Souldrifter

by Garrett Calcaterra

  “Well, that’s something pleasant for a change.”

  “You best get down there,” Prince Caile told him. “If you can get a moment alone with her, tell Lady Hildreth we’ve found her son, and then bring the meeting to order. Lord Nagel and Talitha will take care of the rest.”

  The thought of purposefully striding into the council chambers unnerved Natarios, even if they had found the lost true heir. “And what about the Old World?”

  The scent-hound growled. “Let us deal with them,” the dreamwielder’s voice emanated from its throat. “Leave Caile with the hound and tend to the meeting as he says. I mean to come to Col Sargoth myself as soon as we have chased the Old World off. Do well today and you will be rewarded. Fail this task I have put upon you and…”

  “No need to tell me what,” Natarios interrupted. “I catch your drift. I’ll do what you say.”

  “Thank you, houndkeeper,” the dreamwielder replied. “Caile, you must contact Taera…” she continued on, but Natarios was already out the door and walking down the stairs. You have one more chance to run, fool. Do it now or there’s no turning back. Once you walk into the council room, you have to see this thing out, and it probably won’t turn out well, no matter what the dreamwielder thinks.

  Natarios scrunched up his face in frustration as he reached his chamber entrance. His knapsack was there on the floor where he left it. All he had to do was grab it and run.

  • • •

  Taera held the speaking stone tightly in the crook of her arm as she stepped out from the cabin onto the deck of Casstian’s Breath. Admiral Laud lowered his looking glass and glanced back at her from where he stood at the prow of the airship. “Their armada is mobilizing,” he said. “They haven’t raised sails yet, but all hands are on deck. They might attack at any moment.”

  “They’re expecting their signal soon,” Taera replied. “Signal the rest of our fleet to ready themselves.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Anxiety welled up inside Taera’s chest as she watched the admiral rush off to command his crew. For all her preparations with the factories and airships, and despite her stolid demeanor among her advisors, she’d never wanted it to come to actual war. She’d witnessed too many deaths already in the revolt against Guderian. The last thing she wanted was to sacrifice more of her people, and she was no fool—she knew the odds of winning this sea battle were not good.

  “All is ready,” Laud said. “We wait on your command.”

  “We wait until the Old World ships raise their sails and are bearing down on us,” Taera said. “Once that happens, hang—”

  Taera stopped midsentence and yelped as the speaking stone vibrated in the crook of her arm.

  “Taera?” came a distant voice. “Taera, can you hear me?”

  “Caile?”

  • • •

  Natarios took a deep breath and then stepped into the council chamber, half-expecting to be met by flames and his excruciating death immediately. Instead, he was met only by steely glares.

  “We were just about to start without you, houndkeeper,” Rives remarked.

  Natarios forced a smile and took in his surroundings as he made his way to the head of the table. Rives sat at his normal place at one side of the table, flanked by the sorcerer’s guildmaster on one side, and Lord Kobel on the other. Seated behind them, as “observers,” were two sorcerers—the firewielders who were there to kill them all, Natarios surmised. At the opposite side of the table sat Lady Hildreth and Lord Nagel, but there was no sign of the sorceress Talitha, nor the bastard prince Thon. Did Prince Caile lie to me? Natarios wondered, but brushed the thought aside. It was too late now.

  Natarios took up his gavel and called the meeting to order. “The day has arrived at last,” he began. “The day we have all been waiting for. When we leave this room, the council will be disbanded and Sargoth will have a new king.”

  “Yes, yes, we all know why we’re here,” Ambassador Rives said. “Let’s get on with the vote.”

  Natarios rapped his gavel on the table sharply. “We’ll get on with the vote when I call for it!”

  Rives eyes widened in surprise momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure, nodded in assent, and made sure everyone in the room saw his self-satisfied smirk.

  You can burn me when the time comes, gutter trash, Natarios fumed inwardly, but I’ll be damned if I let you steal this moment from me. I’ve already had to truncate my speech—the one I would be saying if you hadn’t double-crossed me and leagued yourself with the Old World.

