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

by T. L. Branson

  Ocken grunted from the strain. He inhaled smoke, and began to cough, dropping the door.

  “Come on!” she shouted.

  His hands closed on the iron bars and he lifted once again.

  Something popped. He thought his shoulder or back had given out with all the strain, but it was the door coming off the hinge at the top. The cell door slumped to the floor, supported only by Ocken’s weight. He let go and stepped out of the way.

  The heavy door fell to the floor with a deafening clang.

  Khate stood at the open doorway, helping the four men out of the cell. Ocken took two by the shoulders and assisted them into the stairway. Black smoke continued to billow into the stairway, rising out of sight.

  They ascended one floor and exited through the first door. It opened out into the night. Coughing, they spilled out of the tower.

  Drygo, Callum, and the others stood waiting. They all let out a collective sigh of relief upon seeing Ocken and Khate unharmed.

  After they were all clear and had a chance to catch their breath Callum demanded, “Will someone tell me what is going on here?”

  Ocken straightened himself. “It’s best if this man tells you himself,” he said, extending his arm to one of the prisoners.

  The man sat on the ground, retching. He had inhaled far more smoke than Ocken had. It was a wonder they were all still conscious.

  When he recovered, he looked up at Callum. Callum’s eyes went wide.

  “Captain Tulias? Are you all right?” Callum asked, kneeling beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  The man nodded. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up?”

  Callum dismissed the notion with a wave. “What happened?”

  Tulias coughed. “That man happened,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Antony, kneeling a few feet away, his hands bound behind his back. “He and his men are loyalists, those that served the king’s father and don’t agree with his changes.”

  “The boy will get us all killed over this Havan business,” Antony spat. His pleasantness of an hour ago washed away with a venomous hatred. “And what does he mean by replacing half of our country’s leaders? Just look at the grand marshal. Who is he but some—”

  Geoffreys bashed the man in the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. Antony fell unconscious to the ground.

  “Please continue, Captain,” Callum said.

  “They came to us in full uniform—”

  An explosion rocked the grounds. The base of the north tower blew apart. A piece of debris caught one of Callum’s men in the head, knocking him to the ground.

  “Run!” someone yelled.

  Ocken helped Tulias to his feet and they ran for the safety of the forest. Another explosion sounded, followed by two more in rapid succession.

  “Our munitions reserve,” Tulias explained as they ran. “For clearing the mountain pass in case of landslides.”

  Once they were a safe distance away, they turned and beheld the scene. The north tower teetered and turned. It tore away from the common room connecting the towers and came crashing to the ground. Stone crumbled and glass shattered along the length of the common room. Over half of it fell away stone by stone.

  When the dust settled, the south tower stood firm, the gate held aloft by its supports. The north tower was gone, nothing but a pile of stone now. Ocken looked around him. Everyone had made it to safety—even the traitorous Antony, still unconscious over Geoffreys shoulder. Everyone, that is, except the man who’d caught the flying stone to the head.

  Ander’son? Ocken thought his name was.

  No one spoke for half a minute, too shocked to process the scene. Geoffreys laid Antony down at his feet.

  At last Callum coughed and said, “I would hear the rest of your tale, dear Captain Tulias.”

  “Right. Where was I? Oh, yes. We knew we weren’t due for another rotation for at least a fortnight, but news is scarce at the Eastgate. It’s not unusual for bodies to precede orders,” Tulias said. “So… we welcomed them in. As soon as our backs were turned, they struck. Three of us fell in the ambush. The rest of us managed to put up a fight. We killed two of them, but it was too late. They were in the process of interrogating us and killing us one by one when you all appeared in the distance. They moved us into the prisons and dumped the bodies in another cell.”

  “What of Thren?” Ocken asked.

  Tulias shook his head.

  Pain stabbed Ocken’s heart like a thousand bee stings. He fell down on one knee and clasped a hand to his chest, his breath ragged and heavy. Sound faded away as his brain blocked the outside world.

