Souldrifter: The Dreamwielder Chronicles - Book Two

by Garrett Calcaterra

  Wordlessly, Thon joined in behind them.

  “Who’s this?” Talitha asked beneath her breath.

  “A friend,” Caile replied, leaving it at that, and not questioning the wisdom of bringing someone he knew barely three weeks. Caile couldn’t explain why, but he trusted Thon.

  At the stables, the squires were standing by with weapons and saddled horses at the ready, and within moments the three companions were mounted and charging through the courtyard and out the southern gate of the royal palace. The people in the main boulevard cleared a wide path for them as they rushed by to descend from one terraced borough to the next, passing first by opulent marble mansions, and then smaller shops and homes with stucco walls and terra cotta roofs as they neared the harbor.

  The smoke billowing up from the fishery borough grew closer and darker as they approached. By the time they pulled their horses to a halt in front of a dilapidated warehouse, the smoke was an impenetrable dark column that blotted out the sun in the western sky. The air reeked of dead fish and a pungent tang like rotten eggs that burned their noses and eyes. The city watch was there already, clearing people away and evacuating the nearby warehouses. The fire brigade had arrived too, and was crowding tentatively around the entrance of the smoking warehouse. There were no flames to be seen, but smoke meant fire in their profession, and they were preparing to enter with axes and hoses connected to the horse-drawn water tenders they had brought.

  “Stay back, all of you,” Talitha shouted. “This is no ordinary fire. There are no flames you can put out with water.”

  The men stared up at this strange woman on horseback whom they had never seen before.

  “Do as she says,” Caile commanded as he dismounted. “Fall back, all of you. Stay at the ready in case the fire spreads to the nearby buildings, but do not enter this building. We’ll handle it.”

  Talitha waved for Caile and Thon to come to her. “Listen carefully, both of you,” she said. “This is very likely a trap. I’ll go through the front, because that is where they’re expecting Makarria to enter. I’m no dreamwielder, though. While not as powerful, I can act faster—I don’t have to enter a dreamstate—so the advantage is mine. Each of you: take a half-dozen soldiers from the city watch and go in opposite directions around the perimeter of the building. Leave guards at any exits you find with orders to detain any who come out, then make your way in through the rear. Remember, when dealing with sorcery, quickness is your greatest weapon. Surprise our assailants from behind and strike before they can gather their thauma to attack. Otherwise, you’ll be dead.”

  • • •

  Makarria paced the circular space between the ring of chairs in the sitting room, hating that she was stuck there while her friends were off investigating. Even more aggravating was Lorentz, who was ordering more guards into the room, as if she needed the entire Royal Guard to protect her in her own palace.

  “You need only sit and we will protect you,” Siegbjorn said, seemingly reading her mind. He stood protectively in front of her in the center of the room, a curved skinning knife nearly as long as a short sword gripped upside-down in one hand.

  Makarria smiled tersely at him, but frowned again when she saw Lorentz was ushering even more guards in. She didn’t doubt Lorentz’s honor or prowess, but something had been odd about him since returning from Khal-Aband. He’d become overly protective, and while she appreciated his concern, when it came to troop numbers, more was not always better—she’d learned as much in her first year of ruling Valaróz.

  “Lorentz, are all these guards really necessary? I’m sure we’re quite safe here, and even if there were an attack on me, there would be no room to fight in here we’re so crowded.”

  “Prince Caile commanded me to bring in reinforcements and guard both entrances, Your Highness,” Lorentz said, his voice distant-sounding to Makarria’s ear. It wasn’t right. Something had definitely unnerved him in the darkness of Khal-Aband, and he’d lost his wits in this particular situation. The guards in the small chamber numbered nearly a dozen now, all of them shuffling around to find space along the perimeter of chairs, holding their upright pikes close to their chests.

  “Captain Lorentz,” Makarria said, her voice stern this time, “I think they would better guard us outside the doorways.”

  Lorentz turned to her, his eyes narrowed, as if such a thought never would have occurred to him. “Of course—” he started to say, but then someone pushed him aside.

