Soul Forge Saga Box Set

by Richard Stephens

  Keen pulled himself from the chute and stood. “Beats me. You were snoring when I awoke.”

  Melody tensed when he grabbed his weapon, but he slid it into the keepers across his back.

  He picked up two chunks of meat and strode toward her. “You think you can cook these? Tygra and I have hardly eaten in days.”

  Her stomach twisted with pains of her own as she watched him approach. Keen didn’t appear threatening, but according to Silurian, one could never tell with a Kraidic warrior.

  She wasn’t sure she had recovered enough to generate enough ability to power her staff. Fearing to admit her magic was weak, she said, “Sure. Make a spot on top of the rocks and I’ll heat them up.”

  Keen arranged the top of the pile to accommodate the two pieces. Making a half-hearted attempt to scrape the dirt from the stones, he backed away.

  Melody swallowed her unease. There was a very good chance she might render herself unconscious.

  A trickle of power leapt from the staff into the rocks. It didn’t feel as bad as she thought it might. She focused an increasing stream of magical flames into the midst of the pile. It wasn’t long before heat infused the cave.

  “Ah, so that’s why the cave was warm before. You know, you witches…” he gave her a strange look and nodded, correcting himself, “wizards, have your uses after all.”

  Keen’s words startled her, severing her fire stream. She wondered what he was playing at. He and Tygra had tried to kill them a couple of times now for reasons unknown to her beyond the inbred hatred Kraidic people had for magic users.

  Perhaps the Kraidic Empire had a good reason for their beliefs once upon a time. That type of thinking always left her cold—speculating on how past transgressions by generations many times removed were able to live on to cast their descendants in the same ugly light.

  Regardless of his supposed new attitude, she kept an eye on him as he walked around Silurian to check on Tygra; her deep-rooted fear proved that those prejudices ran deep within her as well.

  “Tygra. Wake up. Tygra.” Keen bent low and gently shook his companion’s shoulder.

  A nasty purple welt dominated the left side of Tygra’s face. Melody assumed a good-sized rock had struck him in the head before the snow buried him.

  Tygra didn’t stir and Keen gave up. He joined Melody near the rock pile, checking on the rapidly thawing fish sizzling and popping atop the heated rocks.

  “Ironic, eh? The beast in the lake tried to eat us and now we’re eating him. Whoa!” He jumped back as Melody infused the rocks with more heat.

  “Sorry. I should’ve warned you. Don’t worry, I’m fairly accurate when fire casting.”

  Keen rubbed his chin through his red beard. “Fairly, hmm?”

  Melody smiled despite her unease at being alone with the brute.

  An uncomfortable silence filled the cave. The soft snores and moans escaping Silurian and Tygra rose above the distant wind blowing across the upper tunnel’s opening. The aroma of cooking fish soon had her mouth watering, reminding her how hungry she was.

  Keen made to approach the make-shift hearth, but he stopped with his hands spread wide.

  “Heh. It’s okay,” she replied.

  The sound and sight of a wicked looking dagger sliding out of a sheath at his waist caused her staff to flare up.

  Keen held up his hands, gesturing toward the cooking food.

  “Sorry,” she said, eyeing the dagger. “Just a natural reaction. Go ahead.”

  Keen waited a few moments before he sliced off a small piece of fish and tasted it, nodding with a grimace.

  “That good, huh?”

  He raised his eyebrows and sliced off another piece. Leaning toward her, he dangled it from filthy fingers.

  Under any other circumstances, there was no way she would’ve accepted the proffered food, but at the moment, she didn’t care. She needed to eat.

  She nodded her thanks as he placed it on her upturned palm, noting absently that her hands were no cleaner than Keen’s.

  Sniffing the fish, she took a bite. After witnessing Keen’s reaction, she expected it to taste much worse. It tasted good enough to want more.

  “Ya?” Keen asked.

  “Not bad.”

  Keen sliced a larger piece off and walked it to her. “Mind yourself, it’s hot.”

  Together the Wizard of the North and a Kraidic warrior ate both chunks, washing it down with snowmelt.

