Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  Eerie sounds reached them from across the misty waters—some deep and guttural, while others were of a higher pitch. None of the noises were familiar, sounding neither human nor of any kind of animal known to them.

  Sadyra scanned the bank of mist floating on the water but couldn’t see anything untoward. Making sure they were out of earshot of Olmar and Alhena, she said, “We need to get outta here. You remember the last time we were down here?”

  Larina bit her lips, staring eastward. She nodded. “Aye. You needn’t remind me. That was the last time the Guard conducted training sessions down this way. We lost a lot of good people.”

  Sadyra’s sad face nodded at the recollection. She studied her friend’s pretty face—Larina’s brown eyes, distant and aloof. If anyone could navigate a way out of the marshland, Larina was the one to do it, and yet, she couldn’t help the misgivings niggling at her. “I know this might sound dumb, but do you really know where we are? The tunnel wasn’t exactly straight.”

  Larina didn’t respond at first. She turned and locked stares. “I have no idea where we are, but I’m sure it’ll be easy enough to figure out in the morning. I can pretty well guarantee that way is east.” She pointed the same way she had earlier.

  “But?” Sadyra prompted. She knew Larina better than anyone. It was obvious something bothered her more than she let on. Something other than the fact that they were lost in the Torpid Marsh with the Chamber of the Wise more than likely on the hunt for them, and the knowledge that Helleden’s army marched south toward where Solomon asked them to flee.

  “Do you not think it strange that the Chamber of the Wise—the council entrusted to oversee the religious law of the land and assist with heavy decisions the crown has trouble dealing with pertaining to, ah, what’s the word…?”

  Sadyra nodded. “Not sure of the term, but I know what you’re talking about. The decisions of state.”

  “Yes. Don’t you find it odd that the Chambermaster, who has always been a high-ranking religious official, is also the high warlord? Kind of a conflict of interest if you ask me.”

  Confused by where this came from, Sadyra said, “Well, yes. I guess it gives him a sense of absolute power, but what made you think about that, out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Larina didn’t respond for a while. When she did, there was a purpose in her tone. “We need to go back.”

  Sadyra frowned. “Go back? Where? To Gritian?”

  “Yes. We have to stop him.”

  “Stop who? High Bishop Uzziah?”

  “Uzziah. Jibrael. Vice Chambermistress Gruss. All of them.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rina. You can’t be serious. Think about what you’re saying. We barely escaped with our lives. Besides, Vice Chambermaster Io instructed us to get to Madrigail Bay. We need to warn Captain Thorr and Master Wendglow.”

  Larina clutched Sadyra by the shoulders. “Sadie. Think about it. We went to Gritian to inform the Chamber of your trip to the Under Realm. To let them know we brought allies back with us. What did they do? They jailed us! How is that sane?”

  “It’s not, but there’s nothing you, me, Olmar or Gramps can do to change it. I agree there’s something wrong with the Chamber, but it’s not our fight. The vice chambermaster will deal with it.”

  Larina let go of Sadyra’s shoulders and slapped her filthy grey leggings in disgust. “Solomon? He’s one man. If they pin our escape on him, he’s one dead man.”

  Sadyra raised her eyebrows and blew out a long breath. “If that’s what happens, then unfortunately, that’s what happens. If we go back now, they’ll capture us again, and Jibrael will torture us to discover who facilitated our escape.”

  “I’d like to see him try. He won’t break me,” Larina seethed.

  “Maybe not, but he might break one of us. When he does, Solomon will surely be a dead man then. Where will that leave us?”

  Larina turned away.

  A high-pitched screech split the night air from not far off through the mist, causing them both to jump.

  After scanning the darkness and finding nothing, Sadyra willed her rapidly beating heart to slow. “Rina, listen to me. Like it or not, it’s imperative we reach Madrigail Bay before Helleden and help them escape the inevitable onslaught. Once we reach Apexceal, we’ll let Solomon’s brother take over. We must strike back with strength. As tough as you and Midge think you are, you’re no match for the entire Gritian militia.”

