Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  She reached out again.

  I beseech you to honour your mother’s pledge and retrieve the stone.

  “The prospect of freeing you to devour the earth’s surface isn’t an option I care to entertain. I’m sure you can appreciate my point of view.”

  Mase promised me!

  “I’m not Mase.”

  A shooting pain behind her eyes made her wince as she sensed the Gimcrack’s anger. She needed to appease the creature before it devoured her. “Without the Tang Stone, how long will it take you to reach the earth’s surface?”

  There was silence for a long while. She wasn’t sure it heard her. She thought about asking again, but let it be. The longer the Gimcrack remained quiet, the calmer she hoped it would become.

  When it spoke, she jumped in fright.

  I do not have a way to calculate distance. Every time the world dips its poles, I advance approximately the width of your stick’s bottom end.

  Melody guessed the staff’s lower tip to be no greater than her two thumbs placed side-by-side. Judging by the distance she and Silurian travelled into the mountain to get to this point, it would take the Gimcrack tens of thousands of years to reach the surface. Even that prospect didn’t sit well with her, but perhaps in the interim, something might be done to stop the creature. She had to be smart.

  “Allow me to extract the Tang Stone. I need it to prevent the world from suffering any more damage. If I do that, it will be better prepared for you.”

  That is unacceptable. Free me or I will grind your bones to dust!

  “And what good will that do? If I don’t retrieve the Tang Stone you’ll never get out of here. Even if you do, there’ll be nothing left to feed on. The Tang Stone is the key. With it in my hands, you’re free to continue your journey. In the meantime, I propose to you my pledge. I won’t stop until I have put an end to the biggest scourge our world has ever seen or I will die in the attempt. It’s your choice, but don’t take too long to decide. Unlike you, we parasites have a short lifespan.”

  Waiting for the creature to respond heightened her anxiety. Silurian remained injured on the far side of those teeth, cold and alone.

  She considered using her magic to affect an escape but couldn’t think of a suitable spell to break through a rock wall, or whatever the Gimcrack’s teeth were made of. Fire and ice would only raise or lower the temperature. Perhaps that might cause the creature a measure of discomfort. Then again, the creature ate rocks.

  Duplicating the teeth would only exacerbate her dilemma, and a shrinking spell might affect the Gimcrack’s entire mouth—not an appealing prospect with her inside it.

  She was adept at divination and vision casting but neither of those attributes were helpful trapped inside a monster.

  “Well?” She jammed her staff into the spongy rock and was thrown to her backside by the Gimcrack’s lurching tongue.

  Hmm, it feels pain, she thought and reached a hand to the wall.

  Do not do that again. You may retrieve the Tang Stone, though I cannot promise not to digest you.

  “That’s not acceptable.”

  Be that as it may, I am not going anywhere soon in either scenario.

  If not for the fact that her brother desperately needed her, she had a mind to sit down and deny the creature. To die knowing she had prevented a future generation from suffering a grim reality if the Gimcrack ever breached the surface.

  She knew Silurian would never give up. She had come this far, she may as well go all the way. She got to her feet and approached the Gimcrack’s throat. Taking a deep breath, she illuminated the darkness within and dropped to her backside, ducking her head to descend into the bowels of the beast.

  Her mind whirled as she descended the Gimcrack’s throat. What was she doing creeping inside a creature searching for a talisman her dead mother had left here? It felt like she was trapped within a nightmare—cognizant of her actions and able to exert her freewill, but confronted with an impossible dilemma.

  She had no way to tell time within the beast. The creature’s size was incomprehensible. All she knew was that she was tired, sore, and hungry by the time her staff finally illuminated a widening in the tunnel. Envisioning what she was about to enter, she balked at the prospect of leaving the false safety of the constricted passageway.

  The Gimcrack’s throat opened into a cavern four times the size of its mouth. A tumble of broken rock lined the floor of what she perceived to be its stomach, her intended path funneling through a smaller tunnel that continued beyond the stomach’s far end.

