Soulbreaker

by Terry C. Simpson

  The ground rose gradually as they walked, barren trees not packed so tightly in this area as in others. Ainslen caught a whiff of woodsmoke, food, and a faint animal smell that reminded him of a farm. Amid the twitter of birds and other animal calls, he thought he heard cows and sheep. Up ahead, his men and the ereskars had disappeared. When he and Seligula gained the top of the hill, Ainslen could only gawk.

  Below them, in a hollow surrounded by hills, lay a sprawling encampment. It was as if the Gods had reached down and scooped out a part of the ground in this area and replaced it with tents and cookfires and roped off sections where soldiers kept livestock and picketed their mounts. Off to one side were twenty ereskars, their thick ropes secured on metal spikes driven into the ground. The Farlanders stood out in their pale leather armor, many of them sitting close to each other around the fires, the buzz of their conversation barely audible. His Blades occupied a separate section. The camp stilled upon his and Seligula’s appearance, the soldiers gazing up the incline. A moment later the activity resumed.

  Not far from the ereskars was a group of six Farlanders. They surrounded a bulky form, its skin like scaled iron. A chill crawled through the king. As he watched, the men’s nimbuses flared. So did the Kargoshi’s. In a white haze, soul bled away from the creature into the men. Such was their control over entope that it made him feel inadequate. These Farlanders had made the siphoning of soul into an art. Ainslen tore his gaze away from the spectacle to survey the remainder of the camp.

  “No prisoners,” Ainslen said. “Did you not take any?”

  “With our need for swift travel, we send them back over the mountains to one of our encampments in the Bloody Corridor.”

  A lie. The king frowned. Why would Seligula need to lie about the prisoners he took? As he considered the question a line of ten metal tubes drew his attention. They were as thick as ash tree trunks, tapered in design, the larger end rounded, closed off, and tilted down. The smaller end faced into the air and had a hole that would easily fit a man’s head. They reminded him of massive versions of firesticks, each mounted on a metal bed between two wheels.

  “Firebreathers?” Ainslen nodded in the direction of the weapons.

  “Yes,” Seligula said, eyebrows arched at the king’s knowledge.

  “I’ve been doing my research.” The idea of the firebreathers and firesticks had given Ainslen a score of ideas, one of which he intended to use soon.

  “I see. It is with these that we easily took the Marissinian cities.” Pride shone in the Warmaster’s eyes.

  “Good, for this is the other discussion I wanted to have with you. In three days we will put them to work. Also, I wish to speak with one of your Kargoshi, Borin, the one who delivered news of the western forces to you.”

  “Finally,” Seligula said. “Your order to limit our attacks made me think you lost your nerve or had grown soft because of this Sorinya. I can tell you have some personal connection with him, but a ruler must separate himself from such things.”

  “No need to worry. I was simply biding my time.” Ainslen tapped his finger to his chin as he considered the firebreathers. “The best players wait before they move their strongest piece, and when they do, they attack without mercy.” He peered over again at the Kargoshi and the Farlanders siphoning soul from it. They had placed grey manacles on its arms, feet, and neck. “There’s one more thing I need from you.” He strode in the direction of the Soulbreaker.

  32

  Debt of Blood

  ‘Look to Rion.’ Ainslen’s words repeated in the queen’s head. It was the third day in Gartos, and the angle of Mandrigal’s light spearing through the tower’s windows let her know twilight had come.

  Seated around the table were five Thelusian Stonelords, broad enough of shoulder to hide their chairs. Oddly enough, a Stonelady, the first of her kind, occupied a seat. The men were dressed in shin-length jackets that buttoned to the waist, slightly off center. Stiff collars enclosed their entire necks, which in itself seemed a feat. Terestere thought she could fit her waist into one of those collars and still have space.

