Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  Pollard spun Jibrael’s lifeless body through the air and released it at the oncoming guardsmen—their flailing arms unable to deflect the Enervator’s corpse. Before the guards recovered, Rook and Pantyr drove their shoulders into them again. Pantyr toppled over his falling man while Rook drove his target completely off the stage.

  Rook’s momentum carried him over the edge to crash on top of the injured guardsman amongst a jumble of broken benches. The man grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from escaping but Rook’s forehead cracked him on the bridge of the nose and he let go.

  On the stage, he watched a battle-axe wielding guard bear down on Pollard. “Pollard, behind you!”

  Rook thought he had called out his warning too late as the guard chopped at Pollard, but his jaw dropped when Pollard spun around and caught the blade’s edge between his manacles. Pollard was driven to the ground under the force of the swing—the vibrating concussion rattling the weapon from the guard’s hands.

  The axe had either severed the chain between the binders or damaged the mechanism of the manacles. Rook was as surprised as the guard when Pollard reached out with freed hands—broken lengths of chain hung from the iron bands upon his wrists. He clutched the guard by his armpits and launched him over his back, into the Sentinel.

  The Sentinel staggered under the weight of the guard and dropped the king’s body to the stage, its red eye slits searching for the person responsible.

  Pollard grabbed the guard’s battle-axe and rose to his full height.

  Those present in the Chamber paused to witness the spectacle—a musclebound giant of a man confronted an even larger beast straight from hell.

  Into the Serpent’s Nest

  Melody slipped her small leather bag into a hidden pocket within the folds of her wizard’s robe. She had mixed feelings about continuing their quest to reclaim Silurian’s lost enchantment. Yes, they had need of it if they wished to confront Helleden, but to go rooting about the lair of an underwater wyrm seemed like a fool’s errand. What good would the two of them be to Zephyr if they lay rotting in the bowels of an aquatic dragon?

  Retrieving her staff from where it leaned against the rock face, she said, “Alright, I’m ready.”

  Silurian rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

  She gave him a nervous laugh. He had just gathered whatever little gear he had, himself.

  “What is it?” Silurian asked.

  She smiled at his intuition. He knew her better than anyone else ever did. Even after all these years, he picked up on her conflicting emotions. “I don’t know. Just being silly, I guess.”

  “Silly? About what?” Silurian kept a wary eye on the Grimward hovering several paces away, waiting for them to follow it across the island.

  She shrugged, staring at the ground between him. When she looked into his eyes, she could tell he saw the worry evident in her own.

  “Mel, what is it?” He nodded toward the spectre. “Him?”

  She pursed her lips, trying to think of a good way to explain herself. Unable to do so, she asked, “Are we doing the right thing?”

  Silurian had begun to walk toward the Grimward but stopped. He stepped back to her. “Doing the right thing? This was your idea. What else can we do? I won’t be much help without it. Heck, I may be useless with it.”

  “I know it was my idea, but I’m having second thoughts. Is it worth it to risk our lives? I mean, marching into a wyrm’s nest doesn’t strike me as a wise thing to do. We may as well head north to Lurker’s Lake and speak with the dragon there.”

  Silurian gave her a strange look. He probably had no idea what she was talking about. “Never mind. It’s rumoured an old dragon inhabits a magical tower along the northern border of the Kraidic Empire. According to Phazarus, we would find all sorts of items up there that would help us defeat Helleden.”

  “Then let’s go there if you don’t think this is a good idea. You’re the wizard. You know what’s what when it comes to magic.”

  Melody looked away and muttered. “Not really.” She looked back. “If I had to choose between searching the Serpent’s Nest or travelling for weeks through Kraidic lands to face a dragon, I would choose the Serpent’s Nest, no questions asked.”

  “Then that settles it. Come on.” Silurian started off again, but Melody remained where she was.

  “I guess, but aren’t you afraid?”

  Silurian stopped. “Afraid? Constantly. It keeps my feet moving.”

  Melody couldn’t hold his gaze.

