King Of Souls (Book 2)

by Matthew Ballard

  Black goo splattered Rika’s spirit shield. She charged the old woman baring glistening white fangs.

  The sticky black resin clung to the spirit shield and oozed downward like slow-flow lava. Rika’s shield dimmed as the black ooze spread outward hissing and bubbling. Jet-black smoke curled from the tar sending a bitter stench drifting through the village square.

  The old woman showed no sign of fear or hesitation as Rika lunged.

  Rika’s razor sharp white teeth sunk into the woman’s neck while her two-ton body slammed into the woman’s rib cage.

  The old woman crumpled into a motionless heap. Rika released her neck, letting the woman’s head bounce off the ground like an overripe pumpkin. She stood atop the dead woman with her two forepaws pressed into the woman’s sunken chest.

  The first dead Meranthian militiaman closed within a half-dozen feet from Ronan his sword raised high.

  Ronan released his coiled spirit attack launching it toward the dead soldier’s head.

  Blue spirit energy crashed into the black mist surrounding the soldier. It slowed before slamming into and dissolving the soldier’s head.

  A second Meranthian soldier reached Ronan and swung his sword with a battle knight’s speed. It struck Ronan’s spirit shield sending blue energy rippling across Ronan’s backside.

  Ronan whirled swinging his sword like a bright red scythe of death. His blade moved at inhuman speed before it split through the soldier’s dark shield scattering the mist.

  The sheba blade didn’t stop until it caught the soldier’s rotting flesh near his shoulder. The soldier’s arm lopped off falling into the snow with blackened fingertips still twitching.

  The third soldier extended his hand toward Ronan. Dangling from his index finger, black liquid bubbled and stretched toward Ronan’s spirit shield. Without emotion, the dead man released the dark bubble as Rika plowed into his lower back.

  A loud, sickening crack, split the air as the dead soldier’s spine snapped twisting his body in a way Elan never intended. The dead soldier collapsed and fell face first into the snow covered ground.

  Ronan whirled and found General Demos, Tara, and the crossbowmen missing.

  The black rings surrounding Devery, Jeremy, and the guardians faded.

  Ronan crossed the square moving toward his friends.

  Rika bounded across the square reaching Ronan’s side as he stopped before Devery and Jeremy.

  Ronan reached his hand forward, touching the black mist, and a feeling of hopeless dread overtook him. A sickening revulsion filled his stomach, and he wanted to curl up and die.

  Rika switched into human form and pushed Ronan away as the black mist faded into nothing. “Don’t touch it Ronan!”

  Ronan sank to his knees, pulling in short, hard breaths as the dread feeling passed. He’d never experienced an emotion that strong in his life. Even his mother’s death hadn’t conjured such strong emotion. “Rika, gather Montgomery from the harbor office,” he said his voice husky. “Sir Alcott will want to take a look at him.”

  Rika stared-wide eyed at the village square and gasped. “Look!”

  The village square stood empty. The three dead soldiers had vanished severed limbs and all while the snowy ground left no traces of the old woman’s broken body. Two charred crossbow bolts curled smoke into the snowy afternoon air. The lone evidence the day’s events had actually occurred.

  ***

  Frozen, salt-laced wind gusted inland from the Araxis Sea.

  Tara closed her eyes and inhaled, filling her lungs with the frigid air’s calming relief. She’d come within a hair’s breadth of dooming an entire race. For centuries, she’d ruled without opposition. She couldn’t allow such carelessness again.

  Soul knights and their forest counterparts swarmed Porthleven hundreds of feet below. They wouldn’t find anything. She’d made sure of that.

  Tara opened her eyes and exhaled. She focused on the rhythmic sound of the tossing surf smashing against the black rocky shoreline below.

  On this day she’d had her biggest question answered. The barrier had fallen, and Elan’s magic still held sway in Meranthia. Tara swung her gaze downward and watched the humans gather in the village square.

  Unlike the Porthleven villagers' dingy gray souls, the magically gifted shone like beacons. She could barely bring herself to look at them.

  The Meranthian king emerged from Porthleven’s inn with his soul sword sheathed. Tara slammed her eyes shut and turned away. His soul all but blinded her.

