The Seven Forges Novels

by James A. Moore

  “How do you suppose he died, Darsken?”

  The Inquisitor looked at the dead man and shook his head. “He died at sea, fighting the Sa’ba Taalor. He died as he was meant to die, as a hero.”

  “How do you know these things, Inquisitor?” Pella’s voice was soft and low and lovely. Her eyes looked into his and he smiled, content to know that he could drown in her eyes as easily as any of the Sisters. They could enchant a soul with ease and chose to leave his alone.

  “When he died he drove his ship to Louron.” He shrugged. “Sometimes the spirits find their way to us and we do what we can.”

  “Did he know he was dead?”

  “He did not. He had a small seed of talent. His anger was so great that he dragged the spirits of the dead with him. So, of course, we did what we had to, to help him. In another life he might have been a sorcerer. Instead he took to the seas and had his fun and games dodging the military and the City Guard.”

  Callan’s skin was cold, but surprisingly well preserved all things considered.

  Tataya almost asked, but before she could Darsken answered her. “It’s the waters. They are very cold and hold off decay. Now that he is here, on the land, the rotting begins.” He looked down at the man and shook his head. “A pity. I liked him.”

  “I remember you yelling at him very clearly.”

  “I had hoped to convince him to try a different career.”

  “Apparently soldier was not the right choice, either.” Tataya’s voice was touched by sorrow and she touched the captain’s face.

  Goriah’s voice was soft and cold, “Was it you, Darsken?”

  “Was what me?”

  “Did you silence the gods?”

  “Who am I to silence gods?”

  “There are many tales of what the Louron can do.”

  “Do any of those tales speak of silencing gods?”

  “Well, no, but it was not us.”

  “Had I that ability I would have used it long ago. The Louron do not believe in gods, after all, and having them silenced would work to our benefit.” Darsken rolled his shoulders. “We can call this one a war hero and give him a proper ceremony. He and his crew killed several of the enemy and foundered their ships. Besides which, he was a good man. I will send the City Guard to claim him before the birds can feast.”

  The Sisters nodded as one and moved with him. Darsken did not mind the company.

  Not far away a member of the Silent Army looked out at the waters, guarding against whatever might come.

  They were all disheartened. They were all, to the last, broken. They could not speak to their gods and that was as great a sin as if they’d had their ears ruined and their eyes cut out.

  Still, the Sa’ba Taalor were fighters. They moved across Fellein using whatever methods were available to them. Many walked, others ran. Some cut down trees and took to the waters, building small vessels to let them find their way to Wheklam. There were a lot of small boats and more stolen along the way.

  Tuskandru found his way home easily enough. He killed any of the Fellein who crossed his path on the trip and he took the time, now that the war was at least halted, to get to know Stastha better. They lost themselves in their lust and it eased the pain of their broken contact with the gods. At least for a while they could connect with each other. Also, his second seemed determined to break some kind of personal record. Who was he to argue?

  Every king made it back home. The first of them was Swech, who rode Saa’thaa to the mountain where Morwhen no longer stood as if her very life depended on her being first. In some ways it did.

  She followed the rules, of course, and made her way to the heart of the mountain, crawling and climbing as was needed.

  Through the Thousand Veils of Paedle she worked her way until, finally, she stood at the heart of the mountain, naked and afraid.

  “Where are you, Paedle? Why can I not hear you any longer?” The stone beneath her bare feet surged with warmth and she heard the voice of her god.

  I AM HERE SWECH, I HAVE NEVER LEFT YOU.

  She wept and dropped to the ground, pressing her face to the warmth of the volcanic heat below her. “I have been so alone, so very alone.” She wept. They were tears of joy at finding her world was not destroyed irreparably.

  THE DAXAR TAALOR LOVE YOU AS THEY HAVE SELDOM LOVED ANY OF THEIR CHILDREN. THAT IS WHY WE HAVE GIFTED YOU SO MANY TIMES.

  She nodded, feeling the love of the gods and returning it.

  “I thought you would make me kill him. I would do it, you know. If you asked, but I am grateful that you did not.”

  HE IS AS SPECIAL TO US AS HE IS TO YOU. MERROS DULVER HAS NOT YET COMPLETED HIS TASKS FOR THE DAXAR TAALOR. Swech felt the warmth move over her and concentrate on her belly, where the life within her continued to grow, a sign that she and Merros were meant for different things.

  IT IS NOT MERROS DULVER’S TIME AND IT IS NOT YOUR TIME. YOU HAVE MANY THINGS TO ACCOMPLISH IN OUR NAMES.

  Swech rolled over and looked up at the stone ceiling above her. At a distance she could see the opening to the heavens and the Great Star above her. For the moment she was content in the love of her gods and in the knowledge that they loved her still, despite her flaws.

  Her hand rested where the baby stirred inside her, growing slowly.

  It was enough. For now, it was enough.

  The Pilgrim listened to the words of Empress Nachia Krous and ignored them. Rebuilding themselves from the ground was easy enough. The giggling man, Nolan March, had found him and asked a simple question of him. He had asked if the Pilgrim could make the Sa’ba Taalor suffer.

  After consulting with the gods, he had said yes.

