Soul Render (Soul Stones Book 1)

by T. L. Branson

“Lies…” Maya said, her voice dripping with venom.

  “No,” Will said, still pinned beneath Maya.

  It all made sense, of course. They had suspected that she could be the queen. And she addressed Drygo in the palace by his first name and what sounded like a personal nickname. One that only the queen or a few trusted friends might know.

  Will spat a wad of blood out onto the deck beside him then said, “She speaks the truth.” Will looked at Ocken. Pain filled his eyes. “Riley died. She… she accidentally stumbled into my energy blast and her soul was… was just gone. I needed the stone empty to try to contain Iket, so I pulled the soul from the stone and stuck it in Riley.”

  Ocken sank to one knee, clutching his heart. Maya fell backward off of Will, the fight gone from her. She stood and approached Evangeline.

  “Mother?” Maya asked, looking at her curiously.

  “It’s me, sweetie. There’s nothing I can say to prove it to you. My body died the night you were born, but I’ve been here the whole time. Watching. And I’m so proud of you,” she said, with the kind of smile that only a mother could have.

  “Evie?” Khal asked, walking around to look at her, confusion on his face.

  Will understood his confusion. He hadn’t known the queen. Couldn’t have. But he had known Riley, and to see someone else in Riley’s body felt… odd. Will began to understand how others felt about him and his constant changing of bodies.

  “It’s me, Khal,” she said with a disarming smile. She glowed; so full of life. Having spent nearly two decades in a stone, Will could understand her joy despite such calamity.

  Khal ran and embraced her. He picked her up and whirled her in the air, laughing. He set her down and she pulled away from him and approached Maya.

  Maya looked down to the side, as if she were unsure. Evangeline pushed back a strand of Maya’s hair.

  “You have your father’s eyes,” Evangeline said. “But you have my nose and my hair.”

  “I’ve been saying the same thing for years,” Khal said.

  “It’s really you?” Maya asked, hopeful.

  “Yes, sweetie,” she replied.

  Maya grabbed a hold of Evangeline and dug her face into her shoulder, squeezing tight. Evangeline jolted in surprise, then smiled and returned the embrace.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Evangeline said.

  After a moment, Robert asked, “Now what?”

  “Now,” Maya said, pulling away from Evangeline. “With the return of the queen, we can rebuild this kingdom and right the wrongs of my father.”

  “No,” Evangeline said, shaking her head. “I am no more fit to lead than Jade or Robert. Besides, who would believe your tale?” She chuckled. “No, my daughter, you are the true queen, not I.”

  Across the deck, men and women knelt before Maya. All at once they said, “All hail Maya, Queen of Aralith.”

  Merva appeared in their midst and said, “I hate to intrude, but we have a problem.”

  Evindal and Allynna stood on the steps of Anima Sanctum as the magic binding them to it dissolved away.

  Allynna laughed and shouted with joy, “He did it! After a thousand years, we’re free!”

  Evindal was all too happy to relinquish his assumed name and reclaim his given name, Erintos, god of nature. He and his lady, Ophi, goddess of knowledge, could finally finish what they started almost a millennium ago.

  “It’s time, Erintos,” Ophi said. “Draft the letters, seal it with the lord regent’s ring, and send them to all the kingdoms.”

  “What would you have me write, milady?” Erintos asked.

  “Tell them the king is dead. Tell them that Maya has taken the kingdom by force and seeks to tighten the chains wrapped around them by her father. Tell them to declare their independence once more,” she said with a maniacal laugh. “Tell them to kill the traitor queen.”

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading Soul Render. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Would you please consider helping others share your experience by leaving a review on Amazon? Reviews are worth more to an author than the Soul Render to Alexander Drygo. Seriously. I would greatly appreciate it.

  Want more Soul Stones? Have you read the prequels? Soul Siphon is a collection of four prequel novellas that tell the tale of Alexander Drygo. You can get it on Amazon.