  Larina crossed her arms beneath her chest, glaring into the mist roiling upon the marsh. The three-quarter moon had noticeably dropped in the sky before she sighed and gave Sadyra a look of resignation. “You’re right. As usual. Come on. Let’s get a fire going and try to get some sleep. It’ll be morning soon.”

  Sadyra wrapped an arm around the small of her friend’s back and walked with her to the far side of the knoll. Starting a fire in the middle of the Torpid Marsh wasn’t the best of ideas. There was no need to attract anymore attention to themselves than need be, but she wasn’t about to voice that to Larina yet. She was content to have talked her headstrong companion out of doing something foolish and getting them all killed.

  On the far side of the knoll, Olmar and Alhena sat beneath the overhang of the tunnel’s entrance, a ring of rocks by their feet. They looked up at the girls’ approach and grinned, pleased with their resourcefulness.

  Olmar scraped his dagger upon a piece of flint, preparing to light a fire.

  Sadyra was about to tell him not to, but Olmar spoke first. “Me and Pops have something to tell you, don’t we?”

  Alhena nodded his white-bearded head, his wispy hair more dishevelled than it had ever been. Sadyra almost fainted when he declared, “We need to go back to Gritian.”

  Chamber of Deceit

  Rook remembered the Gritian stables as if he had just seen them yesterday. It was actually over twenty years since he had last ridden through the town housing the Chamber of the Wise, but from his first glance as the royal procession crested the northern rim of the Gritian basin, nothing appeared to have changed. Except the faces.

  A contingent of Gritian militia had met their entourage yesterday as it approached a side road that branched off Redfire Path and led to the Forbidden Pass hundreds of leagues to the east. The Gritian party, led by Jibrael Fox, expressed the Chamber’s gratefulness for King Malcolm’s welfare.

  Rook rode several ranks back from the king, with Pollard at his side and Yarstaff, forever looking about in wonder, sitting behind the big man. The closer they had come to Gritian, the less the effects of Helleden’s firestorm were apparent. As the procession made its way past the northern guard house and amassed about the stable yards, it seemed like the sorcerer’s firestorm had never happened at all.

  Rook waited on his horse for those in front of him to dismount and hand their horses off to waiting grooms. A pleasant hopefulness washed over him. The king’s forces weren’t alone. With the Chamber unaffected, Zephyr’s sovereign was able to add Gritian’s militia to his growing army. Zephyr might yet have a chance to withstand Helleden if they kept augmenting their numbers on their southward march.

  A crowd gathered along the path leading into the Gritian trench, where the entrances to the underground city were located. Rook craned his neck to see beyond the backlog of mounted people—Olmar should be easy to spot. After everything they’d been through together, he looked forward to seeing Alhena again. The old man had proven a pillar of wisdom and inspiration over the past couple of months. The quest to the Under Realm wouldn’t have fared nearly as well if Alhena hadn’t been there. For an old man, the messenger had accounted for himself better than someone a quarter his age.

  Rook absently wondered about Alhena’s age. It was something he had never thought to ask. It never seemed important. There was a mysterious strength hidden behind those strange, white eyes, that was for sure, and that was all that really mattered when their journey became complicated.

  Pollard stood on the ground beside him, looking him in th
e eye. “Any sign of them?”

  Rook snapped out of his thoughts. “No, but I find it strange that when we spoke with the Enervator yesterday, he had no idea who we were talking about. How can anyone miss Olmar?”

  Pollard shrugged and patted Rook’s mount’s withers, stepping aside to allow Rook room to dismount.

  Their small companion was causing quite a stir amongst the locals—more so than Pollard’s size usually did. Pollard lifted Yarstaff from his perch high upon the great Clydesdale and placed him on his massive shoulders. “Come on, little chum. There’s too many people here who aren’t used to you. You’ll be safer up here.”

  Despite his growing misgivings about Gritian—a misplaced feeling, obviously, but something just didn’t seem right—Rook smiled at Yarstaff, the Voil’s hands holding tight to Pollard’s forehead so as not to fall off.

