The Ogre Apprentice (38 page)

“I . . . apologize for that. It is a habit,” Jhonate replied, her expression chastened. “My mother noticed this as well. I shall try to improve.”

Justan blinked, surprised by how readily she took that criticism. Her mother must have had quite the talk with her indeed. He belted on his swords and grabbed his bow and quiver. “I’m ready.”

Me too
, said Gwyrtha, eager to get outdoors.

They walked into the sitting room and Jhonate grabbed a small bunch of bananas off of the table. She tossed them to Justan. “Here, I ‘suggest’ you eat one. There may not be time for meals until the funeral is over.”

Justan caught the fruit, peering at it glumly. “No apples? Peaches? Eggs would be nice.”

She gave him a dull look. “Not this morning. Might I ‘recommend’ we leave? My father is waiting and I have already delayed.”

Justan sighed. He had never eaten a banana before coming to Malaroo. In Dremaldria they were considered a delicacy, something only nobility could afford to eat. Among Jhonate’s people they were a daily staple. There were so many varieties, some of which were fried or baked others eaten raw.

He had been excited the first few times he had tried them, but Justan had soured on them since. Not only were the peels bitter and had to be removed fully, they were such a finicky fruit. Finding a good banana was all about timing. One day they weren’t ripe enough and the next day they were mushy.

He followed Jhonate out the door and attempted to eat his breakfast as they walked. This bunch had four long fruit. They were yellow with brown splotches just starting at the top and end. This was normally a good sign, but when he went to break off the top of the banana, it just bent, partially smooshing the flesh inside. He was forced to split it long ways and pop the fruit out. He frowned as he ate it. This one was overripe and slightly bitter.

Ooh! I’ll eat it
! Gwyrtha offered. As much as Justan had come to dislike the fruit, the rogue horse loved them. He tossed the rest of the bunch to her and she scarfed them down, peel and all.

“Humans eat the strangest things,” observed Deathclaw as he jumped down to join them from the roof above. He was in the middle of his morning meal as well. The raptoid was carrying the bottom half of a small bird loosely in one hand and a gray feather was sticking out the corner of his mouth.

“Good morning, Deathclaw,” Jhonate said, not bothering to turn and look at the raptoid.

“Jhonate,” Deathclaw said and shoved the rest of the bird in his mouth. The crunching noises that ensued were enough to make Justan wince.

“Tell me, Justan,” Jhonate said as they climbed the stone steps to the palace proper. “Did Fist finally catch up with the ogre he was chasing?”

Justan had been keeping her abreast of Fist’s journey. She had become quite involved in the tale. She found the interworkings of the ogre society to be base and disturbing, but was particularly interested in the similarities between Mellinda’s magic and the evil in the mountains.

Justan reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “In a sense he did. Actually he arrived there to find out that Squirrel had killed him.” He filled her in on the details of Beard’s grisly demise. “Fist said that the roots had grown so far into Beard’s brain that they had destroyed the section controlling his breathing. That’s what killed him.”

Deathclaw already knew the story, but let out a hissing laugh at Justan’s description. “An ogre. Killed by a vegetable.”

Jhonate’s brow rose at the description of Squirrel’s brutality, but all she said was, “A fitting end for a beast such as that one. Tell Fist to congratulate Squirrel for me. That is an impressive feat for someone his size.”

“I will,” Justan said. If he survived the night to tell him.

They walked down a long white hallway and soon reached the door to Xedrion’s conference room. Most of the doors in the palace were plain and unadorned, but his was the room where the official business of the Roo-Tan was conducted. The door was made of dead Jharro wood. Carved with loving attention by Yntri’s people themselves, it was a representation of the day that the Roo-Tan dedicated themselves to the grove. A short bald figure with elf ears stood next to a tall woman with braids. In front of them was a faceless man wearing a robe, holding out a scroll and quill.

