overtake the duke’s men, rescue his friend, and then he would be able to take his leave. His family was waiting.

*                      *                      *

Kenn whistled happily as he led Hamford and Justan down two more flights of stairs and past dozens of guards, some of whom didn’t look entirely human.

They came upon a thick iron door which Kenn opened with a key. A vile stench assailed them as they entered the corridor beyond and Justan was sure that the smell came from something dead. The smell was all the worse for Justan because he had been frozen with his mouth closed and was forced to breath through his nose.

It took all of Justan’s will not to use his magic to try and disperse the spell. Even if he could fight his way past Kenn and Hamford and all of the guards, breaking the spell would alert the wizard and Justan knew that he was no match for those powers. With great effort, he calmed himself down. He focused on his surroundings. Though he couldn't move
,
his senses were still working. Anything he could learn now would be of great use when he tried to escape later.

 The ceiling was low and Hamford was forced to hunch over as he carried Justan. The corridor they traveled was long and narrow and the walls seemed to be made of solid stone blocks that were blackened by mold and mildew. The air was thick and humid, making it feel as if he were trying to breathe under water.

The only light in the area came from torches that sporadically lined the hallway, but the thickness of the air seemed to hamper the light so that they barely pierced the gloom. All of these factors combined to give the dungeon a weighty presence. It felt as if the walls were closing in on them.

Moans and whimpers hung in the air as they passed row after row of cells and from his frozen perch on Hamford's back, Justan saw pale eyes peering out from within some of them. This section of the dungeon was crowded. In places there were even prisoners chained in the corridor itself. Kenn kept a stern eye on any prisoner they passed, but these men knew better than to bother their jailers and none cried out.

Hamford finally stopped and Justan could hear Kenn chuckle as he fit a key into a lock. Hinges squealed. A cell door opened and Justan was dropped onto a rough rock floor. The awful stench was overpowering in this room. Justan was sure that if he could move, he would have gagged. As he lay facing the corridor with his cheek pressed into the wet stone, Justan heard Kenn chuckle again.

The skinny man held a perfumed rag to his nose to keep out the stench. “I still can't believe that you are actually here, Justan! My master promised that he would bring me great blessings and here is the proof! It’s too bad I don't have the time right now to repay you for the misery you put me through, but don't worry. We will have plenty of opportunities to discuss it.” He chuckled. “Hamford, search him and take anything that might cause us problems.”

The big man loomed over him. This was the moment that Justan had been dreading. It wasn't that he had anything of value upon him. The duke’s men had already taken his coins and his swords, while Gwyrtha had his Jharro Bow and dagger. Justan’s fear was that they would take off his gloves and find his naming runes. Kenn already knew about the frost rune on his chest, so there wasn't anything he could do about that, but he readied himself so that if Hamford started to pull off his gloves, he could break the spell and try to fight his way out of the dungeons before the wizard found him. It was a hopeless plan, but it was all he had.

Luckily for Justan, the paralyzing spell worked in his favor, for his hands were frozen into clenched fists and Hamford didn't even bother to try pulling the gloves off. He did, however, give Justan a thorough going over and he removed Justan's boots, which was something that Kenn insisted on. Kenn and Hamford left him lying there in the mold. The hinges squealed again as the cell door shut with a clang behind them.

“In the meantime, get to know your roommate,” Kenn taunted. From his position on the floor Justan could not see the opening in the door, but he could imagine Kenn's face pressed up against the bars and an insane look in the man's eyes. “His name is Lewis and he has been here for a long time. I am afraid that he is a bed hog, though and you will have to share your cot. But, please, enjoy your stay. When I get the time I'll visit again.”

He laughed again and Justan heard Hamford whispering urgently to Kenn as they walked away.

Justan lay frozen on the damp floor with the reek of mold and death thick in his nostrils. He didn't believe his horrid luck. Why did it have to be Kenn
Dollie
of all people? He remembered Kenn's cruelty to Jhonate and knew that his life was going to be miserable for a while.

As the minutes passed, the effects of the spell started to get to him. Justan had never felt so helpless. Adrenaline was pumping and his heart was racing, but he had no release for this energy. The loss of control was driving him crazy. In this state anything could be done to him and there was nothing he could do about it.

The wizard had said that the spell would last an hour. How long had it been, fifteen, twenty minutes? Was the wizard paying attention? If he broke the paralyzing spell now, would the wizard notice? Justan didn't know the answers to those questions, but he didn't dare try it either.

So Justan lay there with his face pressed into the wet floor and waited. He wondered why the person sharing his cell was being so quiet. The man hadn't made a sound, not even when Hamford was rifling through Justan's clothes. Then it occurred to Justan what might be causing the horrible reek in the room. It would be just like Kenn to leave him alone in a cell with a corpse.

After a while, another problem began to surface. With his mouth closed and his face pressed into the floor, one nostril was closed off and the cold moldy floor along with the stench of death in the room was causing his nose to run. As the minutes slowly passed, his nose became more and more clogged and it was getting hard to breathe. Justan began to panic. He tried to control his breathing, to push hard and clear out his sinuses, but the paralyzing spell wouldn't allow for it. He knew that he was going to have to break the spell soon, but it had at least fifteen minutes left.

His mind churned frantically until he had an idea. What if he didn't break the spell completely, but just altered it so that he could control part of his body? Such an alteration wouldn't break the spell completely and Justan doubted that the Wizard Duke was paying enough attention to him that he would notice.