  “Besides, I’m with the Wizard of the North, what could possibly go wrong?”

  Her anxiety spiked hearing the sarcasm in his voice. She had almost gotten them killed more than once. Some wizard she turned out to be.

  Silurian walked back and put an arm around her shoulder. “Come on. With your staff and my sword, this worm—”

  “Wyrm,” she corrected.

  “This wyrm, had better mind itself, or it shall find itself skewered and crispy.”

  She spat out a laugh. Shaking her head, she put an arm around his back as well. Together they traipsed after the spirit of an ancient wizard.

  It took them the better part of the day to reach the eastern shore of Grimward Island. The sun settled amongst the trees of a larger island in the distance—the Serpent’s Nest.

  Standing on the gravel shoreline with the Grimward hovering several feet out over the lake, Silurian and Melody stared at their destination. Even if there had been a land bridge, it would take them half a day to cross.

  She turned to face Silurian, about to dip her staff into the water.

  Silurian held up a finger. “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “We’re not crossing over on an ice bridge.”

  She frowned. How else did he expect to get there? Climb up on the Grimward’s back? Realization softened her features. That was it.

  “Thunor, how strong are you?”

  The spectre turned slowly before them, its flaming orbs studying her. “I am Thunor Carmichael, Wizard of the North. I am as strong as I need to be,” it rasped as if the question had been a ludicrous one.

  “If that’s the island you mean, I shouldn’t have to remind you that neither Silurian nor I have the ability to fly. We’d also rather avoid taking to the water.”

  The Grimward turned its head toward the distant island and then back again. “Weak mortals. Figure it out yourselves. Must I do everything for you?”

  “Excuse me?” Melody raised her voice. “What exactly have you done for us? Attacked us and led us across a barren island after you realized you weren’t strong enough to defeat us?”

  The Grimward’s eyes flared. “Watch what you say, mortal.”

  “Wizard of the North, to you, you worthless bag of bones.”

  Silurian gave her an uneasy glance.

  The Grimward closed the gap between itself and Melody.

  An unnatural wind blew across the gently rolling waters, fluttering her hair about her face, but she didn’t flinch. “You seem to forget. I am the daughter of Mase Storms End. The present-day Wizard of the North, appointed by Phazarus. Don’t even think about threatening me.”

  The Grimward’s eyes burned intensely. Its mocking laugh unsettled her. “Brash have you become. If you need the help so badly, why don’t you ask Phazarus? I’m sure he’d be more than happy to interrupt whatever trivial matters he’s tending.”

  Melody frowned. “Phazarus is still alive? How do you know that?”

  The Grimward backed away, its flames dying down. “Seriously? You need to ask? I’m a spirit of the Wizard of the North. Don’t you think I’d know if Phazarus had become one too?” It turned and floated away.

  Melody was speechless. She assumed Phazarus had left all those years ago so he could…what? Go off and die? That’s what she assumed. Why else would he give up his position to her? How long had it been? Six years for sure. The old wizard had said he needed to see to a few things before he found his eternal peace. She hadn’t fi
gured it would take the industrious wizard that long to look after whatever it was that needed doing. Obviously, according to the Grimward at least, Phazarus hadn’t finished his final errand.

  The revelation that she wasn’t alone in her role shook her to the core. All she had to do was find Phazarus and her fears of inadequacy would be set aside. Phazarus would save them. They didn’t have to face the wyrm after all.

  She tried to recall everything Phazarus had told her about the Grimward’s existence, and her excitement waned. What would her mentor think if he knew she was considering turning away from the chance to imbue Silurian’s sword when they were this close? He would be disappointed. He had invested so much time and effort into her teaching. She couldn’t let him down.

  With a firm resolve, she declared, “Thunor! Heed the true Wizard of the North.”

  The Grimward slowed its flight.

  “Phazarus relinquished the title to me long ago. Whether he still resides in the realm of the living is of no consequence. I command you, Grimward, to do my bidding. Your continued existence in this world is based solely on your ability to provide whatever otherworldly assistance the incumbent wizard requires of you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  The Grimward stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “Tell me I’m wrong! I beseech you, oh mighty spirit, to abide by your time-honoured duty and assist the true Wizard of the North, or begone from our world once and for all.”

