Twin Soul Series Omnibus 2: Books 6-10

by McCaffrey-Winner

  “We discovered him in the frozen wastes, like your friend, Pallas,” Ophidian replied. “I took him —” he paused, continuing “— I took him to a place some of you know.”

  Annabelle and Reedis exchanged looks.

  “Don’t say it,” Ophidian told them warningly. He waited until he caught their agreement, then continued, “There was a child there. The dragon needed a twin soul. The child was near death. They bound to each other.”

  “But the child died,” Rabel guessed. “He died and Jarin has been alone for…” his brows creased and he turned to Ophidian. “... how long, now?”

  “I sent him with Wymarc,” Ophidian said obliquely.

  “You sent him to me,” Rabel said, his expression bleak. “You wanted me to twin with a dragon?”

  “You are more than worthy,” Ophidian said.

  “What about my daughter?” Rabel demanded angrily, jumping out of his chair.

  In a pained voice, Ophidian replied, “Forgive me. I hadn’t thought… I was desperate.”

  Rabel took a deep breath and met the dragon-god’s eyes. He sat back down with a sigh, raising a hand toward Ophidian. “You thought of your son.”

  “I think of your daughter now, too,” Ophidian allowed. “I learned a lesson.”

  “But—” Annabelle glanced over to the dragon-god “— Jarin is now like Pallas?”

  Ophidian gave the barest nod of his head.

  “And if we cannot help him?” Rabel asked. He frowned, turning to Annabelle. “Who is Pallas?”

  “Another one of Ophidian’s get,” Reedis replied. He glanced toward Rabel, his lips twisting into a smile, “Do you recall Crown Prince Nestor?”

  “That fool!” Rabel roared. “What of him? Did he outlive Captain Ford?”

  “Very much so,” Annabelle said. She made a face. “And you might not think him so foolish these days.”

  “Indeed,” Ophidian agreed, turning to Rabel, “even I was surprised by his actions.”

  Rabel raised an eyebrow in response: the dragon-god had lived a very long time — surprising him was rare.

  Annabelle glared at the dragon-god as she guessed his plan. “You want one of us to twin with Jarin?”

  “And live forever,” Ophidian offered. “Ellen, Imay, Rabel, mage Reedis, and Annabelle are all very suitable candidates.”

  “Captain Ford was a suitable candidate,” Reedis muttered darkly.

  “Was?” Diam said, glancing to the others. “And what happened to him?”

  “Pallas was angry and hurt,” Annabelle said defensively.

  “She ate him,” Reedis explained, using his hands to illustrate jaws snapping shut. He shook his head. “Took two bites.”

  “Perhaps, mage,” Ophidian said, his eyes glaring, “it would be best if you were quiet.”

  Reedis gave him a look of alarm and snapped his mouth shut.

  “Actually,” Annabelle said, “I think that everyone should know what they’re getting into.”

  “Ellen is too young,” Rabel said. He pursed his lips and glanced at Imay.

  “I have obtained my majority,” the zwerg princess told him levelly. She nodded to Ophidian. “What must we do?”

  “Jarin is male, is he not?” Queen Diam said, glancing to her daughter.

  “Pallas is female and it didn’t stop her twinning with Nestor,” Annabelle said brightly.

  “Gender is not an issue,” Ophidian said. “In most instances, the difference proves advantageous to both.”

  “Should I make another love potion?” Annabelle asked the dragon-god. Ophidian shook his head. “Why not?”

  “Let us go see my son first,” Ophidian said, rising from his chair.

  “Ophidian,” Queen Diam remained seating. The dragon-god turned back to her. “What if you can’t find a twin soul for him?”

  “In time, I am sure that he will be united,” Ophidian said slowly. He cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps he can stay in your treasury until then?”

  “My treasury will be moving shortly,” Diam said. Beside her, Granno sounded surprised. She turned to him, saying, “He’s a god, Granno. He’ll figure it out.”

