The Ogre Apprentice (40 page)

“Listener,” Jhonate replied in a hushed voice, giving her a meaningful look.

“What? Do you think if Yntri was here, he’d be moping around all quiet?” Beth snorted. “No. He’d be walking around clicking at everybody, maybe even clamping his head down on some woman’s chest.”

Jhonate’s face reddened and she looked as if she were about to give the witch an angry retort, but Tolynn arrived. The elf’s body was covered chin-to ankles in seamless Jharro wood that flowed and moved with her

Yntri’s widow placed a hand on Jhonate’s shoulder and smiled as she clicked, “Beth is probably right. Yntri was always loyal to me, but he did prefer to ‘listen’ to the voluptuous ones.”

The elf woman then gestured and one of the great tree roots beneath her feet rose past the others, lifting her high enough that all could see her. Once she was sure that she had everyone’s attention, she announced in a heavily accented version of the common tongue, “My dear husband never chose to speak in the language of men. He always said that this was because our mouths were not made to speak it. I told him he was just lazy. Then I decided to learn to speak it myself just to prove it to him.”

There was a smattering of laughs among the crowd, most of them coming from the elves, who better understood the joke. She continued, “In honor of my husband, we have decided to change venue. We will continue in the garden, one of Yntri’s favorite places in the grove. Please, follow me.”

The root lowered back into its usual place and Tolynn led them towards the eastern side of the grove. There was a bit of mumbling at the highly unordinary change, but everyone followed.

While the commotion was going on, Hilt walked up to Justan, a grin on his face. “So that’s Xedrion’s little surprise. Move the funeral at the last minute.”

Justan nodded. “I like it. Any plans Vahn had to attack from this place have just been ruined. I hope he’s pulling out the parts of him pretending to be hair right now.”

Deathclaw cocked his head and looked around. “Where is Sherl-Ann?”

“We left her with friends,” Hilt replied.

Beth gave Deathclaw a wry smile. “Why? Did you want to hold her?”

“No!” Deathclaw scoffed. “I was merely concerned in case the nightbeast attacked at the funeral today.”

“How sweet,” Beth said, patting the raptoid’s cheek. “When I see her tonight, I’ll make sure and tell her how much her Uncle Deathclaw missed her.”

Deathclaw turned away, grumbling, “As if I would miss a human whelp.”

They followed the rest of the crowd towards the gardens. It was a fascinating area of the grove, one that Justan had only visited once so far. In this place, rich black soil covered the surface of the Jharro roots and fruits and vegetables of multiple exotic and colorful varieties were grown.

As the people arrived, the ground began to move. Somehow without unearthing the delicate plants, the roots of the Jharro trees lifted and moved, carrying wide sections of soil away to make room for the funeral party. The roots then shifted and morphed, forming a terraced half-circle amphitheater. The elves then directed the humans where to stand.

Justan watched the whole scene with amazement. He had no idea how the nightbeast was going to stage an attack in this place. There was nowhere for his basilisks to hide. The elves were stationed all over the place and they knew how to sniff a basilisk out from far away. Even if Vahn was somehow able to sneak in alone and find a way to attack Justan, how would he escape? Every surface in this place was part of a Jharro tree controlled by the mind of an elf.

Justan began to worry that they had perhaps taken too many precautions. If the security was too tight, Vahn might take the wise course and bide his time. Their best chance to trap him might be lost.

What do you think, Gwyrtha
? he sent. The rogue horse had been completely silent ever since they entered the grove. She was deep in concentration, her senses extended to their limits.
Have you smelled anything
?

Just the trees
, she replied, her thoughts feeling a bit intoxicated by the power of the grove’s magic.
They smell good
.

Tolynn moved to the base of the tree facing the amphitheater and Justan realized that this was his tree. He hadn’t been aware that the back side of it faced the garden.

A platform appeared in the side of the tree and the ancient elf woman stepped onto it. Another elf walked up to stand beside her. He was Yntri Yni’s grandson, Kyrn, descended from Yntri’s first wife. Kyrn looked much like his grandfather. He had the same wiry build and the same dark shade of skin, though his skin didn’t hang quite as loose on his frame.