  Stonelords Aurella and Bogdanya were the color of dark oak, skins smooth. Mihaidna, Kronidu, and Severine were of a more ebony complexion, so dark their skin glowed. Stonelady Nadya’s skin tone was softer, like a cup of coffee with milk. Dressed in a short jacket and trousers she possessed a hard jaw and harder eyes. She was no longer the little princess Terestere remembered, the one Tharkensen had saved from the Caradorii. They all wore their hair in a tumble of braids.

  “We were slaves once,” Severine said, quiet voice filled with bitterness. “We pay homage to the Empire, but never again will we be servants of another. The Farlanders believe in slavery.”

  Terestere sympathized with the sentiment. Slavery was an abomination. She’d seen firsthand what it did to a people. It broke them, made them a fraction of what they could be, killed their growth, as it had done to the Dracodar during and after the Culling.

  Through sheer strength the Thelusians had managed to rebuild, had found life once again. What would the Dracodar be like now if they’d been allowed to evolve, follow a natural progression like so many other races?

  The stories often spoke of Ilsindin’s intention to destroy those not of Dracodar blood, that he’d started down that path before Cortens Kasandar rose up to defeat him. A scant few other tales, found in obscure books, said Ilsindin had been trying to protect his people from the Blight, the plague began by Kasinians, that his decision was a panicked reaction to a dire situation. Stories such as those were not told in public within the Empire. Not if you wanted to keep your head.

  “We owe a part of our freedom to Tharkensen for his defeat of Tanal, and to you,” Severine continued. “It was you who convinced Jemare to declare our emancipation, but what you ask of us now, this alliance with Kasinia and the Farlanders, is too much. The seers say only bad will come of it.”

  “The end result is that we do not want these Farlanders in our territory. We earned the right of choice with the blood we’ve spilled for Kasinia over the years, for our tributes of Blades much like your Day of Accolades,” Aurella said. “Besides, by the traditions of the Empire, Cardiff violated Far’an Senjin by involving foreigners.”

  “Not only that, but look at what they have done to Marissinia,” Mihaidna protested. He and Kronidu were the only two with small rings that pierced their upper lip. Terestere winced whenever she looked at one of the things. “We might have a special hate for the slit-eyes, but they do not deserve to suffer so.”

  “My son should have killed that man more than a year ago.” This from Bogdanya, Sorinya’s father. The man had deep, dark eyes that made her feel as if he could see into her soul.

  “And where would that have gotten us?” Kronidu asked quietly. “Jemare would have responded in kind.”

  “Not with me by his side,” Terestere said, “but that no longer matters. What is done is done, and Sorinya’s worth now lies elsewhere. What I ask is not only about you, but all of us as a whole. I hate the presence of the Farlanders. Believe me when I say that they are a part of our greatest enemy, but we will need them and their weapons against the threat from the west first, and then we can deal with them afterward.”

  “What if we think we can defeat them ourselves?” Kronidu asked.

  “You would be wrong.”

  “What do you suggest, Mother.” Nadya met Terestere’s gaze as she spoke, eyes unflinching.

  She wasn’t truly their mother, but she had been among the Thelusians for years, seen them grow. Many felt that without her input, without her convincing Jemare to send the Lightning Blade to do battle on their behalf, they would be a shadow of their current selves. In that they were right. Yet, as much as the title of Mother was one of respect, it was also one of challenge. Thelusian mothers gave their children the right to go to war and did not shrink a
way from battle.

  “You’ve listened to all we have said, our arguments, our feelings, the feelings of our people,” Severine said. “Although a part of the Empire, Thelusia has been independent for over three centuries. Do we now get on bended knee?” He was scowling.

  Saddened, Terestere took a deep breath, knowing the Thelusians had no way out. “First, do you swear to abide by whatever I say?” They owed her this, but she would let it be their choice. Each of them nodded, Severine and Nadya appearing hesitant at first. “Good. You will have to endure. You will not like this, but you cannot war against the Empire, not with any hope to win, and not by yourself. It will hurt. It will cost you pride and lives in defending something or someone you might not believe in. But with patience and perseverance you will shed a burden and earn a more prosperous life for future generations.”

