King Of Souls (Book 2)

by Matthew Ballard

  Terrible thoughts entered his mind as he imagined what the dragons would do to her. He shuddered and pushed those thoughts aside. He’d come too far to let those feelings rule his actions ever again.

  Winter wind howled through towering pine trees. The evergreens creaked and groaned in sharp protest.

  Ronan stood and trudged through waist deep snow until he reached the peak’s rocky base. He stared skyward through a blur of melting snow that streaked his transparent spirit shield.

  A jagged wall of sheer black rock flecked with pockets of ice and snow stood daunting and impenetrable.

  How in Elan’s name could he reach the peak’s summit? He couldn’t grow wings and fly. He didn’t know for sure if the dragons took her to this peak. They’d could’ve taken her anywhere, but what other choice did he have?

  The slight wind blowing inland from the sea shifted. A swirling current blew drifting snow westward through the heavy pine forest. With the gust came a faint whiff of wood smoke.

  Ronan jerked his head toward the scent and channeled spirit heightening his sense of smell. He inhaled, pulling in a deep lungful of cold mountain air and with it, the undeniable scent of campfire smoke. Standing here wouldn’t lead him anywhere. Ronan turned and trudged westward following the smoke trail.

  An hour of traveling through hip deep snow and a towering pine forest found Ronan standing atop a steep downward slope.

  A half-mile below, the slope gave way to a flat snowy plane. It stretched outward a quarter-mile before rising again on the valley’s far side. Sparse pine trees littered the bowl-like valley. Smoke curled from the chimney of a log cabin nestled near the valley’s heart. On the far slope, surrounding the cabin, a half-dozen smaller log buildings stood still and quiet. Well-worn paths connected the smattering of buildings providing more evidence of human presence.

  Ronan enhanced his vision and studied the makeshift village.

  Nothing moved anywhere among the scattered collection of log buildings. He reached for his sheba blade reassured at its presence and walked ahead, making his way down the slope.

  Twenty minutes later, Ronan laid a leather gloved hand on the nearest building’s rear wall.

  Smoke curled from the stone chimney of a larger lodge-sized cabin a dozen feet down the slope from Ronan. Nothing stirred, and nobody came outside to greet him.

  Ronan cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello!” His warm breath sent spiraling puffs of steam skyward while he waited for a response.

  Blowing wind and winter’s vacant silence returned his greeting.

  Ronan followed the path to the lodge two-dozen paces ahead. He paused at the bottom of a short three-step rise ending in a snow-covered porch. Sparing a quick glance over his shoulder, he climbed the stairs and knocked on the front door.

  A silent minute ticked by, and Ronan reached for the wooden door handle. He jumped backward when the door groaned and cracked open an inch.

  Ronan’s hand curled around his blade’s hilt and he froze.

  A woman who’d seen at least eighty-five seasons stood huddled in the door frame. An avalanche of rich furs and heavy quilts adorned her shoulders. “I’m glad you’ve finally arrived.” Her voice, like the rusty hinges, creaked, and she opened the door wide. “Now please come inside before you freeze to death.”

  Ronan stood gaping at the ancient stooped woman.

  Deep lines crisscrossed a face kissed by decades spent under the sun. Her wisps of thin white hair shimmered like a cotton field when a gust of wind picked up blowing into her face. “I’m afraid I don’t care for the cold. Please, come in and warm yourself.”

  Speechless, Ronan nodded and stepped through the open door.

  A great fire crackled inside a massive stone hearth built into the lodge’s far wall. A long handled cooking pot hung from an iron lug pole where yellow flames danced inches beneath it. Steam curled from the pot sending the rich aroma of beef stew drifting through the cozy room.

  Ronan’s stomach groaned when the stew’s delicious aroma hit his nostrils. Sharp hunger pangs gnawed at his empty belly. As he entered the room, he nodded to the old woman. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

  The old woman eased the door shut with a loud click. “I put on the pot as soon as I saw you come through the woods.”

