The Dragon Soul (Vagrant Souls Book 2)

by Samuel E. Green

  "Do not bring him to harm," she said. "Or I swear, I will make you pay."

  "I will protect him. I failed to protect you long ago. I won't make that mistake again." Peoh bowed his head at her. "If you wish to help us, come to Madukgarrd. Should you realize the truth of Saega's actions, flee Indham immediately."

  Fighting back tears, Edoma mounted her horse and galloped away from Lady's Lake, leaving her first love, and her son, behind.

  21

  Alfric

  Alfric held the rope ladder as it swung in the wind. His pulse raced throughout the long climb. He'd never liked heights. He unlatched the bolt in the door above him, pushed it open, and climbed up. He stood in a large room, constructed at the heights of a towering elm tree. The platform at his feet was steady—more so than the rope ladder—except the entire structure swayed as the elm did.

  Swallowing, Alfric stepped into the hut. There were two cushioned beds in the tree-dwelling, but not much else. Sigebert and Cenred burst from the shadows, wielding wooden planks.

  "A skinwalker!" Cenred cried.

  "It's me, Alfric."

  Sigebert's eyes widened, and he dropped his plank. Cenred's grip tightened.

  "I'm not a skinwalker." Alfric paused. "Well, at least, not a rabid skinwalker."

  "You survived?" Sigebert said. "How is that possible? The other skinwalkers are monsters." He pointed out a narrow window where a warded circle kept a group of skinwalkers. Alfric now knew why he hadn't encountered many rabids for days—they'd all been drawn to Eosorheim and imprisoned within this ward circle. The sight only made him more convinced that Hurn's intentions were noble. With the skinwalkers here, they couldn't harm Aernheim's people.

  Alfric took up a chair and told the warriors everything that had happened since the wraith had taken him.

  "That's quite the story," Sigebert said.

  "Isn't it?" Cenred scowled. He had stood the whole time, arms folded across his chest. "If you've made yourself a friend of Hurn, how about getting us something better to eat than fruit? Every day, a squirrel of all things comes and delivers a sack of apples and berries. I need meat."

  "I'll see what I can do," Alfric said, earning a grunt from Cenred.

  Both warriors were thinner than he'd last seen them, but they didn't look unhealthy. While they weren't in the worst sorts of prisons, they were still imprisoned. If Alfric could convince the warriors that Hurn wasn't bad, he might convince Hurn to let them outside.

  Alfric told them how Hurn didn't hate those of Indham. He was responsible for shattering the orb, but he had good reasons.

  Cenred balked. "Have you asked him about this cleansing? You know nothing of Hurn and his intentions. You were a child when I met you, and now you're a host for an evil spirit. Be gone from here."

  Sigebert shook his head and offered Alfric an expression filled with pity. "You mustn't trust Hurn, Alfric. He is not human. His mind is not like ours. It has been tainted by whatever foul magic Eosor has granted him."

  "Neither is my mind human. As you both suggest, I have been tainted." Alfric found himself shouting, his anger barely contained. None of this had been his choice. He didn't ask for the wraith to possess him. "Hurn wishes to free the gods. Humans enslaved them. I'm going to help him."

  Sigebert's expression hardened. "And what of the girl with the fiery hair? The Daughter of Enlil? Do you still love her? She is human. And your brother, Hiroc the acolyte. What of him? You will doom them all. I thought you a wise lad, but now I know otherwise. Leave us."

  Needing no more convincing, Alfric whirled around and stormed out from the door below. He latched the lock, pleased that these naysayers wouldn't be around to offer anymore poor advice.

  Hurn waited at the bottom of the elm tree. "The human mind is a fickle thing. So incredibly shortsighted. Unfortunately, they discovered my aims in freeing the gods. I cannot have them prevent my plans."

  "So you've imprisoned them?"

  "That is a harsh word to describe their present circumstances. I revealed my purposes to them. Their reaction was . . . undesirable. I cannot allow them to leave."

  "Does that mean I'm trapped here also? You haven't told me what the cleansing entails."