  A sharp cold shiver buzzed along Tara’s spine. How many more like him did this land hold? Surely no others. She’d seen thousands of human souls during Elan’s reign, but never like his.

  “He holds Elan’s magic?” General Demos said.

  How should she respond? She’d no experience tangling with a creature such as him. If he’d but held Elan’s magic his soul wouldn’t burn with such fury. “Yes.” The word half stuck in her throat and came out rough and uneven.

  “But, you’d expected that,” General Demos said. “Why do you appear so out of sorts?”

  Wind pushed strands of Tara’s thin straight hair across her pale freckled cheeks. “When I touched him….” Cold shivers rose on her flesh as she recalled the horrible sensation. “When I touched him, I almost died Gregor.”

  General Demos’s brow furrowed. “How is that possible?”

  Tara shook her head. “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered. I’m not strong enough to face him. Not yet, and not alone.”

  “But you knew Elan,” General Demos said. “He was a formidable magician. You said so yourself. It’s been so long, perhaps you’ve forgotten how their magic feels.”

  She’d not forgotten. How could she? “Not since the true king’s reign has this land seen a soul that burns with his intensity.” Tara stared through unfocused eyes at the blazing silver aura shining from Ronan’s body.

  “The true king?” General Demos said.

  Tara nodded and gazed into General Demos’s golden eyes. “History called him the King of Souls, but….” She shook her head.

  “But what mistress?”

  “It’s a legend bordering on myth,” Tara said. “A legend Elan and I chased together.”

  “Do you think the boy understands his gift?”

  Tara stared again at the man named Ronan strolling through the village far below. “If he understood his gift, I’d be dead.”

  “He knows we’re here mistress,” General Demos said. “He won’t stop until he finds us.”

  “Where’s the ship?” Tara said.

  “Moored just off the coast,” General Demos said.

  Tara nodded. “We haven’t time to waste. Load the villagers aboard, and we’ll set sail up the coast.”

  General Demos lowered his head. “Yes mistress. Have you given thought to a strategy?”

  “We’ll build an army the likes of which Meranthia has never seen.” Tara took a long last gaze at King Ronan. “Then we’ll take the fight to this king. It’s our only chance.”

  Montgomery’s Confession

  Deep in the southern Chukchi Desert, Keely lay unconscious beneath Danielle’s makeshift jungle canopy. Her body shifted into human form, and dark smoke curled from her right hip. A low rumble shook the tropical grove. A wide array of fruit and nuts fell from the high tree limbs and disappeared into thick jungle undergrowth.

  Danielle extended her heartwood staff toward the blue and silver golem. She channeled her warden’s nature magic.

  With its head rattling among a fig tree’s lowest branches, the rock beast opened its mouth. Lightning bounced against glassy blue rock doubling as its teeth. The lighting arced between translucent crystal pegs anchored near the creature’s throat.

  Danielle sent nature energy racing through her staff. She transformed its head into a glowing crimson battering ram. The staff head shot upward flying past its jagged crystal teeth before connecting with the beast’s throat. She spread open her offhand, and th
e staff’s head expanded. It quadrupled its size and split the rock creature’s head like a ripe watermelon.

  A million sparkling blue and silver crystal splinters fluttered downward. They settled into a dark-green thatch of heavy ferns, damp tree moss, and ankle-deep ground cover.

  The rock beast’s body tipped over like a crumbling stone tower. It crashed through the jungle canopy shaking the ground beneath Danielle’s feet. Boulder-sized obsidian tumbled from the beast’s chest and legs, rolling through the jungle underbrush.

  Danielle whirled, found an approaching rock beast, and raised her staff preparing to strike.

  “Stop! Please stop!” A shrill voice cut the air. The remaining beasts froze, standing motionless around Danielle and Keely.

  Danielle’s head snapped toward the strange voice, and she swung her staff around to intercept the intruder. The muffled voice had filtered through the dense jungle growth. “Who said that?”

