Shadow Soul
R. Michael Card
Contents
Shadow Soul
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
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About R. Michael Card
Shadow Soul
R. Michael Card
Their dragon blood makes them powerful… and a target.
So much in Jais’ life has changed far too quickly, forcing him to leave Klasten’s Green, the only home he’s ever known. Now, he and his two new companions journey to find more drahksani. Jais wants only to put the horrors of the past behind him and move on, but their search becomes perilous when a dragon hunter, a terrifying warrior, sworn to kill all drahksani, finds them. It seems wherever they go, danger and death follow. To Caerwyn’s horror it’s the same hunter who murdered her parents. Twice now he’s tried to kill her, and twice she’s lost her family. As much as Carewyn wants vengeance, the man is extremely dangerous, and survival comes first.
Except survival has never been more challenging, and as they quest north, meeting more allies and enemies, the lines between friend and foe begin to blur. Allegiances shift. Lives are torn asunder. Some will never leave the north, and others will never be the same.
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Shadow Soul
by R. Michael Card
Copyright © 2018 R. Michael Card
Published by Gryphon’s Gate Publishing
Cover Art by Darko Tomic
ISBN 978-1-988115-63-4
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual locals, events, or organizations is coincidental.
1
It was a beautiful summer’s day, and for just a moment, as she walked, Caerwyn closed her eyes and drank in the sensations of the afternoon. She tilted her head back to feel the sun’s warmth full on her face. A pleasant, cooling breeze ruffled her clothes, tousling the stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail, in a refreshing counterpoint to the heat of the day.
Where she’d grown up — in the Afgenni lands far to the South — the wind wouldn’t have been half as pleasant, hot and blasting. There was no respite from the heat of summer, even in shade. It sat on you, a physical thing, oppressive and heavy. In the rainy season, there was shade enough, but the heat was made worse by the moisture in the air, from which there was little relief. In the dry season, the air sucked moisture from a person, desperate and unyielding. It was a harsh life, but she’d loved it.
Here in the North, the summers were much milder and more pleasant, it seemed.
Other sensations came to her, clear and crisp, while her eyes were closed. The rough rope in her hand, the clop of hooves from the donkey behind her, the creak of the wheels of the wagon it pulled. Birds sang in the forest to her right which bordered close along the road they traveled. Their calls were light and cheery and made her heart feel lighter as well. Not that her heart was that heavy these days, just… uncertain.
She’d been traveling with Jais of Kilian’s Hollow for nearly a month, moving north and east along various roads like this. They had grown closer in that time, and yet also more distant. They were friends now and firmly so. She trained him in various combat techniques when they stopped at night and before they began in the morning. He was getting good too, improving with every session, drinking it all in, and now bested her roughly one time in six. Yet still, his natural talent carried him more than his skill, but he was getting closer to a tipping point. Caerwyn hoped that soon he’d advance from his initiate’s ways to become a steady warrior, less raw, more refined.
This made him a fine addition to the team, which had been just her and Barami — her stalwart companion from the South — for so long. As a friend and fighting companion, Jais had knit quite well into their little group. But as anything more…
Caerwyn had come north looking for a mate, someone with whom to have a child. She didn’t know where her intense desire to bear offspring had come from, but after her exile from her home in the South it had come on strong and never let up. She didn’t need or want a husband, no connections of that sort. She needed only the child, one of drahksani blood.
When she’d first met Jais, she’d thought him an ideal match for her, and so a good potential mate to give her that child. But now… she was certain, despite all their camaraderie, that Jais wasn’t the man for that. He was young and unable to dissociate the intimate act from their friendship. He’d admitted as much. If he was going to have a child, he’d want to be a father and a husband — which didn’t work for her.
She was better on her own and always would be. She’d had far too many close friends and family ripped away for one reason or another and remained wary of getting too close to anyone. She never wanted to feel that pain again.
Though, she did have Barami — as close a friend as any. He hadn’t left her.
The big, dark-skinned warrior hadn’t changed much this last month. He was still his old self, protecting her and pining for her in equal parts. He’d accepted Jais into their group after a little adjustment, though he still called him Brakka half the time, a reference to a large and stubborn beast of burden in the South. Jais didn’t seem to mind the name.
Opening her eyes, she glanced around. Barami and Jais were both ahead of her, talking quietly. She took a moment to size them up, comparing the two, as they were quite opposite in appearance.
