Soul Under the Mountain (Legend of Reason Series)

by Guyton, David J.

  The ring of steel against steel cut through the night as blades cut through flesh. Men cried out; either in pain or in fits of rage. Both sides had to exercise extreme caution, for all men, friend and foe, were dressed in the same black armor. The scene was chaos come alive, and death waited at the tip of every sword.

  Rommus blocked a blade and kicked a man down. It was difficult to see clearly enough to accurately stab between armor, and using his father's black sword did not help either. He swung more wildly than he should have, and his aggravation was beginning to show in his form. He eventually did dispatch the man, but not before taking a long, painful slice to his left forearm. Hot blood poured from the wound and pooled in his hand as he cradled it.

  Rommus checked the surrounding area when he could afford to look away. Luckily no reinforcements showed up, nor did any soldiers flee. If any of them escaped to report to the enemy, then the entire mission would fail. Rommus simply could not allow that to happen.

  A sword pommel crashed into his helmet and stunned him. He fell to one knee as he tried to straighten the helmet enough to see through it again. A heavy boot smashed into his back and he fell to the cold ground. Anticipating an immediate attempt to stab him, he rolled across the ground, barely escaping the thrust. When the sword stuck in the ground, Rommus wasted no time. He got to his feet and spun around, hacking into the rear of his attacker's neck. It was enough to sever the spine, and the man collapsed into a harmless pile of armor and flesh.

  His wounded arm throbbed, and new blood kept pouring out over the old. He couldn't drop his sword to put pressure on the cut, but he did his best to hold it against his armor. He couldn't see how much blood had come out, but he was beginning to worry that the cut was worse than he originally thought. He no longer had the powers of a god to save him if he lost too much blood.

  The crisp, cold air burned inside his nostrils. Sweat from exertion quickly cooled on his skin, causing numbness and slowing him down. Fortunately, all of the men fighting were having similar troubles, and the enemy did not gain advantage. Still, Rommus felt himself beginning to weaken, and he was becoming more and more concerned with every hack and thrust.

  A severed arm still clutching a sword flipped through the air in front of him, leaving blood speckling his face and neck. A man screamed next to him, the sound ringing inside his own helmet. After a quick assessment, he determined that the sword whirling through the battle had been intended for him. He breathed a warm sigh of relief out into the frigid night air.

  Eventually the din of weapons and grunts of men died down. The battle came to an end with the Medorans left standing. Three Vindyri lay on the ground, breathing heavily with their hands silently pleading for mercy. Six Medorans had fallen, the but the remaining nine swords were leveled at the cowering enemy. All eyes looked to Rommus, who stood with his sword tip stuck into the frosty soil.

  Rommus cut some cloth and wrapped his injured arm as he spoke. "Get up and on your knees. I want answers from all of you, in unison, immediately after I ask the questions. Is that understood?"

  Two of the men said yes immediately, but the third just flashed an angry glare. Rommus nodded to one of his men and a sword was thrust down between his neck and shoulder, the cold steel entering his ribcage and no doubt tearing through a lung and his heart. He jerked violently, but silently; coughing out blood onto the frozen grass.

  Rommus cleared his throat. "I think the two of you know how serious we are. We're not playing games here. You are invaders in our land and you have attacked us here, in our own city, by your own free will. You have surrendered to us, and therefore your lives are ours. Is that understood?"

  "Yes," both men said.

  "Do any others know that we are here inside the city?"

  "No."

  "Is there anyone else in your party who is not accounted for here, dead or alive?"

  "No."

  Rommus paced back and forth. "Do you have any information about what your army plans to do next?"

  Both men answered, one with yes and one with no. A Medoran raised his sword, ready to bring the blade down on the one who said no. Rommus shook his head slightly, dismissing the idea. He then walked over to the man who said yes, and crouched down closer to his level.

  "Is he lying to me? Does he have the same information you do?"

  The soldier shook his head. "No, no, he doesn't know what I know. I'm a higher rank."

  Rommus leaned in very close. "Tell me what you know that he doesn't."

