Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two)
Read Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) Online
Authors: Trevor H. Cooley
The Bowl of Souls: Volume 2
Messenger of the Dark Prophet
By Trevor H. Cooley
copyright © 2012 Trevor H. Cooley
All Rights Reserved
Dedication
So many people encouraged me on this series since I started writing it years ago. I dedicate this book to all of you: First, my family.
My wife, Jeannette, who has always been my first reader and main editor.
My mother,
My father,
My
father first created the Universal deck and the card game that became the game of elements. The way that the symbols and colors in the deck matched up with the magic system in my world just seemed meant to be. I must also thank my brothers and sisters who have always been readers and
I must also thank my friends and extended family that read my books over the years and offered
Kami
Jenkins, John Williams, Steve Jackson,
Brenton
Brown, Carrie Snider, Darren
Defrain
, and many others that have influenced me over the years including many wonderful fantasy writers that inspired me with their worlds.
Thank you all, and please, spread the word.
Chapter One
Justan’s eyes opened to a blinding white light. He had to blink for a moment before his vision cleared enough to make out his surroundings. He was in a long room painted a brilliant white. White beds were laid out in rows. Only one bed other than his own was occupied. Then he remembered; he was still in the
Mage
School
infirmary.
He swung his legs over the bed and made to stand but stopped himself as he remembered. He was still naked. Justan cursed. The last thing he remembered from the day before was standing wet and shivering, demanding clothing. Then the matron had cast a spell . . .
Justan’s face went red with embarrassment. Matron Guernfeldt had insisted that she bathe him herself, and she had not been gentle. He hadn’t been bathed by another person since he was a small child, much less by a large muscular woman with arms like tree trunks and rough hands. He was eighteen years old, a grown man after all.
He looked atop the bedside table and saw a neatly folded pile of thin white linen clothing. He sighed in relief that his request had not gone unanswered. A small slip of paper had been pinned on top. He picked it up and read the small neat handwriting.
Justan,
So sorry about what happened. I know the matron can be a bit rough. But she means well. I’ll try to convince her that you are well enough to take care of yourself. See you soon,
Vannya
Justan’s face reddened yet again. What state had he been in when the beautiful mage had brought that clothing? He hoped he hadn’t still been sprawled out unconscious and naked on the floor. He pulled the shirt on gingerly, wincing as his skin, still tender in places from the matron’s vigorous scrubbing, came in contact with the material.
As he pulled up the white linen pants, he felt a twinge in his hip and reminded himself that his pelvis had been broken just the day before. If it wasn’t for magic, he would have been crippled for life. As it was, he was confined to bed rest for two days and wasn’t going to be allowed to leave the infirmary for a week.
Justan picked up a small hand mirror from the table and examined his reflection. He saw the familiar dark brown hair and the piercing brown eyes that analyzed everything he looked upon. Justan was of average height with a wiry but muscular build that spoke of someone with warrior training. He nodded, satisfied that at least in one way he looked out of place in a
Mage
School
hospital.