Read Online Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) by Trevor H. Cooley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Trevor H. Cooley
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death, he was hers completely and utterly. He hadn’t thought twice. He had enjoyed it even. He had basked in her approval and reveled in the thought of the pleasures that would come with his reward. It hadn’t been until later as he used the eye to awaken the perloi and watched them devour his friend’s body that he felt guilt and it wasn’t until Wizard Locksher had returned to the school that he felt any regret.
When he knew that he had been found out, he had run to the gates of the school, but they had been closed and the wizards were waiting for an escape attempt. Her voice had calmed him and led him up the stairs to the top of the wall. He had been sighted, but before they could get to him, clawed hands grabbed him from out of the darkness and pulled him over the edge. The moonrats had carried him down the wall and into the forest away from the wizards’ search. His mistress had rescued him and now he would finally meet her.
The smell of decay had been wafting around for a while already, but as he followed the moonrats deeper into the forest, the smell grew more and more noxious until it stung his nostrils and churned his stomach. The air was warmer and more humid here and the ground began to suck at his boots. He saw more glowing yellow eyes all around him. They were in the trees, on the ground, and even peering up out of the muck.
The moonrats became so many in number that it was no longer dark. It was like he was walking through a tunnel made entirely of yellow orbs. The only darkness was the narrow path at his feet leading to his mistress.
As he got closer, he forgot about the smell. He forgot about the ichor that sucked at his boots as he walked. He didn’t even feel the stings on his legs from the teeth of the insects that climbed up his boots. His fear was gone as well, replaced by yearning. He was about to meet his mistress for the first time. She was going to fulfill her promises. Oh how he ached for her.
The tunnel of yellow orbs faded to green as he walked among her special children and then he was before her.
In front of him stood the remains of an ancient tree. At one time it had been magnificent and beautiful, perhaps the largest tree in the forest. Now it was but a husk of its former glory. Its vast trunk was lightning scarred. Most of its branches were bare or broken, and blotches of mold and rot covered what remained.
On either side of the trunk sat a moonrat with orange eyes, his mistress’ most prized children. The two precious beasts weren’t looking at him, but had their eyes trained on the figure between them. In the middle, rising from between two large roots of the tree was his mistress herself.
Arcon’s heart thundered in his chest. She was dark, black as the darkest night and he could not make out her features, but her form was shapely in the glow of her children’s adoring gaze and her presence was all at once horrible and irresistible. He wanted to run to her, to leap into her embrace, but instead he fell to his knees in the muck and eagerly awaited her acknowledgement.
It was then that he sensed her anger. She was furious, seething with rage at something that had just transpired far away from here. He was grateful that her wrath was not directed at him. This close to her presence, he was sure that his heart would explode from the power of it. Then her form turned to him and the intensity of her fury dissipated.
“ You finally come to me, dear Arcon ,” she purred, her voice deep and beautiful and terrible.
“I . . . live to . . .” His voice was thick with emotion and the words were so confused that they would not come.
“ Of course you do ,” she said. Her voice dropped lower and carried such a sultry tone that his mouth watered. “ You have served me well and your reward awaits. Come closer to me, my dear .”
He shuffled forward on his knees in the muck, his mind void of any thought but her promise. As he
When he knew that he had been found out, he had run to the gates of the school, but they had been closed and the wizards were waiting for an escape attempt. Her voice had calmed him and led him up the stairs to the top of the wall. He had been sighted, but before they could get to him, clawed hands grabbed him from out of the darkness and pulled him over the edge. The moonrats had carried him down the wall and into the forest away from the wizards’ search. His mistress had rescued him and now he would finally meet her.
The smell of decay had been wafting around for a while already, but as he followed the moonrats deeper into the forest, the smell grew more and more noxious until it stung his nostrils and churned his stomach. The air was warmer and more humid here and the ground began to suck at his boots. He saw more glowing yellow eyes all around him. They were in the trees, on the ground, and even peering up out of the muck.
The moonrats became so many in number that it was no longer dark. It was like he was walking through a tunnel made entirely of yellow orbs. The only darkness was the narrow path at his feet leading to his mistress.
As he got closer, he forgot about the smell. He forgot about the ichor that sucked at his boots as he walked. He didn’t even feel the stings on his legs from the teeth of the insects that climbed up his boots. His fear was gone as well, replaced by yearning. He was about to meet his mistress for the first time. She was going to fulfill her promises. Oh how he ached for her.
The tunnel of yellow orbs faded to green as he walked among her special children and then he was before her.
In front of him stood the remains of an ancient tree. At one time it had been magnificent and beautiful, perhaps the largest tree in the forest. Now it was but a husk of its former glory. Its vast trunk was lightning scarred. Most of its branches were bare or broken, and blotches of mold and rot covered what remained.
On either side of the trunk sat a moonrat with orange eyes, his mistress’ most prized children. The two precious beasts weren’t looking at him, but had their eyes trained on the figure between them. In the middle, rising from between two large roots of the tree was his mistress herself.
Arcon’s heart thundered in his chest. She was dark, black as the darkest night and he could not make out her features, but her form was shapely in the glow of her children’s adoring gaze and her presence was all at once horrible and irresistible. He wanted to run to her, to leap into her embrace, but instead he fell to his knees in the muck and eagerly awaited her acknowledgement.
It was then that he sensed her anger. She was furious, seething with rage at something that had just transpired far away from here. He was grateful that her wrath was not directed at him. This close to her presence, he was sure that his heart would explode from the power of it. Then her form turned to him and the intensity of her fury dissipated.
“ You finally come to me, dear Arcon ,” she purred, her voice deep and beautiful and terrible.
“I . . . live to . . .” His voice was thick with emotion and the words were so confused that they would not come.
“ Of course you do ,” she said. Her voice dropped lower and carried such a sultry tone that his mouth watered. “ You have served me well and your reward awaits. Come closer to me, my dear .”
He shuffled forward on his knees in the muck, his mind void of any thought but her promise. As he
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