  Ophidian’s eyes lit with some hidden amusement but he nodded sternly to the zwerg guard. With a nod to the queen, Ophidian headed for the door, expecting that the others would follow him.

  “You know,” Reedis called calmly from his chair at the table, “I’m not sworn to you.”

  Ophidian nodded and spoke, without turning his head. “You’re a mage of hot and cold.”

  Reedis acknowledged this with a quick nod and appreciative smile. As Ophidian and the others exited, his smile grew slack and then an expression of alarm overtook his face. He jumped up and raced to join the others, elbowing them aside until he was just behind Ophidian.

  “Glad to see that you can think,” Ophidian muttered as he pressed on toward the treasury.

  Chapter Six

  “Set course nor’-nor’-east,” Captain Nevins told the helmsman as Harbinger rose above the rooftops of Kingsford at the fall of night two days after her maiden voyage.

  “Nor’-nor’-east, aye, sir,” the helmsman repeated.

  “What speed, sir?”

  “One third power, if you please,” Nevins told the mechanic, Dalton, whom he’d pilfered from Pace when he’d switched commands after proving that the old Navy captain was a complete incompetent. He smiled briefly as he turned to the taffrail, removed his cocked hat and waved it to the ship following behind.

  Captain Walter strode to the bow, removed his hat and waved it back in reply. The former lieutenant was more than grateful for his promotion and, being also competent, was a welcome addition to Nevins’ little fleet.

  Besides, Nevins thought to himself, with him there by my hand, he’ll not question my orders.

  “Mage Borkin,” Nevins called softly in the night air. A rush of feet brought the young mage into his sight. “Is everything in order?”

  “Yes sir,” Tortis Borkin said with a salute that nearly knocked his brimless sorcerer’s hat off his head.

  Nevins lowered his voice. “And… the men?”

  “Ready when you are, sir,” Borkin replied in the same low voice.

  “And they’ve been getting their drink?” Nevins asked with hooded eyes. “I wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen to them before we complete our mission.”

  “Watered and fed as you requested, sir,” Borkin replied. “And I’ve had them prepare a special part of the hold and spelled it with alarms and charms.”

  “Very good,” Nevins said, allowing his lips to curve upwards. “It will take us a day or more to reach our destination.”

  “And then, sir?”

  “Pace will begin collecting the dragon-steel while we undertake our own… investigations,” Nevins told him.

  “Half the men are miners, sir,” Borkin told him, “just as you requested.”

  “We’ll draw powder and shot as needed,” Nevins said. “I don’t doubt we’ll have to blast our way in.”

  Mage Borkin frowned. “And then, sir? The zwerg won’t like us taking their gold.”

  “I doubt they can fly,” Nevins said.

  “It’ll take a lot of gold to satisfy a dozen men, sir,” Borkin said uneasily. “Maybe more than I can lift.”

  “Then it is just as well that I only need you to lift enough for two,” Nevins told him. He pointed to the mage and himself.

  “And the others?”

  “Just see that they’re fed their drink regularly,” Nevins told him. “Leave the rest to me.”

  #

  “Make way, make way!” the guard bellowed. “All bow before his majesty! Bow before King Wendel, Prince of the Pinch, ruler of the rightful kingdom of Soria, and mayor of Sarskar by the grace of the gods!”

  The mob moved o
ut of the way or were trampled as the king’s guard broke way for the royal presence.

  “Ruling the capital seems awfully complicated if you ask me,” Queen Rassa said as she rode side by side with her young king. Wendel inclined his head towards hers. “Why not let Sarsal take that burden off your hands?”

  Wendel frowned in thought and shrugged. “He’s young, why add to his burdens?”

  “He’ll be king someday, as you promised,” Rassa replied. “Why not let him have a taste of power now?”

  Wendel waved a hand at her in acknowledgement. “I’ll consider it.”

  “That’s all I ask, dear,” Queen Rassa purred in response. She knew that she had only to ask three or four more times and Sarsal would rule the capital. She eyed Wendel fondly, wondering if the King had any inkling of the doom that would soon befall him. “That’s all I ask.”