  “Get her!”

  It was one of her own Royal Guards. He kicked aside one of the chairs and rushed forward, trying to raise his arms high enough to maneuver his pike into position to attack. The fool never had a chance. Siegbjorn gutted him from navel to chin with one effortless uppercut of his skinning knife. Other guards were surging forward, though. And yet others were trying to stop them. All of them in the same uniforms, armed with the same useless pikes. It was mayhem.

  With a bear-like roar, Siegbjorn kicked an approaching guard, then turned back to Makarria with his free hand held out to her. “Come!”

  She jumped to his side and he pulled her in close to his back hip as he kicked and slashed his way toward the nearest exit. Blood and curses filled the room. Makarria nearly tripped on the hem of her dress. With a curse of her own, she closed her eyes, forcing herself into a dreamtrance and envisioning a shirt of chainmail in place of the hopeless gown.

  • • •

  This makes no sense, Caile thought to himself. He was deep into the bowels of the warehouse and had seen no one. The loading bay had been empty except for a few dozen abandoned crates and pallets, and the inner rooms of the warehouse—administrative offices, no doubt—were completely empty. There wasn’t even any smoke.

  Caile peeked his head through another doorway and saw the shape of a man halt in the adjoining room.

  “Thon?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  Caile loosened his grip on his sword. “I take it you’ve found nothing?”

  “Not so much as a mouse turd.”

  “Where’s the cursed smoke coming from then?”

  “We only saw smoke coming from the top,” Thon pointed out. “Perhaps the fire is on the roof? I found some stairs back the way I came.”

  “You didn’t see Talitha?”

  Thon shook his head.

  “Off to the stairs then. Quickly. She’s probably already up there.”

  • • •

  Makarria came out of her dreamtrance with a gasp, now garbed in chainmail, her high-heeled shoes replaced with leather boots. In front of her, Siegbjorn cursed and pulled his knife free from a guard’s breastbone. Makarria ducked away from him so he would have more room to maneuver only to back into a guard who shoved his way forward to get his hands around her neck.

  “Die, bitch!”

  Makarria’s panicked scream was choked short as the man’s fingers gripped tighter, and she instinctively kneed him in the groin. The man let out a scream of his own and Makarria tore herself free.

  “Makarria!” Siegbjorn hollered, hammering the man on top of the head with a closed fist and sending him reeling to the floor where he was promptly trampled by the other guards.

  Makarria reached out to grab Siegbjorn again, but something jabbed her in the back, piercing through her chainmail shirt with enough force that she stumbled forward into Siegbjorn’s arms. The giant northman bellowed like a bear, grabbing her up and kicking her assailant square in the chest to fly backward.

  “Hand her to me!” someone shouted.

  Makarria glanced over to see Lorentz standing no more than five paces away, reaching for her through the doorway.

  “Siegbjorn, quickly! Hand her to me.”

  With a grunt, Siegbjorn lowered his shoulder and plowed his way toward the door. Men ricocheted off him, but his feet became tangled in fallen men and he stumbled forward, pushing Makarria into Lorentz’s arms. “Go!” he bellowed.

  “No,” Makarria tried saying, reaching back to help him up,
but Lorentz was already pulling her away through the empty throne room.

  • • •

  Halfway up the stairs, a concussion rang out from above like a thunderclap, nearly toppling Caile and Thon back down the way they had come.

  “What was that?” Thon asked, yanking himself back to his feet with the handrail.

  “Sounds like Talitha,” Caile remarked. “Hurry!”

  They dashed up the remaining stairs to a small landing where a ladder attached to one wall led up through a hatch in the ceiling. Wordlessly, they hurried up the ladder to the roof, where they were enveloped in curling black smoke.

  “Talitha!” Caile yelled out, repressing a cough. “Where are you?”

  From the smoke rushed a figure. And then another, both of them brandishing swords. Neither were Talitha, and neither said a word as they attacked.

