Soul Forge

by Richard Stephens

  The rain had stopped and the sun shone through a break in the clouds. Beside her, through the gap in the mountains, a majestic rainbow arced brilliantly over the vibrant land.

  Late in the afternoon, the company exited the catacombs several hundred yards south of the base of the falls. Even from this distance the noise and wind generated by Splendoor Falls was incredible—if somebody spoke, they had to shout. Luckily, a wind ushered the vast column of mist shrouding the valley to the northeast, leaving the company relatively dry.

  Pollard and Sadyra led them along a steep path through heavy forest—the rocky descent making for tough travel. It was early evening before the lush trail left the foothills and wound its way to the banks of the mighty Madrigail, leagues downriver from the falls. Even this far from the plunge, the river raced by, churning through great chutes of massive boulders.

  Night fell fast in the Madrigail Basin. In the morning, they would travel beyond the rapids, to where a boat awaited their arrival.

  The Songsbirthian contingent pushed their way into the swift moving water, aboard a fair-sized riverboat—the S’gull. The river flowed swiftly for the better part of the afternoon. The oarsman seated below decks were primarily employed to assist the tiller in keeping S’gull in the centre of the frothy course. As the sun set, the oarsmen guided the riverboat into a sandy cove on the north shore.

  Before the sun crested the Muse the following day, the S’gull had already put a few good hours of sailing behind her.

  Nearing sundown, the oarsmen put their backs into propelling the boat as the mighty Madrigail widened and slowed to a lazy crawl.

  Rook joined Alhena on the prow. The steady cadence of oars slapping the water made the S’gull jump forward, lull, jump forward and lull.

  Deep in thought, Alhena didn’t look up at the bowman’s approach.

  “I trust I’m not bothering you?” Rook asked, resting his elbows on the weathered railing.

  Alhena offered him a slight smile and turned his gaze back to the passing waters. “You are never a bother, Sir Rook. I was just thinking about Gritian.”

  Rook nodded.

  “I hope the town is okay,” Alhena said more to the river than to Rook.

  Rook patted his arm. “Aye, I’m sure they’re fine. High Warlord Clavius will dispatch the Kraidic patrol in short order. I daresay, after the heroic chase we put the Kraidics through, they’ll be hard-pressed to lock swords with the Gritian militia anytime soon.”

  Alhena raised his eyebrows. “What if the band we stumbled upon is an advance scouting party? What if there are more bands creeping through the deep countryside? The vanguard of an invading host? With the king preoccupied battling Helleden’s forces in the Altirius Mountains, it would not be hard for the Kraidic empire to launch an offensive of its own.”

  “Ya, I’ve been wondering that too. Krakus the Kraken covets Zephyr.”

  Alhena’s face turned sour at the mention of the Kraidic Empire’s emperor. “I cannot help thinking about what you said a while back. What if they are working together?”

  “The Kraken and Helleden. Pfft. They’d kill each other.”

  A cold tingle washed over Alhena. Helleden and Emperor Krakus, together. Hearing it spoken aloud seemed to add validity to the chance it might be true. Zephyr was surely doomed if the two leaders found a way to align their forces without killing each other.

  Rook settled in next to him. Alhena sensed his apprehension. “Something is bothering you.”

  Rook swallowed, his eyes appearing on the verge of tears.

  “What is it?”

  Rook studied the river. His breathing became heavier. “Silurian.”

  “Silurian? What about him?”

  Rook shook his head. “I don’t know. Silly stuff I guess. I find myself constantly wondering, what he’s like now after all these years. Will he remember me?”

  Alhena gave him an incredulous look.

  “Ya, I know he’ll remember me. That’s not what I meant. I mean, how will he react when he sees me again?”

  “I suspect he will be happy. Why would he not?”

  Rook dropped his gaze and swallowed again. “You don’t understand. You don’t know Silurian like I do. It’s hard to explain.”

