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

by T. L. Branson

  A yell drew the king’s focus back to the rooftop. One of Havan’s soldiers had followed him. Sword raised, he began to swing before Drygo could react. But the blade stopped mid-swing, falling from his grasp. Shock registered on the man’s face as another sword broke through his chest from behind.

  The body fell away as Callum pulled his sword from the corpse.

  “A little warning next time, Your Majesty?” Callum said.

  The king dipped his head in thanks but did not address the veiled rebuke. He pointed to the west. “That’s our destination.”

  “The ships, sire?”

  “No. Cut off the head…” He left the rest unsaid.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Callum said, nodding with a smile.

  An explosion shook the ground from some distance away. The king watched as yet another building crumbled. His face contorted in anger, an ache in his heart.

  “We must hurry, Callum, or there won’t be a city to save.”

  Callum led the way back to the street below. The battle continued in earnest.

  Drygo and Callum battled side by side as they pushed their way to the harbor. They lost good men in the process. One of Drygo’s personal guards fell, but for every man they lost, three more fell in their wake.

  The stone beneath their feet was coated in a thick layer of blood. When there was no road to tread on, they stepped atop the bodies of the fallen.

  Finally, they reached the harbor. Havan’s banner flew in the center of the wide street. Beneath it, standing on a crate giving orders to burn the ships still at port was Lord Commander Kaspar.

  A distasteful man, really. Loyal to a fault, he treated all foreign dignitaries with utmost contempt. He was one of the most raucous leaders Drygo ever had the displeasure of knowing. The king would enjoy this.

  Kaspar noticed the king’s approach and fell silent.

  “Well, well, well,” Kaspar called out to his men, “Look who’s come to play.” The lord commander jumped from the crate, turning his focus back to the king, and said slowly and with pomp, “Alexander Drygo, King of Sunbury—or is it Sunburning now?” Soft laughter rippled through Havan’s soldiers.

  Drygo gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. He would definitely enjoy this. The king pushed his guard aside and stepped into the open. Extending his sword, he issued a silent challenge.

  Kaspar waved off his men and drew his own sword in acceptance.

  Drygo gave a glancing touch to the stone in his pocket, assuring himself it was still there. The men ran at each other, shouting.

  Their swords clashed. Drygo swung and the man parried. He lunged and Drygo danced back out of his reach. The lord commander dropped to the ground and swung his foot at Drygo’s legs, but the king hopped over it with ease, like a child jumping rope.

  Drygo swung his sword, but Kaspar sprang to his feet before the king could take advantage of his opponent’s position. Drygo’s sword met steel instead of flesh. Back and forth the two men battled, neither gaining an advantage over the other.

  The two armies took up positions at opposite ends of the harbor, lining up to watch their leaders fight. They knew it would end in death, and the winner would mark the victor of the battle.

  The explosions in the distance ceased, the echoes of battle slowed. Silence reigned as the two leaders circled each other in the open.

  The lord commander broke off first, once again charging at Drygo, seeking to push him back into the waiting arms of his comrades. The king expected this and dodged. Kaspar could not slow his momentum and crashed into the crate on which he’d stood moments earlier.

  Drygo swung his sword again, but the lord commander deflected it at the last second, giving him just enough time to slip away before the king’s blade sank into the wooden crate.

  The king couldn’t retract his blade. Kaspar’s own sword sailed through the air. Drygo left his weapon, but couldn’t dodge the soaring blade in time. The sword caught a glancing blow across his waist, bouncing harmlessly off his armor, but not before severing the cord of the leather pouch that held the stone.

  The pouch dropped to the ground. Drygo dived for it, but the lord commander snatched it away. Panic flooded through the king. He climbed to his feet and ran at the man. Kaspar held his sword up, halting Drygo’s approach.

  The lord commander looked at the pouch in his hand then tossed it to one of his men behind him. Drygo let out a yell of anguish.