  “I did,” the voice said. “Please miss, don’t destroy any more of my atter. You’ll ruin me.” A short round middle-aged man traipsed past a fern twice his size before stopping before Danielle. He stared slack-jawed, his eyes raised toward the canopy while he turned around in slow circles. “What in the name of the seven kingdoms is that?” He pointed toward a giant mahogany tree towering thirty-feet over the desert floor.

  Danielle’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? The tree?”

  “Miss, please don’t practice your witchcraft on me.” His eyes pleaded for mercy. “I’m a simple rancher, and you’re destroying my herd.”

  “You’re herd?” She glared at the curly white-haired man. “Your herd may have killed my friend!”

  “What do you expect? You trespassed on private property without a care in the world. Of course they’re going to attack. You don’t stand on a crystal atter’s head and expect to keep all your fingers and toes.”

  “A what?”

  “You sound funny,” the little man’s brow furrowed, and he cocked his head. “Where are you from?” Before Danielle could answer, he snapped his fingers, and his eyes widened in excitement. “You’re from Ladoreg aren’t you?” He scratched his chin and shook his head. “No. That’s not right. My second cousin’s from Ladoreg, and you don’t sound anything like her.”

  “Excuse me,” Danielle said.

  He pointed skyward, his face alight with excitement. “I got it! You’re from Dolade.” He clapped his hands together and grinned. “I’d bet my sweet Mary’s rock sugar on that.” He smiled with satisfaction and seemed to forget Danielle altogether.

  “Excuse me. Your pet hurt my friend, and I need to tend her wounds. Can you put those… things on a leash?” Danielle pointed toward the motionless atters.

  The short man laughed with a squeaky high-pitched tone and shook his head. “You really aren’t from around here, are you? They won’t hurt you miss….”

  “Danielle.” She paused, staring at the funny man as he studied her with great interest. “And you are?”

  The strange little man rocked backward as if struck. “Oh my. Where are my manners?” He wiped his hand on his rough burlap robe and extended his palm toward Danielle. “My name’s Roderick, but my sweet departed mother was the only person to call me by that name. My friends call me Fizzle.”

  Danielle suppressed a smile. “If you don’t mind Fizzle, I need to check on my friend Keely.”

  “She’s not dead. Not yet anyway.”

  Danielle quirked her eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘not yet’?”

  “That atter’s attack is a lot more bark than bite. Sure, it looks bad, but he only wanted to put her to sleep.”

  “It looked worse than that,” Danielle said.

  “Well, yes. But, it’s the only way he has to escape. Atter’s aren’t exactly the fastest beast in the desert.” Fizzle scratched his forehead. “But, if a proper healer doesn’t treat the wound, it’ll fester. Make no mistake about that. I’ve seen folks linger for months from an atter attack. The atter poison scrambles their mind, and they never quite recover.”

  “I can remedy that.” Danielle searched her pouch for the right seeds.

  “Excuse me for being so forward, but you don’t look like any shaman I’ve ever seen,” Fizzle said. “You’re much prettier.” He cleared his throat, and a crimson blush spread across his cheeks.

  “A shaman? What’s that?”

  Fizzle stared at Danielle as if she’d declared the sky green. “Are you sure that atter didn’t hit you too?”

  “I’m quite sure Mister Fizzle.”

  “Not Mister Fizzle.” He smiled. “Just Fizzle, and a shaman fixes atter wounds and many other ailments besides.”

  “I should be able to mend her wounds.” Danielle shuffled through the thick ground cover and knelt beside Keely.

  Keely’s breathing sounded strong and steady, but, as Fizzle said, she appeared lost in a deep sleep.

  Danielle placed her hand near the blackened wound on Keely’s hip and sent green weaves of magic over the atter strike.

  Keely didn’t move, and the wound’s ghastly appearance remained unchanged.

  Danielle’s brow furrowed, and she reached for the healing salve stashed in her belt pouch. She palmed a glass vial and pulled loose its cork stopper before spreading glowing green gel near the edges of Keely’s wound.

  Keely’s skin glowed soaking in Danielle’s healing salve. As the salve sank deeper into Keely’s skin, the glow faded like a candle drained of wax, but the blackened wound persisted.

  “I don’t know anything about that fancy green lotion of yours, but, unless you’re a shaman, I doubt it’ll help her.”

