Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  Larina’s torchlight quickly dimmed in the distance above.

  Sadyra offered Olmar a hand up, the gesture symbolic as her slight form weighed less than one of his legs.

  Olmar rose, knocking his head off the stone roof.

  Sadyra unsuccessfully tried not to laugh.

  “Aye, laugh at poor Olmar, why don’t ya? Ye’ll be needin’ me soon enough.”

  “Get over yourself. I’ll likely be carrying your sorry hide is more like it. Now, come on. You go first. I’ll watch your arse.” She slapped his rump as he pushed by her, and added, “Not that I’ll have any choice but to see it.”

  Olmar cast a dirty look over his shoulder, causing him to crunch his head into the low ceiling.

  Sadyra spit out another laugh, shaking her head.

  The door at the top of the steps was already open by the time Sadyra and Olmar reached it. Olmar had stopped three times to gather his breath and rest his burning thighs. How Alhena had made it up so fast, Sadyra had no idea.

  Larina stood with her ear to the door leading out into the main passageway.

  The old messenger sat on the edge of the bed close to Larina, fingering his makeshift walking stick. Sadyra scrutinized him.

  He met her eyes. “We need to find my staff.”

  “Your staff?” Sadyra thought that a strange request. They didn’t have time to look for the old man’s walking stick. Granted, the branch she had found for him in the Torpid Marsh wasn’t close to the quality of the old stick he hobbled about with, there wasn’t much to be done about it now. “That one will have to do. I’ll make you a better one after we save the king.”

  “You do not understand. I need that one. If we are to rescue King Malcolm, we require my staff.”

  Larina stepped away from the door, listening to the conversation and mouthed, “Your staff?”

  Alhena interlaced his fingers and placed his hands on his lap. He looked at the three people in the room, one at a time. He sighed. “There comes a time when all things must be revealed.”

  When he said no more, his companions glared at him.

  Sadyra felt like punching him. She plonked herself down on the bed, careful that the crossbow throws didn’t jab him, and grabbed his nearest wrist. “What are you talking about?”

  Larina pulled the door open a crack and peered out. She closed it again to listen to Alhena.

  “I am afraid it is a long story.”

  “Um, we’re a little short on time at the moment,” Sadyra said through clenched teeth.

  Larina gestured with her hands for them to hurry up.

  “All is not as it appears. The timing is not right, but alas, circumstances dictate that now is indeed the time,” Alhena said, and fell silent again.

  Sadyra stared at him hard, willing him to continue. When he didn’t, she shot a quick glance at Larina who rolled her eyes. Sadyra grabbed Alhena by the shoulders, turning him to look at her. She shook him harder than she meant to. “For the love of all that’s left in this world, Gramps, we don’t have time for your riddles. Just tell us. You sound just like a…a…”

  “Wizard.” Alhena’s soft voice answered for her.

  “Yes. Exactly. You sound like…” Sadyra’s storm-grey eyes grew wide, comprehension settling in. She realized she still grasped his shoulders, and not lightly, but she couldn’t help herself. Her next words were awestruck. “You are a wizard.”

  Alhena nodded. “Not just any wizard. The Wizard of the North.”

  Olmar could be heard muttering in wonder from just inside the backdoor, “Well I’ll be the whelp of a tart. Pops is a wizard.”

  Sadyra dropped her hands and tilted her head, clearly thrown by Alhena’s revelation. Her mind flashed back to their time together during the quest to the Under Realm. His admission didn’t make any sense. If he was a wizard, how come he hadn’t used his powers, or whatever wizards did, when they were fighting for their lives?

  She thought of the cataclysmic transition at the portal. Of the sailors who had disappeared beyond the mist at Debacle Lurch. The confrontation between the Voil and Thetis. And what about Thetis herself? How could he not have seen through her subterfuge?

  Sadyra had never met a wizard before. Her scant knowledge of them had been gleaned through idle gossip amongst her peers in the Songsbirthian guard.