Barami was tall, taller than Caerwyn herself by a half a head. His skin was a deep brown, his head bald. He moved with the easy grace and readiness of a tested warrior. Strapped to his back was his shield and his large sword, Oken Adi — which meant “stalwart friend” in the Southern tongue. Pretty much the only attribute he shared with Jais was a well-muscled frame. He was old for a warrior, a few years past forty.
Jais was shorter and broader through the chest and across his shoulders. He was perhaps just a touch under average height for most men, but he made up for it in bulk. He was thick with muscle… everywhere and incredibly strong. This was a gift of his drahksani heritage. A heritage she shared with him and which provided her own build and strength. Jais looked younger than he was, perhaps five years less than his twenty-two years of age. His skin was well tanned, his light brown hair long and shaggy — awkwardly shorn by knife to keep it out of his eyes since he wore it loose. It blew about his head in the light wind. His gait as he walked was more th
e rolling stride of a farm boy than a warrior. That’s what he’d been a month ago, when she’d met him; A hunter and woodsman leading a simple life. That had all changed the day she’d arrived, and they’d gone off to hunt krolls — massive misshapen beasts who knew only hunger and destruction. He hadn’t held a sword before that day, and now two blades sat in scabbards across his broad back.
He’d been so innocent then, thinking he wanted adventure, pining for a good fight. In some ways, he remained innocent, but in others… He’d watched his family, and the girl he loved, die. He’d faced horrible creatures and come out of it changed.
She sighed.
She wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Yet he represented so much for her… mostly hope. She’d found one drahksan and perhaps together they could find others.
And maybe somewhere down the line she’d find someone to give her the child she so desperately wished for.
An arrow hit the ground just behind the two men up ahead.
Perhaps it was Caerwyn’s distracted thoughts which had made her careless. She hadn’t heard the twang of a bow-string. She was shocked into alertness, but the damage had been done.
Barami’s grunt of pain came a moment later as he crumpled to his knees. The arrow had gone completely through his abdomen toward the right side. He was alive… for now, but he wouldn’t be participating in the fight to come.
The shot had come from the forest to their right; a high vantage point.
She dropped the rope leading the donkey and wagon and threw herself to one side, toward the forest, drawing her short sword as she rolled up behind a tree. A quick glance around showed Jais doing something similar, though he’d come up behind a jagged stump and had to stay in a crouch to remain hidden from their unknown assailant.
Her heart raced, ready for battle, but she calmed her mind. She couldn’t think of Barami right now. End this fight quickly then hope to Suur he was still alive. Which meant she couldn’t wait for the assailant to come to her. He could remain hidden and pick them off when they came out of hiding. She was fairly certain it was only one foe, or at least only one with a bow. Otherwise, there would have been more arrows at the same time. If this had been bandits, they’d have tried to eliminate as many as they could with ranged weapons first.
She spun out from behind the tree and darted to another one. As she did, she glanced in the direction she thought their attacker might be. She hoped to see if he had any companions or get a sense for his location. She got lucky. She saw a man dropping from a tree branch, bow in hand. Now the question became… was he the only one?
Yet even though she’d only gotten a passing glimpse of him — her breath caught. It might have been only a glimpse, but she knew this man. She would never forget him.
He was the same man who’d ruined her life… twice.
She called out to Jais, needing to warn him. “Jais, careful! It’s a dragon hunter!”
Dragon hunters had come out of the great purge of drahksani, dozens of years ago. After the wars which had killed off so many of their kind, the remaining drahksani had gone into hiding. These men had been trained to find and kill drahksani.
This same man had killed Caerwyn’s parents, her birth parents, nearly thirty years ago in the far western kingdom of Domara. Then he’d found her again just a little over a year ago in her adoptive home of the Afgenni Empire in the Far South. How he kept finding her, she had no clue, but today she’d end his quest against her once and for all.
She darted around her tree and charged toward the spot where the man had been. He was still there, arrow nocked and ready. She ducked, and dove into the underbrush, slamming against a tree, scraped and bruised for her effort, but she’d avoided the arrow.
“I’ll kill you, Gosse!” Perhaps she should have kept quiet, but she couldn’t help herself.
She’d learned his name last year when he’d gotten her exiled from the South after exposing her as drahksani, and it had been seared into her memory.
Laughter greeted her, but not for long. He didn’t want to give away his position.
“Caer!” Jais’ urgent call caught her attention. He was peaking around at her from behind the stump he used for cover. Her charge a moment ago had put her ahead of him. He showed her his bow, now strung and an arrow nocked. The message was clear: she needed to draw Gosse’s attention so Jais could pop up and fire. The only question would be, did he have a clear shot?
