The Shepherd of Fire (The Soul Stone Trilogy Book 2)

by Matt Moss

  Clara was outside sweeping the steps as Arkin approached.

  “Arkin!” she cried, dropping the broom and running to meet him. She wrapped her arms around him.

  “Hello, Aunt Clara,” Arkin replied as he embraced her. “You haven’t aged a day since I’ve seen you last.”

  She stood back and dismissed the compliment, though couldn’t help but grin at that. “Child, you’ve lost your mind. What are you doing here?” She held him at arm’s length, then shook her head. “I mean, I’m pleased to see you, but what brings you into town? I thought you were training with Torin at the Grand Highlands?”

  He looked down, unable to answer at the moment.

  She hugged him again. “Come inside, child. You must be starving. I’ll have a hot lunch for you in no time.”

  He followed her into the crowded inn. She led him to a private table in the back corner of the main room. “I’ll have you something in a jiffy. Be right back, then you can tell me everything.”

  Everything? he thought. How could he tell her everything?

  He looked around at all the guests and marveled as he watched them. They ate contently, unaware of all the turnings in the world.

  Part of him wished he was like them — ignorant to all the lies and deceptions. Oblivious to the truth.

  Clara returned holding a plateful of succulent meat and potatoes, breaking Arkin from his philosophical daze. He was glad for it; he was tired of overthinking as of late. He had always been one to overthink things, and was slowly discovering that it was a double-edged sword. And, he was starving.

  Arkin smiled in appreciation as she sat at the table and placed her hand on her chin the way she always did. She stared as he ate. He didn’t mind.

  “Is Malik here?” Arkin said between bites.

  She sighed and looked away. “I wished that he was, given the current state of the kingdom. Unfortunately, he is serving in the king’s guard. Or the high priest’s guard I suppose, now that the king is dead.”

  Arkin bit his tongue, thinking of Victor.

  “Have you heard from Malik recently?” Arkin asked. He wondered if she knew about what happened at the Grand Highlands.

  “He wrote awhile back, saying that things were well,” she replied. “But that was before the mayhem in Kingsport.” She looked away, a sudden worry upon her face. “I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” Arkin consoled. “I’m sure he’s fine.” He surmised that she didn’t know about what happened at the Grand Highlands.

  She doesn’t need to know… yet.

  Arkin’s words didn’t console her, and she looked away in attempt to hide her emotions.

  Arkin cleared his throat. “I can check on him.”

  She tensed, suddenly ecstatic. “You’re going to Kingsport?”

  Arkin nodded. “I am. While I’m there, I will find him and bring you a report on my return.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, Arkin.” She reached across the table and grasped his hand. He smiled and returned to his food, hoping that all would be well in that report.

  He finished the meal and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You were always the best cook,” he complimented. She forced a weary, but fond smile.

  “How are you faring otherwise? How’s the inn doing?” Arkin asked.

  “I don’t know, Arkin. Times are crazy and the people are getting crazier.” She sat up straight and crossed her arms. “The other day, I had a group refuse to pay for their tenure.”

  “What?” Arkin said, appalled for her sake. “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? By the time I told a few of my friends — the ones who handle the troublemakers like these — the group had left town.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Four total. One woman.”

  Arkin looked around the room and ground his teeth. “I’ll keep an eye out for them on the road. If I find them, I’ll get what’s yours. I swear it.”

  Clara’s eyes flashed a look of terror. “Please don’t go near them, Arkin,” Clara pleaded and grabbed his hands. “They were dangerous people. They aren’t your regular run of the mill bandits.” Her demeanor gave Arkin pause… for a moment. He was more than confident that he could take on a few men and a woman. Especially with his newfound abilities.

  She continued. “They robbed Trader’s Village before they left and busted Umber up good. Wrecked the shop and took everything they could carry.” She met his eyes, earnest. “Promise me you won’t.”