Tolynn gestured and a low mumble came from the crowd on the far side of the amphitheater. Justan had to crane his neck to see what the fuss was about. Walking around the edge of the assembled people, carrying the body of Yntri Yni wrapped in Jharro leaves, was the prophet himself.

Justan looked at Jhonate. “Did you know the Prophet was coming?”

She shook her head. “Father didn’t even know. It wasn’t part of the plans.”

Justan chewed his lip. Any unexpected visitors were suspicious today.
Gwyrtha
?

That is John
, she confirmed happily and Justan’s shoulders slumped with relief. It was comforting to know that the Prophet was here,

John joined Tolynn and Kyrn on the platform and gently lowered Yntri’s body at his wife’s feet.

Tolynn then spoke, “The Prophet has a few things he would like to tell us.”

John then stepped forward and addressed the assembled crowd of humans and ancient elves. When he spoke, his voice was heard equally by all.

“Yntri Yni is one of my oldest and dearest friends. I met him the week after he was born and I gave him to the very tree we stand before today. Yntri grew strong and wise and fierce. He was a father, a teacher, and a warrior. Without his dedication and constant sacrifice, this sacred place would have been destroyed long ago. Likely that would have meant the darkness and decline of this entire world.”

He gave them all a sad smile. “Yntri’s knowledge and wisdom is imbued in this place and in the spirit of the Roo-Tan nation. Today, his soul will pass on to the next world, but his thoughts and teachings will live on in the hearts and minds of the people he taught and more personally, in the mind of his grandson, Kyrn, who is today, the new treemaster of this tree.”

The Prophet stepped back and Tolyn raised her hands. Softly, she began a murmuring chant in the language of her people. The chant had a rhythmic melody to it that was at the same time mournful and full of joy. The song was gradually taken up by all of the assembled elves, their voices melding together in a blend of harmonies, their accented clicks and whistles providing the accompaniment and percussion.

Justan recognized many elements of the music as being similar to the song Antyni had sung at Qyxal’s funeral. While the song rolled on, Kyrn knelt by the wrapped form of his grandfather and peeled back the leaves that covered Yntri’s wizened face. Kyrn opened a small jar of oil and began to trace a pattern on Yntri’s skin.

The song grew in volume and tempo and with his spirit sight, Justan saw the white form of Yntri’s soul rise from the old elf’s forehead. Kyrn closed his eyes and a wisp of whiteness reached out from his head to intertwine with Yntri’s. The song increased to a triumphant climax and Yntri’s spirit left his body to join with Kyrn’s.

The air grew completely silent and Kyrn stood from his grandfather’s body. He turned to face Tolynn and touched his forehead to hers. Tears streamed down her face and he kissed her gently on each cheek before turning to face the crowd.

Kyrn clicked to them in the ancient elf language, “My grandfather has joined with me now. He has only a short time with us, but would like to speak with many of you.”

 Justan expected him then to walk into the crowd and speak to people individually as Antyni had done, but instead, the elf simply reached out one arm. A hundred white strings of spirit magic sprung from his hand and connected to the minds of those he wished to speak to. Justan felt a slight shock as the bond was penetrated just enough for Kyrn’s spirit, boosted by the power of his grandfathers, to touch his mind.

Sir Edge, my grandfather wishes you to know that you are not to blame for his death. He was overconfident and let down his guard. This is one of the problems with being so old, he says
.

Please tell him that I am grateful for his teachings and I want him to know that I will do everything in my power to help protect the grove
, Justan replied.

There is one more thing
, Kyrn said.
Yntri has felt the presence of flesh changers nearby. He says the nightbeast is waiting. He asks you to survive this. He needs you to help temper his muskrat
.

Then Kyrn’s communication was gone. Justan swallowed. That confirmed it. Today really would be the day Vahn came for him. He looked at Jhonate to find that she was looking back at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

He told me to watch over you
, she sent, squeezing his hand.
He said that you were my bowman
.