  Chewing her last mouthful, she eyed the red-bearded hulk. She wasn’t naïve. There was more to Keen than he let on. For him to be searching for her, especially when no one should have known she’d left Dragon’s Tooth, was more than a coincidence.

  Her mind drifted back to the wards Silurian had set off at Wizard’s Gibbet and the wraith he claimed to have seen. Phazarus had taught her many things about the Kraidic Empire but she didn’t recall him mentioning spirits and magic where they were concerned.

  The only magic users she knew of were herself, Phazarus, Helleden, her brother so to speak, and the Voil wizard Silurian had told her about, Wendglow. Oh yes, she couldn’t forget the Aberrator, but surely the necromancer had nothing to do with any of this. Saros was dead, and if her instincts were true, so too, was the Grimward. She mulled the memory of the spectre over in her thoughts—he’d never been alive in the first place.

  That was it as far as people went. Of course, there was the Lurker way up north, and whatever magical creatures called the Wilds home, but as far as people in possession of magical ability, she wondered who had informed Keen and Tygra of their whereabouts?

  She wiped her lips on a voluminous cuff and stood up to check on Silurian. His leg appeared much better. The skin had mended considerably after her lengthy ministrations. Time would tell whether he got the full use of it back.

  She moved on to Tygra, conscious of Keen’s eyes following her every movement.

  “What do you think? Will they be okay?”

  She straightened up. “Silurian is doing good. As for him,” she glanced down at Tygra, “it’s tough to say. That’s a nasty bruise. We won’t know until he wakes up.”

  The red-bearded brute looked away, his reddened eyes moist.

  Melody was taken aback. She’d never seen that kind of emotion in a Kraidic warrior before—not that she’d met many or spent a great deal of time with them. Her perceptions of the nation were fostered by the tales she’d been told, mostly by Phazarus or Silurian—neither one of them staunch supporters of the Kraidic way of life.

  Keen paced to the back of the cave and stared at the hole leading to the lower levels. When he made his way back, Melody had infused the hearth stones again.

  He rubbed his hands together. “Why’d you do it?”

  Melody stiffened, her breath caught in her throat. She turned to see him staring at her. She swallowed. His words felt like an accusation. “Do what?”

  “Save us. Me and him.”

  “No reason really. You were in trouble. I did what any decent person would.”

  “But we tried to kill you.”

  She had no response to the straightforwardness of his confession.

  Keen kept staring, as if sizing her up. Something was on his mind, that much was obvious.

  She couldn’t take his scrutiny any longer. She tilted her head, careful not to let her guard down. “What is it?”

  Keen pursed his lips, about to speak, and then threw his hands up and paced around. Finally, he stopped beside her. “I want to tell you something, but I need you to promise you won’t fry me.”

  Melody frowned and stepped away to create space between them. “Why would I do that?”

  He raised his thick eyebrows. “Promise?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “As Wizard of the North?”

  She laughed, partly due to the rising tension. “Yes. You have my promise as Wizard of the North.”

  Keen nodded and made to walk away, but stopped, his gaze intense. “I haven’t been totally honest with yo
u.”

  “There’s a shock.”

  “Ha ha. Ya, well, how about this? That man lying there is the real Keen. Tygra Keen.”

  He went silent as his words settled over her. It came as no surprise that they hadn’t been truthful with her and Silurian. Why would they if they were bent on killing them? “Okay. And you are...?”

  “Promise?” His eyes fell on her staff.

  She nodded.

  “I am Karvus Kraken.”

  The name threw her. She ran it through her mind a couple of times until it shook her to the core. “That makes you…” She had to think back to Phazarus’ lessons. A look of wonder crossed her face. “The son of Krakus Kraken, the emperor of…”

  Karvus nodded and echoed her last words, “The Kraidic Empire.”

  Melody stepped backward, stunned. Her staff’s light dimmed instead of growing brighter. If not for the red-hot hearth, she would have stumbled into the wall.

  Karvus grasped her by the arms and pulled her free of the rock pile. She ended up in his embrace for a moment before he held her at arm’s length and searched her cloak, frowning.

  Melody’s cheeks flushed but she recovered enough to realize his consternation. “Wizard’s robes. Impervious to fire.”

