Soul Render (Soul Stones Book 1)

by T. L. Branson

  A loud thud made Robert jump. It took every ounce of his strength to keep from crying out.

  Something dropped onto the floor. A quill. A hand reached down to pick it up. Robert sucked in his breath and withdrew into the darkest corners of the desk.

  The man retrieved his pen without noticing Robert. The scratching resumed. Another loud thud sounded. The man cursed and stomped away.

  Rusted hinges squealed as the man threw open the door and shouted, “It’s after midnight! Knock it off!”

  “Yes, Grand Admiral,” the call came back.

  The grand admiral? Of course the captain would give up his quarters to Kosta.

  The fear of being discovered washed away and a pure, malignant joy replaced it. This man, though not directly responsible, was a major figure in the monarchy that killed John. Robert would enjoy every moment of taking him down. Hatred filled his heart.

  Strike had said to wait for them. That this was a hands-off mission for him. Look, don’t touch, that sort of thing. But he was here, and they were stuck outside. Maybe if he completed the mission on his own, he’d prove his worth and they’d stop treating him like a child.

  What if he not only completed his mission, but went above and beyond? Why settle for framing the man? Wasn’t that leaving too much to chance? What if he got off somehow? Robert couldn’t take that chance. He wouldn’t take that chance.

  Robert pulled the dagger from the sack. The hilt was a dragon in flight. The wings made up the guard while its black, scaly body formed the grip, a single red ruby for an eye. The blade protruded from its mouth.

  A magnificent weapon if Robert had ever seen one.

  The grand admiral’s footsteps drew closer and then started to move farther away again. Robert emerged from his hiding place and advanced on the man, holding the dagger high.

  A loose floorboard creaked as he stepped and Kosta turned. His eyes grew large at the sight of Robert and the dagger.

  Robert swung.

  The grand admiral grabbed his arm, halting the dagger’s descent, then slammed Robert against the wall.

  Kosta yelled, “Gua—”

  Robert gave him a left cross to the face and stepped on his foot.

  Kosta released his arm.

  Robert swung again, but the grand admiral danced back out of harm’s way. Robert ran at him, slashing with abandon. The blade nicked flesh.

  Kosta hissed and began to draw the sword at his hip.

  The window behind him flew open and Jade tumbled into the room and sprang to her feet. Kosta spun to face the new threat, his sword coming free as he did.

  Closing in, Robert placed his hand on the grand admiral’s mouth, pulled back on his head, and sliced the man’s throat from left to right. Blood sprayed all over Jade and the cabin wall. Robert released the body and it slumped to the floor, blood continuing to pool.

  “You idiot!” she yelled as loud as she dared.

  Robert’s face wrinkled in confusion.

  Why was she scolding him? Mission accomplished. The grand admiral had been removed from his post. So what if he disobeyed orders? The end result was what mattered.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “We don’t explain orders to newbloods. You just do as you’re told.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” Robert replied.

  She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’s done now,” she said. She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Now what? Think, think, think.”

  “Why not just leave him? Let them figure out what happened,” he offered. “Or what didn’t happen.”

  “Over here,” a voice outside the room said. “I think I heard something.”

  Jade cursed. “We don’t have a choice, let’s go.”

  “What about the dagger?” Robert asked, holding it up.

  “Don’t need it,” she said. “Keep it or toss it, I don’t care.”

  Robert shrugged and tucked it into his waistband.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Grand Admiral?” the voice called. “Is everything all right?”

  Jade slipped out the window and into the waiting dinghy below. Robert followed after her.

  “What happened?” Strike asked.

  “No time,” Jade said. “Get us out of here. Now!”

  The door to the captain’s quarters burst open and shouts spilled out through the open window.

  Robert and Strike rowed the dinghy as fast as they could.

  “Stop,” Jade whispered as a figure appeared in front of the open window.

  The water swirled around Robert’s paddle and dripped as he pulled it from the sea. Robert’s heart caught in his chest as their dinghy glided away in the night.

