Soul Siphon: Set includes four books: Midnight Blade, Kingsbane, Ash and Steel, Sentinels of the Stone (Soul Stones)

by T. L. Branson

  Callum jogged out of the barracks onto the palace grounds. He ran along the wall away from the barracks, past the armory and stables. Half of the palace grounds were militarized and the other half featured a more aesthetic atmosphere. Passing the open portcullis, he entered the gardens.

  The gardens were small and modest, as was the palace itself. Built into the side of a cliff, the only useable land was in front of it. Uniformed guards patrolled the grounds, and the garden was no different. A single guard casually strolled through the pathways and under arches. Callum exited the gardens and passed by a vendor with an empty cart leaving the palace’s servants’ entrance.

  Directly in front of the palace stood a raised platform with stairs leading up a story to the top, not only from the front, but on either side as well. Callum ran up the stairs on the left side, crossed the platform, passing the doors to the palace, and down the stairs on the right side, arriving back at the barracks.

  As he jogged, another boy about his age ran past him. The boy looked over his shoulder at Callum before circling back around and coming alongside him.

  “Hey,” he said clearly as if he hadn’t been running at all.

  “Hi,” Callum said through exhales.

  “Haven’t seen you around,” the boy said.

  “I just… signed up… today,” Callum replied as they ran through the gardens.

  “And they’ve got you running laps? Harsh.”

  “I didn’t… like… my bunk… whined,” Callum said, climbing the stairs again.

  “Ah, well, enjoy your run. I’m just out for a warm-up,” the boy said and ran ahead and down the stairs on the other side.

  By the time Callum reached the bottom, the boy had disappeared. He ran the circuit a few more times until he noticed a crowd starting to gather to the left of the barracks. There the training yard lay, tucked between the palace and the ramparts. He slowed his jog to a halt outside the crowd. Sweat ran down his forehead and his shirt bore a dark ring around his neck. He placed his hands on his knees and took a quick breather.

  The sounds of steel on steel echoed over the crowd followed by various “oohs” and “ahhs.” Callum stood up straight and wormed his way through the crowd to see what was going on. There, in the battle ring, stood the boy who had jogged with him, sparring against another man.

  Outfitted in full gear, they used real swords, not the dull training sword they’d given Callum. Unlike the other recruits here, Callum knew what a real battle was like. He hated being relegated to practice equipment. But he had little choice. This is where the job sent him.

  Rommel had told him little about his mission. Something about leaks and need to know. Apparently Callum didn’t need to know. He surmised that Rommel wanted the king dead but couldn’t get close enough, and the prince was the next best thing. Rommel had only told him he would know when the time was right. To do that, though, he needed to get close to the prince. And he had no idea where to start. His focus shifted back to the ring.

  The boy wore simple chainmail armor while the man sported the distinct gear of the king’s royal guard. Callum was certain the boy would take a beating. He’d heard the rumors of Sunbury’s royal guard.

  The man came at the boy and swung his sword. At the last minute, though, the man seemed to pull his swing. The boy brought his own sword up and parried. They traded blows, dancing in a circle along the outer edge of the ring. The man brought down his weapon with an overhead swing. Catching the blade along the crosspiece of his sword, the boy twisted and disarmed the man.

  The crowd went wild and the boy pranced toward the crowd holding his arms out, waving his hands. The crowd grew louder. As the boy riled up the crowd, the guard recovered his weapon and ran at him, swinging his sword in from the side at the unsuspecting youth.

  The crowd hissed, and many covered their eyes. The boy saw the sword at the last second but couldn’t get his weapon up. Instead, he threw himself away from the soaring blade, rolled, and got to his feet. The crowd let out a collective sigh of relief, but the boy couldn’t quite regain his footing and the guard easily batted away his weapon, leaving the point of his own sword hovering an inch from the boy’s chest. The boy stood there, chest heaving with exhaustion, mouth wide open. The guard held his weapon out for a moment longer, then withdrew, and bowed.

