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

by Matt Moss

  He raised his fist in salute.

  “To war.”

  The door burst opened as an unexpected guest entered the room.

  “Who are you?” Maximus snapped. “You shouldn’t be here. How did you get past the guards?”

  The handsome man smiled and bowed appropriately. “Pardon the intrusion, Governor Maximus. I have writ from the king.” He held a letter up in defense and offered it to his host. Maximus snatched it out of his hand and glared at the man. He silently read.

  “A warning from our high priest and false king.” He tossed the letter on the table for the other governors to see for themselves. “Victor wants to increase our tax. We must also pledge our allegiance to the Religion.”

  “I’ll be go to hell,” Ken said and spat on the paper before passing it along.

  “Forgive me, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Cain, and I am here to offer you a deal on Victor’s behalf. If you submit yourselves to the Religion and pledge allegiance to the King, then there will be no raised taxes. Failure to do so will result in your destruction.” Cain eyed the room. “This is non-negotiable. There will be no treaty and no lives spared. The destruction of Greenehaven was nothing compared to what he will do.”

  “Is that a threat!” Butch said and stormed to confront Cain. He stood in front of the messenger, face-to-face.

  Cain was unmoved by the governor’s action. “It’s a promise.”

  Butch snarled and put a hand on his dagger.

  “I wouldn’t,” Cain said, his eyes flashing dangerously. “It might be the last thing you ever do.”

  Butch tensed, filled with rage. His hand gripped the blade.

  “Butch, stand down!” Maximus ordered.

  “No, Maximus! This son of a bitch thinks he can come in here and…” Butch’s words cut out as Cain planted a palm strike to his chest. The governor flew over the table and crashed into the wall, shattering the brick and falling limp to the ground. The governors pulled their blades. Cain held his hands up. “He drew on me.”

  “He never moved!” Ken cried.

  “He did,” Cain said in defense before pulling a nearby sword from the wall. “I came here in parlay. Don’t make me regret killing you.” He spoke the words as a matter of fact.

  Maximus sized the room up. He knew every man would rather die here and now before agreeing to the Victor’s terms. He also sized the messenger up, noticing that there was something different about him. There was an air of confidence about him and a truth in his tone like none other. He was more powerful than the average man, yet seemed willing to fight every man in the room as if it were sport. Maximus wondered how much power Cain held reserved, waiting for the governors to make the first move.

  Maximus spoke to the room. “There is no need for violence. Yet.” He handed Cain one of his personal seals that he used to deliver messages. “Give this to Victor and tell him that I’ll be coming for it, soon. Tell him that the independent cities bow to no man.”

  “Do not test the high priest and his Oracle. They do not make false on their promises.” Cain urged.

  Maximus put a hand on Cain’s shoulder, pitying the young man. “And neither do I. Tell them that we go to war.”

  Cain regarded the man with sympathy. “Are you sure that’s the message you want me to deliver?”

  “It is.”

  “And tell him to go bugger himself before we send him to hell,” Butch spat, rising to crouch on one knee.

  Cain laughed arrogantly. “You are all fools,” he said. He turned and left the room.

  “What are we going to do?” Atlas asked. Every eye turned to Maximus. He was their leader, and he just committed to war with the crown and the Religion.

  Maximus saw mixed emotions among the men’s eyes. He set his jaw, looked down at the letter, and clenched it in his fist.

  “We go to war and we kill everyone who stands against us.”

  TWENTY FOUR

  Lyla walked out of camp late morning, carrying a heavy pack. She made arrangements with doctor Arze and the others before leaving and told them that she would be back in seven days or so. Of course, most were concerned about her safety and asked where she would be going. All she told them was how she wanted to stop by the Grand Highlands to retrieve a few of her prized possessions that were left to her by her mother. She didn’t like lying, but knew that sometimes it was best that some things remained secret. And it wasn’t a complete lie — she was going to the Grand Highlands.

