The Third Soul Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Most Callian nobles have Adept advisors, do they not?” said Solthain. “I’ll wager you never had one, because of your…eventful history with the Conclave. But you’re well within your rights to ask. Specifically, you’re well within your rights to ask Rachaelis to be your advisor. Which means she would come to Moiria with you.”

  “I…hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Corthain.

  He liked that idea. He liked it a great deal.

  “Then it’s just as well you killed Talvin and released me,” said Solthain. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here to point out the obvious to you.”

  Corthain laughed.

  “Oh, one other thing,” said Solthain. “I have a message. I’m supposed to tell you that the First Magister would like a meeting with you, before you leave.”

  Corthain nodded. “All right.”

  ###

  The orange-clad slave bowed and escorted Corthain into Arthain Kalarien’s study.

  Talvin’s study had been a room full of strange geological curios. Arthain’s was a place of business. Shelves held books and papers, neatly organized, while a row of desks stood against the far wall for scribes. Arthain’s desk itself held only his personal seal and a small jar of wax. Thalia stood next to the desk, while Arthain sat behind it, a look of exasperation on his face.

  “Of course, it is traditional to hold a festival upon the ascension of a new First Magister,” said Thalia. “Might I suggest you proclaim a general liberation of slaves?”

  “No,” said Arthain.

  “It would do wonders for the opinion of the Conclave,” said Thalia. “Already rumors are spreading about how Talvin was demon-possessed, and some say that perhaps the entire Conclave serves demons.”

  “Sedition and libel,” said Arthain. “Anyone spreading such lies should be flogged.”

  Thalia rolled her eyes. “Yes, Father. Flog them. That will certainly quell the rumors that we are demon-possessed monsters who enjoy cruelty.”

  Arthain grunted.

  “However, a general manumission would greatly…”

  “No,” said Arthain.

  “It would also have the benefit of…”

  “I said no!” said Arthain, pounding his fist on the desk. “Why do you persist?”

  “Because, Father,” said Thalia. “Unlike every other Adept in the Conclave, I know you far too well to be frightened of you. You have the best interests of the Conclave at heart. And I will convince you that ending slavery in Araspan is in the Conclave’s best interest. Even if we must have this conversation every day for years.”

  For a moment Arthain looked almost queasy.

  “Oh, Corthain’s here,” said Thalia, looking at him with a smile. “I’ll leave you two to your talk, then.”

  She smiled again, kissed Corthain on the cheek, and left.

  “Your sister,” said Arthain, “seems determined to hector me to death!”

  “Thalia is a most determined woman,” said Corthain.

  “Like your mother,” said Arthain, his hard eyes distant for a moment. “She usually got what she wanted, in the end.”

  “So does Thalia,” said Corthain. “After we had our…talk at your tower, I was going to leave Araspan. Thalia convinced me to stay, to find out who was after Rachaelis.”

  “Yes,” said Arthain. “And…I suppose it is good that you did. For all of us. I should thank Thalia for it. Who knows? Freeing the slaves would cause economic chaos…but perhaps I am wrong.” He glanced at Corthain and looked away. “Perhaps I have been wrong about other things, as well.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “So,” said Arthain at last, “I assume you will be returning to Moiria?”

  “I will,” said Corthain. “I’ve been gone too long as it is.”

  “Yes,” said Arthain. “Your responsibility to your freeholders. You mentioned something of that.” He gestured at a scroll on the desk. “Take this with you. You might find it of some use.”

  Corthain frowned, picked up the scroll, and read it.

  His eyes widened. “This…gives the domn of Moiria the right to import wines into the city without paying any tariffs.”

  Arthain nodded.

  “With this,” said Corthain, “I could undercut every wine merchant in the city. Give me a few years and every last drop of wine in Araspan will have come from my freeholders.”

  Again Arthain nodded.

  “Why?” said Corthain.

  “The Conclave is…grateful for efforts you have undertaken in our defense,” said Arthain. “Talvin was a monster. And yet he operated under our very noses for twelve years, and we suspected nothing. You have done us a great service.”

