Soul Stealer: Legacy of the Blade

by Joseph J. Bailey

  He schooled me in lore lost to many outside the Empyrean Knights—enchantments offering protections against demons, means to heal, restore, and reinvigorate myself through higher Arts, ways to enhance the body and mind, and the intricacies of subtle arcana used to invest properly prepared items with power and purpose.

  He drilled me in ethics and logic, medicine and philosophy, and in moral imperatives, along with tactics and strategy.

  He showed me how to survive in a world inexorably falling to demonic infestation.

  He showed me more than I wanted to know, see, or experience.

  This was but one day of many.

  Each time I woke up, my head hurt from the evening’s strain—throbbing, aching, and on fire—and my body felt as though it had been tortured mercilessly on the rack after being run over by a stampeding herd of massive rhinoceros-dwarfing yurkas.

  Such were the joys of sleep.

  When I looked back on our dream journeys as best I could under the light of a pallid sun, the scope of these lessons humbled me. Since Alric’s knowledge was now my own, having but to unlock his experience and claim it through his willing tutelage, I was shocked by the speed with which he could fully impart this understanding to me.

  I felt more and more like I knew what he knew.

  I felt more and more like him.

  Despite this ever-growing gift, I struggled more and more to remain myself.

  “You will come to know these things instinctively without my instruction.

  “The more you access my knowledge and skills, the more adept you will be in learning from the soul you have taken.

  “Not only that, but if the lore I know of the Djen’toth is correct, honing your skills with me should facilitate the transfer, and give you further protections, when next you dip into the wells of another’s soul.”

  Great.

  Just what I did not want to do.

  Ever.

  Packing was easy.

  I put on the chainmail Mason had given me, made sure Lucius was in his favorite pocket and was willing to come along, harnessed Loer’allon, and left.

  I did not bother to shut the door.

  Okay.

  I’ve overstated my case.

  Leaving wasn’t that easy.

  But leaving my house was.

  Partly because I couldn’t shut the door.

  I also swung by Balde, purchased as much dried foodstuffs as I could carry in a small satchel, and got new clothing suitable for the rigors of the road, including a greatcloak enchanted to ward off the worst of the rain, heat, and cold that I would be exposed to in the weeks ahead, along with a pair of boots that I would not walk through two leagues from home. I also bought padded undergarments suitable for wearing beneath my shiny, not-so-new hauberk. A solid padded helm for my head and leather gloves to help protect my hands completed my upgraded ensemble.

  Given my hero’s discount, I could actually afford to buy all these things instead of only drool over them and pine for days when riches would fall from the sky like Angel Swords and I could conceivably buy them.

  In truth, many people just gave me what I wanted, allowing me to save what coin I had for the times to come.

  What I really wanted was a horse.

  The sooner I could return Loer’allon, the sooner I could come back…or go wherever I was going, which probably would not be back.

  Unfortunately, since the fall of the Empyrean Gate, the demons had made finding proper horses people were willing to part with almost impossible…that is to say, impossibly expensive.

  Even for someone with a hero’s discount.

  So I walked.

  Proudly.

  With my head held high.

  But I still walked.

  I imagined myself storming out of the town’s gates at full canter on a powerful, midnight-hued stallion, though.

  You can bet on that.

  “Exactly how long will it take to return Loer’allon?”

  “You cannot return a gift freely given, Saedeus.”

  I was not a fan of information that ran counter to what I wanted.

  Or what I was going to do.

  I rephrased. “How long will it take for me to return Loer’allon to the bastion of the Empyrean Guard?”

  “Kerraboer?”

  “Glibness does not suit you, Alric.”

  “Running away from your destiny does not suit you, Saedeus.”

  Alric obviously did not know me very well.

  And I thought we shared something.

  I must have been mistaken.

  “Kerraboer lies almost a thousand leagues to the south and east across the breadth of Maeron and the depravity that now wanders freely across the land, standing in defiance before the Chaos Gate.”

  His voice softened. “Though in times long past Kerraboer lay in supplication and stewardship before the Empyrean Gate and the Heavenly Host the fortress was built to uphold and serve.”

  Well, then.

  I had some trekking to do.

  A day’s walk south found me in the heart of Silvaeron, the vast forest sweeping across the entirety of the Northern Reaches below the Unbroken Range.

  Many were afraid to tread deeply within the Unending Wood, but I had spent my entire life wandering its glades, gulleys, and shadows. The wood was a magical place, full of wonder and beguilement, but, by and large, if you were smart and kept your wits about you, it was relatively safe and free of demonic taint. The farther north one traveled beyond Balde toward the forest’s true heart, the wilder the wood became, the land filled with the legacy of legends past and mysterious creatures rarely encountered by men.

  Truth be told, if the alliance of men and fey fell to the demons, Silvaeron might be one of the last vestiges of old Uërth left, its near limitless intrinsic magics protecting against the demons’ implacable advance.