  "The Zidaoz. He is coming here. He brings his armies with him."

  "When? When will he arrive?"

  "Ten days, give or take. I can't be sure."

  Rommus stood back up to his full height and looked over to the rest of the Medoran soldiers. "Hide the bodies. This one here lives. Kill that one."

  "But I did as you said!" the doomed man exclaimed. "I didn't lie, I swear! I answered you honestly!"

  "I believe you. But you also came into my homeland with the intent to murder. You attacked us here in our city that you sacked. You are a member of a hostile force that will stop at nothing to murder innocent people. For your crimes, you will be put to death. For your cooperation, it will be quick."

  Before the man could argue any further, the steel of a blade ripped through his neck. His severed head landed in the bushes and a Medoran soldier was already picking it up before the rest of the man's body slumped and fell over. The soldiers had rested long enough, and snapped back to work, cleaning up the mess of bodies that littered the area. All of the dead, regardless of who they were, were handled with respect.

  Rommus tapped the last remaining Vindyri with the flat of his blade to get his attention. "Stand up and turn around while I bind your wrists. What is your name?"

  "Zeke. Zeke is my name."

  Rommus sheathed his sword. "Well Zeke, it's your lucky day. Looks like at least one of the gods are with you this night."

  Chapter 4

  Her leg muscles burned and she could barely breathe. Cold air rushed in and out of her lungs as she ran. Buildings were just a blurry mess in her vision as she searched for an escape route or hiding place. The clouds shielded her from any moon or starlight, and shadows taunted her; offering places to hide but also concealing things to trip over.

  Alana fought to stay upright and not keel over from lack of air and exhaustion. She had run nearly the entire length of Brinn, from north to south, with no rest at all. She kept hoping her pursuers would collapse behind her and give up, but they didn't seem to be tiring at all. Every time she looked behind her, black robes crept ever closer. Faceless enemies surely stared with hate and anticipation from under those dark hoods.

  She could not allow them to catch her. She wasn't even afraid of what they might do to her; she was terrified that they would find out what she was carrying. Her mind raced to think of any way that they could already know what it was. It made no sense that they would chase her knowing what she carried, but they were so relentless that it simply had to be true.

  She wished that she had had time to grab a weapon of some sort. Everything had happened so fast and she had acted without thinking. Still, she knew if she paused even for a moment she would have been killed or captured already. At every step of the chase, the Mages had been right on top of her, and at times she felt fingers or fabric brush against her skin. It sent chills up her already freezing flesh.

  It was even more frightening that the seemingly superhuman runners behind her were totally silent. They did not cry out for her to stop. She didn't even hear them breathing heavily behind her. Even their footfalls on the cobblestone could not be heard. It was as if ghosts were chasing her to her own grave; only willing to stop once her heart exploded in her chest.

  The ghost image in her head was made even more real from a magical staff one of them carried. From what she could see when she was able to catch a quick glimpse, it was a rather ordinary wooden staff. Hovering above the twisted staff, however, was an ethereal green glow, lighting
everything around it with an otherworldly hue. At times it would grow dimmer as she seemed to pull away some, but it always brightened as they closed in once again. It was a constant, terrifying reminder that she would certainly die if she dared to stop or slow down even for a second.

  She rounded a corner and cut into an alley. She cut the turn so close that she scraped the wall, the stone rasping her flesh. She had no time to dress warmly, and wore only her simple sleeveless shirt. That would certainly become a problem if she ever escaped her pursuers, for although her exertion kept her fairly warm as she ran, she would most assuredly freeze to death if she did not find shelter quickly.

  In her arm she cradled a large, lumpy, folded piece of cloth. Inside that cloth was a large book. It was the book that they had taken from Song, who had taken it from the Mages, who had taken it from the Song's grave. It was a terribly confusing mess, but she definitely knew she did not want the Mages to take it from her. The Book of Eternal Wisdom was far too powerful and she knew that if Uritus and the Mages got their hands on it again, the world would be doomed to darkness from that day onward, forever and ever.