  On the outskirts of the woods, she met Torin and Joko on the road.

  “Are you sure about this?” Torin asked. Lyla gave a confirming nod and struck out on the road, taking lead. Torin stepped in behind her. “It’s a long walk back to the Grand Highlands, but it will be much easier traveling on the road,” he said. “We should be able to find a farmer along the way who might be willing to sell some horses.”

  “That sounds good,” Lyla said absentmindedly, drawing the words out.

  “What’s the matter? Are you still having the dreams?”

  She felt a tinge of regret about telling Torin about her recurring dreams. They always began well, but quickly turned into nightmares as of late. Last night, she screamed so loud that it woke her up. She hoped nobody else heard.

  “Was it about Arkin again?” he asked.

  They were always about Arkin. They started the same, beginning with just the two of them; happy, peaceful, in love. Then, every night, the dream changed.

  “This time we were in the middle of the standing stones. The blue sky quickly turned black as a storm rolled in, the wind nearly knocking us down. We held on to each other as the tempest raged.” Her pace on the road began to quicken. “As the storm grew stronger, a bolt of lightning struck the ground in front of us. We walked to where it hit the ground and stared at the hole in the earth. That’s when I noticed him, standing behind us.”

  “Who?”

  Lyla stopped. With her head turned down, flowing hair of gold hid the emotion on her face. “Victor.”

  Torin breathed deep and crossed his arms. He narrowed his eyes down the road.

  “Torin,” Lyla said, looking up to him.

  “Yes,” he said, turning to her.

  “This is the third night in a row that I’ve had the same dream.”

  Solitude was the mindset of the three companions as they walked. Nobody spoke of much as they trekked on the winding mountain road, each content with their own thoughts, and even more content with not expressing them. They knew they were going to the Grand Highlands, but from there they had no idea. Lyla supposed they would figure it out when they got there. Maybe between the three of them, they could decipher The Path of Man and get a clue about the location of the Garden of Stones. She wanted to go back to the Prophet’s chamber to see if there were any hidden scrolls or books that would be valuable to them, but gathered that Torin was not fond of the idea. She could see the uneasy feeling wash over him at the mention of going there.

  So they walked in silence. All except for Joko. He would, from time to time, whistle a melodic tune. It was grinding to his companions.

  “It will rain later,” Joko noted, peering up.

  “It’s a blue sky day, Joko,” Torin said. “Rain’s nowhere near us. Trust me, I’ve traveled these lands my whole life.”

  Joko shrugged and began whistling again.

  “We’ll make camp before sundown,” Torin said. “Seems I remember a farm about half a day’s walk from here. “We’ll stop by in the morning.”

  That made Lyla feel a little better. She was tired from hauling the heavy pack up and down each mountain they crossed and would give anything for a horse to take them the rest of the way. Torin and Joko both insisted to carry her burden, but she politely declined since they were carrying their fair share. She did appreciate the courtesy, though.

  They stopped at each stream they came across and filled up their waterskins. Their food consisted of nuts and dried beef that Lyla had packed. It was enough to k
eep them going throughout the trip, but it certainly wasn’t much. Torin said that there was food at the Lodge and made it known that he spent many days cleaning the place up. But Lyla knew that there were some things that would never go away; like the smell of blood and death.

  After taking a quick break, they continued on.

  “Lyla,” Torin spoke, “I’ve been wondering about your dream. I think it’s trying to tell you something.”

  She cocked a grin and told him that it was just a dream, but something deep down told her that he was right. Her mother believed in dreams, often telling others what they might mean, but Lyla never paid it much mind. Until now.

  “You’re doing it again,” Torin said.

  “What?” she replied.

  “Twirling your hair the way you used to, back when I found you at the farm. You used to do it when you were nervous.”

  She pulled her hand away, unaware that she defaulted back to the old habit. “I didn’t know that you could decipher dreams,” she jeered. “So, what do you suppose my dream is telling me then, Torin?”