  “Very well,” Wendel replied. They entered the courtyard of the palace and drew to a halt. Wendel jumped down from his mount, tossed the reins to his squire and turned to face his queen. “I’m very sorry, but I am going to be stuck with the generals this afternoon.”

  “Oh, dear!”

  “Will you cope?” Wendel asked solicitously.

  “I worry about you more than I,” Queen Rassa replied easily. “After all, heavy hangs the head that wears the crown.”

  Wendel smiled up at her. “It is a crown I am glad to wear as it makes me your king.”

  “Always,” Rassa swore. She waved a hand. “Go! Seeing you return will lighten my heart!”

  Wendel bowed to her, turned on his heel and strode quickly up the stairs to the castle proper, certain to complete his meeting with all the haste that a randy young lover could compel.

  Rassa smiled until he was out of her sight, then she dropped her reins and called to the servants below her. “Someone help me down!”

  #

  Wendel’s spymaster met him outside the great hall.

  “I’m worried about the border, sire,” the man said. He was the second to hold the post in the past year — the other had tediously implied that Queen Rassa might not love the king as much as he was certain she did and so had been replaced. The one before that… well, Rassa was certain that he was in league with those loyal to the old king… so he went, too. He was a good actor, too: he pled his innocence all the way to the point where the executioner separated his head from his body.

  Wendel had grown up in the Pinch: the open valley between the mountains of the three kingdoms. The Pinch was the heart of all rootlessness, treachery, and betrayal. He knew how such things worked. When he met Rassa it was to discover that she was not only above such things but so pure of heart that he just had to free her from horrid old Sorgal. Besides, the king was not a good fighter and Wendel had no respect for those who couldn’t fight.

  So, with Rassa’s fervent urging, Wendel found a way to kill the king and make it look like some of the villains of the Pinch had been responsible. Queen Rassa, in her grief, had begged him to take the throne. And so now Wendel was King of all Soria. And he had plans.

  Plans that did not include getting tied up with boring spies and generals. Plans that had more to do with ensuring the royal line. Or, at least, attempting to continue the royal line. Sarsal was a stand-in until he and Rassa could create a better prince. He smiled to himself as he considered how he might ensure such a creation later that evening.

  “Which border?” Wendel asked testily. “Aside from the Pinch, which I rule, all our other borders are mountain passes and our neighbors too small and fearful of our might and prowess.”

  “I have heard nothing from the south for nearly a week now, sire,” the spy told him solemnly.

  “What?” Wendel roared. “You are complaining when no one gives you work?” Drat, what was the man’s name again? Wendel thought in irritation. Something vital. And trying. Trystan Vitel, that was it! “Spymaster Vitel, I don’t know about you but when I have a chance to relax, I take it.” He peered down at the thin, nervous man. “And if I were you, I’d definitely take any chance to look after my health.”

  “Sire, you are too kind,” Spymaster Vitel returned smoothly. “And it is in the interest of my health that I bring this matter to you.”

  “Which matter?”

  “The matter of the south, sire,” Vitel said. “We usually get messages once a day, particularly from Korin’s Pass.”

  “Korin’s Pass?” Wendel frowned trying to recall where it was. He was very intimate with the tumbled geography of the hills and mountains around the Pinch and he was becoming used to the streets of hill-high Sarskar but the rest of the kingdom was still a bit of a blur and a bore to him. “Don’t we have guards at the Pass?”

  “Not only guards but the East Pass Fort, sire,” Vitel assured him, politely filling in the gaps in the king’s knowledge. “Captain Berold is constantly in communication, as is the mayor of the village of the same name.”

  “What, there’s a village named East Pass Fort?”

  “No, sire,” Vitel replied easily. “There is a village named Korin’s Pass. It’s on our side of the pass and we have a customs patrol there to tax any goods coming into the kingdom.”

  “Good,” Wendel said. He turned toward the doors of the great hall. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my generals await.”

  “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, sire,” Vitel pressed.