  Are you interested in talking to other readers about the Soul Stones series? Check out the Soul Stones Addicts Readers Group on Facebook.

  Or perhaps you’d like to get future release notifications? Sign up for my email newsletter. But, as you know, sometimes emails get intercepted by traveling bands of orcs and never make it to your inbox. If you’d rather never miss an update again, you can also sign up for my Facebook Messenger feed.

  Have a question or comment? Or just want to chat? I’d love to hear from you. Feel free to contact me at tl@tlbranson.com.

  Acknowledgments

  This book has been a long time coming. I started writing it in fall of 2016, about a month before my father passed away. After that, it got put on the shelf for six months while I put his affairs in order.

  I picked it back up in May of 2017 when I joined Critique Circle. While the writing advice I got there may have been helpful, what proved more valuable was the motivation to keep writing.

  In July, I left Critique Circle to launch my online platforms. That’s when I met fellow fantasy authors, Angel Haze and Sean Hinn. Both of them were there for me through this whole journey and both have pressed me to become a better writer. Thank you to the both of you, you mean a lot to me.

  After I launched my prequel short story, Ash and Steel, in September 2017 I began this awesome relationship with you all as readers. A few readers rose to the top and became what I call my A-Team, my beta readers. Thank you Jonathan, Alex, Marissa, Erica, and JD. You guys are awesome. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  Then there’s Phil Athans, my editor. I hired him to edit Ash and Steel and we’ve been working together on everything I’ve published since. He’s made me a better writer and has been a sounding board for my ideas. Thank you, Phil.

  And I can’t forget my illustrator, Guilherme Batista. This is the second cover he’s done for me and it’s been a pleasure to work with him each time. He’s an amazing artist and half the reason you all bought this book was because of him and his awesome talent.

  Really, though, this books started a long time ago. It started when I fell in love with fantasy and reading in general. I’ll never forget the day that I saw R.A. Salvatore’s The Lone Drow on the bookshelf at Walden Books.

  The cover and title drew me in. I saw it was Book 2 in the series, so I bought Book 1, The Thousand Orcs right away. When I finished that trilogy, I realized there was a whole world of Drizzt books just waiting for me to dive in and join the adventure.

  From that moment, I knew I wanted to write my own book. I even started one in college. Without great authors like R.A. Salvatore, Brandon Sanderson, Sarah J. Maas, Leigh Bardugo, and a host of other authors I’ve been addicted to over the years, there would be no Soul Stones. So thank you to each and every one of you who pour your hearts and souls into your stories. You have affected and changed my life for the better.

  Lastly, I would like to thank you, the reader. Thanks for taking a chance on me. Thanks for buying my book and making more possible. I hope you enjoyed it.

  About the Author

  T.L. Branson is an author of YA and Epic Fantasy. Branson started writing when he was eighteen and has contributed articles to several blogs and websites over the years. Soul Render is his debut novel in a planned trilogy. He finds his inspiration from the kings (and queen) of story, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, George Lucas, and J.K. Rowling. Born in Pennsylvania, he currently lives in California with his wife and two children.

  www.tlbranson.com

  tl@tlbranson.com

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  Sneak Peek

  All his li
fe, Davion Callum wondered if he would find his parents. It remained a mystery nobody cared to solve. Nobody but Callum, of course. His mother dropped him on an orphanage doorstep eighteen years ago wrapped in a blanket, a piece of parchment pinned to it bearing his name.

  Staring at the old paper in his hand, he traced his finger along the curl at the top of the cursive “D” and down the swoop of the “C.”

  Who had such beautiful handwriting? He wondered. And was she just as pretty?

  He had tried to find his parents once but no one took him seriously, nobody ever did.

  “What did I say about showing your face in here again?” Gerald’s voice called out.

  Callum’s head snapped up just in time. He ducked under the man’s left hook and backed away, stuffing the parchment into his pocket.

  “Come now, boys,” the old barkeep said, “I don’t want any trouble like last time.”

