Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  “Up by that worm’s lake?”

  Melody laughed. “You mean wyrm. Yes, the dragon warding Lurker’s Tower. Anyway, Phazarus said it was hard to come by.”

  Silurian raised his eyebrows. “No wonder, if it’s watched over by a dragon.”

  “Ya, well, that’s the only piece I have left.”

  “What’s it supposed to do again?” Silurian asked, examining the odd coloured broth. He hadn’t built up the nerve to try it yet, especially after seeing her reaction.

  “Not entirely sure. It’ll drive the cold from you, that’s for sure. It’ll also make you very sleepy. I’d say by the way it smells, it’ll probably clear out anything ailing you as well.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Silurian grumbled, daring to bring the bowl close to his mouth. The vapours rising from its surface made his eyes water. He coughed and put the bowl on his lap, eyeing it suspiciously. He wondered how his sister, who claimed she could recite every tome he had seen on Dragon’s Tooth, and even more spells that were only handed down verbally, couldn’t remember simple things like what this bizarre root was capable of.

  She sipped noisily at her bowl, staring into the fire.

  “If this stuff is so good for us, why don’t we just eat it?” Silurian asked after a while, as he held his breath and brought the cooling broth to his lips, determined to choke it down.

  Melody regarded him like he’d cracked his nut. “Oh no, we can’t do that. It would kill us.”

  Silurian spat out whatever he had in his mouth. “Huh?”

  Melody laughed and drained the rest of her bowl. Wiping her mouth on a cuff, she said through a long yawn, “It’s fine. Just drink it, silly, so I can have my cloak back.”

  Silurian stared at his bowl. Garnering the courage, he tried not to breathe through his nose as he downed the acidic liquid. The after-taste was worse than he imagined. He uncorked a waterskin she had procured from her bag and guzzled half the contents.

  “See,” she smiled at him knowingly, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  The sour look he gave her made her laugh again.

  “It’ll do you good.”

  He raised his eyebrows at that. “If it doesn’t kill me, first.”

  The cry of a gull woke Silurian from the best sleep he could remember. Other than the dull morning light, everything looked the same as it had last night—the fire still blazed while he remained beneath Melody’s black cloak. He must’ve fallen asleep soon after drinking that purple swill. The only thing different was the fact that Melody was nowhere to be seen.

  He stood up, keeping the cloak tight about his nakedness, partly to prevent the cold air from nipping in, but also in case his sister was watching over the campsite from somewhere nearby.

  “Mel?” he called out, and walked over to his clothing, absently thinking how much filthier they looked when not on him. Receiving no response, he called again, louder. “Mel! Where are you?”

  Still nothing. She couldn’t have gone far, not with the fire burning like it was.

  His clothes felt dry to the touch. Looking around to ensure she wasn’t in sight, he slipped into his breeks, the leather leggings so hot from their proximity to the fire that he almost had to take them off again. He shrugged out of the cloak and pulled his shift over his head. Donning his jerkin, he stuffed the garment into the top of his breeks and laced them up.

  The warmth rose a sheen of sweat on his face as he slipped into his leather boots, and put on his tunic. Everything felt tight, as if he had gained weight overnight.

  He buckled his sword belt around his waist and tied the leather thong keepers holding the heavy belt in place. The inside of his scabbard was still damp so he decided to carry his sword.

  Melody’s voice sounded from the archway. “Silurian, over here.”

  It took him a few minutes to reach her position partway down the steep slope of the entranceway. He handed the cloak to her.

  “Thanks. Do you have all your stuff?”

  “Ya, I believe so.” He checked his meagre belongings, specifically for Soul Biter and his half-empty waterskin.

  She slipped into the cloak, taking time to adjust her bulky robes. “I have good news.” Her face lit up. “I saw the turtle.”

  Silurian grinned. “Big, isn’t he? And long.”

  “Ya, ya. Anyway, I saw him slither out of there.” She indicated the tunnel beyond the arch with her staff.

  “Great, now all we have to do is go in there and get back out before he returns.”