  Only time would tell.

  But since this is my tale to tell, that is what I would like to think…and sincerely hope. For if any place on Uërth can be proof against the infernals, or serve as a bastion in worse times ahead, the Unending Wood is primary among the candidates.

  Even near the outskirts of the great wood, Silvaeron had managed to keep Balde relatively safe when many other towns and cities farther south were regularly preyed upon by demons or, worse yet, in utter ruin, their populations lost, scattered, killed, or corrupted.

  I did not want to leave her shade or shelter.

  Have I mentioned that I am not particularly brave?

  Or adventurous?

  Embarking on a journey that would take me out of the only place I had ever lived, the only place I knew that offered some protection from a world gone mad, certainly pushed what little bravery and sense of self-preservation I had to the breaking point.

  A point I was never far from.

  “Remember to breathe.

  “Not only is breath your lifeblood, and a means to regulate the body and mind, but it’s actually rather enjoyable to do.”

  Alric’s words reminded me of what I was not doing properly…or enough.

  So I did.

  If this were my last time to walk through Silvaeron along her many paths and ways, I might as well appreciate the trip.

  All around me, moss-dappled trees thrust skyward in riotous profusion, their mighty boles cloaked in crystalline symbiotes, jewel-like encrustations, and coralesque growths. Golden sunlight filtering through green leaves was transformed by the myriad vibrant magical symbionts thriving with the trees, cloaking the wood and its various plants, shrubs, and vines in kaleidoscopic resplendence.

  Harvesting both light and arcane energies, the wood held wonders beyond counting.

  It also held mushrooms.

  Many, many mushrooms.

  Lush and moist, fungal formations sprouted up wherever there was space amid the fertile organic matter carpeting the forest floor. So rich and vibrant was this forest sublayer that many naturalists said the mushroom shoals of the Unending Wood resembled not
hing more than the coral reefs found along the outer continental shelves worlds away in the warmer oceanic climes of the south.

  Never having left the wood, I couldn’t verify these claims, but I could appreciate my good fortune to live here.

  And the fact that many no longer dared to venture out.

  Which left more mushrooms for me.

  Sadly, these next few days might be my last glimpse of the first magic I ever saw in the world—that of my home.

  That demons might one day soon pervert its marvelous wealth, subverting it to their foul ends, provided the necessary fuel to keep me moving forward. Otherwise, I would have turned around long ago, Angel Sword or no.

  Alric gave me the silence of my own mind to admire what I might soon lose.

  For that I was thankful.

  I walked alone, lost in introspection, until the sun’s last light vanishing through the trees reminded me that the day was done and my walk with it.

  Dawn rose frail and wan through the thick, interlaced treetops, heavy with the threat of rain. Yesterday I had been visited with the rare treat of a cloudless day full of sun and warmth. Today looked to be more typical—cool, damp, and full of impending misery.

  I needed to adjust my mindset.

  With me wearing my new misery-repellent cloak, as opposed to my old threadbare clothes, the rain would not bring anything other than sustenance to the plants and creatures of the wood.

  With a newfound skip in my step, I broke camp, gathered my few belongings, and rejoined the trail where I had veered off it last night to rest.

  Sadly, my skipping did not last too long after the added load of the mail byrnie began weighing me down.

  Channeling my inner Alric, I tried my best to look on the bright side.

  Carrying the extra mass of the armor and supplies would slowly help me get in good enough physical shape to actually begin performing some of the drills and techniques Alric spent the majority of my sleeping hours running through in my mind.

  Inspired by my reminiscence, I unsheathed Loer’allon from where I had her strapped across my back and began practicing swipes, parries, and various guards while I walked, all the while adjusting my footsteps on the irregular terrain of the partially overgrown trail.

  Although I felt somewhat odd doing it—who works on their swordsmanship with a holy artifact from Heaven?—the effort was necessary if I wanted to survive once I left the forest’s shelter.

  Plus, watching the pure beauty of Loer’allon’s luminous blade slicing through the morning fog, the enlivening glow reflecting the water droplets in a bright, dancing nimbus, was worth experiencing any awkwardness I might have felt using the holy sword for something as mundane as practice.

  “This is exactly what Loer’allon is for, Saedeus: helping you be better, helping you feel better, helping you do better, that the world may be better.

  “There is no shame in using Loer’allon for her intended purpose, whether the deed is great or small.”

  I did not let Alric’s words break the rhythm of my strokes, but his advice was appreciated.

  I let my movements flow with more passion and enthusiasm, allowing any self-consciousness to fall aside in the dance of the blade and the play of light around me.

  There was, for a time, nothing else.

  The next several days passed in much the same fashion. I woke, walked, and practiced. Along the way, I slept and ate.

  Though I might have thought this repetition would be monotonous just a few days before, I found that the blade work was anything but.

  My mind and body were linked with the Loer’allon in one continuous refrain. Instead of growing tired from the exertion, I felt more alive and refreshed than I could remember.