  "To free the gods from their enslavement. Humans enslaved not only the lesser creatures, but also the gods. I counseled the First Priest against his quest to enter the Infernal City and imprison the gods. I was there, on that fateful night. I chose to return to Grimwald. Months later, the First Priest came back. Against my better judgment, I accepted Eosor's orb. But never did I touch the crystalline surface of the carcaern orb. Whoever so touches the orb is afflicted with an illness."

  That was the illness that had taken Gos, causing him to deteriorate.

  "Why did the First Priest imprison the gods?" Alfric had always thought the carcaern orbs had sat within their altars since the beginning of time. He'd never questioned whether the stories were truthful. The notion that the gods were imprisoned, and that Hurn wished to free them, made Alfric snarl. "You shattered Aern's orb!"

  "Not by my hand, but by my influence, yes. Three hundred years Eosor and I conjured a plan to shatter the orbs. At my command, the sorcerer king ventured into Mundos twenty years ago and shattered their orb. Mun was released from her prison so she could return to her home among the gods."

  "I've killed hundreds because of what you did," Alfric said, balling his fists. "I'm a monster."

  "And Aern was saved. Tell me, Alfric, of what value is a human life?"

  "Invaluable. It cannot be given a price."

  "And what of a god's life? If a mortal life is invaluable, then a god's life must be greater. Is that not so?"

  "Then I do not know what a god's life is worth." Alfric felt all his beliefs unraveling.

  "Have you ever met a god, Alfric?"

  "No. I was not an acolyte, so I was forbidden from going to Tyme's Hill."

  Hurn slapped his thighs. "Then tonight you will meet a god."

  Silver moonlight illuminated the stone bricks at Alfric's feet, sparkling as if freshly laid. His heart already beat at a rapid pace, but it quickened all the more as the path curved into aisles of trees with glowing lanterns hanging from their branches. Hurn, antlers glinting in the moonlight, walked ahead. Sparkles peppered his black robes like the stars above them.

  The lanterns brightened when they drew near, and flickered as they passed, before darkening completely. All of Grimwald Forest, Alfric now realized, teemed with magic.

  Even so, the nighttime brought with it fear that the wraith might gain control once more.

  "Do not fear," Hurn said, as if reading Alfric's thoughts. "Eosor's power will not allow the wraith to take hold of you."

  The most ancient of the trees they passed held wooden platforms along their highest branches. Nocturnal birds and woodland creatures moved within the wooden structures built atop the platforms, though humans must have once lived in them. Unlike the rest of Grimwald, which was so pristine and overflowing with life, the abandoned tree-dwellings were weathered and decaying. Had Alfric's sight not been enhanced, he would not have seen them. He wondered whether one of those tree-dwellings, so far up and impossible to climb down from, imprisoned Sigebert and Cenred.

  Alfric wanted to see the warriors again, but he had never had the opportunity to meet a Guardian.

  God, Alfric reminded himself. Not a Guardian.

  That word had perturbed Hurn to the point of anger. What reaction might it engender from a god?

  As Hurn and Alfric walked further north, the trees started to appear greener, their trunks pulsing with magical life. A few more minutes traveling and the trees began to take on a luminescent emerald light.

  "We are here," Hurn announced. He carefully lifted drooping branches, creating a path through the trees, and held out his arm for Alfric to follow.

  Alfric stepped into a glade. Pink crystals formed a floor that reached from the glade's entrance to its end. The same crystals culminated in a grand fountain. Glowi
ng water trickled down from the fountain into a crystalline pool. At the furthest end, stepping stones led to a dais below a great oak tree shining with a dazzling luminescence. The oak's intersecting branches held a carcaern orb.

  "I've never been this close to an altar," Alfric whispered. He stepped onto the stones and saw bright lights dancing within the orb's glass. "It's so . . . beautiful."

  "Sif is not the only god who favors natural beauty." Hurn's face brightened as he looked at the altar and a smile softened his features. "You may approach Eosor's orb." When Alfric didn't move, Hurn placed his hand against his back and gently nudged him onto the first step.

  Alfric breathed in the forest air and ascended the stairs. Green runes buzzed with power along the branches holding the carcaern orb. Leaves flew within the orb, as though they were swirling in a light breeze.

