Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  The sun? The sun!

  He was no longer in the Under Realm. He slid down the pile, back into the cave, flabbergasted, but grateful. I’m alive, but where?

  A husky voice sounded behind him.

  “Don’t move or I’ll cut your kidneys out.”

  Silurian didn’t need to be told twice.

  “Who are you? How did you get in my cave?” The voice sounded strange. Muffled. Almost forced.

  Silurian answered, “To be honest, I have no idea. I don’t even know where here is.”

  “Turn around. Slowly.”

  Silurian did as he was bidden. Before him stood a figure, about his own height, hidden beneath a dust-covered black cowl and flowing, midnight blue robes decorated by moons, stars and all sorts of celestial bodies.

  Silurian’s legs buckled. He knew this person. Not well, but enough to realize he wasn’t out of danger yet. Before him stood the Wizard of the North.

  He put his palms up, trying desperately to remember the spellcaster’s name. “Look, um, wizard. I mean you no harm. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just, ah, clear enough of these rocks away and be gone from here.”

  He studied the cave. The walls were marked by scrapes, probably from flying rock shards. Toward the back of the hollow, a large black smear marred the ground. The remnants of a firepit?

  “What happened here?”

  The wizard said nothing, studying him. Deciding, perhaps, whether or not to let him live. The gruff voice asked, “How did you get here?”

  Silurian was too exhausted to offer any sort of resistance. He dropped to the ground on his posterior. “Look. I have no idea. If I told you the last thing I remember, you’d call me daft.”

  “You were in the Under Realm,” the wizard said. A statement, not a question.

  “Uh, yes I was, as a matter-of-fact. How do—”

  “I am the Wizard of the North. I know everything. You were with the Soul.”

  Again, not a question.

  If the wizard thought Silurian was one of the Soul’s creatures, it wasn’t going to end well. “Um, yes. My name is Silurian Mintaka. I’m not—”

  The wizard advanced on him. From within the flowing folds of the wizard’s robes a sword appeared.

  Silurian tried to stand, but in his haste, slipped on the debris and fell hard to his backside.

  The wizard stood directly above him, holding the sword with long, dainty fingers. The blade covered in runes. Ten in total. Five exquisitely etched along each side.

  A high-pitched shriek escaped the wizard’s lips. Shoulders trembling, the sword tip dropped to the cave floor as the wizard threw back her cowl.

  If Silurian’s adrenaline hadn’t been shooting through his veins, he would have fainted on the spot.

  He had survived many bizarre twists of fate in his lifetime, but nothing remotely prepared him for who stood before him now. Beyond everything that was rational, even in his wildest dreams, he would never have guessed the identity of this person.

  His sister.

  Melody let the ancient relic drop from her hands to clatter amongst the rubble. She covered the lower half of her face with her hands. Unbridled tears rolled off her cheeks. Trembling, she fell to her knees. She appeared to be struggling to say something, but the words didn’t come.

  Silurian scrabbled over the rocks on hands and knees, oblivious to the sharp edges digging into his skin. He grabbed his sister and drew her close, squeezing her so hard he worried he might crush her, but she never complained. When he tried to disengage, she clutched him tighter.

  She was alive. He was incredulous. After everything that had happened to him, all the trials and hardships, the betrayals and loss—it all fled his thoughts. The only important thing left in his mind was the unbelievable notion that Melody, the dearest person in the world to him, was alive. He hadn’t seen, nor heard from her in over twenty-three years, and now, out of the incomprehensible chaos, here she was.

  He didn’t know how long they sat intertwined amid the blasted rock, high above the world. He didn’t care. He was content to sit with her like this for the rest of his life. He lost track of how many times he asked her, “Is it really you?” Each time he felt her sweet head nod into his shoulder.

  Finally, they released their embrace, the grime on their faces smeared by tears. Silurian grabbed a fold of her celestial robes and dabbed at her face, hopelessly trying to clean her face. He let the cloth go and cupped her cheeks in his rough hands. “It is you.”