  Even more surprising, I looked forward to doing more.

  “Keep this up and one day you might be able to call yourself a swordsman.” I could feel the approving warmth of Alric’s inner smile as he spoke in my mind.

  He had been largely quiet while I worked, letting me explore and exert myself on my own. For my part, I used his nightly lessons as inspiration to experiment with, play upon, and create my own solutions.

  I was just as thankful for the freedom as I was for the lessons that got me there.

  I knew I was reaching Silvaeron’s end when the trees began to thin and the firmament above began to grow more and more visible. The mighty giants of the forest’s heart were shrinking around me, just as the variety of vegetation and magical mutualisms dropped steadily.

  To someone untrained or inexperienced in the wood, the transition might have gone unnoticed, but to me it was profound. Not only were the colors becoming more and more muted but the living vibrancy of the forest dimmed and diluted as seen through my inner vision.

  Walking slowly out of the wood felt like gradually watching the color fade from the world. What had been rich and full progressively became dim and subdued.

  Saddened, I carried on.

  As if to distract me from my sorrows, Alric asked, “Have you ever given consideration to how or why your inner vision developed?”

  I really had not. What I thought of as my soul sight had just seemed to come to the fore over time, much like the subtle—and not so subtle—changes of puberty mounted until the differences were too acute to miss or ignore.

  The only recent drastic change in my life had been associated with the manifestation of my abilities as a Djen’toth, and I had not been able to explore the ramifications of that change in any real detail.

  They were just now beginning to sink in.

  “Not too much. My inner sight developed gradually until I could no longer ignore its presence.”

  “Have you ever thought that its expression might be one of many things about yourself you never noticed but that provided hints about what you truly were, about your true nature as a Djen’toth?”

  Now that he mentioned it, Alric had a point.

  I had just chalked up my ability as an innate talent in a world rich and full of magic. After all, mages, wizards, sorcerers, witches, and the like were in abundance.

  Or they used to be.

  Why not magical practitioners of lesser ability, with talents they were born with or later expressed?

  However, despite all the risk, and with little guidance or expertise, I had managed to handle and expose myself to more fungal species than many a royal mycologist would ever dare or imagine.

  Never once had I become sick or poisoned.

  Maybe Alric was on to something.

  Perhaps being as sheltered as I had been in the woods, seldom killing anything or physically touching what I killed aside from the mushrooms I harvested, had left me relatively insulated from my own abilities.

  Or maybe they were only expressed fully in a true crisis in a time of stress.

  I did not know.

  But I was sure to find out.

  After some time in silence, I said, “I think you may have a point. A very good one indeed.”

  In the next few days I only hoped I would not need to learn more about what I could and could not do.

  I was never so blessed.

  Of Storms and Ruin

  The old farmhouse looked like it had not seen human habitation in years.

  Its thatched roof was decaying and partially charred, though whether from a lightning strike that was quenched during a rain or some other less fortunate event I could not say. The broken front door yawned open onto darkness with the finality of a missing tooth knocked off a drunkard’s face. A covered porch made of splintered, sagging gray wood missing its steps offered a warm welcome to the many visitors that were not lined up eagerly out front. Completing the scene with dramatic finality, a pair of large skeletal oaks loomed over the whole structure—cadaverous arms surging up from the earth in a last struggle for life.

  All in all, the homestead was my kind of place.

  Despite its apparent decay, the croft’s stone walls appeared sturdy and unbroken.

  With the gray storm c
louds looming overhead, threatening a deluge at any moment, I thought it looked like a better place to sleep than in the mud.

  Plus it was significantly nicer than my home.

  There was that.

  But really, what wasn’t?

  As I trudged cautiously toward the house, Alric made his presence known. “You really must raise your standards, Saedeus. They are a reflection of who you are, what you expect, and what you think is possible for yourself.

  “You are capable of more than you believe.”

  Where was this voice years ago when I needed it?

  Surely the outcast orphan could have used such sage advice.

  “I hear what you’re selling, Alric.

  “And I’m not buying.”

  The closer I got, the worse the place looked.

  And I was not talking about its state of repair.

  People had been killed here.

  Lots of people.

  I could sense death’s pall like an open wound.

  Painful, burning, and refusing to heal.

  Getting stuck in the rain was starting to look better and better.

  Perhaps I should just turn around and head back toward the surety of the road and the rain to come.

  “There is a job for you to do here, Saedeus.

  “You cannot walk away.”

  Like the Abyss I couldn’t.

  I turned around and began walking back the way I had come.

  “Saedeus, if you do not act, others will suffer. This place will grow yet darker.”

  Was this the sound of my conscience speaking?

  I had stopped listening to its sad refrain years ago.

  “If you do not act soon, the evil in this place may grow strong enough to move northward.

  “Toward your home.”

  I had left my home behind.

  But not all the people in it.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, I said, “Let’s get this over with so I can get some rest.”