  He stared, dumbfounded, unable to comprehend the words he had heard. Thren was dead? When he discovered the pendant, he wasn’t hopeful. But to have it confirmed? He couldn’t believe Thren was gone.

  Thren had always been there. Always. When his father and mother passed, he still had Thren. Now he had no one. Ocken was the last surviving member of his family. He was all alone.

  He believed Thren would be safe here. He told himself he needn’t worry now.

  A distant, low grumble filled his ears.

  “Ocken?” It was Khate. “Can you hear me?” She knelt beside him, shaking his shoulders and waving her hand in front of his face.

  “How?” he managed to say at last, ignoring Khate. “How did this happen?”

  “The lad died an honorable death,” Tulias said. “Took out his attacker before he was stabbed in the back by another.”

  “Who’s behind all of this?” Drygo asked. “These men have to report to someone.”

  “No idea,” Tulias said. “They didn’t explain themselves to us. Your best askin’ that one.” Tulias cocked his head to the unconscious Antony.

  As if on cue, the man began to stir.

  Geoffreys reached down and hoisted him up. Callum stepped forward and looked the man in the eye. Antony inhaled and spat a wad of blood onto Callum’s boot. Callum didn’t flinch.

  “Who are you working for?” Callum asked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Antony remarked. “Bloodswine. It might be more appropriate to ask you who you’re working for?”

  Callum cocked his head.

  “I know who you are, Havanite scum, illegitimate son of King Rommel himself.”

  A collective gasp erupted from all around. Khate turned to the king and asked, “Is this true? Did you know about this?”

  “It is known, and has been forgiven,” Drygo said. “Davion Callum is loyal to me and to Sunbury. He bears no love for the father who spurned him.”

  “Who are you working for?” Callum asked again, stepping forward and clutching Antony by the throat.

  “The man you left in charge,” Antony answered.

  A laugh rose within him that turned into a gurgling noise as Ocken wrenched the sword from Geoffreys’s hand and thrust it into Antony’s chest. Blood poured from his throat and he slumped to the ground.

  Callum’s eyes narrowed.

  Geoffreys shrugged. Ocken’s face was a mask of rage and anguish.

  “He told us what we needed to know,” Ocken spat, tossing the sword to the ground.

  “Who did you leave in charge?” Drygo pressed Callum.

  “Stratton,” Callum stated flatly.

  “What?” Drygo yelled. “Why would you do that? The man clearly disapproves of me.”

  “Who stands to gain the most from you being absent from the throne?” Callum asked, a little too defensively.

  After a brief pause, the king said, “Havan.”

  “And who understands our relationship with them better than anyone else?” Callum asked. Without waiting for a response he continued, “And who better to handle this delicate situation than your advisor of foreign affairs?”

  Drygo didn’t respond, but his visage cooled rapidly. After a minute he said, “Now what?”

  Ocken was the one to answer, venom dripping from his voice. “Now, we go get this stone, march back to Sunbury victorious,
and hang Stratton for his treachery.”

  A chorus of ascent murmured through the survivors.

  “Get what stone?” Tulias asked.

  Drygo explained all that happened to launch them out on their quest and their purpose for it. “There’s no point in you staying here,” Drygo said. “But neither can I ask you to come along with us. The way will be dangerous.”

  “You’re taking the pass?” Tulias asked, incredulous. Then he put his hand to his chin. “Of course you are. Why else would you be here? You are aware—”

  “Yes, and my path is set. Don’t attempt to dissuade me.”

  “It would be an honor to defend you, my king,” Tulias said, bringing his right fist to his chest. “But my men have been through a tragic ordeal.”

  “I understand, Captain,” the king said.

  “I wasn’t finished,” Tulias said. He added, “If I may?”

  Drygo nodded.

  “I request that my men be allowed to leave to find rest, but I, myself, will accompany you.”

  “So it shall be done,” the king answered. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “No, thank you, Your Majesty,” Tulias said, bowing.

