“What do you have for us?” the grand marshal said.
“Havan’s army returns with grave news, my lord,” the spy whispered. “They say…”
Drygo stepped forward, into the light, to hear his news.
“My king,” the spy said, bowing again, shock in his voice. “But the reports? They said you were dead.”
Drygo rubbed his shoulder. “I might have been, had my chainmail not stopped the enemy blade. What else do you know?”
“Havan’s king was initially livid that his army returned defeated, but when he heard of your death… They celebrate this night. Havan believes itself safe from retaliation for now,” the spy said then hurried to add, “but they will strike again. I was, even now, on my way back to Sunbury, yet I find Sunbury has come to me. Havan is unaware of your position, Your Majesty.”
The sounds of fanfare and revelry drifting in on the wind gave evidence to the spy’s report.
Yes, Havan would attack again, the king thought, but not before feasting and celebrating the death of Alexander Selenius Drygo. Leather groaned as his armored hands tightened into fists.
“Any other news? Of spoils of war?” Drygo asked.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, that is all I know. King Rommel himself likely now possesses anything of great value.”
Drygo said no more of the issue, silently vowing to retrieve his stone whatever the cost. “What is our best course of action? How do we get our entire army into the city without raising the alarm?”
The spy said, “I would suggest going in through the channel, Your Majesty.”
The king saw the wisdom in his plan. Havan sat on a peninsula, a jut of land branching out from the continent. Two bays bordered it to the north and south, a channel passing through the city connecting them. This channel served as the only weak point in Havan’s otherwise impenetrable wall.
The king looked up and realized the others watched him in silence, waiting for their orders. He dismissed the spy with a wave.
When they were alone, Drygo turned to Callum and said, “We cannot risk the whole army.” Callum started to speak, but Drygo kept talking. “You, me, and four of the guard will go in and open the gates.”
“Your Majesty, I really must protest,” Callum argued vehemently. “Let me send in a small task force of my best—”
Drygo held up a hand, interrupting him.
“Sire,” he pleaded. Callum looked around and then said softly to the king, “Alexander, please.”
Drygo’s eyes narrowed at the use of his given name. He let it slide. The king took a deep breath and said, “My word is final.”
And that was the end of it. His heart still mourned the loss of his wife and raged at the audacity of Fabian Rommel to attack at such a delicate time. He wanted his stone back, and he would have it, whatever the cost.
***
Just before midnight, Drygo and his men commandeered a small boat and sailed up the channel from the south. The waters were calm and the city itself uttered not a sound. Only the soft swish of the oars in the water broke the silence.
They passed through the arch of the stone wall where two sentries stood on duty, one on either side of the channel. Drygo’s archers took them out swiftly and silently. They had little reason to fear an attack, so few were posted this night.
The city lay dark and still. The lights, music, and shouts of joy and laughter coming from the keep in the northwest corner of the city were the only signs of life.
They moored their boat and climbed onto the stone platform of the channel. Ascending a set of stairs, they weaved their way up onto the battlements. When they entered the gatehouse, three guards took up arms while a fourth ran off into the night to warn King Rommel.
The first man charged at Drygo, the second at Callum. Drygo’s slice took a hand, Callum’s an arm. Together, they plunged their blades into their opponents’ chests. Drygo placed his boot on his enemy’s body and pulled his sword free.
The third man fled in terror, seeking to join his comrade in warning the others, but didn’t get ten feet away before one of the archers drilled an arrow into his shoulder. The man fell, but then scrambled to his feet. Both archers loaded an arrow and let fly simultaneously, finishing him off, his body tumbling down the stairs.
By the time they exited the gatehouse to chase the fourth, the man was running up the street at least four hundred feet away and increasing the distance with each passing second. The man shouted, trying to draw the attention of the revelers, but couldn’t be heard over the cacophony of noises that filled the night.
“He’s too far away,” said one of the archers.
“You must make the shot or we all die,” Drygo said.