  Her chin lifted and fell in his grasp, her watery eyes shining, and her delicate lips turned up. “Yes, silly, it’s me. Mel.” She spit out a laugh. “Remember? The one who kept Hairy awake?”

  Silurian laughed, his eyes misting up again as he fondly recalled the reference. A time, back in their youth, when they had faced the world alone and afraid, and survived. How could he forget Hairy, the troll? They had almost become its dinner more than once.

  “But how?” Silurian asked, releasing her face and plucking absently at her garb. “And this? You look like a wizard I once met.”

  She nodded. “The Wizard of the North?”

  “Yes, that’s him. He wore robes similar to—”

  “These,” she finished for him. “That’s because they’re his. Or were, I guess. He passed them on to me.”

  She smiled at the bewildered look he gave her and nodded quickly as the revelation settled in.

  “You mean…you are the Wizard of the North?”

  Her ear to ear smile confirmed it.

  “But? But,” he stammered. “Wizards are men”

  “Aye,” she laughed. “Thus, the cowl.”

  “The Wizard of the North gave you his robes? When he left? As a gift?”

  “Aye, you could say that, but it’s a long story best saved for another day.” She sounded all grown up. “The important thing is you are alive.”

  Silurian’s next words caught in his throat. He wanted to ask her more about where she had been all these years, what she had been doing, but her comment brought another thought to the forefront of his mind.

  “Yes. I am.” He looked about the cave again, seeing the burnt remnants of tomes and shards of pottery scattered about. This was a wizard’s lair, of that there could be no doubt. “My instincts tell me you have something to do with that.”

  “Um, maybe a wee bit.” She held a forefinger a hair’s breadth above her thumb. She grabbed his wrists. “What were you doing in the Under Realm?”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you know who I was with?”

  Again, she shook her head, but her smile slipped from her pretty face.

  He stared hard at her until her eyes grew wide.

  Silurian nodded. “Aye. Rook was with me.”

  Melody’s smile fell from her face. Her eyes widened further and she swallowed hard.

  He pulled her into his arms.

  Melody fought back tears. “Rook,” she said, sounding far away.

  “He was alive the last time I saw him.”

  She leaned back to look him in the eyes. “Why were you in the Under Realm?”

  “Searching for a way to re-imbue the lost enchantment on that sword.” His ice-blue eyes darted to the discarded relic beside them.

  “So, it’s true. I saw a vision of a blazing mountain peak erupting like a volcano just before my fire pit exploded. That was you and Rook in the Under Realm? Oh, Sil…” Her bottom lip quivered. She fell back into his loving embrace, holding him tight.

  She remained wrapped in his arms until the worst of her grief subsided. Finally, she leaned back and allowed Silurian to wipe her face with a fold of her robes.

  Sniffling to clear her nose, she gazed at him through glossy-red eyes. “That was weeks ago.”

  “Weeks ago? You left me lying in the rubble that long?”

  She shrugged. “I knew it was you. At least, I was pretty sure, but I couldn’t be certain I hadn’t called a demon into
the cave in your guise. As you can see, getting out of here isn’t that easy.”

  “A demon? That looked like me?”

  She nodded her head slightly. “Through my vision, I sensed the Soul’s malevolent need to possess you.”

  “Then how do you know I’m me now?”

  Again, the shrug. “I don’t, I guess. You’ve been unconscious for days. I kept you hydrated and fed you. You ate quite well, actually considering you had no idea what you were doing.”

  He frowned at that. “I find that hard to believe. You pulled me through the flames and then just left me. For weeks?”

  “You were in a kind of coma that I couldn’t revive you from. I healed your physical ailments the best I could, and believe me, you were a mess. My biggest fear was that I was doing all this to rescue a demon. I’ve never done anything like this before. It just sort of happened.” She shrugged. “I’ve been trying to use charms to divine the truth about you, but,” her gaze took in the pile of charred books, and shattered vials, “I can’t locate the potion the old Wizard of the North concocted for something like this. It must’ve been destroyed when my campfire blew up.”

  Silurian mulled that over. He’d never heard of anyone being transported from one place to another. It wasn’t like he had been in the next room.

