Legacy of Souls

by D. Wallace Peach

  Books by D. Wallace Peach

  The Melding of Aeris

  Sunwielder

  The Sorcerer’s Garden

  The Bone Wall

  The Dragon Soul Quartet:

  Myths of the Mirror

  Eye of Fire

  Eye of Blind

  Eye of Sun

  The Rose Shield Tetralogy:

  Catling’s Bane

  Oathbreakers’ Guild

  Farlanders’ Law

  Kari’s Reckoning

  The Shattered Sea Series:

  Soul Swallowers

  Legacy of Souls

  Grumpy Ana and the Grouchy Monsters

  Legacy of Souls

  The Shattered Sea: Book Two

  Copyright © 2018 D. Wallace Peach

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author/publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  ISBN-13: 978-1944820756

  Cover Art © Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design

  www.derangeddoctordesign.com

  Table of Contents

  Map of the Shattered Sea

  ~1~

  ~2~

  ~3~

  ~4~

  ~5~

  ~6~

  ~7~

  ~8~

  ~9~

  ~10~

  ~11~

  ~12~

  ~13~

  ~14~

  ~15~

  ~16~

  ~17~

  ~18~

  ~19~

  ~20~

  ~21~

  ~22~

  ~23~

  ~24~

  ~25~

  ~26~

  ~27~

  ~28~

  ~29~

  ~30~

  ~31~

  ~32~

  ~33~

  ~34~

  ~35~

  ~36~

  ~37~

  ~38~

  ~39~

  ~40~

  ~41~

  ~42~

  ~43~

  ~44~

  ~45~

  Ready for Another Adventure

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To Randy,

  for the love and kindness

  that made my dreams come true

  Acknowledgments

  The seeds of this story started a decade ago, and with the first ten chapters written, the tale languished. In 2016, a writing prompt reawakened Raze, and he walked back into my life. My state of “unknowing” about the nature of the soul, and my belief in its immense beauty and potential, fed the fantastical magic of soul swallowing, and the tale began to unfold.

  Many thanks for my writing and blogging friends who endure my discussions of the art and craft of writing and encourage my creativity. Special thanks to my beta readers Cathleen Townsend and Erik Tyler whose careful reads of the story added all the spit and polish to my prose. The book shines because of you.

  I’m grateful to every reader who picks up a book and is carried away by my stories. Loving thanks to my husband and family who lose me for days and weeks (years, honestly) to the wonders of the imagination and the written word.

  Map of the Shattered Sea

  ~1~

  Tegir Empire, Year 21

  If not for death’s assault on his senses, the morning would have promised a pristine day. Instead, the ruins would haunt him. Not only the charred bones and half-burned bodies pulled from the fire’s rubble but the pervasive stench of those impatient for the grave. He could no longer wash his conscience clean of the destruction, and his indifference grew weary.

  Johzar, Slaver of Ezar, limped among the smoldering remnants of Celes’s northern district, the women and men of his company in tow. Frowns carved their tattooed faces, no less dour than the grimace etching his unstained skin.

  They wore the garb of their trade, armor over short tunics, legs and arms exposed but for shin guards and vambraces. Steel dangled at their hips, and a midnight-blue cloak hung from a silver clasp at their shoulders.

  The city’s guards patrolling the streets knew Johzar’s crew bore no blame for the carnage and kept their distance. But to the soot-smudged rabble picking through the debris of their homes and loved ones, they were slavers, and one crew was no different from another. To the victims, they were as much at fault as the villains who’d ravaged their lives.

  “Sajem’s doing,” Draeva muttered, less a question than a statement. Above them, a woman leaned through a window and spit at them, shrieking her outrage and despair. A fist-sized rock hurled from an alleyway’s shadows and missed Draeva by a finger’s width before it clattered across the cobbles. She scowled and nocked an arrow in her bow, growling a warning should anyone try something so foolish again. “It’s time for a conversation,” she said, “before Sajem gets us killed.”

  Johzar glanced at the statuesque speaker, his second in command, pure Ezari like himself. She angled her lavender eyes at him. A black rope of hair twisted down her back and flowers bloomed among the less feminine markings adorning her skin.

  “Ai. I’d hoped not, but he drowns our good name.”

  “Our good name.” She grunted. “Our kind walks a cliff’s edge as it is. They hate us here.”

  His shoulders rolled in a shrug at the tired news. Those who bought and sold human beings bore the reputations of villains. Across the Shattered Sea, slavery was commonplace. Ezar was a land of wars, populated by soldiers. There, the rules of law integrated the practice into the hierarchy of society, and conquered peoples assimilated into the structure with few complaints and fewer chains. No one seemed to notice. Except, perhaps, for the slaves.

  None of that happened here in the Vales where slavery had been whittled down to arbitrary terms of servitude. Those in power had ensured that the guideposts were wrought of clay and could be reshaped on a whim. And even with laws so malleable, Sajem broke all bounds. He’d swallowed one too many souls.

  Johzar blew out a breath and called to the women and men on his heels. “Draeva and I will handle this. The rest of you wait here unless it gets ugly.” He advanced on the cluster of Celes guards, Draeva at his side, her shoulders back and chin high.