  Alhena cast his gaze around the forested riverbank on either side of them. “It just so happens I have an abundance of time. Enlighten me.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “Perhaps not, but it certainly seems to be bothering you. If you do not wish to speak of it, I understand.” Alhena purposely paused and then added, “It is my experience that talking lightens burdens.”

  Rook slapped the railing with his palms and spun to walk away.

  Alhena kept his eyes forward.

  Rook came back to the railing, grinding his lips together. “Silurian Mintaka was orphaned in his teens—”

  “I am familiar with his family history. He was taken under the wing of the benevolent King Peter.”

  “Yes!” Rook blurted. He calmed his voice. “King Peter took him into his household as a reward for saving Prince Malcolm. Anyway, you may know the history but the tales of Silurian don’t touch on the kind of person he used to be.”

  “I knew him as a polite, chivalrous knight in King Peter’s employ. Everyone at Castle Svelte liked him.”

  Rook shook his head. “He was so much more than that. He was bigger than life. Always able to see the good in a person no matter how badly they treated him. He had the ability to remain calm during times of great stress. While everyone else panicked, he patiently figured out ways to overcome whatever dire event was happening. During our years with the Group of Five, Silurian was our rock. Aye, I was the leader, but if truth be told, he was our leader. Albeit, a silent one. It was his shining soul that elevated the Group of Five’s deeds into legend.”

  Alhena frowned. “Hmm. I don’t think I am understanding.”

  “That’s because that was before his fall.”

  “His fall?”

  “Aye, his descent into darkness. Life changed for him after the Battle of Lugubrius.”

  Alhena nodded knowingly. “His family.”

  Rook stared at him, his eyes red and puffy. “His family was the catalyst, there is no doubt, but even then, after losing Melody and discovering his family murdered, he found me in the depths of despair and convinced me that I wanted to live again. Yes! As incredible as that seems, it was Silurian who had kept the faith. Together we continued the search for Melody and an answer to who had been responsible for his family’s murder. He needed closure. We needed closure.

  “We picked up on a faint trail that led us into the Wilds. Foolishly, we followed it. I will spare you the details, but it was during this time that his fortitude, his ever-positive attitude began to crack. I was oblivious at first. Thinking back, I believe I purposely ignored the signs. We’re talking about Silurian Mintaka, the Liberator of Zephyr. How could one such as he falter? I turned a blind eye to his struggle, until it was too late. Suffice it to say, Silurian’s mind descended into a place of such darkness that I was powerless to pull him back.”

  Alhena offered him a sympathetic look, respectfully waiting for him to collect himself.

  “In the end I was forced to make a decision. Either kill him to save him from himself or just let him go. Obviously, I chose the latter. I couldn’t bring myself to end the life of the one person whose beautiful soul had once enriched the lives of everyone who knew him. King, queen, knight, steward, peasant or beggar. It didn’t matter. Silurian always took the time to appreciate a person’s merit, no matter their station. He would treat a scullery maid or a chamber pot boy with the same respect he offered a nobleman—probably more so. He had that rare ability to see and appreciate each person for who they were, not how the chance of birth had placed them. And yet, in the end, what did I do? I abandoned him to his fate.”

  Alhena’s chest tightened hearing Rook’s grief. He spoke past the lump in his throat. “That must have been hard.”


  Rook pursed his lips, tears dripping off his cheeks, his words barely audible, “You have no idea. I left my best friend to die. He would never have done that to me.”

  The river slipped by, gently gurgling as it broke against S’gull’s prow. Birds burst from the trees as they passed. Alhena took it all in. The wonders of life. Finally, he put an arm over Rook’s hunched shoulders. “That was many years ago, and Silurian is still alive. Perhaps your action saved him in the end.”

  Rook nodded. He wiped his cheeks on his shoulder and appeared to force a smile. “I wish that were so. Anyway, I’m not sure I can face him again.”

  There was no way for Alhena to alleviate Rook’s guilt. Deserting a friend during their darkest hour was a tough thing to live with. All he could do for the moment was to stand beside Rook and offer whatever comfort his presence provided.