  The man peered out into the darkness.

  No one in the dinghy so much as breathed.

  Then the man closed the window and disappeared from sight.

  12

  Shaw drew upon all the courage he had as he approached the king’s private chambers. He lifted his hand to knock and, hearing voices beyond the door, paused.

  “I don’t care what you think,” a young female voice yelled. Shaw recognized the voice as the princess, Maya.

  “I am your father and the king,” Drygo roared back. “You will obey me.”

  “I’m nineteen and I can do as I please,” Maya yelled back. “This was a courtesy notice.”

  The door to the king’s chambers flew open. Shaw stumbled back to get out of Maya’s way as she stormed out of the room. She didn’t so much as glance in Shaw’s direction as she trudged down the hall.

  Shaw regained his composure and approached the open door.

  The room was large and lavish. Closest to him was the king’s large four-poster bed and wardrobe. Deeper into the room and up three small stairs sat the king’s personal library. Along the left wall sat a hearth, a fire lightly burning within. At the far end of the room sat an open balcony, curtains lightly fluttering in the wind. The king sat at his desk in the center of the study, his face in his hands, rubbing his temples. Shaw knocked on the doorframe. The king looked up and made eye contact with Shaw.

  “Come in,” the king said, standing.

  Shaw stepped into the room, but not a foot farther.

  “Well?” Drygo asked. “Don’t just stand there. It’s late and I don’t have the patience to deal with your incompetence right now. Clearly you haven’t caught the prisoner yet, so tell me what you’ve come to tell me and get out.”

  This was not going well already. “I’m terribly sorry, sire. Perhaps I should come back tomorrow morning.”

  “Tell me!” the king roared.

  Shaw flinched and swallowed then continued, “Well, my lord, I managed to track him down all over the city, but at the very end he died and eluded my grasp. Unfortunately, sire, he’s bound to have found a new host body and I’ve no idea what he looks like.”

  Drygo cursed and paced in front of the hearth. “Do you have any idea where he was going?”

  Shaw shook his head. “None, sire. But he’s left the city. I can all but guarantee it.”

  Drygo cursed again and shook his head. “Page!”

  A young boy ran into the room.

  “Fetch me the grand marshal,” Drygo said.

  The boy bowed and ran off.

  “What are you thinking, sire?” Shaw asked.

  “Never you mind that. Use a stalker and find that boy,” the king said.

  “A stalker, sire?” Shaw asked. “I’m afraid the last one died a month ago. All we have are shriekers and brawlers.”

  “Then I guess it’s time to make a new one,” the king said, grabbing Shaw by the throat.

  Will stared off into the distance. A sea of reds and golds painted the sky as the sun rose above the horizon. Behind him, the caravan began to stir. He’d been awake for some time. He should have been annoyed they’d given him the early watch, but it turned out to be a blessing. He was still getting used to his new body, and apparently its previous owner had b
een an early riser.

  It wasn’t long before they were off again. The caravan lumbered along the road to the north. Wood creaked and groaned as the wagons rolled over the uneven ground. Will walked alongside, his bow in his hand at his side.

  They didn’t expect trouble, but Will learned it never hurt to be too careful. No one else seemed to be bothered, but Will’s heart leapt into his throat every time one of Shadowhold’s patrols passed.

  They’d see them every fifteen minutes or so when they first left, but the farther they journeyed from the city, the more scarce the patrols would become. Will was glad for that. One such patrol approached from the north.

  Will sucked in his breath. He didn’t understand why he was worried. He’d changed bodies twice since being executed, and the king wasn’t aware of his current host.

  As the guards passed on the left, Will’s vision turned blue. Each of their souls was a solid wall of impenetrable red. He quickly closed his eyes and controlled the pain. To anyone watching, Will had a momentary migraine. He got better at managing the flickers, but they still hurt like crazy, he just hoped they didn’t get worse.

