Soulbreaker (24 page)

3
1

I
n the Dreadwood

Contrary to its name, the Dreadwood was a sprawling wonderland. On another day Ainslen might have stared in awe at the ice that hung like crystal spearheads and the hoarfrost that covered the trunks and branches like moss and wreathed the trees in white. But not today. Today he had no time for niceties. The stop at the old mines had proven fruitless, the trackers stating that the rebels had abandoned them days ago. The remaining Consortium members, and whatever dregs they took with them, could be anywhere by now.

“You should arrive in Gartos later this evening,” he said to Terestere. “I will give you a day to talk some sense into the Stonelords. In two days, if I still have not received word that they have come to terms, then tell them to look to Rion when Mandrigal sets on the third day.”

She frowned at him. “If that is your wish.”

“It is, ” Ainslen said. “The meeting should take place in Brenn Tower. Its highest balcony or windows should provide a good view. Until we meet again, my sweet.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, taking in a deep breath of her scent. After a final hug, he climbed down from the ereskar, flicking a finger over his nose at the animal’s stench. “Take good care of your queen.” He nodded to the lieutenant of Terestere’s Blade contingent. The man bowed. Ainslen watched as the ereskar galloped away before he turned toward the forest.

Seligula waited at the tree line, the shaved sides of his head oiled to a sheen, sharp blue eyes tracking the Blades behind the king. He was dressed in his customary pale leather and a black and tan lida hide cloak. His long black braid hung to his waist near the hilt of a sheathed dagger. Two Farlanders accompanied him: an Egini and a Jophite. No soul emanated from the men.

“Your Majesty, why risk discovery by the Thelusian scouts when I could have come to you?” Seligula’s voice carried less of a musical lilt than most Farlanders.

“I’m certain none saw us. Not only did we come over the Whetstone Mountains, but I also had the main force of my army head north along the Empire Road toward Melanil, bearing my banners as if I were among them. Our enemy’s focus will be there.”

“Still, I could have met you, rather than see you take any risk whatsoever.”

“A man who risks nothing gains nothing, Warmaster Seligula.”

The Farlander froze for a heartbeat before he said, “Indeed.”

“Why is it that you hid your position from me?” Ainslen stopped before the Farlander. An odious mix of perfume and old death wafted from Seligula, causing the king to grimace before he caught himself.

“I did not hide it. I gave you my position as it would be in terms of your own people. Your generals lead your armies, do they not?” Seligula asked. The king nodded. “Then that is the closest comparison that a Warmaster has in your world.”

“It’s my understanding that you do more than that. You might as well be a prince.”

“But a prince I am not.”

Ainslen eyed the two guards who were obviously on alert. “We need some privacy.”

Seligula waved his hand. “Show the Blades adequate accommodations. Have the handlers take the ereskars to join the others.” The guards departed with the Blades following. In single file, the ereskars entered the forest through a path concealed by a meld that imitated snowy mounds. “So, what is it you wish to discuss?” Seligula turned with his hands clasped behind his back and strode into the woods, boots crunching through snow.

“The Kargoshi, for starters,” Ainslen said, nose wrinkled.

The Warmaster stopped. King Cardiff tensed, but continued walking as if his statement had been an ordinary one. He left his back open to see if Seligula would strike. When nothing happened, Ainslen faced the Warmaster.

“I am sorry for what happened,” Seligula said, grimacing. “It shames me.”

“So you knew of it?”

“Only after the attack. My rivals managed to slip a few of their warriors among mine.” The words rang with truth.

“Why didn’t you tell me of these Kargoshi and of your troubles at home?”

“Some things are best kept secret.” Seligula set off once more. “And I saw your lust for Dracodar soul. Temptation drives men to make bad decisions. As for my issues in Jiantona, they are a concern for Jiantonese only.”

The king smiled inwardly at Seligula’s frankness. In truth, he might have made a move against the Farlanders if he’d known. He might still consider it, but well after he’d achieved his new goals. He also understood Seligula’s reluctance to reveal Farlander business, but it told him there might be something to be used. In time he would discover it. “How do you plan to deal with these traitors?”

Seligula shrugged. “In the same method that they have come to be in our service in the first place. I sent word to Jiantona with a list of the Kargoshi here. Their families will die should any one of them betray me. The same fate suffered by the ones that attacked you.”

The king found himself nodding his approval. “How many of them were or are in Kasandar?”

“A dozen. Three now dead, by all accounts.”

“How?”

“Besides the one killed by your man, Sorinya, two chased after Consortium members but did not return from the Undertow. Those two I trained myself. They would not have let their guard down as the other two did against Sorinya.” He said the name with a measure of scorn. “This leads me to believe they were killed by Dracodar or Aladar.”

Tharkensen.
The name echoed in Ainslen’s head. Thinking of the man made the king anticipate Shaz’s confirmation upon his return. “I might have a way to capture this killer, but we can discuss it after dealing with the matter at hand.”

“That sounds agreeable, as I hate losing any Dracodar, regardless of their allegiance,” Seligula said. “There are precious few that can become Kargoshi as it is.” That was good news to Ainslen, as it meant limits, and limits could be exploited.

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.

3
2

D
ebt of Blood

‘L
ook 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 away 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.