  He looked around. The cave narrowed at its back end, looking like it continued through a narrow gap, deeper into the mountain. He tried to come up with the words to ease the obvious hurt that the news of Rook’s involvement brought. He felt it acutely himself. Unable to think of anything meaningful, he studied the cave some more. It had been such a long time since he had been here.

  Melody shivered. She stood up, grasped his hands and pulled him to his feet. “Since you were nice enough to let the cold air in, we should get a fire going. Help me gather the wood scattered about.”

  Silurian got up and rummaged about the rear of the cave, picking up splinters of wood that appeared to be pieces of an old chest, and placed them beside her makeshift firepit—a scorched patch of ground surrounded by blackened rocks. He uncovered a stick that was almost as tall as himself. Leaning it against the cave wall he lifted a foot to break it in two.

  “Not that one!” Melody shrieked.

  Silurian halted his foot in midair. “Huh?”

  “That’s my staff,” Melody said. She strode over and plucked the gnarled length of dark wood out of harm’s way.

  Silurian nodded. “Your staff. Of course.”

  Melody bent over the circle of rocks, arranging the scraps of wood. She spoke a phrase that meant absolutely nothing to Silurian, and a flame took shape within the centre of her little construction, quickly catching the bits of fuel around it.

  Silurian raised his eyebrows, impressed.

  “I’ve got something I need to tell you.” She looked up at him, her face serious. “Something you’re not going to want to hear.”

  Silurian swallowed, remembering the rest of the people that had accompanied him to the Under Realm. “The quest?”

  She gave him a sympathetic look. “Worse.”

  Parting Company

  Keepy had led Gerrymander’s landing party from the wreckage of Wharf’s Retreat, that first day back in the Bay, up the side of Pantheon Rock—a remarkable spur of granite abutting the southern shore. Here the city’s survivors sheltered in a network of burial caverns.

  The citizens had described the firestorm that had ruined their city to the men and women from the Gerrymander. They spoke of the disappearance of the sun. The sky had suddenly turned black and then fireballs coalesced high overhead and rained down upon the city.

  Alhena and Rook nodded, all too familiar with the phenomenon. The remainder of the landing party listened with great interest, unable to comprehend that one person could be responsible for causing so much destruction. Witnessing the destruction first hand, however, they could hardly refute the survivor’s account, nor could they conceal their shock at how little of the population remained. Not even Baron Lychman had survived.

  The people were homeless and leaderless. The surviving city guard had taken it upon themselves to look after the mundane details of cooking, organizing salvaging parties, and most importantly, during the day at least, searching the ruins for survivors. They also allocated the grisly task of body disposal—disease from rotting corpses their biggest fear as the days wore on. Wandering trolls and other nocturnal predators entering the city through massive breaches in the town walls kept them pinned within Pantheon Rock after dark.

  Hearing the horrifying accounts of the firestorm, it became obvious to Rook and Alhena that if Zephyr had any chance of survival, they needed to first determine the fate of Castle Svelte and the Chamber of the Wise. With no time to waste, they decided that Pollard and Yarstaff would accompany Rook to check on the state of King Malcolm, while Sadyra and Olmar escorted Alhena to Gritian.

  Thorr agreed to remain in port to provide extra security for the region, working in conjunction with Wendglow’s people to protect the bay area and its people from further attack, and more importantly, to begin the rebuilding process.

  Alhena clasped Wendglow’s human hand in a firm handshake as several people stood on the same twisted jetty Olmar had rowed them to that first day back. The Voil elder gave him a sharp-toothed grin and a tight embrace.

  Stepping back, Alhena waited for Thorr to say good-bye to Olmar.

  “Take care of them, Olmar. Like you do, Gerrymander. You’ll be sorely missed, my plinth of a friend. Your road is sure to be fraught with peril.”

  “Ach!” Olmar said, slapping the captain on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet. “They’ll never get by Olmar, cap’n.”

  Thorr caught himself and looked up at his giant helmsman. “Woe betide anyone foolish enough to try.”

  Olmar slapped him again.