  Once they were out of sight, the mundane set in again. Will didn’t have much room to complain, though. The last time he’d taken this journey was in the back of a cramped prison carriage. That might not have even been so bad if not for the bruised body and the lingering smell of urine.

  Then there was John, too. Will missed his positive outlook. He missed his innocence. He missed him.

  They stopped for lunch at midday. It was a simple meal, a couple of fruits and some bread to keep their energy up.

  Will bit into an apple, juice running down his chin, when a loud shriek filled the air. His head snapped to the road south and everyone was on their feet. Another patrol came into sight and everyone visibly relaxed. Everyone except Will. And Ocken. Though the big man had sat down, he still seemed on edge.

  Will had only heard that sound once before, and he didn’t like what it might mean. As the patrol approached, guttural growls and snorts filled their ears as well as the rattle of chains.

  That’s when Will saw it. A shrieker.

  Will grabbed his bow and tightened his hold on the grip. The leather groaned beneath his fingers, but he didn’t raise his weapon.

  This was unusual. They hadn’t seen a single patrol with a shrieker. What could it mean?

  Will jumped up onto one of the wagons to get a better look at what was going on. They approached, and two of them broke off to talk with Riley and Leland. Three others led the shrieker along the caravan, examining the wagons.

  The shrieker sniffed like a bloodhound, its nose racing along supplies and people alike. One of the merchants, a rather plump woman, let out a whimper of fear as it came an inch from her face. Will’s heart pounded so hard he felt it would break free of his chest.

  His power flickered again and Will’s vision switched spectrums for the briefest of seconds. The shrieker’s head spun, its black, dead eyes drilling into Will’s. It loosed a loud screech and launched itself at him, tearing the chains from the guard’s hands.

  Ocken intercepted it, impaling it on the end of his giant swordstaff. He slammed it into the ground and drove the blade of his weapon into its heart and twisted. It disintegrated into a black cloud.

  All of the guards drew their weapons. Leland scrambled away as quickly as he could. The plump merchant was not as fortunate. The guard nearest her skewered her before she could even scream.

  Blake engaged the guard to Will’s right, while the other two advanced on Ocken. Riley, too, faced two by herself at the rear of the caravan. Will drew back on his bow and let an arrow fly at the guard to Riley’s right. It found its mark, drilling through his eye. He fell to the ground screaming. Grabbing another arrow, Will pulled on the string.

  Ocken slammed one of his opponents into the cart where Will stood. His shot went wide and he tumbled off the wagon, his bow flying from his grasp.

  Blake stepped back and tripped over Will’s body. Blake grabbed the side of the wagon to prevent himself from falling, but it cost him. He wasn’t able to regain his footing in time and the guard plunged his sword through Blake’s abdomen.

  Will blinked, and the soul realm became visible once more.

  Not again. Not now.

  Blake’s soul dimmed and fluttered as the guard withdrew his sword and Blake slumped to the ground. A rush of emotion swelled within Will, but it wasn’t fear.

  It was anger, a new companion to his grief. Pain coursed through him threatening to tear him apart. He bellowed as his body tensed and then discharged a burst of blue energy.

  The wave hit both Blake and the guard, their souls disintegrating on contact.

  The pain subsided and his vision returned to normal. The guard’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open, then his body crumpled to the ground.

  Will scrambled over to Blake. He, too, was gone.

  Will slammed his head back into the wagon, horror growing on his face.

  What had he done? He killed Blake. But there was no time to mourn him. The battle still raged around him.

  Will stood, retrieved his bow, and nocked an arrow. Ocken ducked under a swinging sword and brought his weapon to bear, beheading the man. As he turned to face his remaining opponent, Will saw that Ocken had the situation well in hand and ran to assist Riley.

  Hopping onto another wagon, he watched as Riley dodged her opponent, knocked him to the ground, and finished him off.

  Behind her, the guard Will had shot in the eye stood and brought his sword down.

