The Bowl of Souls: Book 01.5 - Hilt's Pride (4 page)

Hilt closed his eyes, then took a deep breath and released it slowly. “It could be anything. Creatures, natural hazards . . . For the gorcs to mark a part of their own territory in this way
means
that they fear what ever is over that line.”

“Ah, but I’ve got you with me, right? Nothing you can’t handle.” She smacked him on the shoulder, looped the dead snake over her arm and headed up the incline.

Hilt again considered knocking her unconscious and dragging her back down the mountain. Instead he joined her at the top, made sure that there were no gorcs in sight and led her to the left, crossing the white markers.

II

The land beyond the white markers sloped upward as Hilt had hoped and they were able to hike to a high spot where the cliff face was only eight feet instead of the thirty he had seen when they left the trail. He was able to scale it easily and help Beth up behind him. 

It became obvious to Hilt as they turned up the mountainside, why the gorcs stayed out of the area. The slope was gradual and rocky, but interspersed among the rocks rose plumes of steam.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” Beth complained with a grimace.

“Sulfur,” said Hilt.
“Among other things.
Evidently this mountain is a bubbler.”

“Bubbler?”

“Yes, well that’s what my commander called it back in my guard days. It’s a place where the earth beneath the mountain is so hot that it pushes chemicals and gasses to the surface. This place is one step away from becoming a volcano.” He held out his hand. “Come, stay by my side. The way ahead will be treacherous.”

She hesitated. “You want me to hold your hand?”

“It would be the safer course, yes. That way if the ground crumbles beneath you, I can pull you to safety.”

She eyed the offered hand dubiously, “And what if it crumbles beneath you?
You going
to pull me in with you?”

Hilt threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine, Beth. If you don’t trust my intentions, just stay close. I have been in these types of areas before and know what to look for.” He turned and began walking towards the rising plumes of steam.

Her face reddened a bit and she opened her mouth as if to say something, but she just followed behind him instead. To his surprise, she stayed close as he had requested.

The air grew warmer as they approached the active area. Clusters of trees appeared here and there growing from small earthy areas between stretches of rock. Hilt began to feel a low steady vibration beneath his feet.

 A dull roar echoed down the mountainside as they drew nearer to the steam. Beth’s hand latched onto his.

“What is this?” he asked, stopping in surprise.

“I do trust you,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her fingers were trembling. “I know I just met you this morning, but you have been nothing but a gentleman and . . . I’m sorry about before.”

Hilt saw a hint of fear in her blue eyes and wondered if it was the area they were approaching or the fact that she was holding his hand that frightened her. He smiled and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“There is no need to apologize. Your reaction was understandable. Not all men are trustworthy,” he said. She nodded and gave him a weak smile in return. He added, “Though the area ahead is dangerous, it will also be fascinating. You will see.”

They continued forward, hand in hand, Hilt making sure to stay on solid slabs of rock as much as possible. They passed bubbling mud pots, hissing steam vents, and rivulets of warm water filled with multicolored algae. Beth soon forgot her fears and
ooed
and
ahhed
at each wonder. Hilt had to make sure to keep her from getting too close.

They rounded one particularly large boulder and came upon a wide steaming pool of water. The surface was calm and the water was clear and blue. Hilt estimated it to be several meters deep in the center. It looked inviting.

“It’s beautiful,” Beth said, gazing at the steaming pool with longing eyes. “
Ohh
, it would be so nice to bathe in warm water again.”

“Not a good idea,” Hilt warned. He pointed to the far edge of the pool where a frog floated, belly up. “When I was campaigning on academy assignment, one of our men fell into a hot pool like that. He boiled alive before we could fish him out.”

“Oh,” she said with a disappointed pout. “W-well if it’s that hot at least the water is clean, right? Maybe we could gather some?”

“I wouldn’t suggest drinking it,” he said. “In active areas like this, it might not be just water. There could be acid or any number of other toxic things in there. Another man on that journey drank from a hot stream and died vomiting blood. His name was Henry.
Henry the Bold.”

“Oh. How horrible,” she said.

“Nah, don’t feel sorry for him. Henry was a good soldier, but he was a horrible man,” Hilt said. “He liked killing a little too much.”

“Oh . . . good riddance then, I guess.” She shrugged. “Well! I’m tired. Can we rest? Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

“Uh, yes.
Sure,” Hilt said. It was late in the afternoon and they hadn’t eaten. “I suppose we can stop and eat. But I really don’t want to tarry long. I would like to be away from this area before we stop for the night.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “I suppose that means we don’t have time to build a fire. I was kind of looking forward to cooking this snake. I’m getting tired of carrying it around, actually.”

Hilt chuckled. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been dreading having to eat it.”

“You don’t like snake?”

“Beth, my lady, I don’t fancy myself a picky man. I have been on many long campaigns and I have been forced to eat many things over the years. There are only a few of them I’ve hoped to forget, and almost all of those were reptilian in nature.”

Beth grinned. “That, Sir Hilt, is because you have never eaten snake prepared by someone who knows how to cook it.”

