Soul Forge

by Richard Stephens

  Rook winced. His attempts to slow his headlong collision with Helleden’s minions failed. The aura cocoon impelled him forward. Even if he sidestepped the demons, the prospect of running into the black wall didn’t seem like a good idea.

  Evil grins twitched the corners of the demons’ mouths. They brought their weapons to bear and jabbed at him.

  Rook’s feet slipped from underneath him. Hitting the ground hard, he slid below the jagged barbs and slammed into the wall.

  A deafening concussion consumed his being. The wall exploded outward, covering him in black ash.

  Into Hell but Never Through

  Silurian and Alhena spent the next two days waiting for Seafarer’s return. Sitting high above the world, braving the cold mountain air did wonders to help their bodies recover from the wounds inflicted by the wolves.

  Silurian had just finished shaving with Soulbiter and was wiping the blade when the pool of water closest to their camp bubbled and frothed, announcing Seafarer’s arrival.

  Seafarer pulled himself from the frigid water and rose upon his hind legs. Reaching the fireside, he dropped onto his stomach, his face bleary and fatigued.

  Silurian slid Soulbiter into its sheath and jammed it into his belt. “We were wondering whether you were coming back.”

  Seafarer’s great head shook slightly. “I wondered that myself.”

  Silurian looked at him with concern. “Can we offer you anything to eat?”

  “I’m in no mood to eat.”

  “What’s happened?”

  When Seafarer responded, Silurian and Alhena had to lean in close to hear.

  “Helleden attacked.”

  Puzzled, Silurian looked at Alhena. This wasn’t a revelation. It was why they were here in the first place.

  “Saros is dead.”

  Their heads snapped back.

  “The Innerworld is no more.”

  “The Forbidden Swamp?” Silurian mouthed.

  “Destroyed. Obliterated. Gone. A huge part of it, at least.” Seafarer looked away. “Everything. Everyone. Dead.”

  A cold dread shot through Silurian.

  Seafarer’s massive head swung toward them. “I don’t know how Helleden did it. The destruction is widespread. Maybe all the way to the Undying Wall.”

  A knot turned Silurian’s stomach.

  “Saros believed Helleden accomplished this without ever setting foot within the Innerworld. In fact, Saros believed Helleden did it from his encampment in the Altirius Mountains.

  “That being said, there may be a bit of good news. When I left Saros to his fate, Rook Bowman was on his way out of the destruction zone. I have no way of knowing for sure, but he should have made it out before the sky fell in.”

  “Rook is still alive?”

  “I truly hope so, for everyone’s sake. If he survived, he’s on his way to Madrigail Bay to meet up with you.” Seafarer’s eyes fell on Silurian.

  “Madrigail Bay? That’s half way across the world.”

  “Madrigail Bay?” Alhena echoed. “I don’t speak for the Chamber, but I’m sure they have other plans for Silurian.”

  “Those were Saros’ instructions. He dispatched his disciple to find you at the seaport,” Seafarer said. “But first, of course, the Chamber must be informed. Then you must find your way to the lost Shrine of Saint Carmichael and retrieve the Sacred Sword Voil—your sword, before you head west.”

  Silurian recalled the tale of the queen’s demise. “Wouldn’t it be better if Rook grabbed the sword? He’ll pass right by it.”

  Alhena shook his head. “Only one with royal blood may place the sword within its sheath. Or an anointed member of the king’s inner circle. I imagine the same rule applies to anyone wishing to withdraw the sword. Anyone else might ruin the blade.”

  Seafarer nodded his great head.

  “Correct me if I have misunderstood something,” Silurian said, turning to Alhena. “I thought that when Jarr-nash sheathed the sword, its power was spent?”

  “Aye, to the best of my knowledge, that is what High Bishop Uzziah inferred.”

  “So, what’s the point of retrieving it? It’s a fine blade certainly, but people die as we speak. I fail to see how wasting time to recover it benefits our cause? For all we know, someone has already stolen it.”

