by S C Gowland
THE SOULS’ ABYSS
Book 1 – The Dark Crown
by
SC Gowland
Go to www.scgowland.com to find out more.
Text Copyright © 2020 SC Gowland
Cover Illustration © 2020 Warren Design
Map by DonJon Fantasy World Generator
First published: 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the copyright owners. Nor can it be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser.
The Dark Crown
Chapter 1 - Questions
Chapter 2 - Appetite
Chapter 3 – From Bad To Worse
Chapter 4 – Old Friends
Chapter 5 - Watching
Chapter 6 - Trouble
Chapter 7 - Suspicions
Chapter 8 - Secrets
Chapter 9 – Old Friends
Chapter 10 – Hello Again
Chapter 11 – Brief Encounters
Chapter 12 – Needle In a Haystack
Chapter 13 - Traitor’s Scratch
Chapter 14 - Him
Chapter 15 - Alone
Chapter 16 – Lucky Man
Chapter 17 - Distance
Chapter 18 – Good Authority
Chapter 19 - Numbers
Chapter 20 – Suspicious Mind
Chapter 21 – The Next Day
Chapter 22 – Making Waves
Chapter 22 – Open Doors
Chapter 23 – What do you know?
Chapter 24 - New Horizons
Chapter 25 – The Shattered City
Chapter 26 – Answers
Map of Essealar
Book 1 - The Dark Crown
The path is strewn with shadows
I must walk aside the light,
And banish all the evil deeds
Stride in the path of right,
My strength will rise triumphant
and peace will be its aim,
As harmony is my journey
and Walker is my name.
Paragon Master Raezrius, The Way of the Walker
Chapter 1 - Questions
‘No more souls today.’ he whispered.
He shivered, grey-blue eyes taking in the scenery. It was still raining - a soft, silvery drone that soaked anything and everything beneath it. This only added to his irritation.
Why had they been allowed to survive? They had been there for the taking. The question rolled around his head like honey in a bowl.
It was early autumn and accordingly was dim, cold, and miserable, which somewhat reflected his mood. Dense, crooked shrubs scattered throughout the hillsides, intermingled with tall trees - reaching up like giant twisted hands - hardly the most uplifting of surroundings.
Leather creaked as he wriggled in his saddle - for what felt like the thousandth time - trying to achieve some sort of comfort. The rider’s co-ordinated grey leather and black armour was really beginning to dig into places it should not, but he took some solace in the fact that his journey was close to an end. Unfortunately, at the back of his mind was the grim knowledge that it would be needed again, and probably all too soon.
His grey panthera shuddered, spraying the light drizzle from his coat. He patted the big cat with affection, pulled his dark burgundy cloak closer - whilst still leaving easy access to his Walkerblade, more out of habit than need - and clicked his heels. No point hanging around.
Despite only being in his early forties, Kaoldan felt much older today, gloomy thoughts clogging his mind. A big man - more of long bones and ropey tendons than of muscle. He was not handsome, but possessed a strong, gentle face. His beard rustled as he ran his hand through dirty blonde hair. It was beginning to scratch a little too much, but the soft rain compensated somewhat.
The events of the last few weeks had been confusing but could have been so much worse. Granted he was tired, wet and dirty, but he was also alive, something that could not be said of many. He took in a deep breath through his nose. The rich smell of the forest was still refreshing compared to the familiar crude metallic odour of his armour.
To his left a line of people snaked outwards, disappearing into trees to a chorus of shuffling feet. Dozens of people and a handful of soldiers, some on horseback, some on makeshift pallets pulled by horses, the most seriously wounded in a few creaking wagons. But most simply walked slowly, a variety of dirty bandaged the only evidence of the attack.
Many seemed lost; focusing purely on the effort needed to keep moving towards Thura and some semblance of safety. Even if this safety was an illusion, for some it was all the motivation they had. The scale and severity of the wounded and injured was perhaps the most unsettling part of their last encounter with the Krund.
