Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2)

by Brian Niemeier

  “That explains how he caught us; not how he took the ship alone.”

  Tefler glanced from side to side. “He had help, but the crew didn’t put up much of a fight. They need someone to follow. Thurif convinced them he’s a better choice than Hazeroth.”

  “What about the greycloaks? And the Night Gen?”

  “I was a greycloak. Putting Hazeroth in charge was enough to make me doubt Shaiel. The others took more convincing.”

  Astlin looked closer at the Lawbringers. A chill ran down her back when she saw that their folded hands were fused together. The little she could see of their swollen faces made her glad for their cowls. Delving into their minds yielded only the imperative to maintain the ward.

  “What did he do to them?” she thought aloud.

  “Burned the thought pattern for manifesting Void into their brains and scrubbed everything else. Now they’re much less annoying.”

  Astlin brooded on the difficulty of doing telepathically what Thurif had done physically. If the warped priests were any indication, he might be even more dangerous than her.

  The boot finally slid into place. “Help me with the other one,” said Tefler.

  Xander studied the two Night Gen flanking the bridge door. Their twisted empty expressions haunted his every step aboard the Exarch. Their mere presence left him powerless.

  The bridge was an evenly lit box resembling a Guild house interior in miniature. The crew stations were similar to gate consoles, and Astlin’s memories gave Xander an inkling of their operation. The Wheel lay atop a raised platform at the room’s center.

  Thurif stood in the sunken area below the Wheel, conversing with blue-uniformed navigators. The officers deferred to him as though conditioned to submit regardless of their leader’s legitimacy.

  What kind of society is Shaiel building?

  Thurif dismissed the navigators and turned to address the bridge. “Our moment has come. Holy fire overthrew the Guild, but the survivors beg new gods for old chains. We, the outcasts, must break their bonds and cast down all barriers.”

  Xander tried to meet the traitor’s eye but couldn’t decide which one to focus on.

  “The vault lies below us,” Thurif continued.

  A view of the land below filled the front wall. The center of the image grew, making Xander feel as though he were falling into it. At last the picture held steady, framing the sinuous line of a desert canyon.

  Thurif motioned toward the image. “I will dispatch a landing party including Lawbringers and Night Gen. These will escort the four souldancers.”

  He plans to take Astlin! Xander advanced as far as he dared. “What about me?”

  “You will remain here,” Thurif said, “to motivate Miss Tremore.”

  “That is desert terrain. You’ll need a guide.”

  “I think I can manage a brief jaunt like that,” Damus said from the doorway.

  Xander wheeled on him. “I pity your men. Their guide is a turncoat.”

  “This doesn’t reflect on your abilities,” Damus said. “No need to take it personally.”

  The Light Gen’s blue eyes widened when Xander grabbed him by the lapels of his tan jacket and pinned him against the wall.

  “Do not think that I need my gift to kill you,” Xander said. “You deserve it for repaying my trust with deceit!”

  Xander heard muted whispers. The sound soon emanated from all around him, as did a bone-chilling cold. Two faceless greycloaks entered, their half-drawn blades shedding indigo light.

  Thurif jabbed a spidery finger downward. “I advise releasing Ambassador Greystone, Master Sykes. Even your gift is no hindrance to shades.”

  Xander looked to the floor, where jet black shadows pooled at his feet. The cold became unbearable, and he dropped Damus before his hands went numb. The chill only left him when the greycloaks sheathed their swords.

  Damus straightened his jacket. His expression held more surprise than anger.

  “Gather your men and depart at once,” Thurif told the Light Gen. “I expect news of our success by nightfall.”

  31

  Astlin watched the Exarch unload men and supplies on invisible platforms of solid air. Following the air lift’s path from the canyon floor to the ship high above made her dizzy, and she turned her attention to the expedition gathered nearby.

  Cadrisians in dark blue uniforms milled about, checking inventories and setting up equipment. Four grecloaks looked on—if their ruined faces were capable of sight.

  Zan approached from the drop site. “I’m glad they fixed you.”

