King Of Souls (Book 2) (25 page)

Tara sent instructions along the soul links connecting her pets. She ordered them to slow their pace and take her nearer the obese captain.

“…yes sir. I’ll make sure Lieutenant Purvis receives your orders,” the marine said.

“Ice has the ship trapped not a half-mile off-shore. A drunken blind man could find it,” Redford said.

“If the lieutenant asks for boarding orders?” The soldier said.

“Boarding! We’re not boarding that vessel sergeant. I want a company of archers on deck with fire shot at the ready. As soon as they’re within range, order them to fire at will.”

The sailor saluted. “Yes sir. I’ll tell him right away.”

“One more order sergeant. Have the lieutenant lead with the Glory. She’s the fastest ship we’ve got. You’re dismissed.”

The soldier saluted “Aye aye captain.”

Redford returned the sailors salute. The sailor spun, and hurried toward Ripool’s shipyard.

A hard knot of worry twisted in Tara’s stomach. She ordered her pets to resume their normal pace as she passed through Bawold’s open three-foot thick iron gate. She couldn’t allow Captain Redford’s warship near the Damocles. General Demos and the most elite rangers in Baerin’s military hid in her belly. Left alone with the warship Glory, General Demos could secure victory with a quarter of his men. But Captain Redford had mentioned the Glory leading the attack. How many ships would he send?

Bawold’s gates stood fifty-feet tall standing even with the stronghold’s fortified outer walls. Bawold Stronghold looked ready to withstand either an invading army or a tidal wave. The homes and businesses lining Ripool’s streets appeared tiny under the stronghold’s imposing dominance.

A half-dozen soldiers stood near each of Bawold’s iron doors. Attached to each door, a six-foot handle protruded from a large set of iron gears.

Tara sent tendrils of death mist floating airborne and guided her magic into the nostrils of the guards manning the doors. A few seconds later, she’d collected twelve more pets adding their souls to her increasing power reserve.

Along the courtyard’s inner wall, the dead Porthleven villagers lay stretched out in a neat straight line. Thin white sheets covered the head of each corpse leaving a long line of leather shoes, boots, and bare feet visible.

Archers lined the ramparts high above the courtyard. But, Tara’s magic couldn’t reach them at that distance. She would use her pets to handle the archers.

The soldiers placed Tara in line with Porthleven’s villagers and slid the white sheet over her face covering her from head to toe. When her pets finished stacking the dead, she ordered them to wait near ladders leading to the ramparts.

On the far side of the courtyard, a gangly pimple-faced teenager led a pitch-black stallion through a stable door. He guided the horse past the long line of dead villagers.

In a small stone building near the stables, a wooden door creaked open. A stocky red-haired steward teetered under a bundle of fresh sheets. He stepped through the door and kicked it closed behind him. He signaled for the stable hand. “Darren, come help me with these sheets. They’re about ready to tip over.”

“I can’t.” Darren, the stable hand, fought to keep the horse restrained. “Captain Redford told me to bring around Commander Tyrell’s horse.”

The stallion tossed its head from side to side dragging a wide-eyed Darren with him.

“Easy boy. What’s the matter?” Darren said pulling on the horse’s lead.

The stallion whinnied and shuffled backward from the corpses lining the courtyard wall.

Tara couldn’t stand animals. They always knew her secrets without trying. She’d long ago given up trying to figure out how.

“He’s spooked by all the dead people. What do you think is wrong with him?” The steward shook his heading gaping at the stable hand like he’d lost his last shred of common sense. “And I can’t say that I blame him. I don’t want to go near them either.” The sheets piled high in his arms wavered caught by a gust of wind.

“Just give me a minute,” Darren said calming the stallion enough to lead him past the corpses toward Bawold’s open gates.

Captain Redford caught sight of the stable hand and motioned him past.

The sheets tipped sideways and spilled onto the courtyard’s slushy cobblestones. “Damn.” The teenager muttered under his breath as he knelt beside the muddied sheets. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder and peered around the courtyard.

