Soul Siphon: Set includes four books: Midnight Blade, Kingsbane, Ash and Steel, Sentinels of the Stone (Soul Stones)

by T. L. Branson

“Uh, I said, you mustn’t get many visitors all the way out here,” Drygo said louder.

  “Nay, you’d be the first in at least two fortnights,” the man said. “Here we are.”

  Severin stopped outside an oak door then pushed it open. A long and wide room opened up before them. Windows ran the length of it on the left and right. Nothing but dark, inky blackness lay beyond them at this time of night.

  We must be above the gate, Ocken thought.

  A large hearth dominated the center of the room with at least a dozen chairs surrounding it. Closest to them sat a long banquet table that sat at least twenty, though Ocken reckoned there couldn’t have been that many stationed here.

  “I know what yer thinkin’,” Severin said, suddenly beside him. “Ain’t no way they need all ’em chairs, or this space, or, well… all of it.”

  “Quite the contrary,” Ocken said. “I’m happy to see that our troops are cared for.”

  Ocken moved away from the man. Something about him made Ocken feel uneasy. He took up residence in front of the fireplace. The heat washed over him and comforted his bones.

  “Have a seat,” Severin said. “I’ll fetch the boys and tell ’em we have a very important visitor. We’ll get dinner started thereafter.”

  “Thank you, Severin,” Drygo said, “your gracious hospitality is appreciated.”

  “ ’Tis nothin’, my king,” Severin said, bowing. Then he walked away through the door on the opposite side of the common room.

  “Nice place,” Khate said, poking at a painting of Sunbury above the mantel.

  “My father created it,” Drygo said, holding his hands behind his back as he milled about the room. “You’ll notice this region lacks a certain amount of entertainment. He figured if our people were being forced to live here, he could at least make it comfortable for them.”

  “I, for one, am glad I’m not stationed here,” Bigsby said.

  “Might want to be careful what you say, Big Man. If you ever fall out of line with our dear king, now he knows right where to send you,” Geoffreys quipped with a smile.

  Drygo chuckled.

  “You wouldn’t,” Bigsby said. “Would you?”

  “I’ll have your transfer papers drawn up as soon as we get back,” the king said.

  Bigsby rocked back, mouth agape. “I—”

  “Relax,” Drygo said. “My royal guard don’t end up in posts like this.”

  The king drew quiet. Ocken thought he knew why, too. He had had the same thoughts. Before he could voice them, the door to the second tower opened.

  “My king!” a voice called out. “What a pleasant surprise to find you here.”

  Ocken turned to see a man advancing on Drygo. Ocken bolted from his chair and slid between the stranger and the king. Drygo put his hand on Ocken’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay, I know him.”

  “Antony? I thought you were dead,” Drygo said, his arms wide as he embraced the man.

  “Takes a lot more than a few arrows to kill Antony Henrik’son,” the man belted jovially as he clapped the king on the shoulders.

  Drygo turned to Ocken and declared, “Antony fought in the Great War a thousand years ago.”

  “Sure, I did,” Antony joked. “And my mother’s an elf. What brings you to this godsforsaken place?”

  Drygo’s smile faded into a frown. “It’s Evangeline.”

  “Who?” the man asked.

  Ocken’s ears perked up.

  “My queen,” Drygo said.

  “Right, right,” Antony said. “I’m sorry, my king, I’ve been out of court politics for some time. As a matter of fact it’s been quite a few years since I set foot in our fair city. But enough about me. Come, you must be weary from your journey. Pull up a chair, we’ll get dinner going.”

  Antony twirled his hand in the air and the four men who’d entered the room with him split up and went about preparing the meal. Ocken couldn’t argue with that. He was famished after his meager lunch.

  While Drygo and Antony continued catching up, Ocken walked back over to the fireplace and leaned against the hearth. Something was off about all of this, but he couldn’t place it. He wrote it off to nerves.

  As he looked around he realized what it was. The tall glass windows and immense darkness beyond were crowding in on him. Though there was sufficient light in the room, it was just the sight of it, or lack there of, of what lay beyond that bothered him.