  The idiot godling fed power into the Pilgrim and the Pilgrim shared that power, bringing back the defeated Silent Army and then striking in a way the Sa’ba Taalor could never have expected.

  The Silent Army could not silence gods, but they came close. They deafened the followers of the gods. In time the effect would wear off. Eventually the Sa’ba Taalor would reach their gods and the connections would be reestablished. Until then the enemy fled, uncertain how to react when they could no longer hear their gods.

  It was a simple trick, really, but one with heart-wrenching implications. The Pilgrim and his faithful devotees would have been just as lost if their gods stopped speaking to them.

  Drask took little with him. He had little to take. His weapons stayed with Brackka and so they came along. Just to his side Tega rode in comfortable silence and Nolan March held onto her as he always did.

  He did not know how Nolan had silenced the gods. He did not care. The lad had ended the war and that was enough.

  “Why do you suppose he silenced the gods?” Tega was looking at Nolan as she asked.

  “Perhaps they offended him when they killed his mother.”

  “Did they kill her, truly?”

  “Swech did as she was told. She is no more responsible than a sword blade.”

  “Are you a sword in the hands of your gods?”

  “I am not Swech. Her faith has always been greater than mine.” He paused a moment. “Are you certain you want to come along?”

  “I cannot stay here, Drask. Desh will ask too many questions and I must have my time away from him before he learns what I did.”

  Drask nodded. Tega climbed atop the saddle and looked around as her mount purred.

  “Where are we going, Drask?”

  “Wherever you would like.”

  “You have no destinations in mind?”

  “I have not read a thousand books telling me of the past. I have only lived in the now. The past is as good a place to look as any, but you are the one who knows where wonders might be hidden.”

  “Perhaps across the sea.”

  Drask nodded. “Wherever you like. For now we can see the world and later we can consider what the world is trying to tell us.”

  “Can you still hear your gods?”

  Drask nodded. “They are angry with
me.” He tilted his head a bit. “They are also weak at the moment. Now is a good time to leave, before they grow strong again.”

  Nolan chuckled to himself as they started off. Sometimes Drask suspected that the boy knew more than he showed. On other occasions, he was certain of it.

  The World of Seven Forges Continues in

  The Tides of War Book I

  The Last Sacrifice

  One

  Four Coins

  Home.

  Was there ever a finer word?

  Brogan McTyre and his cohorts had spent the last eight weeks riding along the Hollum trails and the plains of Arthorne, serving as guards and guides alike to the merchant trains. It was hard work, and it was unfulfilling, but it put enough coin in their purses to keep them through the worst of the winters.

  Now, after two months’ travel, they were heading back to where they all wanted to be – except for Harper, who was seemed perfectly content wherever he settled. Back to their homes.

  The leaves had started their slow burn, and to counteract the oranges and yellows that imitated a hearth’s fire, the air had grown cold, and frost covered the ground every morning.

  That meant the air was chilled enough that every breath offered a gust of steam into the air and every intake sapped just a touch of the internal heat.

  Still, they were heading home.

  The Broken Swords were behind them. According the legends Brogan’s father had told him when he was a lad, the collection of mountains hid the remains of old giants, and the gigantic spears of crystal that thrust from the earth and stone of the area were supposed to be fragments of the giants’ swords.

  He didn’t believe the tales, but he remembered them fondly and had shared them with his own children more than once.

  A smile crept across his face as Brogan thought of his little ones. Braghe was his pride, of course, a hearty lad who at only five years was already an adventurer and constantly getting into battles with whatever monsters his imagination could summon. His daughters, the twins, were as lovely as their mother and happily too young for him to worry yet about the sort of lads who thought as he had before he married. Leidhe and Sherla were eight, and their hair was spun from the same fire as his. They had his locks and their mother’s looks. A combination that would doubtless cause him plenty of grief, as they became young women. Also like their mother, they were fighters. When they weren’t trying to be prim and proper they were out fighting imaginary beasties with Braghe.

  Much to their mother’s chagrin, they were seldom prim and proper.

  His smile grew broader as he thought of their mother. Nora was reason enough to come home and the thought of being with her again took a great deal of chill from the morning.

  “You’re thinking of your woman again, aren’t you?” Harper’s voice cut through his thoughts and he looked toward his lifelong friend. Harper was the only man he knew who looked as comfortable on a saddle as he did on the ground. There was something of a cat about the man. He seemed perfectly relaxed all the time, until you looked at his eyes. They were always moving, roaming even when his body seemed incapable of doing more than stretching lazily.

  “Why do you say that?” The thing with having Harper as a friend was you never knew when he was going to tease ruthlessly or try to provoke a fight. He looked calm but that meant nothing.

  “Because you’ve got that dreamy smile on your face again. You only ever get that smile when you’ve just been laid or when you’re thinking about Nora.”

  “How would you know how I look when I’ve just had sex?”

  “Because I’ve seen you after you get home to Nora as well as when you’re thinking about getting home to her.”

  Brogan shook his head and smiled. If nothing else he could always trust Harper to observe the world around him very well.

  “What are your plans for the winter, Harper?”

  “I’ll be finding a place to stay and a woman to keep me warm, I suppose.”