  Karvus nodded several times and released her. “Nice. So, where does that leave us now?”

  She said slowly, “I don’t know. I guess that depends. What would make the emperor’s son travel through dangerous lands trying to kill the Wizard of the North?”

  “My father’s dead.”

  Melody almost staggered again.

  “I’m the Kraidic Emperor.”

  Her eyes grew wider still.

  Karvus must have thought her reaction was a result of his disclosure. He never saw Silurian leap from the ground with Soulbiter in hand and wrap an arm around his neck.

  “Kraidic Emperor?” Silurian shouted, his dagger drawing blood across Karvus’ throat. “You dirty whoreson! I’ll slit you from ear to ear!”

  Haunting

  Pollard ducked as a cold wind blasted him from the darkness above. His eclectic group of friends had taken to walking along what appeared to be a long, stone bridge bisecting the cavernous passage in the base of the mountain. In the limited light provided by Alhena’s staff, they couldn’t see the ceiling, walls, or even the bottom of the enormous cavern—the bridge a roughly hewn length of granite stretching before them into the darkness ahead. How it remained aloft, not even Alhena knew.

  At one point, Alhena made the mistake of informing everyone the cold drafts were actually ghosts zipping through the air.

  Olmar uttered an unmanly shriek and fell to his knees, his leather sailor’s cap falling to the ground in front of him. He scrambled around with his eyes closed until he located his mischievous cap and jammed it back on his balding head.

  Larina shot Alhena a disgusted look and grabbed Olmar by the upper arm. “Get up, Lunkhead. You’re worse than a wee child.”

  “Pfft!” Sadyra chided, her hands full keeping Pollard moving. “Between the two of them, I’ll be surprised if we ever make it out of here.”

  Pollard stopped in an effort to be brave beside his cowering friend but Alhena, and more importantly, his light, moved away, leaving them behind. That was enough to propel Pollard after the wizard and Rook. The wizard and the bowman had come to a mutual understanding after their confrontation.

  Rook promised not to kill Alhena as long as Alhena filled him in on everything Melody had experienced since she was taken from him. From that point on, they walked close together, exchanging tales, crying and laughing—oblivious to the hardships Larina and Sadyra put up with to keep the giants’ moving.

  The dwindling glow of Alhena’s staff set Olmar’s feet in motion. He nearly bumped Sadyra off the bridge’s rounded edge in his haste to catch up to the wizard.

  “Hey!” Sadyra shouted after him, dropping to her hands and a knee to keep from tumbling into the abyss.

  Larina slowed her own run to pull Sadyra to her feet, rolling her eyes and taking off after the crazed man. “Slow down, Lunkhead, you’re going to kill someone!”

  Pollard felt his cheeks flame. He should’ve been the one assisting Sadyra, but it was all he could do to keep himself from quivering on the ground. He felt silly. He dwarfed everyone except Olmar in height and muscle. If anyone should be strong, it should be him, not an old man or the two women, and yet, he couldn’t stop the permeating fear that had taken hold of him. He couldn’t prevent his mind from jumping from one superstitious fear to another—ghosts and goblins, ghouls and undead. All the monsters instilled in him as a child had become a whirling dervish within his usual calm and composed psyche. He knew all this but he was powerless to alleviate his deep-rooted fears. He fled after Alhena, not bothering to wait for Sadyra. He couldn’t bear to be the last in line.

  “Oh great,” Sadyra’s voice reached him from behind, “my valiant protector leaves me in the darkness to fend for myself.”

  Her words barely registered. He ran up behind Alhena, practically bowling him over. Forcing his way between the wizard and Rook, the bowman had to scramble to keep away from the edge. There was no room on Alhena’s other side, but Olmar clung to Alhena’s staff bearing arm.

  Alhena stopped and waited for Sadyra to catch up. He sloughed off Olmar’s hand and said sternly, “Look, you two. Nothing in here is going to hurt you.”

  Pollard and Olmar started to protest but were silenced by Alhena’s crooked finger and raised voice; uncharacteristic of the mild-mannered wizard.