  “You noticed it, too?” Khate whispered, coming up beside him.

  “Noticed what?” he asked.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t play coy. I saw you,” she said.

  “All right, you told me one of your deepest, darkest secrets, I’ll tell you one of mine,” he said. “My father died on a night like this.”

  “You think that was my darkest secret? Puh-lease,” she said, raising her eyebrow. Then her face grew more serious as she said, “What kind of night?”

  “The dark ones,” Ocken said. “The really, really dark ones when the moon is absent from the sky. Nights like this give me the chills.”

  “That’s all it is? Chills? You sure there isn’t anything else?”

  “Perhaps,” he replied, “but I’m not ready to pass judgment just yet.”

  “All right, I’ll let you take the lead on this. Your tolerance for spooks is lower than mine,” she said, stepping away to explore the rest of the room.

  Ocken stared out into the darkness. As if facing the thing he hated most made it less frightening to him. Somewhere, up in those mountains, resided something that men were afraid of. Afraid enough to build these towers and this gate.

  The clink of glasses drew his attention away from the windows. The guards of the Eastgate had broken out their finest wine for their king and were all seated around the table. He scanned each of their faces. He didn’t recognize them. Not a single one. This wouldn’t normally alarm him as he often didn’t fraternize with the standard guards of Sunbury’s army, but he didn’t see his brother.

  Antony left the table and headed for a bar built into the far corner on the opposite side of the room. Ocken intercepted him.

  “Where is Thren?” he asked.

  “Pardon?” Antony said. “Oh, uh, he’s running an errand. Up to Derton, I believe. Won’t be back for some time, I’m afraid. Do you know him?”

  “He’s my brother,” Ocken replied.

  “Terribly sorry, son,” the man replied, smiled, then patted him on the shoulder, edging past.

  Ocken let his shoulders sag for the first time since they left Sunbury. All the pent up excitement at seeing his brother again deflated in a heartbeat over something he couldn’t control. Ocken hated things that escaped his control. Like the tide pulling a man out to sea and carrying him against his will until at last his strength failed him and his life was snuffed from him.

  “Come! Come!” Antony said as he stood at the table. “Gather ’round.”

  A chill ran down Ocken’s spine. No flames filled the hearth.

  “Fire’s about gone,” Ocken remarked.

  Antony frowned then snapped to the nearest guard. “Go fetch us some wood, will you?”

  “No, it’s all right,” Ocken said. “I’ll go. I could use some fresh air. Don’t wait on me for dinner. I’ll catch up.”

  Antony appeared distressed. “Nonsense, you are our honored guests. I wouldn’t dream of sending you to do such a menial task.”

  “I insist,” Ocken said. “I’m a bit restless. It’ll do me some good to get my mind off things.”

  Antony shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way,” he said. “The woodpile’s by the stables, the way you came in. You remember the way?”

  Ocken nodded and walked to the door that led into the south tower. He opened it and looked back, seeing Antony whispering into Severin’s ear as he pulled the door shut.

  Descending the spiral stairs, he lost track of how many doors he passed and couldn’t remember which one led to the front gate. He assumed it to be the one at the bottom, so he cont
inued on down until the stairs went no farther.

  He reached out and turned the iron handle, but it would not budge. Ocken thought it must have been colder outside than he thought. He twisted the handle again and rammed his shoulder into the door. It gave way beneath his weight and Ocken stumbled into a cellar of some kind, a low light filling the room.

  This was not the door he needed. He turned to leave, but something caught his eye. A trunk, the lid ajar, a green cloak sticking out from it. He’d seen that cloak before, on the man who’d nearly run him off the road.

  He was coming here? Why? Perhaps it was Thren. No. He would have recognized me and stopped.

  Ocken stepped over to the trunk and flung the lid open. The trunk contained all manner of knickknacks and bobbles: pins, rings, broaches, a set of gauntlets emblazoned with Sunbury’s seal. But one particular item caught Ocken’s eye. A pendant inlaid with a carnelian stone, just like the one he’d given Thren.

  Perhaps it wasn’t Thren’s. Ocken was sure the market sold hundreds of them each year. He picked it up and turned it over. It read “Eyes open, ears on the wind.”

