Time of the Stonechosen (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 2)

by Thomas Quinn Miller

  Finngyr watched in disbelief as Griff's bones snapped back into place and the area where the skin had torn filled with an inky black liquid and then knitted back together.

  Finngyr knew it wasn't blood pumping through Griff's veins. Was Daomur healing him? It was impossible?

  Finngyr only had a moment to consider before Griff attacked again.

  Ghile watched the two dwarves set upon each other with a flurry of attacks, blocks, and counterstrikes. Neither seemed to acknowledge when they were struck and each blow looked enough to crush stone.

  Now was his time to deal with Ashar. Ghile leaped from the ledge.

  Ashar looked up as Ghile fell. Ghile waited for the next fireball to come hurtling towards him. But the sorcerer only tracked his progress and hobbled towards the stone mounds.

  When Ghile landed before Ashar, he thought of the fangblade he had lost. He could feel the force shield stretching out from his hand and form into a point even as it thinned along one side into a sharp edge.

  Ashar took a deep breath and said something Ghile couldn't understand. Then the sorcerer laughed as he shimmered and limped in two opposite directions at once, even as he remained still.

  Ghile had never seen Riff do that!

  Where there had been one of him before, there were now three sorcerers laughing at him.

  All three spoke in unison. “Well, here we are.”

  Ghile lunged toward the middle one, only to have his force blade pass harmlessly through Ashar as if he wasn't even there.

  “Now!” The three Ashars shouted. “Do it now!”

  A mummified vargan rushed out of the middle Ashar. Ghile just had time to make out the white feral faces of two goblin fallen carrying the body as he lashed out with his force blade.

  The blade slice cleanly through the goblin on the right, but upon hitting the shriveled vargan stopped in a flash of intense light and white hot cutting pain.

  Unyielding heat seared into his palm.

  “No,” Ghile said.

  The force blade vanished and along with it the body of the vargan stonechosen as if it never existed.

  “No,” Ghile said again.

  He reflexively drew his hand to his chest, but he knew it was too late. The pain and simultaneous exaltation mounted as he fell back.

  The new soulstone began the excruciating journey under his skin towards his chest.

  Ghile's vision blackened around the edges and his mouth went dry. His mind was screaming to give in to the pain and drift off into peaceful oblivion. Ghile knew this was the soulstone trying to draw him into the Dreaming, to train him. He knew if he gave in he would never wake up.

  Ghile fell to one knee as the room spun around him.

  “No.”

  He could hear Ashar's triumphant laughter over the explosions and sounds of fighting. He vaguely remembered the two cullers.

  The stone slid along his shoulder with a sickening popping sound.

  “Now you will join her forever!” Ashar said.

  Ghile thought about how easy it would be to give in and lay down beside Akira.

  Akira.

  “Akira,” Ghile said aloud. His vision cleared a little.

  He focused on that name.

  He stood up.

  He saw a flash of movement coming towards him and lashed out more out of instinct than anything else. He didn't even remember calling forth the force blade again.

  The other goblin fallen took two more steps before it realized its head was missing and fell.

  “No, it's not possible,” Ashar said. The room shook and a table slid against him, sending him stumbling to the side.

  The pain reached Ghile's chest. He heard the sound of sizzling meat and he wiped the burning sweat from his eyes. He had to fight, to stay awake.

  There had only been one voice this time. Ghile focused on it and took a step in that direction.

  “It is not possible,” Ashar screamed at Ghile as if the sheer force of his words would be enough to make it real.

  Ghile saw flames appear around him, though he felt no heat.

  Had he summoned the force shield? He couldn't remember.

  Ghile took another step forward. Ahead of him, he saw Ashar take a step back and fall backwards over one of the low stone mounds.

  Ghile shook his head to clear it and took another step forward.

  His chest was on fire.

  Finngyr fell back onto a table that collapsed under his weight, sending glass vials and tubes raining down on him.