  Emboldened by his small victory, Kaspar swung at the seemingly defenseless king with abandon. Drygo dodged and danced to avoid each attack, wearing his opponent down. The lord commander slowed and began to breathe heavily.

  As a sloppy swing blew by, the king saw his opening and rammed his shoulder into the man’s back. The sword flew from the Kaspar’s hand as he fell to the ground. He lunged for his weapon, but the king grabbed his foot and pulled him back.

  Drygo used his teeth to remove his gauntlet from his right hand and threw it aside. He flexed his fingers and grabbed the lord commander’s face with his bare hand.

  Drygo’s eyes turned as black as the night around them, his vision shifting to a world absent of color and light. Darkness did not matter here, his magic allowing him to see as if it were midday. Kaspar’s soul, visible beneath his skin, glowed and shimmered erratically. He let out a shriek of fear that morphed into pain.

  The king began to pull and he watched as his magic sucked the soul of the man from his body. Slow at first, it came to Drygo like water through a straw. It traveled up an invisible bond, filling the king with new life and energy. The weariness of the battle fled from him, and his breathing slowed.

  All the while, Kaspar’s body contorted and shriveled. His face sank and bones popped out of place. He shook violently beneath the king’s grip, a seizure taking hold of him.

  The armies on both sides stood, awestruck. The Havanites, recognizing their commander’s peril, rushed in to kill the king. Likewise, Sunbury’s army charged.

  The king pushed off from the commander, stood, and ran at the oncoming horde. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the man with his precious diamond. He caught a small glimpse of that soldier’s face seconds before he slipped out of sight.

  As the enemy line approached, Drygo reached for his sword. His hands grasped at air. He had forgotten he didn’t have it. One of Havan’s soldiers shouted in victory and stabbed at the king. The sword plunged through a break in the king’s armor and into his shoulder. Drygo hissed in pain, cursing himself for losing his sword.

  The two armies collided around him. One of Drygo’s royal guards felled the man who stabbed him. The king tried to push forward, to find the man who held his stone, but Callum caught him and pulled him back into the safety of their army.

  “Leave it, Your Majesty,” Callum said.

  “You don’t understand,” the king yelled back.

  “I understand well enough,” Callum chided, “that if you continue on this course I’ll be burying both my queen and my king in less than a week.”

  Callum’s words settled his body, but did little to calm the fury within.

  In mere minutes, Sunbury’s army, bolstered by the enemy commander’s death, pushed back Havan’s forces. The enemy soldiers ran up the road of the escarpment faster than a charging rhino. Many men fell to their deaths in their haphazard flight as they pushed and shoved to escape the swelling tide behind them.

  The king retrieved his sword and walked with Callum in the aftermath. They killed all those who still breathed, a small mercy bestowed upon their enemies, which they did not deserve.

  Drygo let his victory over Havan’s commander rest for only a few hours, then he marched his army out of his crumbling city. He would have his revenge and reclaim his stolen gem.

  ***

  Sunbury’s army sat hidden within the trees, under the cover of night, half a mile outside the gates of Havan.

  Four days had passed since Havan’s defeat, but the attack had severely depleted Sunbury’s soldiers. And now they ap
proached the enemy within their own fortifications. Drygo knew he needed to play this smart. He could not rush in or Havan would slaughter them before they breached the gates.

  The pounding of footsteps drew their attention. One of Drygo’s guards drew his sword, but Callum stayed his hand as a man stepped into the light of the moon. Callum recognized him as one of Sunbury’s spies within Havan’s borders.

  “What do you have for us?” the grand marshal said.

  “Havan’s army returns with grave news, my lord,” the spy whispered. “They say…”

  Drygo stepped forward, into the light, to hear his news.

  “My king,” the spy said, bowing again, shock in his voice. “But the reports? They said you were dead.”

  Drygo rubbed his shoulder. “I might have been, had my chainmail not stopped the enemy blade. What else do you know?”