  “Who is that?” Callum asked no one in particular.

  “That,” said a boy beside him—the pudgy boy, Bigsby, “is the crown prince, Alexander Drygo.”

  ***

  “Rise and shine, recruits,” McKinnon called out.

  “Ow!” Callum cried, bumping his head into the ceiling when he sat up in bed. He mumbled.

  “What was that, Callum?” the sergeant said.

  “Nothing, sir,” Callum replied.

  McKinnon huffed. “I want you dressed and at breakfast in five minutes.”

  A chorus of half-hearted affirmations replied.

  “That sounded like you said ‘I’d love to run laps, sir.’ ”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” everyone replied.

  “Wonderful! Give me five laps after breakfast,” the sergeant said.

  “But, sir—” Callum said.

  “Make it ten. And you can thank recruit Callum for the added bonus,” he said, spinning on his heels and leaving the dormitory.

  “Good going, Callum,” smarted Geoffreys.

  And here I was thinking Geoffreys and I might actually get along.

  He had not started off on the right foot.

  Callum hopped down, threw on his training clothes, and moved to go to breakfast, but Bigsby blocked his path, arms crossed. His girth took up the whole space between the bunks on either side.

  “Excuse me,” Callum said.

  Bigsby didn’t move. Callum crawled through the bunk to his right to get around him. The boy who owned it was not pleased and shoved Callum out into the aisle. As he regained his balance, another boy knocked into him from behind and walked through the door without looking back.

  His first full day of training was off to a great start.

  After breakfast and their “bonus” warm-up, the boys were taken into the palace and given a tour of the grounds. They walked through the front doors and into a beautiful entrance hall. A grand staircase led to the second floor on either side of the room. An alcove was cut out of the wall on both sides, the floor above supported by pillars. The rooms contained luxurious couches, artwork, and other valuable decorations.

  McKinnon led them upstairs and showed them the audience hall, the ballroom, and the banquet hall where the royal and noble families ate meals together. He told them the third floor contained the bedchambers, but they would not be going up there lest they disturb the royal family with their immaturity.

  Instead, McKinnon took them down to the first floor where the servants slept, ate, cooked, and did all manner of other things servants do out of sight. As they entered the kitchen, the staff finished receiving another delivery similar to the one Callum had witnessed the day before on his run.

  After their tour, the sergeant took them back to the barracks and into a room at the far end of the hall, beyond the dormitories. In it sat rows of desks.

  “Have a seat, recruits,” the sergeant said.

  They all filtered in and claimed their seats.

  He continued, “Now, for four hours every day you will participate in lectures.”

  Callum opened his mouth to ask when they would be doing actual fighting, but Bigsby shot him a glare and he stopped himself.

  The sergeant saw the exchange and had paused in his speech. Seeing no opposition coming, however, he said, “The lectures will cover a variety of topics. Histories of both Sunbury and Aralith as a whole, battle tactics, war strategies—” the sergeant looked at Callum. “—proper protocol, procedures, and politics.”

  He went on for what felt like hours. When he was done, they broke for lunch. After they had eaten, McKinnon took them out to the training yard.

  Finally, Callum thought. />
  They lined up in a circle around the battle ring as the sergeant moved to the center of the dirt ring.

  “As many of you have probably been waiting for—” he shot another glance at Callum—“we are now going to give you some hands-on training. In the afternoons, you’ll be out here in the training yard working on drills. However, today is a special day, and to assess your skills we have a special guest to assist us.” He held out his arm and a boy walked into the ring.

  It was the crown prince, Alexander.

  “We’re facing the prince?” Bigsby blurted, his mouth open and eyes wide. He looked like he’d wet his pants.

  McKinnon replied, “Yes, he will be judging your skills and placing you into three levels: beginner, intermediate, and advanced.”

  “To ensure you perform at your best,” the prince said, “the recruit who lasts the longest in the ring will be joining me for dinner this evening.”

  This is exactly the opportunity I need to get close.