  • • •

  “Quickly, into the courtyard,” Lorentz said, pulling Makarria along by the hand. “We have to get you on a horse and out of here.”

  “To where?” Makarria asked. He wasn’t making any sense, but the pain in Makarria’s back made it hard to think straight. She could feel blood running down her back beneath her chainmail and soaking into her undergarments. If she hadn’t turned her dress into chainmail back in the chamber, she would be dead right now.

  “No questions, Your Majesty,” Lorentz said. “This way.”

  They were outside now, nearing the stables. Makarria glanced around. There should have been soldiers rushing to their aid, or at least the squires in the stables, but the yard was quiet. Makarria pulled her hand free of Lorentz’s and stumbled after him into the stables.

  Makarria stopped in horror.

  They had found the squires. Three of them, dead on the ground, their throats slit.

  “There she is!” someone shouted, and Makarria spun around to see four men emerging from the glaring sunlight of the practice yard into the stables. Lorentz stepped in front of Makarria, but held his sword only loosely. There was no urgency or purpose in his movements.

  “Kill them both!” one of the men yelled.

  “Wait,” another said.

  And someone was laughing. Was it Lorentz?

  Makarria tried to close her eyes and dream something, but what? She didn’t know who was who or what to do, and the pain from her wound was pulsating in her back, making it impossible to concentrate. All she could think to do was yell for help.

  • • •

  Caile ducked through the billowing smoke and dispatched his first assailant by stabbing him through the gap in his armor at his armpit. He had no time to see how Thon was faring, though, as three more men rushed out of the smoke toward them. Caile ducked and spun away to create more space, but his heel struck a curb and he nearly toppled backward. He shot a glance behind him and realized they were indeed on the roof, and he’d nearly fallen off the edge to his demise.

  One of the men bull rushed him, and Caile simply sidestepped to allow the man to hurl himself to the street below. The fool’s scream ended with his neck snapping on cobblestone thirty feet below. There was no time for Caile to congratulate himself, though. The two survivors were moving in more warily, and they had him backed against the ledge. Caile feinted to the left, then lunged to his right, somersaulting away, intent on making the men approach him one at a time. By the time he rolled to his feet, however, Thon was there, hacking the first man’s head off, then bashing the other on the skull with the pommel of his sword.

  “Captured a prisoner for you,” Thon said, prodding the downed man with a toe. “Assuming he manages to wake up.”

  “Good thinking,” Caile replied, only a bit off-put that Thon had handled their attackers so well. “Now we just need to find Talitha.”

  “Here,” a voice came from the distance, and they both turned to see the black smoke clear away in a gust of wind. “Normal thugs, all of them,” Talitha said, stepping toward them. “Not a single sorcerer in the bunch.” Far behind her, at the opposite end of the roof, Caile could see the strewn bodies of a dozen more attackers and a smoldering pile of metal buckets.

  “It was indeed a trap then, but one meant to get us away from the palace,” he said, thinking out loud. “Makarria. Hurry!”

  • • •

  “Help!” Makarria screamed again.

  Only one of the assailants lagged behind in the entrance to the stables; the other three engaged Lorentz like a pack of wolves, swinging and hacking with their swords. Lorentz moved effortlessly, like Makarria had never seen anyone move before, almost as if he knew what each of his attackers was going to do before he did it.

  The fourth man stood watching, transfixed like Makarria for a long moment, but then he shook his head, remembering Makarria was there. He raised his sword and strode toward her. Makarria regained her own wits, but before she could even close her eyes to dream something, Fina was there. She moved like a wildcat, knocking the man senseless with a flying forearm to the head, and then dashing to Lorentz’s aid. Lorentz had already cut one of the men down, all the while laughing like a madman and dodging blows like a drunken maniac. Fina dispatched the remaining two assailants in short order, using a sparring sword she’d grabbed up to break their legs and then stab out their throats.

  Before Makarria could catch her breath, Fina was at her side, lifting the chainmail coat over Makarria’s head to assess her wound.

  “Sit,” Fina told her.

