Following the trail along the southern bank of the mighty Madrigail River, the small company made their way east, into the mountains. Several times over the next few days, the path lifted into the heights, circumventing unpassable, frothy chasms. They ascended one of these stretches now, into the afternoon sun.
Pollard and Sadyra led the way, chatting amicably as they went. To Rook and Alhena trudging along behind, the two looked like father and child. Pollard in his brass cuirass, his sword sheathed across his back, and Sadyra clad in grey suede, her bow loosely carried in her right hand and her meagre selection of arrows rattling within the leather quiver hanging from her shoulder. Trailing behind them, Olmar waddled beside Yarstaff—the tall Voil barely reaching the sailor’s waist.
All around them, devastation wreaked by the firestorm was evident. Flakes of ash swirled about, caught on the breeze. Large treed sections were nothing but charred, smouldering tracts of barren ground littered with blackened stumps. The smell of burnt wood and death gagged them more times than they cared to remember.
Pollard smiled over his shoulder. “We should see the valley over the next rise.”
Sure enough, rounding a bend, the trail peaked. They stopped to take in the view.
Pollard’s shoulders slumped and his mouth dropped open.
He had made this trek several times, and on each occasion, he relished the moment the lush lands of Zephyr appeared below—brilliant golden hues of farmland, stretching on forever. The rich blue of the Madrigail cutting a jagged line through vibrant green pastures; the fields dotted by solitary tors rising majestically above the rich tapestry.
Despite his faint hope, the land spread dull and black, clear to the horizon. Even the Madrigail appeared grey and lifeless below them—a reflection of the devastation.
Everyone stood motionless, in shock. Even Yarstaff, who had never set foot in Zephyr until four days ago. The firestorm had spread far beyond the Madrigail Bay area. Looking east, following the Madrigail River’s path to where the Frothe River joined it out of the north, they were able to make out the smoking ruins of The Forke.
“May God have mercy on their souls,” Alhena whispered.
Withdrawing his massive two-bladed weapon, Pollard rushed down the trail. The Forke was the largest town between Madrigail Bay and Millsford. If it had suffered the same damage as Madrigail Bay, he feared over three thousand people may have lost their lives.
“Pollard. It’s too late,” Sadyra called after him.
“You never know!” his booming voice came back.
The others looked at Sadyra.
She shook her head. “The Forke is two days from here. He probably means to run the entire way. What an oaf.”
Together, they tromped after him.
A day and a half later, Pollard stood in The Forke town centre, his sword loosely in hand, staring at the stone well—the only structure in the town left unscathed. Other than the stench of rotting corpses, there was no trace of the town’s inhabitants.
Alhena, Yarstaff, and Rook stood with him, watching Sadyra and Olmar approach from the eastern part of the city.
The female archer, her clothing dark with sweat, her hair disheveled and sprinkled with ash, walked up to the well with a resigned look on her face.
“No one alive that way,” she said, taking in their empty expressions. “I gather the same holds true in every quarter.
Pollard stared at the ground. He chewed his lips in a futile attempt to keep his emotions in check. A tear rolled down his cheek.
Rook muttered, “Not a soul.”
Sadyra stepped beside Pollard, throwing an arm around his lower back. “Come on, big guy. It’s not all bad. There’s signs of a mass migration along West Castle Road. If I had to guess, I’d say the survivors made their way toward the king.”
Pollard sniffed. “What about the bodies? We can’t just leave them like this.”
Sadyra gave the others a sad smile. “There’s nothing here for us but death and disease. It’ll take us too much time to gather all the bodies and burn them. If you want to help, you must get Rook to King Malcolm. Midge,” she looked at Olmar, “and I, will see Alhena to the Chamber. We can’t undo what’s been done, but together, we might have a say in what’s to come.”
The big man’s shoulders straightened. Just a bit.
“Come on, you big softie. Get your arse moving. Don’t keep the king waiting.” She elbowed Rook, winking, and smiled up at Pollard. “And guess what?”
Pollard gave her a quizzical stare.
