The Ogre Apprentice (22 page)

Long ago . . . yes
, Artemus said.
It was before the war . . . I came there with John
.

Justan kept talking, eager to keep Artemus alert.
You did? Why
?

He . . . had an errand there
, the old spirit said. His voice was strained as if speaking was a struggle.
He had to see to the . . . raising of a new treemaster. I happened to be traveling with him at the time. The . . . Roo-Tan soldiers did not like my presence in the grove, but the elves were quite . . . friendly
.

A treemaster
?
Justan asked.
What is that
?

It’s . . . I . . . must . . .
The voice faded.

Artemus are you with me? Artemus
? Justan sent, but there was no reply.

“Your progenitor still struggles,” Deathclaw observed.

“Yes, but he is much stronger,” Justan replied. He was growing more confident each day that the old wizard would eventually regain full control of himself.

I like him
, Gwyrtha said.
He smells like old paper and tea leaves
.

“What are you two talking about?” Beth asked, looking back at them.

“Beth, what’s a treemaster?” Justan said.

She blinked at him. “Well, they’re the caretakers. It’s one of the elves whose job it is to watch over a particular tree. They’re picked when they’re young and it’s a job they keep throughout their life. Each Jharro tree has one.”

“Oh,” he said. The mint-like scent was growing stronger.

Justan began to feel a bit light headed. It was similar to how he had felt when in the elven homeland of the Silvertree Sect, but more intense. The cloud of bugs that had been bothering him was gone and the forest around them was lush with vitality. The trees grew taller and wider and the soil was rich and black.

“Oh yeah, I can smell the grove now,” Beth said, smiling. “Yntri was the treemaster of his tree. It’s expected that his grandson will take his place as part of the ceremony at his funeral.”

“Oh,” Justan said. There was a faint musical hum in the air and a warm tingling sensation swept over him. With each step, the forest became both quieter and more alive at the same time.

“There is something about this place,” Deathclaw said softly.

Justan agreed. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what he was feeling, but he was excited to move forward.

Then the first Jharro tree came into view. It was as big as Justan had envisioned, but not exactly in the way he had imagined. The trunk was easily as wide as two houses, and covered in a silvery bark. But the tree was not as tall as he had expected. It was likely over 150 feet tall, but seemed squat in comparison to its width.

Justan’s jaw dropped as they walked fully into the grove. Every tree was as big as that first one or bigger. Many of the roots that stretched out from the base of these gigantic trees were twice as tall as Justan. The floor of the grove was taken up by the intertwining of these roots, with barely a patch of soil to be seen.

Justan couldn’t see how they were supposed to make their way through the grove at first. Then Beth led them up one of the roots and he saw that the tops of these great roots formed a multitude of intersecting pathways. These pathways were smooth and flat, likely formed by the will of the elves that cared for the grove.

The canopy overhead was a startling flickering layer of powder blue from the undersides of the Jharro leaves. The light that filtered through glinted off of the silvery bark of the trees, filling the grove with a soft blue glow.

The scent that had hit Justan and his bonded so hard earlier was much thicker here, but the air here wasn’t as humid as it had been in the surrounding forest and it wasn’t hard to breathe. Instead, each breath filled him with energy. Justan felt more awake and aware than he could remember. His every sense and synapse was alive.

I love it here
, Gwyrtha said.

“There are no leaves on the ground,” Deathclaw commented.

“That’s true. They don’t fall often,” Beth said. She was smiling and her eyes were closed, the soft light of the grove giving her an ethereal and youthful look. “The elves spend a lot of time in the tops of the trees watching for signs of weakness. When a leaf is ready to fall, they claim it.”

“What do they do with them?” Deathclaw asked, staring up at the canopy overhead.

“Oh, there is strong magic in the Jharro leaves. Especially in the sap that fills the fleshy parts. But they have many uses for them and let nothing go to waste.”

Ah, this feeling . . . It is as I remember, but perhaps stronger
, said Artemus’ voice within Justan’s mind. There was a fervent feel to his thoughts.
It’s wonderful
.

I think I know what you mean. There’s something sacred about this place. It’s a-
. Justan felt a twinge in his chest and a sudden pulse of cold flared from the frost rune.

THE LEAVES! FREEZE THEM
!

Justan clutched the front of his shirt, half expecting to feel the icy fingers of the Scralag. “Stop it, Artemus!”
Keep control
.