  Ronan couldn’t imagine how the woman had seen him, but he thought it impolite to ask. “I’d certainly be willing to pay you for the trouble Mrs…” He waited for the woman to offer her name.

  The old woman laughed with a sweet melodic tone. She sounded more like a twenty-year-old than a woman four times Ronan’s senior. “You may call me Moira if you please, and I’ve no use for coin out here young man. No, there’s no need to pay me, but thank you all the same.”

  “I’m Ronan Latimer. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He removed his hat and bowed.

  Moira smiled and returned his bow with a slight nod. “Such a polite young man. Please find a seat by the fire and rest. Trudging through that heavy snow must have left you exhausted.”

  Ronan felt no more tired than when he and Rika had awakened earlier that morning. But, he wouldn’t argue with a woman providing such generous hospitality. He crossed the room to one of two large pine-framed sofas stacked with thick layers of bear, wolf, and deer hide. He sat and perched his rear end on the sofa’s edge while he waited for Moira to join him.

  “The stew will take a few minutes longer. I hope you’re hungry because I couldn’t possibly eat that much food alone.” She eased backward into the cushioned sofa facing Ronan and dropped the final few inches. Her shoulders eased, and she leaned back, relaxing into the tapestry of furs. “That’s much better. Now, why don’t you tell me how you ended up in our little hamlet.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d be happy to tell you the whole story, but might you provide some directions for me first? It’s rather urgent.”

  “Oh?”

  “You see, I’ve lost my friend.” Ronan’s gaze drifted toward a black bear hide lining the wooden floorboards.

  “Where did you lose him?” Moira said. “If he’s lost in the woods, I can fetch John, and he can help you search.”

  “I wish it were that easy,” Ronan said. “I’m not sure how to say this next part without coming off as mad, but it has to do with the dragons roaming these mountains.”

  Moira stared at Ronan as if in expectation, and she furrowed her wrinkled brow. “Yes, what about them?”

  A wave of relief washed through Ronan’s body. “They’ve taken my friend.”

  Moira glared at Ronan as anger flashed in her eyes. “Ronan, if you’re going to dabble in fiction, you can find another house to keep you warm.”

  Heat spread through Ronan’s cheeks and neck. “I’m sorry Moira, but I wouldn’t lie.”

  She stared into Ronan’s eyes as if appraising him for a full thirty seconds before she spoke. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “Why? They weren’t too happy with Rika and me earlier today.”

  “This Rika, is she your friend?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She is.”

  “Ronan, the dragons have protected our village for many decades,” Moira said. “They could carry any one of us away at a moment’s notice, but they don’t.”

  Ronan leaned back into the sofa’s plush furs and surveyed the frail old woman. “Moira, how did you end up here?”

  “How did any of us end up here?” Moira smiled. “The dragons of course. They rescued us.”

  Ronan couldn’t decide if senility had eaten away at her mind. He turned a skeptical look on Moira. “Rescued you?”

  “I was a little girl when they found me.”

  “Where did they find you?”

  “We’re all from Porthleven Ronan. Every survivor in this village.”

  A cold chill swept along Ronan’s spine as he recalled Master Montgomery’s story. “You were an offering?”

  Moira nodded. “So, when you tell me the dragons whisked away your lady friend, I have a
hard time believing it.”

  Ronan shook his head. “I’m not sure what to tell you. I saw what I saw. Do you know where they could’ve taken her?”

  “I’ve no doubt they took her to Dragon’s Peak.”

  Hope swelled in Ronan’s chest, and he leaned forward. “How do I get there Moira? Please, if you know, tell me. I can’t lose Rika.”

  “How do I know you won’t hurt them?”

  Ronan stared at Moira as if she’d grown wings and took flight. “Me hurt them? They seemed to have no problem protecting themselves.” Ronan shifted in his seat. “But, as long as Rika’s unharmed, you’ve my word. I promise not to hurt them.”

  “It’s a long hard journey Ronan. Are you sure, you —”

  “Yes.” He gave a short, hard nod. “I’m sorry to interrupt you Moira. I’m just eager to find her.”

