Soul Stealer: Legacy of the Blade

by Joseph J. Bailey

  I grew up with each step.

  Although my spirit fell.

  The crows marked the sacrilege that was the first village I happened upon on my journey southward.

  The souls dancing in my mind from this region, each a world of possibility I could look into and explore if I so chose, told me the village was called Skaerholme. Skaerholme had thrived in the times before the coming of demons, a bucolic hamlet located on fertile grounds in a region of lush rains and forests teeming with life.

  Then the demons came and with them desolation.

  That Skaerholme had survived as long as it had was something of a miracle. Many similar places had fallen long before.

  Sadness welled in my heart the closer I came to the circling black mass of birds.

  From afar, Skaerholme looked like a withered old crab coming to final rest on its back with its carapaced legs reaching skyward.

  On closer approach, the community did not look much better.

  The village was a huddle of small buildings girding the road on both sides. Stout mortared stone walls that apparently were not stout enough surrounded the town center. Mangled metal gates had been thrown violently to the side at the two entrances through the walls following the roadway. I could see one tortured gate lying in the grass to the side of the near wall while a second lay on the road itself on the village’s far side.

  Blood, dried almost black, was smeared all over the outer walls in an orgy of sadism. Body parts cloaked by shrouds of flies served as crenellations on the wall. Other parts were cast aside wantonly at the wall’s base.

  The crows, at least, held their silent respect for the dead, circling overhead.

  The demon or demons that had massacred the village, in contrast, were another tale entirely.

  To my inner sight, the village was worse than anything my normal eyes would reveal. I could feel the weight of the travesty that had been visited on this town to my very bones. Foul acts and far fouler magics corrupted the township in a profane pall.

  With the village less than a third of a league away, my feet refused to go any farther.

  “I cannot do this, Alric.”

  “I am not asking you to, Saedeus.”

  “What shall I do? Walk on by? Burn it to the ground? Run away screaming at the madness of it all?”

  “You must do what you feel is right.”

  “I can’t go in there.”

  “I have not asked you to go in.”

  Alric’s voice was heavy with concern when he added, “Going in would be unwise.”

  Alric was right.

  Now that I was casting my mind out, I sensed a presence in the village.

  One that begged me to turn around and flee.

  Faster than my legs would carry me.

  There was a dark gravity to the place, as though all the evil in the land gradually pooled within the village’s center, a sinkhole that evil could not resist, growing darker and darker through time.

  The thing at the heart of that darkness was the creature that had brought ruin upon this village.

  Was I in a position to do anything of true import?

  Could I possibly make a difference?

  Would I be able to stop this entity from unleashing similar horrors upon another town elsewhere?

  There was, I supposed, only one way to find out.

  “I do not think you are ready for this, Saedeus.”

  Normally reassuring, providing belief and motivation where I had none, Alric’s words of caution gave me serious pause.

  Unfortunately, I was never one for stopping once my mind was made up.

  Besides, I had hundreds of voices in my head cheering me on.

  I only hoped they would still be cheering when all this was done.

  To Not Dance with a Demon

  The thing that launched itself toward me was the stuff of fishermen’s nightmares.

  I literally had no choice but to engage the monstrosity.

  There was no way I was going to outrun it.

  Almost as soon as I finished taking in the sorry state of the village, within moments of deciding that I would act, the demon I sensed within leapt high over the town’s walls and landed on the road not fifty paces before me with a monumental thud and a billowing plume of dust.

  To say the horror was a cross between a gigantic praying mantis, an armored crustacean, and a multilimbed cephalopod would be a disgrace to any of those creatures separately or combined. A bilious haze of sickly, nacreous power fanned out about the creature, writhing wildly like another set of loathsome appendages.

  Unlike many demons whose spectral presence overpowered the entity’s corporeality, the sheer brutish enormity of the thing seemed to scar the very substance of the material plane with its rampant presence.

  It moved jaggedly, its scything tentacular arms and wickedly spiked forelimbs warping through space and time faster than the eye could follow, jerking from place to place without crossing the intervening distance.

  Eight eyes on stalklike appendages wavered in the air regarding me above a beaked visage polished to flesh-rending sharpness in the bowels of hell. Multiple rows of jagged mandibles gnashed against one another in anticipation of a ready meal.

  I wet myself.

  Call it my precombat lubrication.

  Or less friction to limit my own slower than hand or eyes movement.

  A soft moan escaped my lips before I could clamp my mouth shut.

  My manliness points were decreasing drastically with each passing moment.

  “Burn the essences you hold within, Saedeus!

  “Use them to match the beast’s strength and give them peace in their graves!”

  Alric’s words brought me back to my ignominy.

  “I’ll kill them forever!”

  “No, you will liberate their souls and give their deaths the meanings of which they were deprived!”

  The demon bunched its many scabrous legs and surged through the air toward me.

  Hundreds of voices begged me to use them, to free them from the torment of their last living moments, to give them the chance to redeem themselves by acting in a just cause.

