Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  Sadyra had met them on a day she had rowed a barely afloat skiff through rough seas, leagues down the coast from Fishmonger Bay, laden with her family’s weekly catch. She had just turned fifteen. Larina and Pollard were both a few years older and had known each other from Storms End.

  A sudden chill swept through her. What if she came face-to-face with her parent’s spirits? Would they exact their vengeance on her? She swallowed. A new concern to add to her heightening apprehension.

  Her mind reeled. What if her youngest sister were here? Did she blame Sadyra for leaving her and her middle sister alone with their parents? Sadyra didn’t think she could handle seeing Sable’s sweet, freckled face and trusting eyes.

  Tears welled, threatening to spill down her freckled cheeks. She should never have left her sisters with their parents. “Oh, Sable, I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s that?” Larina asked, looking at her curiously.

  “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  “You okay?”

  She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I’ll be better once we’re out of here.”

  Larina nodded. “You ain’t the only one. I think poor Olmar soiled himself.”

  Sadyra spit out an explosive chuckle. “Him and me both.”

  The group maintained a steady knot around Alhena’s light, unable to move any quicker than the pace the wizard set.

  Sadyra wanted Pollard to throw Gramps over his shoulder and run, but she was fairly confident Alhena wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.

  Olmar yelped and threw himself on the ground.

  Larina was on him immediately, attempting to drag him back to his feet. She may as well have tried to drag the Gerrymander across a gravel beach.

  Rook and Alhena jumped when Olmar screeched. They looked back momentarily and kept walking, not appearing overly concerned.

  Pollard, on the other hand, took Olmar’s fright to heart. He brandished his double sword in both hands, casting his gaze every which way at once.

  “Put your sword down, you big lummox. You’re going to impale one of us,” Sadyra said, adjusting her loosely nocked arrow and pulling back on the bowstring.

  “Ooooh!” Larina screeched. “Lunkhead, you’re impossible!”

  Olmar crouched face first on the ground, his rump in the air, trying to pull the sides of his leather cap down over his ears.

  Sadyra got a hold of her own nerves and stepped in to assist before her friend ended up killing Olmar.

  She caught Larina’s eye and motioned for her to get out of the way. When Larina was clear, Sadyra jabbed Olmar’s considerable rump with the tip of her arrow and screeched for effect.

  Never in her life had she witnessed someone move so fast. Olmar jumped to his feet and sprinted after Rook and Alhena faster than the finest of the king’s horses.

  Pollard, startled by the sudden movement and clearly unsure why Olmar had bolted, yelped and chased after him.

  Larina shook her head and jogged after the raving lunatic.

  Sadyra caught up and fell in behind Pollard—the creepy moans and eerie wails continuing to hound the group.

  Rook and Alhena walked along, ducking occasionally, as if pretending the noises were nothing more unusual than a walk through a low branched forest teeming with songbirds. Behind them, Olmar and Pollard jumped and jerked about, their clothing damp with sweat despite the cold in the heart of the Crypt.

  Sadyra settled in behind them, almost thankful for the distraction Olmar had precipitated. She smiled at the state of his clothing. If Olmar kept perspiring, he’d soon be skinnier than Larina.

  A breeze, stronger and colder than anything before, swept across her face. She dropped to a knee, her breath caught in her throat, ducking away from what she perceived to be an ethereal dragon swooping to pluck her from the ledge.

  She closed her eyes, stiff with fear, but the clasping talons never took her. When she opened them again, the dragon was gone. She swallowed and shook her head. What a foolish girl, she thought, but her attention was drawn forward.

  The causeway ahead shone brighter momentarily. She frowned but her attention was drawn to the rock beneath her feet. The slow arching pathway felt as if it had begun to slant downward.

  She bounced in between Pollard and Olmar. “Look, guys. The bridge is descending. We’re over halfway.”

  If the giants heard her, they didn’t let on. In fact, she found herself jogging to keep up. That puzzled her. Alhena never moved faster than a casual walk if he didn’t have to.

