Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (14 page)

“I think I’ll call her . . . Ma’am,” Justan said.

“That’s a right nice name,” Lenny agreed.

Talon was broken. Deathclaw was sure of that. He just didn’t know what to do about it. The last two weeks had been miserable for him. His initial joy at finding his sister had turned to disgust at what she had become.

Deathclaw lived by the laws of the hunter; they were as much a part of him as his own blood and claws. Talon understood those laws just as well as he did. They had hunted together for almost sixty years. But she had cast them aside.

At first, it hadn’t been so bad. Having no particular goal in mind, they moved at Talon’s whim. This had bothered Deathclaw in the beginning because as leader of the pack, he should be the one deciding the direction they traveled. But the changes the wizard had made in both of them were vast and the old pack hierarchy no longer applied. Just as he began to make peace with this fact, her behavior had become more and more peculiar.

A hunter must always look out for the other members of their pack, but Talon began treating him oddly. At times, she would coo and rub her body up against him in new and troubling ways. She would continue this behavior until his heart began to beat fast in his chest, then without warning, she would bite or claw him. When he hissed and struck back at her in anger, she would dart away, gurgling with a strangely human sounding laughter. The wounds she left healed, but the maliciousness of her game disturbed him deeply.

He began avoiding her touch, even at night while they slept. But the more he resisted her, the more persistent she became. Whenever he gave in to her attentions, she would attack him and run off again. It had finally got to the point where he would not let her touch him at all. Whenever she tried, he slashed at her until eventually, Talon tired of the game and turned her attentions elsewhere.

She began hunting down any creature whose trail they came across. It didn’t matter whether the creature was large or small or insignificant. Sometimes she would eat it, but most of the time, she would abandon its body after toying with it for hours, torturing the creature until it died from the pain or she finally took its life on a whim. She did this not for food, but for pleasure and Deathclaw could not comprehend her reasoning. Hunting was for survival.

In an attempt to make her actions more sensible, Deathclaw tried to eat her kills, but sometimes she killed things inedible or poisonous. Often she would kill so many things, that there was no way he could eat it all. He tried to stop her, but no amount of commands or coercion changed her mind. If she caught the scent of something alive, she was determined to kill it.

If there was nothing to hunt, she became destructive, taking pleasure in ripping apart anything in her path. She would rip plants out of the ground, tear the bark off of trees, throw rocks. One day she spent an entire morning destroying a fir tree, gnawing off branches and ripping it apart until the forest around her was riddled with pine needles and the tree was torn and bare. She had hurt herself, broken a tooth in the process, but that extra pain seemed to thrill her even more.

Deathclaw kept his distance from her when she was in these moods because she was just as likely to attack him as anything else. He sat back and watched her behavior, analyzing it, trying to figure out why she did the things she did. Stealth was a hunter’s best ally. Wanton destruction chased your prey away and drew unwanted attention.

He finally came to the painful realization that the beast she had turned into no longer resembled the raptoid he used to hunt with. She no longer acted like a member of the pack, she wasn’t even like him, she was . . . wrong.

Deathclaw hid in the top of the trees and pondered what to do as he watched the creature that used to be his sister hunt a large mountain cat. Talon stealthily tracked her prey down, but when she came upon the beast, she stopped using any tactics at all. The creature outweighed her by at least three times, but she just ran at the cat head on, hissing with glee.

The cat was powerful and quick, but Talon fought it claw to claw. It did not desire the fight and tried to flee several times, but each time, she pursued it and leapt onto its back, tearing and stabbing at it until it had no choice but to strike back. In the end, she got what she wanted. The cat fought for its life and the battle was as fierce as any Deathclaw had seen.

By the time it was over, the cat was nearly unrecognizable. It had one eye left, its skin was in shreds, and it could no longer move its rear legs. The cat had to know that it was dying, but it pulled itself toward Talon with its front claws, dragging its entrails behind it through the blood drenched snow. Talon stood bent over and exhausted, dripping blood. She watched the beast, but made no attempt to move. The cat died just before it reached her.

Talon was victorious, but her wounds were grievous as well. She was bloodied and torn and the cat had bitten her several times, leaving gaping puncture wounds. She rested only a moment before leaping onto the dead creature and flaying it apart, hissing in rage and glee.

Deathclaw saw that her wounds had already stopped bleeding. Her frenzied movements didn’t even tear them back open. The wizard’s magic had increased her regenerative abilities far beyond Deathclaw’s own.

It was then that Deathclaw decided what to do. He needed to put her down.

Sometimes in a raptoid pack, one member of the group would be injured in such a way that it could no longer take care of itself. When this occurred, the only choice the pack had was to kill it. This was done both out of respect for the damaged raptoid and for the good of the pack.

Talon was now in such a state. Her very existence was an affront to the raptoid she used to be.

He watched her roll about in the cat’s remains and tried to decide how best to do it. Should he try to tell her why he needed to destroy her? No, she would not understand. She would find it a game. That was a dangerous path to take. In some ways she was stronger than him. If he took her on directly, it was likely that they would both die.

Perhaps he should wait until she slept and tear out her throat. He would have to time it perfectly. If he missed the opportunity, she would never let him try again.