Tara’s thoughts wrestled over the best way to use the boy as she scanned the courtyard’s bustling interior.

Beyond Bawold’s iron gates, blue light flickered. It moved from the harbor’s entrance along the cobbled path toward Bawold.

Tara recoiled at the soul knight’s presence. She couldn’t let him inside the gates. She might lose half her pets or more in the assault, and General Demos needed her. She needed to act. Black mist curled from her fingertips and seeped beneath the blanket. Tara guided the mist toward the red-haired steward.

Before the mist reached him, he stood piling the sheets high in his arms.

Butterfield, the undertaker, entered Bawold’s courtyard and motioned for the steward. “Christopher, come over her with those sheets.”

“Yes sir.” The steward hustled toward Butterfield.

Tara's death mist curled skyward disappearing into the morning breeze.

The soul knight’s spirit shield crested the hill closing within fifty yards of the gate.

Tara lurched upright and pushed away the thin sheet covering her. She took control of a dozen pets waiting by the ladders and ordered them to attack the archers lining the ramparts.

Butterfield’s jaw dropped as he gaped at Tara. His face drained of color, and he staggered backward. He stumbled over Christopher, the red-haired steward, carrying the high stacked sheets. Butterfield and Christopher collapsed in a twisted mess of arms and legs. The stacked sheets flew upward scattering in the wind.

Tara’s head snapped toward the soldiers manning the levers beside Bawold’s open gates. She ordered them to close and bar the doors.

The soldiers reacted with inhuman speed cranking the levers far faster than ordinary men.

Tara tugged on the soul strings of the dead lining the courtyard’s wall and commanded them to rise.

The white sheets marking the dead slipped downward as Porthleven’s villagers rose one by one.

Tyrell glared at Redford screaming as bright blue light flashed in his palm, and he charged the closing gates.

Redford’s expression turned stone cold. He stood motionless as the dead villagers turn on the living inside the impenetrable stronghold.

Tara stared into the soul knight’s haunting green eyes, and a cold shiver ran along her spine. The light shining from his soul almost blinded her, and she turned her gaze away.

Tyrell hurled a bright blue orb as the iron doors slammed shut with a clang of finality. Tara’s soldiers dropped a five-hundred pound solid steel bar into iron slats mounted on either side of the gate. A booming echo bounced from the courtyard’s stone walls, and the battle for Bawold raged.

The First Tree

Outside a small rocky cave, somewhere deep inside Dragon’s Peak, the rumbling stopped.

Ronan found himself face down in a pitch-black room. He pulled in short ragged breaths and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. To his amazement, he found his four limbs intact and uninjured. He twisted his body, sat on his rear-end, and tried to get his bearings.

A shroud of darkness enveloped whatever space the avalanche had left untouched. But Ronan had, somehow, found his way beyond the ice flows into the peak’s inner workings.

Beneath him, cold damp water left his pants soaking. He touched the earth and felt half-frozen mud between his fingertips. Ronan’s thoughts turned to Rika and Moira, and his shoulders sagged. How many lives would he leave stranded on this mountain?

Inside the dark space a soft scratching sound broke the silence.

A sharp chill streaked along Ronan’s spine, and his head snapped up while he perked up his ears. He channeled spirit magic through his body and extended his palm holding a bright blue orb of pure white light before him.

Black jagged rock appeared in a rough circular chamber broken only by a wall of ice blocking the cave’s small entrance.

Ronan glanced to his left and right, and found himself alone. He stood and stared upward.

Long pointed stalactites hung from the cave’s rough ceiling. Rivulets of ice-melt flowed from the rock leaving a muddy trail under Ronan’s feet. But, nothing sinister lurked overhead.

Behind Ronan, the scratching noise came again.

Ronan whirled and readied a spirit attack, but found only an empty stretch of dark rocky wall before him.

A high-pitched growling noise accompanied the scratching.