She hoped so.
She let out a war-cry, a wordless sound of fury, and spun around from behind the tree — charging at where Gosse had been a moment before. He wasn’t there now. Looking around frantically as she ran, she couldn’t see him. When she reached where he’d been, she spun around.
Her keen ears heard the nearly simultaneous twang of two bowstrings.
She had to move to see what was happening. Through the trees, she caught sight of Jais running to the edge of the forest. Gosse sprinted away from her, he’d dropped his bow and had a sword out. Jais was half turned away from her, clutching his side, and drawing a sword.
She’d end this now.
“Dav—” She cut herself off. Her magical spear Davlas was no more. Summoning it was a habit she hadn’t broken, apparently. She had bought a few regular spears… but they were not on her. They were in the wagon.
“Suur’s Sweaty…” She gritted her teeth and instead drew out her sling from one pouch, and a stone from another. She loaded the leather cup, swung, and released.
Gosse dove out of the way at the last second, and the stone instead struck Jais in the shoulder.
“How…?” She felt a chill take her. She dare not fire again.
Putting away her sling, she ran toward the two. She pulled her shield from behind her, sliding it on her other arm, then drew her sword again.
But she couldn’t seem to make her legs work fast enough. Jais was faltering, her wound to his shoulder hampering him as was the one on his side. He could only use one sword, in his off hand. His other hand held the gut wound, staunching it. He was retreating, moving farther from her.
It was clear Gosse was the better swordsman and would win this fight… if Caerwyn hadn’t been there.
She yelled again. She didn’t want to. She’d hoped to have surprise on her side when she came in behind Gosse, but she needed to distract the man, get him away from Jais.
It worked.
Gosse stepped back and away from Jais, to one side, though not before a quick flick of his sword send Jais’ blade out of his hand. Jais was defenseless, but she was getting close and Gosse was focused on her now.
She lashed out with all the pent-up fury built up over the last thirty years. She couldn’t help it. She knew somewhere in her head that she should be cold, calculating, that emotions only got in the way in a fight, but her heart wouldn’t listen. This was the man who had killed her birthparents and taken her family from her twice! He would get no quarter.
But by all the gods, he was good!
It occurred to her only then, that she’d never actually seen the man fight. She’d been spared from seeing his encounter with her parents, and when he’d found her in the South, he hadn’t need to fight, just let everyone know she was a drahksan. They’d turned on her and done the rest.
She could tell Gosse was clear of mind, eyes focused. His sword moved with swift precision to block her attacks. He fought with two weapons, but the other wasn’t a full sword, just a long dagger. Even though he was old for a human — hair gray, skin worn and wrinkled around his eyes — he was still amazingly fast and agile. He was not a big man, but he did have more years of training than she, and it was clear he kept himself in prime form.
He ducked under a slash from her sword and danced away. Her sword wasn’t as long as his, so she had to get in closer. It was to his advantage to be farther from her. She lunged in and swatted his sword aside with her shield. But that left her open as he threw that off-handed dagger. She ducked and tried to charge in close while he was defenseless on his off-hand side,
but then a faint noise from behind her caught her ear.
A grunt of pain.
No.
She bashed him aside with her shield as she drew close then drew back herself, glancing toward the sound. Jais had his bow in hand, good… but Gosse’s dagger was now stuck in his shoulder, the unwounded one.
Jais was still up and clear of eye, but pain was evident on his face. He wouldn’t be able to use his bow. He took up his sword once again and drew close to the fight.
She couldn’t decide if this was a good idea or not.
Jais was good, yes, but they hadn’t practiced a lot of two on one fighting. One had to be very careful when fighting along side an ally against a single opponent, as it was easy to get in each other’s way. She prayed to Suur that wouldn’t happen.
Without his dagger, Gosse had turned side-on to her, his sword arm out in front — less of a target. Unless she was going to chop his arm off first, she would have even more trouble getting in close to use her shorter weapon.
She circled him, hoping to get Jais behind him, but he was too smart for that. He kept dancing back away to keep them both in his field of view. The best she could do was get around to one side, directly across from Jais, who’d moved in closer by now. Jais wasn’t looking so good. He hadn’t removed the dagger from his shoulder, and the wound was bleeding profusely. He was managing to keep the injured shoulder still at least, using that arm to press the wound on his abdomen on the same side. That meant he was wielding his father’s sword in his off hand, using the shoulder she’d wounded earlier. He tried a few test lunges at Gosse, but the man would either move back or turn the blade away.
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