by Todd, E. L.
Soul Binder
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Copyright © 2013 by E. L. Todd
All Rights Reserved
ISBN-13: 978-1494238537
ISBN-10: 1494238535
Soul Binder
Book Two of the Soul Saga
E.L. Todd
For my family,
Bubba, Hip, Frog, and Croc.
My everything
“Take pains; be perfect.”
-William Shakespeare, -A Midsummer Night's Dream
Roslyn Keep
1
Lord Artremian stood at his bedroom window overlooking the balcony and city below. Torches flickered in the distance as Artremian watched his subjects hurry across the muddy streets toward their homes. The gleaming palace of Roslyn looked over the circular realm, where the houses and buildings surrounded the keep in the center, adding protection against an attack. The outer edges of the town were surrounded by a thick wall that reached feet into the sky. Artremian knew the fortifications of the city wouldn’t protect him, however. The attack was coming from within the city.
The spring rain from the past few days watered the crops of the fields and saturated the dusty streets. The remaining puddles splashed onto the faces of the peasants as they chased their children down on the road. Artremian was grateful the cold winter had passed because it was the season he despised the most. But he knew another storm was coming, one he feared he wouldn’t survive.
Artremian pressed his forehead against the glass window and felt the cold panel burn his skin. He sighed as the coolness eased the heat of his mind, which was working furiously these past few weeks. He couldn’t protect the inhabitants of Roslyn, his own subjects, against the madness that was ensuing across the Continent. He couldn’t even protect himself.
“Come back to bed, dear.” Penelope pulled down the bed sheets and tapped the mattress with her palm. He could hear the smile in his wife’s beautiful voice. “Come.”
Artremian tore his gaze away from his lands, which wouldn’t be his own soon, and crawled back into bed with his wife. The flames of the hearth flickered to a small blaze and lit the room with an orange glow. The ornate wooden desk stood in the corner with piles of parchment sheets scattered across the surface, none of which had been read. It had been weeks since he read any documents. Artremian didn’t see the point. Above the desk was a portrait of his gorgeous wife, painted the day they were married.
“What is it Art?” She trickled her hands down his forearm. She kissed him on the cheek, but he didn’t reciprocate her affection as he stared across the room at nothing in particular. Penelope knew her husband was deeply disturbed by the thoughts that plagued his mind. She could see it on his face. “Tell me what troubles you.”
“You already know what troubles me, Penny,” he said without looking at her. She knew he referred to their new king, Lord Aleutian. Artremian feared his position as the Duke of Roslyn would be rendered useless, forcing him to step down from office to become a mere figurehead. Penelope understood his pain. These lands were governed by his ancestors since they inhabited the Continent. “Drake plans to admonish the position of the dukes and make us his governors. We will serve as his council of advisors, but we will have no political power whatsoever,” he said. “I will have no authority in my own lands.”
Penelope turned her husband’s face towards her. He resisted for a moment but eventually connected his eyes with hers. “You must do something, Art. Surely, the other dukes do not approve of this. That was not the agreement when he was crowned king.”
“Penny, there is nothing I can do.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said with disgust. “You aren’t going to protect what is rightfully yours? Where is the man I married?”
Artremian pulled his face from her grasp. “It’s not so simple,” he said. “He is too powerful. Nothing I do will change what is happening.”
“You must do something.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, silently comforting him. Artremian jerked his arm away. He loved his wife dearly, but he didn’t want her hands on him at the moment. Soon he would lose all his power and become weak and pathetic. He didn’t deserve her embrace.
“You don’t get it, Penny. If I defy him, he will crush me into pieces. He won’t touch me, pull a single hair from my scalp, but he will hurt me beyond reason. He will come after you.” He placed his hand over her slightly distended stomach. “And our baby.”
She placed her hand over his, squeezing his fingers with her own. “But you must protect us, Art.” She looked down at her swollen stomach and looked at their joined hands resting on top of her womb.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Roslyn Keep
2
“Boggs!” Artremian looked over the balcony of his bedchamber and saw the militia form outside the city walls. Even from that distance, Artremian could hear the footfalls of the horses and their loud cries of impatience. The soldiers were adorned in heavy armor, the kind that was fire resistant, and their swords gleamed from their scabbards. The morning sun shined across the city and highlighted their presence outside the realm. Anger flooded Artremian at the sight. Lord Letumian stated there wasn’t enough money in the treasury for extra rations for the peasants, who were dying from famine on the streets, and now Artremian knew why. Drake needed it to provision his army. Artremian’s body trembled when he pondered the meaning of the scene before him. The king’s intentions were clear. He planned to attack. Artremian didn’t know who the recipient of this immaculate army was,but he planned to find out. He advanced to the bedchamber door while ignoring his wife’s look of fear. “Stay here, Penny.” He slammed the door behind him.