Ronan’s gaze drifted lower toward the base of the cave’s rear wall.

A white shaggy pint-sized ball of fluff smudged with brown mud ducked behind a rock.

Tension drained from Ronan’s muscles, and he cocked his head staring at the tiny creature.

The shaggy hair around its eyes moved as it blinked. The ball of fur caught Ronan’s gaze and raised its lip baring a set of tiny sharp white teeth. A pair of miniature tusks protruded from its fur just below its mouth.

A smile slid across Ronan’s face, and he knelt a few feet from the ice bear cub. “It’s okay girl. I’m not going to hurt you.” He pressed a weak spirit orb into a crevice half-way up the cave wall and extended his hand toward the ball of fur.

The bear’s fur bristled as she arched her back and retreated deeper behind the rock’s murky shadows.

Ronan’s stomach sank as a sick realization hit him. The bear cub’s mother died minutes earlier outside on the ice shelf. He’d played a hand in making this cub an orphan.

As her mother had done for Moira earlier that day, the bear cub stretched on her side laying across the mud. Her tiny chin flopped against the ground, and she peered up at Ronan blinking.

Ronan wanted to comfort the cub, but he didn’t want to scare her either. He reached for the leather pouch strapped to his belt and opened the flap. Beside Moira’s dragon statuette, he fingered a piece of dried venison he’d saved from lunch. “Here’s a peace offering girl. I’m sorry for what happened.” He tossed the jerky morsel, and it landed a few inches from the cub’s outstretched paws.

Licking her lips, the ice bear’s gaze flickered between Ronan and the jerky strip laying near her feet.

“I’m not going to take it from you. It’s yours. I promise.”

With a last glance toward Ronan, the cub’s head snapped forward, and she devoured the jerky in a single gulp.

Ronan’s eyes widened in surprise. “I guess you were hungry then?”

The bear scooted back to her spot behind the rock and rested her head flat on the mud staring at Ronan through clear blue eyes.

Ronan pushed his legs out in front of him, sat, and leaned against the cave wall near the bear cub. He scanned the small cave and folded his arms before looking down at the bear. “I’ve no idea how we’re getting out of here. What about you?”

The bear cub’s pink tongue extended, and she licked a black button nose buried under a mound of white fluff.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Ronan stood, crossed the cave, and settled his palms against an ice boulder wedged in the cave’s sealed entrance. He channeled a fraction of his power increasing his strength and pushed against the ice wall. It didn’t budge. With his sheba blade, he might carve a path through the ice, but he couldn’t risk a cave in. The falling ice would smash him like a bug. He leaned against the ice wall and his gazed drifted upward.

The bear cub mustered courage enough to waddle out from her hiding place. She padded across the muddy cave floor and lapped at a pool of freshwater beneath a dripping stalactite.

A grin spread across Ronan’s face. “That water’s coming from somewhere, right girl?” Ronan stood beside the puddle and gazed upward tracking the water stream backwards.

The water dripping from the stalactite crossed a patch of uneven rock. It ended inside a small inch-wide crack near the ceiling’s peak.

Ronan channeled spirit and flicked his wrist toward the bear. A clear spirit shield warped and circled the bear before vanishing to the naked eye.

The bear leaped craning its neck from side to side before unleashing a high-pitched growl at an invisible enemy.

Ronan motioned for the bear cub and focused on the inch-wide ceiling crack. “Relax. I don’t want to see you hurt. Come over here.” He stepped backward until he stood flush against the cave’s rear wall.

The bear cub tilted her head and watched Ronan with a look of curiosity.

“Come on girl. I can’t do this with you sitting there.”

The ice bear padded across the cave and curled behind Ronan’s leg before settling between his leather boots.

Ronan gave a brief nod. “Thank you. I feel much better now.” He channeled spirit and launched a small bright orb of energy toward the water source.

The bear cub never flinched while dark rubble rattled from the ceiling before piling in a small heap atop the muddy cave floor.