  So I did.

  The lives of many became one as their combined power exploded through me.

  Time slowed as the demon’s supernatural movements resolved themselves within an actionable temporal frame.

  The infernal’s lightning ascent arced and slowed to a feathery fall.

  Whipping out Loer’allon, I waited calmly in the long moments of the demon’s descent.

  Leaping upward when the thing was no more than ten paces above me, I launched myself heavenward faster than the beast fell.

  My trajectory took me through the monster’s abdomen and out its other side.

  A cloud of ichor and entrails spewed out in a fountain of gore tracking my own ascent and gradual fall, the demon’s nebulous aura writhing frantically and stilling as it crashed thunderously to the earth.

  Their deed done, the many slain souls lending me their power left me as well.

  I crashed to the ground.

  Not at all gracefully.

  The pain of the bone-shattering impact was lessened by the inchoate rush of another tsunami of claimed souls in the departeds’ wake.

  With them came a demon unlike any other, a shocking mountain crashing down on me with the impact of a meteor and the surety of death.

  I burned the thing faster than last year’s kindling.

  Its flames healed the wounds of my mangled limbs, masking the pain of their refusing and recreation.

  Then I fainted.

  As was my style.

  When I woke, I smelled like death.

  Worse…

  I smelled like the denizens of the deepest unplumbed oceanic depths laid out in the sun for far too long mixed with the glorious smells of otherworldly excrement and unspeakable fluids.

  I vomited.

  Now I enjoyed the heady benefits of pre- and post-combat lubrication.
<
br />   I needed a bath.

  Badly.

  However—my stomach purged—I had a task to do before I took time to find water to cleanse myself.

  Standing with a bit of trepidation as I put weight back onto my formerly mangled legs, I tottered over to the giant demon’s corpse. With a sure stroke, I sliced Loer’allon’s storied blade through the armored plates between the creature’s ghastly head and its columnar neck, decapitating it. For the briefest of moments, a nimbus of light shining forth from Loer’allon separated the beast’s skull from its spine. Then the fearsome head fell to the ground with a mighty thunk.

  I got out of the way as the head fell to the ground.

  Trudging toward the village, I wandered around until I finally found a cart that suited my needs. Satisfied, I returned to get the demon’s head.

  What followed took more time, effort, and gore than I care to recount. But, in the end, I managed to plant the demon’s head squarely above one of the village gates.

  If I ever had a house worth calling home, I wanted one of these planted squarely above my mantle on the fireplace.

  My efforts might be just a small victory and an even smaller deterrent, but I was proud of my work.

  I can’t say the demon felt the same.

  But what did I care?

  At least I’d given it the best view in the village.

  That was far more consideration than it deserved.

  Hopefully any of its kin heading northward could see the unholy visage just as easily as its dull eyes could see them.

  That is, imagining it could still see.

  And, if the demons couldn’t see, I would be glad to show its head to them.

  That settled, I found the village well and drew enough water to clean myself.

  Which almost made it go dry.

  Thankfully, the well was too small for the demon to fit inside or I am certain it would have claimed the shaft as its own.

  Then I would have had to walk farther for clean water.

  By the time I was done, I was too tired to walk.

  So I lay down on the dirt and went to sleep.

  What Now?

  I startled awake to a loud growl.

  Leaping to my feet, or, rather, stumbling to a predominantly standing position which was my uncoordinated attempt at an equivalent, I readied myself to face yet another implacable foe.

  Only when I had blinked the grogginess of sleep from my eyes and cleared the dream-addled fuzziness from my poor excuse for a brain did I realize that the sole battle before me was hunger, its war cry the gurgling of my stomach, and its outcome never in doubt. This was a war I would wage all my days, one I would never win, for I could only temporarily assuage my appetite but never defeat it.

  Unwilling to tap into my own stores unnecessarily, I decided to scour the village for foodstuffs that might still be palatable.

  With the memories of many of the village’s former inhabitants available for guidance, I was quickly able to gather enough food to last far longer than I had already been on the road, along with enough coin to supplant what I might need for far longer.

  My needs temporarily met, and the opportunity to ask available, I decided a little conversation was in order. “What exactly was that thing that tried to skewer me and turn me into Saedeus snacks?”

  “That was a Dro’mangus.

  “Many a brave knight has met their end facing its terrible speed and strength.

  “I feared you might be the next, Saedeus.”

  I scoffed. “You doubt me, Alric?”

  Alric snorted, or gave the knightly counterpart. “You do have a few key traits and abilities in your favor, Saedeus. I have never met an Empyrean Knight able to faint on command or capable of self-befoulment at a moment’s notice.

  “Those are skills certain to intimidate even the most dauntless foes.”

  “Do not mock the power of beguilement and deception, Alric!

  “I merely trick my opponents into believing I am a spineless cur in order to lure them into my trap!”

  “Whatever helps you faint at night, brave sir knight.”

  “Do not mock me, o’ disembodied voice of righteous dead past!