  “I see,” said Corthain, rolling up the scroll. “Thank you.”

  Arthain inclined his head. “That is all.”

  Corthain nodded, turned to go, and stopped.

  “I don’t like everything you have done,” he said, “but I think I understand why you did it.”

  Arthain lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “You told me the mission of the Conclave is to stop demons and blood sorcery,” said Corthain. “I thought that was just empty rhetoric, a justification for slavery and cruelty. But I saw what Maerwulf did. I saw what Talvin did. All the harm they caused, all the people they killed.”

  “It could have been much, much worse,” said Arthain quietly. “So much worse. We were fortunate.”

  “They had to be stopped,” said Corthain.

  “Whatever the cost,” said Arthain. “That is what it is to be an Adept. To do what is necessary.”

  “I don’t agree with everything you’ve done,” said Corthain. “Nor will I ever. But after seeing what Talvin did, and could have done…I understand why you thought it was necessary.”

  His father almost smiled. “Perhaps that is all I can ask of you.”

  Corthain nodded once more and left.

  ###

  “The decision is in your hands,” said Aramane.

  Rachaelis sat with her father in her rooms. There had been very little catching up to do. Even with his soul trapped in Talvin’s crystal prison, he heard her every word, and she had poured out her heart to him for years.

  “What about you?” said Rachaelis.

  Aramane shrugged. “I have spent too much time in Araspan. And I thought that even before Paulus. Wherever you go, I am content to follow.”

  Rachaelis considered this for a moment. “I never wanted to be an Adept.”

  “I know,” said Aramane. “But you are a strong one. You could join the College Exoricisa, if you wish, and work to rid the world of demons and blood sorcery. Or the College Liberia, and work to end slavery. Magister Nazim would be pleased for your help, I know.”

  “I don’t know,” said Rachaelis. “I think…I think I would like to leave Araspan.”

  A knock came at the door.

  “Enter,” she called.

  Corthain Kalarien entered the room, a scroll tucked under one arm.

  “Corthain,” said Rachaelis, smiling.

  Aramane glanced at her, then at Corthain, and then back at her. For some reason he smiled.

  “Lord Corthain,” he said. “I owe you a great debt. Both for my freedom, and for my daughter’s life. What can I do for you?”

  “I wish only to ask a question,” said Corthain. “It’s traditional for a Callian domn to have an Adept for an advisor. I never had one, but since Moiria will soon have a close trade relationship with Araspan, it only seems proper.”

  “That does seem prudent,” said Aramane.

  “It does.” Corthain looked at Rachaelis. “If you would consent to become the advisor to the domn of Moiria, my lady…I would be honored. Most honored.”

  Rachaelis grinned. All her life, the future had seemed grim. She had feared that she would die in the Testing. That life as an Adept would harden her heart and sear her conscience.

  But perhaps the future did not need to be so grim.

  “Yes,” she
said. “I will.”

  The Third Soul V: The Burning Child

  Rachaelis Morulan has defeated the wrath of a blood shaman and escaped the insidious lures of a high demon. At last she is ready to leave corrupt Araspan and start a new life.

  But the followers of the vanquished blood shaman have different plans.

  When a horde of bestial demons rampages through Araspan, Rachaelis and the other Adepts prepare to fight.

  And to defeat the demons, she must make a choice that will risk everything...

  Chapter 1 – Wolves in Flesh

  Rachaelis Morulan felt someone following her.

  She looked over her shoulder.

  Traffic thronged Araspan’s dockside streets, men hurrying past the rows of squat brick warehouses. Endless rows of heavy carts hauled goods to and from the harbor, their wheels creaking. Here and there a horseman rode, carrying messages for the noble houses or the Conclave itself.

  And everywhere Rachaelis saw slaves in their orange tunics.

  Her mouth thinned a bit in anger.

  But no one followed her.

  “Rachaelis?” said her father.

  Rachaelis turned her head, and Aramane Morulan smiled at her. He looked much the same as he had when she had been a child of eight – the same gray eyes, the same scholarly face, the same thinning brown hair. In fact, he looked exactly the same. Talvin’s spell had left his soul suspended between life and death, and Aramane’s body had not aged a day.