  Thren never would have left this.

  Ocken’s head snapped to attention. A shadow on the wall revealed that Ocken was not alone. He spun and found a dagger sailing for his heart. He dodged to the side and caught his assailant’s wrist, but the man was not easily caught off guard. The assailant punched with his free hand, slipped his foot behind Ocken, tripping him, causing him to fall to the ground.

  The man came down upon him with both hands on the dagger, aiming once again for his heart. Ocken caught both wrists as the blade stopped its decent inches from his chest. Ocken flipped the man, wrenching the dagger free as he did.

  The assailant got to his feet a second before Ocken and charged at him, arms wide. Ocken spun, but the man caught him and they both tumbled to the floor. The man lay atop him. Unmoving.

  Ocken kicked the man off, the dagger now wedged in his chest between his ribs.

  Ocken hadn’t meant to kill the man. He had intended on interrogating him. He wanted to know what had happened to Thren and who wanted him dead. Better yet, why?

  Removing the lantern from the wall, Ocken walked back over to the dead man. Before he could shine the light on his attacker, a voice called out in the darkness.

  “Is someone there?” the voice said.

  Ocken peered down a long corridor. He took each step with caution. Cell doors emerged from the night as the light of the lantern passed over them. He was in some sort of dungeon or prison. Probably meant for those who were caught attempting to illegally cross into Sunbury’s borders.

  Who would be crazy enough to come over the mountains?

  At the far end of the corridor, one particular cell held four men.

  “My name is Ocken. I’m one of the king’s royal guard.”

  “The king?” a man at the front asked incredulously.

  “Who are you? What’s going on here?” Ocken implored.

  “Oh, thank the gods,” the man said, pressing his face through the bars. “So you’ve killed them?”

  “Killed who?” Ocken asked.

  “The bandits. Who else?”

  “Bandits?”

  “You mean you didn’t kill them?”

  “I haven’t seen any bandits. Who are you?”

  “The guards of this tower,” a man in the back cried out.

  “Lies,” Ocken spat. “The guards of this tower sup with the king and his entourage at this very moment in the room above us.”

  The man at the front’s eyes went wide. “You must go, now. The king is in danger. Those men are not who you think they are. Free us! Let us help you.”

  Ocken was taken aback by their words, but he was hesitant to trust them. For all he knew, they could be the bandits and the man he’d just killed could be one of their buddies come to free them.

  He would not leave it to chance, though. Ocken retraced his steps back to the door that led into the spiral stairway. As he stepped over the body of his assailant he shone the light in his face. It was Severin.

  CHAPTER 5

  The lantern fell from Ocken’s hand and crashed into floor, spilling oil everywhere. The flame ignited the oil. Ocken shielded his eyes with his arm. He didn’t have his weapon. None of them did. The last thing they expected was to be in danger in their own garrison.

  Ocken reached through the flame and pulled the dagger from the man’s chest. He pushed back through the door into the stairway and took the steps three at a time. He’d counted the doors he passed on the way down and recounted them again now as he ascended.

  When he reached the proper level, he wasted no time and plowed through the door. Every head turned in his direction. Drygo, Khate, Bigsby, and Geoffreys all sat around the table. The king was about to take a sip of the wine.

  “Stop!” Ocken shouted. “Don’t eat or drink anything!”

  Bigsby spat a torrent of wine across the table. All of the guards drew their weapons. Ocken flung the dagger into the throat of the man standing closest to the king.

  Chairs groaned and fell to the floor as the others leapt to their feet. Khate and Geoffreys flipped the table toward their assailants. Food and wine crashed the floor.

  The closest enemy lunged for the king, but Bigsby stepped into his path, taking a sword to his gut.

  Shouts rose up all over the room. Khate pulled three blades from her wrist and flung them at their attackers. The first deflected off a bandit’s sword, the second dug into his right shoulder, and the third sunk into his eye. The man fell back, clutching at his face with his left hand.

  Ocken had only covered half the distance to the king.