  “Endure what?” Nadya’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “The king’s actions to ensure you do not rescind your terms. Regardless of your choice here, you were going to be an example.” She now understood the meaning behind the king’s instructions. He knew she would fail to attain an agreement in time for word to be carried back to him. The Thelusians were known to take at least one day, often two, to sleep on a decision, asking their seers to pray to the Gods for enlightenment. Concern and fear spread across the faces before her. The queen stood. “Follow me.” She led them out onto the balcony.

  It faced southeast, and this high up, some twenty floors, they could see Rion where it lay at the beginning of the Steppes of the World. The sky was a mass or purple bruises, spanning across the Renigen Sea where Farlander ships and other vessels were specks.

  “What are we looking for?” Kronidu asked.

  “Rion.”

  A flash near the Dreadwood drew her eyes. Men moved near its outskirts. Ainslen’s men. Smoke trailed into the air. A boom echoed, like thunder. Moments later there were more flashes, more smoke, more thunder.

  Buildings in Rion exploded. One moment, they existed, and the next a massive fountain of stone careened into the air, followed by a roar. The devastation repeated throughout the town. Terestere cringed as she imagined the screaming innocents. Hungry flames licked from many structures, devouring the town. A pillar of smoke billowed into the sky.

  Nadya wept. The other Stonelords got down on their knees, uttering prayers to their Gods.

  The queen grew cold as she watched, knowing no deity would save Rion. One thing was certain. The Thelusians would go to war now, fighting in the name of the Kasinian Empire, under Ainslen’s banners. This much the king had accomplished, but in them, he’d made another formidable enemy. She continued to take in the carnage. “Let the Voices know you’ve agreed to serve the Empire.”

  By the time she left Gartos she had procured their pledge to the Empire. Even as they signed the contracts, they had let her know that Rion’s destruction would not be forgotten, that Ainslen owed a debt of blood. One day, they would collect.

  She rode for the Dreadwood that night, bracing herself for the days to come, her impending marriage, and what it meant. One of her first moves upon her return would be a visit to Count Shenen. It was time he met the Curate. She had nudged along her pieces before. Now, it was time to place them with bold but subtle strokes.

  33

  A Plan

  Kasandar was a mass of distant grey stone towers and walls to the northwest, the glint of the Golden Spires and the massive Winds of Time breaking up the monotony. Winslow imagined the city as he remembered it: the Ten Hills and their mansions, the taverns of Walker’s Row, the great arches and colonnades and avenues, the smells and sounds of the Empire’s oldest city. He smiled briefly before memories of King Cardiff and of Delisar’s fate wiped away any semblance of joy.

  Unable to the shake the feeling of helplessness, he watched glumly as other vessels headed toward Kasandar, but not the Gilded Lady. For weeks now, that was all he and Keedar did: sat and watched. Stomir had them under constant guard, fearing they would flee the ship while he spent days and nights sneaking onto Farlander vessels during their stops at various ports. As much as the idea of going to Kasandar was tempting, Winslow knew it wasn’t the wise choice. The realization hurt.

  The effect of the news concerning Delisar left Keedar in a black mood. When he wasn’t on the deck, staring toward Kasandar, or glowering at Stomir’s back, he kept to the cabin. The closer they’d come to the city, the worse he became. He didn’t speak much, not even to Winslow. In the cabin’s dim light he’d taken to practicing soul magic or meditation whenever Stomir was off infiltrating a Farlander ship.

  Sails bloated with the cold wind, the Gilded Lady cut through the water, traveling faster than Winslow would have thought possible. A beaming Captain Ezrakel stood at the bow, proclaiming that Hazline and the Thirty-two Winds were with them. He bragged that they would reach Tiolin in another few days.

  Winslow dreaded reaching the port. It was located well northeast of Kasandar, on the River Ost’s opposite bank. From there, they would head to the appointed rendezvous with the surviving Consortium guilds. Any chance for him and his brother to help Delisar would be lost at Tiolin.