He placed his hand on the archer’s shoulder and delved into the magic within. He siphoned some of his power into the archer. The archer pulled the bowstring farther than he’d ever pulled it and aimed with a precision and clarity he’d never felt before.
The arrow soared through the air and caught the man square in the back at a distance of at least six hundred feet. He fell to the ground and did not rise. Drygo dropped the bond and the archer sagged with exhaustion.
“Good man,” the king said, patting his archer on the back.
They turned back to the gatehouse. Two of Drygo’s guards sheathed their weapons and took up position on either side of a massive wheel. One crank at a time, the gate beneath them began to rise.
Several moments later, the gate stood ajar. The king held two fingers to his mouth and whistled as loudly as he dared. The armies of Sunbury emptied from the forests and charged quietly into the city.
Drygo, Callum, and his men descended onto the street and met their army just as the lead soldiers breached the gate. The king led the swift charge through the streets to Havan’s keep.
As the army advanced up the cobblestone street, eyes peered from behind the windows of houses. Shutters slammed, curtains slid into place, and lights went out.
When they reached the keep, the army split, half taking the eastern wall and the other the southern. Before they entered, Drygo laid a hand on each of his personal guards one at a time. He watched through black eyes as a tether of life force stretched between him and each of his men. He channeled strength through that tether and bolstered their courage.
In unison, the split armies barged through the doors and piled into the keep in droves. The revelers stood in shock. Screams erupted and people dived for cover. Goblets of wine spilled onto the floor, chairs fell over, and the music abruptly halted.
So complete was the surprise, hundreds of soldiers fell before they could even draw their weapons. Those that did suffered the same fate as their comrades, their drunken stupor addling their senses.
Every man and woman that stood in their way fell beneath their blades. They spared none, returning the same brutality Havan had shown them.
Drygo and his men breached the innermost sanctum and surrounded the King of Havan. Havan’s guard stood against Sunbury’s, weapons poised, but neither moving.
“You’re beaten, lay down your arms and you’ll not be harmed,” Drygo heard himself say, but he didn’t believe a word of it. As noble as his intentions were, he felt nothing but anger and hatred for the man before him.
The relations between Havan and Sunbury had always been tenuous at best. They tolerated each other, their peoples depending on various trade agreements. But Fabian Rommel had overstepped his bounds when he reached his grubby fingers into Drygo’s land.
“Alexander… you’re alive,” the King of Havan said, wide eyed. He wheezed a nervous chuckle. “Come now, Alexander, be reasonable. This is all just a misunderstanding.”
“Quit playing games, Rommel. Where is it?” Drygo demanded.
The man’s nervousness dropped in an instant. His face went hard and his eyes narrowed. “Do you mean this?” he said, pulling out the black diamond. “You shouldn’t be so careless with your valuables.”
�
��Give it back and I may yet spare your life,” Drygo said as he extended an open hand.
“You don’t think I truly believe that, do you? I can see the hunger in your eyes, the hatred.” Rommel paused and a smile crossed his face. “You should be thanking me, you know.”
“Thanking you?” Drygo replied, incredulous.
“You were a broken man, a ghost of your former self. Your people needed a leader, someone who would stand up for them. I merely gave you the opportunity to shine.”
“You would have me believe that you sacrificed thousands of lives to make me feel better?” Drygo flung an arm out, pointing as he continued, “That those people out there cheer and sing, not for my death, but my health and prosperity?”
The smile dropped from Rommel’s face. “You’re right, I saw an opportunity to be rid of you and I took it,” he said, his tone harsh and short. “Now I’m going to finish the job!”
The magic within Drygo pulled painfully as the tethers went taut. While Rommel stalled for time, his men emerged from the shadows and plunged their blades into Drygo’s royal guard. Their life slowly ebbed from their bodies, only hanging on through the tenuous bond of Drygo’s magic.
