Soulbinder (Book 3)

by Ben Cassidy

  The diplomat slid into the wooden railing, than fell backwards into the snow.

  The man with the club had finally steadied himself, but not before Kendril leapt at him.

  The Ghostwalker’s sword shone fiercely in the morning sun before it cleaved through the wooden club and into the man’s arm.

  The ruffian screamed shrilly as he tripped back into the snow. Blood erupted from his slashed limb.

  Kendril spun around, just in time to see the second man with the knife pick his gun up out of the snow. He launched the short sword in his hand through the air towards the man.

  Admittedly, it wasn’t a very tactically sound maneuver. Swords were in general not designed to be aerodynamic, and throwing one was generally a sign of extreme desperation.

  Then again, this situation struck Kendril as being about as desperate as they came.

  Fortunately, the blade proved better at the task than Kendril had assumed.

  The second man was just straightening when the short sword hit him squarely in the middle of the chest. The impact of the heavy steel punched the air out of his lungs, and with a rather muffled grunt he toppled back into the snow.

  Still smiling from the unexpected success of his flying sword trick, Kendril turned back around.

  The smile vanished from his face.

  The third man was standing just a few feet away. He had thrown off his coat, revealing a chest that bristled with more muscles than Kendril could remember seeing in a long time. His bald head and the gold earring dangling from his left ear only contributed to the overall menacing demeanor.

  Those, and the five-foot long double-handed sword that he held as lightly as a feather in his hands.

  The woman with the infant screamed, dashing through the snow towards the safety of the other side of the street. The men drinking whiskey on the porch across the street quickly put down their bottles, and crowded along the edge of the railing to see what was happening.

  The card-player whose arm Kendril had slashed struggled to his feet with a curse, cradling his injured limb. “Talvik,” he shouted, “kill him!”

  The large man smiled. Several of his teeth were missing. His hands tightened on the hilt of the massive sword. He took a half step forward.

  Kendril moved back. His eyes never left the man’s face.

  Maklavir emerged from the snow, shaking the white flakes off his arms. His eyes widened as he saw the large man with the massive sword. He fumbled for the hilt of his own weapon. “Kendril—”

  “Shut up,” the Ghostwalker hissed, waving one of his hands back without taking his eyes from Talvik’s face. On his belt his second sword and loaded pistol dangled with tantalizing nearness, but Kendril knew that to reach for them would be death. His adversary was far too close, and the brief half-second it would take to draw a weapon would be just enough time for the double-handed sword to take his head off.

  “Kill him!” the man with the injured arm screamed again.

  Talvik grinned again, his gold earring glittering in the cold sunlight.

  The next moment the two-handed sword sang through the air, straight at Kendril’s head.

  Chapter 2

  Kendril threw himself to the side.

  He rolled through the snow and stumbled as quickly as he could to his feet again.

  The two-handed sword cleaved through the space where he had been a moment before. The steel blade gouged off a piece of the nearby wooden railing as it sailed by.

  Maklavir gave a yelp and leapt back. He slipped on the ice but keeping his footing.

  Kendril reached for the pistol at his belt as he rose.

  Talvik was too fast.

  The towering man sprung forward, roaring in anger. He brought the massive sword down at Kendril.

  The Ghostwalker vaulted back, and fell into the snow as Talvik’s sword carved a path disturbingly close to his chest.

  Without stopping the muscle-bound man readjusted his grip and swung his weapon at Kendril again with blinding speed.

  With a strangled curse Kendril dodged. He smashed back up against something hard. He half-turned, glimpsing the shape of a large wagon behind him. The driver appeared to have mysteriously vanished.

  Talvik came again. He lifted his sword in the air with both hands.

  Kendril dropped to the ground, feeling the sharp cold of the snow, then rolled backwards. He ducked his head as he felt the undercarriage of the wagon brush his shoulder.

  The entire vehicle shuddered as Talvik’s sword smashed down into the wood where Kendril had been standing a moment before.