  The spectre made a slow turn, its eyes burning with more intensity than Melody had seen yet. The water between the Grimward and the island stirred. A strong wind buffeted the shore, whipping Melody and Silurian’s clothes and hair about.

  Melody held her breath, fully expecting to burst into flames. She could tell Silurian expected the same.

  The Grimward remained that way for a long while before its eyes dimmed. “What does the Wizard of the North desire of her devoted servant?”

  Melody wasn’t sure she had heard the spirit correctly over the dying wind. “I command you to transport us to that island by whatever means you deem appropriate.”

  Did the Grimward chuckle? Melody quickly added, “I will be extremely displeased if my robes get wet.”

  The Grimward floated up to Melody and wrapped its skeletal fingers in the cloak material and robes beneath. Without a word, it lifted her off the ground and drifted several feet above the lake toward the distant island.

  Silurian yelled out, “Hey!” but she was too concerned that she was going to fall out of the bottom of her bunched-up robes that were threatening to pull over her head. As painful as it was, she realized she had to keep her hands down by her sides to prevent her clothing from pulling off and dropping her into the steely waters. The wind in her face gave proof that their flight was rapid, but because she had to struggle to keep from falling, the trip seemed interminable. Just when she thought she could bear the discomfort no more, the Grimward dropped her on an outcropping of rock near a massive stone arch on the edge of the distant island.

  Before she could complain, the spectre was way out over the open stretch of water, its form disappearing before her eyes in the waning daylight. She hoped the ancient spirit intended to retrieve her brother. She couldn’t imagine what she’d do if the Grimward didn’t return.

  The island she stood upon was nondescript, save for a stone archway easily spanning over twenty feet. On further inspection, the passage beneath the archway led into the earth. A narrow channel of water rushed into the blackness every time a wave rolled ashore.

  The air felt damp and cold, smelling of death. She searched the shoreline and then the slimy looking edge of the channel, seeking the cause of the rotting aroma, but other than water, wood, grass, and rock, there was nothing to see in the lengthening shadows.

  The moon had risen in the eastern sky, a semi-circular, white, pitted face, by the time the Grimward fluttered above the increasing waves rolling across the Lake of the Lost. Clutched in its long finger bones, Silurian flailed about, cursing and spitting mad.

  In the faint light, Melody watched as her brother was released six feet from the ground. He crashed to the rock in a heap of wet clothes and a clang of metal as his sword and priceless dagger clattered beneath him.

  “What happened?” Melody asked, rushing over to help her brother gather himself. “You’re all wet. Did you fall in the lake?”

  “That dirty, no good, ragamuffin, bonehead dropped me!” Silurian sputtered, pushing away her attempts at helping him.

  She thought the Grimward snickered. She glared at the hovering ghoul. “He dropped you?”

  “Twice!”

  She was certain the rasping sound the Grimward emitted was a titter.

  Silurian was irate, but she struggled to stifle a laugh of her own. She looked away. It shouldn’t be that funny. The whole idea of dropping Silurian into the frigid lake, especially with his layers of heavy clothes and wearing a sword belt, was serious. He was lucky to be alive. The image of the disgruntled spectre purposely dropping her brother, saving him, and dropping him again, just to vent its unhappiness at being forced to capitulate with their demands struck her as hilarious. It was like the ancient spirit had had a childish hissy fit. She couldn’t help herself. Laughter forced its way through her clenched lips.

  She snatched a quick look at the hurt on Silurian’s face, and that did it. Her unbridled laughter echoed across the lake.

  The Grimward’s rasping chuckles faded away, marking its flight back over the lake.

  Melody fought hard to suppress her mirth. “Wait. Where are you going?”

  The Grimward spun about but didn’t attempt to return. “Back to my island. I have fulfilled my duty.”

  The merriment slipped from her face. “And leave us out here? To face the wyrm? This is when we need you most.”

