Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) (15 page)

Justan watched the whole scene with horror, unable to fire for fear of hitting the guards. He had sparred with
Alphonze
many times and really liked the man. He shook away the pain in his head and sent an arrow streaking for the golem. It struck the monster between the eyes, sinking in until only the
fletchings
showed. The force of the strike sent the golem stumbling back to smash against the clock tower.

Arrows and spears and magical attacks blasted it against the magically strengthened walls of the tower. The magic holding the golem together gradually unraveled and its madness was complete. The beast saw only one thing and that was the symbol of order in front of it.
The clock tower.

With a roar of outrage, it ignored the wizards and attacked the lines of magic strengthening the structure with all the chaotic magic it could muster. The golem pounded the clock tower with its mighty fists over and over until a great crack shot up the side. The thirty-foot-tall structure began to sway.

The wizards shouted out in warning, and the guards darted out of the way, pulling injured comrades with them as they went. Riveren and Zambon called several men over and they carefully carried away their fallen leader.

The golem ignored the fleeing humans and continued its insane attack on the massive tower. Another of Justan’s arrows hit it in the back of the head and smashed it forward into the tower again, a chunk of wood and moss and writhing roots fell from its head, but it just kept pounding away. The clock tower looked on the verge of collapse and people ran away in every direction.

Master Latva grasped Justan’s arm as he was about to shoot his final arrow. “Child, this is useless. We cannot destroy this beast with conventional weapons. With a golem this powerful we need a proper complement of magical items to dismiss the thing completely. Golems are built with magic and can only be defeated by magic. To destroy it, we need a magical weapon.”

“But this is a magical weapon.” Justan argued, hefting his bow.

“Yes,” Latva conceded. “But the arrows you are shooting are not and they are what actually
strikes
the golem.” He held out his hand. “Give me your arrow.”

Justan handed it over. Master Latva grabbed Qyxal and another wizard that was standing by. Together they chanted over the arrow and with his mage sight, Justan could see a tremendous amount of magical energy made up of all four elements being poured into it. Master Latva then handed it back to him.

“This arrow was not properly treated to make a lasting enchantment when it was built so make it quick before it blows up in our faces.
Strike for the center of the beast.”
The golem continued its assault on the tower.
Sparks
shot from the clocks at the top.

Justan pulled the string to his ear and along with the usual hum of power from the string and eagerness from the bow, came a low rumbling of barely contained energy from the arrow. He tried to focus in but had a hard time concentrating. All of the stress and anger and sorrow of the day took its toll. The faces of friends and people he knew that had been hurt or killed on this day floated through Justan’s mind. Finally, he took a deep breath, sighted up the arrow on the golem’s back, and let go.

The arrow moved with blurring speed, a streak of light flying behind it like a small comet. The missile plunged into the golem’s back and an explosion rocked the square. The unnatural creation of chaos blew apart. Pieces shot in every direction.

Moments later, before the smoke even cleared, the base of the clock tower gave way and the thirty-foot-tall structure fell to the ground, taking out one of the side buildings and covering the square in rubble.

There was silence. As the dust and debris cleared from the air, Justan and the wizards stared at the collapsed tower with horror. They should have felt triumph at the defeat of such a powerful evil, but the toll taken was far too high. There was a solemn mood as the inhabitants of the
Mage
School
went about healing their wounded.

Master Latva placed a hand on Justan’s shoulder.
“Thank you, child.
I am glad you are with us.”

 “I know who created that monster,” Justan said.
“Pympol, Arcon, and Piledon.
They said something about it being
Pympol’s
wizard project. Of course it could all be a moot point now. He might be dead. The golem had struck him down when I last saw him.”

Master Latva placed a hand on his wrinkled forehead and sighed. “I knew that boy was a little overzealous with the secrecy on his project. He’s had his problems in the past and he knew that he would have to do something pretty remarkable to be allowed to take the wizard trials next year.” The old man took his hat off, releasing a white shock of hair, and scratched his head. “Why couldn’t he just have written a paper?”

 Justan looked at the destruction in the main square, usually a symbol of precision and order, and felt deep sorrow.
“I, I am sorry, sir.
I feel like I should have been able to do something to keep the golem from getting this far.”

“Such are the burdens that we all carry today.” A kindly smile pierced the sorrow on the old man’s face and his eyes sparked with vitality. “Worry not about it now. Come to the third floor of the Rune tower in an hour. At that time, we will piece together this puzzle.”

Justan left the master with questions running through his mind. Where were Arcon and Piledon anyway? He had told them to come and warn everyone of the golem’s approach. Where had they been while the golem was destroying the school grounds?

Vannya finished mending a guardsman’s arm and looked up to see Justan walking by deep in thought. He had a nasty gash on the back of his head that was still bleeding. She walked over to him and grasped his arm.

“Justan, are you okay?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Justan took one look at her pretty face and flinched. The last thing he needed right then was to see her. “Leave me alone, Vannya. I’m not in the mood for you.”