  Makarria did so gratefully. She watched Lorentz check the corpses of the three men around him, then stride toward the fourth man, the one Fina had knocked senseless.

  “Keep him alive,” Makarria said. “I want to know who’s behind this.”

  “Of course,” Lorentz said, but he walked with his sword ready to strike the fallen man.

  “Lorentz!”

  “Be still, Your Highness.”

  Makarria shot a glance up at Fina, who understood her look without question. “Stand down, Captain,” Fina said, stepping after Lorentz.

  It was too late, though. The prone man raised his head, pleaded something in a harsh whisper, and then Lorentz jammed his sword through his throat.

  5

  The Game

  Natarios Rhodas groaned as Lady Hildrith continued her lengthy objection. “…furthermore,” she was saying, “this gross manipulation of the schedule is obviously designed to benefit Lord Kobel. We all know he’s the lapdog for you and the Kingdom of Golier both, Houndkeeper. Making the other candidates go first and allowing him to present his claim on the final day of proceedings opens the door for all sorts of theatrics. He of all people should be presenting now so that we can investigate and substantiate his ludicrous claims, whatever they might be. These whispered rumors of his distant ancestry to the Guderian line, the trumped-up numbers of his vassals and holdings, even his age are falsities, I tell you. It’s all staged to make him look good at the end, right before we vote.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Lord Kobel asked, rising to his feet and leaning forward over the table to glare at Lady Hildreth.

  Natarios rolled his eyes. It was true, Kobel was a buffoon. He couldn’t even manage to make his menacing gesture look convincing. Natarios couldn’t imagine why Ambassador Rives and the steam-engineer’s guild were so keen to put him on the throne, but for now Natarios had to support him, at least until someone with more money or power to offer turned up to support another candidate.

  “I’m not calling you anything, Lord Kobel,” Lady Hildreth replied, unperturbed. “That’s the whole point. You haven’t claimed anything yet. We don’t know where you stand, and will not until the other candidates are finished, making it impossible for us to validate whatever nonsense comes out of your mouth. It makes infinitely more sense to have you present your case now, and save some of the more established candidates for the latter days. Lords Derek, Loring, and Nagel all have long, well-documented records of civic duty. Why not rearrange the schedule so they go last?”

  “Well, that’s simply unfair,
” Kobel said. “I was told I would go on the last day. My presentation is not yet ready. I can’t make my claim yet.”

  “We’ve been at this for a year!” Lady Hildreth yelled at him. “If you’re not ready to present a convincing claim now, you never will be.”

  Kobel’s face reddened, and he clenched one fist on the table in front of him. “Why not settle this like I suggested a year ago then? All the candidates in a public tourney. Last one still standing becomes king.”

  Things were getting out of hand. Kobel was a buffoon, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Natarios cleared his throat and rapped his gavel on the table three times in quick succession. “Thank you both, lord and lady. Lord Kobel, I’ll remind you we’re looking for a king, not a warlord. We all know of your prowess on the battlefield. Lady Hildreth, you give us much to consider. Unfortunately, the allotted time is over for new business. We will proceed to Lord Bertram’s claim.”

  “But I haven’t gotten a chance to motion for a vote,” Lady Hildreth objected.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, when perhaps you’ll be more concise with your objections. I won’t allow any of the candidates to be robbed of their allotted time for presenting their claims.”

  Lady Hildreth glared at Natarios, but he made a show of ignoring her ire and turned to Lord Bertram, the candidate scheduled to present his claim today. “My good sir, if you will,” he said, motioning for Lord Bertram to begin.

  • • •

  Makarria started at hearing approaching footsteps and pushed herself to her feet. Please be Caile, she whispered inwardly, but no, it was Senator Emil and Ambassador Mahalath, along with their four legionnaires. So all of this was their doing after all. They’ve come to finish the job.

  Fina stepped forward to bar their path, and Makarria’s eyes fluttered as she began to gather her strength and dream them all to stone or dust or fire. She wasn’t sure, but yet again, before she could decide, she was taken by surprise.