Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  He had contemplated sending his forces north out of Carillon, but he needed to see for himself what had transpired in Gritian and discover the true identity of the second wizard. And to confirm with his own eyes that his pet, the Sentinel, had been slain. There were too many variables to account for before he traipsed north into the Wilds in search of the earth blood.

  His bloodshot eyes surveyed the carnage in the great cavern. Judging by the shattered doorway, the chaos in the Chamber must have been incredible when the Sentinel had made its appearance.

  On the platform at the far end, the chambermaster’s corpse rotted—a polearm driven through his abdomen. That was unfortunate. The old fool had proven useful.

  A muscular, red demon trotted into the Chamber and dropped to a knee, oblivious to the splinters on the ground. “M’lord, Barong has been found.”

  Helleden frowned. “Dead or alive?”

  “Dead, m’lord.”

  Helleden kicked a fragment of the broken entranceway into the audience pews and paced through the bodies sprawled along the aisle—most of them Gritian militia peppered with crossbow bolts.

  The Sentinel’s corpse showed marks of wizard’s fire on its hide, but a heavy blade had been the instrument of its death. Who could’ve slain his wondrous beast with a blade that size? He doubted even the new Kraidic emperor possessed the strength to cleave the Sentinel with one strike as the wound suggested. The wizard surrounded himself with formidable companions.

  Pacing back to the steps at the base of the platform, he stopped. He didn’t need to go up there. He required a way to track Phazarus, or whoever the wizard was. With Barong’s demise, he only had two demon wraiths remaining capable of picking up the wizard’s trail. The last time he had heard from Surgat was when the incumbent wizard and Silurian had slipped across an ice bridge on their way to Grimward.

  Helleden growled. How Silurian survived the cataclysm of Iconoclast Spire, he had no idea. He suspected the northern Wizard of the North had played a role in the man’s resurrection.

  Helleden strolled back to the demon. “Rise, Dagan.”

  The horned wraith jumped to its feet, its red eyes staring straight ahead.

  “I need you to take a squad of our best troops north.”

  “As you wish, m’lord,” the demon answered with a deep voice.

  “Travel to Serpent’s Nest Island and locate the ancient source of magic there.”

  “Aye, m’lord. It shall be done.”

  “I also need you to locate Surgat and send him to me.”

  Dagan inclined his great head.

  “And then you are to find the northern wizard and his companion.”

  Dagan nodded.

  “The wizard’s companion is Silurian Mintaka.”

  Dagan’s dark face twisted with a scowl.

  “Hear me when I say that killing Silurian is your primary objective. If you survive, kill the wizard as well.”

  “As you wish, m’lord.”

  Helleden made to step past Dagan into the tunnel but the demon’s voice stopped him. “What of the Kraidic emperor, m’lord?”

  Helleden glanced over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “If he still lives, feed him to your troops as retribution for his failure.”

  Homecoming

  Silurian pulled up on the reins and listened for the sound of pursuit as the snow-capped barbican of the city of Cliff Face became visible through the trees. He pulled his thick surcoat tighter to keep out the cold wind blowing down from the heights of Mount Cinder, swirling thick snow on the ground.

  He didn’t believe anyone followed them but old habits were hard to break. Even after thirty years, he still heard the eerie sounds of battle between the troll he and Melody affectionately called Hairy, and the evil man, Thonk. A shiver shot up his neck. One not caused by the wind.

  He squinted in the light reflecting off Mount Cinder’s peak—their mountain sanctuary all those years ago. But for the fine snow blowing off the heights, nothing moved. They were alone on the road.

  With a last look at the charred remnants of the fortress and the mountains beyond, he heeled his mount after his sister who had rounded a bend in the trail.

  He reflected on the days following their encounter with the earth blood serpent—or wyrm, as Melody liked to call it. It took them the better part of two days to escape the northern reaches of the Forbidden Swamp. Travelling with the Kraidic warriors bent on killing Melody made the journey much more difficult.

