The Soul Forge (10 page)

It was only then he remembered the letter shoved into his shirt. He drew is hastily, looking at
the small print that was almost unnaturally neat.

To my dearest daughter,

I know this might seem strange, but if all has gone as I hope, you are reading this letter. Whoever has taken it to you must have finally taken pity on an old father, and for that I am thankful. I wish I could be there to raise you, as was my vow when your mother and I married, but this has been prevented. I would have you know why, in hopes that you can undo what has been done.

Your
mother’s new husband was a leader in the Magi War. He commanded the 44
th
Legion in the final days, as the battle drew to its fierce conclusion. His command was unquestioned and he was quite the strategist, one of our best. He was also cruel and uncaring, exhausting troops and sacrificing lives needlessly.

It was I who stepped forward in an attempt to
stop the bloodshed. But when I did, he sent me to the front lines to treat the wounded there. Bound by duty, I did as he commanded with our issues unresolved. The battle was won, then the war, but something happened that I had no knowledge of. Orano had delivered the notice that I had died, and had taken my wife as his own, and you, my daughter.

I was powerless to stop this from happening, but I am powerless no longer.
With this letter in your hands, we have a friend. It has taken many long years, and I have rewritten this letter so many times, but finally it seems someone has finally decided to help. When you finish reading this letter, dear, I want you to give it back to the messenger and ask them to read it. If they were good enough to deliver it, then they, by the will of the Gods, may be good enough to help.

Know that I love you, my dear, and I will do whatever I can to hold you in my arms again.

Your father.

Thomas got to the end of the letter and looked at Zach, who was reading over his shoulder. Zach returned his glance, and both men nodded to each other. Together, they turned and walked towards Morando’s living quarters. Morando’s assumption had been correct; Thomas was more than willing to help. And now, they knew exactly how to help the fallen elf.

Thomas rapped on the door, and it was answered almost immediately by Morando. He didn’t look surprised in the least at their appearance.

“You’ve read it?” was his first question. Thomas nodded with a slight smile. “So you’ve come to help?”

Thomas nodded again, his smile only growing wider.

Morando moved aside, spreading his arms to welcome them.
Thomas and Zach walked in, surveying the area with interest. Books lined the walls, and there was room for little else. Only a small bed and fireplace were different than the tomes lining the walls. It took Thomas a few moments to realize that there was a table there too, hidden by the books. It was a very quaint living space.

“We know what to do,” T
homas said, looking through the different titles and feeling slightly pleased that he had read many of them.

“You do?” Morando said, moving next to him. Zach stared into the fire, as if lost in its warmth.

“Yep,” Thomas replied, turning to look the elf in the eye, “we need proof that Orano was the one who told these people you were dead.”

“Proof?”
Morando repeated, confused, “as in an order?”

“Something like that,”
Zach interjected, joining them at the shelves, “or the notice of your death.”

Thomas nodded. He hadn’t thought of that.

“We need papers that prove he sent you to die, and then he forged your death notice,” Thomas said, “and if we can prove it, then we can get your family back.”

Morando nodded, deep in thought. He crossed his arms and started to pace the small living space, mumbling to himself.
Thomas and Zach watched, waiting for a clue that would lead them to their next destination.

“Of course,” Morando said only a minute later,
a smile lighting up his pale features. “The logbook.”

“
The what now?” Zach asked. Thomas was no less confused.

“The logbook,” Morando explained, “is the duty log for the commanders in the field. It is used to keep track of any and all orders given, to show their effectiveness on the battlefield.”

“I’m not sure that’s gonna help us,” Thomas said, “he probably didn’t write the truth in his.”

“That’s the best part,” Morando said, “he wasn’t the keeper of the logbook.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows, feeling truly excited for the first time all day. “So we find the logbook keeper, and we get his copies of the orders.”

“It’s a start, but it will not be enough. Just because he ordered me to the front lines doesn’t mean he faked my death there. It just reflects negatively on his command.
We’ll need more proof.”

Thomas nodded, popping his neck. “One thing at a time,” he said, “we find the logbook,
and then we find the death notice. There should be a copy of it somewhere.”

Morando nodded. “I have a friend in the archives. Perhaps a copy will be there.”

“Well then, lead us to where the logbook keeper is living, and we’d be happy to convince him to let us see it.”

Morando nodded again, excited and elated in equal measure.
Finally, he could make some headway.

“What about the dwarves?”

Zach asked the question the moment they exited Morando’s house, and Thomas had no answer for him. He could understand the unspoken point, that time was of the essence.

But when he stopped and thought about the little girl and the tears she was hiding, he found that h
is decision couldn’t go any other way.

“We handle this first,
then we go and see the dwarves.”

Zach looked unsure, but he didn’t voice any doubts.
He didn’t need to, because Thomas already had them. His head bowed as his thoughts battled with each other, but he didn’t have the time to waste second guessing his decisions.