  Her head spun with unanswered questions. Why hadn’t Alhena intervened when the Voil wizard, Menthliot, had attacked Silurian within their cliffside home? She envisioned the horrific battle upon the Dead Plains where so many quest members had perished at the talons of the minion horde attacking them from the ground and sky. If Alhena was a wizard, where was he then? Where was he when Silurian had needed him most? That brave man had sacrificed his life to save them all, and not once had Alhena done anything to intervene other than to whack demons over the head with that damned walking stick. If that was the extent of his wizardly powers, King Malcolm was doomed.

  She tried to quell her conflicting emotions. To concentrate on what was important at the moment. She had admired Alhena. Looked up to him. If he was indeed a wizard and he hadn’t done anything to turn the tide of the quest’s struggles up to now, she was afraid that knowledge would break her heart. There had to be more to this than she fathomed. She swallowed back the accusation threatening to drip from the end of her tongue, and asked, “The Wizard of the North? What’s that mean?”

  “It means, dear Sadie,” Alhena said with a sad smile, “that I am the only one capable of preventing the king’s death. If we do not retrieve my staff, we will soon all be dead.”

  It was Sadyra’s turn to remain silent. She had no idea what the significance of him claiming to be a Wizard of the North meant to their chances. She barely knew what that meant. Did that mean he was from the Kraidic Empire? She didn’t think so. Perhaps north of that, from the lands of eternal wind and snow. That might explain those marble eyes.

  She couldn’t help herself. “But why?”

  Alhena tilted his head in question.

  “Where were you when the quest needed you? People died in that damned place beneath the ocean. Good people.”

  Alhena looked away, seemingly ashamed.

  “How could you?” Sadyra’s voice rose. “If you had done something, Silurian might still be alive.”

  Alhena hung his head and muttered, “It is complicated. The timing was not right. It is a long story. You would not understand even if I had time to explain.”

  Larina pressed her ear against the door. She held up a hand, putting a finger to her lips.

  Olmar manoeuvred his bulk past Sadyra and Alhena. He paused to look at Alhena, a hurt look on his face, and moved to stand beside the door with the dungeon keeper’s sword held at the ready.

  Sadyra couldn’t take her angered glare from the old man. When she mentioned Silurian, his face had gone ashen.

  Larina pulled the door open a crack, and then wide enough to stick her head out. She closed it again. “It’s clear. Now, mister wizard Pops. How do you expect us to find your staff in a place like this? We don’t have a clue where to start.”

  Swallowing her ire for the time being, Sadyra stood up. “If we find this staff of yours, do you plan on using it for more than a head basher and perhaps helping this time, or aren’t we worth the effort in your wizardly eyes?”

  Alhena pursed his lips, casting his eyes to the floor.

  Sadyra feared he wouldn’t say anything else. She wanted to throttle him.

  He nodded, finally. “Aye. The surprise has been taken from me.”

  The surprise has been taken from me! Sadyra glared at him. What an incredulous statement. Before she could ask what the hell that meant, he lifted his head and regarded her with those strange white eyes. It gave her the shivers.

  He stood up, straighter than anyone had seen him stand before. When he spoke, it was as if his voice had changed timbre. “I know exactly where my staff is. I can sense it.”

  Larina raised her eyebrows. She put a finger to her lips
and cracked the door open again. Satisfied they were alone, she stepped into the passageway and motioned for the others to follow. She started off toward the side tunnel leading to the cellblock, but Alhena called her back.

  “This way,” was all he said as he strode up the wide, main tunnel with barely a limp.

  Sadyra stared after him. The assistance provided by the walking staff had been a ruse all this time. She ushered Olmar past her, quickly checking the side tunnel and down the opposite direction for signs of other people. Satisfied the tunnels were devoid of anyone close by, she sprinted to catch up, her crossbow swinging back and forth within its straps across her back.

  Larina slowed their progress, peering down a narrower passage on their right and then into the two mess halls on the left. There wasn’t a soul around, but as they approached the sweeping bend toward the Chamber of the Wise, she cautioned everyone with a raised hand. A distant sound of raised voices and something else, indistinguishable—almost animal like—reached them from beyond the bend.