  The man let out a shriek of rage, struggling to dislodge his sword from where it was stuck in the wagon’s side.

  Kendril rolled onto this stomach, and reached one hand towards his belt. The bottom of the wagon was inches above his head, his left cheek pressed into snow and mud. Three feet away he could see Talvik’s boots shuffling around in the slush. Kendril banged his elbow painfully against the wagon above him as he tried to get the pistol out of its holster.

  This was certainly a grand moment, he thought bitterly. Hiding like a scared cat under a wagon. It really wasn’t—

  Without warning the sword was shoved point down into the snow, where it stood for a moment, embedded in the frozen ground. The next instant two powerful hands gripped the underside of the wagon carriage and heaved upwards.

  To Kendril’s horror the entire wagon flipped over the top of him and crashed down on its side behind him.

  Talvik easily yanked the sword out of the ground and held it in one beefy hand.

  Kendril yanked out his flintlock pistol and fired.

  There was a half-hearted spark, and the snow-covered weapon misfired. Smoke drifted uselessly from the damp firing pan.

  Kendril glanced at the overturned carriage behind him, then down at his smoldering pistol. He looked up at Talvik. “I don’t suppose you want to talk this over?”

  With one smooth motion the ruffian swept the large sword over his head, ready to bury it in Kendril’s skull.

  The Ghostwalker winced, preparing himself for the inevitable blow.

  It never came.

  There was a sharp hissing sound, followed by a low thud.

  Talvik’s staggered forward, his face registering shock and pain. He started to turn, but there was another sharp whizzing noise, and he crumpled to the ground, landing face first in the snow.

  Two arrows protruded from his back.

  A figure stood in the middle of the road twenty paces behind the body, a longbow held in her left hand. Her free hand reached up and lowered the hood of the green cloak that flapped gently in the wind. Red hair spilled down onto her shoulders.

  Kendril replaced his pistol, rubbing his hand across his snow-covered cheek. “Your timing is impeccable, Kara.”

  The young woman reached for another arrow. “Any more?”

  Kendril heaved himself to his feet. Snow fell from the edges of his trousers. “Just one,” he said as he glanced around, “and it looks like he’s long gone. Where’s Joseph?”

  Kara left the arrow in her quiver and brushed back her hair. “Coming.” She gave the dead man a distasteful look. “Not really a challenge unless they’re twice your size, I suppose?”

  The Ghostwalker walked up to her. He gave a good-natured shrug. “I had it under control.”

  Kara nodded. “Sure you did.”

  Maklavir came through the snow towards them, one hand still on the hilt of his sword. “Kara! Thank Eru. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come when you did.”

  “Yes,” said Kendril with a sardonic smile, “Things were bad. Maklavir actually had his sword half-drawn.”

  Kara sighed. “We’ve only been gone for three days. You two couldn’t stay out of trouble for that long?”

  Kendril glanced back over his shoulder at Talvik’s body. “They started it.”

  The beautiful redhead shouldered her longbow. “Why is it, Kendril, that you always manage to get into a fight i
n whatever town we visit?”

  “Hey,” said the Ghostwalker lightly, “this time it was Maklavir’s fault. I had nothing to do with it.”

  The diplomat’s face turned red. “It most certainly was not my fault,” he protested. “How can you—”

  “Guys,” cut in Kara in an exasperated tone, “drop it, all right? We have other problems.”

  Kendril’s face turned serious. “The furs?”

  The woman shook her head. “Not much. There’s hardly any game in the foothills around here. We got a few squirrels, some rabbits, and a fox or two.”

  “That’s not good,” said Kendril dully.

  “No,” said a new voice from behind them. “It’s not.”

  They turned to see Joseph walking up, leading two horses behind him. Flecks of snow stood out in his beard and on the red handkerchief tied around his neck. His brown greatcoat was covered with the stains of many long years of travel through the wilderness. At his side hung his simple rapier. A brimmed hat covered his head.

  “How much did you get?” asked Kendril.

