Legacy of Souls (The Shattered Sea Book 2)

by D. Wallace Peach

  He took another step. Dared two more, sliding through the brush with the faintest rustle. He placed his boot, eased his weight forward. A twig snapped and he froze, silently cursing. The woman lunged toward Bel, seized the rope, and held a knife to her ribs. “Sajem!” she shouted.

  “Nae,” Bel pleaded. “Don’t wake him.”

  The woman glared at her and yelled, “Sajem! Someone’s in the trees.”

  The camp leapt to life. Slavers drew their swords, Sajem bellowed orders, and torches flared in the fire. Men stalked into the forest. Shielded by the clamor, Raze retreated deeper into the canopy’s blackness. He squatted behind a rotted stump and peered back at Bel, holding his breath.

  The giant slaver strode up to her, a blade glinting in his hand. “You’re not worth the trouble.” He grabbed her head by the hair and raised the edge to her throat. She cringed, uttering a soft cry. Raze rose to a crouch. His heart pounded, knife trembling in his grip. He’d never reach her on time.

  Then Sajem sawed through the rope high above her head. He shouted into the trees, “That’s a warning!” With a grin, he yanked her to the fire, thrust her to the dirt, and tied the end of the rope to his belt. Three more men joined those on sentry duty, their vigilance as sharp as their blades.

  Raze had lost his chance.

  ~

  Raze stabled Warrior Wind on the northern fringe of Avanoe and strolled into the city’s maze. Its round buildings and circular streets rendered navigation a colossal feat, but he’d visited several times before, the most recent for Benjmur and Athren’s wedding.

  With an eye on the road north, he wolfed down roasted lamb from a wooden skewer, satisfying the beast growling in his stomach. When the slavers rode into the city, he fell in behind them and let the distance lengthen. Trailing a caravan of twelve tattooed men and women riding horseback in their armor presented little challenge. Especially with a shambling group of bonds trudging in their wake. Only Bel rode. Why?

  The crew split into two groups, the larger half headed for the seaside markets where they’d peddle ten-year bonds to the highest bidder. The sorry lot of men and women shuffled after them, heads bowed, some in tears. Sajem led Bel and the remaining slavers into the city’s center, their horses’ hooves clattering across the bricked streets like signal drums. They didn’t halt until Sajem's sword rapped on the gates of the Governor’s Hall, once the palace of Avanoe kings.

  For a few baffled moments, Raze stared at the destination. Other citizens paused in their business, eyebrows arched at the unusual site. He blended in, pretending interest in the day’s lurid gossip, news from Tegir, the state of the weather.

  Along the way, he’d wondered if Sajem’s abduction of Bel had been personal, but if that were true, he wouldn’t deliver her to the Governor’s Hall. Kyzan wore the emperor’s crown in Tegir. And why would he steal Bel? Unless he meant to use her to lure Raze in, clamoring about justice for Ezalion’s murder. Would Raze end up serving as the bait that shackled his father and brother in Ezari chains?

  He inhaled; his thoughts reordered.

  Benjmur.

  As Governor of the Vales, Benjmur had moved into the palace, his childhood home. Why wouldn’t he? What did he want with Bel? How much gold had he offered Sajem? And why?

  Guards directed the slavers to follow the road to the rear of the estate. Raze strolled along the outer wall, lagging behind a group of laborers as they hauled a wagon loaded with bricks. Sajem’s party rode through the back gate into the bustling yard. The huge slaver shouted orders, disrupting the household’s ordinary routine. His crew’s horses toppled a makeshift table spread with market bounty. Servants abandoned their tasks and scurried like rabbits, while the steward descended the stone steps in a tiff, arms waving. Guards who’d manned the gate ran to explain as the slavers dismounted.

  Raze edged through the abandoned entrance into the commotion. He sidled to the woodshed where he cradled an armful of logs.

  The female slaver who’d ridden with Bel helped her down and handed Sajem the end of the rope that still encircled Bel’s throat. With a sharp yank, he towed her up the stairs, and they disappeared through the dwelling’s rear door. Less than an hour later, Sajem and his company rode off.

  Bel had escaped one danger to arrive at another.