  “I think we have the better part of the day to do that. Look at the channel leading into the tunnel. See the water level?”

  “What about it?” Silurian asked. A pool of water sat stagnant within the borders of the granite hollow before the entrance to the tunnel.

  “It appears the Lake of the Lost is so big, it has its own tide.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “This morning, while you were snoring, I sat here and observed. The retaining wall of that lagoon was underwater when the sun came up.”

  Silurian looked to the grey skies. If there was a sun, the thick clouds were doing a good job of hiding it.

  “I believe the serpent can only come and go with the tide.”

  “Ah,” Silurian nodded, appreciating the relevance. “Then let’s go.”

  The edges of the tunnel floor, not submerged beneath the lagoon, were slippery with algae. Silurian grimaced as he slipped and caught himself with his hands. The last thing he wanted was to get wet again.

  It wasn’t long before the tunnel around them was lost in darkness. Melody said something indecipherable and her staff illuminated the dingy passageway in an orangey hue. In many places, ponds and puddles marked dips in the tunnel floor. The passageway was much cooler than the outside air as it slowly wound its way into the island’s interior. It almost seemed as if the tunnel had been burrowed out of the earth by the serpent itself.

  At one point they were forced to remove their boots to walk through water up to their knees before reaching a higher section beyond. Melody hiked up her robes, but there was nothing Silurian could do about getting the lower part of his breeks wet again.

  He leaned against an outcropping of rock to pull his boots back on—the process made difficult by his wet skin. He studied the walls, noting what appeared to be a high-water mark. Depending on the variations in the tunnel’s roof, that mark placed the majority of the passage underwater during high tide. “What happens when the tide comes in?” His voice echoed.

  Melody had already gotten her boots back on and was peering ahead. She turned to give him more light. “I was wondering the same thing. I hope to be out of here before that happens.”

  “How do we know what time it is?” Silurian stomped down on his heel a couple of times, driving his foot home.

  “Beats me. We don’t, I guess. Let’s hope this wellspring, or whatever the Grimward called it, isn’t too much farther. What time do you think it is now?”

  Silurian caught up to her and looked about as if that was going to provide him with an answer. “It feels like around high noon. When will the tide return? Tomorrow?”

  A nervous laugh escaped Melody’s lips. “That would be nice. Phazarus claimed the tides have something to do with the sun, or the moon, or something like that.”

  “The sun or moon? That’s daft,” Silurian said as he gently prodded her with an outstretched arm to walk while she talked. The tunnel curved to the left into the darkness ahead—the smooth rock beneath their feet continuing along uninterrupted by further water hazards. “You know how far away they are? At least a fortnight’s walk, I would bet. You might as well say the Gods control the water flow.”

  “Ya, really. I don’t know, to be honest with you. I wish I’d listened to Phazarus more when he was intent on boring me with this kind of information.”

  “Some apprentice you must’ve been.” The floor rose unexpectedly, causing Silurian to stumble with the elevation change.

  “Ya
, well you should watch where you’re going, mister clumsy pants.” Melody laughed, and then stumbled herself. “I’d like to see you listen to old Marble Eyes drone on and on and on. Everyday, of every week, for years on end. See how much you’d fade out.”

  Marble Eyes? There was that reference again. He was about to ask her about it, but she started talking again.

  “I think he said that tides change with the seasons. Basically, they come in and out twice a day. If that’s the case, I would guess we need to be out of here before sundown.”

  Silurian did a quick calculation. If they had to, they could probably move quicker on the way out, but even then, it only left them with another hour—two at the most—before they had to think about leaving. He dreaded the thought of being caught in this hole by the serpent. He laughed at himself. They wouldn’t have to worry about the lake creature if they weren’t out of the tunnel by the time the tide came back in. They’d drown long before it made a snack out of them. Unconsciously, he picked up his pace.