  Joseph stopped, patting one of the horses on the forehead. “Fifteen coins. And that was after some hard bargaining.”

  Maklavir pulled back his feathered cap. “Fifteen coins? That’s hardly enough for supper and rooms tonight.”

  A shadow fell over Joseph’s face. “I know. I tried my best.”

  “Not your fault, Joseph.” Kendril turned, clapping the snow and ice off his gloves. “Let’s get you two something to eat.”

  The four weary companions sat together in the inn while Kara and Joseph ate their meals. A despondent silence hung over the group, and even the usually jovial Maklavir said nothing, dismally watching the fire with his arms crossed.

  As he finished his last bite, Joseph sat back with a sigh. “I suppose we should talk.”

  Kendril nodded grimly. “I suppose so.”

  Maklavir stretched out one hand towards the nearby warmth of the fireplace. “Give me another chance at the card table. I really think I can—”

  “The card angle didn’t work too well the last time,” broke in Kendril. “I think it’s time to face facts. We’re broke, and short of a miracle I don’t see how we’re going to get any fast coinage.”

  Kara pushed back from the table. “There were some pretty nice manor houses on the road coming in here.”

  Joseph looked over her. “Absolutely not, Kara. I told you, no thievery.”

  The redhead threw up her hands in exasperation. “For Eru’s sake, Joseph. You think those people got their titles and mansions by honest hard work? Most of them are just as much of a thief as a common highway bandit.”

  “And that,” said Maklavir with a smile, “coming from an ex-highway bandit.”

  Kara threw him a nasty look.

  Kendril folded his hands in front of him and settled back into his chair. “Anyone got any bright ideas?”

  There was silence as the other three avoided his glance.

  “Well then,” said Kendril, “I suppose this is where we part ways.”

  Maklavir looked up with a startled expression. “You’re leaving?”

  “He means all of us,” said Joseph glumly as he traced one of the cracks in the table. “The whole group.”

  “I don’t really see any other choice. No sense in us all hanging out and starving together.” Kendril caught the expression on Maklavir’s face. “Don’t look too stunned,” he said irritably. “We all knew this wouldn’t last.”

  “Still,” said the diplomat as he tapped the side of his water mug, “it makes for a rather inglorious end, don’t you think?”

  “You used to live in Valmingaard, didn’t you Maklavir?” Kara put her elbows on the table and leaned into her hands. “Surely you have some friends close by?”

  “Fewer now than one might think,” Maklavir returned with a sad smile. “I didn’t exactly leave the kingdom on the best of terms.”

  “I think we should stay together,” said Joseph quietly.

  All heads turned towards him.

  He leaned back in his chair, tugging at the red handkerchief tied around his neck. “I think we have a better chance together than if we split up.”

  Kendril gave his friend a probing glance. “Do you have any particular ideas in mind, Joseph?”

  The scout looked down at the table again and scratched his beard in contemplative silence. “Not exactly.”

  The Ghostwalker crossed his arms. He looked back at the tavern door. “Then I don’t think we have a whole lot of options. The money the furs brought us should give us rooms for the night, but in the morning—”

  The scout shrugged. “We’ve made it this far together. Surely we can find some way past this.”

  “Like I said before,” Kendril replied venomously, “I would be more than happy to hear any ideas anyone has. So far no one has come up with anything.”

  “There was Kara’s burglary bit,” said Maklavir. “I for one thought it sounded capital.”

  Kara beamed. “Thank you, Maklavir.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Kendril clasped his hands together. “This is ridiculous. I hope everyone’s this happy when we’re sleeping out in the snow.”

  Joseph scratched the side of his beard. “We’ve slept out in the wild before, Kendril.”

  “With supplies,” the Ghostwalker added. “Supplies that require money for us to buy. Or had you forgotten?”

  “We could shoot game. We’ve had to make do before.”

  “Game?” Kendril nodded his head in the direction of the frost-covered windows. “It’s the middle of winter. You were out there for three whole days and could barely trap enough to get fifteen coins worth of fur. There’s no way we could feed all four of us in the wild.”

