Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (34 page)

I have asked Master Coal to write me with updates as to your progress. I do not expect you to write me a response. If you have any questions, Master Coal should be able to answer them as well as I. When we next meet, I hope that things will have settled down here at the school and you will be prepared to make a decision in regards to your next area of training. I do hope that you will decide to complete your training at the
Mage
School
before you continue to the
Battle
Academy
.

In regards,

Your master, the Wizard Valtrek

“Of course you hope I will decide to stay at the
Mage
School
,” Justan grumbled. He still couldn’t entirely forgive the man, but he did have to admit that having Valtrek on his side was a lot more convenient than having him as an enemy. He pondered the wizard’s words as he picked up the final unread letter. This one was sealed with wax, but also tied crisscrossed with a green ribbon.

Perhaps Valtrek was right. Wizards continued to study all their lives even after being named, but he did not know how the academy would feel about taking a named warrior in as a student. Then again, it could all be a moot point after his bonding to Fist. How would the academy react to a student that came with an ogre at his side?

He turned the last letter over in his hands, still mulling over what Valtrek had said, when the significance of the green ribbon struck him. His heart skipped in his chest. He ran his fingers along the ribbon. There was no mistaking it, the letter had to be from Jhonate. It was the same kind of green ribbon that she kept in her hair.

Justan lifted the letter to his face, but stopped himself from smelling it. He laughed. What was he expecting? It couldn’t possibly smell like her after traveling so far. Besides, what was he hoping for? The most common smell that came with his memories of her were of the dirt of the training grounds mixed with his own sweat after hours of training while she stood over him and scolded him over some clumsy attempt at an attack.

Justan knew he was lying to himself, though. There was one scent he longed for. It was the one that always accompanied her in his dreams . . .

He shook the thoughts from his mind and carefully untied the ribbons from the parchment. He paused before breaking the wax seal on the back. Why was she writing him? He didn’t know what to expect.

His feelings for her had evolved over their time together and in the time since leaving Reneul, he had come to realize that he truly cared for her, or maybe even . . . Justan stopped that train of thought. He knew that he couldn’t expect Jhonate to feel the same way. But what if the letter showed that she felt nothing for him? Could he handle that?

Justan’s hands trembled as he unsealed the letter and opened it. A slight smile reached his face. The handwriting fit her personality so well. The lettering was perfectly formed and legible and the tone was quite formal.

To Justan, son of Faldon the Fierce,

I am unaccustomed to writing former pupils of mine, but your father has suggested that I write you with words of encouragement to help you during your time at the
Mage
School
. He has told me of your letters home and the things he has heard from your teachers there.

I understand that you are progressing quickly, which is to be expected. I approve of your achieving the rank of apprentice so early and urge you to use the remaining year of your contract attaining the rank of mage. That should be sufficient for your short stay there.

I have also been told of the exercise regimen that you have been helping the professors implement for the students. This is commendable and speaks highly of your dedication to the principles I taught you in the Training School.

Justan’s excitement dimmed as he read. His father had suggested she write him? So far, the letter sounded like Ma’am, the trainer, the woman that saw him as a project to be completed. His hope that her feelings for him were similar began to fade. He read on, desperate to find something that sounded like Jhonate, his mentor and friend, the woman that he had grown so close to in the final days before he left.

I would be remiss, however, if I did not warn you of some possible distractions during your stay at the
Mage
School
. I have overheard several of my fellow academy students quite crudely speaking of the allure of certain female mages at the school. You should beware of the possible disruption to your studies these female students could cause you. In my past experience, I have noticed a tendency among young female magic users to pursue ways of using their magic to get what they want from the men around them. Do not fall victim to their wiles.

Remember, you are there to study and gain control of your abilities. This will require the same amount of focus and dedication I demanded of you at the Training School. When your two years at the school are over, you still have years of study at the
Battle
Academy
ahead of you. There will not be time for the pursuit of females until after you have graduated.

Your father told me that you have asked of my status and suggested that I speak of that as well. I will let you know that I have extended my contract with the
Battle
Academy
for two more years in order to further my training in the more advanced warrior tactics. So I shall be here when you return.

I want you to know that I am pleased with your growth. Every time I look at the parting gift you gave me, I am reminded of the way you advanced during your last year at Training School. I hope in return that when you use your Jharro Bow, you will remember the lessons that you learned under my tutelage.

Be steadfast. Be focused. Return with the desire to continue to increase your abilities. I look forward to greeting you at the gates of the
Battle
Academy
when that time comes.