  “Alhena, my good friend.” Thorr turned to clasp his hand. “We’ve known each other for less than two months, yet it feels like a lifetime.”

  Alhena leaned on his staff. “Aye. Close relationships are forged fast in desperate times.”

  “It’s been an honour sailing with you, kind sir. If it pleases you, give my regards to Vice-Chambermaster Solomon. He and I were once great mates, if you can believe that?”

  Alhena inclined his head. “Is that so? And what happened to change that?”

  “Lugubrius happened. I was sent to help rebuild Zephyr’s fleet, while good ol’ Solomon, being as smart as he is, took up with the Chamber.”

  “Hmm. Interesting, indeed,” Alhena replied.

  Olmar swaggered over and slapped Alhena on the back. It was all Alhena could do not to yelp. “The Bay’s in good hands with Cap’n Thorr around. The city’s safer’n a lion’s cub, and that’s sure.”

  Alhena staggered forward a step. He ran his tongue along his teeth to ensure none were loose.

  “Easy Olmar,” Thorr cautioned his eccentric first mate. “You forget your strength.”

  The captain pulled Alhena in for an embrace, and whispered, “Be careful, my friend. I hear things aren’t as they seem in the Chamber these days.”

  Alhena broke the embrace, but kept his voice low, nodding his agreement. “Aye. Who told you?”

  Thorr hesitated before answering, “The Enervator, if you can believe that?”

  “Avarick? Really?”

  “Aye. He also told me about your recent fallout with the Chamber. I believe he was concerned about how the Chambermaster would receive you should we make it back.”

  Alhena raised his eyebrows, wondering whether Avarick had told the captain how they had deceived Baron Lychman into ordering the Gerrymander to assist the quest. “There was more to that man than he let on.”

  Olmar folded his arms and nodded his agreement. “The ‘eart of a tiger, that one.”

  Alhena nodded. “Aye. I have known him for years. A real terror in his day. Something happened to him during his time with Silurian. Everyone thought the Chamber had sent him to keep an eye on Siluri
an, but in hindsight, I do not believe that to be true. In the end, he turned out okay.”

  At the mention of Silurian, everyone fell quiet until Pollard traipsed up with Sadyra and Yarstaff in tow. When the huge man neared Alhena, the messenger sidestepped out of reach.

  Sadyra stepped between the two, her hair pulled back tight and tucked beneath her slate grey, suede archer’s cap, the colour highlighting her storm-grey eyes. She curtsied. “I’m ready, Master Sirrus.”

  Alhena smiled at the pretty young girl with many freckles. “You can just call me Alhena. Any luck with the horses?

  Her smile faded. “No, Master Sirrus. There are none to spare.”

  “Alhena,” he corrected her. “Alas, it is as we thought.”

  Sadyra offered him a sly smile. “Aye, Master Sirrus.”

  Flustered, Alhena said to the captain, “Well, I guess this is it. May God be with you, captain.”

  “Aye, if He can spare the time. I’m thinking He has more pressing matters to attend at the moment.” Thorr embraced Alhena again. “Keep your eyes open, my friend. These are strange times. Be sure to look after the lug.” The captain’s eyes indicated his bandy-legged helmsman.

  Alhena spit out a laugh. “I do not believe I need worry about Olmar. I will be hard-pressed protecting them from him.”

  Rook’s voice startled him as he watched the captain make his way back to an awaiting skiff. “Sadyra tells me they can’t spare horses. Even for one as aged as you.”

  He scowled at Rook, but saw the mischief in his eyes.

  “Have you decided your route?”

  “Aye. Knowing how Silurian and Avarick’s trip over Treacher’s Gorge went, I dare say we shall take the inland route. Cut down around The Muse and over.”

  “Excellent, then we travel together a while longer,” Rook said. “At least until The Forke. Perhaps we’ll find mounts there. Are there any boats to be had?”

  “Sunk. Every last one,” Pollard interjected. “We wouldn’t be able to get them past the Rivergate Bridge in any event.”

  “Good point,” Rook said. He looked to the blue sky. “Well then, good messenger, it’s an excellent day for a walk.”