  "Welcome," a voice said.

  Realizing that this was the voice of Eosor, Alfric knelt. He placed his forehead against the crystal dais.

  "You are human and yet are also something else. The touch of my magic is upon you. Yet I have not called you, nor have you devoted yourself to me."

  Alfric wondered what Eosor meant by this. Remembering Hurn's story about how the wraiths had come to enter this world, he said, "I am possessed by a wraith."

  "An ancient bargain struck," Eosor said, as if quoting something. "Once, I might have rejected a human standing before me, but you are no longer human. My fortune has shined upon you. Now, tell me, what is your most earnest prayer?"

  Alfric thought about what he might ask Eosor. He'd never expected to pray to Eosor, let alone be asked a question by the god.

  What do I most earnestly desire?

  For Hiroc and Fryda to be alive. Indham's safety. Freedom from the wraith.

  "Your prayers have been answered," Eosor said.

  "I didn't ask for anything yet." Had Eosor read his thoughts?

  "Prayer is not about receiving, though those things you desire are admirable. Your brother is safe, but he treads a dangerous path. The woman you love occupies a strange land, yet something of great power keeps her safe."

  At least they were alive. Alfric wanted to leap with joy. Only his present company prevented him from doing anything except smile. "You can see them?"

  "I see traces of them. Enough to know that the paths they walk are, like yours, filled with peril. The third thing you desire is not mine to give. The town of Indham remains, yet for how long, I do not know. It, like all the Godheims, must be cleansed. It is a great evil to imprison a god."

  "And what of the wraith? Can I be free of it?"

  "You are of particular use while the wraith resides in you."

  Alfric dropped his shoulders. Hearing that Eosor knew all those things made him think that the god would be capable of freeing him.

  "It is not that I am incapable," Eosor said. "There is much you've yet to accomplish. Without the wraith, you will do none of it."

  Alfric didn't like the sound of that. Of what good could a skinwalker be? He preferred to remain in Eosorheim where the wraith would never take control again. It also seemed that his change slowed here. Maybe he would never become a beast. Still, he hoped that one day he would be able to enter the reliquary again and touch the silver scepter.

  "The reliquary?" Eosor said. He sounded off-balance, as though Alfric's thought had surprised him.

  Something pried into Alfric's mind, and he was in Urd again on that fateful night when he'd entered the other-realm. The room with the orb flashed in his mind, and then came the reliquary with its shelves and many magical relics. The vision settled on the silver scepter.

  Hurn's pointed boots stepped alongside Alfric. He bowed from the waist. "All honor to you, Eosor."

  The orb pulsed. "This one, Hurn, has something to tell you. Tell him, Alfric. Speak of what I saw."

  Alfric turned to Hurn and told him how he'd entered the strange world between worlds and then gained control of the wraith. He said that a man he'd met, a mage named Gos, called the place he'd been to the reliquary.

  As Hurn wandered to the pool and stared into it, Alfric could hardly believe that he was looking at a man who shared an elk spirit. Nor that he had just spoken with a god. It wasn’t that either of those things were unbelievable by themselves, only that he had never imagined he might be involved with such magical beings.

  Hurn looked up from the pool, the moonlight glinting off a tine. "The reliquary is located within Kranak-Ur, a castle in the Scorched Lands. Inside this castle, the Sentinel sits upon the Throne of Bones, guarding the reliquary as he gazes upon the rainbow sands of The Sepulchers. If it is true that you ventured there, then you are lucky to still possess ownership of your spirit. The gods desire service above all, and some of them are not above taking it forcefully. The Sentinel is not a god, but he believes himself to be."

  Alfric swallowed. He'd been ecstatic when he'd found the room with all the strange items. Although he'd be more cautious now, he was still determined to return there.

  "I was only able to control my body after I touched the silver scepter. Without it, the wraith will continue to take me at night if I leave Eosorheim."

  "A predicament," Hurn said. "We do wish for you to leave Eosorheim. There is much for you to accomplish, and being controlled by the wraith at night would make things difficult. If you were to return to the reliquary by projecting your spirit through a scrying crystal, you would be able to control yourself."

