Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  “Deadly important. If they fell into the wrong hands, the repercussions would be catastrophic.”

  “Come on, then. I can help you carry some of the more important ones at least.”

  “Don’t you worry, big brother.” She tapped her temple with a forefinger. “They’re all up here.”

  Silurian raised his eyebrows. “Up there? Every one?”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing for twenty years? I can rewrite every single book. Word for word. Backward.”

  She grabbed her staff and scrambled up the rockfall blocking the bottom half of the cavemouth. She stopped to look over her shoulder and winked. “Besides, the most important spells are only up here.” She pointed to her head. “Those spells are passed down orally from one Wizard of the North to the next. How do you think you got here?”

  He didn’t have a response for that. Ensuring St. Carmichael’s Blade rested secure in its sheath, he hooked it over his shoulder, turning the scabbard into a baldric, and followed his ever-surprising sister from her wizard’s grotto.

  Outside the cave, cold winds blew mercilessly across the mountain face. Grey clouds obscured whatever lay below, and also hid the mountain peak a few hundred feet above. They stood on a narrow ledge, its precarious route descending into the roiling mists.

  Melody led him down the first steep section and stopped.

  Following her gaze up the mountainside to where the darker shade denoted the cave entrance, Silurian started to ask her why they had stopped, but her raised hand silenced him.

  Her lips mouthed the words of a language he didn’t recognize, extreme concentration written on her face.

  The wind cut through his thin clothes, whipping them about his body. They wouldn’t last long up here. He was about to say as much when an explosion shook the mountainside.

  A great geyser of flame shot out of the cavemouth, taking the surrounding rock face over the brink and into the clouds below.

  Instinctively Silurian grabbed his sister and dropped to the ground, sheltering her from any fallout. Other than insubstantial debris cascading down from the heights, they weren’t affected by the blast.

  “What was that?”

  “That, silly, is how we prevent those books from falling into the wrong hands.”

  “You did that?”

  Pulling herself from beneath him, she offered him a meek smile.

  “You could have blown us off the mountain.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Aye, but I didn’t, did I?”

  He stood up and brushed himself off, his uncontrollable shivering returning in earnest.

  Melody stood up beside him and plunked her staff into the loose scree. “Come on. Let’s get you off this rock. You think you’re up for it?”

  Silurian gave it serious consideration. What would be worse? Staying where they were and freezing to death, or descending into the Gap in an ill-fated effort to locate another source of magic to enchant his blade?

  The Sentinel

  Krakus glared at the tent flaps, daring them to open. Word had reached him that Helleden had come down from his hiding spot on the mountain.

  What did the skinny wretch do up there, anyway? Did he spend his waking hours reading dusty old tomes like wizards were wont to do? Did he perform strange rituals and sacrifice animals? Or worse? Did he even sleep?

  No matter. Krakus the Kraken wouldn’t be cowed by the sallow-faced, finger-wagger a second time. No one told an emperor how to handle his affairs. Not if they preferred their head where it was.

  He looked over at the hulk of Karvus lovingly whetting the edge of his colossal battle-axe. Krakus had never seen an axe as large as his son’s. He doubted anyone else could swing the beast. He should have allowed his son to dispatch the pasty freak yesterday. It would have spared him a sleepless night.

  He didn’t plan on losing sleep tonight. The guard had been tripled around his pavilion. His elite shock troops had taken over the responsibility of escorting the sorcerer through the fortified camp.

  Karvus’ doge lay restlessly by his side, occasionally snarling for no apparent reason, perhaps unsettled by the close proximity of their brethren hounds surrounding the pavilion. It would be good sport watching the robed malcontent try to cast his witchery fast enough to deal with a pack of dybbuk hounds.

  The emperor smiled at that. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see the pompous spell-caster grovel. If Helleden begged hard enough, perhaps he would allow him to serve in his personal bodyguard. With a sorcerer in his vanguard, who knew what an emperor with Krakus’ ambition could achieve?

  When the tent flaps parted, marking the entrance of one of Karvus’ shock troops, Krakus almost yelped.

  “What is it, man?” Krakus barked.