  Many would have been embarrassed to ride on someone else’s shoulders while in the midst of strangers, but Yarstaff never complained. Instead, the Voil took advantage of his aerie and drank in the strange sights and smells a busy barnyard had to offer. Beyond the stables, many smaller outbuildings and pens housed pigs, sheep, goats, and cows, the docile animals watching the activity in the yard with apparent disinterest. Chickens and roosters scooted about in short spurts of cackling frenzy amongst the crowd. The wondrous look on Yarstaff’s face was priceless.

  “Come on. Let’s find them,” Rook said, making his way through the crowd.

  Approaching the front of the delegation, King Malcolm’s wavy blond locks were visible amongst a clutch of red and blue-robed figures. The entire council had come out to greet His Highness.

  “This way.” Rook decided it best not to interrupt the leaders, so he led Pollard down the roadway into Gritian proper. The people lining the road afforded them curious stares. Some nodded, others vocally welcomed them to Gritian, but for the most part, the men, women, and children watched them pass, their faces devoid of emotion.

  Redfire Path dropped below the level of the land, descending into a shallow trench lined with many doors on either side of the roadway. Dead centre of the trench, against the righthand wall, a small shed extended partway into the road—the only entrance serving the Chamber of the Wise complex.

  Four guards bearing halberds stood in front of the shed watching their approach, their eyes particularly falling on Pollard.

  Rook thought he heard the tallest man say, “Is that him?”

  A second guard shook his head.

  “Gentlemen.” Rook nodded a greeting, eyeing the door behind them.

  The three largest men didn’t bother to acknowledge him, but the shorter man, sporting an oft broke nose, nodded back. A knot of white rope on his left shoulder marked him as a captain of the Gritian militia.

  “We’d like to go inside and find someone,” Rook said casually. He made to step between the two largest men, but they stepped together, barring him passage; their arm muscles tensed as they gripped their polearms a little tighter.

  “Easy guys. We’re with the king.”

  “Don’t see no king,” the captain said, and pointed his chin at Yarstaff. “What the hell is that?”

  Pollard’s heavy brow furrowed.

  “It’s okay, Pollard,” Rook interjected. “These fine men have never seen a Voil before.” He turned back to the captain. “His name is Yarstaff. He hails from a realm…well, a land far across the Niad Ocean. He is a friend.”

  “Of yours, maybe,” the captain muttered.

  “Um, yes. He’s our friend. Anyway, we’ve just arrived from Carillon with King Malcolm’s vanguard. Pollard here is with the Songsbirthian Guard,” Rook explained.

  The captain didn’t look impressed.

  The tallest guard took an interest in Rook’s bow.

  Rook glanced over his shoulder. “You like my bow? I’m Rook Bowman. You may have heard of me.”

  None of the guards showed any recollection.

  “The leader of the Group of Five.”

  Still no response, other than bored faces clearly wishing they would move on.

  Rook sighed. How quickly society forgot the deeds of yesteryear. If these men only knew the sacrifices their forefathers had made to allow them to enjoy the life they lived now; albeit with a tyrannical sorcerer bearing down on them.

  Rook grabbed Pollard’s elbow and started to turn him away. “Come on, they’re only doing their job. Perhaps Alhena and the others are in the city complex,” he said, but out of the corner of his eye he caught the uneasy glances shared by the guards at the mention of Alhena’s name.

  “You know him? Alhena? Kind of looks like a wizard with a long white beard, strange white eyes, and uses a walking staff?”

  The captain considered the question longer than seemed ordinary. Finally, he asked, “What of him?”

  “You do know him.” Rook’s face lit up. “That’s who we’re here to see. Where is he? In there?” Rook indicated the Chamber entrance with his eyes.

  The captain’s face darkened. “He left a couple days back.”

  Rook frowned. “He left? To where?”

  “Look, mister Bowman. They don’t tell us stuff like that. Word is he and his mates is gone, that’s all I know. Now, why don’t you move along?”

  “His mates? A female archer and a man as big as Pollard here, right?”

  The captain glowered. “Aye, and another archer bitch.”