Justan smiled back at her.
He said that he needed me to temper his muskrat
.

A laugh came unbidden to her lips.
He told me that he gave me that nickname to humble me
.

Yntri’s moment of communication ended. Kyrn slumped to the platform, his burst of magic spent. As if in anticipation, the wood beneath him rose to catch the elf gently and carry him to the side.

The Prophet stepped forward and picked up Yntri’s body. An opening appeared in the trunk of the tree and once again, as he had done when Yntri was a baby, John placed the elf inside the tree. The trunk closed around him and Yntri was gone. The elven portion of the funeral was done.

The roots beneath the feet of the crowd shifted. The ground leveled out beneath their feet and the roots formed a flat surface with raised root benches all along the sides. Xedrion sent orders out through the rings and crates of food were brought in along with a wagon loaded down with wine jars.

Justan’s eyes widened. When Xedrion had instructed his servant to have twelve jars sent, Justan had assumed that the protector had meant regular sized jars. The ceramic jars on the wagon were as tall as a man and just as wide, with huge lids. The jars had been numbered in order and the first one was unloaded from the wagon and the seal was broken. Earthen mugs were passed out and filled with a large ladle lowered into the jar.

“They really expect us all to get drunk,” Justan observed.

Deathclaw hissed in derision.
Humans
.

“This is . . . father’s way,” Jhonate said, mirroring the same derision in her voice. “It is Roo tradition. He says that the only good time for drinking is after a battle or during a funeral.”

Thus the human portion of the funeral began. Everyone received one mug of wine. In order to receive a refill to their mug, each guest had to give a short speech about the deceased. Xedrion started it off, dedicating the seventy-year-old wine to celebrate the seventy years he had known the elf and telling several tales of Yntri’s bravery.

In the meantime, a second jar was unloaded and carted to the side where the elves could come down from their perches in the trees to partake of it freely, no speeches required.

The speeches started off a bit slow, some of them long and drawn out, but they got faster as time went on and people grew impatient for a refill. After the last of Yntri’s close pupils had spoken, Xedrion lifted the restriction and the real drinking began. Two more barrels had already been unloaded and elves and humans alike were just staring to get tipsy. Justan started to think that maybe all twelve jars were going to be needed after all.

Justan took a mug, but abstained from drinking. Justan’s only experience with alcohol had been horrible and he couldn’t allow his reflexes to be slowed one bit. Besides, the stuff smelled strongly of rotten bananas. Hilt assured him that bananas were only one of the many fruits used in this type of wine, but Justan didn’t care at that point.

Jhonate didn’t drink either and Justan was well aware of a core group that were, like him, just carrying their mugs and keeping alert. These were the people that were part of the group watching for the nightbeast. Xedrion, who had made a show of downing his first mug, now just lightly sipped his second, his mind bent on the information coming in from the five rings he wore.

Justan had to give Xedrion credit for his tactical planning. He had made attacking during the elven ceremony insanely difficult, allowing Yntri to be given back to his tree in peace. Now he was letting it seem as if security had slipped. People were getting louder and more inebriated by the minute. If the nightbeast was still going to strike, this was the ideal time to do it.

There was a distinct pattern to the security. Dispersed amongst the crowd were a ring of sober men looking into the grove beyond them. There were also a large number of elves sitting silently in the trees watching, some of them embedded into the wood until only their face emerged. Hilt, Beth and Jhonate stuck closest to him, while Deathclaw and Gwyrtha generally prowled about, the raptoid in the trees above and the rogue horse on the ground below.

Justan kept an eye out for the Prophet. The man had disappeared soon after the first jar of wine was opened. Kyrn was gone too, so Justan figured that he was somewhere talking to the elf. Justan really wanted to talk to him, but he couldn’t leave the group. Not when Vahn was somewhere out there, waiting.