She waved a hand in front of her face and turned up her nose. “The bridge to West Castle Road is out, which is a good thing. It’s high time you had a bath.”
Pollard sheathed his sword, his eyes moist and red. He tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come.
On top of everything else they saw today, Sadyra knew Pollard hated good-byes.
“You still travelling west of the Muse?” Rook asked Alhena.
Alhena nodded. “Sadyra wishes to follow Millsford Road. We will stop by Splendoor Falls to inform Master Pul. From there, it is an easy jaunt down the Olde Gritian Road, around the bottom of the Muse.”
“Be sure to stay clear of Torpid Marsh,” Rook cautioned.
“I am certain Sadyra will ensure our course is true. I have little desire to encounter anything in that forsaken place.”
Sadyra punched and hugged Pollard. “Take care of this big lummox.”
Rook smiled. “No worries there. I’ll be hard-pressed to get my own blows in before he deals with whatever is foolish enough to come against us.”
Alhena stepped up to the big man, offering his hand, afraid of what was to come as a result.
Pollard gave him a half-hearted smile, grabbed his hand and pulled him in for an excruciating embrace.
Alhena feared his ribs would crack, but there was nothing to do until the giant released him.
Thankfully, Sadyra intervened. “Easy, you big oaf. You’re gonna suffocate Alhena.”
Pollard released him.
Alhena stepped free and turned to clutch Rook’s hands. “You take great care, my friend. You have been through a lot in the last while. We all have, but you especially. We need you strong.” He looked around at the devastation. “I fear this is only the beginning.”
“Thank you, Alhena. For everything. If not for you, Silurian might never have been found.”
“I don’t believe I did him any favours,” Alhena whispered.
“Nonsense. You gave him back his life, even if it was only for a short while. You gave him a chance to be whole again. I’m sure he appreciated what you did for him. I know I do.”
Sadyra interrupted and gave Rook a hug and peck on the cheek. “Take good care of yourself, Bowman. I hope our paths cross again.”
“You too, Sadyra. I rest assured knowing my friend,” he nodded to Alhena, “is in excellent hands. Good luck keeping up with him.”
Sadyra laughed and turned to Olmar and Yarstaff.
The muscular Voil was almost as tall as her shoulder. His big eyes looked shyly at the ground, but Olmar’s hand propelled him forward with such force that Sadyra had to catch the odd creature to keep him from knocking her over.
“Go on, ya ugly beastie, ‘tis only a wee lassie. Ye needn’t be a feared.”
Yarstaff untangled himself and looked away.
Sadyra glanced at Olmar. “Is he always this quiet?”
Olmar guffawed. “’ardly, missy. Shy about the lasses, I be thinkin’, eh beastie?”
Yarstaff proffered an orange-furred hand to Sadyra. The Voil was unique amongst his kind, being the only one possessing two human hands and two human feet.
Sadyra shook Yarstaff’s hand. “You are in excellent company. If that big lummox there gives you any guff, bite his knee.” She bent and kissed Yarstaff’s furry forehead.
Yarstaff lifted his eyes long enough to peer at her, the tiniest of smiles lighting up his face.
Olmar accepted Pollard’s meaty handshake and
pulled him into a quick embrace. “Don’t ye worry, Pollard. Yer a bigger man than the lot of us.” He held the Songsbirthian guard at arm’s length. “Despite Avarick’s kiddin’, ye are even bigger than me. Ya listenin’ t’ what I’s a-tellin’ ya?”
Pollard forced the semblance of a smile past his trembling bottom lip.
Alhena went to grab his rucksack from beside the well, but Pollard snatched him off his feet.
Tears ran freely down Pollard’s cheeks. “I’m sorry Alhena. I tried to save Silurian. I tried so hard…” His words became unintelligible.
Alhena shushed him. “There was nothing anyone could have done. Only Silurian was strong enough to enter the river. You allowed him to do what had to be done. If you hadn’t kept the demons off his back, we would all be dead. He chose his fate. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. Your bravery gave him the time he needed to fulfill an insatiable desire that had eaten at him for twenty years. There is no blame for what happened. Events went way beyond our control.”