  “They be down there,” Olmar said, stepping past Larina and continuing down the main corridor.

  “Wait,” Alhena implored. “My staff is this way.” He pointed down a smaller tunnel branching off to the left.

  Larina started after Olmar, her crossbow in hand. She paused to look back.

  Sadyra caught up to them. “Rina, you go with Gramps. He might need a lockpick. Midge and I will remain here to make sure no one follows you.”

  Larina was clearly torn. The indecipherable voices coming from the Chamber sounded less than amicable. If they were to find the king, it was a good bet he was being held in the Chamber of the Wise. She looked one last time down the Chamber tunnel and then followed Alhena up the side passage.

  Sadyra reached over her shoulder, wriggling the crossbow from its holders. Ensuring the short quiver containing a dozen bolts beneath her left arm was accessible, she loaded a missile into the flight groove and locked the catch.

  Another roar arose from the direction of the Chamber. Something big was happening. Without thinking, she and Olmar inched their way along the inner curve of the tunnel, hoping to see into the cavern beyond.

  Twice, a barrage of irate voices froze their progress. Realizing that whoever was responsible wasn’t in the tunnel, they continued along the wall.

  The tunnel became brighter the farther they went, but neither of them where prepared for what awaited them as the Chamber entrance came into view—an open doorway framed by the wreckage of two massive wooden doors. Jagged shards of splintered oak lay strewn inside the Chamber’s threshold.

  Sadyra gazed questioningly at Olmar. What could possibly be responsible for that? She didn’t think a battering ram would inflict that much damage. Magic? She swallowed and moved closer to the doorway. The stage at the far end of a polished aisle came into view. Dozens of green-clad militia mulled about, their faces riveted on the first tier of the platform.

  Sadyra almost shrieked. Surrounded by countless Gritian guardsmen, Pollard backed away from a demonic creature that dwarfed him.

  “That’s Pollard,” Sadyra exclaimed, and sprinted up the aisle.

  A few eyes turned her way and started down the steps to intercept her. She let fly a warning shot but it did nothing to deter their advance, so she stopped to reload her crossbow and buried the second bolt in a guard’s chest at the base of the marble steps. She wasn’t sure what instilled the sudden fear in the eyes of the guards standing around their fallen cohort—her well placed quarrel, or the fact that an insane giant charged up the aisle behind her on a set of heavily bowed legs.

  She latched another bolt and advanced on the guardsmen descending the stage and fanning out through the benches to surround her and Olmar.

  Olmar in his typical non-thinking state, lumbered past her, the guard’s sword he had taken from the dungeon looking like a dagger in his hand.

  Earth Blood

  Silurian held his breath, tiptoeing around the side of the underground cavern, its centre dominated by a sleeping leviathan, half submerged within a pool of rank smelling water. The creature lay wrapped around a pillar of chiselled bedrock, the column terminating close to the cavern’s domed ceiling, high overhead. The pulsing white-blue light bathing the cavern in an eerie glow emanated from atop the pillar.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved they had found the wellspring in a timely fashion or discouraged by the appearance of a second serpent—this one much larger than the first. Whatever the case, he was thankful they had found their goal at all. With any luck, they would be gone long before the tide returned.

  They stood just inside the large cavern, studying the pillar. At first glance, it didn’t appear they would be able to reach the glowing fount without climbing the column itself, and that meant climbing over the serpent.

  Melody suggested as much in a hushed voice.

  “Not on your life.” He put his lips against her ear. “Here, I’ll give you my sword and you can do it. You’re the wizard.”

  His sister shook her dirty face, her features lost in the shadow of her hood.

  On closer inspection of the dark walls, they discovered a ledge that spiralled up the inside of the domed cavern, presumably ending at what the Grimward had called the earth blood fount. Comprised of loose shale, the ledge began its ascent a few feet off the ground to the left of the opening.

  Silurian assisted Melody up to the ledge. She held a hand out to help him scrabble up after her. He almost made it without incident, but as he lifted his trailing foot over the ledge’s lip, his toe dislodged a dinnerplate-sized slab of rock. It fell to the cavern floor and shattered.