Kaoldan snorted and continued to flex his fingers.
The Krund. Kaoldan had lost many colleagues, more than he could recall or comprehend over recent years. He rubbed the back of his neck, working the tension out of his jaw.
A rustle of movement.
A boy, perhaps six years old, stood watching Kaoldan, a ragged silhouette against the greenery.
Kaoldan looked back. The boy didn’t flinch.
‘You in charge?’ he asked, dark messy hair dropping to one side.
Kaoldan nodded. The boy looked him up and down, without any embarrassment.
‘You’re one of them Walkers, aint ya.’ he said.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well apart from being sat on a bloody big cat.’ he pointed.
Tren yowled. The boy scampered backwards, boots slipping in the mud.
Kaoldan laid a hand on the bloody big cat and Tren fell silent.
The boy looked back, eyes wide, face hollow, breath heavy.
Kaoldan grunted as he lifted himself out of his saddle and approached the cowering boy.
‘It’s ok.’ he said, hands raised as he grew closer.
The boy eyed him suspiciously, gaze moving between the panthera and Walker.
‘Ignore him.’ said Kaoldan, ‘He just wants to get home.’
Tren snorted.
‘Home.’ said the boy absently. He looked up – dark eyes under wet hair - as Kaoldan reached down to help him up, the boy recoiled.
‘It’s ok.’ said Kaoldan voice calm and even, eyes fixed on the wet youth as he knelt. ‘He‘s just a grumpy old cat.’
‘I used to have a cat,’ said the boy, face brightening. He frowned, ‘Lost it. Used to have a…’ his voice fell away. His face creased up, speckled with dirt and a smudge of red on his cheek.
‘What’s your name?’ asked Kaoldan.
The boy looked up, eyes glistening.
‘Why do you wanna know?’ the boy sniffed.
Kaoldan shrugged. ‘Just asking. I’m Kaoldan.’
The boy hesitated. ‘Jaykhaus.’ he said.
Kaoldan shifted, the image of a face flashed through his head and lowering his gaze.
‘My friends call me Jayk.’ the boy offered
Kaoldan dropped his head. ‘Here.’ He scratched the back of his neck then made to remove his cloak. ‘You have this. You need it more than me.’
‘Don’t need charity.’ said the boy, voice rising.
‘It’s not charity.’ his voice soft.
‘No?’
‘No. You are wet, I am not.’ His fingers fumbled with the clasp, but eventually he removed the scratchy woollen cloak.
The boy’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the Walkerblade at Kaoldan’s side, his hand absent
ly reaching forwards as Kaoldan spread the cloak over his shoulders.
‘Something else you need?’ Kaoldan asked.
The boy snatched his hand away; as his finger exposed to a flame
‘It’s just. That...’ he pointed to the Walkerblade at Kaoldan’s side. ‘Is it?’
Kaoldan nodded.
‘Can I?’
Kaoldan paused, thought about it, then reached to his left. From his scabbard, he pulled a short rod of dark metal.
The boy looked at it.
‘Go on.’ said Kaoldan, offering it to him.
The boy looked at it, then at Kaoldan, then tentatively reached forward. He shivered as he touched the edge. ‘Cold.’ he murmured. He stood, the cloak consuming him, reaching he took the weapon, hefting it in both hands. Swirling it in circles. He frowned. He looked at Kaoldan, disappointment in his eyes.
‘Why doesn’t it...?’ he shrugged.
Kaoldan offered an open hand. The boy handed the weapon back.
With a flick of Kaoldan’s wrist, the dark rod flashed green. The boy’s mouth went slack. The green light faded as the rod morphed into a broadsword.
The boy looked at Kaoldan, eyes mesmerised.
He flicked his wrist, again the flash of green light, the broadsword morphed into a butterfly shaped axe. Lowering the axe to the ground, he offered it to the boy handle first. ‘It’s ok.’ he said, voice cracking slightly.