  Tygra and Keen urged Melody to let them go on their way, promising not to harass her any longer, but Silurian forbade it. He had dealt with warriors from the north many times in his past. They weren’t to be trusted. As long as they travelled together, Silurian could keep an eye on them.

  On the third day out of the Serpent’s Nest, the warrior named Keen had led them back to where he and his companion tethered their horses. Keen insisted he and Tygra be allowed to get on their mounts and ride away but Silurian had his own idea as to who would use the horses.

  The ensuing argument almost came to blows but when Melody’s staff pulsed orange, Tygra and Keen capitulated.

  Silurian and Melody decided to part ways with the Kraidic warriors at that point, and made their way to the Slither. Once upon the roadway, they took care to watch for any Kraidic forces travelling the northern route out of Zephyr.

  It wasn’t until they neared Redfire Path that the signs of Helleden’s latest firestorm became apparent. Burnt wood and rotting flesh filled their senses as blackened mountainsides revealed the extent of the maelstrom’s damage—black backdrops amongst a blanket of snow.

  Melody’s vision in the fire had done little to prepare them for the reality of the blight Helleden inflicted upon the land. Though neither of them held any affection for Cliff Face, the closest centre of habitation to their childhood farm, they still possessed a sense of humanity. They had charged up the mountain pass and discovered Cliff Face hadn’t escaped.

  They had remained in the ruined city long enough to visit the baron who was busy organizing what little remained of his forces to march south. Silurian feared their numbers wouldn’t make a difference against Helleden’s army but he kept his feelings to himself.

  Leaving Cliff Face behind, Silurian took in the view as he rounded a bend in the trail. The forested slope fell steeply to the mainland below as Redfire Path passed into the windswept mesa of the Zephyr Flats in the distance.

  Melody waited for him, both her horse and herself exhaling great puffs of visible breaths. “Come on, pokey pants. It’ll be warmer at the bottom of the pass.”

  “Pokey pants?”

  She flashed him a mischievous grin, made a clicking sound with her tongue, and pressed her heels to the horse’s side to urge the animal forward.

  Silurian shook his head. He still grappled with the idea that not only was she capable of using magic, she had become the Wizard of the North. Just the thought gave him goosebumps.

  He pulled his horse up beside her and noticed the distant look on her face. “What is it?”

  Melody shook her head like she was bringing herself back to the moment. “I was just remembering something Phazarus once said to me a long time ago. I’d forgotten about it until just now.”

  She reminded Silurian of Alhena as she left him hanging on her last word. “And…?”

  “Huh? Oh. Well, it’s nothing really. He said that if you and I were ever reacquainted that we should pay our respects to mom and dad.”

  Silurian nodded. “Sounds like something we should do, for sure. I wouldn’t mind seeing the old farm again.”

  “Ya. It’ll do us good to say hi to mom and dad.”

  Silurian swallowed. He doubted they would find any solace in their deaths even after thirty years.

  The sun had dropped behind the shoulder of Mount Cinder by the time Melody brought her mount to a stop. She gazed at the faint traces of what might be a trail beneath the snow leading to a flat section of ground in the distance.

 
“That’s it, right?”

  Silurian followed her gaze. “Looks like it. It’s been so long it’s hard to tell.” He scanned the heights for a moment and without another word, prompted his horse forward.

  Melody heeled after him. She worried about her brother. Ever since their encounter with the Grimward, he had withdrawn into himself. The revelation of Helleden’s role in the murder of his family—not just his wife and children, but their parents as well, had affected him deeply. He presented a brave face but she knew him too well. He never wore his fears on his sleeve.

  The snow covering all but the tall grasses made the terrain tricky for the horses—their hooves sliding on frozen patches of ground hidden beneath. If one of them broke a leg, they would be hard-pressed to find another. Without horses, their chances of catching up to Helleden’s army were slim.

  The trace of pathway meandered around several stands of blackened trees but the approach felt familiar. She followed Silurian down a lengthy slope to where the ground levelled out again. Reaching the bottom, she reined in beside him.

  Silurian’s ice-blue eyes stared at a peculiar mound beneath the snow—the Mintaka family homestead.