  “Will we get to use those fancy steel swords we saw yesterday?” he asked.

  “That’ll be ten laps for speaking out of turn,” the sergeant said.

  Oh, come on. He didn’t punish Bigsby.

  “It’s all right, Sergeant, no punishment will be necessary. We’ll be using wooden practice swords,” the prince said, smiling wryly. “No need for any of you to get hurt. We already lose enough men on the battlefield.”

  “Okay, recruits, who’s first?” McKinnon asked. When no one volunteered, he said, “Bigsby, you’re up.”

  “What? Me? I… okay,” he said with resignation.

  After he geared up, Bigsby moved out into the ring where the prince stood waiting. His steps were slow and, if Callum wasn’t mistaken, his hands were shaking.

  Alexander watched the crowd, feigning indifference to the approaching opponent before lunging at him. The prince pulled back at the last second to gauge his reaction.

  Bigsby squealed, dropped his sword, and covered his head with his hands. The other boys laughed and Bigsby’s faced turned bright red. He retrieved his sword and held it out before him, waiting for the prince to attack.

  His posture was all wrong. Alexander went easy on him at first allowing Bigsby to block the first few attacks. With each swing, the prince increased his ferocity and, seconds later, knocked Bigsby off balance. He fell to the ground. Alexander prodded his chest with the tip of the sword and declared their match over in less than half a minute.

  Standing off to the side, Callum watched the prince and analyzed his fighting style. Recruit after recruit fell before him. Some fared better than others. Geoffreys managed to hold his own for almost two minutes before he, too, lost to the superior skills of the prince.

  Through each match, one weakness presented itself every time. The prince was cocky. He expected everyone to be inferior to him. Callum couldn’t say for sure he was better, but he had the element of surprise on his side.

  Finally, it was Callum’s turn. He grabbed a practice sword and entered the ring. Callum glanced at the crowd. McKinnon stood with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

  You keep smiling. I’ll show you.

  Turning his attention back to the prince, he tried his best to emulate Bigsby’s stance. Callum held his sword out awkwardly, legs straight as boards. He added a little shake for good measure.

  As predicted, Alexander approached casually and started off slow. Callum caught each swing with ease as the battle rose in crescendo. Pulling back for what he felt would be the disarming blow, the prince swung hard. Callum dropped into a fighting stance and repositioned his hands on the hilt of his sword.

  Instead of losing his weapon, Callum parried the blow and launched an attack of his own. He caught the prince off guard. Alexander’s eyes went wide. He backpedaled under Callum’s blows and fought hard not to fall. Barely blocking each swing, Alexander waited for the briefest hesitation in Callum’s attacks then ducked away.

  Callum’s blade sliced through nothing but air. Without thinking, he rolled to the side, narrowly dodging Alexander’s counter swing. Standing to his feet, Callum stared down the prince. The two opponents squared off, circling each other in the ring.

  Alexander’s cocky expression had disappeared, replaced by grim determination. Callum breathed deeply and shook out his shoulders, his fingers tightening around his sword. Neither moved to attack. The prince’s gaze shifted, looking at something over Callum’s shoulder. Callum turned, but saw nothing.

  Stupid, he berated himself and spun around to find Alexander’s sword descending from above. He lifted his own weapon, but it was too late. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet. The prince moved to claim victory, but Callum would not give up so easily. He swung a lazy blow at Alexander’s knees, which Alexander easily batted away. The prince stepped on his wrist, pinning his sword to the ground, and pointed his own blade at Callum’s throat.

  “Do you yield?” the prince asked.

  Callum swallowed, squinting up into his hard eyes, the glare of the sun poking out from behind his head.

  “Do you yield?” the prince asked again.

  “I’d rather die than yield,” Callum said.

  Alexander tilted his head, the hard expression washing from his face, replaced with confusion then amusement. The sword pulled away from his throat and the prince’s hand extended to him. Callum grabbed it and the prince pulled him to his feet.