  “Is something wrong?” said Aramane.

  “I don’t know,” said Rachaelis. “At least, I don’t think so. I have the strangest feeling someone’s following me.”

  Aramane nodded and swept his eyes over the street. The flow of traffic continued unabated, though everyone gave Rachaelis and Aramane a wide berth. They both wore the black-trimmed red robes of Adepts, and Aramane had the black stole of a Magister.

  No one in their right mind challenged an Adept.

  But most of the people who had tried to kill Rachaelis in the last month hadn’t been in their right minds.

  “I don’t see anyone,” said Aramane. “It would be a bold foe who challenged two Adepts in the street.”

  “I’ve seen nothing but bold foes lately,” said Rachaelis.

  Aramane nodded. “True.” He sighed. “You’ve earned the right to some caution. But, come. We don’t want to keep Lord Corthain waiting.”

  She did not. They would leave Araspan for Corthain Kalarien’s domnium of Moiria in the kingdom of Callia, to serve as his advisors in matters of magic. Rachaelis had come to loathe Araspan, to detest how the city and the Conclave relied upon the misery of their slaves. In Callia, no man was a slave or even a serf, and even the poorest peasant was a free man.

  And she wanted to spend more time with Corthain.

  She remembered kissing him on the balcony of the Red Water Inn, remembered…

  Rachaelis followed her father, though she shot one more glance over her shoulder.

  No one was following her.

  But she still felt unseen eyes upon her.

  A short time later they came to the Silver Coin, a spacious inn catering to foreign merchants. Corthain Kalarien awaited them before the Inn’s door, clad in the black coat, black trousers, white shirt, and boots favored by the nobility of Callia, a sword and dagger waiting at his belt. The sword was a relic of the Old Empire, while the dagger was a sicarr, an enspelled blade forged by every Adept as a test. Rachaelis had given it to him for saving her life.

  And then he had used the weapon to save her life again.

  She looked at him and smiled. His green eyes shifted towards her, and he smiled back.

  A smaller man waited at Corthain’s side, cleaning his fingernails with a throwing knife. Luthair was Corthain’s seneschal, and had a peculiar variety of skills. He claimed to have been, at various times in his past, a tax collector, a horse thief, a stage magician, a merchant of rare cheeses, and the former illicit lover of the Queen of Saranor.

  Rachaelis suspected less than half of that was true.

  “My lord domn,” said Luthair with a bow in Rachaelis’s and Aramane’s direction, “your new advisors have arrived.”

  “So I see,” said Corthain. “Magister, you and your daughter are ready to travel?”

  “We are,” said Aramane. “Our luggage has been sent ahead, and we have said our farewells.”

  Rachaelis nodded. Both Thalia and Magister Nazim would remain behind, and she would miss them both. But they had important work for the College Liberia, undermining slavery among the Adepts of the Conclave.

  And Rachaelis was ready to leave Araspan.

  “Then we shall depart,” said Corthain. “I’ve secured passage on a merchantman traveling back to Callia City. Taking on two Adepts as passengers made the captain nervous until I pointed out the obvious defensive advantages.”

  “Especially,” said Luthair, “with the Khauldish slavers growing so bold for new inventory.”

  He looked at Rachaelis, titling his head to the side as if puzzled.

  Aramane offered a thin smile. “Any slavers that trouble us will learn the error of their ways.”

  “Good,” said Corthain. “I’ve had troubles in Moiria with Khauldish raids. Two members of the College Liberia would help teach the slavers to look elsewhere.”

  “We shall be glad to do what we can,” said Aramane. Again Rachaelis had the sensation of unseen eyes watching her, and she glanced over her shoulder.

  She saw nothing but the usual mix of wagons and orange-clad slaves.

  “Does Moiria have much trouble with ghouls?” said Aramane. “I traveled there in my youth, but…”

  “Pardons, Magister,” said Luthair. “I have no wish to interrupt your wisdom, but someone appears to be following you.”

  Rachaelis started to turn.