Yes. I . . . I’m sorry
, Artemus replied.
I’m not sure why but . . . something about this place makes the elemental quite uncomfortable. The urges coming from it are quite violent. I must retreat for now.

The chill in Justan’s chest lessened and he let out a sigh of relief. What would he have done if the Scralag had gotten loose? Was there anything he could have done to stop it?

There was a rustling in the leaves above and Justan looked up to see many dark forms clinging to the undersides of the branches overhead. He recognized immediately that these were Yntri’s people watching.

“Come this way,” Beth said, walking along one of the paths to the south. “Tolynn’s tree is over here.”

“I know,” Justan said. He could feel it pulling at him from the very center of the grove. “It’s my tree too.”

He walked along the path trying to breathe it all in, trying to catalog every moment. This place was more than special. He understood now why Jhonate’s people had kept to their vow for a thousand years.

Finally he stood before his tree. She was beautiful, one of the largest and most ancient. He reached out and touched her bark and felt a shiver rush through him as he recalled the century of memories she had shared with him when he had communed with her.

A creak issued from the tree, breaking the silence. Justan looked up in time to see a vertical crack appear in the bark of the tree a few feet above him. It widened and a slight figure stepped out from within the tree, alighting atop one of the places where a great root joined the tree.

She was an elf, with skin as dark as Yntri Yni’s, but she was not as old or leathery. There wasn’t a hair on her head, not even an eyebrow, and yet there was an ageless beauty about her. She had large dark eyes and full lips that were slightly open showing a set of bright white teeth.

Her torso and upper legs were covered completely in smooth Jharro wood that moved with her body as if it were a second skin. She carried a Jharro staff in one hand.

Her eyes alit on Justan briefly, giving him a cold glance before moving past him. “Greetings, Listener Beth. I did not expect to see you today, though the young trees will be glad of your presence.”

Justan was glad to find that he knew what she was saying. Though he could not speak it, his time spent conversing with Yntri through the wristband on his arm had given him an understanding of their language.

“Greetings, Tolynn. Actually, that is not why I’m here. I have brought someone to meet you,” Beth said and gestured to Justan. “This is Sir Edge. He is the betrothed of Jhonate bin Leeths.”

Justan looked up at the ancient elf woman and without knowing quite why, bent to one knee in front of her. “I am honored to meet the wife of Yntri Yni.”

“You are the one my Yntri died for?” she clicked.

“I am,” Justan said, bowing his head. “And I mourn that fact. My life was not worth his.”

“Is that so?” she asked, cocking her head. She jumped down from her perch atop the root. As she did so, the tip of her staff narrowed, becoming a spear-like tip. She pointed it at him. “Then perhaps I should take your life in exchange?”

“No, Tolynn,” Beth said, her eyes widening in alarm. “Yntri wouldn’t have wanted-.”

“Silence, Beth!” Tolynn said, stretching out her other hand to point at the woman’s lips. Her lips were drawn back in rage. “I will be the judge of what my husband wanted.”

What is she saying
? Deathclaw asked. He shifted Sherl-Ann to his other shoulder, freeing his right hand up to grasp a throwing knife.
Was it a threat
?

Gwyrtha climbed to her feet and crept forward, issuing a low growl
.

Calm yourselves
, Justan snapped, then said aloud to the elf, “I would readily give my life in payment for Yntri’s, but I am a bonding wizard. It is not my life to give.”

“Stand, human,” she replied, the anger still filling her eyes.

Justan obeyed and though he towered over her five-foot frame, he felt overwhelmed by the power of her presence. She looked him over, every darting movement in her eyes weighing and calculating. She grasped his hands and turned them over, muttering as she examined his naming runes.

“You still carry part of him with you,” Tolynn observed, her hand resting on the Jharro band that clung to his wrist.

“I could not make myself remove it,” he replied.

“Hmph,” she said. “Raise your arms.”

She ran her hands along the muscles of his arms and up to his shoulders, then slid them down his chest, pausing only briefly at the frost rune before continuing across his abdomen. Justan felt a brief moment of discomfort as she rested her hands on his hips.

“Give me your bow,” she said.

Justan hesitated. What if she took it away from him? Did she have the ability to do that. He pushed the anxiety that rose within him away and pulled Ma’am off of his shoulder, handing it to the elf.

She ran her fingers down the length of the bow, examining the runes, the look on her face unreadable. Then she gave the bow back to him and poked and prodded him, making him turn around, before leaning in and pressing her ear over his heart.