  “Look, Kendril—”

  “No,” said the Ghostwalker heatedly, “you look. It’s over, Joseph. Fun while it lasted, but over just the same. So why don’t—”

  “Excuse me,” came a quiet voice from behind them, “am I interrupting something?”

  The four of them turned their heads.

  A man stood behind Kendril’s chair, smiling broadly. He was short and rather rotund, wearing a heavy fur-lined robe. His boots were velvet, and a silken handkerchief protruded from a breast pocket. Covering his fingers were an overwhelming number of thick silver and gold rings, some sporting massive jewels that sparkled even in the dim light of the common room. His face was covered with a scratchy beard, while his thinning hair had been combed back and greased. The man pressed his hands together as he watched the group sitting before him.

  Kendril looked the newcomer up and down. “What do you want?”

  The man smiled again, the firelight shining in his hair. “To join you, if I may.”

  Before Kendril could manage a discouraging reply the small man had pulled up a chair. He settled down with a sigh. “That’s better.”

  “We were in the middle of a conversation here,” said Kendril.

  The man waved a hand and sent a sleeve of his robe flying. “Yes, yes, I know. You are short on money, no?”

  “You were eavesdropping?” asked Maklavir.

  Kendril continued to glare at the man, but said nothing.

  “No, no, not eavesdropping. I simply overheard your conversation.” He pressed his fingertips together. “Do not be alarmed. I believe I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

  Kendril remained rigid in his chair. “Whatever it is, we’re not interested.”

  The man glanced over at the Ghostwalker and grinned. “At least have the decency to hear me out before you make up your mind.”

  Kara inclined her head suspiciously. “We don’t even know who you are.”

  He laughed. “Nor I you, but that can be quickly remedied. I am Galla, from Badera.”

  “You’re a long way from home,” Kendril said.

  “So, I garner, are all of you.” He flicked his eyes from face to face around the table. His gaze finally rested on Joseph. “
You are a pathfinder, are you not? A man of the outdoors?”

  Joseph nodded carefully. “Yes.”

  Galla chuckled. He pulled up the fur collar on his robe. “Excellent, excellent. Exactly what I was hoping for.”

  Kendril continued to stare at the man. “And what exactly was that?”

  The Baderan rested his elbows on the armrests of the chair. He glanced behind him quickly, then over towards the tavern door. Satisfied, he lowered his voice a notch. “I have some…business…to attend to in the area. I am in need of a knowledgeable guide, and bodyguards.” He smiled. “The journey, you see, is a dangerous one for a lone traveler such as myself.”

  “There are dozens of men in town who could guide you to where you want to go,” said Joseph. “Why us?”

  Galla shook his head emphatically and leaned forward. “I cannot afford to hire a local man. My journey is of a…sensitive nature, and I cannot risk gossip spreading through the town.” He tugged at his robe nervously. “Besides, the people here are not too, well, accommodating to Baderans.”

  Maklavir shrugged. “Your countrymen have invaded this area many times before in the past. You can hardly blame the locals for being a mite bitter.”

  “Just what exactly is the nature of your business, Mr. Galla?” asked Kendril coldly.

  The Baderan looked over at the Ghostwalker. He flexed his fingers nervously. “I am a priest,” he said slowly. “From the Haldithan Monastery. One of our brothers is currently ministering to a group of new converts to the west of here. He requested some simple supplies be sent to him, along with some copies of the Blessed Scriptures.”

  Joseph raised his eyebrows. “Converts?”

  Galla nodded quickly. “A tribe of barbarians who have renounced their pagan ways.” He touched his hand to his forehead. “The Oganti, I believe they’re called.”

  Maklavir took a deep breath. “The Oganti are a bloodthirsty lot,” he said in a quiet voice. He glanced over at Kendril. “They were constantly raiding outlying farms and villages back when I was in Valmingaard.” He shuddered, and pulled his cape around his shoulders. “They would kidnap children and young men and women wherever they could, carting them off to Eru knows where.”