  The man dropped to a knee upon the entrance rug, a nasty edged cudgel in hand. “My emperor, the sorcerer has entered the camp.”

  “Alone?”

  “Nay, my emperor.” The man kept his eyes to the mat.

  Krakus frowned. “No? Who else? How many?”

  “Just one, my emperor.”

  “And? Who is this second person? Another sorcerer? A guard? A whore? What?”

  “A demon, sir.”

  Krakus swallowed. Helleden’s army were all demons of one persuasion or another. The big, red, trident-bearing ones were the worst, but surely his own shock troops were their equal. One by itself shouldn’t prove to be much of a concern, though the morose tone of the man on the carpet suggested otherwise.

  “Obviously a demon, you buffoon. What of it?”

  The man, a seasoned warrior, looked into the emperor’s eyes, fear evident in his own. “This is no ordinary demon, my emperor. It is huge.”

  Krakus shrugged. He had enough muscle to deal with it. “It’s huge? Is that all?”

  “Nay, my emperor. I can’t explain it, but—”

  “Try, dammit!”

  The man lowered his head. “It seems to shift about. One moment it’s behind the sorcerer, the next it’s beside him, and before you blink, it’s on his far side.”

  Krakus scowled. Surely Helleden must know he can’t intimidate a man such as he. “The wretch is playing with your mind, you fool. It’s an old sorcerer’s trick to distract you from concentrating on him. Now get out!”

  “Aye, my emperor.” The man rose and rushed from the tent.

  Karvus’ bulk rose slowly, battle-axe in hand. The dybbuk hounds jumped up, instantly alert. Karvus grunted a command to settle them.

  “I will see to this magic man.”

  Krakus looked at him with wide eyes. “No. You remain here with me.”

  Karvus glared at his father. He slumped heavily into his chair, scowling.

  Helleden seemed to float above the ground as he walked, his booted feet hidden beneath flowing black robes festooned with crimson runes.

  Beside him a dark figure loped along, its elongated snout exposing two large upper fangs—its great head bobbed about at twice the sorcerer’s height. Narrow, red eyes scanned the huge men escorting the pair toward the pavilion in the distance. The Sentinel was, without a doubt, the ultimate beast the Soul had ever created—besides himself, of course, and now he had control over it.

  A squad of more than twenty huge warriors, each almost as large as Karvus, escorted them toward the emperor’s pavilion. They kept a wary eye on the creature flitting about Helleden, having sense enough to give its heavily muscled, grey legs a wide berth—mindful of its long feet tipped with three talons each, matching those of its hands. One moment the beast lumbered beside Helleden, the next it was behind him. The emperor’s elite troops quickly realized that if they walked anywhere within sword’s reach of the sorcerer they were likely to be trampled without warning.

  The Kraidic encampment was on high alert as the strange entourage approached the emperor’s pavilion. The cacophony made by the numerous hounds straining at their leads, threatening to break free of their handlers, irritatingly deafening.

&
nbsp; Helleden stopped out of reach of the hounds. The Sentinel did not.

  The dybbuk hounds went wild. One broke free of its handler and leaped for the beast’s face.

  The Sentinel caught it in midflight. Long talons wrapped around the thrashing dog, the Sentinel oblivious to its gnashing teeth.

  Before anyone else reacted, the Sentinel opened its mouth and snapped at the hound’s head, tearing it from its body.

  The remaining hounds were released at once. As a pack, they attacked. The impact of their collective bulk took the Sentinel to the ground.

  Karvus stormed through the tent flaps to see what the commotion was about, his battle-axe at the ready. His own two hounds bounded past him and into the frenzy as he stared at Helleden.

  Krakus the Kraken emerged from the pavilion behind Karvus with his battle hammer in hand and surveyed the scene.

  The emperor’s shock troops had surrounded the pile of hounds but were unable to attack the sorcerer’s beast without hitting the dogs.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Krakus demanded.

  Helleden’s bloodshot eyes cast him a baleful glare.

  “That’s what happens when you threaten the Kraken. Seize him!” The emperor ordered those nearest the sorcerer. He stepped up to Helleden and spat—the odoriferous spittle smacking loudly against his cheek.