  “Havan’s king was initially livid that his army returned defeated, but when he heard of your death… They celebrate this night. Havan believes itself safe from retaliation for now,” the spy said then hurried to add, “but they will strike again. I was, even now, on my way back to Sunbury, yet I find Sunbury has come to me. Havan is unaware of your position, Your Majesty.”

  The sounds of fanfare and revelry drifting in on the wind gave evidence to the spy’s report.

  Yes, Havan would attack again, the king thought, but not before feasting and celebrating the death of Alexander Selenius Drygo. Leather groaned as his armored hands tightened into fists.

  “Any other news? Of spoils of war?” Drygo asked.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, that is all I know. King Rommel himself likely now possesses anything of great value.”

  Drygo said no more of the issue, silently vowing to retrieve his stone whatever the cost. “What is our best course of action? How do we get our entire army into the city without raising the alarm?”

  The spy said, “I would suggest going in through the channel, Your Majesty.”

  The king saw the wisdom in his plan. Havan sat on a peninsula, a jut of land branching out from the continent. Two bays bordered it to the north and south, a channel passing through the city connecting them. This channel served as the only weak point in Havan’s otherwise impenetrable wall.

  The king looked up and realized the others watched him in silence, waiting for their orders. He dismissed the spy with a wave.

  When they were alone, Drygo turned to Callum and said, “We cannot risk the whole army.” Callum started to speak, but Drygo kept talking. “You, me, and four of the guard will go in and open the gates.”

  “Your Majesty, I really must protest,” Callum argued vehemently. “Let me send in a small task force of my best—”

  Drygo held up a hand, interrupting him.

  “Sire,” he pleaded. Callum looked around and then said softly to the king, “Alexander, please.”

  Drygo’s eyes narrowed at the use of his given name. He let it slide. The king took a deep breath and said, “My word is final.”

  And that was the end of it. His heart still mourned the loss of his wife and raged at the audacity of Fabian Rommel to attack at such a delicate time. He wanted his stone back, and he would have it, whatever the cost.

  ***

  Just before midnight, Drygo and his men commandeered a small boat and sailed up the channel from the south. The waters were calm and the city itself uttered not a sound. Only the soft swish of the oars in the water broke the silence.

  They passed through the arch of the stone wall where two sentries stood on duty, one on either side of the channel. Drygo’s archers took them out swiftly and silently. They had little reason to fear an attack, so few were posted this night.

  The city lay dark and still. The lights, music, and shouts of joy and laughter coming from the keep in the northwest corner of the city were the only signs of life.

  They moored their boat and climbed onto the stone platform of the channel. Ascending a set of stairs, they weaved their way up onto the battlements. When they entered the gatehouse, three guards took up arms while a fourth ran off into the night to warn King Rommel.

  The first man charged at Drygo, the second at Callum. Drygo’s slice took a hand, Callum’s an arm. Together, they plunged their blades into their opponents’ chests. Drygo placed his boot on his enemy’s body and pulled his sword free.

  The third man fled in terror, seeking to join his comrade in warning the others, but didn’t get ten feet away before one of the archers drilled an arrow into his shoulder. The man fell, but then scrambled to his feet. Both archers loaded an arrow and let fly simultaneously, finishing him off, his body tumbling down the stairs.

  By the time they exited the gatehouse to chase the fourth, the man was running up the street at least four hundred feet away and increasing the distance with each passing second. The man shouted, trying to draw the attention of the revelers, but couldn’t be heard over the cacophony of noises that filled the night.

  “He’s too far away,” said one of the archers.

  “You must make the shot or we all die,” Drygo said.

  He placed his hand on the archer’s shoulder and delved into the magic within. He siphoned some of his power into the archer. The archer pulled the bowstring farther than he’d ever pulled it and aimed with a precision and clarity he’d never felt before.

  The arrow soared through the air and caught the man square in the back at a distance of at least six hundred feet. He fell to the ground and did not rise. Drygo dropped the bond and the archer sagged with exhaustion.

  “Good man,” the king said, patting his archer on the back.