  “Alright, I’ll be sure to steer clear of any bandits I see.” He lied. If they were on the road to Kingsport, he would be the justice that they deserved.

  She nodded and rose to gather the dishes. “Silly me, I forgot to bring you something to drink. Be right back.”

  When she returned, Arkin asked a few questions that had been rolling around inside his mind; ones that he’d been thinking of along the road.

  “Tell me about my father,” he said as she sat down.

  “Like what, child?” she replied, handing him a cup of water. “I’m sure you know him better than I do.”

  If she only knew. Or does she know about him and the Order? His suspicions of everyone and everything had reached an all time high as of late.

  “How did he meet my mother?”

  “Well,” Clara said, then brushed her hair away with a hand as she looked away. She smiled fondly recalling the tale her sister told her the night after Sarie met Levi. “They met at one of King George’s banquets. If I recall, it was the one celebrating the pregnancy of the queen.”

  “I didn’t know King George had an heir?” Arkin interrupted.

  She frowned. “The child was born dead.”

  “I didn’t know,” Arkin said and looked down.

  Clara continued. “Your father was standing at the king’s table, along with his father, Paul. They raised their glasses in salute to the king. That’s when he saw her.”

  “My mother,” Arkin stated, his eyes widening at the story and the mention of the mother that he never knew, taken from him while he was just a babe.

  Clara smiled. “She was working as a handmaid in the king’s palace.” She laughed, recalling her sister’s words. “She said that he stood there, staring at her with a raised glass, long after the toast ended. The king had to clear his throat to break Levi’s gaze from your mother! He stole her breath away.”

  Arkin smiled at that and took a drink to stifle the emerging lump in his throat.

  “See, that’s not so hard, is it?”

  “What?” Arkin said, nearly choking on the water.

  “To smile.”

  “It’s getting a little easier.” He lied, again. “What happened next?” he asked, leaning onto the table.

  “Levi immediately walked over to her. Sarie was so nervous, I remember her telling me that her whole body shook with each step he took towards her.”

  “Because of his title with the Order?” Arkin asked.

  Clara crossed her arms and settled into the seat. “At first, perhaps. But she soon overlooked your father’s high position in the Order and saw him for what he truly was; a good man.”

  Arkin looked away. “You said before that Lucian courted her as well.”

  She looked down. “Yes. He did. Later.”

  “And she allowed him? Did my father know?”

  Clara shook her head. “At first, no. But she soon succumbed to Lucian’s charm. He was… different than your father.”

  Arkin frowned. “So my father wasn’t enough for her.”

  “That’s not it, Arkin.” Clara reached across the table to hold his hand. “Love is complicated. One day you’ll understand.”

  He looked away and thought of Lyla. “Maybe.”

  “Your mother is not to blame in this,” Clara consoled. “Nobody is.” She turned away and spoke over her shoulder. “Or maybe they all are. I don’t know what happened towards the end.”

  “I wish I could have known her,�
� Arkin said, breaking away from his aunt’s hand, leaning back to slouch in his seat.

  A tear welled in Clara’s eye. “She loved you more than anything, Arkin. If nothing else, know that.”

  He slowly nodded. “Okay.” His head suddenly felt heavy and his eyes, sore. “Mind if I lay down for a bit?”

  “Of course not,” she said. She stood and led him to a room reserved for special guests only. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  Later, he lie awake in bed and passed the time by fumbling around with the puzzle box that Picaro had given him in the Grand Highlands. He thought of the crazy old man and wondered if he made it out alright. Arkin hadn’t noticed him around town ever since Torin rode back from Paul’s execution. But how could he have noticed — the whole town was preparing for war.

  A war that they lost.

  His eyes became heavy and he set the puzzle box down. Thoughts of his parents occupied his mind. He imagined them together again, young and in love. Of them growing old together and watching their grandchildren grow in turn. He pictured them smiling, walking with one another in the evening sun and talking about nothing in particular as their hands swayed, intertwined with the other’s.