  Danielle sighed, stood, and faced Fizzle. “Do you know where I might find one of these shaman? I don’t want to watch my friend die.”

  Fizzle directed his gaze upward toward the fading storm and scratched his white bearded face. “There’s Zen, of course, but I don’t think your friend is in any condition to travel so far.” His gaze flickered toward Danielle in an appraising manner. “Besides, I’m not sure you’d find a friendly face in Zen.” He tapped his foot and rubbed his chin. “There’s a shaman that travels to the villages surrounding Zen on a regular schedule. Last I heard he was at Arossa, but he’d probably be to Misho by now.”

  “How far away is Misho?”

  Fizzle barked out a short laugh. “Are you just out here wandering around? The desert is a dangerous place. You’ve no Paka and, from what I can see, little water. Where are you from exactly?”

  “I’ve traveled far from the north.”

  “You’re from Calag? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” He lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder as if someone might overhear. “But, I’d be careful mentioning that around here. Most folks in Alar don’t care much for Calagians,” his voice a whisper.

  “I don’t think you understand… Fizzle. I’m from much further north.”

  “North of Calag?” He stared at Danielle as if orange feathers sprouted from her head. “Miss, the only place further north than Calag is the forbidden desert and …” Fizzle’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. “I best be on my way miss.” He lifted his dusty cap off his head, revealing a shiny bald scalp and bowed. “I’m sorry about your friend. Be careful where you step, and you’ll be fine.” Fizzle turned from Danielle and started back the way he came.

  Danielle’s stomach sank. “Wait! Please wait! She’ll die unless you help me.”

  Fizzle paused, and his shoulders sagged. “Should’ve minded my own business….” He muttered under his breath as he turned and faced Danielle.

  His face fell in defeat. “I don’t know where you’re from, and I don’t want to know. Okay?”

  Danielle nodded wringing her hands.

  “This is going to land me in trouble isn’t it?”

  “No. It won’t I promise. Just lead me as far as Misho, and I’ll leave you be.”

  He paused, staring at Danielle as if considering.

  “Please Fizzle.”<
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  “Danielle, I’ve a wife and a whole mess of grandkids besides. Without me, they’d be in a heap of trouble….”

  Danielle nodded. “Lead me to Misho, and I’ll do the rest. I promise.”

  Fizzle nodded once.

  Danielle relaxed. “Thank you.”

  Fizzle placed two fingers in his mouth and blew. A high-pitched whistle passed his lips. An animal’s snort preceded the ambling trot of a strange beast loping through the jungle undergrowth.

  “This here is Karli. She’s my best friend so you treat her nice. Okay?”

  The foul-smelling creature had a long snout and broad lips. She chewed on something in her mouth, and spread her lips into a lopsided grin. She had four long legs, and a single large hump on her back. Her mottled brown hair grew in clumps over her back, sides, and hind-end while her fur-less legs ended in thick broad hooves.

  Danielle smiled and reached for Karli’s snout.

  “Be careful Danielle,” Fizzle said. “She bites.”

  Danielle stared into the beast’s eyes, and she bonded the Paka as she rubbed her smooth snout. She found a gentle, sturdy soul used to hard work and long hours of travel. Fizzle took good care of her, and Karli liked him a great deal. “No, she won’t. She’s sweet.”

  Karli brayed and snorted. She nuzzled Danielle’s palm and drew closer to her touch.

  Fizzle placed his hands on his hips and glared at Karli. “I see how it is. You women stick together. Is that it?”

  Danielle laughed. “I guess you could say we understand each other.”

  “You’ll have to help me with your friend,” Fizzle said. “We’ll strap her on Karli’s back. She’ll take good care of her.”

  Danielle held the rancher’s gaze for a long moment. “Thank you Fizzle.”

  The rancher’s expression softened, and he nodded. “You’re welcome. Now let’s get you to Misho.”

  ***

  Ronan rounded the corner from the citadel’s curved hallway, and the stench of antiseptic curdled his nose. He paused inside the infirmary and scanned the room while Rika stopped beside him.

  Two-dozen beds lined the clinic’s sparse walls, all empty except one.