She stayed that way for a long while and Justan could feel a quiet movement within his mind, as if she was in there, sifting through his soul. Then he heard her thoughts. They didn’t come from within the bond, but somewhere close to it.

She addressed him directly,
Yntri saw much in you. He said that you would become a great man. He told me much of your potential.

He did
? Justan said.

He saw this when he first listened to you,
she replied.
And our tree agreed with him. This is why it chose you.

Justan sensed irritation and sadness in her thoughts.
What do you think?

Despite myself, I see what they saw,
she said reluctantly
. You are as Yntri said and yet there is so much you have not yet lived up to
.

I am sorry for that
, he responded.
Though I do not know in what ways I have fallen short
.

She pulled back and as she looked up at him the anger in her eyes was gone, replaced by tears. “You are young yet.” She patted his arm. “The nightbeast that killed my husband, it is still after you?”

“Yes. That is one of the reasons I came to see you,” Justan said.

“Come,” she said and pulled him closer to the tree. She reached out and the silvery bark of the tree split again, opening up to reveal a circular hole. “Place your arm inside. It is time that you returned Yntri’s gift.”

Justan reached his arm into the hole. The interior was warm and smooth. The wood moved to conform around his arm and then there was a slight pressure around his wrist. When he removed his arm, the wristband Yntri had given him stayed inside the tree.

He grasped his wrist, feeling both a sense of relief and sorrow that it was gone. He looked to Tolynn.

“I believe that the nightbeast plans to attack during Yntri’s funeral,” he told her. “It wants to make my death a spectacle, something to be remembered. I . . . want to let you know that is why I won’t be there. My bonded and I will stay far away so that we don’t disrupt anything.”

Tolynn drew back and looked at Justan, her face becoming hard. The Jharro wood that covered her torso rippled and stiffened.

“No,” she said, reaching out to touch his chest. “You must be there. Let that wretched creature come to us.” Her lips twisted into a snarl. “We will be waiting.”

There had been much discussion about the route Fist’s group must take. They were to head to the Battle Academy, but they couldn’t take the main roads. A troop of ogres would frighten any settlement they came across and, even though they had Locksher with them to explain the situation, there was too much potential for conflict. In the end it was decided that they should avoid populated areas altogether and stay off the roads. This would add many miles to the journey and take them through rough terrain, but the ogres were used to that kind of travel.

They were loaded with provisions and left the Mage School traveling eastward, back the way the ogres had come. They forded the Fandine River at a shallows that Locksher knew about. The water there was only thigh deep for the ogres, but chillingly cold. As they headed into the forest at the far side, skirting the elven homeland, Fist found himself falling into an increasingly sour mood.

It wasn’t just the fact that his legs and boots were soaked with the icy water. With all the conflicting emotions Fist felt at leaving the Mage School, he found the happy attitudes of his other traveling companions irritating. Charz was excited because of the many opportunities for fighting along the way and Squirrel was happy because he had been growing bored at the school. Locksher was fascinated by the mystery of the powerful force that created the maggots. There was a spring in the professor’s step that Fist hadn’t seen before. 

The ogres were even more annoyingly enthusiastic. Though for Fist the journey was just beginning, the ogres had completed their main mission. They were returning home with Fist in tow and, as far as they were concerned, the evil was all but destroyed. As they walked, the ogres laughed and played and pushed each other and wrestled. Fist felt even less like one of them with each step.

Puj’s presence didn’t help the situation. Her feelings had been hurt when Fist announced that she couldn’t join his tribe until after the evil was destroyed. She had burst out in tears until Fist, feeling terribly guilty, assured her that this requirement was just a formality. Scowling, Puj had run to Crag. Fist didn’t know what Crag said to her, but she calmed down after that. Fist had been relieved by how well she was taking it. Then, to his dismay, she began shadowing him.

Puj stayed at his side the first full day, dogging his steps. She stayed fairly quiet for the most part, but nudged him from time-to-time and laughed while making crude suggestions. This was the ogre version of flirting. Fist didn’t know how to respond without being rude and Squirrel and Charz found his discomfort hilarious. Several times he politely tried to excuse himself from her presence so that he could talk to Locksher, but Puj was back at his side within minutes.

When night came, Fist set his bedroll on the far side of the fire, next to Locksher and away from the rest of the ogres. To the further amusement of Charz and Squirrel, Puj placed her furs right next to him. Fist moved his bedroll further away from the fire, but she moved her furs next to him again. Finally, Fist told her that he needed to be alone to practice his magic before sleeping and she let him move his bedroll away from her again.