The boy swallowed and reached for the handle. The second his finger touched it, it snapped back into a short dark rod, dropping into the mud. The boy flinched away.
‘How?’ he asked.
Kaoldan smiled. ‘Fajin.’ he said wiggling his fingers.
‘Magic…?’
‘Some people call it that.’
‘You have it?’
Kaoldan nodded.
The boy’s face creased in concentration. He gazed at the rod on the ground, licked his lips and snatched it up, looking closer.
‘It only reacts to me or other Walkers.’ said Kaoldan. ‘I think it about it and it changes into whatever I need.’
‘Could I use Fajin?’ asked the boy, face serious.
‘Maybe. Some people have it, others don’t. It’s pretty simple. Just think about what you want and visualise it.’ He tapped at the side of his head.
The boy grasped the rod with both hands. He squeezed it between his fingers, air squeaking through his nose. It flickered green.
Kaoldan’s eyebrows rose slightly.
The boy began to tremble, holding his breath.
Green light spluttered and crackled along the edge, then nothing.
The boy let out a gasp and frowned.
‘It takes time and practice. Lots and lots of practice.’ said Kaoldan, reaching forward. The boy looked at the Walkerblade, then offered it back.
Kaoldan reached for it, but the boy didn’t let go.
‘Can you teach me?‘ he asked, eyes fierce.
Kaoldan looked at his feet, then knelt, his knees clicking.
‘I’ll make you a promise. If you can help me look after these people, then when we reach Thura. I’ll teach you.’
The boy kept hold.
‘Only special people can help me. And I need someone I can trust.’ said Kaoldan.
The boy stood taller. ‘You can trust me.’ he said.
‘I’m sure I can.’ smiled Kaoldan. ‘Deal?’ he offered his other hand.
The boy looked at it for moment, then snatched it.
‘Deal.’ he said, releasing his grip of the weapon. The boy’s fingers were small, white and cold in Kaoldan’s wide hand. He stared at them. The clatter of a cart jogged his mind.
‘Deal.’ Kaoldan coughed.
Kaoldan raised a hand. A stocky looking man pulled the reins back. Horses spluttered and stopped. Laden with cowering people, it rocked backwards.
‘You are needed here.’ said Kaoldan leading the boy forwards, burgundy cloak dragging on the ground. He slipped his hands under the boy’s arms and with a grunt hoisted him up.
The boy was light. He hugged Kaoldan tightly as he was lifted. Kaoldan’s body stiffened, then he released his grip. The boy settled into the back of the cart, wrapping the cloak around him.
‘So I am looking after them.’ said the boy, eyes wide.
Kaoldan nodded. ‘I trust you.’ he said.
‘Thank goodness you are here, young sir.’ croaked an older woman from the back of the cart. From under her blue shawl her eyes fell on Kaoldan and she winked.
Kaoldan smiled back.
‘We have need of a strong young man just like you.’
The boy looked back; his chin raised.
‘See…’ said Kaoldan. ‘They need you not me.’ he opened his palms.
The boy looked back, still slightly uncertain.
‘I trust you and so does she.’ The woman nodded.
The boy set his jaw and nodded.
Kaoldan smiled, ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’ he said, then instantly regretted it. He nodded to the driver. Leather reins snapped, and the cart rattled onwards.
He watched the cart roll away. The boy looked at him for a long time, then the older woman said something to him, and his attention was in their conversation.
He slid the Walkerblade back into his scabbard, hauled himself back into his saddle and watched the cart disappear, merging with the throng of people.
‘Ho, Kaoldan!’, a familiar shout brought him back to his senses.
The voice belonged to an identically dressed man approaching on a large white panthera. Kaoldan could not help but find himself smiling at the approach of his oldest friend. Despite blood and mud - evidence of the ferocity of their last encounter, and the fading light, the rider’s large round silver shield glistened. Standards always had to be maintained, or so Zalen always said.