  On she ran. Her muscles no longer even burned. They were beginning to just feel numb and shaky. She knew that before long, she would stumble or die from exhaustion. The men behind her would have the book, and the free world would come crashing down—all because of her. She wished that she did not have to bear that burden, but she could think of no other possible outcome. Her face was whipped numb by the frigid wind, but she imagined that at least a few tears escaped from her eyes from frustration, pain, worry and sadness. For the first time, she thought of giving up.

  But something inside her called out. Some voice was screaming to her, prodding, pestering, annoying. It was her own voice, her true self; the woman who did not know what quitting meant. The resolute, confident, capable Alana that fought for her entire life to become the woman she was. That voice inside of her was also yelling at her, showing her a solution.

  She summoned up all the energy left in her tortured body and ran to the next corner where another alley crossed the one she was in. She cut the corner as close as she could and searched frantically for something-anything—in the area that would work. Relief soared through her when she saw the open area in front of a doorway. It seemed to be a sitting area or something in front of a Medoran's home. She could just barely make out a mural made from small tiles adorning the doorstep—an easy thing to remember if she ever got the chance to come back and retrieve the book. In an instant she pulled the book out from under the fabric and unceremoniously threw the priceless text onto the doorstep. Without missing a step, she continued to run.

  The uneven cobblestone was becoming difficult to negotiate. Every few steps one of her ankles would snap too far to one side causing her to nearly fall. She didn't even care anymore. Her only goal now was to get as far away from the book as she could. The farther away she could get, the better off she would be—the better off the free world would be.

  Another turn around a corner and her screaming heart sank. Not far away was the solid wall of a large stone building. There was no escape this time. Her immediate reaction was a mix of panic and despair, but then her insides fluttered with the thought that she could finally stop running. She could finally rest. They would probably kill her, but she didn't have to run anymore. She let her limbs go slack and she tumbled carelessly to the unforgiving stone street.

  The ghostly Mages were not far behind. The emerald glow from the magic staff grew brighter, and three wraithlike Mages slid to a stop in front of her. She puzzled over the image before her, because the cloaked men did not appear to be touching the ground at all, but instead hovered several inches above it. While it made no sense that they were able to do such a thing, it did suddenly make sense why they made no sound and chased her so effortlessly.

  The man with the staff hovered closer. "Give us the book, Vindyri."

  Alana mustered a clever smile and handed the cloth bundle to the Mage. "You got me," she said between ragged breaths.

  He slowly reached for the bundle, obviously unconvinced that a book was inside of it. Once he was sure, he threw the worthless fabric to the street, hovering ever closer. He lowered the staff, pointing what was certainly the more dangerous end in her direction. Small, erratic bolts of green lightning danced around the tip, with some striking out into the air.

  "Where is it?" the man growled.

  "Where is what? It was a book you wanted, right? Maybe you should check with your Bhoor friends over at the Great Library in Taburdum. They have lots of books there—if they let you in."

  "Do not play games with us, Vindyri. I can snuff out the light of your soul in an instant."

  "I'm not afraid to die," she said defiantly.

  Laughter came from under the hood. "Oh, my dear, I didn't say I would kill you. I would, don't misunderstand. But I meant I can wipe your soul from existence. Total annihilation."

  "Well then, I guess I won't know it, huh? Sounds pretty painless to me. Get on with it."

  "Your defiance has gone from slightly amusing to irritating. If you anger me, you will pay dearly."

  "Your threats are amusing," she scoffed. "You're nothing but a coward hiding behind a big black hood. And you need your little walking stick there to threaten a little woman like me. I swear, men these days are really pathetic."

  "Mind your tongue woman, or I will tear it out. Tell us where the book is or you die here in this alley. All that will remain of you is a bloodstain dribbled here between the cobblestones."

  "It's with Rommus. Go get it from him."

  The man and his cohorts cocked their heads in confusion. "You're lying. Why would you run from us if you didn't have the book with you all this time?"