  “Unless you go off half-crazed…”

  “Fully crazed,” Sadyra muttered to Larina.

  “…and knock one of us from this causeway. Do not, I repeat, do not respond to anything unusual. Some of the spirits may try to play with you. They mean you no harm, but,” his staff flared brighter, “if you strike out at them, make no mistake, they will fight back.”

  Pollard audibly gulped and glanced at Olmar’s stricken face. Sadyra and Larina’s chiding and mocking did little to ease his discomfort.

  He broke eye contact with Olmar. The wild look on the sailor’s face only served to ramp up his own anxiety. He directed a question at Alhena. “How much longer are we going to be in here?”

  “I do not know. I have only been through here once before and that was a long time ago. I think we are reaching halfway.”

  Halfway? That didn’t help his anxiety one bit. He had no idea how much time had passed since entering the cursed tunnel but he was certain they had been on this magical bridge for at least a day.

  Alhena’s next words almost had him quivering on the ground despite his best effort not to act as bad as Olmar.

  “We should be approaching the worst part of the Crypt, if I recall my previous trip correctly.”

  Alhena had no sooner spoken when a mournful cry echoed throughout the chamber, distant and forlorn.

  Pollard thought for sure the others could hear his knees knocking together. He didn’t dare look at Olmar.

  Sadyra walked beside Larina, the two of them treading slowly behind Pollard and Olmar whose heads were swivelling at the slightest sound. It would have been comical had they been anywhere else but the Crypt.

  Unnerving, lamenting cries rose out of the darkness. Upon the bizarre cavern road arching through unfathomable depths of what she could only think to describe as the spirit world, it was impossible to tell where the forlorn moans originated from.

  Sadyra’s thin arms tired. Although Alhena told them not to engage with anything, Sadyra found herself becoming more and more spooked. Clutching her bow and keeping an arrow half-cocked was her way of dealing with her stress, but as the cold gusts increased in frequency and the detached shrieks grew in intensity, she feared she’d soon be no better than the giants.

  A cold blast swept by her outward ear. She ducked toward Larina with wide open eyes, positive she saw something.

  In front of Larina, Olmar yelped and jumped sideways, bumping into Pollar
d who caught him and shoved him back.

  Ahead of the giants, Rook jerked back and forth, ducking and holding his hands over his head.

  A flurry of screeches came from beneath the bridge. Sadyra leaped into the air. Was that a scrabbling she felt through the soles of her suede boots?

  “What the…?” Larina jumped beside her and promptly ducked low, waving a dagger in the air.

  The sound of a bladed weapon rang loudly between the disembodied wails. Sadyra swallowed. She knew that sound well. Pollard had bared his twin-bladed sword.

  Alhena’s warning echoed in her mind, ‘If you strike out at them, make no mistake, they will fight back.’ In Pollard’s state, it was only a matter of time before he reacted. She was surprised he hadn’t done so already.

  She didn’t worry about Olmar striking out. He wouldn’t dare lift a finger against the Crypt spirits, but Pollard…? She had fought alongside him too many times. Despite the uncharacteristic fear behind those light blue eyes, a time would come when his fighter’s instinct took control of his actions. She unconsciously tested the draw of her bow—she had to be ready for when he snapped.

  Alhena must’ve heard Pollard’s sword pull free. The old wizard pointed a finger. “Put your sword away. The only death it will bring will be your own.”

  Pollard’s eyes attested there was no way he was about to sheath the weapon he relied on to protect him.

  “Very well,” Alhena’s voice was full of venom. “Do not expect me to come to your aid when the spirits take you away. I am powerless against them.”

  Sadyra almost choked at the sight of frail Alhena scathing the muscle-bound giant. She knew the reality, however. Alhena was the most formidable member of their party. She wished Pollard would listen to him. She knew he wouldn’t listen to her.

  “You worry about yourself. I’ll worry about me,” Pollard growled.

  Sadyra shook her head. They’d worked together for several years in the Splendoor Catacombs Guard; Larina, Pollard and herself. Part of a group of young adults recruited several years ago by Captain Johnnes Holmann. Though brash with his opinions, when it came to fighting, Pollard was usually the calm one of the three.