Sadyra came to Alhena’s rescue again, prying the big man away from him and holding Pollard until he got himself under control.
As the two groups parted ways, Sadyra, Olmar and Alhena followed the Madrigail River southeast along Millsford Road, while Rook, Pollard and Yarstaff disappeared into the ruined city along a debris-strewn road that would lead them to where the West Castle Road branched away.
The group’s parting was one of the saddest events Alhena had ever witnessed. An utterly dejected Pollard dragged his feet along the ash-covered ground, shoulders slumped and head hung low. It had taken the senseless death in The Forke to finally crack Pollard’s shell.
Alhena sighed. Moving forward, it was for the best, but he hated leaving his friend in such a state.
Sadyra placed one arm around Alhena’s shoulders, and her other, halfway around Olmar’s waist, propelling them forward. “Come on, old man. I think this is the point where you start imparting to us your ancient wisdoms. You know, how things were different back in your day. How our generation doesn’t appreciate the value of hard work and respect, and all that crap.”
Alhena shot her a look.
Olmar’s throaty laugh disturbed the unnatural stillness in The Forke. “Aye, Pops, tell us a story.”
Together the bizarre trio started along the Millsford Road. A young, female archer, clad in grey, a giant, bandy-legged sailor whose girth was twice that of the other two combined, and an old man who looked like a wizard.
Into the Gap
Silurian couldn’t help staring at his sister in the early morning light. He and Melody had stayed up late into the night discussing the recent events that had brought them to this point. He was deeply saddened by the news of Zephyr’s demise. After everything the quest had gone through—all the hardship and death—their efforts had been for naught. He felt hollow inside. Like someone had kicked him in the stomach. The only thing keeping him from losing his precarious grip on his sanity was the miracle lying alongside the cave wall.
He lay on his side, head propped up, watching her. He couldn’t get enough. Twenty-three years of mental anguish had palpably eased itself from his soul, dulling the pain of the people left behind in the Under Realm. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wanted to live again, if only to keep her safe. The memories of their youth swelled his chest, filling him with a pride he hadn’t known in a long time. The weeks they had spent destitute and alone on Mount Cinder seemed like yesterday. He fancied a final run-in with a troll might just make his life complete.
The years following those events had turned out to be the best of their lives. They had found a caring family, made great friendships, and discovered love. They had experienced a sense of profound peace that helped ease the pain of their parents’ murder. Living and training amongst the royal family at Castle Svelte had reinvigorated their souls.
The recollection took his breath away. What an amazing few years. And then the fairy-tale had come crashing to a halt with the advent of Helleden Misenthorpe.
His blood pressure rose. How could one man affect so many lives? How could one person be responsible for so much sadness, heartbreak, chaos, and death? It was inconceivable.
The sorcerer wasn’t the only one responsible for destroying his life. He had discovered that the hard way recently when he commandeered the great ship, Gerrymander, to transport his small company to the Under Realm. Helleden may have been the catalyst for the quest’s demise, but the wicked magic user had been under the control of a higher being. Or so the Soul had thought, right up until the moment of its death.
Melody stirred, opening her eyes, and sat up to look around. When her eyes met his, she stared at him with wonder. “Thank the gods. I thought it was a dream.”
He gave her a questioning look.
“You, silly. I thought you were a dream.” She smiled. “A dream come true, it would appear.”
“Ya, but at what cost?”
“We went over this last night. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I know, but I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t taken the quest to the Under Realm in the first place, Zephyr would still be…” He shrugged. “Zephyr.”
“You can’t know that. It may have turned out worse if you hadn’t made the attempt. That kind of thinking doesn’t help anyone. We need to focus on moving forward. What happened, happened. The past cannot be altered.”
Silurian grunted. She sounded wise beyond her years. “You really take this Wizard of the North stuff seriously, don’t you? You sound like the old conjurer who used to haunt this grotto.”
