Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) (17 page)

While waiting on the roof of the human's dwelling, Deathclaw once again thought back to his last days in the desert. The other raptoids had rejected him. He had no pack. He was unique, and for a social animal, that was torture. When he had walked into this green world with the human, he had once again assailed by this feeling of solitude. Everything in this place was so different from what he had known during his previous life. His only constant since leaving his desert was the human he hunted. It wasn’t enough.

Deathclaw focused his thoughts back further to the day that the humans had shown up and slaughtered his pack, leaving him changed forever. Then Deathclaw leapt up and hissed with glee. It was an eerie, screech of a sound. He finally understood the thoughts that had been churning in the dark recesses of his mind. He was not alone. There was another. He had seen the humans with his brood mate, his sister. She had not died like the rest. No, the puny man with the writhing fingers had changed her too, and when the man had stopped the transformation, she looked much like he did now. Perhaps this was why he let the human live for so long. Perhaps he would lead Deathclaw to his brood mate!

Still his instincts argued. He was a hunter and the human was prey, weakened and ready to be devoured. He considered throwing it all away and just eating the man. Or maybe he would just eat the other man that his prey was with. That thought was intriguing. The human he had been following didn’t smell like good food. Maybe this one would be better.

Deathclaw slipped through an open window into the house, crept past the sleeping form of the human Hamford and into the room where the skinny brother slept. One strike from the sharp barb on the end of his tail would end his life quietly. He sent his tail out, but stopped the barb an inch from the man’s exposed neck. This one didn’t smell good either. He left the man alive.

But not without cutting him first.

Chapter Eleven

It was one of the worst tragedies in
Mage
School
history. Had this event taken place anywhere else, many more would have died. Thankfully, this was the
Mage
School
, home of the best healers in the kingdom. Many of the wounded were healed on the spot out in the rubble, while others were hauled into the infirmary, which was soon full of injured students and guards.

Matron Guernfeldt was efficient and ruled the place with an iron hand. She had
began
pulling all of the best healers in the school under her roof even before the clock tower fell. All those with minor injuries such as broken bones, bruises, or contusions were healed and sent on their way within the first hour. Several were wounded badly enough that they were kept overnight. A few were worked on all night long and would have to stay for a week under observation. The good news was that everyone who was still breathing when they made it to the infirmary survived.

Some did not make it in time. There were students, faculty, and guards, six people in all, slain by the golem. Some of them were prominent figures in the school. The dead were kept fresh in state by magic until after the sentencing of the students, when the funerals would be held.

The investigation stretched on for several weeks. Nothing this terrible had happened at the school in centuries. The council wanted to make sure every little detail was known before handing out their decision on the three accused students.

Professor Locksher, who had been about to leave on an extended research mission, had his plans postponed. He was instructed to compile an in-depth report on the creation of the golem and find out which, if any, rules were broken by the three students involved. Locksher seemed to be everywhere looking at bits of evidence during the first couple of days and would not let any of the rubble be cleared until he had all that he needed, mainly every single piece of the golem.

Every time the students walked the grounds they saw something that was a reminder of that day, leaving a pall over the normally cheerful school. Even after the debris was cleared away and repair work on the buildings began, no one could avoid noticing the ugly scar that was the missing Clock Tower. The tower had been a beacon of order in the school for hundreds of years. Every one used it as a reference point throughout the day. It was a while before the students were able to stop the habit of looking up to check the time.

The High Council kept the details of the investigation under a blanket of secrecy. Locksher presented his findings to the council in private, and the three guilty students were locked away somewhere in the
Rune
Tower
awaiting the trial. The rest of the school was starved for information. Everyone was eager for the trial to be over so that they could learn what had happened.

Justan was brought into the council chambers several times to clarify certain points about his experience that day. Each time they saw him they wanted another tiny detail about something or another. It seemed that the more Locksher put together, the more questions they had.

One day, a week after the golem was
destroyed,
Justan was studying in the library. He was sitting at a table in the far corner of the room reading a discourse written by Master Latva on how to release hidden magical talents, when he caught a hint of perfume. Justan looked up to see Vannya sitting across from him with her arms folded. Her gaze burned into him like red-hot coals. Justan's first instinct was to tell her to go away, but with the beautiful woman looking at him like that, Justan could not bring himself to snap at her. He sighed instead.

“Yes Vannya, what do you want?”

She scowled at him in response, which on her face made her look even cuter. “Why are you mad at me, Justan?” she asked. “What did I do to you?”

“I really don’t know what you are talking about,” he replied, his face expressionless. Part of him was ashamed of the way he had treated her, but he refused to let her make him feel guilty.

Vannya leaned forward over the table, her full lips forming a pout. “You have been very cold to me lately. Every time I see you, you either pretend you don’t see me or go out of your way to avoid me. I’ve asked around and nobody knows what is going on.” She leaned back in her chair and looked at him expectantly, awaiting an explanation. Justan just stared at her blankly.

“Well?” She demanded, folding her arms in front of her again.