  Rook did a double take; not sure he heard the captain correctly. It sure sounded like the man despised Alhena’s group.

  Pollard put a hand on the hilt of his sword, which prompted the three guards behind the captain to ready their polearms.

  “Another archer? Who would that be?” Rook asked, clearly confused.

  “Who cares. If she travels with a traitor, she is no better.”

  That made a little sense. When Alhena had slipped away from the Chamber a few months ago, he had been deemed a traitor. The members of the Gritian militia wouldn’t know any different. It stood to reason that anyone linked with Alhena would be considered a traitor by virtue of their association.

  “Ah, Alhena is still considered a traitor? He was cast out then?”

  The captain grunted. “Hardly. Him and that vat o’shit giant,” the captain’s eyes flicked to Pollard’s threatening glare. “They done killed two of our friends and escaped into thin air.”

  Escaped? Rook didn’t know what to say. He could tell by the demeanour of the guards that they tired of the conversation. He surmised that if it wasn’t for Pollard’s intimidating size, the captain would more than likely have ordered them detained for their interest in Alhena.

  Rook indicated with his head that Pollard should follow him back up the road.

  Pollard stood steadfast for a few moments, his menacing glare daring the guards to make a move to stop them.

  Thankfully, Rook thought, the guards were smarter than that.

  King Malcolm walked beside High Bishop Abraham Uzziah as they made their way down Redfire Path toward the Chamber complex entrance. He listened intently to everything the religious head of Zephyr had to say about the events of the last few months. He was deeply saddened to hear about the death of High Warlord Clavius Archimedes. The man had been a headstrong military leader, but given the nature of his position, he had been the best man for the job. He had served as High Warlord for over a decade.

  A knot of Chambermen strode along around them. The newly appointed Enervator, Jibrael Fox, and another headstrong man who had recently trained with the King’s Guard at Castle Svelte, led the procession into the trench.

  Malcolm noticed Rook, and Yarstaff on Pollard’s shoulders, standing to the side, allowing the group to pass them by. All the king could do was catch their eye and smile as he was hustled past the four guards and into the Chamber entrance.

  Pantyr Korn and Captain Pik managed to get by the guards, but Jibrael put his hands up to prevent anyone else from entering.

  Malcolm was about to protest, but Abraham put his arm ov
er his shoulder and impelled him forward, saying, “I cannot begin to tell you, Your Highness, how relieved myself, and indeed the entire council, was when we heard the happy news of your survival.”

  Malcolm gave the high bishop an odd look. He would hope the council would have been relieved to hear that. It wasn’t the first time Abraham had mentioned it.

  Together, sixteen men and women made a solemn trek into the heart of the Chamber warrens.

  “We need to speak to the matter of who is going to replace Clavius as High Warlord,” Malcolm said as they passed a fork in the tunnel leading to the chambers housing the militia and the entrance to the dungeon. Malcolm was familiar with the complex, having travelled along the passageways many times in the past forty-nine years. They passed three healer’s rooms on their left.

  “Not to worry,” Abraham assured him, “we’ll discuss everything at great length. First, we must address your personal needs. I cannot imagine the horrors you have endured these last few weeks.”

  “Oh, I’m fine, Your Eminence. The sooner we put the immediate affairs of state behind us, the sooner we can turn our minds to moving forward and defending what remains of the kingdom.”

  They passed another tunnel shooting off to the right, leading to the area set aside for the servants.

  A mess hall sat empty on their left followed by a smaller one reserved for the Chamber of the Wise council themselves.

  Abraham stopped at the intersection where the main tunnel veered to the right and ended out of sight at the double doors of the Chamber of the Wise. His intense blue eyes sought out Vice Chambermistress Arzachel Gruss. “Arzachel, why don’t you and the rest of the council show His Majesty’s men the Chamber? The king and I will be along shortly.”

  Clad in a red robe, cinched at the waist by a cord of spun silver, Arzachel bowed her head and held out a hand for Pantyr Korn and Captain Pik to accompany her and the eleven other Chambermen down the main hallway.