  Natarios cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we’ve all heard now from each of the candidates, and it is upon us to choose wisely. The storied history and future of Sargoth is in our hands…” And here’s where I have to change the script. “On this historic occasion, I find it appropriate to give the floor to our most venerable member to say a few words on the gravity of the vote before us.”

  A few of the council members murmured their surprise, but Natarios paid them no heed. “Lord Nagel, if you would.”

  Lord Nagel was already standing, and he smiled at Natarios’s unexpected introduction. “Thank you, loyal houndkeeper, and thank you, fellow council members and candidates. It is with great pride that I have served this kingdom for the last sixty odd years as an advisor, and I have but one last bit of council to offer this committee.”

  “To what?” Lord Kobel barked. “To vote for you, so that you can henceforth command us instead of counsel us?” Kobel turned to Natarios, his brow furrowed in anger. “What is the meaning of this? Nagel had his chance to say his piece. You defy protocol by allowing him to address the council again.”

  “It’s fine, let him say his piece,” Ambassador Rives said, reaching up to grab Kobel by the wrist, but Kobel slapped his hand away.

  “We’ve heard enough,” Kobel barked. “Proceed to the vote.”

  Natarios rapped his gavel again. “Silence! You can give orders to me and this council if, and when, you’re elected king. Until then, sit down and close your pastry hole or I’ll have you thrown out.”

  The room tittered with nervous whispers as Kobel stared back at Natarios for a frozen moment.

  That was foolish, Natarios mused. Even if Rives’s sorcerers don’t cook me, Kobel will be sure to have my head now.

  Kobel clenched his right hand and reached slowly for his sword.

  “Lord Kobel, I plead of you,” Lord Nagel interrupted. “Give me but a moment more. I rescind my claim to the throne.”

  Kobel narrowed his eyes and turned his glare to the aged statesman. “You rescind?”

  “Yes. I have but one piece of counsel for everyone before we proceed.”

  Satisfied, Kobel took his seat and nodded for Nagel to speak, as if he were already king. Natarios bit his tongue, and eased himself back into his own seat. Where are you going with this, old man? Hopefully whatever you say will infuriate everyone enough so I can scurry under the table and sneak out of here while they’re taking their wrath out on you.

  “Please proceed,” Natarios said, speaking his last words as lord of proceedings.

  Lord Nagel nodded and swept his gaze across everyone at the table before speaking. “My counsel to all of you is to bow before your rightful king.”

  Confusion swept across the faces of everyone in the room, but before anyone could say anything, the doors opened and the sorceress Talitha stepped inside with the bastard prince at her side, flanked by the giant northman, Siegbjorn, and a dozen cavalrymen.

  “You?” Ambassador Rives hissed, but before he could push himself out of his chair, the cavalrymen had their crossbows leveled toward him.

  “Relax, I’m not here to take over the proceedings,” Talitha said. “I’m merely here to escort the crown prince of Sargoth.” She stopped and leveled her gaze on the sorcerers. “Men of the sorcerer’s guild, contain yourselves. If I sense so much as a hiccup in your thauma, I will signal for the cavalry to fire.”

  One of the soldiers step
ped forward, and Natarios recognized him as Commander Buell, Lady Hildreth’s brother.

  “You are all in the presence of royalty,” Buell said, his voice thick with menace. “Any sudden moves will be seen as a sign of aggression and result in your immediate death.”

  Talitha turned her gaze from the sorcerer’s guild to Natarios, winked, and nodded for him to proceed.

  Natarios grinned despite himself. Well, I guess I have a few more words to say as lord of proceedings, after all. All it takes is three Sargothian lords to attest to a person’s noble lineage. With Nagel, Lady Hildreth, and her brother as witnesses, the bastard can be anointed king without a single vote. Natarios stood.

  “Thank you, Talitha of Issborg. Ladies and Lords of the council, I present to you the son of Thedric Guderian, Prince Thon…”

  “Thon Hildreth,” the bastard prince interrupted. “I have chosen to take my mother’s name as a symbol and promise that I will not perpetuate the tyranny of my father who bore the Guderian name.”