  “What of the horses?” Callum asked. “They can’t proceed with us through the Frostpeak Pass and into the Wandering Wood. I had intended to leave them here for our return trip, but with no one to care for them, they would die.”

  “My men can guide them home,” Tulias answered.

  The darkness was crowding in on Ocken. He’d had his fill of talking.

  “We’ve had a long night,” Ocken said. “Might I suggest we get some rest and continue these discussions in the morning?”

  “Aye,” Tulias said. The rest of the men, plus Khate, gave their ascent.

  ***

  Ocken didn’t sleep that night. He wanted to—he hated the night—but sleep would not find him. He lay on his bedroll staring up into the night sky. Thoughts of Thren and all of their memories together flashed through his mind.

  Ocken had never known true sadness. When his father passed? It was the way of things. Hundreds died every year to the terrors that lay in the desert. When his mother passed? He’d known she was sick for a long time. He had had time to make peace with her fate. But Thren?

  Thren was too young. It was not yet his time. He had a lifetime of happiness and adventure ahead of him. Ocken missed him.

  But nothing Ocken did could change the past. He could only change the future. Another Khurlish saying came to his mind: “Worry not for the wind, but for the sweat of your brow.”

  He never understood what that meant until now. It was pointless to dwell on the darkness of yesterday, no matter how painful it may be, but instead, strive to make a brighter tomorrow.

  That brightness came with the morning light though it did little to lessen the damage of the previous night’s events. The base of the north tower was still a smoldering heap, smoke rising into the sky.

  The group parted ways an hour after sunrise, Tulias’s men returning back to Sunbury with strict orders to keep a low profile, while the remainder pressed forward into the Frostpeak Pass.

  There were ten of them in total now. They’d lost Bigsby, but gained Tulias. Callum brought with him four more of the royal guard, plus himself, the king, Khate, and Geoffreys made ten.

  Since the horses went back with Tulias’s men, they were forced to carry their packs and weapons. Ocken had his pack slung across his back, while he carried Melody on his shoulder.

  The Frostpeak Pass rose up and followed the right side of a large valley. About halfway through the mountains, the valley disappeared. Some had considered digging a tunnel through the mountain, but for the lack of people who took the pass, this way seemed easier, and quite a bit cheaper. Easier in the sense that the pass needed little maintenance—keep it clear of landslides, repair bridges, that sort of thing—but certainly not easier in the sheer amount of physical exertion the pass required.

  Ocken’s constant stair climbing in the palace and rigorous physical fitness examinations paled in comparison to scaling a mountain, even if they were just following a road. It didn’t help that he hadn’t gotten any sleep.

  With each step he took, Ocken’s legs gained a pound. Or so it seemed. The deeper in they walked the bleaker it got, until finally they reached a wall of thick fog.

  “There’s no way around it, sire,” Callum said.

  “Then we go through it,” Drygo answered.

  Ocken didn’t like the idea of going where he couldn’t see five steps in front of him, but he had little choice. He pledged to protect the king, and if his brother could die for what he believed in, then so could Ocken.

  They entered the fog and kept climbing. At some point, the terrain evened out. Ocken couldn’t say for sure when, he could hardly see. They walked for an hour or more.

  “Gods,” Khate said, breaking the silence. “Does this never end?”

  “There’s a reason most people take a boat,” Ocken said.

  “Remind me… why we’re not?” Khate replied, her breathing heavy.

  “Nearest port’s Tikani, but you have to sail south and go down around the Dhelgur Desert. The trip takes two weeks, plus the time it takes to arrange for transport,” Ocken said.

  “Someone needs to invent a flying boat,” Khate mumbled under her breath.

  “Wouldn’t that be a sight to see.”

  Ocken was glad for the conversation. It distracted him from his dark thoughts. Thoughts of Thren. Thoughts of his father. Thoughts of the kranack.