Artremian ran through the palace, passing the servants as they stared at him in confusion, and dashed to Roslyn Library, the meeting place for the council. Assuming the councilmen would be present, he burst through the doors. The councilmen sat at a long, dark, wooden table in the center of the room, and the walls were covered with bookshelves, housing hundreds of leather-bound writings. The large windows stared out across the grounds, flooding the library with sufficient sunlight for reading. The councilmen were startled by his sudden appearance through the ornate carved doors and looked at him in alarm.
“What is a militia of two hundred thousand soldiers doing outside the city walls?” He stopped directly in front of Rancar, the leader of the council. “Why are they here? More importantly, where are they going?”
Rancar leaned back in his seat and stared at the duke. “The King of the Unified Continent is in need of his militia, which he has every right to utilize.”
“To utilize against what, exactly?” he asked. Artremian knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he was too angry to care. He knew the king’s objective was the destruction of innocents. The exact opposite of what a king should do; protect his subjects.
Rancar wiped his brow with a handkerchief. The cloth was already damp.
“Do you need another one?” Artremian asked sarcastically. “That one already seems soiled.”
Rancar ignored his comment. “It is none of your concern, Artremian.”
“Boggs yourself! Yes, it is my concern! All of my troops are outside my palace walls.” He slammed his fist onto the table. “I’m still the duke of this realm. Now tell me what is happening.”
Ranc
ar met his gaze. “Lord Letumian is leaving for Orgoom Forest.”
“I don’t understand,” Art said. “That doesn’t explain the need for an entire militia.” Artremian pondered the situation in his mind. Why would the king need an entire cavalry to attack a forest? That couldn’t be his intentions. It was impossible.
Rancar answered his silent question. “He seeks to destroy it.”
Artremian stepped back. “What?”
Rancar wiped his brow again.
“He intends to attack a holy forest?” Artremian paced the floor in front of the councilmen. “A holy forest?” he repeated. “A completely defenseless copse of trees against two hundred thousand soldiers? Is he out of his mind? What has Father Giloth done to deserve such hostility?” He stared at the men, his expression incredulous. Was he the only sane person in this room?
Rancar looked at the duke before him. He could see the concern etched into his face and the fear shinning in his widened eyes. Rancar was just as frightened of the king’s intentions, but he would never admit it. He understood the price he paid for his immortality. The other councilmen fidgeted beside him in their seats at the grand table. Their refreshments were untouched. Clearly, they didn’t want to participate in the debate. He was alone in this argument. “That is between the two sovereigns.”
“Drake is violating a direct peace agreement with the forest. How can you allow this? The whole point in having one ruler is to eliminate all possibility of war. Drake’s first action as king is to torch a peaceful forest. Doesn’t this sound ridiculous to you?” Artremian looked to the other councilmen, who met his gaze with no emotion. “It’s your job to keep the peace within the land and balance the scales of power. What has gotten into you?”
Rancar rose from his chair and stared at the duke. He was uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation and knew the other council members felt the same. Their foreheads dripped in sweat as they remained silent in their seats, still as statues. “We will not accept this disrespect, Artremian. The decision has already been made.” Rancar pointed to the door. “You are dismissed.”
Artremian clenched his fists at his sides as he stared at the leader of council, wanting to slug him directly in the nose. He held back his violent urge then marched to the library door. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Drake was attacking a holy forest, a defenseless one. He worried for his dear friend, Father Giloth, and the destruction of his lands. He knew the priest couldn’t survive an attack against such a large cavalry, despite his awesome elemental powers. The thought of the Nature Priest’s death shook his body with anger. Father Giloth didn’t deserve that. Artremian knew Drake was charismatic and influential, but he couldn’t believe his ludicrous ability to manipulate the entire council. It was if they were brainwashed.
He turned back to Rancar. “What has he bought you with?” The members of the council looked at him. Artremian saw the sweat pour from their scalps and knew his accusation was right. “What was the price of your devoted cooperation? I refuse to believe that you all suddenly decided to become idiots, puppets to his dictatorship.” Their placid faces were replaced with fear. Geon Kirklandar grabbed the necklace around his throat and Qualdo Renador quickly looked away.
Rancar glared at Artremian. “Nothing,” he said. He walked up to Artremian. “He bought us with nothing. We recognize him as the true sovereign because we support his decisions. He is worthy of our allegiance.”
Artremian glared at him, hatred spewing from his eyes. Any respect he had for the council evaporated. They were all cowards. “Spare me.” Artremian opened the door. “I hope it was worth it, councilman. You just damned the entire Continent to his cruelty and malice.” He stormed out of the library then yelled over his shoulder. “And you’ll suffer just like the rest of us.”
Orgoom Forest
3
Father Giloth knew the soldiers were coming before they left. The Loriuen Tree told him so. The tree could sense the heavy footfalls of the cavalry pound against the earth as they headed for the forest. It told Father Giloth exactly how many there were.
He looked to the top shelf of his bookcase and spotted the red Soul Catcher. It was exactly where he left it. Aleco knew what to do with it at the time of his death, which was very near. The tree appointed the new Nature Priest and Father Giloth agreed with the choice; Accacia. But, since she left these shores never to return, he hoped the next candidate would be just as worthy. Father Giloth knew he was.