  Chasing a Wizard

  Tygra Keen marched diligently ahead without complaint. Thin ropes, wrapped around his massive shoulders, dug into the folds of his fur cloak as he pulled a small skiff across the uneven ground south of the Lake of the Lost. Sweat rolled off the man’s bearded face despite the cool temperature of southern Kraidic. It had been a shame to leave the horses hitched to a cypress many leagues behind them now. The beasts would have been a godsend pulling the boat, but the ground had become too marshy for the mounts to continue the journey into the northern reaches of the Forbidden Swamp as it abutted the Lake of the Lost.

  Karvus wasn’t surprised. The effort required to drag the wooden boat through the woods was an impressive feat. Thankfully, the abandoned hunter’s camp they had located the boat in wasn’t too far from the water’s edge. Unfortunately, however, the boat had a noticeable crack in its hull. It had probably been hauled to the inland camp with the intention of repairing it one day.

  They had travelled for a few days through the northern swamp region, following the lead of Karvus’ hounds. The Serpent’s Eye remained lifeless upon his ring finger, the gemstone as dead as it had been on his father’s finger.

  Karvus still fumed over the loss of his two dogs—killed by Helleden’s demon before he was able to convince the wraith that he and Tygra had been sent by Helleden.

  Helleden’s demon scout, the one that tracked their quarry out of Wizard’s Gibbet, had caught up to Karvus and Tygra two days ago. Without so much as an apology for the dogs, the demon reported the Wizard of the North and a companion had crossed over from the bottom fringes of Spectre Wood to the first of two big islands on the lake’s eastern shore. Before Karvus could take issue, it was gone.

  Karvus had been this way twice in his lifetime. Both occasions were many years ago when his father had attempted to cross through the Wilds and into the Forbidden Swamp to steal into central Zephyr unnoticed. Had it not been for the godlike heroics of his father back then, their entire expedition would have been absorbed into the trackless swampland and never heard from again. Those were the days when Krakus the Kraken had been at the height of his reign. Karvus had to admit, his father had been a great man. He spat. Once.

  He and Tygra had forded the estuary of the River Foreboding two days ago, half a day before encountering the demon. That had been the first time Karvus’ finger had begun to tingle. The feeling so subtle he passed it off as an itch at first, but one glance at the eyestone and he knew the ring had come to life. It took all he had not to pull the cursed trinket from his hand and pitch it into the lake. No matter how he held the ring, the demon’s words rang true—the eye looked toward the lake.

  With no way to cross the frigid waters, it took them a day and a half to travel back to the abandoned camp to retrieve the damaged skiff. After re-crossing the River Foreboding, the Serpent’s Eye reverted to nothing more than a cheap trinket, but as they made their way back to the Lake of the Lost, south of the larger island, the ring began to irritate his finger again.

  Tygra Keen stopped up ahead and released the ropes. He rubbed his shoulders and stretched out his back.

  As Karvus approached, the lake came into view beyond the bluff they stood on. The last vestiges of morning fog floated above its blue waters. Directly across from them, the large island hopefully provided them with a means of crossing the channel before the cracked skiff filled up and sank. There was no way they could drag the boat all the way along the lake’s rocky south shore until they were close enough to the smaller island. It would take them days of backbreaking effort, not to mention their concern of destroying the hull of the boat altogether.

  It wasn’t normal for Karvus to feel empathy for those beneath his station—as emperor, that meant everyone alive. He noted the healing scar of the dog bite Tygra had suffered trying to rescue his father. He patted his aide on the back, and plucked the ropes from the ground. “I’ll take it from here.”

  If Karvus were to stop and consider the matter, outside of his relationship with his wives, Tygra Keen was the closest thing he had to a friend. He certainly saw him a lot more than his family. Growing up as the emperor’s son meant that every spring was spent preparing and embarking on new campaigns, usually aboard a war galley, raiding the southern kingdoms. Growing up in Krakus’ shadow and trying to live up to his father’s demands, Karvus hadn’t had time to form many meaningful relationships outside of the stuffy Imperial Palace.

  Karvus held his right hand out to observe the Serpent’s Eye. Sure enough, it looked out toward the water. He turned his hand to point east, but its pupil remained transfixed in a northerly direction.