  She darted up to Rook and Alhena. “What gives?”

  Alhena’s eyes were haunting enough, but Rook’s displayed an inherent dread.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing!” Alhena snapped. “Try to keep up.” His milky eyes searched all around, his pace increasing. Sadyra noticed his staff shone brighter than usual. Almost as if he expected…

  Rook looked back at her, pulling an arrow from his quiver. “Alhena fire-balled a spirit.”

  Sadyra swallowed, her pace dropping off. He had done exactly what he warned them not to.

  Olmar and Pollard burst by her, weapons in hand, followed closely by Larina who gave her a questioning look.

  “Apparently Gramps shot a ghost.”

  “What?” Larina shrieked, an arrow in hand before Sadyra blinked—the cold wind blowing up behind them no longer just a gust of wind.

  Sadyra threw herself to the ground and rolled beneath a ghastly apparition of a flying skeleton, its bony fingers reaching out for her—missing their target by the smallest of margins. Was that her father?

  Larina cried out and sidestepped the attack, her actions preventing her from keeping her arrow nocked.

  A resounding crack of bones drew Sadyra’s attention to Olmar, the giant pummeled by the broken bones of what remained of the skeleton his black warhammer had smashed.

  Pollard roared, his primal battle rage banishing his fear. As long as Pollard remained alive, Sadyra no longer feared for herself.

  As if on cue, Pollard’s meaty hand wrapped around her upper arm and deposited her on her feet.

  A cacophony of guttural moans and ear-splitting wails echoed throughout the cavern with a horrendous din.

  Blasts from Alhena’s staff, alternating between fire and ice, flickered the tenuous light around them as they ran for their lives.

  Larina and Rook stopped frequently to see a ghoul materializing out of the darkness and let fly, but their arrows were useless against the spirits—nicking off bone or passing through their intended target. Even arrows scoring a direct hit proved ineffective—the spirits were already dead.

  Sadyra screamed.

  Pollard fell to his knees—two large skeletons on his back, pinning his sword arm.

  She dropped the arrow she had ready and shouldered her bow, her hands pulling two triple-bladed dirks from their holders on her hips all in one fluid motion.

  She leapt into the air and fell upon the largest skeleton. Driving the blades around the creature’s neck and twisting, her momentum carried her and the bony spirit from Pollard’s back.

  Pollard rose to his hands and knees, grabbed the second skeleton by its ribcage and pulled the offending creature free and smashing it against the bridge—its bony fingers leaving trails of blood where they tried to latch onto his thick arms.

  Sadyra hit the ground and rolled to prevent herself from being crushed beneath the skeleton caught in her grasp.

  It clawed at her face but she lithely bent out of harm’s way, her hands twisting the dirks with all her strength. Their rolling took them to the edge of the causeway but she refused to release her victim, her mind fully invested in the fight.

  One more roll and they would drop off the bridge. She squeezed her arms together and flicked her wrists. The skeleton’s spine severed in her grasp and the creature’s dismembered parts dropped into the abyss.

  She tried to keep herself from following the skeleton over the edge but the steepening angle of the drop-off accelerated her de
scent. She dug her dirks into the granite surface. Sparks flew. The sharp metal claws scraped at the unforgiving rock, but her legs were already flailing into the nothingness. As her hips passed over the lip, she tightened her stomach, flexed her abdomen and bounced off the edge of the bridge. The dirks flew out of her hands as she reached out and clasped a femur bone Pollard held out to her.

  Her momentum swung her through the air to land on the bridge a few paces ahead, her insignificant weight almost toppling Pollard over the edge. She yanked back on the femur bone, falling to her rump and stabilizing the big man.

  Both of them were on their feet in an instant; Alhena’s light fading in the distance.

  Twice Sadyra had to jump at the last moment to avoid tripping over the downed carcass of one of the spirits the others had dispatched.

  The din rising behind them made her slow down and look over her shoulder. She almost choked. The air was white with a solid wall of spirits closing in on them—the press so thick that any of the skeletons too close to the bridge were driven into the rocky archway and pulverized by the writhing mass.