  The men of Celes fanned out, hands on hilts, a hunger for vengeance chiseled across every face. In their midst, Lord Juntis issued orders and collected reports. The stout man, once king of the southern vale, had endured a demotion to Master of an Ezari province. Jolly and agreeable as a cup of custard under most circumstances, he’d misplaced his sense of humor, and his eyes had morphed into gray pellets.

  “Your kind is no longer welcome,” Juntis growled. He pointed a thick finger at two wagons bearing the broken and burned bodies of the dead. “Not until you pay reparations.”

  “This wasn’t my doing,” Johzar said, “and you cannot prevent a lawful trade.”

  “Lawful?” Juntis spat on the road, round face flushing. “Since when are murder, kidnapping, and arson lawful?”

  “I don’t engage in any of the three.” Johzar met the man’s glower and ignored the hostility emanating from the guards in waves of heat. He’d stand there all day, staring the lord down if that’s what it took to force his poin
t.

  Juntis blinked first. “What do you want?”

  “I have a suspicion regarding your villain.”

  “A suspicion? You know very well it’s Sajem. We all know, and your Empress will hear an earful come her summer games. Expect Ezalion’s Challenge to assume a whole new meaning.”

  “It’s your right to appeal to her,” Johzar said. “In the meantime, my company and I will bring back any of your people who are still alive.”

  “I suppose you’ll let the monster Sajem go free.”

  Johzar narrowed his eyes as the accusation scraped up his spine. He turned his back and rejoined his crew. That choice was his alone, and he’d yet to make up his mind.

  “Coward,” Juntis called after him, and the guards laughed.

  ~

  Johzar shook off his irritation and led his company north along the bluffs of the rugged shoreline, a treeless swath of scrub quivering in the wind. The drop to the waves varied anywhere from four feet in Ildus to two hundred north of Kestrel. The weather blew from the south, filling his nostrils with the balmy scent of brine. Seabirds cackled and scattered in flight as the horses trampled tufts of rock-bound grass.

  Finding Sajem required neither tricks nor wiles. The man couldn’t march his captives to Ildus or Avanoe; they’d never pass as legitimate bonds. And even if he forced them to scribble away their freedom, there would be others refuting his claim and demanding justice. Sajem’s only choice was to treat them like a conquered people, as slaves, and the only place he might get away with the lie was Ezar.

  Johzar reined his gray to an ambling pace when his quarry came into view. Draeva rode up beside him. “If the gods wanted to shit on our day, they just did.”

  On a jut of bare rock, Sajem’s slavers herded their terrified prisoners to the cliff’s rim. One by one, they shoved them over the edge, their victims screaming as they plummeted nearly thirty feet to the wild sea below.

  “He has a ship down there,” Draeva muttered. “That’s the choice he’s giving them—slavery or drown.”

  “I need you and the crew to interrupt their fun.” Johzar flicked his reins, aiming his horse toward the man overseeing the havoc. “While I have a conversation with our red-eyed madman.”

  Behind him, Draeva shouted orders and led his company toward the chaos at the rocky lip. The woman was no fool and would play it smoothly. Johzar’s task would prove the more perilous.

  Sajem saw him coming and propped his fists on his hips. His russet cloak rippled behind him, the pose somehow epic as if he commanded the wind. Since Johzar had last crossed his path in Tegir, the bald slaver had swelled with muscle, every inch of him a tapestry of tattoos.

  “Come to rob me of my spoils?” Sajem stroked his shaved chin, his entire body hairless by the looks of it.

  “You leave a savage brand of fury in your tracks, Sajem. I’m left cleaning up your boneyards, and it’s getting harder to wipe off your stink.” Johzar swung down from his saddle and clasped forearms with the slaver, tightening his eyes at the modifications to his face. Sajem had slit his nostrils and ears years ago. But he’d filed his teeth to points and split the end of his tongue like a viper. He stared from blood red eyes.

  “They’re mine.” Sajem angled his head toward the standoff at the cliff. “You have no claim, no reason to interfere.”

  “Show me the signed bonds, and I’ll walk away.”

  Sajem licked his forked tongue over his teeth, eyes calculating. He chuckled. “I don’t want a war with you.”

  “Not a thing I’d relish either.”

  “Bad for business.”

  “And I’m outnumbered.” Johzar cracked a smile. “How many over the edge?”

  “About half, twenty or so. Got a ship down there.”

  “Well planned.”

  “I’m done picking up strays and haggling for bonds. You know the game, Johzar. Everyone begs silver for their feeble asses, and they aren’t worth copper. Raids are more effective. I get my pick.”

  “And kill anyone who stands in your way.”

  Sajem grinned, fiendish eyes in slits. “My advice? Don’t stand in my way.”

  “I’m taking the ones on the cliffs back to Celes.”

  “Ah, for such a young man, your hearing grows old.” Sajem’s fingers coiled around the hilt of his sword.

  Johzar left his own weapon untouched at his hip, but he subtly shifted his weight, skin prickling and muscles coiled should the man’s steel find sunlight. Sajem had experience with a blade, but unless his recently swallowed souls had gifted him with exceptional speed, Johzar figured he possessed the skills to match. “Not a wise idea,” he warned.