  Corthain’s hand closed around her shoulder. “No, don’t turn around. Luthair?”

  “A slave woman,” said Luthair, still cleaning his fingernails with that knife. “About forty. Fairly emaciated. She darted into the alley next to the warehouse as soon as I saw her.”

  Corthain frowned. “Is she a Jurgur?”

  Rachaelis shivered. The cult among the Jurgur slaves had worshipped a high demon as a god and regarded Maerwulf as a prophet. And Maerwulf had wanted to capture Rachaelis and force the high demon into her body, to twist her into the dark messiah of the Jurgur nation.

  “Is she one of Maerwulf’s followers?” said Aramane. “Arthain said they were all slain, but even he might have missed a few.”

  “Then she’s here for revenge,” said Luthair.

  “Or,” said Corthain, “she has a demon in her.”

  “If she is an Urthaag,” said Aramane, “we must deal with her. We cannot leave her behind to work additional harm.”

  “We can delay our departure,” said Corthain. “Luthair.”

  “She’s still in the alley,” said Luthair, reversing his grip on the knife.

  Corthain nodded and loosened his sword in its scabbard. “Follow me.”

  Corthain and Aramane took the lead, and Rachaelis followed them, Luthair strolling at her side. She summoned power, preparing to unleash magic at a moment’s notice. The High Art of the Adepts gave her many options to defend herself. She could sheathe herself in wards to turn aside both magical and physical attacks. Her spells transformed her very thoughts into blows of force or unleashed blasts of astralfire to harm both physical and incorporeal creatures. One demon-possessed woman was no match for her.

  Yet Rachaelis still felt fear scratching at the back of her throat.

  By the Divine, she was weary of demons.

  Corthain entered the alley, and Rachaelis saw the slave woman.

  She was thin and gaunt and middle-aged. Brittle gray hair hung around her thin face, her bloodshot blue eyes harsh. She was indeed Jurguri, with the inverted triangular scars of the Jurgur thrall caste on her hollow cheeks.

  She stared at Rachaelis and snarled, her
eyes full of hatred.

  Corthain said something in Jurguri.

  The slave hissed and spat upon the ground. “Do not defile our tongue, impure dog,” she said in accented High Imperial.

  “Very well,” said Corthain in the same language. “Why were you following this Adept?”

  Rachaelis saw the fresh cuts upon her jaw. Jurgurs of all castes cut themselves on the jaw when embarking upon a dangerous task, swearing by their blood to return either victorious or dead.

  “Because,” said the slave woman, “she is a murderess.”

  “I assure you,” said Aramane, stepping to Corthain’s side, “that she is not.”

  “She slew the Master!” said the slave. “She slew great Maerwulf, the anointed of the high demon.” She spat again. “You could have been the earthly vessel of the high demon, and led the Jurgur nation to glory and power!” Her thin hands curled into fists. “Instead you rejected the Master’s gifts and spurned the high demon’s blessing!”

  “Yes, refusing the possession of a high demon,” said Luthair, voice bored. Yet the knife remained motionless in his hand. “What poor taste, my lady Rachaelis. Can’t you see you’ve hurt the poor woman’s feelings?”

  “Silence!” shrieked the slave. “The high demon shall wear flesh! The blood of Maerwulf will lead the Jurgur nation to glory again!”

  “No,” said Rachaelis, “he will not. Maerwulf is dead. You should rejoice. He promised your people power, and led you to ruin and slavery instead.”

  “Because we were weak,” said the woman. “Because we were not worthy of the high demon’s power! But I shall prove my strength!”

  “Which is why you are following us,” said Corthain. “To kill Lady Rachaelis.”

  The woman’s lips peeled back from her yellowing teeth in a snarl.

  “Woman,” said Aramane, his voice gentle. “Hear me, I beg.”

  The woman blinked. Perhaps an Adept had never used that tone with her before.

  “You put your trust in Maerwulf and his high demon,” said Aramane, “and they failed you. Their strength was an illusion, and they regarded you as a tool, as fodder to be thrown away in pursuit of their own power.”