  Seafarer cleared his throat. “Saros claimed the sword still lies beneath the chapel ruins.” The reptilian tried to shrug. “Your bishop is right about the blade, but Saros told me of a way you might recapture its enchantment.”

  Silurian frowned. “Recapture its enchantment? Why not use any blade?”

  “No other blade is capable of containing the power you will be attempting to collar.”

  “Why? Where am I going?”

  “Not so fast, my friend. Getting there will not be easy. I argued with Saros about this very point, but with his disciple’s assistance, he claimed it possible. I’m still not convinced that this is our best course of action but after witnessing the power at Helleden’s command, I fear our options are running out.”

  Seafarer’s voice softened, “Saros implored I tell you this. If for any reason you and Rook become separated, or one of you should die, our hope will die with you.”

  Silurian knitted his eyebrows.

  “In order to re-establish the sword’s ancient properties, it must be transported far across the Niad Ocean. In fact, it must be taken, how do I say this? Below, the ocean.”

  Alhena’s features mirrored Silurian’s concern.

  “You will travel to a land known as the Under Realm. The land Helleden Misenthorpe calls home. Once there, you must locate a place Saros referred to as Soul Forge. A place of great power. From this forge flows a mystical river. It is in this river that you must immerse your blade.”

  Seafarer noted their skepticism. “Oh, it can be done. Rumour has it that many have made the transition to the Under Realm, but there is a minor detail I should bring to your attention. You may have heard this old saying, ‘Into hell, but never through.’” He swallowed. “As far as I know, no one has ever come back.”

  Farriers

  Leaving the Undying Wall behind, Alhena and Silurian descended the last league of the mountain trail in silence. From their vantage point high above the treetops below, Redfire Path levelled out to be swallowed by the Central Woodland.

  Silurian set a good pace even though his head ached like the mountain had fallen upon it. He sure could use a nip, but his liquor supply was exhausted. His dry mouth felt like it was full of sand.

  Crusted blood on his right temple held fast a few strands of hair, but his concern lay with Alhena who winced with every other step.

  “We should stop,” Silurian suggested, wiping sweat from his brow. “You look like you’re suffering.”

  “We have already lost too much time. The full moon passed us by up in the pass meaning that we have missed the scheduled meeting of the Chamber of the Wise,” Alhena said through a tight smile. “I am hopeful that all will be forgiven when I return with the famous, Silurian Mintaka.”

  Silurian rolled his eyes. “Ya, real famous.”

  Beneath the Central Woodland canopy of soaring hardwoods, Redfire Path consisted of spongy, well-trodden black soil, soft beneath their boots. Aside from the trail itself, the forest floor appeared impassible, cluttered with brush both living and dead—entangled amongst itself in such a way that only small animals or a raging forest fire might penetrate.

  The sun, far to the west, fell behind the Spine as they trudged into gloomy twilight, the second day out of the Undying Mountain Pools and their strange encounter with Seafarer. They travelled well into the night hoping to make up lost time. It was past high moon when they stopped.

  Silurian got little rest. His hands shook for no apparent reason as he dwelled on the fact that he hadn’t had a sip of liquor all day. Nausea gripped his stomach. He wasn’t sure whether that was a result of a lack of food, lack of Dragonbane, or his worry about Rook’s safety and the eventuality of
being reunited with him.

  When he finally dropped off, a strange dream troubled his sleep. He faced-off against Seafarer, high above the world, upon a ten-foot slab of rock suspended thousands of feet above the Undying Wall. The reptile’s eyes blazed red.

  Silurian brandished the Sacred Sword Voil, the rune-covered blade shrouded in its former blue hue.

  Seafarer’s eyes shone brighter. Rays of red energy burst forth from the reptile’s glare and blasted Silurian from the ledge.

  He tumbled through the air, his sword spiraling out of control just beyond his reach. The wind rushed by him. Looking up, the platform never got any smaller. He fell and fell, but the world below never got any closer. Suspended high in the air, above the Undying Wall’s jagged peaks, he fell for eternity.