Your former trainer and current friend,

Jhonate Bin Leeths

He laid the letter down for a moment, unsure of the feelings he was reading into her parting words. On the positive side, she still had his ring and she had called him friend. Perhaps all wasn’t lost. She had tried to warn him off of the girls at the school, but he knew her well enough to realize that was probably just Jhonate being Jhonate. In reality, she hadn’t given him any true indication that her feelings were more than that of friendship, so maybe he was fooling himself.

He picked up the green ribbon that had been tied about the letter and twined it about his fingers. He lifted them to his eyes to examine them closer and fancied he caught a faint trace of the scent he had been chiding himself for looking for earlier. He brought them under his nose, inhaling deeply to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. The scent filled his nostrils. It was really there.

It was something that Justan had only smelled three times before. The first had been when Jhonate had held tightly to him after he helped free her from Kenn, the second when he had embraced her following his final battle against Qenzic, and the last time he smelled it was when she had leaned in to kiss his cheek as he left her in Reneul on his way to the Mage School.

It was the smell of Jhonate’s hair, an earthy smell, like the smell of the forest after a rain, not flowery or sweet, but clean and pleasant. He crushed the ribbon to his cheek, knowing at once that the only way it could smell this way was if she had taken it out of her own hair to tie the letter. Jhonate would not remove her ribbons lightly and most certainly wouldn’t have used them to wrap a letter to a mere acquaintance.

He smiled at the realization and his heartbeat quickened again. He sat and held the ribbon under his nose, keeping her scent fresh in his mind as he read the letter over and over again, this time sure that her words meant more. Justan did not leave the room until it was time to spar with his friends, and even then he kept the ribbon and the letter in his jacket pocket.

Fist’s back ached as he walked up the road from Miss Nala’s farm to Master Coal’s keep. He tried to stretch and a sharp jab of pain shot up his spine. Fist winced. The long days of work combined with playing with Miss Nala’s children were taking their toll. Perhaps he would have Qyxal take a look at him when he got back, but he wasn’t planning on making any changes. It was worth the pain to be able to play with children again.

When he had first seen the children, he had found it difficult to even be around them. The horrible last memories of Cedric and Lina kept creeping into his mind. But the boys had finally come right up and asked him to play and he had not been able to say no. Fist found it irresistible how innocent and open human children were. They didn’t fear him because of his size or strength like many of the adults did. Not that the humans in this community treated him unkindly, they were always polite. But they tended to avoid being in his presence if they could.

Miss Nala was different from the others. When she had seen him playing with her children, she had come out and invited him to eat with them. She readily accepted his help with the family chores, and it became a regular habit for him to stay behind with the family after the morning work was done.

He would put the children up on his wide shoulders and give them rides all around the outside of their home, or sometimes he would pretend to be the giant that they got to defeat with their imaginary swords. His favorite game though, was one created by the smallest children who were three and four years old. They called it simply “Fist, save us” and it involved the older children pretending to be robbers or monsters and the smaller ones would run to Fist for protection.

Ogre children would not have understood such games. They may have pretended to hunt or defend the tribe, but for the most part, their play ended up devolving into a brawl with each other. The fighting could go on for hours and the adults would allow it to go on, even if one of them were hurt.

Humans treated their little ones so differently. Miss Nala for instance, was so warm and loving to her children, finding ways to make sure that each one of them felt like they were important to her. She was protective, warning them when their play became too rough, but she also knew when to let them figure things out. Since their father had died, her role had become even more important.

Fist had decided early on after spending time with Tamboor’s family that the reason humans were so much more advanced than ogres was the way that their parents raised them. Especially human mothers.

Earlier that night when Justan had shared the memories of his own mother, Fist understood why her letters had made him so homesick. Fist wished that he had a mother like Miss Nala, or Justan’s mom, or Tamboor’s wife Efflina. He didn’t even know which ogre female had birthed him.

In ogre culture, once the children were weaned, the female stopped seeing the child as hers and left them to be raised by the older females in the community. This way the females of child bearing age could return to the mating area and become pregnant with the next child. Ogre males on the other hand, sometimes took interest in the male children that they sired. Fist had been lucky enough to grow large and strong, so that his father had decided to take pride in him, but for the most part, Ogre children did not have real parental figures.

Lately, since spending so much time with these children who had lost their father, Fist’s dreams had been full of old childhood memories. Most of them were of fighting with the other children or the times when his father Crag would stop by and push him around or beat him to teach him toughness. But there was one dream he had nearly every night. This dream was of an old lost memory. A memory of a time when he had experienced something somewhat like the relationship humans had with their parents.