Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) Read Online Free

was still getting used to the idea himself, in fact. Justan changed the subject. “I brought a blanket for you.” He set them down and pulled out the largest comforter the servants had been able to find. He handed it to the ogre.
     
    “Thank you,” Fist said. The ogre sniffed at it and squeezed the material as if wondering how it was going to keep anything warm.
     
    “Um, you just cover yourself in it. Here.” Justan opened the blanket up and draped it over the ogre. It barely covered Fist’s large frame.
     
    “Like a fur.” Fist said. He sent Justan thoughts of huddling under a pile of furs with the other ogres during cold nights. “But smells . . . nicer.”
     
    “Kind of like that.” Justan laughed. He sent memories through the bond of warm blankets on cold nights while sleeping in a soft bed in his house at home. The fond memories had a trace of sadness for him. He realized how much he missed his parents.
     
    The ogre had never slept in the kind of comfort he felt in Justan’s memories. The smells though . . . they reminded Fist of the smells inside Tamboor’s house. He ran one hand along the outside of the comforter. It was so soft. His legs were already starting to feel warm. He liked it.
     
    Justan moved towards Gwyrtha and pulled some straw aside. He draped a sheet over it, before grabbing the other blankets. He started to lay down, then paused guiltily. “I didn’t think to bring an extra sheet. Sorry Fist.”
     
    “Why you sleep here?” Fist asked. “The other ones sleep in the big stone house with . . . blankets and beds.”
     
    “It didn’t feel right,” Justan tried to explain. “I . . . couldn’t sleep in comfort like that knowing that you were out here in the straw alone.”
     
    “She is here,” Fist said, pointing to Gwyrtha’s sleeping form in the darkness.
     
    “So, uh, have you decided what you are going to do?” Justan said, changing the subject once again. It was okay that Fist did not understand his gesture. He didn’t fully understand it either. There was just something about the thought of leaving the ogre out in the stable alone that made feel as though he was treating Fist like he wasn’t as important as everyone else.
     
    It was so dark that Justan couldn’t see the ogre shaking his head, but he could sense it through their bond. Fist had not yet decided whether he was going to come with Justan or go back into the mountains, perhaps with Zambon and Tamboor if that is what they wished to do.
     
    “Well, I would be honored if you decided to come with me.” Justan said sincerely. The ogre nodded again.
     
    It was quiet for a while and Justan’s thoughts wandered back to darker matters. He could sense that Fist was still awake too. “Do you think that Ewzad Vriil was really an agent of the Dark prophet?”
     
    “Don’t know,” Fist replied.
     
    “Well, let’s say he wasn’t. What do you think that his armies in the mountains will do once he is dead?”
     
    “They fight each other. Then they go home,” Fist said. “The tribes do not like the goblins and slimy ones.” There was a snap of hatred in Fist’s voice with the mention of the goblins and trolls. Several of the horses, already nervous over the smell of an ogre in the stable, whinnied in fright.
     
    “But what if the wizard was speaking the truth?” Justan whispered.
     
    I do not know, Fist’s mind rumbled, speaking through the bond this time for fear of scaring the horses again. The Barldag sends someone else. Then they attack the little peoples again.
     
    Somehow, Justan felt that the latter scenario was going to be the correct one. He hoped that his instincts were wrong. It would be better if Ewzad Vriil had been lying. It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing he could do about it anyway. His mission was to find Master Coal. Justan closed his eyes and despite his troubled thoughts, he soon fell asleep.
     
     
     
    The next morning Fist shook Justan awake with the approach