  “Me too,” said Astlin. “How are you holding up?”

  The air souldancer studied the ground a moment. “I wasn’t punished.” Glancing over his shoulder he said, “Not like Irallel.”

  Astlin followed Zan’s line of sight to a large block of ice resting on the sand. Though partially obscured by a harsh golden glow, a feminine form could be seen at the center. A ring of faceless greycloaks surrounded the block, their arms raised as if cheering.

  Zan anticipated Astlin’s question. “She challenged Hazeroth.”

  Astlin winced. Having felt the demon’s wrath, she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Still, keeping the water souldancer confined was probably smart.

  Why is she even here?

  A childlike figure walked by, carrying large metal boxes in one stone arm. The boy’s oddly shaped face brightened whenever the Cadrisian workers praised him.

  “Zan,” Astlin said, “how many of us are here?”

  Zan counted on four silver fingers. “The gold lady, Irallel, Megido, and me.”

  Unease gnawed at Astlin’s mind. Thurif knew that gathering four souldancers was a recipe for chaos. Yet he’d lied, stolen, and killed to do just that.

  Knowing how little Thurif valued others’ lives, and that Xander was his hostage, turned Astlin’s unease to dread.

  Damus stepped from the air lift, diverting Astlin’s train of thought. He beamed as he strode toward her. “Good to see you up and about.”

  “You’re glad to see me?”

  “The stakes are bigger than both of us,” said Damus. “This is a time for charting new frontiers; not nursing old grudges.”

  “How about showing your goodwill by freeing Xander?”

  “Not my decision. But I’m prepared to forget our differences if you’ll work with me.”

  Astlin locked eyes with him. “What exactly are we working on?”

  Damus swept his arm between the steep canyon walls. His silver hair whipped about his shoulders.

  “We are now standing in what was once an ocean trench.” He pointed to where the canyon narrowed. “Ahead lies a vault holding the Guild’s greatest relic—one they hoped lost forever. Luckily for us, they didn’t count on the Cataclysm.”

  Astlin cringed at the vault’s familiar description. “It’s a souldancer.”

  Damus affected a placating stance. “I’m not privy to all of Thurif’s plans.”

  His anxious tone begged her to search his mind.

  The Kerioth’s nexic ward, and her preoccupation with Xander, had previously kept Astlin from reading past Damus’ surface thoughts. What she saw now left her saddened and enraged, but most of all, shaken.

  She stared at Damus like he was a drifter crash. “You hid on the Kerioth. You called Thurif and translated to the Exarch before they brought us down.”

  Damus gaped for a moment before his expression soured. “I acted out of necessity. You of all people have no right to condemn me—if you’re a person at all!”

  Astlin barely heard Damus’ rebuke. The image that burst into his mind filled her with pity. “You’re disappointed I wasn’t her,” she said softly. “You’re right to be.”

  Damus stepped back. The wrath in his eyes became terror. “Shut your wretched mouth.”

  Astlin took a step forward. “I want to help—even if she’s not here.”

  The Gen turned his back on her and stormed off toward the drop site. “Finish unload
ing,” he barked at the crew. “We leave for the vault in five minutes.”

  Xander stared at the image projected on the bridge’s front wall. It showed the Exarch landing party filing from their drop site to a location farther down the canyon floor. He may have glimpsed blood red hair flashing in the sun, but the distance was too great to be sure.

  She is down there somewhere, forced to serve a butcher and a tyrant.

  Xander didn’t know whether he meant Thurif, Hazeroth, or both. What did it matter? One was a demon who had slaughtered his clan. The other was a traitor who held him and his friends hostage. Both sought the contents of the Guild’s vault.

  “Why so glum, Master Sykes?” Thurif asked from the head of the room. The three Cadrisian officers attending him chuckled.

  Xander glanced at the two Night Gen standing behind him, halfway between the door and the sunken crew stations above which he stood.

  “Perhaps it is the company.”

  “I respect your desire for privacy,” said Thurif, “but we can’t have another outburst. Our Night Gen friends are here for everyone’s protection.”