  “I think it’s a warning.”

  “A warning?” she retorted. “About what, Arkin and me?” she said, defensively.

  “The garden,” Joko interrupted. “That it what your dream is about. It should be left alone.”

  Lyla stopped and turned to Joko before looking back to Torin. The big man tilted his head in skeptical agreement.

  “Surely you don’t believe that,” Lyla said. “You were the one who was adamant on finding the garden!”

  “And I still am. I just think that,” he paused, looking away in search of the words. “We need to be careful.”

  “We will be,” Lyla assured him. “Nothing bad is going to happen.” She wanted to believe it. She had to. “Don’t you think we’ve been through enough? Seriously, what else could go wrong?”

  A crack of thunder in the distance made them turn and throw their gaze to the north. A menacing black cloud began to roll over a mountain top in the distance.

  “Told you rain is coming,” Joko said, pointing as if everyone else was oblivious to the impending storm.

  “Damn,” Torin said and spat on the ground. “We need to make camp. Now. This one’s going to be rough.”

  The storm battered down harder than even Torin could have imagined. Luckily, they left the road and spotted an empty cave nearby to shelter them for the night. Joko was adamant that there was no such thing as luck, but Torin disagreed wholeheartedly. Both made good arguments for their case.

  “If there is no such thing as luck, then what do you call this?” Torin stated, gesturing to the cave.

  “Good timing. A good find,” Joko replied.

  Torin shook his head. “You don’t believe in fortune? Fate?”

  “No. We are here. Things happen by chance and for no reason at all.” Joko prodded the fire with a stick. “We make a choice. That choice leads to another choice which leads to another choice.”

  “But you do believe in purpose?” Lyla asked, interested in their thoughts, sitting cross-legged on a large, smooth rock.

  Joko looked at her like he was insulted. “Yes. Without purpose, why are we here?”

  “Then how do you explain the unexplainable?” Torin noted. “Or, say for instance, in battle if an arrow misses you by a gnat’s ass, how is that not luck?”

  Joko stared into the fire for a time before speaking. “If the arrow was to strike you, then it would have done so. If it did not, then it was not supposed to. Everything has time and place in the universe.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing as fate?” Lyla noted. “If everything has a time and a place, would that be considered as pre-destined?”

  “No, because our choice can change. Power, or what you call destiny, is controlled by the choices we make.”

  “You know, sometimes your accent falls away and you speak more like a scholar,” Lyla japed.

  Joko stood, abruptly, and began to leave.

  “Hey, settle down. We didn’t mean to make you mad,” Torin said. “Where you going?”

  Joko threw his gaze to both of them. “I must piss. Fate has given me drink, and it is destined that I piss, now.” He snapped around and stormed to the mouth of the cave.

  “Ha!” Torin bellowed out loud and Lyla squealed with laughter.

  Clear skies met them in the morning as they continued along the road to the farm that Torin had spoken of before. The farmer, who’d been trading with the Order for years, gave them the horses free of charge after hearing about what happened at the Grand Highlands. Torin tried to pay the old man, but he wouldn’t take it.

  “I like him” Joko said shortly after leaving on horseback. “He has good soul.”

  Lyla smiled back at Joko. They hadn’t trained since they left, but she was eager to begin again. Perhaps they would have some time at the Grand Highlands before they continued on to wherever their feet led them. She didn’t know what they were doing or where they were going, but she was happy that they were all together on the same quest. It felt good to stay busy. It felt good to hope.

  It felt good to be riding on a horse.

  TWENTY FIVE

  Victor stood in front of the mirror, admiring himself as Sarie placed the white robe around him — the garment of the high priest.

  “You look magnificent, your Grace.”

  He smiled at her and straightened his garment proper. She began to move about the room, pretending to be busy tidying up, hiding the angst that filled her mind.

  “Are you worried at all?” she asked, arranging the pillows on the bed.

  “About what, my dear?”