  They watched in horror as the beast lifted its gigantic head, its forked tongue sensing the cavern air. It didn’t take the creature long to ascertain the location of those responsible for disturbing its slumber. Filmy white eyes focused on them as the serpent uncoiled its body from the base of the pillar.

  The runes on Melody’s staff shone brightly.

  To Silurian, time seemed to slow. His sister’s eyes rolled back into her head. He had no idea what she had in mind but he feared it wouldn’t end well for any of them. A detonation inside the cavern might bring the roof down.

  The serpent’s thick coils undulated, slithering its head toward them. If Melody wasn’t quick, they were doomed. The memory of her attempt to deal with the black panther made Silurian’s blood run cold. He grabbed her elbow and yanked her up the sloping ledge.

  Melody lost her footing and stumbled toward the edge.

  “Hey!” She clutched his arms. “What’re you doing?”

  Silurian grasped her by the folds of her cloak and pulled her back from the brink.

  The serpent’s head lifted off the ground and rose higher than where they stood. Its great maw opened, revealing rows upon rows of jagged teeth, and let forth a deafening shriek.

  Silurian pushed his sister up the slope. “Run!”

  The serpent struck, its movement surprisingly fast for a creature of its size.

  The concussion from the serpent’s head hammering the spot where Silurian had stood a moment before, had him falling to his hands and knees, but he was up and running again before the serpent recovered.

  Silurian was impressed by how fast his sister scrambled up the unstable surface in her bulky robes. He hazarded a look at the serpent. Its head swung back, readying for another strike.

  Silurian ran as quickly as the loose shale crumbling beneath his feet allowed.

  Another shriek rattled the cavern and then a resounding concussion rocked the ledge as the creature slammed into the wall below. A cascade of loose slate shattered upon the cavern floor, now far below.

  Melody screamed as the ledge shook beneath them, fighting hard to remain on her feet.

  Silurian let the tremor pass before he bolted up to her and urged her upward.

  The ledge shook twice more before they reached its summit, pieces of the trail clattering into the bowels of the cavern around the enraged b
east—its constant shrieks making them flinch.

  On the far side of a manmade, stone bridge, linking the cavern wall to a platform atop the pillar, lay what they believed was the earth blood fount the Grimward had referred to.

  Although the slender bridge appeared solid enough, with the caterwauling serpent shaking the stone beneath their feet, Silurian was reminded of his recent crossing at Treacher’s Gorge. Tumbling into the serpent’s clutches seemed like a worse fate than falling fourteen thousand feet into the gorge.

  As if on cue, the creature hammered the wall beneath them, rattling slivers of rock along the spiralling slope of the ledge. Chunks of dislodged rock rained down on the deranged serpent.

  Melody stood with her back against the wall, her staff pulsing orange. Silurian hoped she would restrain herself from using the unpredictable staff. A wrong spell at this height would prove catastrophic.

  He leaned in close to her and spoke over the noise. “There’s no need to cast any spells. We’re safe up here. I’m gonna cross the bridge. You stay here.”

  She shook her head. “I’m coming.”

  “I’ll only be a moment.”

  He almost laughed when she gave him a look that reminded him of their mother. Though he had loved his mother very much, the passage of time had blurred his image of her. Melody’s glower brought her back to life. As long as she lived, Mase Storms End would never die. “I’m coming.”

  “Okay. But we need to time it, or that turtle will knock us off the bridge.”

  Melody rolled her eyes.

  The ledge shook again.

  “Now,” Silurian said, running across the thin span. Before he reached the fluted brim of flat rock forming the base of the wellspring, the entire structure shook. He stumbled the last two steps, caught himself and whirled about in time to clutch Melody’s arm before she toppled off the edge of the bridge.

  They stood clutching each other on the platform, high above the floor below, beside an ornately carved, stone fount as tall as their waist. The wellspring of earth blood. The blue light that infused the cavern emanated from within the fount, the glare almost too bright to look at.