“Ah. Very well, but for now, why don’t we just eat some of the bread and dried meat I brought with me. Maybe tonight, if it’s safe, we can build a fire and cook that snake for you.”

Beth sighed. “Okay.”

Hilt took the food out of his pack and divided it between them. The meat was well salted and it was tough, but flavorful. The bread was hard and barely edible, but they were hungry enough that it didn’t matter. After they each drank from the
waterskin
, Hilt noted that there wasn’t much left. They would need to find some water soon.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Beth said around a mouthful of the hard bread.

“Didn’t I?” Hilt asked, not sure what she was talking about. “What question was that?”

“Back down there just before I fell on my face. I asked you why you were helping me. You never answered.” She stared at him expectantly.

Hilt gave her a shrug. “It was my duty.”

“Why?” she asked, “What does being a named warrior
have
to do with my quest?”

“It’s a matter of pride.” Hilt looked down for a moment and when he looked back at her, he wore a weary smile. “It’s a long tale.”

“Most tales are,” she said.

“Very well, but for you to truly understand, I must start at the beginning.” Hilt gathered his thoughts for a moment, staring into the depths of the steaming pool. “I was born George
Slarr
, son of Duke Andres
Slarr
of Gladstone. As the first born son of the Duke, it would one day be my responsibility to take over stewardship of Gladstone, but I didn’t want to rule. I saw what the responsibilities of being a Duke did to my father and I hated it. When I was young, I met several named warriors that came to visit my father. I idolized those men. I wanted more than anything to be as good as them. A named warrior has the highest respect among fighters and more than that, a named warrior is free. Free to do as he wished, no longer tied to land or country.

“Oh how I wanted that. I wanted to shed my father’s name and be my own man. I trained hard. I trained with my father’s soldiers, I trained in foreign lands. When I was nineteen I went to the Battle Academy and it was there that I gained the first step towards my independence. I earned a man’s name. They called me George the Wind. I loved that name.
The wind.
That’s how I felt during battle, dancing through my enemies like a force of nature. I was brash, arrogant,
cocksure
. Back then I was sure I was invincible.”

Beth’s eyebrow rose. “And that has changed?”

Hilt paused. “Do you want me to finish this story?”

She raised a hand. “Please go on. Please do. It is a fascinating story. I am enthralled, truly. I just wonder how this answers my question.”

“I am getting to that, just . . .” Hilt frowned. “Do you know how many people I have told this story to?”

She wisely didn’t respond.

Hilt waited for a moment, gauging her response, then cleared his throat and continued, “But even as George the Wind, I was still a
Slarr
. My father expected me to come home as soon as my academy contract was over and marry some noble girl he had picked out for me. After I graduated, I spent my contracted time campaigning in the wilds, fighting monsters and honing the skills I had learned. Two years later my contract was up, as was my time of freedom. It was time to go home. It was time to face my duty.”

“You could have run,” she said.

“That’s what my friends said. But it was never really an option. That would have crushed my father and dishonored my family. I couldn’t do that. My only way out was the Bowl of Souls.”

“You alluded to that before. But how does that help?” Beth asked. “How would being named save you from your family responsibilities?”

“Ah, well a named warrior cannot hold a noble rank. It is in the country bylaws and it is part of the history of the Bowl of Souls. By being named, I would be required to forfeit my birthright and yet still bring my family great honor. My younger brother would carry on the
Slarr
name. It was what he wanted anyway. He wasn’t as highly favored by our father and that had always
rankled
him. It was the perfect answer and it was the chance I had been training for. I had these two swords made and then I went to the Mage School to stand before the bowl.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like. Leaving your life to chance like that.” Beth said. “Walking up to the bowl must have been terrifying.”

Hilt smiled. “Yes, it’s true that very few are chosen. It’s also true that a warrior only gets one chance to be named. Once refused, he cannot come back again. I knew that going in. And if that had happened I was prepared to go back and do my duty. However, I was confident. I knew I was as good as I was ever going to be. The day that I stood before the Bowl of Souls, I knew that I had worked hard and I was ready. I was ready for the freedom, and to tell you the truth, I was ready for the praise. I was ready for the acclaim.”

He gripped the hilts of his swords and as he continued he was unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “When I dipped my blades in the water of the bowl, it accepted me and the name that shot from my lips was Hilt. I had reached it.
The pinnacle.
My dream.”

“Wait,
you
said it?” she asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “You named yourself?”

“No. The bowl named me. But that’s how it works. It doesn’t have a mouth to speak with, so it speaks through the person being named.” From the expression on her face, Hilt knew she didn’t understand. He looked up as he struggled to put the experience into words. “I’ll try to explain better. It . . . the Bowl of Souls reaches inside you and just . . . you can feel the vastness of it just searching the core of you and this-this pressure builds and you get the sense in your mind of something huge and important happening. Then without even knowing it, you start chanting some strange language and the name grows in your mind until it is too big to contain and it springs from your throat with a great shout. Then you’re standing there and the rune has appeared on your hand and on your weapon and it-it-. It’s wonderful.”