  She shored up her courage and set foot on a large rock to examine the stomach’s interior. Other than random chunks of rock debris undulating ever so slightly, there was nothing remarkable about the floor. Her mother’s words echoed inside her head. Seek out the Gimcrack. At its bottom lies the Tang Stone. At its bottom. Its bottom.

  She swallowed. Did that mean she had to wiggle her way into the creature’s…? She shuddered just thinking about it.

  The red rune confirmed her fear, indicating the smaller opening. A shiver of revulsion wracked her body.

  The floor of the stomach lurched and tossed her toward the smaller opening. She landed hard amidst a jumble of crushed stone, scraping her palms and bruising her knees. She lost hold of her staff and scrambled sideways to rescue it from a bank of churning rocks.

  Her eyes widened at the significance. The rocks were being moved toward the intestinal tunnel.

  Another convulsion threw her farther along the floor. She hung onto her staff at the cost of bashing her elbow.

  She screamed when the stomach lurched a third time and barely avoided being crushed by the layer of rock behind her as she slammed into the back wall.

  She was being digested.

  Eccentric Enemies

  Eccentric. The only word he could think of to describe his enemies. Where had they gone, and what were they up to? These were the questions Helleden asked of his minion Surgat, high atop the Wizard’s Spike after the demon reported the message his last pigeon had delivered from Dagan.

  While in Gritian, Helleden had dispatched his armies south of the Undying Wall before returning to the seat of arcane power he so coveted.

  “I don’t know, m’lord. Seems the northern wizard searches for something in the Altirius mountains.”

  Helleden paced the octagonal chamber pondering a course of action. It was time he re-entered the field to lead his armies, but his armies had run out of enemies.

  The kingdom of Zephyr lay under his control—a goal had sought-after for centuries. Many armies had tried to usurp the Svelte’s reign since Zephyr’s inception five hundred years ago, but other than his ill-fated foray two decades ago, no one came close to claiming the prized jewel.

  Surgat remained on one knee, his face close to the flagstone floor. That was what Helleden appreciated about his elite minions. They never questioned their role. They were like an extension of his thoughts. Whenever he willed something to be done, Surgat, Dagan, and up until a little while ago, Barong and the Sentinel, ensured it was completed. The Sentinel’s loss pained him most of all. The creature had been the ultimate beast. Reflecting back, it obviously hadn’t been good enough.

  His thoughts darkened. Up until a month ago, he was on the verge of becoming the only magic user left outside of the Wilds. There was also that old dragon up north but it remained holed up in its tower.

  The re-emergence of Phazarus, whose identity Barong had flushed out before the wraith’s untimely demise, had changed everything. One wizard was bad enough, but two Wizards of the North was incomprehensible.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, both magicians had subsequently vanished. One presumably searching for something to use against him, and the other into the Gulch of all places.

  Helleden ignored Surgat and gazed out the southern facing floor-to-ceiling window. “What are you up to, Phazarus?”

  “M’lord?”

  If Surgat had been anyone else, Helleden would have throw
n him off the Spike for speaking without being asked, but he was running low on competent servants.

  “The Gulch? The Gulch? What are you doing there?” He drummed his long nails on the pane. “Surely not to parley with the Aberrator…”

  That last thought wouldn’t leave him. The Aberrator was a diviner of death—a neutral magic user who didn’t partake in the realm of the living other than to ply his trade; depending on death to enact his dark rituals.

  “Not many survive the Gulch, m’lord.”

  Helleden’s shoulders stiffened. Was Surgat becoming brazen enough to voice his own opinion?

  The grey demon remained crouched on the floor exactly where he had dropped when first entering the wizard’s chamber. Other than his voice, he might be mistaken for a prostrate statue.

  Helleden sighed. He didn’t relish sending Surgat to a certain death but he had to know what Phazarus was up to. If the wily old wizard had turned the Aberrator to his cause, Helleden’s plans were in trouble.

  He had allowed his armies free rein of Zephyr to do whatever they pleased with whoever they came across, but that decision hadn’t worked out as well as he had foreseen. The surviving people of Zephyr had vanished.