Justan fumed. How dare she make him feel childish when she was the one that had betrayed him? He had indeed been avoiding her ever since that terrible day precisely because he didn’t want this confrontation. The sight of her raised too many confusing
emotions,
and the sadness in her eyes on the day of the golem attack still haunted him.

“I don’t feel I have to explain myself to you,” he stated.

Her jaw dropped. Vannya wasn’t used to anyone of the male gender treating her this way. Her voice shook. “Excuse me? Of course I have the right to know why I am being mistreated.
Especially if it is coming from someone who I consider a friend!”

 “I considered you a friend too, Vannya. And I think you know why I am acting this way, even if you won’t admit it.” Other people in the library were starting to stare and Justan saw moisture well up in her eyes. A fat tear rolled down her smooth rosy cheek and he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Look, is there anything else you want?
Because I really don’t want to talk to you about this.”

“No,” she said, and wiped the tear from her face. “No, I think I’m through talking to you. But Professor Locksher wants to see you. It’s something about the trial.”

Justan hated the way his words had seemed to affect her, but he kept reminding himself that it was all an act. She needed to keep contact with him or she wouldn’t have anything to report to her lover about. He pushed his regret away and stood.

“Thank you.”

He left her sitting alone at the table.

Justan had to climb several flights of stairs to get to Locksher’s apartments. He had never been in that section of the
Rune
Tower
before and he was delayed staring at all of the rich tapestries and paintings. He knocked politely on the door to the wizard’s study. A voice called out for him to enter and Justan stepped into the foyer.

It was not exactly the kind of place Justan had expected from the Wizard of Mysteries. Most
izards
kept their apartments clean and orderly. Locksher’s rooms were filled with a jumble of strange objects. Old tomes and sheathes of papers were stacked haphazardly, and baubles and trinkets nearly humming with magical properties hung on little hooks in the walls.

The air in the wizard’s living quarters was filled with hazy sweet smoke that irritated Justan’s eyes. He had to resist the urge to cough. Justan could not see the wizard through all the mess. “Professor Locksher?”

“Is that you, Justan?” A voice asked from a room in the back. Justan walked around several large stacks of ancient books and saw a hand reaching up from behind a pile of parchments. “Over here. I need your assistance.”

Justan navigated his way through the smoke and around the jumbled mess until the Professor came into view. He was sitting on a chair in front of the biggest desk that Justan had ever seen. It was made of dark wood and held dozens of tiny drawers. The desk was covered in bits of rubble and pieces of charred plants that could only be remains of the golem. Justan shivered at the sight of the item that covered the center of the desk. It was the Golem’s head split nearly in half, its eyes dark and its mouth gaping eerily.

Locksher was wearing strange tinted glasses and puffing fiercely on a large pipe that belched forth more smoke than Justan would have thought naturally possible. Justan couldn’t help but cough at the intensity of the smoke this close to the source and the wizard turned to face him.

“Ah, there you are.” Locksher noticed Justan’s coughing and red-rimmed eyes. 
“Oh my.
I apologize, Justan. This smoke must be causing havoc with you.” The wizard dropped his pipe hissing into a cup of water and opened one of the desk’s many drawers. He rummaged around until he found a pair of glasses that matched his own. “Here, put this on. It should help. You see the smoke is actually part of an experiment. I am testing the properties of the material the golem was made of.”

Justan tried the glasses on and the irritation faded. He now saw the room differently. Magical objects seemed to be aglow with a dusty gray hue enhanced by the smoke in the room.

“Wow.” Justan said. “But what does it tell you?”

“Switch to your mage sight,” the wizard responded and when Justan did, the dusty hue was gone. The room was filled with bright colors, each magical object giving off a unique variety of hues.

“You see, this smoke brings the elemental properties of an object containing magic into the visual realm. Unfortunately, it is a little caustic and can irritate someone who is not used to it,” Locksher explained. “I’ve never taken up smoking, myself. I’m afraid I might take a liking to it and too many wizards in this school have had to go and have Matron Guernfeldt purge their lungs. It’s not a very pleasant experience, I understand.” He shrugged and gestured at the smoke filling the room. “But it has its uses.”

Justan had seen many wizards with a pipe in their mouths and he knew quite a few students who had taken up the practice imitating their teachers. It was a growing fashion. He remembered that some merchants from the west had started up a trade route into the city of
Reneul
with the herbs. It had been quite popular there for a while too. It had been eventually outlawed at the
Battle
Academy
after it was discovered that the warriors who smoked a lot tended to tire more easily.

Locksher moved some bits of rock and mortar off of a nearby chair and motioned for Justan to sit. “Look at these items on my desk and tell me what you see.”

The rubble gave off very little glow at all, but the bits of plant matter on the desk glowed a dingy blue and gold offset by deep black shadows. “I guess that the rubble must be from the clock tower,” Justan said. “Because it looks like there used to be magic flowing through it, but it has faded. The pieces of the golem still shine brightly with magic though.”

“Good” Locksher said. “But what do the colors tell you about the remnants of the golem?”