Jhonate gave the door a soft knock. The door cracked open and a Roo-Tan guard poked his head out. Upon seeing Jhonate, he motioned them in.

The conference room was hexagonal in shape with a domed ceiling. On the far wall were six chairs made of Jharro wood, one to represent each of the Roo-Tan houses. Wicker benches lined the remaining five walls for additional parties to the meetings that might need a place to rest.

The benches were currently empty except for one that was taken up by the lounging of Jhonate’s mother. Jhandra bin Tayl was Xedrion’s favorite and currently very pregnant wife. Justan always saw her wherever the protector went. Jhandra gave Justan an approving nod. Because of his wardrobe choices, he supposed.

In the center of the room was a six sided table covered with maps. This was where everyone else was standing. The others consisted of some of Xedrion’s oldest sons, Hubrin, Sen, and Qurl, along with some of the representatives from the army and one of the grove’s ancient elves. Justan realized that he and Jhonate must have arrived at the end of the meeting because as they entered, the others began filing out.

The Protector of the Grove snagged the lead servant on his way. “Did you hand-select the wine for the feast as I asked?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. “Twelve of the seventy-year jars, just as you requested. They were delivered to the grove this morning.”

“Thank you, Slen. You are the only one I would trust in that part of my wine house,” he replied.

“Of course. It is an honor, sir,” the servant replied and headed out of the door. Justan idly wondered what seventy-year-old Roo-Tan wine was made from.

Probably more of those bananas
, Deathclaw assumed.

Xedrion bin Leeths turned to look at them. The man that faced Justan now was a different person than the man Justan had first met four weeks prior. His gray speckled hair was now neatly braided and though he didn’t look any less imposing, his eyes had lost that permanent sheen of anger.

Xedrion focused his gaze on his daughter. “There you are, Jhonate.” He held out his hand. “You are the last one.”

Jhonate reached for the tip of her Jharro staff and twisted off a small piece. She concentrated and by the time she placed it in her father’s hand, the wood had taken the shape of a ring. “I did not know you would finish so quickly. I was picking up my betrothed.”

“I see that. Good morning, Sir Edge,” Xedrion said. The piercing green eyes that were so much like his daughter’s gave him an assessing look. Xedrion always looked at him like that. It was almost as if he was expecting Justan to break down somehow.

“Good morning, Protector,” Justan said, inclining his head slightly but not breaking eye contact.

Xedrion spun the ring through his fingers, then slipped it onto his right forefinger joining the four other Jharro rings on that hand. He turned his eyes back on Jhonate as if he were instantly aware that the reason she had delayed giving him the ring was because she had desired one last passionate moment with her betrothed before giving her father access to her thoughts. Justan half expected him to say something about it, but Jhonate showed her father no measurable response and he turned away.

“The last of our preparations have been made,” Xedrion said. “The funeral procession will begin shortly. We have guards stationed at every entrance to the grove with testing kits. Even Tolynn is confident that the event will go smoothly.”

The organization of the security for the funeral was impressive. There were five separate groups that were keeping a lookout for Vahn and his basilisks. Each of the groups was headed by a Jharro specialist that had the ability to create a ring with a mind link. Xedrion himself would coordinate everyone’s efforts. He now had a ring made from the Jharro wood of all of the five group heads so that he could communicate with them during the ceremony.

Qurl was in charge of the group of guards that were testing the blood of every attendee to the funeral, while Hubrin was in charge of inspecting all equipment and foodstuffs that were carted in. These precautions should have been plenty, but with Vahn’s experience and reputation it was assumed that the nightbeast would find a way in anyway. What this vetting process did was assure the people attending the event that the people around them were safe.

The real trap for Vahn came with the three other groups. First was Tolynn who had her own ways to connect with the rest of the elves in the grove. The basilisks were one of the grove’s oldest enemies and most of her people knew how to sense them by smell. Beth and Hilt were another group. Beth was able to line the grove with a faint cloud of bewitching and bonding magic, sensing for strange types of thoughts, while Hilt had fought and killed a nightbeast before and knew well what to look for.