  “Impossible!” Lord Kobel growled, practically foaming at the mouth. He flung his chair back and reached for his sword, but before he could take a single step toward Thon, three crossbow bolts punctured his chest.

  Ambassador Rives gaped at Kobel as he collapsed back onto the floor dead. “Kill them!” he squealed, turning to the sorcerer’s guildmaster. “Burn them!”

  When the guildmaster ignored him to only stare blankly ahead, Rives swiveled around to make his plea to the other sorcerers. “Burn them! Burn them all! What are you waiting for?”

  That was as far as his hysterics got. Commander Buell, having heard enough, stepped around the table and knocked him out cold with a backhanded slap.

  Natarios laughed out loud, a rich, wonderful release of tension.

  “Thank you, Commander,” he said ignoring the incredulous stares of the rest of the council. “Now let’s proceed. Lord Nagel, Lady Hildreth, Commander Buell, I will have you swear to the legitimacy of Prince Thon Hildreth’s claim, and then we shall anoint him King of Sargoth.”

  • • •

  Mahalath sat against the wall of the round tower chamber, his head in his hands, watching as Queen Makarria loomed over the piteous creature called a scent-hound. At the doorway, two Valarion soldiers stood guard silently. Mahalath had been sitting there for an hour or more now, seemingly forgotten by the dreamwielder, but he knew better than that. She had told him to follow her to the chamber and to wait, and he was going to do exactly as she said. He owed her that much. And whatever punishment she had in store for him, he intended to accept his fate when the time came. There were simply more pressing matters she had to attend to right now. Senator Emil’s machinations had been complex and widespread. As Mahalath had sat there, he was privy to the relayed messages from Prince Caile of Pyrthinia: an armada was poised to attack Kal Pyrthin, another was bearing down upon Col Sargoth, and within Lightbringer’s Keep itself, the Sargothian election council was about to elect a king who was beholden to the Republic. All of it brokered by Senator Emil. Prince Caile and his comrades had found a potential heir to Guderian, but Mahalath was all too aware how election councils proceeded—it was a numbers game, and Senator Emil had been too cunning to not make sure he owned every vote in the council. He has put the pieces into action, and even with him dead now, there may be no stopping him.

  “It’s done!” came Prince Caile’s voice, a growl through the scent-hound’s maw.

  “Thon has been anointed?” Makarria asked, leaning over the creature, her hands resting on the outer compass ring.

  “Yes. And Ambassador Rives and the sorcerers have been taken into custody by the cavalry.”

  “Excellent,” Makarria said. “Tell Talitha to have Thon secure the harbor. Those ships from the Old World are close. And tell your sister to hold tight. I will take care of the rest now.”

  Queen Makarria raised herself away from the scent-hound and turned to regard Mahalath. Mahalath pushed himself to his feet and inclined his head. She’s done it, against all odds. And now the time has come for her to deal with me.

  “Follow me, Ambassador,” Makarria said. “It’s time to put this conflict to rest.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  The guards opened the door and parted to allow Makarria and Mahalath to exit. Mahalath followed the queen silently, down the winding staircase to the main keep below and then through the corridors to the dignitary wing, past Mahalath’s own room and to Senator Emil’s guest quarters.

  “Senator Emil was communicating with your Senate,” Makarria said, pushing the door open effortlessly even though she did not have the key. “We’re looking for a relic of some sort. A magical device.”

  “Yes,” Mahalath agreed as they stepped inside the spacious anteroom. “He told me this morning he meant to give a report to the Senate and wanted me to corroborate. You’ll be looking for his conch. That’s how we communicate.”

  Makarria nodded as her eyes scanned across the room. Not seeing what she was looking for, she stepped into the main bedroom. “We shall stick to his plan then,” she said. “The only difference is that you’ll be giving the report and you’ll be telling the truth, not whatever version of the story Emil concocted.” Her gaze stopped at an iron-belted chest alongside the wardrobe, held fast with a heavy padlock. The padlock clicked and fell open before she even took two steps toward it.

  “The truth?” Mahalath asked.

