Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (54 page)

“Damn near raises my hackles, that one does,” Bettie agreed.

“I’ll tell you one thing, though,” Lenny added. “Them’s the best dag-gum swords I ever made and that’s the truth.” He held the swords back out to Justan.

The moment Justan’s hands grasped the hilts, there was a small click within his mind, somewhere deep within the bond. A voice, quiet but firm echoed out,
EDGE
.

His excitement at finally touching the swords disappeared, replaced by a calm assurance that all was right. These swords were the last swords he would ever need to own. They were a part of him.

Justan lifted the blades and though they were long and were heavier than the swords he was used to, they seemed like extensions of his own arms. Any worry he had about being able to learn to use them disappeared. He extended the right sword out and with a flick of his wrist, flipped the left sword around so that the dull back of the blade rested against his forearm. They were perfect.

He could feel the left blade siphoning off his emotion, leaving only cool calculated thought behind. The right blade, however, burned with a hunger. Justan switched to spirit sight. It came much easier to him now. He saw a thin cable of silvery spirit magic that linked the hilts of the two swords together. All the emotions that were siphoned off by the left sword were flowing into the right, though he did not know for what purpose.

“Edge?” Bettie said. “Are you alright?”

“You feel strange,” Fist agreed. The ogre had felt the absence of Justan’s emotions through the bond.

“No everything is fine,” Justan said. He looked at Lenny. Though he didn’t feel the emotion, Justan knew that there were tears in his eyes. “They are wonderful, Lenny. They are perfect.”

The dwarf smiled and patted Justan’s arm. “I told you I’d make you swords that sing.”

“Um, is there a way to turn these things off while I’m fighting? The way it takes my emotions away is a bit unsettling.”

The dwarf shrugged apologetically. “They’re yer rune-swords, son. Like I said before, I didn’t form the magic in ‘em. Yer gonna have to figger that out on yer own.”

“Here,” Bettie said. She held out two leather half-scabbards attached to harnesses. “These will strap to your back so you can sheath your swords over your shoulders.

She helped Justan strap them on. The moment he sheathed the left sword and let go of the hilt, his feelings rushed back in. “Whoa,” he said, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He sheathed the right sword, put his arms to his sides, shook his hands, then in one fluid motion, reached back up and drew both swords again. He felt that strange peace settle over him again. This was going to take some getting used to. He re-sheathed the swords.

“Thank you, Bettie,” he said. “You did marvelous work on the sheathes. How much do I owe you?”

“Ah! Don’t worry. Lenui subcontracted ‘em out to me. I got paid for my work already.” She winked at Lenny and whacked Justan on the back hard enough that he nearly stumbled. She looked over at Fist, who was trying to strap the shield to his back while still holding his mace. His every movement was fast and awkward. The shield slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a thud. Bettie yelled, “Not like that, Fist! Here, let me help!”

“Lenny,” Justan said, watching Bettie storm over to the ogre. She made Fist put the mace down so that he could stand still long enough for her to help him with his shoulder harnesses.

“Yeah, son?”

“You and Bettie . . .”

Lenny’s eyes narrowed and there was a warning tone in the dwarf’s voice. “Whadda you want?”

“It’s just that the way you two work so closely toge-.”

“Shh!” The dwarf reached up, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him down until Justan’s ear was level with his moustache. He whispered, “Don’t you dare say nothin’ to no-one. All’s I know is it’s goin’ good, so shut yer dag-gum face about it, afore you screw it up.”

Justan looked at Lenny with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t know you could whisper.” At the dwarf’s scowl, he added, “All I was going to say was that you two produce good work together.”

“Yeah I know, son,” the dwarf said, releasing him. “We work too dag-gum blasted well together.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“One day it’s gotta end.”

Bettie finally had the shield and mace hung on Fist’s back. The ogre stretched, rotated his neck, and nodded. “Feels good. I could carry this.”

“Good. Now you just gotta learn how to-.” Her mouth hung open mid-sentence and her eyes looked distant as if she was listening to something. Bettie nodded and yelled, “Alright, boys! You can play with your pretty new weapons later. Coal says Becca wants us to come eat! Then we gotta go!”

Justan smiled and his heart jumped. It was time. They would be on the road soon. Somehow they would find a way to help the school, he knew it. He would be able to see his father and mother and Jhonate would be there . . . He pulled his swords once again and felt his excitement sucked away by the magic of the left sword. His pulse evened and he felt calm once more. This could be useful.

He looked over at Fist. The ogre wasn’t as happy about leaving. “I’m sorry, Fist. I know you are going to miss this place.”

The ogre grunted. “I will be sad to leave Miss Nala and the children.”

Justan sheathed the left sword and felt the ogre’s sorrow wash over him. He suddenly felt guilty. “I can’t make you leave, Fist. You could stay and help Benjo watch over the community and keep farming.”

Fist gave a sad half smile and shook his head. “I am with you. You are the leader of The Big and Little Peoples.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. We will stay bonded forever whether you come with me or not. I can return for you when the siege is broken.”

“No. I will go with you,” the ogre said firmly. “If I stay here too long . . .”
I won’t be able to leave.

“But you will be happier here,” Justan said. Fist didn’t understand. “Everyone accepts you here! Where I am taking you . . . it’s going to be hard. People are going to look at you and-and-.”

“I know! They will see an ogre.” He grabbed Justan’s shoulders with both hands.
But I have decided. I am not an ogre. Not anymore. I am just Fist. You will tell them. You are Edge. They will have to listen.