  His armies had chased them to the southern ports of Ember Breath and Apexceal only to discover the seaports abandoned. Where had they gone? To the sea, obviously, but what was their destination?

  His shipbuilders worked feverishly day and night since capturing the seaports of Thunderhead, Storms End, and Madrigail Bay. Unfortunately, their efforts were being hampered by the scarcity of usable wood. His firestorms had seen to that.

  He smote the window with a closed fist, the large ring on his little finger clanging loudly. His builders were forced to harvest the northern Altirius forests, but the distances involved and the lack of seaports along the northern coastline had set them back. The latest report out of Thunderhead had the first war galley at least another fortnight away. The surviving Zephyr army might be anywhere by then.

  He briefly entertained the idea of marching into the Kraidic Empire and commandeering their fleet, but without an emperor to ease the way, his army would end up fighting with the Kraidic forces left at home. He dared not risk the Kraidic troops turning on him. Perhaps he had been hasty in ordering Karvus’ death.

  He struck the window again and strode over to Surgat. “Arise.”

  Surgat stood, his red eyes not daring to look Helleden in the face.

  “Look at me.”

  Surgat did.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “You are familiar with the Aberrator?”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Good. I need you to enter the Gulch and find out what Phazarus is up to.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Surgat responded without the slightest hesitation. There were only a select few who would volunteer to undergo such a mission.

  “If you find Phazarus, kill him.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Then be gone. Don’t return without the wizard’s staff.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” Surgat turned and was gone from the chamber.

  Helleden stared after the departed minion. He had a sinking feeling he would never see Surgat again.

  Pact with a Lunatic

  Alhena spread his arms wide on the banks of Splenic Splash, his staff’s light barely cutting the fog. If he was wrong about who approached, they were in serious trouble. He swallowed. Even if he was right, there was no guarantee that they would be allowed to leave the Gulch alive.

  The Aberrator wasn’t a well-balanced individual. Alhena liked to think of the man as unusual. Most people meeting the Aberrator for the first time would lean toward lunatic.

  The third blast of the horn was so loud Alhena flinched, but he remained motionless lest he be killed where he stood.

  Splashing water preceded one of the most bizarre spectacles he had ever witnessed. Out of the fog, a lanky, barely clad, dark-skinned man held a long whisker in each hand to steady himself—his feet resting on the gills of an elephant-sized catfish that whisked him across the water’s surface. Alhena jumped out of the way as its body slid halfway onto the shore.

  The repulsive smell of what Alhena presumed to be the rotting carcass of the catfish turned up his nose. The Aberrator’s ride had long since died, but being a necromancer, the crazed overlord of the Gulch never ran out of beasts to do his bidding. If they refused him while still alive, the Aberrator had a quick remedy to induce them to heed his command.

  A wooden mask painted in outlandish colours covered the Aberrator’s face. He leapt spryly from the fish’s back and landed noiselessly beside Alhena, his head bobbing up and down, inspecting Alhena from a hair’s breadth away. His head turned this way and that, emitting a strange tongue clicking noise. He pulled a length of bamboo from his back and shook it; an eerie rattle escaped the tube.

  Alhena knew better than to move. If the Aberrator thought for a moment that Alhena meant him harm, his minions would descend upon the group.

  “Pops, ye okay?” Olmar’s voice reached him but he dared not respond. He was thankful to hear Sadyra’s sharp tongue.

  “Shut up, Lunkhead. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Alhena tried not to cringe when Sadyra added, “I hope.”

  The Aberrator plucked at Alhena’s robes, sniffing them through nose holes carved into his hideous mask, before bending to stare into Alhena’s milky eyes.

  “Ah, bahahaha! You return, just like I predicted. You look old and terrible. I’m jealous. Who killed you? That’s my job. Bahahaha! We’ve foreseen it. Bahahaha!”