Melody’s face lit up.
Silurian added, “I know. You’re right, of course, but I can’t help how I feel.”
“I’m right? Wow, I bet that hurt.”
“You’ll never know.”
“Look, Mr. Mintaka. What I do know is that you and I need to get off this mountain and see what we can do to help anyone left behind. Our biggest concern right now is to find a way to get that enchantment back on your sword.”
“Leave the mountain? You’re the Wizard of the North. I thought you weren’t allowed to leave the mountain?”
“Pfft.” Melody chortled. “All good things must end. Besides, do you know how boring it is sitting up here by myself, not talking to anyone? Hardly anyone visits me, and when they do, they usually want something I am loathe to give them. I tried telling Phazarus I wasn’t cut out for this wizarding business, but he insisted I was the one in his visions. Me!”
Comprehension settled on Silurian’s face. Phazarus, of course. That was the old wizard’s name. Silurian studied the cave with a new perspective. He had been here once before with the Group of Five.
Melody knelt before the shattered remnants of a large chest, carefully searching through the broken vials inside, salvaging what she could.
“Phazarus told me I was destined for great things,” she said as she pulled the cork stopper out of an opaque vial and sniffed at its contents. Turning her nose up in disgust, she replaced the cork and gently set the vessel aside.
She pulled her head out of the chest and raised her eyebrows, offering him a mischievous smile. “How do I know where he meant I was to do these great things?”
Silurian smiled and shook his head. She had become her mother, it was plain to see. “Can I help?”
“Um, no,” she replied at once. “Only I’m allowed to blow myself up, thank you.”
Silurian looked around the blasted grotto. Broken rock, shattered glass, and splintered wood covered the entire cave floor. “You appear proficient at what you do.”
“Huh?” She bumped her head on the chest’s lid sitting askew on its hinges. She followed his gaze. “Ya, I don’t do things half-assed.”
He laughed, marvelling at how grown up she had become. His eyes went to the ground beside her knees. “Hey, that’s Soulbiter.”
“Huh?” she asked, and then saw what he was referring to. She picked up a magnificently tooled knife sheath an
d tossed it to him. “Oh ya. I took that from you too.” She gave him a quick smile and buried her head in the chest.
Silurian caught the bundle and examined the priceless relic. An ivory handle protruded from the sheath, gilded ribbons inset with tiny gemstones swirled about the hilt. He pulled the dagger free, admiring the fact that the blade’s etchings matched those carved into its leather holder.
Melody’s question, her voice muffled by the interior of the chest as she stuck her head deeper inside, threw him. “So why isn’t your blade enchanted? I thought that’s why you went to the Under Realm in the first place?”
Silurian didn’t know what to say. The sword had channeled a powerful magic when he reached the mystic river. The events under Iconoclast Spire were foggy at best, but the sword had certainly reacted like it had been enchanted by the river. He swallowed and clutched its pommel, trying to sense a magical presence. Nothing.
At a loss, he muttered, “I have no idea.”
Whether she heard him or not, Melody said, “There, I believe that’s all I can save.” She stood up holding a small leather bag, its worn hide covered in strange symbols.
To Silurian’s eyes, the bag appeared empty. “What about that one?” he asked, pointing to the opaque vial she had set aside.
“Oh yes, I mustn’t forget that one.” She placed it into a pocket hidden in her robes.
“What’s it do?”
“That one?” she sounded evasive. “I’m not entirely sure.”
Her answer puzzled him. Letting the matter go, he bent over to retrieve a damaged tome. “What about all these? Surely you can’t just leave them here?”
She looked around at the scattered books, most of them charred to one extent or another. There were dozens of them.
“No choice. We can’t hope to carry them all where we’re going. Don’t you remember the path we need to take to leave this place?”
A cold sensation gripped him. He had almost forgotten the route to get off the heights of Dragon’s Tooth. He pressed on, nonetheless, “Aren’t the books important? Full of wizard stuff?”
Soul Forge Saga Box Set Page 42