  “I was talking about your sickening face. You healed Damus. Are you immune to your own power?”

  A smile split the traitor’s waxy lips. “Why bow to arbitrary standards of beauty when I can conform the world to mine?”

  “Is that what this great work of yours is about—compensating for an ugly face and soul?”

  “We are both outcasts,” Thurif said. “Would you not go to any length to change your father’s verdict?”

  Suppressing his anger left Xander’s voice emotionless. “My father is dead.”

  “That will be no detriment if I achieve my aims.”

  “Liar!” Xander’s fist struck the rail encircling the crew station. The uniformed steersman gave him a reproachful backward glance. “You speak madness!”

  Thurif raised his eyes to the image on the wall. “Not if others may follow in Shaiel and Thera’s footsteps.”

  Xander was about to rush forward and throttle the heathen when Tefler entered the room.

  “The noble Lawbringer graces us with his presence,” Thurif said. “Congratulations on your patient’s recovery.”

  Tefler waved off the compliment. “You were right. There aren’t many problems elemental fire can’t solve. The tough part was getting her armor off.”

  Xander’s eyes narrowed. “You saw her unclothed?”

  “I’m an armorer,” Tefler said. “That practically makes me her physician.”

  Xander folded his arms and gave the priest a sullen glare.

  “The souldancers have joined the expedition?” Thurif asked.

  Tefler nodded. “They’re at the vault by now.”

  “Well done. You should heed his example of good service, Master Sykes.”

  “He only serves because you hold our friends hostage,” Xander said.

  Thurif gestured at the moving image. “On the contrary, Miss Tremore is free of her cell and shall be free of my service when her task is done. As for the stalwart cook, he convalesces in the infirmary.”

  “No he doesn’t,” Tefler said.

  Thurif’s mangled face fell. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Whatever fire can’t solve, prana can.”

  Cook burst through the doors before they fully opened. A lone greycloak chased after him—one who’d deserted willingly, to judge by his unmarred face.

  Cook leapt back from his assailant’s grey scimitar to land below the Wheel. He winked at Xander, who still stood on the edge of the pit, before wading into the stunned crewmen at their stations. The steersman gaped at the brawl raging below him.

  A babble of conflicting orders arose from Thurif and the officers at the front of the bridge. The greycloak stalked toward the crew pit, glowering at Cook, but Tefler tackled him.

  Xander saw his chance. He leapt from the rim of the crew pit, and his feet landed on the edge of the Wheel. The steersman turned as the door opened on two more Cadrisian crewmen who joined the Night Gen already advancing on the Wheel.

  Astlin’s borrowed knowledge asserted itself. Still off-balance, Xander threw himself into the steersman. The man gave a shrill cry as he flipped over the railing and fell into the crew pit.

  I hope you remembered rightly, Xander thought as he stomped on a glass plate covering a red switch. The cover broke, the switch engaged, and Xander felt emergency Workings extend his senses over the ship.

  Linking to the Wheel nearly distracted Xander from the bloody-faced crewman who reached up from below and grabbed his ankle. The Night Gen reached the lip of the crew pit, and the two Cadrisians followed close behind.

  Xander willed the Exarch into a sharp and sudden climb. The deck became a sheer smooth slope. Everyone lurched backward, but the Night Gen fell into their Cadrisian escort, and all four men tumbled through the door which now opened on a long, near vertical drop. Only the Cadrisians screamed.

  The injured crewman kept his hold on Xander’s legs but lost his own footing. He toppled back into the crew pit and yanked Xander from the Wheel. With no pilot, the ship’s nose swung downward.

  Xander spent a horrible weightless moment anticipating a crash. Free of the Night Gen, he wrapped himself in his shield. But he’d left the drifters engaged, and the descent came to a jarring halt with the ship’s keel floating even.

  Lying in the crew pit atop a knot of groaning Cadrisians, Xander checked himself for injuries. He was relieved to find only a few bruises.

  Cook crawled into view from the other side of the Wheel, also looking remarkably unharmed. He managed a feeble grin.