  “I have no power over that beast. Being a spirit, I’m unable to get anywhere close to the earth blood fount. I told you before, the very nature of our existences conflict. I would be the one needing saving.”

  Melody rubbed her forehead against her staff to deal with an itch. She was confused. “I don’t get it. If you’re already dead, why would you need saving?”

  The spirit’s eyes flared. “The well you seek brims with the essence of life. If you haven’t noticed, I do not.” With skeletal fingers, it indicated the ribs visible beneath its rags. “I represent the spirit of death. If I go anywhere near the fount, the essence keeping me attached to this corporeal realm will be absorbed by the wellspring and that would be catastrophic. The guidance and knowledge I provide to the Wizards of the North will die with me.”

  Silurian walked up beside Melody, his sword in hand, water dripping from the hems of his clothing. He pointed the tip of St. Carmichael’s blade at the Grimward. “Guidance and knowledge? Some help you’ve been. From what I hear, no one survives encounters with you because you deem everyone unworthy. What have you done for us? Given us hardship and grief, that’s what. The last thing you provide is assistance.”

  The Grimward advanced half the distance between them. “I brought you here, did I not?”

  “Ya, real nice. Look at me. I may as well have swum.”

  “I can arrange that.”

  Silurian took another step toward the spectre, nearly losing his footing and toppling into the water at his feet. “Come and try it, you skinless spook!”

  “Guys. Guys,” Melody interrupted. It felt like breaking up a spat between two children. “If the serpent is close by, you’re going to draw its attention to us.”

  Silurian glared at her. Taking a couple heavy breaths, he sheathed his sword and crossed his arms over his chest. “He started it.”

  With that, the Grimward floated across the channel between the two islands and was soon out of sight.

  The siblings stood shivering upon the shore of a remote island, leagues from the mainland, and watched as the Grimward disappeared into the darkness over the lake.

  Melody put her hand on Silurian’s back. “Oh, you ar
e soaked. Come on, we need to get you out of those.”

  “Thanks to good old Grim Bones,” Silurian complained, his wavering voice matching the shivers wracking his body.

  Melody’s staff bathed them in a warm, orange glow. “Here, stay close. Let’s find some wood to make a fire.”

  “What about the serpent?”

  Melody looked around. “Come on, we’ll climb above that arch to the treeline. Surely it won’t be able to reach us up there.”

  As they walked up the slope, Melody asked, “Dirty, ragamuffin, bonehead? Really?”

  Silurian scowled at her. “It’s the best I could come up with at the time.”

  She lifted her face to the dark sky and laughed.

  Silurian huddled naked beneath Melody’s black cloak, unable to shake the chill from his bones. With the help of her staff, she had been able to get a generous fire burning well back from the top of the stone arch that apparently signified the entrance to the serpent’s nest. She had made a makeshift rack out of sticks like he had done for her and draped his clothing over it to dry. His sword lay unsheathed beside him to allow its scabbard a chance to dry out.

  She knelt beside the fire, holding a ‘y’ shaped stick as she heated a stone bowl containing the remnants of a root Silurian had never seen before—the bubbling water inside turning a dark shade of purple. How she carried the bowl in that sack of hers defied his simple comprehension of the wizard world.

  “Watch your sleeves,” he warned.

  Melody pulled the bowing stick from the flames and lowered the bowl to the ground. She grabbed the flat, leather bag behind her and rummaged through it. “Ah ha,” she said, triumphantly producing first one, and then a second, small, wooden bowl. Using the voluminous sleeves of her wizard’s robe to protect her hands, she dispensed equal amounts of her concoction and handed a bowl to Silurian. “Here, this should help.”

  Silurian sniffed at the pungent offering, the spicy scent causing his face to scrunch up. “Ach. What’s this?”

  Melody smiled. She sniffed and sipped sparingly at her own bowl. She coughed and almost spat out the little she had taken in. Recovering, she said, “I can’t remember what Phazarus called this plant. It’s the root of something that can only be found much farther north of here.”