  "But I cannot . . . project my spirit." The term sounded strange, but so did everything that they'd spoken about today. "I'd need a traveling pylon, like the one in Urd."

  "Nonsense. The one in Urd hasn't worked for four hundred years." Hurn frowned. "You were in Urd when you entered the reliquary?"

  Alfric nodded.

  "That makes no sense. I destroyed the pylons there myself." Hurn strode toward Alfric and took up his head in both hands. He stared into his eyes. "There is something unique about you." Before Alfric could answer, Hurn pulled the knife from his belt. Alfric raised his hands to ward off an attack. But Hurn didn't attack. He slid the knife blade across his palm. He closed his eyes and his nostrils flared. Blood dripped from his clenched fist, spattering onto the crystal floor below.

  The room shimmered until they were both somewhere else, yet still in the same room. The same sensations Alfric had felt when he was in the reliquary returned, as though he were feeling everything from a distance. The strong scent of honey filled his nostrils.

  "Ah, yes," a muffled voice said. He thought to move toward it, and suddenly he was there, standing in front of a dark figure. Alfric could only describe him as a dark man made of shadows.

  "You are different," the dark man said. He emanated the scent of honey, so strong that it almost overpowered him. It wasn't really like smelling anything, because the sense seemed to go to Alfric unfiltered.

  Suddenly, the glade's color returned, and the smell vanished.

  "It seems your coming here is more fortuitous than I originally thought," Hurn said. "Do you know why you were able to enter the other-realm without scrying crystals?"

  "I know nothing of these things," Alfric said, growing frustrated.

  "You have been called by Madrem. The power she grants is travel between worlds. The traveling pylons were fashioned by those Devoted to her. Entering Kranak-Ur will be far easier now that I know this. There is something I wish to find there, so I will enter with you. Besides, having me there will be a precaution against the Sentinel."

  "If you could have gone there all this time, why didn't you go earlier?"

  "Because the scrying crystals are imperfect means of traveling. They borrow from Madrem's power in a weaker way than someone who is actually called by Madrem. Those who fashioned the crystals were Devoted to Madrem, but you are different. Madrem has personally called you. You must be the first in, well, thousands of years. Maybe the first since she was imprisoned."

  "She's inside a carcaern orb?"

  "Tell me, Alfri
c, have you ever heard of the dragon soul?"

  Alfric shook his head.

  Hurn sighed. "A pity. I thought you might have seen it. It is the carcaern orb that contains Madrem. The very first carcaern orb. It had been kept inside the reliquary, but someone took it eight years ago. It has been hidden from my eyes since then. Most things are not hidden from me, so I often question whether the tale of its theft is true. Like all orbs outside of their altars, it bears no magical imprint. Going to the reliquary would confirm whether the story was true. The silver scepter you spoke of, what did it look like?"

  "It was a royal scepter, intricately etched with runic symbols. At its top was a pointed jewel with a dragon inside it. I don't know the species of dragon, but it had no wings and seemed to fly as though it were alive."

  "I know of this relic. It is not the dragon soul, but a prototype. It contains but a fraction of Madrem's essence. It is the first Devoted relic, containing the Devotion of the first traveler. A powerful item, but compared to the dragon soul, it is a child's toy. The real dragon soul is a pendant made from a weaker substance than animancer's crystal. The first fashioner of carcaern orbs did not yet understand the true craft of enchantment, so he made it from jade."

  Alfric's heart stopped. "Is it shaped like a pendant?"

  Hurn grabbed Alfric by the shoulders, his eyes desperate. "Did you see it in the reliquary?"

  "No, but I know where it is."

  22

  Jaruman

  "Thanks for the help all the same," Jaruman said to the village woman.

  The woman handed Jaruman a sack of round buns, cheese, and dried fruits. "I hope you find her," she said. "The world isn't safe anymore."

  Don't I know it.

  Jaruman bid the woman farewell and traveled along the road once more. It had been the tenth village he'd visited in a day. Of those, it was only the second with people still living in it. Either the other hamlets and villages had been abandoned, or worse—they were filled with dead bodies, mutilated by skinwalkers.