  Sadyra’s caught up to the others. “Move faster!”

  The wall of bone was almost upon them. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, her feet keeping pace with the others even with her body half-turned. Firing an arrow into their midst seemed a silly thing to do, but she had run out of options.

  Olmar shouted out, his hysterical words incomprehensible.

  Pollard roared. He attempted to turn but Sadyra pushed him forward. He almost went down but recovered his balance.

  The first row of grasping, bony arms reached out, close enough to touch the ends of Sadyra’s flying hair. She shrieked and let the arrow go, expecting to be taken at any moment.

  A thunderous crackling filled the cavern as the causeway exited the cavern—the path disappearing into a narrow tunnel. Hundreds of skeletons exploded against the cavern wall outside the tunnel, but many others made it inside the passageway unscathed—landing on the ground and clattering after the company.

  Alhena threw himself against the wall to let the others pass. His staff pulsed and discharged.

  Sadyra dove out of the path of the sizzling lightning bolt. It crackled by her, standing her hair on end, and impacted the ceiling. A deafening concussion and a powerful shockwave brought the roof down, throwing everyone in the tunnel to the ground.

  Dazed, it took a moment to comprehend what had just happened, but when Olmar and Pollard saw that several skeletons that had made it beyond the cave-in, their faces lit up in wicked grins. Pushing past Alhena and Sadyra the giants engaged the remaining spirits.

  The eerie screech of skeletons being pummeled by Olmar’s warhammer and splintered by Pollard’s sword reverberated through Sadyra’s mind for a long time afterward. She’d never heard a dead creature die before. Their mournful cries would haunt her dreams for many nights to come.

  Flight of a Hero

  “Silurian, no!” Melody screamed, dropping her staff and grabbing her brother’s arms.

  Karvus turned into Silurian’s choke-hold, driving his hands between Silurian’s arms to break the grip. Soulbiter caught his cheek, cutting him deeply as he slipped free.

  Karvus grasped Silurian’s forearms and stepped in behind with his closest leg—his sheer body weight driving them to the ground.

  Silurian braced for the impact, desperately trying to keep his head from bouncing off the stone floor. The last thing he wanted was to leave Melody alone with the killer.

  Surprisingly, just before he hit the ground, Karvus yanked on his arms and laid him down gently, but the knee dropping onto his chest was anything but as Karvus thrust his hands out wide and to the ground.

  “Drop it,” Karvus snarled, his bearded face fierce. Blood dripped on Silurian’s forehead from the gash on the emperor’s cheek.

  Silurian tried to lurch sideways but he was no match for the brute’s strength.

  “Silurian! Listen to him. He wants to help.”

  Silurian scowled at the huge head glaring at him, daring him to try something foolish. “He wants to kill us, that’s what he wants.”

  Melody knelt down by Silurian’s head. “Let him up, Emperor. He won’t attack you again.”

  Silurian grunted, trying desperately to slip free of Karvus’ grasp.

  “I’m having a hard time believing you, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” Melody’s voice pitched higher than usual. “I’m no ma’am, I assure you of that.”

  Karvus sneered and released Silurian’s support arm.

  Silurian clutched the wrist of the hand Karvus used to pin the hand holding Soulbiter, but even with a free hand he wasn’t able to break Karvus’ iron grip.

  “Truce, tough guy?” Karvus snarled.

  Silurian wanted to spit in the man’s insolent face but thought better of it. There were chivalrous codes a man of valour didn’t break. Silurian rued the day he had taken his vows as a Knight of the Ivory Throne. If he hadn’t respected King Peter’s memory so much, he would’ve broken his vow right here. A dark thought he had hidden for years tried to resurface. Of a time long ago when his former self had done just that—broken that vow. He couldn’t allow himself to go down that path again. Instead, he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  Karvus released him and stood, offering him a hand up, but he ignored it—rolling onto his side and getting up himself.