He spoke with Justan through the bond and, though Justan was sympathetic to his plight, he could offer no helpful suggestion. All he said was that Fist should probably just ‘put up with it’. After closing his connection with Justan, Fist did as Darlan had instructed and practiced draining his magic. He used a static mix of air and earth to create a glowing orb and focused on making its light as dim as possible.

As Darlan had promised, Fist felt his resources deplete quickly. The longer he kept it up, the more power it took to keep the light from blazing like a beacon. After just a few minutes, the light winked out and he collapsed with exhaustion. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the reflection of the firelight in Puj’s eyes as she watched him from her furs. For the first time in a long while, Fist didn’t dream.

When Fist woke up in the morning, Puj was next to him. She was on her back asleep, and one of her arms was lying across his chest. When Fist looked down, he saw that Squirrel had left a tiny pile of shelled seeds on her open palm as a sign of his approval. For a moment, Fist contemplated squishing his little friend and told Squirrel so, but the little beast was unapologetic.

 Fist gently moved her arm aside and looked for Wizard Locksher, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Fist grew concerned and considered going to look for the man, but Squirrel assured him that the wizard wasn’t far away. Sure enough, Locksher returned to the camp a short time later lugging the chest full of maggots, one eyebrow raised in contemplation.

That day they continued their journey through the forest, the ogres’ long strides eating up the distance. Locksher grumbled about the pace at first, needing to jog to keep up. Fist offered to let the wizard hold his mace, but Locksher had scoffed at the weight of the weapon. Instead, the wizard had enacted a spell of his own to increase his speed. After that, he had no trouble keeping up, but he made a strange sight, his legs pumping at twice their normal tempo while the rest of him moved like normal. He somehow even managed to read from an ancient leather-bound book as he walked, pausing every now and then to jot down notes in a small notebook he kept within his robes.

There was a minor bit of excitement that afternoon as the group was attacked by three hungry trolls, but the slavering beasts were no match for the power of their party. Charz and the ogres gleefully smashed the trolls to pieces and Locksher set their quivering remains on fire with a quick spell.

The battle helped develop a sense of camaraderie between Fist’s tribe and the Thunder People. The ogres looked at Locksher with a newfound respect after witnessing his fire spell and they had all been impressed at the savagery with which Charz had pulped the trolls. Several of the ogres now marched alongside the giant, giving him reverent stares. Charz enjoyed the attention and regaled them with stories of his past battles, grinning as the ogres oohed and aahed.

For Fist, this second day of the journey was better than the first. The battle with the trolls helped him realize that the enthusiasm of the group wasn’t such a bad thing. Fist had also resigned himself to the fact that Puj was determined to follow him around.

The ogress noticed the difference in his attitude and became quite talkative, telling him all about her life growing up. Fist realized how little he had known about the day-to-day life of ogre females. In some ways it wasn’t so different than the life of the females of most species. They grew up learning how to clean and cook and care for the injuries of the men. Then he was reminded of the cruelties they endured.

Puj was two years older than Fist, but had already been part of six different tribes. She was born into the Water People tribe, but had been stolen away from them as a child during a raid by the Stone People. The ogress had then been traded around different tribes, most recently to the River People before Crag had taken over their territory during the Barldag’s war. She was popular among the men wherever she went and the other ogresses often treated her roughly, jealous of her looks.

To Fist’s surprise, he learned that Puj had already borne two children; one to the River People and one just the last summer to the Thunder People. Fist had always seen the way ogre females were treated as demeaning and told her so, but Puj didn’t understand what he meant. To the ogress, these experiences were a badge of honor. Puj was quite proud of the way the men clamored for her attentions. The most uncomfortable part of the conversation for Fist was the amount of unnecessary detail she used when bragging about her mating prowess.

The party made good time, covering many miles through the woods. That evening they camped in a glade by a deep pond. Charz and the ogres saw this as a great opportunity for fun. Despite the lingering winter chill they hurled themselves into the water and horsed around, splashing and dunking each other until the pond became a battle royale filled with roars and laughter.

Fist estimated that the group splashed out a good third of the water in the first ten minutes. He didn’t join them, despite the urging of Charz and Crag. As much as he liked the idea of a bath, he did not look forward to trying to dry off and warm up afterwards. Besides, the others would just try to get him involved in the fighting. Puj watched the ruckus longingly, but since Fist didn’t go in, she didn’t either. She sat on the trunk of a downed tree and waited while Fist built the fire.