  The sound of footsteps on the wooden planks made Winslow glance over. Harskel, a Darshanese with scars that crawled up his neck to his cheeks, thumped over to Janosen, another member of the crew set to keep watch.

  “I thought we were to stop in Kasandar,” Janosen said.

  “Change of plans because of them two,” Harskel replied. “Besides, when we put to port two days ago, we got word that whatever this Stomir is looking for is on one of those huge Farlander ships.”

  “On a hauler?”

  “Yeah, those.”

  “Wonder if it’s some kind of treasure,” Janosen mused. “You know how the Consortium is, always after coin.”

  “There been stories about some sort of beasts,” Harskel said.

  “Foolishness, all of it,” Janosen scoffed.

  Harskel shrugged. “Maybe, but anyway, that’s the short of it, no Kasandar for the execution.”

  A shout rose above the conversation. Up on the topmast, the lookout was pointing.

  “Seems like Mouse has spotted one of them,” Janosen said.

  Winslow glanced in the direction indicated by the lookout. In the distance was a massive vessel with numerous sails. The wind whipped the Star of the Dominion and the Farlander flag that depicted the mythical ereskars. A larger version of the beasts adorned the main sail in red and grey.

  Stomir was up on the Gilded Lady’s bow with Captain Ezrakel, both of them focused in the ship’s direction. Although his searches had proven fruitless so far, the Kheridisian wouldn’t miss this chance.

  The spark of an idea formed in Winslow’s head. He turned from the wooden railing and headed toward Keedar’s cabin. Harskel followed him, grumbling under his breath about Kasandar. Winslow knocked on the cabin door.

  “Yes?” came Keedar’s muffled voice.

  “It’s me.”

  “Have we arrived as yet?”

  “No, but I need to speak to you. It’s important, and concerns Delisar.”

  “If you insist.”

  Winslow pushed open the door, entered, and then pulled the latch into place behind him. Shirtless, skin glistening by candlelight, his brother sat on the bed. The odor of sweat hung thick in the air. Keedar’s chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of a person relaxing after prolonged exertion.

  “So, what is it?” Keedar wiped at his forehead with a cloth.

  Winslow moved closer, lowering his voice so only his brother could hear. “With our guards, there’s no way for us both to go to Delisar’s aid.”

  “Tell me something of which I’m unaware.”

  “I think I’ve discovered a way for one of us to make it to Kasandar. That one would be you.” Winslow la
id out his plan.

  34

  Two Gold Bits

  Slamming the cabin door behind him, Keedar stormed across the deck after Winslow. Their argument began soon after Stomir had slipped over the stern and into the river. By now the Kheridisian would be aboard the hauler.

  “How dare you speak of my father in such a way,” Keedar yelled after his brother.

  Winslow turned to face him, the chill wind blowing his hair across his face, adding to the shadows cast by the lamplight. “Strange that you should speak proudly of a thief, a man who all but abandoned you. But then, why should I expect anything different? You’re just like him.”

  “Without him you would be dead in the Smear,” Keedar spat. Although the crew lacked the details of their relationship, they did have some knowledge of Winslow’s story. To them he was a noble who had taken up for the Smear’s people.

  “Stop this madness,” Captain Ezrakel called from the ship’s bow. “Aren’t you good friends?”

  “Were,” Winslow said, scowling. “He’s nothing to me now.” To one side, Janosen and Harskel smirked as they watched.

  “Come on, you two,” the captain pleaded, “what’s this all about?”

  “He claims I stole his lady.” Keedar smiled sheepishly.

  “Claims? Claims? You bedded her!”

  “Wins, I didn’t know.” Keedar held out his hands, palms up in a gesture of helplessness. “What was I supposed to do?”

  The rest of the crew started to take notice. They were gathering atop the upper deck, leaning over the wooden rails.

  “Any man that takes his friend’s woman ought to be ashamed of himself,” someone shouted.