  “Then we’ll try to spice it up,” Gerald replied as he grabbed Callum by his tunic and shoved him against the wall by the bar.

  “I know just what you’re looking for,” Callum said, grabbing a mug of ale off the bar and splashing it into Gerald’s face.

  Gerald hollered and dropped him to wipe his eyes. Using the distraction, Callum slipped away.

  “You’re going to regret that,” Gerald roared and came at him, arms raised.

  “You have to catch me first,” Callum replied, casting a wry grin.

  Gerald made to snatch him, but Callum ducked under his arms and spun. Gerald seethed with anger, his teeth clenched. He grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it at Callum. Callum dove to the ground. The chair collided with the wall and shattered.

  “Hey!” the barkeep yelled. “Break it up right—”

  Callum picked up a broken chair leg and sprang to his feet. As Gerald barreled in, Callum swung the makeshift weapon at the man’s head.

  Gerald grabbed it, stopping its momentum. The man pulled his head back and bashed it into Callum’s, sending him stumbling back right into another patron.

  “Sorry,” Callum said, gripping the man on the shoulder for balance.

  When he turned back, he found a fist an inch from his face, too late to dodge. The force of the blow sent him reeling and tumbling to the floor. Callum reached up to his nose and found blood on his hand. He rose on one knee. Gerald raised the broken chair leg—

  Crack!

  Gerald stumbled forward. Callum lunged to the left to prevent the man’s hulking form from flattening him. A broken broom head fell to the floor in the man’s wake. The old barkeep stood behind him with the other half still in his hands.

  “I said no trouble, and I meant it,” he said. “Get out.”

  Gerald grumbled an apology and left the tavern. Callum got to his feet once again, brushed himself off, and headed back to his drink.

  The barkeep coughed. “Both of you,” the man said, pointing to the door.

  “Come on. It wasn’t my fault,” Callum pleaded. “He attacked me.”

  “Out!” he yelled.

  “Okay, okay,” Callum said, holding his hands up in defeat.

  He exited the tavern and stepped out into the dark of night. The moon shone brightly overhead, the salty sea breeze causing a chill to run down his spine. Callum pulled his arms close to keep warm and turned down a dark alley. A pair of heavy footsteps fell in line behind him.

  Callum glanced over his shoulder but did not slow his pace.

  “You didn’t have to hit me so hard,” Callum said in the darkness.

  Gerald walked up beside him. “Had to make it look good, didn’t I?”

  Callum wiped the blood from his nose. “Still…”

  “Are you bleeding crazy?” he asked. “You could get me killed showing up like this.”

  “Rommel’s called a meeting,” Callum said, ignoring the question. “He’s going to want reassurances.”

  “It’ll never work,” he said, huffing.

  “Gerald…”

  “You can’t get more than a handful of people through that door. How does he expect to—?”

  “Gerald!”

  “Fine! Yes. I’ll do it. I’m your man,” he said, grumbling. “Just give me some advanced notice. I’ll need to make excuses to get rid of the others.”

  “Right in here, please,” the servant said, extending his arm to the empty room. “Lord Rommel will be along shortly.”

  “Thank you,” Callum said as the servant turned and left him alone.

  Rommel’s personal study was the height of luxury. Bookcases filled with books ran the length of the room. A grand fireplace adorned the left wall, its low fire casting a soft glow. Along the far wall sat a large bed for when Rommel couldn’t be bothered to return to his quarters. Beyond it, a balcony stretched out over Havan’s northern sea. The glass doors would normally be open, curtains lightly fluttering in the breeze, but spring was late and the night was unusually cool.

  In the center of the room sat a desk. On top lay a stack of papers, a worn red notebook, and a few quills, but the largest of the items was a map of Havan. Callum walked over to the desk and studied the map.

  Each of the four ruling Houses controlled a quarter of the city, their four strongholds in the four corners, the two lesser Houses in the south, and the two greater Houses in the north. The stronghold in the nor’west bore the symbol of a bear: House Rommel’s crest. Opposite it, in the nor’east, sat the eagle of House Gramoll.