He left his study and stood in the field outside his home. The leaves of the trees remained stagnant with the absence of any wind, and the warmth of the season was thawing the forest grounds. The frost that solidified the earth was melting, seeping into the soil for the plants to utilize. Father Giloth gazed at the new blossoms outside his home which opened overnight. They were a variety of colors and announced the arrival of spring. Father Giloth walked across the open glade and approached his students. The other Naturalists were already standing outside in the sunlight, waiting for the Nature Priest to join them. Their brown cloaks hung around their bodies, keeping them warm in the morning chill. They pulled their hoods down and let the sunlight shine on their faces. They heard the warning of the forest as well, that something horrible was coming, and looked to Father Giloth with fear in their eyes.
“They come to destroy us with fire,” Father Giloth said. He advanced to his closest friends and gripped them upon the shoulders. “But do not fear. The forest will prevail.” Father Giloth saw the Naturalists sigh in relief as they returned his embrace. A threat hadn’t approached the border of the forest in their lifetime. They weren’t sure what to expect. Ryan stepped towards the Chief Nature Priest and nodded. Ryan was the worst apprentice by far, struggling with his studies and attitude, but he respected the Lorunien Tree, which is all that mattered. Also, Father Giloth knew he had a loving heart. He hated to say goodbye to all of his students, his children.
“We will aid you, Father,” Ryan said from the line of Naturalists.
“No.” Father Giloth stopped directly before him. “None of you will. This battle I must fight alone. You may see the outer edges of the forest burn, but know that the center of the forest will persevere. I need you to stay here and guard it.” They nodded at his words. “There is nothing more important than the protection of the holy tree.”
“Yes, Father.” Ryan said. “The Lorunien Tree will only fall if we do.”
Father Giloth turned around at the sound of approaching footsteps. He heard the familiar thud of heavy war boots against the gentle stalks of the grass as the man came nearer. Father Giloth suspected the identity of the culprit. This was going to be the hardest goodbye.
Aleco advanced to him across the glade, and Father Giloth smiled at his approach. He feared he wouldn’t come at all. Father Giloth’s nephew had been so angry with him since he revealed his untimely death that Aleco rarely spoke to him. Even when he did, he was more malicious than usual. Father Giloth hated to leave Aleco, his son, but there was no other possibility. It had to happen this way.
Aleco finally approached him. His sword was belted to his hip and he was covered in his armor. He wore the cloak that always hid his face. Even through the heavy fabric, Aleco’s muscles were prevalent, bulging and tight. He was the warrior that he was always destined to be. Father Giloth stared at him for a long moment. He hadn’t seen him in a week.
When Aleco boarded himself inside Asylinth Cottage, the Loriuen Tree notified Father Giloth of his health. The man hadn’t eaten, hardly slept, and barely moved for the past week. He could feel Aleco’s pain even feet away. It radiated off of him like the heat from an inferno. The devastation was enough to make Father Giloth worry that Aleco would claim his own life. Even when Aleco lost his parents and committed heinous deeds in the guild, he was never this forlorn. Accacia was everything to him. It was obvious. Father Giloth respected his wishes and left him in solitude to mourn the loss of Accacia, the woman in his heart. It pained Father Giloth to see his nephew su
ffer. Even though he was devastated by the loss of his daughter, it was nothing compared to Aleco’s heartbreak.
Father Giloth walked to Aleco and clasped him on the shoulder. He smiled at his nephew. “Come to say goodbye?”
“No.” He withdrew his blade and held it at his side, turning it in his wrist. The light from the morning sun glinted off the hilt, exemplifying the dark metal of the sword. It was as sleek as a soaked rock. It could slice through solid stone like air. “I’ve come to aid you.”
Father Giloth sighed and shook his head. “I already said this to Accacia and I will repeat my words.” He saw Aleco flinch at the sound of her name and he regretted saying it immediately. He squeezed Aleco’s shoulder. “This is not your fight. You cannot help me.”
“Yes I can,” he said firmly. He squeezed the hilt of the sword, imagining his brother’s neck being the recipient of the edge of the blade. Drake was the reason he lost the love of his life, his everything. The king raped and tortured her, and now he chased her away from the Continent, somewhere beyond Aleco’s reach. Furious, broken, and angry, Aleco wanted revenge. Also, he had to save Father Giloth for Accacia. She loved him more than anything. As her partner, it was his duty to protect her even if she wasn’t around anymore. “And I will, old man.”
“There isn’t time to argue.” He released his grip on Aleco. Father Giloth stared into the dark hood that always hid his nephew’s face. He wished he could see his features once more. Father Giloth thought of his impending death and recalled the location of the Soul Catcher in the house. “You remember what I told you?” It was Aleco’s responsibility to reveal the heir to the office. Father Giloth had to verify that action would be carried out after he was gone.