  Alana propped herself up a little higher. "Really? You think it's odd to run from hovering men in black carrying glowing canes that shoot lightning?"

  He raised the staff some and the turbulent energy surrounding it dimmed to a simple glow. "Where is Rommus now?"

  "As far as I know, he's fighting your friends at Taburdum."

  "The invaders at Taburdum and the Mages are not of the same accord," he said angrily.

  Alana rolled her eyes. "No? It just so happens that everyone all at once wants to destroy Medora, but you're not on the same side? I find your story-like your manhood—hard to believe."

  Even with the hood and heavy robes covering all of his features, it was clear that he was becoming irate. His body shook with rage and his breathing became deep and loud. If she were standing, he would have probably slapped her to the ground or cracked his staff across her cheekbone.

  But she had to keep him talking. She was still too weak to fight back or probably even to stand, and she needed all the time she could buy to gather her strength again. The longer she talked, the better off she would be. There was a point, however, where the man would just snap and turn her into a red stain, so she decided to change tactics slightly.

  "I know you," she lied. "I have seen you before."

  "No, you do not."

  "Yeah, yeah, I do. I know the voice. I was in your little underground fort spying on you once. I know it was you. Dark hair, brown eyes, medium build?"

  "I don't know who you think you are fooling, Vindyri, but this game stops right now."

  She searched nonchalantly for anything around her that could be used as a weapon. Her fists would be useless in her condition, and she wasn't sure she could even stand. Her breathing had become more regular, but her chest still burned from the cold air whirling through it. She needed to find a way to get away from these men before they killed her or destroyed her soul or whatever it was they were going to end up doing to her. Her eyes scanned beyond them, desperately searching for Rommus or Vohl or Tannis to come running to her aid.

  The eerie green light hovering above the staff suddenly grew brighter, as if an idea had suddenly come to the man holding it. "If you will not tell us where the book is, you will take us to it."
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  "And just how do you figure you can get me to do that? You already know I am not afraid to die or have my soul destroyed. The thing I fear most is you animals getting your hands on that book. You might as well kill me now. I'm not helping you destroy the world."

  "No, Vindyri, you won't. You will help us to reshape the world into one closer to our hearts' desire. You don't have a choice in the matter. Stand up."

  "I won't stand. In fact, if you were any smarter you'd realize I don't have the strength to stand. But if I did, I would spit in your face and then lie back down."

  The man just stood there staring down at her, but his two companions rushed over and roughly brought her to her feet. To her surprise, the classless, poor excuses for men punched her in her stomach several times. She immediately had the wind knocked out of her and could not draw a breath. The pain in her stomach and joints, coupled with the agony of weakness paralyzing her was enough to make her want to just give up and die. As they beat her, the voice in her head had become very quiet, and she almost wished it would just go away entirely. It was bad enough to have fists pummeling her, she didn't need her mind pummeling her too. She just wanted to be left alone. Whether it be to rest or just die did not matter to her anymore. She felt a small pang of sorrow for Rommus. If she died at the hands of these men, it would hurt him, and she hated the idea of that.

  "Enough," the leader said to his thugs. "She's coming with us. Tie her up. Make it uncomfortable."

  Chapter 5

  Gorin and Gewin were twins. Each of them had seen countless battles, and wore their scars with pride. Both of them would often point to certain scars, boasting about a particular battle, trying to lay claim to the most valiant title. But with so many scars, it was not a good measure of valor, and neither ever succeeded in convincing his brother that the title was his.

  While the twins bore a resemblance to each other, they did not bear a resemblance to anyone else. They were not exactly human, although in their distant past they had been. Their form had been altered long ago, and they could only pass for humans in darkness. They were the height of a tall man, although they were much wider. This made them appear to be very squat from a distance, but they were not at all small. Their skin was leathery, like the hide of an ox, and had a purplish hue to it. Faint patterns on their hairless skin resembled the markings of a snake, though they were hard to see at a distance. Their bones were heavy and thick, especially at the wrists, elbows, knees and ankles, where normal humans were noticeably thinner.