She looked at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about. This ignited his anger even more. He knew that she didn’t really care for him. How could she put on this act when she had wounded friends and comrades about? Had she no shame?

“Justan, you are bleeding,” she pointed out. “Let me heal you-“

 “My wound will heal just fine on its own! What about that man there? He has a broken leg, why aren’t you helping him? You should get your priorities straight.”

He pulled away from her and tried to pretend that he didn’t see the hurt in her eyes as he broke away. He knew it was all an act. He couldn’t allow himself to care. That would just be playing into Valtrek’s hands.

Justan stormed away, deciding to go to the infirmary to check on his friends and see if there was anything he could do to help. He began to jog and nearly tripped over a large chunk of wreckage in the road. He started to pick it up and toss it to the side, but jerked his hand back as if he had just tried to pet a giant spider. The thing he had nearly tripped on was the golem’s head.

 It looked up at him silently, the remains of its hideous face frozen in a rictus of joy. It seemed as pleased with the chaos of its death as it had been with its creation.

Chapter Ten

The sun sank low over the horizon in the Five Hills region. A cool breeze from the north replaced the humid heat of the day pulling a sigh of relief from the stream of people exhausted after a long day working at the quarry. The people of this land found few such moments of relief. In the past, they had always been ruled with a light hand, their day-to-day lives relatively free. Things had changed.

King Andre Muldroomon had appointed a new ruler over that part of the kingdom. Five Hills was now under the rule of the new duke, the king’s advisor Ewzad Vriil. The town was on the very outskirts of the dukedom and he had only ruled over it for six months, but he had already instituted drastic changes.

Five Hills was a peaceful place. Far away from the hostile border, they never had anything but a token militia. Now there was a twelve-foot wall that surrounded the village.
Where once a small guard barracks stood, a large structure now housed several brigades of soldiers and cavalry.

It was all part of the new duke’s army. They were officially a regiment of the king’s personal guard, but anyone who had been around them knew different. These men weren’t the proud and polished soldiers that protected the king. These men were little more than bullies and ruffians. The only thing keeping them in check was the anger of the duke.

The economy of Five Hills had always thrived on agriculture and the money of wealthy merchants that lived there during the winter months. Now that the duke had taken over, most of the crops grown by the farmers were taken by the army to feed the soldiers. Most of the merchants had decided to winter elsewhere because of the huge taxes that the duke now levied on outsiders.

The majority of the people in the region were outraged at the changes in their lives, but they didn’t dare say anything. They had seen what happened to those who spoke out. The duke was not afraid to make examples.

Very few actually embraced the duke’s rule, or at least learned to profit from it, while a smaller minority just didn’t care. One member of this last group left the quarry that night filled with sullen anger. It just wasn’t directed at the new duke.

Kenn
Dollie
trudged toward his home in the fading twilight and scowled at the two silver pieces he had been paid for his week of hard work. He hated the fact that the only job he was able to hold down was labor at the quarry. He was far
to
valuable a talent to waste his life chiseling away at rocks every day.

After taxes and food, the money he made was barely enough to afford a cheap whore and a couple bottles of
dirtberry
wine. Still, he had no choice but to continue in this path. This is what happened to warriors that were kicked out of Training School.

The worst day of Kenn's life was the day that the Training School Council had banished him from the city of
Reneul
. Armed guards had escorted him to the outside edge of the city where he was left to wander in the wilderness without any weapons or a penny to his name.

At least the Training School had taught him some things about survival and he was able to find food along the road. He had narrowly avoided being ambushed by goblins twice and the
chittering
moan of the moonrats in the tall grasses near the forest had nearly driven him mad with fright.

 Kenn had been able to make his way down the road through the Tinny woods by tagging along behind a well-guarded caravan. Once he made it to Sampo and started up the road towards Dremald, the way had been much easier. He cursed Justan and the Training School every moment of his grueling journey.

When Kenn finally arrived back home in Five Hills, he had expected to at least find a decent job as a merchant’s guard or something. Even if he had failed as a Training School student, he did attend for two years. That had to be worth something.

He was dismayed to learn that those jobs were gone. Where there was once a free village where the people barely felt the touch of the crown, now stood a town where everyone’s lives were controlled by one man, Duke Ewzad Vriil.

The Duke had started a rock quarry to the east of the village to provide stone for his new keep. Most of the villagers had to walk several miles to reach the place, but they had no choice. The only other businesses thriving in Five Hills now were the taverns and brothels that catered to the army garrisoned in the town.

Kenn had tried to join with the army when he first arrived, but they laughed him out of the recruitment center when they saw his scrawny body and learned that he had been banished from the Training School. Even his own father had shunned him.

Now, six months since his return, things were different. Kenn had the old family house to himself and no one bothered shunning him anymore. Though his existence was dreary, he had no new direction in mind. That was about to change.

The sun had set by the time Kenn arrived at his street. As he came up to the front of his home, he saw a figure lying crumpled on the steps. Kenn scowled. It wasn’t the first time that a drunk had come up to the house looking for a place to sleep.