  “Gutsy, intelligent, and tenacious. My, you are a curious one,” the prince said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  Callum nodded and left the field to return his weapon. He rejoined the group and found half of them, including Bigsby, staring at him in disbelief.

  McKinnon joined Alexander in the center of the yard. They discussed the exercise privately, pointing at a parchment in the sergeant’s hand. When they were finished, McKinnon called the recruits to attention and began reading off the list of names and the training squad they’d been assigned to.

  “Bigsby, beginner; Geoffreys, intermediate,” he said. Rambling off a few more names, he came to Callum. McKinnon looked up from the page, staring directly at Callum with almost a hint of resentment in his eyes. “Callum… advanced.”

  “Advanced?” the others whispered. “But there’s no one else in advanced. Who will he practice with?”

  “He will train with me,” the prince said over their conversations.

  Dissatisfaction clearly splayed across McKinnon’s face now. Callum’s lips rose into a huge grin.

  “What?” someone said.

  “You heard him,” McKinnon said through clenched teeth. “The boy will train privately with the prince. He’s too good for the likes of you all. Now get. Wash up. You have the rest of the afternoon free. We start again same time tomorrow morning, but don’t expect tomorrow to be so easy.”

  As the crowd dispersed, Alexander approached Callum and said, “Congratulations… uh, what was your name again?” the prince asked.

  “Davion Callum, Your Highness,” he said.

  “Call me Alexander, or simply Drygo, if you please. You need only use titles with me in front of your superiors or my father,” he said. “I will see you at dinner this evening?”

  “Drygo. Thank you. I would be delighted to join you,” Callum said then he bowed and left to return to the dormitory.

  He expected everyone to cheer him on when he walked through the door, but instead, everyone fell silent. No one would talk to him, and they went out of their way to avoid him as he moved to his bunk. Not one “good job” or “well done.”

  To complicate matters, as he climbed up to his bed a voice rang out behind him, “Callum. Come here, boy.”

  Halfway up the bunk, he turned his head and saw McKinnon standing there, arms crossed. Callum climbed down and followed the sergeant out into the hall.

  McKinnon lowered his voice and said, “I’ve got my eye on you, boy. Rommel sent you here for one purpose, and one purpose only.”

  Callum stared at him, wide-eye
d.

  “Oh yes, I know all about your assignment,” the sergeant explained. “You’re not here to make friends with the prince. You’d best remember that. And don’t think for one minute that you’re going to get any special treatment around here, you hear me? You’re no better than the lot of them. Oh, and I don’t care what the prince says, I want ten laps for your mouth.”

  Callum continued staring.

  “Are you deaf, boy?” McKinnon asked.

  “Yes, sir… uh, I mean no, sir, I’m not deaf, and yes, sir, I understand… sir.”

  “Go on, then,” he said.

  Callum started to head back into the dormitory.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” McKinnon said, annoyance creeping into his voice.

  “But you said—”

  “I said you owe me ten laps, now get to it,” the sergeant said, pointing out to the grounds.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t sure what was better, serving as Rommel’s lap dog or being McKinnon’s mule. He was treated like an animal in either case.

  When he returned an hour later, no one was in the dormitory. He washed up and climbed up into his bed. Pulling the worn parchment from beneath his pillow, he unfolded it. Callum sighed as he ran his finger along the writing. He had to put his search on a temporary hold while he was in Sunbury, but that didn’t mean he still couldn’t hold onto the only piece of her he had. Refolding it, he stuffed it into his pocket, climbed out of the bunk, and left the dormitory.

  ***

  At six in the evening, Callum walked up to the palace doors alone. The guards standing on duty outside glanced at him but did not bar his entry. Once inside, he didn’t know where to go. He remembered the sergeant had said the royal family lived up on the third floor, but that recruits weren’t permitted on that level.

  Instead of wandering around aimlessly, Callum moved into the left alcove of the entrance hall and plopped down on one of the couches. The couch almost swallowed him whole as he sank into its squishy surface. He’d never felt something so soft. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let out a relaxing exhale.