  Together, they stared into the murky brown waters ahead of the sloop, lost in their own private thoughts, lurching back and forth with the rhythmic slap of the oars.

  Mourning Lynx to Madrigail Bay

  Silurian woke to a rough tongue lapping his left cheek. A soft rumbling accompanied the administration. The stench of stale breath accosted his nostrils. He lay on his back in a congealing pool of blood. A briny scent hung in the air, wafting up from the sea, or emanating from whatever stood over him—he wasn’t sure. He winced at his throbbing headache. The lightening sky meant that he’d been unconscious for a while.

  The tongue licked at him again. Haunting green eyes stared at him between a set of brown, fur tufted ears. As his senses came back to him, he opened his eyes and jerked his head back.

  “About time you came around,” Avarick’s voice sounded from somewhere close by.

  Silurian attempted to scooch away from the large mountain cat purring beside him, its keen eyes following his every move. To his chagrin the lynx scrabbled its massive paws forward, keeping pace. When he stopped, the black striped feline nuzzled its forehead into his side. Dried blood matted the fur on the side of its face.

  “It’s a good thing it likes you,” Avarick said, approaching him. “Every time I try to check on you, the damned thing snarls at me.”

  On cue, the cat growled.

  “See?” Avarick stopped, throwing his hands up. “Between the damned thing alternating between licking itself and you, you haven’t missed much.” The Enervator grunted. “Anyway, you appeared to be breathing so I left well enough alone.”

  Silurian’s strained look shot from the cat to Avarick and back again. “Um…nice kitty?”

  The lynx watched for a moment longer before settling back into Silurian’s side, purring softly.

  Silurian was at loss. Where had the bond with the lynx come from? Perhaps the fight with the trolls had garnered its respect. The cat had surely displayed no love for the vermin, but still, this was a wild animal.

  He held out his left hand.

  The lynx stopped purring, backing its head away from the proffered hand.

  Silurian held his hand as still as his nerve permitted.

  The lynx tilted its head to one side and sniffed at the air. Slowly it stretched forward and sniffed Silurian’s fingertips, before pulling away. It got to its feet and casually pawed toward the horses.

  Silurian sat up, watching it saunter away. It was the largest cat he had ever seen—probably weighing more than fifty pounds. He marvelled at how such a relatively small creature had attacked a troll and survived.

  The lynx stopped before it passed out of sight beyond the horses, staring at him, before it moved beyond the stand of pines and leapt up to a ledge, four feet off the ground.

  It stopped and stared again. Did it expect him to follow it?

  He walked over the where it waited, a sudden pain pounding in the back of his head. He clambered onto the shelf and followed the lynx as it padded up the scree-scattered trail that led above their campsite.

  Avarick’s voice called up to him, “Where are you going?”

  Silurian paused long enough to shrug.

  Rounding a bend, the ledge terminated at a fissure in the rock face. The trail narrowed to little more than a few inches wide before it disappeared altogether. Without pause, the lynx sprang into the gap and was lost to sight.

  Silurian turned to face the cliff’s irregular contours, trying to locate suitable hand holds to prevent him from falling to his death. What the heck was he doing following a mountain cat along a perilous ledge?

  Reaching his right hand into the crevice, his left foot slipped out from underneath him. With a decisive pull, he slipped into the dark confines of a narrow cleft that disappeared into unfathomable depths, fully expecting to be attacked by the lynx.

  The only thing to hit him was a strong wind that howled through the gap, ruffling his hair. It took a little while for his vision to adjust to the entrance shadows and the gloom beyond. He picked out a set of sad eyes. The lynx watched him from just ahead. A faint whine reached him, but he wasn’t sure whether it had escaped the large cat or was just the wind blowing across the cliff face.

  Slowly, he took a few probing steps. Something lay at the lynx’s feet. Three somethings. The lynx let out a sad mewl and everything became clear. His heart caught in his throat as the mother cat groomed the fur of two dead kittens. The third kitten didn’t appear to be too much longer for the world.