  ~23~

  The rap on Benjmur’s door elicited a cavernous breath and a systematic calming of his irritation. He pushed back from his desk, located the key among the clutter, and unlocked the door.

  Athren swept in, hair in a loose tangle, clothes rumpled as if she’d slept in them for a week. “Why must you lock me out! You’re avoiding me. I’m not an irksome pest meddling in your affairs. I’m the Lady of Ildus.”

  The two servants at the door shared twin looks of alarm. “It’s all right,” Benjmur assured them. “Please have the kitchen send tea.” They scampered off, and he shut the door.

  Athren paced, nearly toppling an ancient vase as she pivoted. “Why am I here? They say you’re keeping me a prisoner. They say terrible things, Benjmur.”

  “The servants?”

  “Nae! The other ones. They hound me, constantly, and I cannot bear listening to them. I’m weary of this and furious at everyone. I miss my home and my son, and I…”

  He stepped in front of her and caught her arms. “My dear, good morning.” He kissed her forehead. “I think a trip to Ildus would be lovely. I’ll arrange it. In a week or two.”

  A childlike sadness melted Athren’s demeanor as if she were fashioned of wax. Her eyes, lips, and shoulders drooped, and tears welled. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. It’s those souls. I shouldn’t have swallowed all those souls. Something was wrong with them. I don’t feel Amila or your mother at all. Just these… voices.”

  “Perhaps the combination of personalities isn’t well suited to you,” he said. “Or the stress of Laddon’s disappearance. That’s when this began.”

  “Was it?”

  He ushered her to a seat. “The business of the Vales demands my attention, but none of that matters compared to you. How can I help?”

  The moment of calm evaporated. “Those slavers. I saw them in the yard earlier, terrifying the servants, causing Arrick fits. You shouldn’t allow them near the hall, let alone inside. Why do you tolerate Sajem? The man is a horrid beast. Have you seen the way he leers at me?” She pushed to her feet, the agitated pacing resumed. Benjmur studied the veins on the backs of his hands, his endurance fraying.

  Athren spun on him. “And why did he deliver that woman, a peasant? How dare they bring her to our wedding? She doesn’t matter, does she? Why is she here? In our home? Send her away or sell her. Or order Sajem to kill her and throw her body into the sea.”

  “Now, Athren.” He shook his head. “Such murderous thoughts don’t become you. This outcome wasn’t what you wished for, but she’s here, and she’s the lodestone who’ll draw the ones you desire. You’ve set your plans in motion, and despite the challenges, revenge against the Anvrells is sure to follow.”

  Worry creased her brow, and her vision seemed to pivot inward. “I didn’t… This wasn’t…”

  “Ah, you don’t remember.” He approached her once again and enfolded her in his arms. “You must recall your plea for justice. We talked at length about the Anvrells’ designs on the Vales and our right to rule. The world brims with wickedness, my dear, and it’s our duty as rulers to demand a reckoning. What were you to do? They destroyed your family. Your grief over Laddon—”

  “Laddon is not dead.” She broke away from him. “I feel him, Benjmur. Sometimes I think I see him, or he’s trying to tell me where he is. He feels calm, and I… I need him to come back.” She squeezed her eyes shut, palms pressed on her temples. “I want them to leave me alone.”

  A tap on the door announced the arrival of tea. A servant rolled in an ornate cart. Behind her, Arrick bowed, the old steward stiff in the lip and topped with a wreath of white hair. “A visitor, Governor. One Raze Anvrell begs an aud
ience.”

  Benjmur blinked at the man, the arrival far sooner than he anticipated. It could only mean one thing—Raze had trailed Sajem to the gate. Three questions shaped his choices. Had the man traveled alone? Who else knew he was here? And what of Athren’s madness?

  “My lord?” the steward asked.

  “Give me some minutes to prepare, Arrick. Have him accompanied by six guards and station them outside the door for the entire visit.”

  “Shall I send servants for Lady Athren?”

  “Unnecessary, but thank you.”

  Benjmur closed the door. Athren poured tea at the cart, her movements serene. He accepted a cup. “You heard?”

  “Ai.” She sank onto a chair and smoothed the wrinkles in her dress.

