Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  Rook’s mind drifted to when he and Alhena had scrambled up this very bank with a crazed band of Kraidic warriors on their heels. What a wild bunch of days that had been. He recalled they had worried whether the northern empire had thrown its lot in with Helleden. Hindsight had vindicated their fears.

  A small, brown duck floating toward the bridge caught his attention as it made its journey downriver, peacefully bobbing in the strong current funneling beneath Alpheus’ Arch. It turned its beak back and forth, examining the multitude of bodies lining the ornate bridgework and the banks to either side. Someone tossed a heel of bread from the bridge and the duck paddled over, picking away at the chunk before it sank beneath the surface. The current whisked both duck and bread into the shadow of the bridge deck and out of sight.

  Rook envied the duck its simple life—drifting along the current without a care in the world.

  Across the river, Pantyr Korn stood conversing with Pollard, the large man easily identifiable amongst the crowd of horses and people drinking and refilling their water supply.

  “What are you thinking about?” Malcolm’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Nothing, actually. Kind of nice for a change.”

  Malcolm prized a stone out of the ground and threw it into the river. “Sounds nice. I wish I could train my brain to do likewise.”

  Rook studied the king’s mustachioed profile. His blond hair had dulled over the years, and now sported more than a few veins of grey—every bit earned, no doubt. He hadn’t seen Malcolm since the great feast of Lugubrius, two decades earlier. Since the day he had become king. Before that time, though, for several years leading up to the Battle of Lugubrius, Malcolm had been almost as much a part of Rook’s life as Silurian.

  As a prince, Malcolm had been a silent, sixth member of the Group of Five. Whenever his father, King Peter, permitted it, Malcolm had accompanied Rook’s band of vigilantes across Zephyr and beyond, righting wrongs that the benevolent king was loathe to officially address for fear of offending certain domestic families, or upstart rulers abroad. The Group of Five were an autonomous band, but often acted under the secret direction of the crown.

  Rook noted the heavy burden harboured behind the king’s warm, deep blue eyes. “Don’t worry, my king. We will raise Zephyr from the ashes and defeat Helleden’s forces, you wait. Our people have great reason for despair at the moment, but when the time comes, they will stand fast.”

  Malcolm’s smile seemed forced. “The people have suffered much over the years, but it’s different this time. Helleden’s attack four years ago almost finished us,” his voice became very quiet, the pain of losing the love of his life, Quarrnaine, a direct result of that attack, “and yet, as a people, we survived. Twenty years before that, Helleden had beaten us back to the walls of Castle Svelte. My father’s death almost sealed our fate then, but we survived. The Kraidic Wars during my grandsire’s days had driven us over the Undying Wall, and yet, we as a kingdom shored up our resolve and beat them back into the sea.”

  The king became quiet. A lone tear slid unabated down his cheek. His Adam’s apple convulsed. He turned glossy eyes on Rook. “This time, it’s different. Never have we been so thoroughly routed. Even when the Group of Five delivered us upon the plains, we raised our blades in defense of those we loved, but not this time. Helleden allowed our army to slip back to Carillon unmolested, and then lowered the hammer when were all in one spot. If he unleashes another firestorm, we’re done for.” He swallowed and turned his gaze back to the water flowing under the bridge.

  The lone duck had reappeared. At least Rook believed it to be the same one. It drew closer to the bank, its head tilted, regarding the pair. Its orange feet paddled for all they were worth to resist the current.

  Rook smiled as the curious fowl bobbed along, inspecting them. “It is my belief that something hinders Helleden from doing so.”

  Malcolm looked him in the eye.

  “If he was capable of delivering another firestorm, he would have done so by now.”

  Malcolm considered his words.

  “For some reason unknown to us, considerable amounts of time have lapsed between the latest storms. It’s been many months since he destroyed the Innerworld and what, over a month now since his last storm? I honestly think something prevents him from casting a spell of that magnitude at will.”