  “Nice flying. Don’t ever do that again.”

  Xander nodded dumbly.

  Cook knitted his brow. “Have you seen Tefler?”

  Both of them rose to their feet. Xander cast about the room and sighed in relief when he saw Tefler sitting against the wall beside the door, holding his head.

  Xander’s sigh of relief became a cry of alarm when a black-robed figure lurched from the front of the bridge and bolted for the exit.

  “Stop him!”

  Still stunned from the impact, Tefler regained his feet a moment after Thurif fled through the door. Xander and Cook sprang from the crew pit to give chase.

  Hellish cold enveloped Xander. The mad whispers from earlier returned, along with creeping numbness. A shadow stretched from his feet to the bared sword of the greycloak, who stood blocking the doorway.

  Blinding light banished the lethal chill. Xander’s sight returned as Tefler wrenched the grey sword from the dazed Lawbringer’s hand.

  “I am done with jailers,” Xander said. His will roared, sending the greycloak hurtling sideways. The Lawbringer struck the wall with a crunching thud and lay motionless.

  The lone conscious officer tried to dash past Cook, who caught the man and redirected him into the crew pit rail. His head struck the bar with a loud clang, and his limp form crumpled to the deck.

  Cook surveyed the bridge, where only he and his friends still moved.

  “We’re getting better at this.”

  “Yeah,” Tefler said. “We did way more damage this time.”

  Xander faced the strange-eyed priest. “Will you help me catch Thurif, or have you gone the way of Damus?”

  Tefler tossed the Lawbringer’s blade aside. “I think my opinion of Thurif is clear, and I’m a little hurt you thought I’d join him.”

  “I will apologize later,” Xander said on his way out the door.

  32

  Astlin stood on the sand below a looming canyon wall with a door set in its face. The spiraling panels reminded her of a seashell in cross-section—ironic since the Fire had consumed the sea.

  Like everyone in the expedition, Astlin was staring at small man leaning against the huge door. He wore baggy brown clothes, and his face looked vaguely lizardlike.

  “You there,” said Damus, “kindly move aside. We’re on a tight schedule.”

  The stranger’s eyes w
ere shut as if he were dozing. Astlin expected them to be yellow like a cat’s, but the lids opened on irises as grey as Salorien’s sky.

  “You’re late,” the little man said in a nasal voice.

  Damus made a shooing motion. “Yes. We’re quite pressed for time. So just move along.”

  “Th’ix judges rightly,” a stern male voice called from around the canyon’s leftward bend.

  “This what?” Zan asked with a puzzled look at Astlin.

  A man in a weathered green cloak strode into view and stopped before the door. Astlin found his face and greying sandy hair familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.

  He nodded to Damus. “You are long missed in Avalon.”

  “I thought I recognized that imp,” said Damus. “One can’t blame him betraying Philedonius for Nakvin. But you, a priest of Midras, consorting with fiends?”

  The priest showed no emotion as he looked over the large gathering. “You consort with worse, and betray your queen in the bargain.”

  “You’ve no power to judge me. In case you haven’t noticed, your god is gone. These men serve a new one.”

  “Piteous fools who bow to a base charlatan.”

  “Surely you esteem my friends higher than that.” Damus gestured to Astlin, Megido, Zan, and the ice block they’d hauled in from the drop site. “Among them stand these rare and potent souldancers.”

  The priest’s already dour face darkened. “I know their kind. Your pride is founded on nothing more than these? I count myself disappointed.”

  Damus’ brow creased, but his eyes gleamed. “You didn’t climb back out of hell to scold me. Just what are you up to?”

  “If I am unmeet to question you, the reverse holds also.”

  “Well argued, Prefect,” Damus quipped. “Now that we’ve settled our jurisdictional dispute, lend a hand or give way.”

  The priest’s smile—a mirthless flash of teeth through his beard—disturbed Astlin more than his sullen gloom. He stepped clear of the door. Th’ix followed at a languid pace.

  “Set up camp,” Damus ordered the Exarch crew. They sprang into motion with a flurry of tarps and metal poles.