  They turned back to the gatehouse. Two of Drygo’s guards sheathed their weapons and took up position on either side of a massive wheel. One crank at a time, the gate beneath them began to rise.

  Several moments later, the gate stood ajar. The king held two fingers to his mouth and whistled as loudly as he dared. The armies of Sunbury emptied from the forests and charged quietly into the city.

  Drygo, Callum, and his men descended onto the street and met their army just as the lead soldiers breached the gate. The king led the swift charge through the streets to Havan’s keep.

  As the army advanced up the cobblestone street, eyes peered from behind the windows of houses. Shutters slammed, curtains slid into place, and lights went out.

  When they reached the keep, the army split, half taking the eastern wall and the other the southern. Before they entered, Drygo laid a hand on each of his personal guards one at a time. He watched through black eyes as a tether of life force stretched between him and each of his men. He channeled strength through that tether and bolstered their courage.

  In unison, the split armies barged through the doors and piled into the keep in droves. The revelers stood in shock. Screams erupted and people dived for cover. Goblets of wine spilled onto the floor, chairs fell over, and the music abruptly halted.

  So complete was the surprise, hundreds of soldiers fell before they could even draw their weapons. Those that did suffered the same fate as their comrades, their drunken stupor addling their senses.

  Every man and woman that stood in their way fell beneath their blades. They spared none, returning the same brutality Havan had shown them.

  Drygo and his men breached the innermost sanctum and surrounded the King of Havan. Havan’s guard stood against Sunbury’s, weapons poised, but neither moving.

  “You’re beaten, lay down your arms and you’ll not be harmed,” Drygo heard himself say, but he didn’t believe a word of it. As noble as his intentions were, he felt nothing but anger and hatred for the man before him.

  The relations between Havan and Sunbury had always been tenuous at best. They tolerated each other, their peoples depending on various trade agreements. But Fabian Rommel had overstepped his bounds when he reached his grubby fingers into Drygo’s land.

  “Alexander… you’re alive,” the King of Havan said, wide eyed. He wheezed a nervous chuckle. “Come now, Alexander, be re
asonable. This is all just a misunderstanding.”

  “Quit playing games, Rommel. Where is it?” Drygo demanded.

  The man’s nervousness dropped in an instant. His face went hard and his eyes narrowed. “Do you mean this?” he said, pulling out the black diamond. “You shouldn’t be so careless with your valuables.”

  “Give it back and I may yet spare your life,” Drygo said as he extended an open hand.

  “You don’t think I truly believe that, do you? I can see the hunger in your eyes, the hatred.” Rommel paused and a smile crossed his face. “You should be thanking me, you know.”

  “Thanking you?” Drygo replied, incredulous.

  “You were a broken man, a ghost of your former self. Your people needed a leader, someone who would stand up for them. I merely gave you the opportunity to shine.”

  “You would have me believe that you sacrificed thousands of lives to make me feel better?” Drygo flung an arm out, pointing as he continued, “That those people out there cheer and sing, not for my death, but my health and prosperity?”

  The smile dropped from Rommel’s face. “You’re right, I saw an opportunity to be rid of you and I took it,” he said, his tone harsh and short. “Now I’m going to finish the job!”

  The magic within Drygo pulled painfully as the tethers went taut. While Rommel stalled for time, his men emerged from the shadows and plunged their blades into Drygo’s royal guard. Their life slowly ebbed from their bodies, only hanging on through the tenuous bond of Drygo’s magic.

  Drygo pushed back, flooding that bond with energy. It coursed through each of his men, reached out, and latched onto the would-be assassins. Through that tether, he siphoned the very souls of the enemy from their bodies.

  The assassins let out wails of pain as they were drained of all life. Their complexion drained of color and their skin shriveled and sagged. The sickening sound of snapping bones rose above the cries, filling the room.

  “Sorcery!” Rommel cried, pointing at Drygo. “Demon!”

  “Not a demon,” Drygo replied, turning his icy black eyes at the man cowering before him. “A god.”