  Antony fell away, retreating for the safety of the north tower. Geoffreys picked up the sword from the fallen man Ocken had killed and withdrew the dagger, now coated with the blood of two men.

  Geoffreys tossed it to Ocken who caught it in midair and redirected it into the back of the neck of a third enemy.

  Three assailants lay on the floor, dead or dying. Three more regrouped and focused their approach. Only Ocken and Geoffreys had serviceable weapons, and Ocken hated daggers.

  “Trade?” Ocken asked Geoffreys.

  “Not a chance,” he said.

  Khate came up beside them, six more blades in her hand. Ocken had never seen a woman so armed before. A smile spread across his face. He thought he was in love.

  The three bandits each took a man or woman, and attacked in unison. Geoffreys met blade with blade while Ocken dodged the wild swings of his opponent.

  He chanced a glance at Khate. Her opponent lay dead, three blades forming a crude triangle in his heart.

  Ocken did a double take, making sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. It was a rookie mistake. He spun away from his opponent’s soaring blade, but it caught him on the shoulder. Ocken hissed at the biting sting that followed.

  The man charged him. Ocken lifted his blade, preparing for the attack. The assailant tripped and fell forward, flat on his face, three blades protruding from his back.

  Ocken looked to Khate, bewildered.

  She shrugged and said, “Two for two.” Then she nodded to the man fighting Geoffreys. “Let’s see who breaks the tie.”

  They threw their weapons at the same time. Ocken’s dagger found the man’s throat the same moment Khate’s blade sunk into his heart. Geoffreys stepped aside as the man’s body fell to the floor.

  “My dagger hit first,” Ocken said, smirking.

  “Ahh, but my knife stopped his heart,” Khate said with confidence. “Your dagger wouldn’t have killed him for at least a minute.”

  “It doesn’t matter who killed him,” Drygo said.

  Ocken turned to see the king, kneeling beside Bigsby. Ocken had forgotten about him. Shame and guilt flooded him like a million tiny pinpricks.

  “He’s dead,” Drygo explained.

  “He died fulfilling the duty he swore to uphold,” Ocken said, “though this whole thing is a nasty
business. What of Antony?”

  Drygo extended his arm to the far side of the room. “He escaped, out that—”

  The door burst open and Antony fell into the room. Ocken, Khate, and Geoffreys fell back into their battle stance in a heartbeat. Five more men spilled into the room behind him.

  Ocken relaxed as he recognized their faces. Callum strode in the room, prodding Antony with his drawn weapon.

  “We saw the fight through the windows from a short distance away,” Callum explained. “This man fled the tower as we reached it, but we managed to capture him.” He paused. “What in the blazes is going on?”

  Ocken remembered the men in the cell of the prison. He cursed. “No time. There’s a fire. Gather supplies and get out.” Pointing at Antony, he added, “Watch him, don’t let him out of your sight.” He turned to Khate. “Follow me, I need you.”

  The fire had likely grown. He knew he couldn’t get in the way he had before. Ocken prayed there was another entrance to the prison from the north tower. Pushing open the door, he found another stone spiral staircase like the one in the south tower.

  Khate matched Ocken’s pace all the way to the bottom.

  There was a door. Ocken silently offered praise to Lotess, goddess of life and second chances.

  He didn’t even bother testing the handle. He raised his foot and drove his boot hard into the wooden door. It splintered and fell in. Black smoke billowed out.

  The fire had spread through half of the prison, engulfing dried wood, hay, and leather.

  “Help us!” the men in the prison cried out between coughs.

  “Find the key,” Ocken said to Khate.

  Khate glanced at the prison and said, “Forget the key. Find me a crowbar or pipe, something solid—anything.”

  Ocken tossed her an old broom.

  Her eyes narrowed, examining the broom as she said, “Better hope this works.”

  She wedged it between the bar of the cell frame and the door.

  “Grab the door from the bottom—as many of you as can reach it—and lift with all your strength,” she said.

  Ocken grabbed a hold from the outside while two of the men did so from within. They began to lift. Ocken felt the flames drawing closer, lapping at his heels. He put all his strength into lifting. Khate pushed on the broom, using the leverage to pry the door from the frame.