Zalen was a head shorter than Kaoldan with huge arms - slightly at odds with the rest of his body – he rode as if carrying items under his arms causing them to stick out like a chicken.
‘Where have you been?’ shouted the breathless rider in a rich voice. ‘I thought you’d finally come to your senses and taken leave of this madness.’
Kaoldan’s smile grew. Despite all the surrounding carnage, Zalen could always seeing thing in a different light.
‘I decided to stay purely because someone has to look after you.’ replied Kaoldan in a gentle voice, ‘I’m not certain you could survive on your own; Kubrean certainly thinks you can’t.’
‘Ah, well. There you may have a point…’ smiled Zalen. ‘Regardless of what you may think, I believe I am a man of extraordinary talents’ he continued ‘or so I lead people to believe.’ he said sheepishly then flashed a grin, causing a small laugh from Kaoldan.
For a second, he observed his friend. In many ways he was still the same carefree boy he could so clearly recall meeting 35 years before. The same tufty sandy hair, same bright even smile and the same attitude to life; not always in keeping with most of the world. Even though their lives had in many ways led to different places, they had always remained close and the honest optimism Zalen possessed was one of the main qualities Kaoldan admired most.
‘How much further do we have to go?’ asked Zalen squinting into the distance, ‘You know how I lose track of these things, not one of my strengths you understand, I can’t be good at everything.’
Kaoldan considered the question. Their progress had been slower than he had hoped, but they were not far from the city now.
‘We should arrive sometime after nightfall perhaps, don’t worry, you’ll be able to get cleaned up soon enough.’ he replied. ‘I do suspect that you might be starting to smell as bad as me.’ said Kaoldan, pointing his nose towards his friend.
‘Never.’ replied Zalen, looking shocked.
‘I think Tren might have a view to the contrary, I’m afraid’ said Kaoldan. ‘What do you think?’ he asked his panthera giving him a rough stroke.
The large grey cat glanced at his passenger with a notable degree
of contempt, he then turned to Zalen and extended his nose, his whiskers twitched, immediately regretted the decision with a loud snort and an irritable flick of his tail.
‘Exactly as I thought’ said Kaoldan with a grin.
Tren then turned and loudly sniffed his rider and shuddered.
‘Or maybe not’ said Zalen in triumph.
‘Hmm, was there anything else you wanted to discuss apart from geography and bathing habits?‘ asked Kaoldan.
‘Erm, no. Not really.’ replied Zalen, attempting to shrug his shoulders. ‘Just thought I’d check on you in case you needed the company or wanted to see something not caked in mud.’
Kaoldan ignored that.
‘Our main concern is getting everyone home more or less in one piece. We’ve lost enough people recently.’ he glanced at the stream of wounded people that continued along the trail.
Zalen nodded, business-like once again.
‘Check the back of the group, no-one gets left behind.’ said Kaoldan.
Zalen nodded again. He reined in his panthera, which bounced slightly, before charging off in the direction he had come.
‘And you and I need a small chat about manners when we get home.’ he whispered to Tren, who glanced backwards and snorted loudly.
Kaoldan’s thoughts returned to his surroundings and his responsibilities. He inhaled deeply, a renewed determination rose within him.
‘No more souls today.’ he whispered.
Tren twitched sensing his master’s change of mood and he charged off to the front of the group.
***
The next few hours passed without incident, attending to the many and various needs of the wounded whilst keeping everything moving meant Kaoldan nearly did not notice the spires of Thura in the distance.
Despite the dull evening its tall coloured spires of varying shades; yellow red and blue all stood out against a grey curtain in the distance. Thura was a curious mixture of architectural styles and ideas, meaning that virtually nothing was the same. There was no uniformity to the layout or construction of the city. Lit beacons could be seen on top of the sandstone walls and in many of the taller buildings which comprised the inner city.