  Now that the Aberrator recognized him, Alhena allowed himself to relax. He forced a fake smile for the unpredictable conjurer. “No one killed me.” He ran his free palm over his newly grown hair. “I shaved my head to disguise myself.”

  “Bahahaha!” The Aberrator bent over double and slapped his thigh. “You killed yourself, more like!” He sprung into the air and confronted the startled faces of the others.

  “Nice! You bring me pretty gifts.” The necromancer shook his tube in the air, studying Pollard and Olmar. “I like them. Intimidating.” He leapt over to Sadyra, Rook and Larina, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “The others? Bah! Fodder.”

  Alhena strode up beside the Aberrator, pulling down his raised arm. “Ah, ah. Not so fast. They travel with me.”

  The Aberrator’s head leaned forward on an unusually long neck, his mask pushing against Alhena’s nose. “To death?”

  Alhena swallowed but remained impassive. “Perhaps. But, not here. Not now, anyway. We have an important mission to complete first.”

  “Ahhhh, but you promised. I’ve been looking forward to your return. It’s been over four hundred years since my last phantasma ritual. You’re my unhallowed sacrifice.”

  A low growl escaped Olmar. If Pollard hadn’t restrained him, Alhena feared their quest would’ve ended then and there. “It is okay Olmar. Let me handle this.”

  He placed an unsure arm around the Aberrator’s back and steered him away. He glanced over his shoulder at Olmar. “You see? Friends.”

  “I no be likin’ the look o’ this, Pops,” Olmar growled, straining against Pollard’s iron grip.

  “Your giant has the right of it, Phazarus. I don’t like what you’re telling me either. A shame the Lurker isn’t around anymore. That one’s a tasty morsel, hmm? Bahahaha!”

  The Aberrator’s high-pitched laugh made Alhena anxious. If he lost control of the unpredictable necromancer, Zephyr’s fate would be sealed then and there.

  “Last I saw of our scaly friend, he was alive and well. Lives up by the eternal land of frost and snow. Has his own tower, in fact. You should go see him.”

  “Fire breath has settled down? Perhaps a visit is in his future. He would be my crown jewel. I might even trade you for him…” The Aberrator’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Ahhhh. That gives me an idea.”

  Alh
ena swallowed. The Aberrator’s ideas were never good.

  “Since you’re too stubborn to die, I offer you this in exchange for the lives of your friends. Deliver to me the Lurker and I may even forgo our personal accord. What say you, oh mighty wizard?” The Aberrator shrugged free of Alhena’s grasp and danced around like a lunatic, gyrating his bare hips and shaking his matted, long black hair in a frenzy—an eerie wail escaping his lips. “Decide!”

  Alhena stepped back to avoid being clubbed by the Aberrator’s rattle. If he didn’t salvage the situation, they were all dead. “Deal.”

  The Aberrator didn’t take notice. His gyrations spun him ever closer to the group of bewildered quest members.

  Alhena raised his voice. If the necromancer got too close, Olmar and Sadyra would surely react. “Aberrator! I agree! I will deliver the Lurker.”

  The Aberrator stopped his frenetic dance just shy of Olmar who was struggling to break free of Pollard’s grasp. He skipped back to Alhena.

  “Really, Phazarus? You would do that for poor ol’ Abby?”

  Alhena sighed. “Aye. I know not how, but first my friends and I must tend to more important matters.”

  “More important than mine?”

  Alhena raised his thin brows. “More pressing.” He looked around as if noticing his surroundings for the first time. “Speaking of which, the Gulch does not seem to have suffered from Helleden’s firestorm.”

  The Aberrator straightened. His head tilted one way and then the other before he leaned in to place his mask against Alhena’s nose, his voice dangerous. “Do not insult me again.”

  Alhena swallowed but held firm.

  “That apprentice trickster has no power here.”

  They remained face-to-face for a long while before the Aberrator lifted his head high and laughed like nothing had happened. “Now be gone with you, but do not be away too long or I will come for you, Wizard of the North. Even if I have to tear down that anthill you call home.” He held out his hand for Alhena to proceed up the eastern path.