  That was always Harper’s plan for the future. It was as reliable an answer as could be found in the Five Kingdoms.

  Up ahead of them Mosely was rounding the final curve in the road leading to Kinnett. Not far from him stood Volkner, who owned the homestead nearest Brogan’s.

  The look on Volkner’s face when he saw Brogan was enough to cause the first panic to set in.

  Brogan urged his horse forward and kept his eyes locked on his neighbor, a dread sinking into his stomach that was deep and abiding.

  Mosely looked back over his shoulder as Brogan rode forward.

  Volkner’s dark eyes were wide and filled with sorrow. “Brogan, lad, I’m so very sorry. We’ve been trying to reach you. I sent Tamra to find which path you were on. He must have chosen badly.”

  “What is it, Volkner?” His voice shook.

  There are rules all people follow. Most of those rules are made by kings.

  Volkner’s hands were empty.

  “There are coins, Brogan. At your door. Four of them.”

  “Coins?” Brogan frowned and shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Volkner spoke again, carefully, with great emphasis, his eyes blinking wetly as he made sure Brogan was listening. “Coins, Brogan. There are coins at your doorstep. Four of them.”

  “No.” Brogan could barely speak.

  Harper came up from behind, his voice calm and cold. “Are you sure, Volkner?”

  The older man looked to Harper and a faint contempt painted his broad features. “Oh, I’ve seen them before, Harper. Not as many as you, perhaps, but I’ve seen them.”

  Brogan’s ears rang with a high, sweet note that tried to seal all other sounds away. “Have you looked in the house?”

  “It’s forbidden, Brogan. You know that.” There was regret in the words.

  “How long ago?” Harper again, asking the questions that Brogan would have asked if his heart wasn't trying to break.

  Volkner shook his head and spread his arms in a gesture of his sadness and frustration. “Five days since that I know of. I visited two days before that and all was well.”

  “Five days?” The winter grew in his chest.

  Without another word Brogan drove his horse forward, brushing past all of them on his way home. The gelding charged hard and the familiar landscape nearly blurred but it was not fast enough.

  His dismount was more of a leap than a proper climb from the saddle. Brogan only took five strides toward the door before he saw them.

  He had heard of the coins before. Had seen one as a child, but only the one and he had never touched the thing.

  That they were valuable was impossible to deny. Brogan could see the weight of them where they lay on the ground in front of his home. They were large and heavy and worth far more than he’d made in the last few weeks of travel. He stepped over them and opened the door, calling out to Nora and each of his children as he entered.

  It was a good place. He’d built it himself with the help of Harper and others. The people around him had helped as he had aided them when the time came. The town was good that way. He left Kinnett and knew that all was well with his wife and children, and that people as good and solid as Volkner were always there.

  But the coins were different, weren’t they?

  No one answered his calls.

  No one was home. He’d known they wouldn’t be. There were four coins, one for each of his children and one for his wife.

  When they came, when they took from a family, they always left one coin behind for each person they stole away.

  One coin for each and every sacrifice.

  “No.”

  He backed away from the door and shook his head, that feeling of dread growing more profound.

  “No. No. No. Nonononononononono….”

  The coins.

  He looked to the ground and saw them. Four coins. Just as Volkner had said.

  Without thinking about the possibilities, he reached out and touched them. They were weighty, to be s
ure. The largest gold coins he had ever seen or touched. The metal was as cold as the air, colder, perhaps, as he held them in his hands. They were marked with unfamiliar images and symbols.

  As he held them, Harper dismounted and came toward him.

  “Brogan….” Had he ever heard so much sorrow in his friend’s voice before? No, surely not. Harper was not a man who held onto his grief. He was gifted that way. When his mother died as a child he’d cried for fifteen minutes and never again that Brogan knew of. When his father grew ill and withered five years later there were no tears at all.

  “Harper.” He could barely recognize his own voice. “You know the Grakhul. You’ve dealt with them.”

  “Aye.” Harper did not turn away from him, did not flinch, but held his gaze. “What you would do, it’s forbidden. You know this.”

  “Four of them, Harper? My entire family?”

  “Brogan, it’s the law in all Five Kingdoms. ‘When the Grakhul offer coin it must be taken.’”

  “My entire family, Harper.” Brogan’s voice was stronger now. Louder.

  “Brogan.”

  “My entire family! How many do they take at a time?”

  “Four. You know this, too.”

  The world did not grow gray, as he feared it might. It grew red.

  “How long do they take to offer up their sacrifices?”

  “How would I know that, Brogan?”

  Part of Brogan knew Harper was trying to make him see reason. But where it mattered, Brogan did not care.

  “Is there a chance that my Nora is still alive?”

  Harper licked his lips. He looked as nervous as he ever had.

  “There is a chance, yes, but it is slim.” Harper held up his hand as Brogan started for his horse. “You don’t know where they are, Brogan.”

  “No. I do not.” He looked away from the gelding and toward his friend. “But you do.”

  “I cannot. You know this too.”

  “My entire family. All of them. Has that ever happened before?”

  “No one knows how they make their choices.” Harper shook his head as Brogan started walking again.