  “About what Cain said. Are you really going to war with the independent cities.”

  Victor smiled at that. “I’m not worried at all. In fact, that was the response I was hoping for.”

  “And you’re confident that we will win?”

  “Yes.” He ran oiled hands over his hair, slicking it back.

  “But what about all the people. There won’t be a kingdom to rule if everyone is dead.” she pleaded, walking to stand in front of him.

  “I will make them all see the truth. They will abandon their false ways, bow before the crown, and commit themselves to the Religion. Or they will die.”

  Sarie looked at him, afraid of the conviction in his tone. Victor looked away from the mirror and met her gaze. “Don’t worry, dear. There shouldn’t be any need for death. When faced with a life threatening choice, men will choose life every time.”

  “I suppose,” she said and walked to sit in a chair. A thought suddenly struck her, “Why haven’t we heard from Lucian? Greenehaven’s destruction was weeks ago. Don’t you think he would have come back by now?”

  “Perhaps he died in the attack,” Victor said, uncaringly as he washed his hands in a nearby basin.

  Still, the thought of Lucian being alive frightened her beyond measure.

  She walked to the balcony. “Governor Vaylesh says that he now has control of the city and all of the guilds since most of the former guild leaders are either dead or gone. He said that there will be a shipment of drudge coming in ten days — the largest ever.”

  “Excellent. That will prove to be most useful after…” His words cut out as he suddenly turned towards the door, his face ashen. Sarie turned back to look at him. “What is it?”

  “They’re coming,” he said in panic.

  “Who’s coming?” she said, scurrying towards him for protection. She’d never seen him shaken like this.

  He held her tightly and drew his gaze upon her. “Do not move. Do not speak. And do not look them in the eye,” he cautioned in a hushed voice.

  Sarie shivered as she held onto him from behind, waiting for whoever it was to arrive. Victor stood strong, the way he always did, but she knew whoever these people were, they struck fear in him like nothing else.

  The room was silent, the hallway beyond the door, silent. Sarie and Victor both stood there waiting. Listening. The only
sound Sarie could hear was the pounding of her heartbeat inside of her head. After a span, it began to slow and she relaxed a bit, thinking that whoever it was had left. She swallowed the remains of her fear down before she spoke. “Maybe it was…”

  Her words faded out as shadows moved outside the closed door. They moved in silence, and she was amazed since most boots could be heard on the tiled floor from the other end of the hall. Bumps rose on her skin as the room suddenly grew cold — cold enough that she could see her breath. She tightly wrapped her arms around herself, standing behind Victor.

  The door opened.

  Four strangers walked into the room.

  “Your Grace,” one said with a bow, walking to stand in front of Victor. “It is great to see someone who came from such humble beginnings rise to such a power.” His eyes flashed dangerously as a smile crept upon his face.

  “Tripp. I was wondering when you would show up,” Victor said.

  Tripp turned in a circle, admiring the room. “Hard to go unnoticed — the whole soul tapping, coming back from the dead, enforcing a new religion upon the world thing,” he said, then eyed Victor. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Two of the others were making themselves busy about the room, but one remained in the doorway. He admired Sarie with haunting, savage eyes under the cloak that hid his pale face. She tried not to look at him.

  “I am doing the Almighty’s work.” Victor replied.

  “Cut the shit,” Tripp spat. “We both know whom you serve. Or have you forgotten?” He pulled a long slender blade from his side and put it to Victor’s neck.

  Victor didn’t flinch and remained calm. “I have not forgotten. And surely you have not forgotten the deal that we made a long time ago. You can’t kill me.”

  Tripp hissed and pulled the dagger away.

  “Yet. Can’t kill you, yet,” Ros added from across the room, looking over a collection of books.

  Victor paid her no mind. “Besides, you don’t want to kill me. I’m going to give you what you want.”

  Tripp took a step back and sized the priest up. “Oh, and what’s that? Since you know us so well, what do we want, your Grace?”