  He climbed to his feet and felt searing pain as something dragged across his side under his armor. That blow has broken a few ribs.

  Finngyr tightened his grip on his hammer. He called upon Daomur and felt healing energy flowing into him, resetting his ribs and closing his wounds. He spat out blood and readied himself.

  Griff walked towards him looking as he did when the fight began. Whatever the accursed humans had done to him, he did not seem to tire and his wounds healed as quickly as Finngyr could inflict them.

  Finngyr knew he was going to lose this fight. He looked towards the tunnel hoping to see Kjar or Horth standing there.

  Where were they?

  He was so close. He had seen the stonechosen when he jumped down from where he'd been hiding. Why he was fighting the sorcerer, Finngyr had no idea and didn't really care. He needed to get past Griff, capture the whelp, and get out of this tower before it collapsed.

  He saw the boy standing there alone in the distance, the sorcerer nowhere to be seen. Had the boy won? Would he flee?

  Finngyr couldn't stand the idea of losing his quarry again. He knew he had to do something and do it now. An idea came to him and he latched onto it.

  Finngyr charged into Griff, his hammer held before him in both hands. As he had hoped, Griff brought his hammer up in a defensive move and their handles clapped together.

  It was a foolish move. One taught to all initiates of the order. If it worked, it would disarm your opponent.

  He drew his elbows in, bringing Griff so close Finngyr could see his breath on the black helmet. He switched his stance, simultaneously releasing his lower grip on his hammer and reaching over Griff's handle to grab it again.

  Finngyr twisted and pulled up with all his might. He felt the resistance to his move disappear at the same time he saw Griff's arms fly out wide. It had worked. He had disarmed him.

  He had barely maintained his own grip on his hammer, but he stepped forward to stop Griff from recovering his.

  Instead of lunging for his weapon, Griff was staggering back and grabbing at his helmet. Two of the metal tubes that ran from his neck into the helmet had been torn free by Finngyr's move and were spilling their black contents out over Griff's chest. For the first time it looked like Griff was hurt.

  The helmet!

  Finngyr dropped his hammer and leaped onto Griff's back, grabbing the helmet in both hands. He locked his legs around Griff with a death grip and pulled.

  Griff spun, trying to dislodge him, but Finngyr held on.

  Blow after blow slammed into Finngyr's head, but he refused to let go. He hauled on the helmet, his corded muscles straining, his veins bulging.

  He lost vision in one eye and felt the cartilage in his nose shatter under Griff's attacks, but Finngyr just focused on pulling.

  With a sickening pop the helmet tore free.

  Finngyr lost his grip and fell backwards, the helmet rolling to the side.

  Black murky liquid gushed down over Griff. Finngyr looked up to see a blackened flesh covered skull. Both of Griff's eyes were missing and the lids sewn together. Griff's lower jawbone opened and closed as if he were gasping for air.

  Griff took two more steps and then fell to the ground.

  Finngyr got up and staggered over to his hammer.

  He reached down for it.

  “You are mine, Stonechos-”

  An explosion of flame sent Finngyr flying from view.

  Ghile blinked as Ashar, rising from the stone
mound, turned his flaming staff to point it at him.

  Ghile knew he only had seconds. He rushed forward, slamming into Ashar.

  The two tumbled back into one of the hollowed out mounds.

  Ghile wrestled for the flaming staff and then felt the all too familiar white hot pain stab into his back.

  “No.”

  Ashar pulled free of him and scrambled back against the side of the mound. “What have you done?”

  Ashar reached down to grab a desiccated hand and pull it close to his face.

  Ghile watched as the hand vanished and the body it was attached to, the one they had fallen on, disappeared.

  The pain was overwhelming. The first stone had just reached his chest as the second stone, Akira's stone, seared into his back.

  He collapsed there, staring straight up, lost in the pain.