  They were kind thoughts. They were the ones that he always wanted.

  SEVEN

  The crowd roared as blood sprayed across the arena.

  The gladiators couldn’t help but put on a show. It was for the entertainment of Greenehaven, and the citizens demanded blood for glory. The winners were handsomely rewarded with everything that the flesh could want. For a slave, that meant he could live like a king, often retiring from the sands of the arena if he won the Season. The men gladly ripped each other apart for the promise of glory.

  Hebron flinched from the governor’s balcony as a head left a body and rolled to the edge of the arena walls. The dogs, with chains pulled taught through iron ringlets on the walls, fought over the scrap with gluttony.

  “Damn good show!” Hebron cheered. He elbowed his guest beside him and pointed to the gladiator in the center of the arena. “Rat, what’s that big fellow’s name there? The savage one who’s cutting everyone down,” he asked before ripping into a large turkey leg with his teeth.

  Rat, the guest and messenger, looked at Hebron with disgust and wrinkled his nose at the governor’s manners. “I think his name is Karn,” Rat said, pretending not to know the gladiator. “At least that’s what I heard the crowd chant from the previous round.”

  Useless pig, Rat thought of the governor and turned his attention back to the Arena.

  Another man charged at Karn. The giant took the attacker’s arm off with a ferocious backhanded slash, and the man fell to the ground with a blood curdling scream. A second man crashed into Karn with a shield, sending both men to the ground. Karn quickly rolled on top, grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it in an unnatural way. The sound of bones snapping could be heard over the crowd. Karn broke the other arm as the man cried in helpless agony. The giant, Karn, then stepped on the man’s thigh, bent over, and pulled the man’s foot to his chest, snapping the bones within. A jagged, bloody bone protruded through flesh and armor, glistening in the midday sun for all to see.

  The crowd hissed and cringed at the brutality. Of course all Seasons were brutal in the arena, but this newcomer brought a savagery like never before. When the giant shattered the second leg, the crowd hushed.

  Karn, completely covered in blood and gore from the nine bodies that lie scattered about the grounds, marched around his opponent. What once began as a free-for-all soon turned to a group of slaves rallying against the big man for survival. Karn bent down and picked the man up in his arms, as if he was an injured dog.

  “Please!” the man screamed through the pain. “Mercy…”

  A few in the crowd repeated the cry for mercy, unable to take anymore, but ‘kill him’ were the cries and chants that came from the majority, though it was hard to discern bloodlust from pity. Karn paused to look up at all of their faces, turning around and scanning the entire arena. A snarl played across his face in doing so. He loathed people. Especially weak people.

  He slammed the man onto his knee and broke his back in two.

  The shocked crowd cheered before erupting into a roar. “Karn! Karn!” they chanted. The sound was almost deafening.

  “He keeps it up and he’ll win this Season!” Hebron yelled in Rat’s ear before placing the turkey leg down to put a mug of ale to his lips.

  As Karn left the grounds, he eyed the governor’s balcony before walking into the tunnel that led under the bleachers and into the barracks. The steel door was locked behind him and the guards released the dogs to feast upon the fallen as the crowd began to leave. Some stayed to finish the show. There were always those who stayed to watch.

  “Why do you look so nervous, Rat?” Hebron asked, noticing the messenger’s demeanor. “That is the name you addressed yourself as, yes?”

  Rat grinned behind his enormous nose. “I don’t like blood,” he said sarcastically. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Truth be told, he wanted to slit the governor’s throat and smile as the pig choked on his own blood. He straightened his back and stood tall in front of the governor, though he was a head shorter and half the size of Hebron. “Yes, I don’t like blood, and as we both know, I have a message to deliver, so if I can do that, I’ll be more than happy to be on my way.”

  Hebron placed his cup down with a sigh. “What the hell kind of a name is Rat, anyway? Never mind. What does the high priest want?” he said, mocking the title. “We both know that there will be a replacement for the king, and soon. When that happens, a new high priest will be appointed, believe that.”