  “Captain! Behind you,” Will shouted as he drew his bow and let an arrow fly. It pierced his neck, his forward momentum slowed, but not halted. In one fluid movement, Riley turned and sliced through his arm, continued her spin, and plunged the blade into his chest.

  The crunch of bone drew Will’s attention to Ocken. A guard lay at his feet, chest caved in by the blade of his swordstaff, blood pouring from his mouth.

  Riley walked up next to Will and said, “What just happened?” Before Will could answer she looked around and asked, “Where’s Blake?”

  “He—he didn’t make it,” Will said.

  Will took them to Blake’s body. Ocken and Riley thought the guard had killed him, but Will knew better. Blake was still alive following the wound to his abdomen. He might have been saved. Will killed him. Another person was dead because of his power. His curse. He could never tell them. He couldn’t tell them who he was. What he was.

  Riley grimaced and closed her eyes, then screamed. She pulled a knife and repeatedly plunged it into the body of the dead guard next to Blake.

  Thank the gods, Will thought as he realized the guard hadn’t had a mark on him. If they had noticed—he had no idea how he would have explained that. But none of it mattered now.

  After she finished, Riley stood and dropped her weapon. Her rage melted away and turned into sorrow.

  Riley embraced Ocken. A tear in the big man’s eye and a tremor on his lip were the only hint of grief beneath his tough exterior.

  “What in Iket’s name was that thing?” Leland asked.

  Will turned to see him standing over a blackened area on the ground where the shrieker had died.

  Will stuffed the parchment into his pocket and answered, “I’ve heard them called shriekers.”

  “What did it want? What is it?” Leland pressed.

  He couldn’t rightly tell them. It would bring too many questions. “Don’t know,” Will said, shrugging. It wasn’t a total lie.

  Ocken’s eyes narrowed, piercing straight through him. He knew. Somehow, Ocken knew about the shrieker and that it wanted him. But to Will’s amazement, he didn’t break his silence over it.

  Gathering the guard’s bodies, they tossed them into a ravine a hundred feet or so off the road. Leland decided to take Blake and the dead merchant with them. Will found out her name was Francine, like his neighbor back home.

  They deserved a proper burial.
>
  13

  “Reckless!” Talon yelled, upending a small table. “Pull another stunt like that and you’re out of here.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

  “I didn’t ask to be here,” Robert yelled back.

  “I saved your life,” Talon said, getting in Robert’s face and poking his chest.

  “Yeah? Well, I didn’t ask you to do that either,” Robert said, some of the fire going out of him.

  Trout snickered.

  “Something funny?” Talon asked, spinning around to face him.

  “The boy holds his own against the grand admiral and manages to live,” Trout said, shrugging. “Seems to me he deserves a medal.”

  “We don’t reward stupidity,” Jade said, standing.

  Talon held up his hand, staying her.

  “He has a point, though,” Strike said, stepping into the room. “I mean, the end result was the same, was it not?”

  “The king is outraged,” Talon said, scoffing. “The Revenant has never made such an overt attack against the throne.”

  “Might be that some of us don’t see how that’s a problem,” Strike said.

  “Strike!” Jade rebuked him.

  “What?” he said. “I only mean that stealing weapons and poisoning food supplies only goes so far. It doesn’t do any real damage.”

  “The Raven doesn’t want to cripple the kingdom, just remove the king’s power over it,” Talon explained. “Cruel as he may be, Drygo’s leadership is strong and Shadowhold has found untold prosperity because of it. If we show the people he can’t protect them, then they’ll lose faith in his leadership.”

  “And what good will that do?” Trout said. “The man’s a god. Or as close to one as I’ve ever seen. Not a one of us can even hope to oppose him.”

  “You leave that to the Raven,” Talon said. “Your job is to follow orders.” He redirected his attention to Robert. “Which you did not.”

  Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Strike beat him to the punch. “We accomplished the mission. Didn’t we?” Strike asked. “You wanted the grand admiral gone so we could replace him with our own man, so he’s gone. What difference does it make how?”