  Alhena opened his eyes the next morning to discover Silurian had left. He wondered aloud, “Now where do you suppose he’s gotten to?”

  Someone approached from the direction of distant Gritian—the muffled sound of snapping twigs came from the left of the trail. Early morning mist shrouded the person’s approach.

  As he waited, unconcerned, Alhena thought it strange that they hadn’t seen anyone on the road since setting out.

  Beside him, a small fire crackled—Silurian had been up early. Warming his hands above the meagre fire, the silhouette emerged from the mist.

  “Welcome,” Silurian offered, dropping branches by the fire. “Nice of you to finally join me.”

  Alhena ignored the barb. He rummaged through his sack. “I am out of food.”

  Silurian grunted, building the fire up. “Me too. I gathered us some acorns. Bitter as hell, but—”

  “You’ve eaten?”

  “Aye. Help yourself.”

  Alhena glanced around. Dawn must’ve just broken before he had awoken. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Not well.”

  Redfire Path left the Central Woodland behind at midday in favour of the Gritian Hills—a rolling scrubland devoid of many trees.

  With nary a wisp of cloud in the sky, it didn’t take long for them to consume their dwindling water supply. As the sun dropped into the western sky they crossed a stone bridge in serious disrepair, spanning a sizable creek.

  They drank their fill and washed the accumulated road grime from their hands and faces. Refilling their water skins, they set off with a renewed energy in their step.

  Alhena attempted to make casual conversation, but Silurian felt more irritable than normal. He grunted and snarled until Alhena got the hint.

  Cresting a hilltop, they came across a wall of loosely placed stones bordering a field on the western edge of the trail. The first sign of human habitation in almost a fortnight.

  Far off in the field, several cows stood about a water hole, beneath a large stand of trees. In the distance beyond, a small building dotted the horizon.

  Alhena shielded his eyes and pointed. “That is where we shall eat.”

  At once, Silurian’s anxiety rose. There would be people in that house. He swallowed. Panic gripped him.

  “Are you okay?” Alhena’s voice made him jump.

  “Huh? Uh, ya, I’ll be fine.” He inhaled deeply several times.

  Alhena gave him a forced smile. “It will be okay. They are just ordinary people. We can stay here until you are ready.”

  Silurian appreciated the fact that Alhena understood his anxiety. Taking one last big breath, he said, “Okay, I’m good. I can do this.”

  By the time they approached the cabin, the sun sat like a crimson dome upon the pastureland beyond the farmhouse.

  Cords of wood, chopped and neatly stacked, surrounded three sides of a two-story log cabin, its windows fitted with open shutters.

  Smoke billowed from a lone chimney, stringing the cabin to the darkening sky. Outside the only door, a shirtless man about Silurian’s age split wood with a large axe. Sweat dripped from his nose as he watched their approach.

  With one last mighty chop and a loud crack, wood splintered in all directions. The farmer hoisted the axe to his shoulder and spat on the ground. “Welcome, strangers. What can I do for you?”

  Both men stopped out of axe swinging range. Alhena took a hesitant step forward. “Please pardon our trespass. We have travelled a long way and are in desperate need of food. May we impose upon your family a good meal in return for our humble services? Perhaps help you chop your winter wood?”

  The farmer mulled over the offer, but instead of answering Alhena, he extended his dirty hand to Silurian. “Janus Farrier, blacksmith and cattle rancher. You two look like you could set into a good meal.”

  Silurian accepted the callused hand with a nod, and introduced himself, “Silurian.” He paused, afraid of the reaction his last name might evoke. “Silurian Mintaka.”

  Janus smiled, the name not registering. “Welcome, Mr. Mintaka.” He then offered his hand to Alhena, a wary look on his face.

  Alhena accepted the farmer’s hand. “Alhena Sirrus. Senior messenger to the Chamber of the Wise.”

  Janus nodded, his eyes growing wide. “Aye, I know you. At least my boys and I have seen you about up in Gritian. One never forgets seeing a wizard.”