  Although he detested the notion that he, Karvus Kraken, Emperor of the Kraidic Empire, had become the lackey of a powerful sorcerer, he welcomed Tygra’s company. Come to think about, there was no other person he would have wished to watch his back. He’d witnessed first hand the devastation Tygra’s warhammer wreaked during many skirmishes fought together. He loathed the thought of being on the wrong end of Keen’s battle rage.

  Tygra ripped one of the ropes from Karvus’ hand. “We do it together.”

  That was another thing Karvus appreciated about Tygra—the man was one of few words.

  Karvus grunted and grasped the remaining rope in both hands. “Ready?”

  The skiff lurching forward was Tygra’s response.

  Once the boat began its progress down the steep slope to the shore, the two men spent almost as much time slowing its downward slide as they did tugging on the ropes.

  Stopping the boat before it slipped into the water, Karvus examined the crack in the hull. It looked worse than it had at the camp. Dragging it across the forest floor hadn’t been the greatest idea.

  “What is it?” Tygra asked in response to Karvus’ frown.

  “Not sure. The eye looks to be pointing at the larger island.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps they had a boat.”

  Karvus stared out over the rolling lake. The sun fought through the morning fog and had almost reached its highest point. It promised to be a nice day—cool, but sunny. “Not according to the demon. The wizard crossed an ice bridge.”

  “That makes no sense. It’s not cold enough for ice to form. This lake rarely freezes over during the worst of winter.”

  Karvus raised his eyebrows. “Nevertheless, that’s what we’ve been told.”

  “Then the ice bridge must’ve connected the islands as well.”

  Karvus ran his tongue across his upper teeth with his mouth closed and rubbed his chin in thought. He grunted at last, “No doubt the work of the wizard.”

  Tygra waited for Karvus to get in the boat before he shoved it off the shoals and clambered into the bow. They each grabbed a battered oar lying in the bottom of the boat and settled down to move the leaking craft as quickly as possible into the waves.

  Water flowed into the boat faster than Karvus had anticipated. Common sense dictated they abandon the crossing, but he was determined. Once an enem
y came within striking distance, there was little anyone could do to avert his purpose.

  “I’ll paddle,” Karvus said. “You bail.”

  Without a word, Tygra undid the laces tying his leather rucksack closed and rummaged about until he produced a chipped, wooden bowl.

  The roll of the waves accompanied by a strong west wind made keeping the boat’s bow aimed at the island a challenge. Tygra scooped water relentlessly, but for every bowl he threw overboard, two flowed back in.

  Karvus originally aimed them at the western tip of the larger island, the shortest route, but as they crossed into deeper water, the Serpent’s Eye looked unerringly at the southeastern tip. To land on the western tip would mean many hours of lost time tracking around the curve of the island so he decided to risk making it to the island’s far end in the leaking boat. Judging by the losing battle Tygra fought, luck would have to be on their side if they were to actually make it that far.

  The heavier the boat became, the harder it was to propel it through the waves. Karvus’ broad shoulders pained him considerably. It was obvious Tygra’s back bothered the man—tirelessly bent over, throwing bowlful after bowlful of frigid water over the gunwales.

  A bloodcurdling screech sounded in the distance. The mournful echo sent shivers up their spine. As warriors of the Kraidic Empire, they both knew the relevance. With any luck, the lake creature’s cry had nothing to do with them. It came again a short while later. Karvus reckoned the serpent hunted somewhere far out in the lake to the west. The screech sounded a third time, noticeably closer.

  Tygra shot him a worried look. Karvus’ strokes picked up their cadence.

  Paddling hard, Karvus kept a wary eye on the western tip of the island. He knew exactly what chased them. He had spent many days along the northwestern shores of the Lake of the Lost as a boy, trying to catch a glimpse of the notorious serpents. Though he had never seen one, he’d witnessed the wreckage and gory results of those who had. Floating upon the lake in a tiny, sinking craft was the last place he wished to be.