  “This is your opportunity, my dear. The moment you’ve longed for. Guards will stand by the door should you need them. I cede the decision to you regarding the man’s fate.”

  “I won’t squander the opportunity,” she said, eyes sharp as she touched her cup to her lips.

  The knock came again, and when the door swung wide, Arrick announced their guest, “Lord Raze Anvrell.”

  Raze tendered a curt bow, and something about him chilled Benjmur’s bones. He dressed in black, pale face mottled by old bruising, a spectral vision reminiscent of ancient wakes for the dead. His Ezari eyes shone like polished gems, and the old sword at his hip, though plainly sheathed, was slung as though he mastered its use. But none of those visual trappings impressed Benjmur as much as the man’s bearing, the icy confidence and air of control, qualities he didn’t remember the young man possessing. Raze Anvrell was an outcast, a farmer, an idealist. The man before him wore the aspect of a warrior.

  “Lord Benjmur, Lady Athren.”

  “Lord Raze.” Benjmur nodded in return. “May I suggest a cup of southern tea? A repast?”

  “You know why I’ve come,” Raze said. “Slavers murdered two people at my freehold. Another, the woman Bel, is here, delivered by Sajem this morning. You’ve rescued her or abducted her. Either way, I intend to take her home.”

  “I sense a threat,” Benjmur said, and the man didn’t deny it. “We may be family, but you are aware that endangering the life of your governor is likely to result in your death.”

  “Your intentions alone, my lord, will determine the nature of my words and actions.” Raze hadn’t twitched, his body motionless, but with the coiled readiness of a predator. “I’m here for Bel, not vengeance. Hand her over, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Benjmur angled a glance at Athren, her silent control contrary to the fevered rages he expected. He faced Raze, voice dripping with regret. “I assure you, Belizae’s safety remains our primary concern, and I would willingly release her, but there is the matter of Empress Ezalion’s murder. Our new emperor suspects you and Azalus are culpable and fleeing only entrenched that opinion. It pains me, Raze, but I am bound by my oath to Emperor Kyzan to detain you and hand you over to Ezar.”

  “Nae.” Athren rose from her chair. “She stays, and he goes.”

  “Athren?” Benjmur canted his head.

  “I want Laddon.” Athren stalked toward Raze, matching his intensity. “You bring me Laddon, and she’s yours.”

  For the first time, the unforgiving shell encasing Raze cracked, and he drew a breath. “Lady Athren, I’ve no idea where he is or if he’s even alive.”

  “The last people to see him were Anvrells,” she said. “You find him, or you find out what happened to him.”

  Raze backed up a step. “I assure you he fell to no harm at our hands. He was a noble and kind man. We had no reason to harm him.”

  “We don’t trust you,” she sneered. “He would have wed Nallea, and your father refused to allow it. Lord Rydan gets what Lord Rydan wants. You should know—he murdered your wife.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “Don’t defend him!” Athren gritted her teeth, madness blazing in her eyes. “You deliver Laddon to me, or you bring me his murderer and his soul. Those are your choices. Pick one, or your whore disappears, and you’ll discover the agony of never learning what happened to the person you love more than life.”

  “Lady Athren.” Raze calmed his voice. “I will attempt to find Laddon or what became of him. Not because of your threats but as a kindness. I beg you again to let Bel go.”

  “Never!” she screamed. The door flung open, and four guards rushed in, swords drawn. Raze whirled back, sliding his blade from its sheath. Athren faced the guards. “Get out! Get out, all of you, before I kill you!”

  The guards fingered their weapons, seeking direction. “Athren,” Benjmur pleaded. “The Emperor—”

  “I don’t care,” she raged. “I want Laddon!”

  ~24~

  “Good morning.” Johzar stretched at the ship’s rail.

  Danzell peered at him. She stood in the gusty wind as the galley glided off the coast of Avanoe, the city rising from the mists. “You know, every morning when I awaken, I’m astonished you didn’t betray me during the night.”

  “I’ve considered it.” He swung around and leaned on the gunwale. “It’s not too late.”

  “Will you sell me to Benjmur? So he can sell me to Kyzan?”