  Malcolm wiped his eyes on a vermilion sleeve. “True, but for how long? If we get caught out in one, we’re dead men.”

  “That I don’t know, but if recent reports prove true, the Chamber of the Wise wasn’t harmed. If we seek answers, there is no better place to start.”

  “Perhaps, if we had the time. There’s Helleden’s army to consider now. Even without another firestorm, the Kraidic reinforcements will destroy us. Look around.”

  Both men took a moment to do just that. Apart from a couple of knots of battle hardened men and women, the royal army consisted of farmers and merchants, tradesmen and courtiers. With Krakus the Kraken leading the reinforcements, Zephyr was surely doomed.

  Malcolm got to his feet. He adjusted his surcoat bearing the royal coat-of-arms: a golden eagle with wings poised for landing, clenching a sword in its talons. “We must not tarry. I’m thinking that Gritian will be but a brief stop. We cannot allow Helleden to pin us against the Undying Wall. I will spread the word that Ember Breath is to be our ultimate destination.” He gave Rook a weak smile and hauled himself up the steep bank to where Captain Pik stood watch. With heads together, they disappeared into the throng.

  Rook sighed. He felt bad for the king. Malcolm was a fun loving, life living soul at heart, but the weight of the kingdom’s perils had snuffed that spark from the once energetic man.

  The duck stopped at the edge of the riverbank and looked up at him, tilting its head as if asking him to share what he knew of the king’s troubles. He gave the duck a rueful smile—he really had no idea how burdensome the affairs of the crown were during peaceful times. He couldn’t imagine the stress Malcolm experienced now. Like the woman with the dead baby, everyone expected Malcolm to have the answers to their problems, when in truth, the king was just another person struggling to find his way through life. Unlike a common peasant, however, the king never had to worry about a roof over his head, nor whether or not he was able to eat. Instead, he worried about whether his subjects had a safe place to call home and the means to provide a living for their families. It was the king’s responsibility to ensure there was enough food for an entire kingdom come the long winter months. Should he erroneously make decisions due to personal prejudices or gut reactions because his heart swayed his thinking, many lives hung in the balance.

  The duck drifted back into the middle of the river and slipped out of sight beneath the bridge.

  Rook watched the last spot he had seen the duck for a while, his mind numb with conflicting emotions, on top of his worry about King Malcolm. Thetis’ betrayal and Silurian’s death were seldom far from his mind.

  He sighed. Perhaps the king should follow the duck’s example and let the current carry his troubles away. Anyone who thought being a monarch was glamour and fun, was sadly mistaken. Holding the fate of everyone’s lives in one’s hands was, of a certainty, a lonely road.

  Grimward

  Silurian withdrew his sword, grabbing the hilt with both hands, and drove its razor-sharp point into the ice. Other than getting the blade stuck, his desperate attempt to break the ice failed miserably. He tweaked his back wiggling the sword back and forth, pulling with all his might to free it. Without warning, it let go. He came close to slicing Melody as he stumbled backward.

  He put his sword away and withdrew Soulbiter again. What choice did he have? Placing a hand on Melody’s shin where it protruded from the ice, he knelt on his knees and jabbed at the ice around her feet. Chips and splinters of frozen water pelted him in the face. He turned his head to avoid taking a shard in the eye.

  The ice around them darkened and heaved. The serpent rose out of
the depths directly below.

  Another jolt like that would surely break the surface and drop them into the lake. Given the weight of his sword belt and his bulky clothing, swimming would be next to impossible.

  The underside of the ice darkened again.

  Silurian wrapped his arms around Melody.

  The floe heaved upward. Thunderous retorts of cracking ice marked the serpent’s emergence through the ice. A wave of freezing water sloshed over them as the section of ice they stood upon angled upward and shot forward.

  Silurian’s mind whirled with all the things he was going to have to do to survive a plunge into the lake. He’d have to give up his sword belt, kick out of his boots, and shrug out of his heavy tunic, all while maintaining a grip on his unconscious sister, whose voluminous robes were sure to act like a giant sponge. He could ill afford to lose his grip on her. If he did, she was done for.