  Moira’s ancient blue eyes held Ronan’s as if assessing him. “You love here then?”

  Ronan nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Very much.”

  “We can’t leave tonight,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Ronan’s jaw fell open. “We? Moira, you aren’t taking me up the mountain. I don’t expect you to do that. I can manage. Just point me in the right direction.”

  A thin smile stretched across her wrinkled cheeks, and she shook her head. “You don’t seem to understand. You won’t survive the journey alone.”

  Moira held secrets. He could see them hanging about her neck like an iron chain. He wouldn’t try to pry them from her. Not when he needed her help. “If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Don’t worry about me Ronan. I’ve made this journey a few times. I’ll manage.”

  Ronan bowed his head. “Thank you Moira.”

  “We’ll leave at first light. Now, let’s eat before the stew burns. Would you mind helping me with a bowl?”

  Ronan leaped to his feet, and scooped two bowls worth of stew from the bubbling pot happy to have a plan of action. His grim mood improved, and his hunger faded as he devoured Moira’s beef stew.

  ***

  Danielle’s stomach churned. She leaned against the sandstone wall and stared at Brees. Without treatment, he’d die in the next few days. Why should she care? His rude treatment and steadfast refusal to help Keely enraged her. But, she couldn’t shake an attraction for the man that went beyond his physical appearance. She cared what happened to him.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Brees glared. “Are you afraid I’ll make you sick too?”

  Danielle jumped, shaken from her thoughts. “What? No, of course not.”

  “If you still want me to heal your friend, I can. But, there’s no guarantee she won’t contract whatever disease I’ve caught.”

  “Brees, what if I told you that I know exactly what’s making you sick, and I could offer a treatment,” Danielle said.

  His eyes widened and flickered toward the staircase. “I’d be very skeptical.”

  Danielle nodded. “That’s how I felt about Keely. I couldn’t help her, but you can.” She crossed the room and stood inches from Brees. “Do you trust me?”

  “Trust isn’t a word I throw around so easily.”

  “Brees, you and Catalin have contracted a disease called Dimrey’s Plague.” She opened her belt pouch and fished out a small glass vial of clear liquid secured with a piece of hard cork. “It nearly wiped out the entire population of my country three hundred years ago.”

  A half-smile slid across his face. “The country full of trees?”

  “Yes.” Danielle ignored his goading remark. She slipped free her heartwood staff nestled deep inside her leather pouch. She’d shrunk it to the size of a toothpick when she noticed the extreme lack of wood anywhere in the desert. “A hermit named Dimrey Lamotte contracted the illness in Ayralen’s northern swamps. He carried it south into the Heartwood infecting hundreds along the way.”

  His eyes glanced toward the clear vial. “What’s a swampland?”

  “A swamp is a geographical area holding large pockets of shallow stagnant water. Swamps attract a large variety of insects, snakes, and other wildlife.”

  Brees shook his head, opened his mouth to speak, and stopped. He held Danielle’s gaze, and his expression turned serious. “Go on.”

  “His disease caught every citizen completely unaware.” Danielle’s stomach dropped as a sickening realization dawned in her mind. Arber had carried the disease to those people just like Dimrey Lamotte three hundred years ago. She and Keely might also carry Dimrey’s Plague. Their lifelong diet rich in heartwood fruit protected them, but that didn’t help the Obsith.

  “What’s wrong?” Brees said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Where did you first notice the sickness?” Danielle said.

  “In a village called Suri. It lies just north of Zen.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Maybe a week,” Brees’s brow furrowed. “What do you know?”

  “I think another man from my country brought the disease to your people. There’s a strong possibility Keely and I might carry the same disease. We were tracking him through the desert hoping he might help us make sense of some strange lights we saw over the desert last autumn.” Danielle channeled a trace of magic into her staff and it expanded, growing eight-feet tall.

  Brees’s eyes widened with shock and he staggered backward. “What is that? What are you doing to me?”

  Danielle glanced at her staff before settling her gaze on Brees. “It’s okay. This is a heartwood staff. The fruit from its branches cures Dimrey’s Plague.”