  The flames in the fireplace beside the desk crackled and flickered in the night. Miniature figurines representing soldiers atop the map caught the light, casting long shadows across it. Several blue figurines lined the walls of House Gramoll, save a lone figurine at the front gate wearing a red band: Gerald. Several more red figurines filled the streets surrounding the house.

  The attack would launch in a few weeks. Callum would be happy when it was done. He hated these meetings. Looking at the map again, his eyes settled on a red notebook sitting beside it. In all his visits to Rommel’s study, he’d never seen it before.

  Checking to make sure no one was coming, Callum picked it up and flipped open the cover. He gathered the loose papers within and began to read them. Many were worthless personal notes like Rommel’s first order, an unpaid financial agreement, and a note of thanks from a nobleman for solving some problem. But one particular letter caught Callum’s attention. It was written in the hand of a woman. A love letter. The script seemed familiar.

  It started, “My Dearest Fabian.” Callum’s eye hung up on the “D.” He knew that “D.” The way it curved, its flourish as it terminated. He set the book on the desk and withdrew the old piece of parchment in his pocket. He unfolded it and laid it beside the letter.

  “You what?” a voice roared from outside the door.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, he arrived early,” another voice said. Callum recognized the voice as belonging to the servant who let him in.

  Callum snapped the notebook shut and placed it back on the desk as Lord Fabian Rommel, head of House Rommel, the second most powerful man in Havan behind the lord of House Gramoll, entered the room.

  He was tall, but not unusually so. He might have been a striking, handsome figure in his youth. Though he was only in his forties, stress had eaten away at him. His hair had grayed prematurely and chiseled lines surrounded his eyes and covered his forehead.

  Rommel shot a glare at Callum and asked, “Where is Captain Platz?”

  “He said he would be delayed and sent me along ahead. He told me to tell you not to wait for him,” Callum replied.

  Rommel’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room, making sure nothing was out of place. Callum checked the desk, verifying he’d placed the notebook back properly. It appeared in order, but he realized he’d left his parchment lying beside it. Rommel approached the desk, picked up the red notebook, and placed it into a drawer. While Rommel was distracted, Callum snatched the parchment from the desk and shoved it into his pocket.

  Rommel said, “What did you just�
��?”

  The door swung open and in strode two nobles Callum recognized as counselors for the lesser Houses, Roth and Ober.

  “What’s the meaning of this? Do you have no decency for the hour?” Lord Roth’s counselor bellowed.

  “These meetings are secret for a reason,” Rommel explained. “It’s not as though I can post to your House noticeboard.” Rommel rolled his eyes.

  Callum tuned them out as Rommel droned on.

  Callum was ecstatic. After years of searching, he finally had a solid lead on his mother. He was almost positive she had penned the letter in Rommel’s notebook. She had to have. There was no way to know for sure, but the writing appeared the same. He was pretty sure it was her. But did that mean—?

  “Callum!”

  He shook his head and blinked as the study came back into focus.

  “Me? My lord?” he asked, pointing to himself.

  “Now, boy,” Rommel snapped.

  Callum jumped, unease overwhelming him. At some point Platz had arrived. All the men stood hunched over the map on the desk. Platz moved aside as Callum drew near.

  “You’re sure your contact is reliable?” Rommel asked him, pointing to the figurine with the red band.

  “My lord, he has expressed some concerns about—”

  “Will he be there?” the lord said, enunciating every word.

  “Yes, my lord,” Callum replied.

  “Good,” Rommel said, waving him off.

  Callum retreated once again to his position along the wall in Rommel’s study.

  “My men are ready to strike at your command, my lord,” Platz said.

  “You have the support of House Roth,” one the nobles said.

  “And House Ober,” said another.

  “But,” the first noble said, “you’ll understand if my lord Roth wishes not to lend physical aide. Should your plans go awry—”