  The sheet of ice shattered around them, leaving them suspended on the chunk that had captured Melody’s feet.

  The ice sheet tilted farther. Silurian sucked in a great breath in anticipation. The berg ground to a halt and flipped perpendicular, throwing him through the air. He cried out as he lost his grip on Melody, practically pulling her robes over her head before the material slipped through his fingers.

  He braced himself for the freezing water but was physically stunned when his body impacted on solid ground. His sword hilt dug painfully into his abdomen and his face scraped upon a slab of rock. Chunks of shattered ice clattered down all around him. He shook the cobwebs from his head. Mel!

  He pushed himself to his knees. He had landed several feet inland with Soulbiter still firmly clutched in his hand. Between himself and the shoreline, a lump of dishevelled, dark blue robes lay unmoving amongst the receding backwash—shards of ice flowed around her and slipped off the low ledge they had been thrown onto.

  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Melody’s staff caught in the backwash as it bumped its way to the lake. He made a desperate lunge and grasped the bottom tip of the staff as it teetered on the rock’s edge, slowly slipping into the lake. With a quick yank, he rescued the staff and scrambled to his sister on hands and knees. Her body lay in awkward angles—a fair-sized ice block imprisoning her feet.

  An ear-piercing screech scared him half to death. The serpent. He looked over in time to see its beady eyes and long snout slide beneath the fractured floe. Two large body coils breached the surface and followed its head into the depths.

  Silurian checked Melody for signs of life. Relief eased his anxiety when she moaned. Her robes were soaked and gooseflesh riddled her skin. He needed to get her off the shoreline, away from the serpent and out of the lake breeze. A fire would be ideal, but he had no idea how to go about making one in short order. Melody was the wizard. It would take him precious time to get one going on his own.

  He felt about the inside of his tunic. His piece of chipped flint was still there. He hadn’t used it since he and Avarick had descended from the mountains into Madrigail Bay. He absently tried to recall how long ago that was, but he had lost all sense of time. It had been over two months, of that he was certain.

  He stood up and used his feet to clear the bits of ice away from her body so that he could safely bend over and hoist her surprisingly heavy dead weight over his shoulder. There was no other way to carry her. He wasn’t a big man, nor overly strong, so cradling her like a small child was out of the question. Her sodden robes didn’t make the chore any easier. Grunting with the effort, he studied the island’s interior. The shoreline rose into a dark woodland populated by tightly spaced trees that grew thick around a high bluff.

  He staggered up the wooded slope. He wouldn’t be able to carry her far—already his thighs burned and his back ached. Cresting the steepest part of the rise, he located a shallow depression at the base of a small cliff. His legs were numb by the time he reached its base. He struggled to lay Melody down without dropping her, and fell to the ground himself.

  “Mel? Can you hear me?” He took her face into his hands, gently shaking her head.

  She didn’t respond.

  He needed to get her out of those wet robes. He swallowed. This was his sister, and a fully-grown woman, but he couldn’t allow hypothermia to take her. He hoped he wasn’t too late as it was, but first, he needed to make a fire.

  It felt like it took forever to gather enough wood, and even longer to get the fire going.

  Confident the flames were burning on their own, he turned his attention to her voluminous robes. Her cloak was cold to the touch. Frigid water dripped from his hands as he manoeuvred her body back and forth, remembering to adjust the cumbersome ice block around her feet. He freed one arm and rolled her onto her front, so he could pull aside the bulk of the hooded garment, before pushing her all the way over to extract her other arm.

  The ice block pinning her feet near the fire began to melt. He considered breaking it with a rock, but thought better of it. It would take too long. Her clothes had to come off first. Thankfully she wore a pair of leggings beneath her robes. Unfortunately, they were just as wet as the rest of her. They would eventually have to come off as well.

  Her wizard’s bag lay on the ground beside her, attached by a thong to a loop of material within a fold inside her robes. It took him a bit to figure out how to unlash it. He placed it by her cloak.