  Melody found it hard to breathe through the lump in her throat. Of the barn, only a low wall of crumbled stone marked where it had once stood.

  At fourteen, Melody had fled into the heights of Mount Cinder with Silurian to escape the fate of their parents. Memories of her childhood before that day were of a simple, happy life. Her parents had kept to themselves, living off the land—growing enough to support their family with little else to spare.

  Their only excitement used to come on the odd occasion a weary traveller found themselves in need of a place to stay for the night. Altirius Mountain trolls were not the type of creatures one dared leave themselves vulnerable to.

  Glancing at her brother, the sight of his tears broke her heart. She put a comforting hand on his thigh. “A sad homecoming, indeed.”

  Looming up before them was the charred remains of the big oak tree they used to climb as children. Their parents were buried beneath its boughs. She spoke past the lump in her throat, “Come on. Let’s say hi.”

  She dismounted and threw the reins around a shrivelled bush poking through the snow. Unlashing her staff, she said a few words, encouraging the hidden runes along the dark length of wood to life. “Come on Sil, let’s get warm.”

  Silurian followed her lead. With Melody’s staff glowing between them, they walked by the mound that had been their home.

  Silurian frowned, studying her staff’s head. “Is that a gemstone embedded in the wood? I never noticed it before.”

  Melody stopped to regard him like he was out of his mind. The light blue stone had always been there. Encrusted in residue from what she could only imagine to be centuries of use. Studying it, she had to admit the stone appeared as just another nuance near the top of the gnarled staff, glowing like an ovular rune.

  “Hmm,” she said, her mind on their parents.

  They passed the ruined barn and stopped beneath the remains of the oak tree.

  Silurian knelt on one knee, brushing at the snow around its base.

  Melody helped him clear away fallen pieces of the burnt tree to uncover the slight irregularity in the ground marking the graves. Of the two wooden crosses Silurian had fashioned from branches all those years ago, there was no sign.

  Knowing what she did of their heritage, Melody found herself full of unanswered questions about her mother. Why hadn’t she told them of their lineage? If the Grimward could be trusted, and she saw no reason why the old spirit would lie, Mase Storms End had descended from a long line of magic users. Sure, her mother had good reason to be discreet with that knowledge. If she had been found out, the family would’ve faced relentless persecution at the hands of the ignorant, idol worshipping, peasantry.

  Melody sniffled, wiping wet cheeks on her robe. In the end, what difference did it make? Death at the hands of the people, or being murdered by Helleden’s minions? Either way, her parents were dead. They had lived their lives in exile from their own people.

  “It’s not fair.”

  Silurian stopped clearing the unmarked graves and looked her in the eyes. “No, it’s not, but I’m damn well going to make someone answer for their deaths. Mother’s only crime was being born a Storms End. Father’s only fault was loving her.”

  Melody put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close. His words sparked a feeling deep inside her she hadn’t known herself capable of.

  Revenge.

  Solomon’s Brother

  Alhena didn’t know how much longer he had. His years of inactivity with regard to employing his magic had taken its toll. As the former Wizard of the North, he had lived for over a century and a half. Physically sustained by his aptitude to slow the aging process, his magic had given him the time he required to search out and train his successor.

  Responding to his predecessor’s vision of Helleden’s invasion, he had left Dragon’s Tooth twenty-four years ago to provide King Peter with aid. It was then that he had decided to change his name and alter his appearance. There was nothing to be done about his peculiar white eyes, but the addition of the long, wispy beard had served him well. There weren’t many alive who knew him from his previous life, so his identity shouldn’t have been an issue.

  He hadn’t counted on King Peter recognizing him. It had been a sad day when the wise king died upon the Plains of Lugubrius, fully aware of his identity, but in agreement that Alhena dare not tip his hand.

  Peter’s son Malcolm had ascended the throne and proved a benevolent king. He displayed unwavering compassion toward his subjects, but as his father feared, those qualities were to be his greatest weakness. He cared too much.