Justan looked him in the eyes.
What if they don’t?

Fist let go of his shoulders and shrugged.
Then we shall show them.

“And what about your friends here?”

“They are my friends.” Fist placed one large finger on Justan’s forehead and said both aloud and through the bond,
“You are my family.”

Justan swallowed a lump in his throat. “Thank you Fist. I-I am happy that you are coming.”

Fist nodded and headed towards the lodge.

Justan felt a confused bundle of emotions at the edge of the bond. He looked up past the wall at the tree he knew Deathclaw was sitting in. The raptoid had been listening.
We leave soon, Deathclaw.

From the upper boughs of the fir tree, Deathclaw nodded, ignoring the waves of pain the movement caused him.
We leave.

Fist walked into the lodge with his new mace and shield strapped to his back. The smell of the morning meal usually made his belly rumble, but this time he hardly noticed. His belly was too busy churning with turmoil. He was excited to leave, excited to experience the long journey with his tribe, excited to see Justan’s homeland, and perhaps most of all, excited to use his new weapons in battle. But sadness weighed him down. This place felt like home.

He headed past the food-laden table, waving and smiling weakly at the men who called out to him in greeting. Justan was right. He had found a unique place here in Coal’s keep; a place where he was befriended by the humans. Fist had tried to show confidence that he would be accepted elsewhere, but in truth he shared Justan’s fears. What if he was leaving the only place in the human lands where he would be seen as an equal?

Fist passed the busy kitchens and opened the door to his room. He let out a sad sigh as he bent over to step through the low doorway. Squirrel emerged from his pouch, scampered across the floor, jumped nimbly over Fist’s oversized pack, and darted inside his own little home. Fist sensed his friend’s sorrow and received a mental scolding through the bond. Squirrel did
not
want to leave.

“Sorry, Squirrel,” he said. “Maybe we will come back. Oh, I am going to miss that bed.”

“I’ll keep your bed here for you,” said Becca from behind him.

Fist turned and smiled at Coal’s wife. “I will miss it a whole much. I wish I could take all of it with me. Especially my pillow.”

“I don’t think we could fit as much as a single straw inside that pack without it bursting.” She edged past him into the room and put her hands on her hips. “I do think, however, that I might let you take that pillow with you on two conditions.”

“Really?” Fist’s grin grew wider.

“First of all, you must promise not to get it dirty. You keep taking off the leather cover I made for it.”

“But it’s sooo soft without the cover,” the ogre protested.

She scowled and shook a finger at him. “That cover keeps the pillow clean. You sweat and drool in your sleep, you know it. Besides, on this journey you could be sleeping in the dirt and rain and who knows what else. That cover has been treated to handle dirt. You will keep it on, or I will not let you take it. Are we understood?”

“Yes,” he grumped.

“Alright then. My second condition is that you keep the promise you made to your little friend there.” Her look grew stern. “You must come back and see me. Do you understand?”

Fist hugged her. “Yes Mrs. Becca. I will come back. We all will.”

“You had better.” She hugged him back, then pushed him away. “I’ll strap your pillow on top of that pack. Have you eaten yet?”

Fist shook his head.

“Good, Nala heard that you were leaving and wanted you to eat breakfast with them before you go. Now, you go down and say goodbye. I’ll make sure that Sir Edge brings your pack down with him when they leave.”

Fist nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Becca. Thank you for everything.”

She opened her mouth as if to say more, but her eyes welled with tears and she shooed him away. Fist patted her shoulder, then bent over and walked through the doorway. “Squirrel. It is time to go.”

Squirrel reluctantly left his little house and stopped in front of Miss Becca. He unloaded a cheek-full of seeds at Becca’s feet and chattered at her, then darted into his pouch at Fist’s side and sulked.

Fist exited the lodge and walked out of the keep towards Miss Nala’s house. He started down the long hill towards the farmlands just as the sun broke over the trees. Light poured over the long expanse of fields and the smell of tilled earth filled his nostrils. Fist’s breath caught in his throat. What if this was the last time he walked this road? He hoped he hadn’t lied to Becca. He fully intended to return, but what if he couldn’t? What if-.

Fist stopped and reached for his mace. Something was in the woods on the left side of the road. He listened, but there was only silence.
What do you think it is, Squirrel?
Squirrel poked his head out of the pouch and sniffed a few times before ducking back in. Fist grunted.
I see
.

“Why are you following us, Deathclaw? Justan is not here,” he called out. What did the raptoid want? “Do you want to talk? Come out and talk!”

There was no response, but Fist hadn’t really expected one. As far as he knew, Deathclaw couldn’t talk. Though they were both connected to each other through the same bonding wizard, they couldn’t communicate directly unless Justan willed it, and Deathclaw had never cared to communicate before.

“If you do not want to talk, do you want to race?” There was questioning chirp from the trees beyond. Fist chuckled. “Good. Can you beat me to Miss Nala’s farm?”

He reached up, grasped the handle of his mace, and ran. Fist was a good runner. He had long powerful legs and plenty of stamina. Normally he wasn’t too fast, but the magic of the mace gave him twice the speed. He felt like he was soaring. It was exhilarating. Squirrel even left his pouch to perch on Fist’s shoulder as he ran. Fist heard skittering in the trees and knew Deathclaw was right behind him, but the sounds grew fainter and soon he was sure that he had left him far behind. Fist laughed as his long legs ate up the distance.