  Since there was nothing he could do about it, he hiked her wizard’s robes above her hips. He wasn’t sure how he was going to remove the wet robes without breaking her limbs. He envisioned that once he got the robes around her waist, he would sit her up somehow and pull her arms free.

  “What are you doing?”

  He almost yelped. His cheeks flamed red, looking into his sister’s bewildered eyes. “I, uh, am undressing you. We need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

  She gave him the strangest look. Her blue lips trembled. “Why?”

  “Because you’re soaking wet.”

  She tried to move her legs. Her face lit up in panic. “What’s wrong with my legs?”

  “Keep still. You managed to freeze your feet in the ice. We’ll get them free soon, but first…” He prodded her to lift her hips.

  “Where are we?”

  Despite his discomfort at undressing her, he tugged her robes past her hips. “Here, sit up,” he said. “We made it to the island.” Seeing the confusion on her face, he clarified. “Remember? You insisted we find the Grimward so you froze the lake.”

  Her wet head nodded slightly. Comprehension registered in her eyes. “How did I get so wet? Did I fall in?”

  Silurian put an arm under her back. “Here, I need you to sit up.”

  She complied.

  “Are you wearing anything under the robes, other than leggings?”

  She was still half dazed. She gave him a distant look until his words registered. Slowly she pulled open the collar of her robes and peered down. She gazed back at him. “A shift”

  “Great. Lift your arms.” He gathered a bunch of the material and pulled the celestial robes over her head. He couldn’t believe how difficult it was. He thought for sure he would yank her arms from their sockets. “You need to help me.”

  She mumbled something incoherent, but her arms slowly released their hold on the wet clothes and he pulled the bundle free.

  Melody crossed her arms over her small chest, her body shivering profusely. The wet shift clung to her, her pale skin visible beneath the thin fabric. “I-I-I’m c-cold.”

  Silurian shrugged out of his tunic. It was damp on the outside, but its lining felt dry enough. “Here, put this on and scooch close to the fire.” He lifted the block of ice around her feet and gently pulled her up to the fireside.

  He laid her entombed heels on a flat rock. Pulling his worn leather gloves from his belt, he put them on and gently started banging the melting block of ice upon the rock. The ice resisted at first, but shortly a few chips broke free and the side holding her left boot broke away. It wasn’t l
ong after that her right foot broke free.

  Silurian inspected her legs where they disappeared into the tops of her knee-high boots. The bottom of her legs and her feet seemed to have been protected by her leather footwear. “How do your feet feel?”

  “Like they’re still trapped in ice.”

  “I think we should leave your boots on until you get some feeling back in your feet. He sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, helping her sidle closer to the fire.

  She shook her head and with his help, removed her boots. Wiggling her toes, she asked again, “Did I fall in?”

  “You don’t remember anything?”

  “Yeah. Some. I froze a large section of water and we walked out on it so I could freeze the rest.” She whipped her head about, searching. “Where’s my staff?”

  “I got it. It’s over there, by your cloak.”

  Her eyes rested momentarily on the cloak and then darted all around.

  “Don’t worry, it’s there.”

  “What about my bag?”

  “It’s there too. Do you remember the turtle?”

  “Turtle? No, what turtle.”

  “The one that turned out to be a monstrous serpent.”

  She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re safe now.”

  Melody’s eyes searched the landscape. “We’re on the island?”

  “Yes, and unless you have a boat in that bag, we might be taking up residence here.” He felt her shrug beneath his arm.

  “I’ll just make another ice bridge.”

  “Uh, no thanks. I’m not going through that again.”

  They remained quiet for a while. Shadows lengthened into evening. The temperature dropped steadily, but Silurian made himself busy foraging a large pile of brush. He had also constructed a clothes rack out of several branches and draped Melody’s clothing over it, close to the fire. He checked their progress a few times, turning the robes over and inside out, but the cold, damp air wasn’t conducive to drying them with any expedience.