  Silurian knelt down, placing his left hand against the wall to steady himself. Light filtered into the cave allowing him to see the cause of the cubs’ deaths. They appeared to have been mauled. Most likely by a troll.

  The lynx pushed the nearest kitten toward him with her nose. The kitten’s eyes opened and emitted a weak mew.

  Staring dumbly at the little ball of bloody fur, he swallowed. The kitten would be better off dead. Troll inflicted wounds usually led to nasty infections.

  A lump formed in his throat. This was silly. They were cats. He’d faced much worse than this during his troubled life, and yet, tears blurred his vision.

  The sun shone high over the Niad Ocean by the time Silurian carried the two dead kittens down the poor excuse of a ledge. The mother lynx followed him back to the camp carrying her injured kitten by the scruff of its little neck.

  Under the watchful eye of their mother, he buried the tiny bodies beneath the stand of pines.

  To his credit, the Enervator never once voiced his displeasure at having to wait. He merely shook his head and went about cleaning up the grisly campsite.

  While Silurian ministered to the cats, Avarick busied himself hauling the troll carcasses to the edge of the cliff and pushed them over the brink.

  Silurian hoped the dead trolls fell into the ocean and not on some poor sap travelling along the desolate shore road, far below. He was skeptical the bodies would make it that far down the cliff face, but at least they weren’t polluting the ridge trail.

  Avarick grunted as he returned from the edge after pushing the last troll into oblivion. “I thought about burning them but didn’t think we had the time. Had I known you were going to play healer to a furball, I probably could have.”

  As they mounted their horses and set off along the narrow trail, Silurian glanced back at the heart-rending scene of the mother lynx curled around her baby, licking its bloodied fur.

  He swallowed. Life was cruel.

  Two full days of steady riding along the Ocean Way brought the travel weary men to a crossroads. A trail from Madrigail Bay rose to meet Niad’s Course. Only a couple more hours remained in their journey.

  A slight drizzle stuck Avarick’s hair to his face. “Well, Queen Killer. Let’s be done with this.”

  Silurian tensed, but the Enervator spurred his horse down the steep, rubble strewn path.

  Silurian paused a moment longer, wondering for the hundredth time why Avarick had chosen to accompany him? The man had held a high-ranking position within the Zephyr military hierarchy. Perhaps he still did, and this was all a ruse, but it didn’t make sense. He watched Avarick’s straight bac
k as he trotted his horse down the path.

  Somewhere down there, unseen at the bottom of the trail, awaited the man Silurian had once considered his best friend. A man he hadn’t seen in a very long time. His lost sister’s husband. The man he had practically led to his death.

  He almost started along the other fork. It veered east, emptying out along the Madrigail River, a day’s ride from the large farming town of The Forke. He was undecided how he felt about meeting up with Rook. He didn’t think their relationship could ever be the same. His past actions had seen to that.

  He sighed and heeled his mount into action. Whatever the outcome, his life was about to change immeasurably. For better or worse, only time would tell.

  Wharf’s Retreat

  Not surprisingly, Pollard saw the distant spires of Madrigail Bay through the misty treetops and light rain before anyone else. The S’gull rounded a long, lazy bend in the river, the watercourse meandering through a wide valley as it cut its way through the Spine. The river emptied into a long bay that flowed out to meet the distant shores of the Niad Ocean. The great city of Madrigail Bay lay sprawled along either side of the lengthy inlet.

  Emerging from a deep gorge, the S’gull sailed up to the massive iron portcullis dominating the river gate bridge. Guards watched their progress from the towers flanking the opening as the sloop’s masts slipped easily beneath the raised gate into the heart of the city.

  Madrigail Bay’s northern shore was littered with odd shaped buildings varying in size—some built of mud and brick, others from wood. The more spectacular edifices rose predominantly upon the hills of the south shore, beyond the grey warehouses lining the wharfs. Large blocks of sculpted granite and polished marble were built into the side the mountain.

  In all of Zephyr, the bay city, especially the south shore, was only outshone by Carillon, the kingdom’s capital at Castle Svelte.