  “Wood! You own wood!” His face turned ashen. “Even the emperor holds few pieces of real wood. You can’t let anybody see that.”

  “In Ayralen, wood grows everywhere,” Danielle said. “It’s as common as the sand spread under our feet.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I’m going to help you and your sister.”

  “You barely know me,” Brees said. “Why would you offer me such a treasured gift?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do.” Danielle yanked free the vial’s cork stopper and handed it to Brees.

  He held the cork in his trembling palm gazing on it with an expression of shock etched on his face. “I can’t accept such a gift.”

  “If you plan to move from village to village or climb aboard one of those dragons, you’ll do exactly as I say,” Danielle said. “If you don’t, you’ll hasten the spread of the disease. You need to issue quarantines in the outlying villages, and you can’t do that if you’re dead.” Danielle pushed a flow of nature magic through her staff.

  The heartwood staff shimmered taking on a liquid appearance. A finger of heartwood separated from the staff, moved ahead, and touched the vial’s clear contents. Bright green light flashed in the vial, and the heartwood retreated.

  Danielle cut off the magic flowing through her staff and handed the vial’s glowing contents to Brees. “Drink half. Your sister can drink the rest.”

  “How do I know this won’t kill me?”

  Danielle glanced toward Keely. “Do you think I’d kill you while my friend still needs your help?”

  Brees pursed his lips and stared hard at the glowing green fluid. He placed the vial to his lips and swallowed half the contents in a single gulp.

  “It will take a few minutes to activate.”

  Brees nodded and placed the cork stopper atop the vial. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. The sooner I return to the Heartwood, the sooner I can send larger doses of antidote for your people.”

  Brees held her gaze a few moments and nodded. “It’s time I held up my end of our bargain.” He moved to the bedside table and dipped a crystal cup into the basin of water filling it half-full.

  “Brees, why does your brother look so young?”

  Brees loosened the canister’s lid sitting beside the water basin. “When a sorcerer gains his power, his hair turns blond, his ey
es turn blue, and, outwardly, he stops physically aging.”

  “Do they come by this power naturally?”

  Brees tipped the white powder into the cup. When the rock powder contacted the water’s smooth surface, it fizzled and dissolved. “Yes and no. The emperor grants our power, but we’re born with the capacity to hold his magic. A sorcerer reaches his potential by ten solars. After that, his power begins to wane.”

  “So his life freezes in time? How sad.”

  Brees picked up a small crystal rod and stirred the water inside the cup. “There’s no reason to feel bad about it. A sorcerer never wants for anything in any of the seven kingdoms.”

  “Why didn’t you stop aging?” Danielle said.

  “I’m a shaman. The emperor’s magic works differently on me. I grow and age normally.”

  “How did you and your brother gain your power?”

  “Every year, the emperor sends emissaries to the capital city in each of the seven kingdoms. During that time, every boy and girl travels to their capital city for testing. Like I said, not everyone is born to hold magic.”

  Danielle hadn’t given much thought to the nature of Ayralen magic. She’d yet to try inducting any new wardens or guardians into Lora’s Guard. Any man or woman could absorb the old shard’s magic. Did that hold true now? “I see. So you could hold magic granted the shaman?”

  Brees nodded. “I was a rare case. I was born able to hold either magic.”

  “Then why didn’t they give you both?”

  Brees smiled. “Only the emperor can hold both lines of magic. It’s impossible for any other person to channel more than a single line.” An orange glow spread across his fingertips, and he dipped them into the cup.

  The water glowed with a soft orange translucent light, and the smell of fresh baked bread filled the air.

  The aroma left Danielle oddly hungry, but she pushed away the thought. “So you chose shaman’s magic?”

  “When the emissaries found me able to hold either magic line, it caused a stir in Mara. Everyone assumed I’d take the sorcerer’s hood like Aren had five years earlier. When I didn’t, Aren became very upset. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me.” Brees knelt beside Keely. “Can you help me with her Danielle? We have to force this mixture down her throat.”