  The slaver’s lip curled as his hand let up on his hilt, and his eyes flickered to the cliff where his crew waited for orders. “I get to keep the ones in the water?”

  Johzar arched his eyebrows, prepared for the compromise, and his shoulders relaxed. “I’ll admit I wouldn’t have a clue how to get them back up. I suppose you don’t carry a rope with you?”

  The slaver gave him a quizzical look and then roared with laughter. He shouted to his cohorts at the drop, “Let them go. Our friends insist.”

  Even at a distance, Johzar spied a visible easing of tension sweep his crew and adversaries alike. “I’m curious. How many souls, Sajem? How many souls have you swallowed?”

  Taller by half a head, Sajem bent toward him, face to face, bloody nightmare eyes peering into his, breath reeking like something dead a week. Johzar refused to flinch, and Sajem leaned closer, whispering into his ear, “You want to know if I’m mad?”

  Johzar already knew the answer to that question. He wanted to know how mad and whether it was too late to kill him while he still had the chance.

  ~2~

  Life at the freehold spun like a child’s top, playful and whirling so fast that the hours passed in a dizzying blur. Summer had bloomed over the meadows with a lush and windy zeal. Raze escaped to the solace of the pastures where time slowed and the late day sun trundled across the sky as if hitched to a lazy mule. He wore a light cowl to protect his fair halfbreed skin and pale amethyst eyes from the sun. Sweat gathered on his forehead and matted his brown locks. Despite the heat, the swath of green offered a place to breathe.

  A few weeks ago, he’d returned from Kestrel with an altered awareness of his strengths and vulnerabilities. He’d walked a thorny path of forgiveness and reawakened the gift of family. Stubborn wounds healed and he’d fallen in love. And amidst all the turmoil, he’d learned that life and its many treasures rarely came with guarantees, especially when slavers roamed the lands.

  As opposed to humans, horses were predictable and safe. He stood at Wind Warrior’s tall shoulder, sharing quiet observations about the condition of the grass and the best time to rotate pastures. The gelding snorted and swung his head into Raze’s chest as if offering a different opinion.

  Raze draped a lead around the animal’s thick neck and sighed with relief when the horse didn’t bolt. He stroked the muscled shoulder and then casually slid a halter over the black muzzle and ears. Warrior Wind’s lips lifted for a bite, and Raze pushed the nose away. “Not today, warhorse.” With a calm hand, he removed the lead line from around the neck and led the rambunctious beast to the gate, six mares and three yearlings rambling along behind.

  Pleased with himself, he paddocked Warrior Wind with the bossy mare Four Fists who tolerated the larger horse without much fuss. Falcon and the other two mares possessed more respectful dispositions and waited at their paddock gate. Raze swung the barrier open, and the horses ambled in. He and Vax brushed them down, tossed in fresh hay, and filled the water trough. Samoth arrived on horseback with the palfreys, and the three men repeated the process.

  One last chore of the day remained, one he welcomed. He wandered to the garden gate and leaned on the fence. Lanya, the self-proclaimed overseer of freehold labor, had assigned Belizae, Thanelan, and Chellai with the job of weeding, and only Bel appeared committed to the task. She yanked t
he green offenders while humming one of her grandmother’s melodies. The two children huddled in the shade of a trellis and ate raw peas, a mound of empty pods at their feet.

  All three looked up with an eagerness that pulled a laugh from his chest. Bel sat back on her heels, a smile gracing her lips, eyebrows arched in question. She flipped her sable braid to her back. “Are you here to propose a swim, Lord Raze?”

  “That’s plain old Raze to you.” He feigned a glower that he couldn’t hold. His decade of annoyance with the title had surrendered in a matter of weeks to her playful teasing. “I was thinking of it.”

  “Ah, but plain old Raze, we haven’t finished our weeding.”

  “We could finish tomorrow,” Thanelan suggested, the blond five-year-old leaping to his feet. “Me mum says I’m grubby as a hog.”

  Chellai’s eyes bulged and she giggled. “I’m grubbier than a hog too. We’re needing a wash before supper, or Lanya might be cross.”

  “She’ll be cross if you don’t finish,” Raze warned, and the children wilted. He chuckled and angled his head toward the Ravenwood’s distant rim and the pool concealed beneath its boughs. “But she doesn’t care for hogs in the cabin either. If she’ll be cross either way, we might as well go for a swim.”

  The children reached the gate ahead of Bel, and the four of them headed for the pool. The path wound along the stream, cut through a corner of Shara’s freehold, and then curled past Cully Lake, the tepid water sprouting lily pads and bullfrogs. Beneath the towering trees the air cooled and the trail climbed, the stream bubbling and gurgling as it tumbled over roots and rocks.

  When they reached the round pool, sunlight dappled the surrounding ledges, and the white waterfall thundered from above, filling the air with spray. Raze bathed behind the watery veil, slipped into his trousers, and lay on his side on the flat rocks, head propped in a hand. He’d shown the spot to Belizae after her arrival at the freehold, and they’d shared a few balmy evenings there in quiet conversation.