  “I am the brave future of your diminished order!”

  Alric’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Then we are as doomed as your quest to return Loer’allon.”

  Puffing up my chest, I countered only somewhat peevishly, “You doubt my abilities?”

  “Actually, no, Saedeus, I do not. I do, however, doubt your ability to return Loer’allon. Her choice is made; you have little say in the matter.

  “You cannot return what is not yours to give.”

  I snorted but did not argue.

  Why argue with Alric when I could not even win an argument with myself?

  “What should we do next, Alric?

  “What can I do to be better prepared?”

  Alric took several moments before replying. “Heed my lessons at night and internalize their value.

  “Listen to the voices of others who now share your consciousness. Learn how to gauge them, read them, and ascertain their worth.

  “Practice accessing those lives and pushing them away. Interacting with the souls you now carry will give you the tools necessary to protect yourself when you are forced to take more.

  “Learn from the minds within.

  “Do all this at every opportunity.

  “As you grow, apply what you learn creatively to continue your development.”

  Nothing to it!

  Just a few minor tasks to do on the long journey southward.

  The Road Ahead

  Leaving the village, I decided for the road.

  There was, I admit proudly, some actual logic behind the decision.

  I was at home in the wilds and could travel overland freely. I was not afraid of being alone nor was I concerned about finding sustenance should my stores run out in the wilds.

  Traveling along the road, at least for the time being, would give me at least the partial advantage of sight should I—I should say when I—encountered another demon on my journey. Although I expected that any demon worth its ectoplasm would lie in wait for would-be victims to pass by its carefully laid trap hidden near or along the roadway, I would at least have some space afforded by the road itself to react. I could also see anything approaching in the distance so long as it was not carefully warded by spells.

  I might also happen upon other merry bands of travelers seeking my wit and pleasant companionship.

  A man of my worldliness and charms would be quite in demand in these dark times.

  In the woods, fields, and hills, traps could be anywhere and I would be none the wiser. I would certainly be able to rely on my inner vision to help me avoid these pitfalls but there was no guarantee I would sense danger in time to respond.

  Also, going along the road was easier.

  At least for the time being.

  And, if I have not made this clear, I am lazy, or perhaps just wise beyond my years, and tend to choose the path of least, or more preferably no, resistance.

  Especially from myself.

  Things are so much easier that way.

  At least for me.

  So, with a saunter to my step and a cheerful rattle to my purse, I left Skaerholme behind along with all the fond memories of the town’s myriad charms.

  Three days out of Skaerholme, the road to the south slowly transitioned down from hills and woodlands to swamps and fens, wandering through miles of mosquito-infested plaguelands. The mires reminded me of the isolation of home—bogs full of wildlife and denizens as yet untouched by demonic stain.

  I only wished the disease-ridden pestilence of the region were able to keep the demons at bay.

  Or, better yet, that the demons were susceptible to the insect-purveyed blights of the bottomlands.

  Sadly, human frailty in this regard did not translate to the demonic.

  In places, the king’s road was an elevated berm overlook
ing wetlands filled with marsh and reeds, birds, sprites, fairies, and other fey creatures. Other times, it dipped low through swampy bottomlands filled with the trunks of towering, moss-draped trees and the booming calls of unseen, but vividly imagined—generally of the gigantic, many-toothed variety—wildlife.

  Swinging Loer’allon with all the respect she was due, that is, with the excitement and enthusiasm of a child envisioning unseen battles, adversaries, and triumphs, I spent much of the morning engaged in swordplay.

  Mostly play…but with a sword.

  With a decisive stroke of my lambent blade, I beheaded Arz’gatoth, Lord of the Fire Demons, to end the demonic infiltration of the Uërthly realm.

  A patch of long-stemmed reeds fell at my feet.

  My prowess was such that I could slay unsuspecting, defenseless plants with impunity.

  Sheathing Loer’allon, her duty fulfilled, I picked up one of the reeds and began pulling off its outer waxy layers while I plucked the uppermost tip and dropped it to the ground.

  Surprisingly, the stem was hollow.

  For a time, I tried blowing through the stalk, attempting to make some music to while away the day, but the whistles produced were rather weak and sad, a bit like myself, and I decided keeping the reed in my mouth like a piece of straw was more satisfying.

  These lands were truly wild.

  Untouched swamps transported from another place and time engulfed the light and distance, the pillared trunks of awesome cypresses rising from dark waters of unknown depths. Sunlight reflecting off the water’s smooth face gave no clues as to the mysteries that might lie beneath the water’s surface. Crystalline flora and fauna encoating the vertical strata added light and liveliness, the colors and tones of magical expression, to the landscape, heightening its otherworldliness.

  The amount of manpower and magic required to build a road through this miasma was of an order I had never before seen, far greater than the magical shieldings that helped protect the former outpost of Balde. If only all our humanly efforts were not spent trying to survive, to rid the world of demonic interlopers, then Uërth would be a place where dreams were made real.