Stupid
, Squirrel remarked from his perch in a tree overlooking the scene.

“They are pretty foolish,” he agreed.

Not them. You
, Squirrel said.

“What do you mean?” Fist asked, as he stacked some dry branches in the fire pit he had dug a safe distance from the pond.

They are fun
, Squirrel replied.
You are not
.

“They are fun?” Fist said, scowling as a particularly large splash sent a gout of water right into the fire pit. He noticed Puj glance at him and this time didn’t speak aloud.
If they are so much fun, why don’t you go swim with them
?

Squirrel snorted.
Squirrels don’t swim. Ogres do
.

Fist glanced back at the thrashing group of ogres and watched as Charz, laughing maniacally, hurled Rub into the air. The ogre howled as he flipped end-over-end towards another group of ogres that were brawling with the chieftain. Crag saw Rub coming and met the airborne ogre with an uppercut that caught him in the jaw and reversed his forward momentum, knocking him back into the other ogres with a concussive splash.

A chorus of laughter erupted from the pond and Fist had to admit to himself that it did look like fun. He would have to check out Rub later and see if he needed healing, though. He turned his head to look at Puj, who had watched the whole spectacle with an open-mouthed grin.

“You should join them, Puj,” he said.

The ogress shook her head. “No. There is only mens out there and I am not part of their tribe. I am not part of any tribe now.”

Fist winced guiltily. Technically she was right and it was his fault. Even though Fist had not let her enter his tribe, Crag had told the male ogres that she belonged to Fist. This meant that she was not a Thunder People woman any more and was off limits for the journey home. Any contact between her and the other ogres would be inappropriate.

“This is only temporary,” he said.

Puj gave him a confused look. “Tim . . . what?”

“This won’t last much longer,” Fist clarified. He kept forgetting that the other ogres didn’t know all his new words. “When the evil is gone, you will be part of a tribe again.”

The ogress nodded and stared back at the cavorting ogres while Fist struggled to get the fire going. Fist used his water magic to draw the moisture out of the branches, a trick Locksher had shown him the night before. He still didn’t quite have the technique down and looked to the wizard for help, but Locksher had disappeared into the trees with the chest again.

It took Fist a few minutes of trial and error, but eventually he succeeded in getting the wood dry enough to light. As the flames grew, Fist stepped back and surveyed his handiwork with a smile of satisfaction.

“Are you sure you can do it, Big Fist?” Puj asked suddenly. “You can kill the evil?”

“I-uh, well . . .” Fist stammered for a moment. There was such a pleading look in her eyes. Fist had no doubt that Locksher would find a way to destroy whatever evil force was controlling the maggots, but the ogre wasn’t sure just how much of it would be his own doing.

You will
! Squirrel urged and Fist glanced to see that the little animal was sitting on the log next to the ogress.

“I will,” he said firmly, deciding that it wasn’t really a lie. “The evil will be gone and you will be part of a tribe again.”

That night, after the furor had died down and the shivering ogres had eaten and were huddled under their furs, Puj moved her bedding next to Fist again. This time he did not move as far away, just making sure that there was a good two feet of earth between them before communing with Justan. He then drained his magic using the ball of light and fell right to sleep.

When Fist opened his eyes, it was morning. He must have been really out of it, because when he turned his head, a pile of seeds that Squirrel had left on his forehead spilled across his pillow. This was the second night in a row that he had avoided those vivid dreams. Was it Darlan’s technique that caused this? Fist smiled at the possibility. Did he now have a way to avoid the dreams altogether?

The rest of the camp was beginning to get up and moving. Puj wasn’t in her furs and Locksher was already off on his own with the chest. The ogress showed up a short time later, shoving her way through the ogres, her cheeks tear-stained. Fist didn’t see Locksher until the rest of the camp was ready to leave. When he did appear, he was carrying the chest, a contemplative frown affixed to his face.

The rest of the day went without major incidents. Puj continued to stay at Fist’s side, but was quieter than the day before. The group stopped for the night at the forest’s edge, staying within the trees, the vast rolling plains waiting just outside the flickering light of their campfire. Once again, Fist drained his magic and fell into a dreamless sleep.

That morning he woke a bit later than the day before. The sun was cresting the mountain to the east and the other ogres were already eating their breakfast fare. Fist saw that Puj was missing from her furs. For some reason, the air smelled quite strongly of pine trees.