Jhonate was the last of the group heads. Her responsibility was Justan and his bonded. Deathclaw was highly sensitive and was confident that he could pick the nightbeast out, while Gwyrtha was the only creature with the proven ability to do so. Justan himself was Vahn’s target and was therefore the likely focal point of any attack.

“Protector, sir,” said Justan. There was something that had been bothering him and he felt like he had to speak up. “I have a concern about today’s events.”

“As well you should,” said Xedrion in what seemed like a rare attempt at humor. It didn’t come out in his voice, though. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, Vahn has already shown that he can get in to the palace grounds whenever he wishes and we have been making these plans for weeks. I think it is likely that he has found a way to listen in on our plans. He could be ready for us.”

“I do not doubt that, Sir Edge,” Xedrion said. He lifted his hand with the five Jharro rings. “But not all of our plans have been discussed verbally. What our preparations have done is set up a framework that gives the assassin very little room for error.” He gave Justan a rare smile. “Tolynn and I have a few wrinkles in mind that should disrupt whatever counter plans he has come up with. Then, when his plans are in disarray, he will make a mistake. That is when we will have him.”

“Of course, sir,” said Justan, giving him a nod of respect. He felt his confidence rising. After all, Xedrion bin Leeths was the only other man known to have survived a direct nightbeast assassination. His life couldn’t be in better hands.

Xedrion walked over to his wife’s side. “Jhandra, love. I need to take Jhonate and Sir Edge on a slight detour before joining the procession. Would you like some help getting to your palanquin?”

“Oh, I can manage it, love,” she replied, patting his cheek sweetly. “I am just pregnant. My legs are not broken.”

With a grunt, she stood up. Xedrion gave the two guards at the door an urging glance and they walked along behind her as she somehow managed a graceful half-waddle towards the door.

Once she had left the room, Xedrion turned back to Justan. “Follow me. I could use your help with something.”

The protector turned and led them towards a door on the other side of the room. Justan was surprised. Xedrion had never asked his help before. He sent a silent message to Jhonate.
He wants my help?
What is this about
?

I have no idea
, she replied.

Xedrion led them down several hallways to a section of the palace that Justan had only seen once before. This was the area where foreign visitors to the palace were taken. The place was nice enough, filled with gardens and comfortable spots to rest, but there was no privacy to be had and guards were everywhere. Some of the Roo-Tan warriors had deposited Justan here upon his arrival at the city. Jhonate had found the placement insulting and raised enough of a stink that, Xedrion had ordered him moved to his current apartments.

Xedrion led them to a narrow walkway behind the walls of one of the palace’s atriums. He stopped behind a taller section of the wall and slid back a tiny metal plate. He pointed at the mesh window within. It was a peep hole, one of several along this wall, a way for the guards to keep track of undesirable guests without their knowledge. Justan and Jhonate took turns peering in and gave each other confused looks.

Deathclaw slid over and looked inside. “A fat elf?”

The man sitting on the bench inside did indeed have the pointed ears of an elf, but was unlike any elf Justan had seen. He was rotund and wore thin robes made of golden silk that were partially soaked through with sweat, which was strange because the morning air was barely warm yet. In one hand, he held a lacy parasol, angled to protect him from the sun’s rays and in the other hand he held open a small book that he was reading from.

“I would like to borrow your rogue horse, if that would be alright with her,” Xedrion said.

“You want to verify that he is what he looks to be,” Justan surmised.

“Exactly,” the protector replied. “I would also like to see his reaction to her. That could tell me more about his nature.”

“Are you okay with that, Gwyrtha?” Justan asked.

She gave Justan a mental shrug and paced along the wall towards the entrance of the atrium. They watched as she entered the atrium, cocking her head and sniffing the air. The mysterious figure was so involved in his reading that he didn’t register her presence.