Talon had tired of rolling in the gore by that time and began to decorate the forest with her kill, hanging the entrails of the cat in the trees and slinging pieces of it all around. She was limping. Some of her wounds had not completely healed yet. The best time to destroy her was now.

Deathclaw crept forward along a thick branch and timed his attack. He landed on top of her, using his greater weight to drive her into the ground. While she was stunned, he grabbed her head in an attempt to break her neck and end it quickly. But she was too slick with blood and he couldn’t get a good grip. She squirmed out from under him and attacked back.

She bit and slashed and stabbed with her tail. As he had done while fighting her in the wizard’s dungeon, Deathclaw used his precise body control to move defensively, avoiding crippling wounds. This time however, his return strikes were meant to kill. He slashed at her throat and sent his tail spike at her in an attempt to pierce vital organs.

Talon sensed his intent and hissed in fury, moving just fast enough to avoid the fatal blows. She laughed in delight at first, then after his repeated attacks, she screeched and chirped, demanding that he stop. Deathclaw would not. Her existence needed to end.

The battle went on for several minutes and Deathclaw realized that they were too evenly matched. He began to doubt his ability to defeat her. A strategy developed in his mind. The one move that he could think of would leave him vulnerable, but if he had to die in order to erase her existence, it would be worth it. They would both die together. Somehow that seemed fitting.

He leapt into her, taking a painful tailbarb strike to the leg. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her in for an embrace, then sank his teeth deep into her throat. He bit down and tensed, waiting for her to use her rear legs to rip out his unprotected belly, but she did not. Instead, she returned his embrace and gurgled lovingly through her damaged throat. He could feel the vibrations in his teeth.

She ran her hands gently up his back and cupped his head, welcoming death. Deathclaw closed his eyes and gurgled back, thankful that she was accepting her rightful end. Then, just before he ripped her throat out, Talon made her escape.

She pierced through his cheeks with the claws on her thumbs and tore downward, severing his jaw muscles. His grip on her throat loosened and she twisted with both hands, dislocating his jaw. Talon pulled her throat free and kicked out of his embrace. Deathclaw stumbled back a few steps in amazement as she ran away.

He chased after her, but his leg was wounded from her tail barb and she was faster than him. After a few moments of the futile pursuit, he stopped and reached up to pop his jaw back into place. The pain was excruciating, but the jaw would heal. His only concern was how to destroy her.

Deathclaw thought for awhile and came to an unsettling conclusion. He could not defeat her on his own. With a pained hiss, he turned and headed back the way they had come. He needed help and he knew where to find it.

He ran toward the wizard’s castle.

*                      *                      *

Hamford tied the sack onto his belt before opening the heavy door to the fifth level dungeon. He stepped into Ewzad’s playroom. The chamber stank even worse now than it had just a few weeks before.

He entered the control room and released the lock on the door, then crossed the main chamber. He made sure to walk down the very center of the corridor, not wanting to get too close to any of the doors. Ewzad had wasted no time in creating new beasts to play with. He called them works in progress, but Hamford had seen enough of them to know that they were already deadly. He could hear their movements behind the doors and the smells coming from their cells were horrific. But none were as bad as the smells emanating from the cell he was headed to; Talon’s old cell.

He stopped before the door and retched before raising one shaking hand to the handle.

 “Kenn,” he whispered. “Kenn, I brought you some food.” Hamford creaked open the door and gazed down upon his brother.

“Can I come out now?” Kenn whimpered.

After reappearing in the throne room in his new glorious body, Ewzad had been furious and as the dungeon keeper, Kenn had taken the brunt of his anger. First Ewzad had swelled Kenn’s feet until they were so large that he couldn’t run. Then he had scolded him with the long list of the things that had gone wrong, sending bursts of horrible pain through Kenn’s body to punctuate every point.

Hamford’s sole punishment had been the command to drag his brother down to the dungeon and shackle him in the cell with the remains of Ewzad’s prized creations. He had been wracked with guilt about it ever since.

 “Oh, Kenn.” Tears welled up in Hamford’s eyes once more upon seeing his brother’s state. “I am so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”

“It is your fault,” Kenn gasped in agreement. “Why haven’t you come sooner?”

Ewzad had ordered Hamford to leave Kenn alone in the cell. Any request to see to his brother had earned Hamford a stiff glare and a series of agonizing abdominal pains. It had taken several days before the wizard was distracted enough for Hamford to chance bringing him food. How he wished he had not waited, Ewzad’s wrath be damned.

Kenn was in horrible shape. He had always been thin, but now he was just skin and bones. It appeared he had caught some kind of disease from the corpses. His body was covered in red sores and a thick yellow liquid oozed from the corners of his eyes.

“Didn’t they feed you when they came to feed the other beasts?” Hamford asked.

“They drop it in the slot, but I can’t reach.” He pointed to a pile of meat crawling with maggots just inside the door. With his arms shackled, Kenn’s reach stopped a foot short of the food, and with his feet still swollen so large, he couldn’t move his legs far enough to bring it closer.

“Food!” Ken demanded weakly. “Now, Hamford. Can’t you see I’m dying!”

Hamford untied the bag at his waist and handed Kenn a flask of water. He guzzled it eagerly, but cried out in pain with stomach cramps. He motioned for more anyway and Hamford gave him some bread and cheese which he devoured along with a couple sausages. This hurt him as well, but Kenn didn’t seem to care.