  He watched as large blocks spiraled down from above to crash into the tables around him. Ghile could feel the stones moving. He took in everything with a sort of detached fascination.

  Ashar came into view above him, tears streaking his face.

  “I could have saved her. The answers were here, it was all here.”

  Ashar produced a small vial from his robes.

  “You have ruined everything!” Ashar spat. “But you have not won!”

  He fumbled with the cork stopper.

  “This is the elixir of Sleeping Death. Now you can share her fate.”

  Ashar held up the vial so Ghile could see it. The sorcerer took in the burning lab, the tower collapsing around them.

  “Seems we join her in death together,” Ashar said as he gripped Ghile's lower jaw and pried his mouth open. He tipped the vial up and Ghile watched its contents pour forth, unable to stop it.

  The tip of the fangblade erupted from Ashar's chest.

  The greenish liquid splashed along Ghile's cheek, just missing his opened mouth.

  Ashar's eyes locked with his, then slowly lost focus as the sorcerer tumbled from view.

  Dagbar appeared and began hastily wiping the liquid off Ghile's face.

  “I've got you, boy. I've got you.”

  Ghile watched as Dagbar lifted him from the ground.

  Ghile could feel himself being lifted, yet at the same time, he could see Dagbar stumbling away from the mound and Ashar's body.

  Even as Ghile tried to comprehend how this was possible, he watched as the spirit of Ashar slipped out of the sorcerer's body with his last breath and joined the mist.

  Images of Ashar working in his laboratory flashed before Ghile. Ghile somehow knew the place was called a laboratory. He saw Ashar poring over tomes written in the True Language, saw him exploring the ruins with Akira by his side.

  What was happening?

  Other images replaced those, images of a great human city, more humans than Ghile had ever seen before. Humans working within the city, struggling, laughing, and crying flashed before him.

  Ghile felt his body fall and saw Dagbar stumble as the tower floor tipped awkwardly. Dagbar was trying to get him out of the tower.

  More images raced before Ghile's eyes.

  He was on the walls of the ancient city, looking out at the armies of dwarves, Alvar and even orcs massed there. He saw the other humans on the wall as they chanted together to cast the spell that would protect the city. Ghile could see the memories of the wizards' race before him and knew they felt their race had brought this fate upon themselves. For they had waged war against the other races in the name of their hungering god.

  Ghile watched as the spell that was meant to shield them in a protective mist, a spell that came to them in their dreams, a gift from their god in their time of most urgent need, turned on them and consumed them.

  Ghile heard Gaidel's voice, felt Two Elks lift him. The thought of the barbarian carrying him once again made him smile.

  He could see them running along the tunnel. He could also feel others in the mists, felt it hungering for them. He realized then the mists would take their souls when they died here in the ruin city. Just as it had taken Ashar's. Had it already taken his? Was that why he was here and not within the Dreaming?

  It was the thought of the Dreaming and Akira visiting him there that helped Ghile understand that the mists and the Dreaming were somehow related. Her soulstone was now a part of him. She was now a part of him.

  Ghile relaxed and felt his consciousness drift along the mist. More images appeared, small flashes from lives of humans taken by the mists. He locked on one more vivid than the others.

  It was more recent, of a human settlement he had never seen, but he knew it was Dagbar's Freehold. This memory was different, it was alive.

  Ghile found he could follow it to its source, something like following a stream back to the spring that produced it. He could feel the mists weaved through it, holding it greedily.

  He saw the fallen it belonged to as it attacked a griffon and dark haired dwarf. He could see the streams of memories that wove into all the fallen there in the battle.

  He followed the memories to the bloated who staggered through the mists towards the Alvar and the Deepwood. He could feel the perverted mists that roiled inside them, waiting to be released.

  He saw all this and knew he could stop it. This was all Haurtu's doing. A spell cast long ago.

  Through the four soulstones, that were now all firmly in his chest, Ghile reached out and unwove the spell. He couldn't really explain how he did it any more than he could explain how he understood what all the things were he had seen in those visions.