  The two men glared death at each other.

  “If you boys are done wrestling, I suggest you save your strength. Neither one of you is in any shape to be fighting. If we want to get out of here before the aquacats return, we should turn our attention to getting some more rest, hmm?”

  Silurian’s sword hand went to St. Carmichael’s Blade’s pommel. The emperor flinched. Not enough to be seen by a casual observer but enough for Silurian to catch it.

  The Kraidic Emperor was wary of him. That silent confirmation placated Silurian’s anger for the time being. He’d still rather dispense of the Kraidic warriors and not have to worry about them killing him in his sleep, but for some reason, Melody believed they were useful.

  Silurian grudgingly enjoyed the fish Karvus had lugged up from the lake. He couldn’t recall eating anything other than that tooth-shattering wizard’s bread Melody kept pulling out of her magical satchel. One of these days he was going to investigate that bag more closely.

  Tygra had finally awoken. He suffered from an awful headache but claimed he didn’t feel too bad for having fallen down the shaft. The nasty welt on his face was noticeably painful but the emperor’s aide never complained.

  Melody spent a good part of the day healing each of them in turn, resting between each session. There was only so much she could do. She wasn’t a real healer. When she finished tending them, they gathered their gear together.

  Karvus stood at the bottom of the exit tunnel, looking up. “Are we ready?” He tested the strength of the rope.

  Melody forced a smile. “I think we are?”

  Silurian nodded, his leg faring much better.

  “We are,” she said. “We ascend in the same order in case the aquacats are waiting for us or Silurian has trouble.”

  Karvus scowled but stood aside.

  Silurian followed Melody up the rope, brushing away the help Tygra offered. Tygra followed and Karvus brought up the rear.

  Silurian wondered if the rope would hold their combined weight, fearing the spot the Kraidics had tied it off on had been compromised in the avalanche.

  The mood was somber as they climbed. Tygra and Karvus ascended as close to Silurian as possible, obviously expecting subterfuge when they reached the top.

  A considerable gap widened between Melody and Silurian. She went up the rope like she did this every day. Even if Silurian’s leg hadn’t pained him, there was no way he’d climb half as fast. He wondered if this was all she and Phazarus had done atop Dragon’s Tooth.

  She extended her staff into the open air and inspected the tunnel’s rim. �
��I don’t detect any lingering wards.”

  The light in the shaft brightened as she pulled herself over the lip and disappeared from view. Dirt and snow rained down on the three men still only halfway up the rope.

  Tygra grunted and stopped climbing.

  Silurian looked between his arms. Tygra had taken debris in the eye. Silurian didn’t bother waiting. The sooner he got out of the shaft the better.

  A muffled cry from outside raised Silurian’s fear, so faint it could have been mistaken for the wind. He stopped climbing. “Mel?”

  Not receiving an answer, he risked reaching over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword. He almost fell off the rope, but through his contact with the sword, he detected a presence similar to the one in Wizard’s Gibbet. A wraith!

  Strength flowed through St. Carmichael’s Blade, the earth blood enchantment awakening in the presence of danger. Hand over hand, he distanced himself from the traitorous men below. They had led them into a trap.

  A howling wind whistled across the opening, the sky a pale blue. Silurian popped his head into the sunshine, locating his sister at once.

  A wraith held her—her arms behind her back and a clawed hand wrapped across her mouth.

  She shook her head at him, her eyes full of fear.

  Silurian grasped at the rope above the entrance but he didn’t require any effort to exit the shaft. Clawed hands latched onto his hair and his cloak, yanking him unceremoniously out of the shaft and throwing him onto the snow-covered mountainside, dangerously close to the drop-off.

  He arrested his slide before he slipped over the brink and took in the scene, angry with himself for allowing Karvus and Tygra to fool them.

  A tall wraith draped in grey cloaks held Melody a short way up the slope from the fissure. He glared at the dark demon, upset with himself for not sensing the creature until it was too late.

  “Throw him off the cliff,” the wraith growled from beneath its raised hood.