  Silurian caught Alhena’s attention and raised his eyebrows.

  Alhena cleared his throat. “Um, yes. I assure you Janus, I am not a wizard.”

  “Hah!” Janus blurted out. He swung his axe into the large chopping block. “Whatever you say Mr. Sirrus. You can’t fool me, but please, do come in. Asa is preparing a hearty meal. She’ll be tickled to have guests.”

  He opened the door, revealing a cluttered, one roomed interior, its walls adorned with bad artwork. “Living way out here, we don’t get many guests. Tonight will be a real treat for the family. Wait ‘til you meet my boys. They’re off in the fields tending…” His voice disappeared into the dimly lit hut.

  They were joined for supper by Janus’ boys. Phellus, the youngest, an aspiring artist according to Asa, Loquax, the middle son and tallest, and Bregens, the huskiest, who had just returned from Gritian after completing his training in the Gritian militia.

  After a delicious meal of steak and vegetables, the men sat around the large oak table sipping wine, while Asa busied herself cleaning up after the big meal.

  Janus nodded toward his youngest son, his gaze taking in the entire cabin. “Phellus here is quite the budding artist, don’tcha reckon?”

  Silurian didn’t respond.

  Alhena looked at the pictures hung about the cabin and lied, “Aye, he is, uh, talented.”

  Janus’ chest puffed out. A huge smile split his rugged complexion. “That he is. We’re proud of him, indeed.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed.

  “So, what brings you two this way?” Janus asked, his gaze upon Silurian’s tooled scabbard propped up by the door.

  Alhena looked to Silurian, who shrugged back.

  Alhena cleared his throat. “Have you not heard of the threat to Zephyr?”

  “Helleden? Aye, Bregens told us last night.” Janus said. “He is to return to Gritian in the morning to begin active duty.”

  Alhena noticed Asa stiffen as she worked away at the kitchen counter.

  “Is it true, Master Alhena?” Janus asked. “I thought the sorcerer dead?”

  “As did I when I drove my sword through his heart,” Silurian muttered, but no one paid him any notice.

  Alhena shook his head, more because he saw Silurian indulging in the wine a little too heavily. He sighed and turned his attention on Janus. “Alas, he is not. Her majesty believed that by returning the Sacred Sword Voil to the Shrine of Saint Carmichael, the threat would be vanquished for good. It seems she was mistaken.”

  Asa wandered over to stand behind her husband and placed her hands upon his shoulders. “Sacred Sword what?”

  Alhena gave her a sympathetic smile. The rural people were always the last to know. “Voil. It is a long story. Suffice it to say, Queen Quarrnaine gave her life to rid Zephyr of Helleden, and yet, he
re he is. Again.”

  The Farrier family placed their left hand over their heart and said together, “May the gods bless her.”

  Quiet settled over the hut as the Farriers digested the news. Finally, Janus said, “This is dire news indeed. Is there naught we can do?”

  “Your family has already been more than helpful. If we can impose upon you in the morning to borrow two of your mounts.”

  Without hesitation, Janus replied, “By all means. Tell us when you wish to be away and the boys will have them ready.”

  “First light will be fine. The Chamber will be in your debt for allowing me to deliver my renowned companion here as quickly as possible.”

  All eyes followed Alhena’s.

  “It is obvious, Janus, that you and your family are unaware who sups at your table tonight.”

  The Farriers looked at each other, shaking their heads.

  Alhena smiled. The Farriers had no inclination of who Silurian was. They should have. The Battle of Lugubrius stood out as one of the pivotal victories in Zephyr’s storied history.

  “Before you sits a member of the Group of Five.”

  Janus knit his brows.

  “Former king’s champion.”

  The men sat up straighter and comprehension transformed Bregens consternation to awe.

  “The Liberator of Zephyr.”

  Bregens nodded with enthusiasm. “Silurian Mintaka. Of course!”

  Janus’ face dropped.

  Meeting his stare straight on, Alhena wasn’t sure whether he saw hope or despair registered in Janus’ eyes.

  Gritian