  Before the men around Helleden moved, the writhing pile of growling hounds collapsed upon itself. The hounds’ barking dropped off as they searched for the creature. It had disappeared.

  “Hah! Nice trick, magic man.”

  The two guards nearest Helleden grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back.

  “We’ll see who gets left behind, now, won’t we?” Krakus roared in Helleden’s face. “Bind his hands.”

  “Father!” Karvus cried out.

  All eyes looked to the emperor, or rather, to the massive creature towering behind him, its hide bleeding from multiple puncture wounds.

  Krakus smiled. “I know what’s behind me. You finger-waggers are so predictable. Impressive that you conjured the illusion with your hands behind your back.”

  The hounds turned as a pack, baring bloodied teeth and snarling. Heads lowered, they advanced toward the Sentinel standing behind the emperor.

  Illusion or not, Krakus realized his fate too late. The hounds went through him to get at their prey. He attempted to dodge sideways, but the Sentinel’s large paw came down on his head, clamping three talons around his skull and holding him fast.

  The enraged pack of indiscriminate hounds leaped at the Sentinel, tearing the screaming emperor’s body to shreds in their frenzy.

  The guards restraining Helleden relinquished their grip and brought their weapons to bear on the Sentinel as it backed away, fending off the few hounds that had passed beyond the emperor.

  Karvus’ battle-axe joined in the carnage. His mighty weapon spun like a whirlwind, cleaving hound and emperor alike.

  “Control the hounds, you fools!” Karvus shouted as he stepped free of the bloody mess that had been his father. “Call them off!”

  Whistles sounded, along with urgent pleas from the handlers, but the dogs were oblivious to the call, their crazed bloodlust wouldn’t be denied.

  The mangled bodies of several hounds lay at the Sentinel’s feet. Although the beast bled from many wounds, it didn’t appear bothered by its injuries. It went about its business, methodically destroying one hound after another.

  Karvus raged at his men to control their dogs.

  At a word from Helleden, the Sentinel vanished.

  The hounds began biting one another until their handlers intervened and pulled them apart, more than one of the trainers were savagely bitten for their efforts. In short order, the chaos was restored to a surreal sense of order.

  Karvus’ chest rose with heavy breaths. He glared death at the sorcerer and his own men alike.

  Helleden motioned with open palms toward Krakus’ pavilion. The Kraken’s son appeared on the verge of attacking him, but no matter. If he did, Helleden would deal with him, too.

  Glancing at the gore that used to be his father, Karvus snarled, “Clean up this bloody mess!” and stormed into the tent.

  Sadie

  Sadyra returned to camp with a brace of small rabbits hung over her shoulder, four days out of The Forke.

  Alhena looked up at her approach as he tended a small fire. He had the flames going nicely in the early light of the new day.

  Underneath a blackened tree, Olmar’s snores were loud enough to wake the dead.

  “Where did you manage to find those?” Alhena asked, withdrawing a small dagger from the folds in his robes.

  Sadyra plunked herself down beside him and handed him half her catch. Wiping dainty fingers on her slate grey breeches, she extracted a curved knife from her leather belt and began to skin the rabbit over the fire. “Just over the hill. You’d be surprised how many are scrounging about.”

  Olmar let out a louder snort than usual, his breath stopping for a moment before his regular cadence of sleeping grunts resumed.

  Sadyra smiled at the lump beneath the tree. “I should probably find something for you and me to eat, too.”

  Alhena chuckled. As hard as their journey was, with everything they had endured, the archer’s company had proven a godsend. Despite her gruff manner, she was polite and sincere, but what he admired most about the young woman was the fact that she spoke her mind, and never in riddles or half-truths. Everyone knew what she was thinking when she thought it. Best of all, Alhena thought, she is not bitter or resentful. She takes everything in stride.

  Sadyra’s voice jolted him out of his reverie, “Hey Gramps, you having a stroke?”

  “Huh?”

  She nodded toward the charred tree on the far side of the firepit. “I said, it looks like Midge has found his way back to us.”

  Olmar rolled over and grunted, lifting his colossal girth from the ground, and looked at them. “An jus’ what ye two be up to? Yer lookin’ conspiratorial like.”