  Makarria was silent for a moment as she opened the chest and rummaged through it. When she stood she was holding Emil’s speaking conch.

  “That’s right,” she said. “The truth, Ambassador. First the gravity of the situation. Emil is dead and I control Valaróz. King Thon Hildreth sits on the Sargothian throne, not some Old World puppet. And two Old World fleets sit poised to attack the Five Kingdoms, ready to plunge our two realms into a war that will destroy us both. Those fleets must retreat immediately. Once the Senate has complied, we will then talk about the rest.”

  “The rest?”

  “That’s right. The more painful truth part. What you were told you were here to do, when you found out about the pthisicis-corporis. All that you learned about Senator Emil’s plot. Everything.”

  Mahalath swallowed. This will be the end of my career and my wife’s too, but Queen Makarria is right. The truth must be known if we are to avert enmity between our nations.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Excellent,” Makarria said, stepping toward him and holding up the conch. “Now I need your help to make the connection. Put your hands on both sides of the conch and imagine the Senate—wherever it is they meet.”

  Mahalath placed his hands on the shell. “The Citadel.”

  “Yes, picture it in your mind while I blow into the shell.”

  Mahalath closed his eyes and pictured the marble steps of the amphitheater in the Citadel, at the heart of Khail Sanctu. The Senate would be seated and waiting, each of the members in their official white robes, leafed coronets around their heads to signify their civic station.

  A deep, mournful trumpeting emanated from the shell as Makarria blew into it. The sound and the air washed over Mahalath’s face, but he held the image tight in his mind. When the noise abated, it was as if Mahalath was actually there, standing on the floor of the amphitheater looking at the hundred Senators surrounding him. In the distance, in the uppermost row, he even saw his own wife looking down at him expectantly.

  “Senator Emil?” came a distant voice, the voice of the speaker of the assembly.

  “No,” Mahalath spoke. “Senator Emil has died a death he earned with his treasonous actions. It is I, Imad Mahalath, Republic Ambassador to the Kingdom of Valaróz.”

  25

  Epilogue

  The water is not as cold as she expects, but the violence of the waves nearly overwhelms her. Choking and gasping, pummeled with swell after swell, she is unable to slip into a dreamtrance. The sense of confidence she’d had just a moment earlier, before jumpi
ng off the ship, is gone.

  How can she go into a dreamstate if she’s drowning? How can she stay above the surging waves in the broken body she’s trapped within? Dizziness washes over her as her weakened limbs give out. Quit fighting it, quit raging against Tel Mathir, a little voice says in her head, and she lets herself go. She lets the air out of her lungs and sinks beneath the surface, to the tranquility of the ocean beneath the storm. She closes her eyes and feels the storm above her, feels the ships and sailors getting pummeled by it. She imagines her sea wall around the fleet of ships, and draws upon the ferocity of the storm to turn her dream into reality. The power is intoxicating. She no longer feels her broken and battered body, but euphoria. She imagines herself free of Lorentz’s empty shell, she imagines herself rising up to behold the fleet and sailors she has just saved.

  When she opens her eyes, she is riding acrest a column of water that lifts her out of the ocean and toward the nearest ship. She steps foot onto the deck, barefoot, naked, in her own body remade. The dumbfounded Valarion sailors bow before her. The Old World sorcerer tasked to watch over the ship panics and jumps into the sea, terrified of her. Around them, the storm has gone silent, its energy sapped away by Makarria’s actions. She feels invincible and tells the sailors to rise. They begin shouting her name, and the men on the other ships take up the call.

  Makarria! Makarria! Makarria…

  “Makarria,” Taera said, shaking her shoulder gently and arousing her from her sleep.

  Makarria’s eyes fluttered open and she instinctively put her hands to her face, making sure it was her own, that the ocean transformation had not been a dream, but rather a memory. It was indeed her own face, and she remembered where she was now: on Taera’s airship, Casstian’s Breath.

  “We’ve arrived,” Taera informed her. “The others are here to welcome us.”

  Makarria pushed herself up from the small bunk and straightened her simple, blue dress. “The others?”