  Ocken was not an emotional man. He shed no tears for his lost brother. He had died an honorable death. The Khur believed to die with honor was the greatest gift a man could receive. The blessing he would receive in Carnath would be wondrous. That didn’t mean that his passing was any less painful, however.

  Life. Life was the ailment. Life was a disease and death was the cure. From the moment a man was born he sets out on the road to death. Yes, bodies develop and strengthen, but then they grow old and decay. The Khur looked down upon old age. To grow old meant that one didn’t strive hard enough in life, or didn’t serve their duty to protect and care for their tribe.

  For only in death did one find peace. Ocken felt no peace. Only sorrow and loss. He knew that he should not grieve for his brother, but he did.

  “Hey,” Khate said. “You all right?”

  “Huh? What?” Ocken said. “Oh, I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry,” Khate said. “For your loss, I mean.”

  “Don’t be,” he responded. “Thren did his duty. The best way to honor him is for us to do ours.”

  “I know how you must feel, though,” Khate said. “Because of what’s going on with my sister. I know that you need to talk about it. Even if you don’t want to.” She hesitated for a moment then said, “You helped me realize that.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” In truth, he didn’t want the others to hear. The fog may have made them seem like they were alone, but they would hear every word he said.

  “Then don’t dwell on his death. Honor his life,” she said. “Tell me about Thren. Tell me about your family.”

  “Thren was… well, he was a lot like our father,” Ocken said. “But he’s gone now, too.”

  “What happened to your father?”

  “He was killed by a devilish beast. Straight from your nightmares that one. We call it the kranack. I don’t know the Aralithian equivalent word for it,” Ocken said. “I’ve never seen it, but I’ll never forget the sound it makes…”

  Ocken closed his eyes. Every time he closed his eyes it filled his ears: an ear-splitting, night-piercing screech that sounded like a falcon being murdered.

  “What was that?” Khate asked, drawing her sword.

  Ocken opened his eyes. “What was what?” Ocken asked.

  “You didn’t hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  The screech sounded again. Ocken furrowed his brow. But… his eyes were open.


  “That!” she said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that.”

  The men began shouting. The party stopped moving, and pulled in closer together.

  “Oh, gods,” Ocken said, shaking.

  “What?”

  “It’s the kranack,” Ocken answered. “That’s what killed my father. This thing, it cannot be killed. It attacks without weapons. Bodies are always recovered, not a scratch on them, hearts still beating. But… they’re gone.”

  “Keep alert!” Drygo shouted in the fog. “Pull together, but keep moving forward.”

  They resumed walking, but slower, more cautious. Callum appeared next to them out of nowhere.

  “You have experience with this thing?” Callum asked Ocken.

  “You could say that,” Ocken said, swallowing hard.

  “We call it a soulfiend,” Callum said. “It preys on a person’s soul. It itself is a spirit being, caught between the physical and soul realms.”

  “Why have I never heard of these things?” Khate demanded.

  “It’s a well-kept secret among Sunbury’s royalty,” Callum explained. “I just learned of it in the last few years myself.”

  “Wait. If it’s a spirit, then why the massive iron gate?” Ocken asked. “Can’t it just walk through?”

  “The gate is for show. People are dissuaded from using the pass if they think the gate is holding back some giant monster,” Callum said. “In truth, we don’t know what keeps the soulfiend from entering our lands, but it doesn’t leave Frostpeak Pass. I was hoping to avoid it. Any advice?”

  “Run?” Ocken suggested, half-joking. “It’s odd, though. Our kranack… soulfiend, only hunted at night.”

  “Maybe it’s not darkness it needs, but protection from the sun,” Callum said, shrugging. “Just a theory, but this fog would fit that description.”

  “Perhaps,” was all Ocken could say.

  Shivers ran down his spine. Khate grabbed his arm. He felt that odd warmth again. His skin tingled at her touch.

  The moment was ruined by another screech. Ocken cringed and Khate’s grip grew tighter.

  Ocken pulled his swordstaff down off his shoulder and held it ready to strike.