  “Well, you have, thank you very much,” Wendel replied, stepping past him and into the room where several generals looked up with interest. Wendel shut the door firmly and stepped down into the room. “Pardon me, generals, but there was a man who had to talk with me.” They all dutifully rose as he moved to the head of the table and took his seat. “I hope this won’t take long.”

  General Armand, who sat at his right, glared at the other generals in warning before turning to the king. “I’m sure we can expedite, sire.”

  “Excellent!” Wendel said, beaming. He nodded to his senior general. “So, what news?”

  “I’m afraid we’re not getting much news from the South Pass, sire,” General Armand spoke quickly. “I think that Vitel has informed you of his concerns regarding Korin’s Pass —”

  “He said something about it, yes,” King Wendel said with a frown. He tried to recall the conversation but was distracted by the thought of his queen. Rassa would be so pleased to see him. She always said so. He shook himself back to his duties. “This South Pass, where is it?”

  #

  “You look troubled,” Crown Prince Sarsal said as he spotted the spymaster loitering outside the grand hall. “What is it, my friend?”

  “Sire,” Spymaster Vitel said, giving the crown prince a quick bow. He glanced toward the doors of the grand hall and back to the prince. “I really need to tell the king —”

  “I am his heir, I can speak with him,” Sarsal said quickly. He gave the spy a conspiratorial smile. “Sometimes I think our liege is perhaps too happy to have my mother’s affections to pay attention to much else.”

  “He does seem… very attached,” Vitel said diplomatically. “But I worry…”

  “About what?” Sarsal said, moving to the spy and gesturing for them to walk together. “Tell me your concerns and I’ll relay them to our lord, you have my word.”

  “Well…” Vitel began hesitantly. “If you insist, my prince.”

  “I insist,” Sarsal assured him with a quick smile. “Now, tell me what is gnawing at you so?”

  #

  “So, Baker, can you handle it?” Colonel Marchant asked his newest battalion commander as they prepared to march through the five-mile stretch known as Korin’s Pass the next day.

  “Yes, sir,” Major Baker replied curtly. “My men are to act as skirmishers, moving forward as swiftly as possible and masking any opposition.”

  “And we don’t expect any opposition,” Colonel Marchant s
aid. “Unless the zwerg attack us.”

  “Of course, sir,” Major Baker said, finding nothing else to say.

  Colonel Marchant clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man, you’re to be the eyes and ears of the division. Don’t fail us.”

  “Of course not, sir,” Major Baker replied. He nodded toward his officers and, with a final salute, turned to join them.

  Colonel Marchant and his staff watched while the depleted battalion formed up and moved off quickly, their ranks oddly depleted by the General Filbert’s treasonous debacle.

  He turned to the troops forming behind him and bellowed, “The First Brigade will advance! At the rout step, march!”

  Further in the distance, he heard orders relayed and the bugles of the other two brigades calling them to formation and on to the march.

  The First Division was moving through Korin’s Pass. They would be through and throwing a hasty fortification around the village of the same name before evening.

  And then, if all went well, they’d march west. Onto the Sorian Army’s rear.

  If First Brigade did as well as he expected, Colonel Marchant could soon be General Marchant. He nodded to his aides, mounted his horse and started it forward at a slow walk. Behind him, the rest of the division moved out.

  #

  “Even if you haven’t heard anything, what could happen?” Prince Sarsal asked spymaster Vitel as they sat in his small day chamber, sipping tea.

  Vitel frowned. “Normally, my prince, nothing.”

  “Normally?”

  “I’m concerned about recent developments my spies have reported from Kingsland,” Vitel said.

  “Kingsland is a small kingdom with a small army,” Sarsal said. “What could it do against our armies?”

  “Their mages are good and they’ve been working on some new projects,” Vitel said slowly. The prince waved him on with an encouraging hand. “You may not have heard but they’ve developed some method of moving things with steam.”

  “I’ve heard about their railways,” Sarsal said with a nod. “They bring goods between their capital and the border at South Pass.”