  “We’re jousting,” Sadyra said with a straight face.

  Olmar scratched at his armpit, frowning.

  “What’s it look like we’re doing, you big oaf? We’re making breakfast. If you’re quick about it, you might be able to catch something yourself and be in time to cook it before the fire dies.”

  A despondent look settled on Olmar’s face.

  Alhena lowered his head, trying not to smile.

  “Oh, get over here.” Sadyra let him off the hook. “But you only get one. Gramps, here, needs to put some meat on his bag o’ bones.”

  Walking across blackened farmland, the unlikely trio espied the high hills southeast of their position, marking Lake Refrain, still another day and a half away.

  Passing outlying farmsteads, their optimism that Millsford might have survived the widespread devastation quickly waned. The absence of human life around all the burnt-out farmhouses and collapsed barns did little to sway their mounting despair.

  By midday, the desecrated wooden palisade that protected Millsford on its two landlocked sides came into view. From their vantage point on the far side of the Madrigail River, the burnt and shattered sections of the wall had done little to shield the citizens within.

  Millsford Road crossed the Madrigail on the back of an arching stone bridge, but the dilapidated state of the bridge gave them pause. Half of the stone structure lay scattered beneath the river’s surface, the tumbled stonework creating rapids in the river.

  “Enough t’ floor ye,” Olmar said, shaking his head. “I be thinkin’ we’d best wade across.”

  “Aye, good idea. You could use a bath,” Sadyra said. Before Olmar could reply, she vaulted up the side of the ruined bridge and skipped across the blasted remains, effortlessly hopping gaping holes. Reaching the far side, she called out, “You two coming?”

  Alhena and Olmar looked at each other helplessly. There was no way either one of them could follow her path.

  Alhe
na sized up the rapids created by the fallen bridge rock. He hated getting his robes wet—they took forever to dry. Sadyra’s shining face, watching them from across the expanse, ruled out the thought of disrobing.

  Beside him, Olmar sat on the riverbank, removing his huge boots. The sailor then shrugged from beneath his vest, unlaced his sweat-stained shirt and pulled it over his head. Rolls of fat bounced and hung over his tightly cinched belt. When he unclasped the buckle, Alhena feared the earth would move beneath their feet.

  A piercing whistle sounded from across the river. Sadyra stood with her hip stuck out, two fingers in her mouth and a mischievous look on her face—clearly enjoying the spectacle.

  There was no way in hell Alhena was about to disrobe now.

  Naked, Olmar spread out his vest and wrapped his belongings in it, except for his cap and warhammer. Turning to Alhena, no humility evident in his beaming jowls, he said, “Here Pops, take this.”

  Alhena wasn’t given time to respond. Olmar thrust the burden into his arms.

  “Now, get on.” The great mass of human flesh bent his head and shoulders to the ground.

  Flabbergasted, Alhena backed away a step. “What the…? You want me to climb on your head?”

  “Me ‘ead? No, Pops. Git yerself on me shoulders and be quick about it. Don’t want lassie over there ‘avin’ a conniption.”

  Sadyra sat on the far bank, pointing at them and laughing like she was being tortured with a goose feather.

  “But, but…it’s okay, I will swim. Don’t worry about me. I have crossed bigger water than this, let me assure you,” Alhena said, thinking back to his plunge into Lake Madrigail with Rook Bowman.

  “Bah!” Olmar grunted, straining to hold his pose. “Ain’t you I’s worryin’ about. I’m hopin’ yer t’ keep me stuff dry, is all.”

  Swallowing the little pride left to him, Alhena hiked up his robes, exposing his bone white legs. Sadyra’s wolf whistle gave him pause. Straddling a naked man’s neck was the last thing he thought he’d find himself doing, but as Olmar waded into the current, he appreciated the fact that, other than the lower hems of his robes breaking the water’s surface as the river’s depth reached Olmar’s triple chin, the majority of his clothes remained dry. Had it not been for Sadyra rolling upon the far bank in tears, he might have enjoyed swaying above the water’s surface on the shoulders of a naked giant.