  “Be that as it may, I still have a message for you,” Rat said and handed him the letter with a slightly shaking hand.

  Hebron noticed how nervous the man was. Annoyed now, he ripped the letter from Rat’s hand. Hebron read it briefly before offering it back.

  “What do you want me to do with this… wipe my ass?” Hebron spat.

  “You’ve been warned,” Rat stated, glaring at the man with as much courage as he could muster.

  Hebron’s anger flared as he crumbled the note and threw it over the balcony and into the arena. “Don’t come into my city and make threats, messenger priest!” His finger pounded Rat’s chest in accusation, causing the little man to step back. Hebron pressed him further. “His Oracle tells me to pay these ridiculous taxes or else my city will burn!” Hebron laughed madly. “Well, you can tell them both to come down from their high palace, kneel before me, and tenderly kiss my ass over and over again.”

  Rat’s face was red hot and furious. “How dare you threaten me, a priest! When Victor hears of this…”

  “Matter of fact, you’ve done enough on their behalf,” Hebron interrupted him and took a step back. “I think an apology from you is called for. Get on your knees.”

  Rat glared defiance at the man. “You’ll regret ever…”

  Hebron laid a heavy fist across Rat’s jaw. “On your knees!”

  Rat’s eyes were wide now and blood trickled from his mouth. Trembling, he fell to his knees.

  “Look at me,” Hebron commanded.

  Rat looked up.

  “Apologize,” the governor said and began to untie his breaches.

  Teary eyed and full of rage, Rat clenched his jaw and shook his head. Hebron slapped him, hard. Rat lowered his head and stifled a cry.

  Hebron laughed. “Look at you. You came here with the confidence of a thousand men, but now here you are, in front of me on your knees.” He tied his breaches back. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you do that. Though, I hear that some priests do like that sort of thing.” A servant attended the governor and offered him another cup of ale. “You see this, Mattias?” Hebron spoke, pointing at Rat. “This is what a man begging for his life looks like.”

  “Noted, sir.” the servant said.

  Hebron reached down and jerked Rat to his feet. “Get out of my sight.
If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you,” he threatened the priest.

  Rat wiped the blood from his mouth and lifted his head to loathe the governor one last time. He straightened his robe, turned, and scurried out of the arena.

  Hebron drained his cup and handed it back to his servant. “And that’s how you handle business, Mattias,” he told the young man.

  “Sir,” Mattias said before turning to leave.

  Hebron paced the balcony, deep in thought. His face grew stern as he contemplated the letter. His anger sent a chair into the stands of the arena, dashing it to pieces upon the steps. He flung a small table and shattered it against a stone column, causing a few servants to scatter to avoid the temper that they knew all too well.

  Shaking with rage, Hebron turned back to the arena.

  He gripped the railing and watched as the dogs ate.

  EIGHT

  Lyla cried herself to sleep the night Arkin left. The nightmares had grown more vivid as of late, and, in her dreams, she reeled over the horror at the Grand Highlands. It was as if she were there again, but rendered useless and weak. She had managed to keep her emotions at bay for the sake of the others in the camp, somehow keeping her resolve through it all, but Arkin leaving didn’t help, and sometime during the night, she screamed. It woke her up, shaking and in a cold sweat.

  She hoped no one else heard it.

  Wiping the matted hair from her face, she threw on a coat and walked outside. Only the faintest hoot of an owl could be heard as the camp slept. She wrapped her arms close to keep warm and was thankful for the stillness in the air and the bright moon that shone amidst an endless sky of stars.

  Slow and steady steps led her out of the camp and along a path through the trees and into a field. She walked aimlessly, her mind blank and open to the world around her as she let everything go. Her senses took over as she began to climb a hill of wildflowers, and suddenly, she felt better. She couldn’t remember a night when the moon had shone so brightly.