Drygo pushed back, flooding that bond with energy. It coursed through each of his men, reached out, and latched onto the would-be assassins. Through that tether, he siphoned the very souls of the enemy from their bodies.
The assassins let out wails of pain as they were drained of all life. Their complexion drained of color and their skin shriveled and sagged. The sickening sound of snapping bones rose above the cries, filling the room.
“Sorcery!” Rommel cried, pointing at Drygo. “Demon!”
“Not a demon,” Drygo replied, turning his icy black eyes at the man cowering before him. “A god.”
With no opposition coming, Drygo swung his great sword and separated the King of Havan’s head from his shoulders. Drygo caught the diamond as it fell from Rommel’s hand. The man’s body slumped to the floor, head rolling to a rest beneath Drygo’s feet.
Drygo turned to face his men. Callum alone stood, two of his royal guard lay dead, the others gravely wounded.
“You’re hurt,” the king said to Callum, seeing the red line at the base of his neck.
“No, Your Majesty. He was but a novice,” Callum said, indicating the dead boy at his feet. “It’s only a scratch.”
The attack ended as quickly as it had begun. When word spread that their king was dead, the soldiers of Havan quickly laid down their weapons.
Callum approached Drygo after a thorough search of the keep.
“Report,” Drygo said.
“We only lost ten soldiers in the attack, sire, not including your personal guard. Four hundred of Havan’s own men lie dead and another two thousand have sworn fealty to you,” Callum said. “The city is ours, and with it, the whole country.”
***
On the ninth day since the attack on Sunbury, Drygo stood at the top of the escarpment looking down on his city. As it was still morning, the city lay in the shadow of the cliff, the sun not yet high enough in the sky.
Over half of the buildings had been reduced to rubble. The city would need to be rebuilt. Drygo determined never to forget this horrible attack by renaming the city. He would name the city Shadowhold, both for its physical attributes and as a personal reminder that he’d hold on to the shadow of the way things were before the attack. Before his wife…
He turned his head, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and descended down the escarpment. Walking into the city, he stepped over crumbled stone and splintered wood. The stench of decay permeated every inch of the city. Carrion birds flew into the air as Drygo approached. Many weeks and months of rebuilding lay ahead for the people of Shadowhold.
Callum led the way back to the palace, keeping an eye out for any stowaways who might have hidden, seeking the opportune time to strike. But that time didn’t come.
Drygo returned to his study, sat down in his chair, and pulled the diamond from his pocket. The bouquet had turned as black as death itself, the leftover food covered in flies and filth. Only the pink bow remained unchanged, as timeless as his love. He picked up the bow, breathed in its scent, and set it back on the desk.
He stared at the diamond, watching it writhe and swirl beneath the surface. He rubbed it gently, with care.
“I’m sorry,” Callum said from behind him. “Sorry that she’s dead.”
Drygo did not shift his gaze from the diamond.
No, he thought. Not dead. Stuck. Stuck in this infernal stone.
Drygo had sought it out, the Soul Siphon, a legendary soul stone imbibed with the power of the gods, to save his wife from her illness. As she lay on her deathbed, the queen allowed the stone to take her soul, preserving her life inside.
Now, the king could not reverse it. His power could not pull her out. But there was a stone that could, the Soul Render, and he would stop at nothing to find it, unlock its power, and save his queen.
ENJOYED ASH AND STEEL?
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This short story is inspired by the world and characters of my upcoming novel, Soul Render. To follow along with the events leading up to Soul Render, sign up for my newsletter to stay up to date on the latest release information.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T.L. Branson is the author of the upcoming Soul Stones series. Branson started writing when he was eighteen and has contributed articles to several blogs and websites over the years. Soul Render is his debut novel in a planned trilogy. He finds his inspiration from the kings (and queen) of story, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, George Lucas, and J.K. Rowling. Born in Pennsylvania, he currently lives in California with his wife and two children.
For more on T.L. or Soul Stones visit his site www.tlbranson.com. You can also follow T.L. on Facebook.
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