  Alhena smiled. What an odd thing to think. Someone caring too much, but it was true. To be king, one had to be tough. For a kingdom to survive and prosper, it must be run with the greater good in mind. If that meant certain individuals suffered as a result of furthering the designs of the masses, then grave decisions had to be made.

  What an ideology. He shook his head. He’d slipped off topic again. Something he did more often these days. He returned his mind to the person scowling daggers at him. “Ah yes, Sadyra. You were saying?”

  “That I need to strangle you.”

  Alhena held his hands up. “Whoa. No need for violence. Remember, I am a wizard now.”

  “If I had an arrow for every time you’ve said that since we left Gritian.”

  “Ha ha. Sorry, my dear. My mind is preoccupied with many things these days. I tend to forget what I am doing. Please forgive me.”

  Sadyra crossed her arms and looked away, indignant. She snapped her head back and leaned into him on the stone bench they shared in the Baron of Apexceal’s private gardens; her sudden movement making him flinch. “I said, we need to find a better place to make a stand against Helleden. Apexceal is a fine fort, but twelve-foot-thick walls won’t prevent him from bringing the sky down on us.”

  Alhena pursed his thin lips and nodded, pulling at his beard. “No, Sadie, you are correct. Conventional defenses provide us little protection. Our only advantage is our naval superiority.”

  “Pfft. Fat lot of good a ship will be when it’s resting with the fishes. We can’t fight someone if we don’t know where they’re attacking from!”

  Captain Thorr paced along the garden path behind the bench, listening to their conversation. The well-dressed man stopped in front of them, his boots polished to perfection. “We have several fine brigs at our disposal, but they all share the same weakness. They burn.”

  Pollard, the Songsbirthian giant, stood beside Sadyra, a common position he had taken up recently. He nodded his agreement to the only man bigger than himself in all of Zephyr.

  “Och, me ship’s tougher ‘n ol’ blow ‘ard’s firestorm. Weathered it up ‘n the Bay a few weeks back, did she not? Gerrymander will show ol’ windbags who’s tough.” Olmar, the bandy-legged
helmsman, crossed his colossal forearms atop an ample belly.

  “Hah!” Pollard slapped Olmar on the back. “Show Helleden what a nice addition to the reef she makes, more like.”

  “Bah!” Olmar’s bushy brow knit together. He hocked and spat into a flowering bush across the cobblestoned path.

  Captain Thorr shot Olmar a disgusted look and turned his attention back to Alhena. “If we are caught in the harbour, I’m afraid Pollard has the right of it. Yet, if we take to open water, we’ll be of little use to the chambermistress’s forces. What does Chambermistress Arzachel think?”

  Alhena chewed his lower lip. “That is a good question. She is still brooding over her part in the Chamber’s corruption. She is finding it hard to accept responsibility for the role she played in its deception.”

  “That dizzy cow!” Sadyra jumped to her feet. “While she sits there feeling sorry for herself, the devil himself marches over the Wall. Once his army is south of the mountains, the rest of the kingdom will fall. The safest place in Zephyr will be the Torpid Marsh.”

  “Och, no lassie. I ain’t to be goin’ there again. They got big bitin’ bugs.”

  Alhena glanced from Sadyra to Olmar. He couldn’t help smiling at the way they carried on. Neither one had a filter, and he had no wish to ever change them.

  He let his white eyes fall on Thorr. “While Sadyra’s feelings may be a bit rough regarding the chambermistress, she has the crux of the matter. We cannot afford to sit here and let Helleden come at us. We must act before it is too late.”

  “We’re all ears if you know a better way to prevent the inevitable,” Captain Thorr said.

  “I say we march up Redfire Path and meet the demon army head-on,” Pollard declared, clutching the hilt of his sword. “It’ll take more than a trident-bearing devil to cut me down.”

  Alhena forced a smile. Good old Pollard. Brave until the moment his heart stops beating. Perhaps not the deepest thinker, though. “Aye Pollard. That course may soon be the only road left to us. I do not doubt that between you and Olmar you will take down half the demon horde. Unfortunately, that leaves the other half, not to mention the Kraidic host Helleden commands. No, we must find another way.”