Soon, the first four jars had been completely emptied and two more were unloaded from the wagon. When the lid of  the next jar was removed, the man holding it grabbed his nose. “We got a bad one here.”

Xedrion frowned. “What a waste. Move on to the next.”

Gwyrtha’s head raised suddenly.
Smell
!

Justan’s hackles rose as the smell hit his sensitive nose; a harsh chemical tone mixed with an underlying beastly jumble as if the wine contained the scent of a hundred different animals rolled into one.

Basilisk
! cried Deathclaw and Gwyrtha at once, recognizing the smell from Justan’s memories.

Tolynn smelled it too. “A flesh changer! In the jar!”

Justan reached for his swords, willing the world to slow around him. So that was Vahn’s plan; seal his basilisks away in jars so that they couldn’t be detected until it was too late. Even worse, this creature had that same acidic smell as the one that had exploded on the road to the Mage School.

A lot of things happened at once. A set of claw-like appendages shot out of the open jar, gashing the neck of the man that had opened it. Stunned gasps echoed through everyone in Xedrion’s network of rings. Orders were shouted out.

More appendages spewed from the jar, forming a tangle of hairy limbs like claw-tipped spider’s legs. These limbs planted themselves into the ground and the basilisk lifted itself out of the jar, the remaining part of its body shaped like the torso of one of Yntri’s people, dangling down under the legs.

To everyone’s credit, they acted swiftly. The crowd of mourners, no matter how tipsy, were Roo-Tan, most of them warriors. They grabbed the bleeding man and backed away, making room for the guards to attack. The first arrow struck the creature within seconds.

Justan expected the beast to come for him, but it had other orders. The upside-down spider-elf thing then began to climb aboard the wagon, its entire body glistening wet as it reached for the lids of the other jars. Justan understood. Vahn’s other basilisks were trapped, sealed away inside containers meant to hold the pressure of years-long fermentation. They couldn’t get out on their own.

Xedrion saw that too. “Don’t let it open those jars!”

There was no hesitation. Arrows filled the air, fired by Roo-Tan archers and elves alike. The basilisk staggered, hit with dozens of arrows at once. Its body shifted, many of its legs lifting to form a shield of sorts while it pried at one lid.

The arrows didn’t really hurt the creature. It only had one weak spot, its brain, and the basilisk could shift the position of its brain anywhere in its body. The odds of striking that point were low, but it only took one lucky shot.

The acidic smell grew. White foam was bubbling where each arrow had struck it. Justan warned his bonded to stay back and cried out. “Wait! It’ll explode.”

Xedrion knew what this meant. When the tale of the exploding basilisk that had nearly killed Jhonate along the journey to Malaroo had reached his ears, the protector had taken the information to the elves. Evidently this hadn’t been the first occurrence.

If the contractor was willing to pay a bounty high enough, a nightbeast could command a basilisk to drink a certain chemical that intermixed with its body chemistry, making it very ill. If the creature were to die while in this state, the process of turning to stone would set off a chain reaction.

Xedrion cursed and held out his fist, commanding the archers to stop. But he was too late. One well-aimed arrow struck the hanging torso of the basilisk just as it managed to pry the first lid open. The arrowhead pierced the hidden brain of the beast.

“
Get down
!” Justan shouted and dove for Jhonate as he watched the transformation take place. The basilisk jerked. Then its body began to harden. A spider web network of cracks appeared in its flesh. Flames appeared in the cracks.

Justan tackled Jhonate, at the same time instinctively throwing up a shield of air magic around them.

A violent explosion filled the quiet of the grove. The people too close to the epicenter were tossed like rag dolls. Everyone else was simply thrown to the ground. The wine jars and the wagon beneath them were shattered by the blast. Pieces of shrapnel were hurled through the grove, striking any of those unlucky enough to be in their path. 

Justan’s shield absorbed most of the shockwave, but he and Jhonate tumbled into the side of a large Jharro root and he felt something heavy strike him in the back. He opened his eyes and looked down into Jhonate’s shocked face. She was pinned underneath him. “Are you alright?”