  “I would have just sold you to Kyzan. Saved myself a great deal of trouble.” He massaged his jaw. “Shonra’s an honorable woman, a friend. Vennic…I spent years with him on King’s Fist, trading in flesh. He freed my foot when it caught in a stirrup.”

  “Your limp?”

  He nodded. “I find it hard to believe he’d cross me.”

  “A hundred gold chits.” She raised an eyebrow. “It would buy him his own little kingdom in the west.”

  “He made a serious miscalculation.”

  “It’s your business though, isn’t it? People are commodities. You buy them, sell them. You don’t distinguish between the rich and poor, the moral and immoral. They’re just…things to you, aren’t they? I was a thing to Vennic.”

  Johzar frowned at her. “You’re not a thing, Danzell.”

  She ignored any hint of underlying affection. “You don’t get to pick and choose, slaver.” She rested her elbows on the rail, the hazy sun on her face. “What are your plans?”

  He cocked his head, gazing across the ship to the faint line of land on the horizon. “See about a slaver, connect with Draeva, earn a pocketful of gold, and retire before I’m forty.”

  “You’re ambitious.”

  “And you?” He narrowed his eyes. “Care to tell me what’s happening inside your head? I might become a little weary of risking my life for a mad woman.”

  “Risking your life for me? Whatever for?”

  “You’re a woman worth her mettle as well as the rightful heir. And despite your peculiarity, I prefer you to your brother.”

  “I’m not mad.” She glanced at Laddon, the ghost never far. If she merely thought of him, he’d materialize out of nowhere like a scent or a forgotten memory.

  “In the catacombs, you heard voices.”

  “Nae, not the way you’re thinking. I’m not confused about who I am, my motivations, or whatever plagues those who indiscriminately swallow souls.”

  “How did you figure out that Vennic betrayed us?”

  She faced him. “I seem to enjoy a connection with an unbound soul.”

  “You’re seeing ghosts.”

  “One in particular. Laddon Demiris, the son of Athren.”

  “So, he’s dead after all.”

  “I assume so.”

  “You’re taking orders from the dead?”

  She smirked. “Let’s say he has goals he means to accomplish, and I’m a fugitive with nothing to do but quench my curiosity.”

  Laddon appeared at her elbow. “This journey will serve your goals, lady. But first, we head north to uncover my body.”

  ~

  Near midday, the ship ground against Avanoe’s quay. Danzell trotted off for the stables, Laddon’s ghost apparently eager to get underway. Johzar wished he
r luck. He wouldn’t mind crossing paths with her again if he survived his mission and she survived her brother. His quest for Sajem lacked a determinate compass point. Rumors of atrocities might pinpoint a province, but those accounts could be days or seasons old.

  First, he needed to find Draeva and his crew. They either waited for him in Avanoe or crossed the sea behind him. He strolled along the harbor, headed to the Black Gull for a meal and an ale. If Draeva had reached the city, that’s where she’d squander her copper. The place obliged its tattooed visitors; chits were chits.

  The tavern’s front door stood ajar, and in contrast to the sea’s fresh scent, the place reeked of spilled ale, rancid grease, and sun-ripened sailors. The stink didn’t bother him as much as the sight of Sajem and six slavers deep in their cups. One of the man’s crew, a woman with serpents inking up her arms, spotted him. Heads turned and Sajem laughed, a calloused paw beckoning him in. “Ah, my friend, join us. How went your travels in Tegir?”

  Johzar ambled to the table and claimed a seat across from his quarry. Finding Sajem had proved easier than expected, but the conditions didn’t befit murder, a point working equally well to his advantage. “A troublesome time for the empire. I would have thought you knowledgeable of all the sordid details.”

  Sajem grunted. “Tegir’s bloated with rules and soldiers. I like the Vales. The law here flows like water, easy to direct.” He growled at a server for another pitcher. “The raiding is healthy for the purse, and the ladies and lords look the other way as long as we don’t get personal. Our Governor Benjmur hasn’t forgiven you for stealing his daughter.”

  Johzar shrugged. “He wrote the rules.”

  “You got caught.” Sajem cracked his knuckles. “Outmatched by a girl.”

  “True.” Johzar let the taunt slide. “Speaking of getting caught, eventually those ladies and lords will tire of you. And when they tire of you, they’ll tire of me.”