  He just knew.

  He felt the spirits as they were released. Those of the dead felt like they slipped into the soulstones and were then just not there. Those that were from the fallen snapped back into their hosts. Ghile could no longer feel the connection to them, but he saw them collapse, one by one.

  It pained him that he could not save those who had been turned into the Bloated. Ashar had done too much to them for their bodies to survive. Ghile forced each to explode well within the confines of the mists and watched as their spirits disappeared into the soulstones to join the others.

  The last image he saw before the mists dissipated and sunlight reached down to touch the lowest reaches of the Fallen City for the first time in a thousand years was that of a lone griffon taking flight. Its dwarven rider held the limp body of another armored dwarf across the saddle. The screaming dwarf helmet hanging there reflected the dawn's golden light.

  Epilogue

  Ghile drifted through the dream mists. He felt a pull deep within him, like a rope tied just behind his navel, tugging him onwards.

  He did not need to concentrate on his destination. Quite the opposite, the attraction was so strong, he had to fight the pull whenever he entered the dream mists to practice what Akira was teaching him. It seemed odd to be here without her. This was his first time traveling the place between dreams without her, but he felt the need to do this alone.

  The small dots of light, he now knew to be dreams, past him in a blur. They no longer held the same fascination for him as they did in the beginning.

  When he first entered the dream mists he was constantly distracted by others' dreams and what they contained.

  Though his training with the new soulstones was only beginning and he still had much to learn, he couldn't put this confrontation off any longer.

  His destination appeared before him. It looked identical to the thousands of little lights around it, but Ghile could feel the attraction pulling him towards this one. He floated through the dream wall without slowing.

  Ghile stepped into an open grassy plain. The cloudless sky stretched off in every direction to touch the distant horizon that surrounded him like a blue lid closed over a green bowl.

  Ghile arrived on the outside of what looked to be a deserted training camp. He sought the familiar closeness between the hide covered huts with their domed roofs, red banners snapping in the unrestrained wind from their central poles.

  He could hear
what sounded like combat coming from deeper in the camp. He made his way towards the noise.

  Near the black empty entrance of each tent rested a rack of unused weapons. Ghile recognized spears, staffs, and great battle axes, like the ones Two Elks favored. Like Two Elk's weapon, each of these was also fitted with stone blades. He wondered if this was what a barbarian camp looked like and if this was the Nordlah plains? The place made him feel open and exposed. The lack of even one tree or bush bothered him.

  Ghile past between the last huts and stepped into the center of the camp. There he found the source of the noise. The largest man he had ever seen was fighting against four other humans and holding them off with ease.

  Obviously a Nordlah barbarian, the man made Two Elks look like a child. Like Ghile, the soulstones had made him larger than a normal human. His skin also had that inner glow Ghile's had taken on.

  “You must be Growling Bear,” Ghile said.

  The other four warriors stopped their attacks when Ghile spoke. The man turned slowly to eye the new arrival. He was an ugly man, completely bald, his face and scalp covered in long deep scars. His wide bare chest held four soulstones.

  Ghile was used to the constant pull of the other soulstones, but seeing them for the first time still stole his breath. He remembered what Islmur said, there were nine soulstones in total.

  Then there was still one out there somewhere.

  “And you must be the gwa a'chook whelp the old druid spoke of,” Growling Bear said.

  Growling Bear wasted no time in striding up to Ghile, the other four falling in behind him.

  Two men and a woman, two of them were also Nordlah barbarians, but one man was not dressed in a way Ghile had ever seen.

  The tall thin man had skin as black as night, with wide intelligent eyes. He was garbed in loose white robes that covered everything but his hands and feet, where they were wrapped tightly starting at elbow and knee. His head was likewise wrapped in white and he carried a strange curved metal sword.

  The one thing all of them had in common was the look of total disdain for Ghile.