“Lead on, Morando,” Thomas said to the elf, and together the three of them headed towards the unk
nown.

The trio walked the stone path as darkness fell, weaving between buildings into the heart of Verdonti. As twilight burned the houses auburn, Thomas felt the hairs on the back of his head stand up. He looked around, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather creep up his spine.

“Gentlemen,” Thomas whispered, “do y’all get the feeling we’re being watched?”

Neither man turned or made any move that would tell they had heard him, but Morando’s shoulders relaxed and Zach’s scrunched up. Both of them were preparing for battle. Thomas gripped the sheath of the General’s sword, stretching the muscles in his hand.

“How much further to go?”
Thomas whispered.

“Not far. The Keeper’s hut is just over that rise
,” Morando answered. The chill spread from his spine and moved to his arms and legs, and Thomas knew they were just out of time.

“Run!” he shouted, and as one the three sprinted into the cover of the trees.
Almost immediately, he heard other voices take up the call, and Thomas snuck a quick look back to check on their situation. It wasn’t positive.

At least five people were giving chase, all dressed in black with their faces covered.
There could have been more hiding out of sight, Thomas couldn’t know. All he could do was put his head down and run.

“There!” Morando yelled as the Keeper’s hut came into view.
All Thomas had time to note was that it seemed rather quaint for someone of such esteem before the sound of pounding footsteps sounded closer. He turned back once more to see that their pursuers had closed the gap between them. He faced front again and ran all the harder, but he knew they weren’t going to make it.

Two men appeared in front of the doorway, barring their entrance.
The trio came to a stop, standing back to back to back and staring down their pursuers.

“You will come with us,” a cold voice sneered.

“Now why would we do that?” Thomas replied, hand on the hilt of the sword.

“Because if you refuse, then we will have no choice but to take you in by force.”

Thomas couldn’t think of a clever reply to that, so he simply drew Chromwell’s sword in response.

“Now gentlemen, we can resolve this peacefully. No one has to get hurt,” Morando said, his voice soothing.

“Orders are orders, war hero,” was the response, “
you should know this better than anyone.”

Morando looked as if the black-clad person had already struck him
, and Thomas couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at them both.

“What’s he talking about, Morando?” Zach asked, but Morando didn’t appear capable of making any response.

“Not important right now,” Thomas said, seeking to shift the conversation to safer waters. “We need to get to the Keeper.”

“This will be your last warning,” the cold voice said, inching closer. You will surrender to us, or you will be taken by force.”

Thomas gulped, holding the blade with both hands before remembering the shield and securing it to his opposite arm. Gods, was he not a warrior. If their assailants were better trained than puppies Thomas was going to be completely useless.

“Does anybody have a plan?” Thomas mumbled, but only mumbles sounded in response. Their opposition closed in on them, and Thomas raised his shield to mount what he knew was an untenable defense.
Weapons were drawn, daggers that were a foot long and curved blades with wicked serrated edges. Thomas clutched the General’s blade in a tight grip, feeling the handle start to get slick from his sweat.

“What is going on here?!”

It was not a question but a command posing for effect.
All of them halted in their tracks, wondering if they were now in even more trouble. But as the shout ripped through the woods, the five or six black-clad attackers suddenly turned and bolted, disappearing into the darkness of the encroaching night.

Thomas turned to face the voice’s owner and thank him for his timely interference when a fist was shoved none too gently into his face.
Pain sparked in his left cheek as his head snapped back, and the world swam around him for a moment as he tried to focus.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get for holding that sword that way. Shameful. Loosen your grip so you don’t break your fingers!”

The voice was old, almost ancient.
Thomas rubbed his cheek, and was taken by surprise when he saw his assailant was an elf that was almost comically small. Shorter by him than more than a head, Thomas at first thought wanted to laugh. But the sting in his left cheek quickly removed the urge.

“Who the blazes are you?”
Thomas didn’t ask as much as shout.

“Oh don’t be such a child. It was only a stinger.
Morando, who are these untrained fools?”

“These are humans who have come to help me reclaim my family,” Morando said, slowly pronouncing every syllable. “Thomas, Zach,” he said much quicker, “this is the Keeper of the Tomes.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Thomas said as he finally rubbed most of the pain away.

“Yeah… a pleasure,” Zach chimed in with a raised eyebrow to Thomas. Thomas could only shrug in response.

“Help you with your family?” the Keeper asked, ignoring the humans completely, “how can they do that?”

“If we can prove Ora
no ordered my death and then faked the notice, we can get his marriage to my wife annulled,” Morando explained.

“WHAT?!”

The shout was enough to deafen Thomas, and now he had to rub the pain out of his ears. The Keeper seemed beside himself at the news.

“All this time we could have achieved this? Four years ago we could have rectified this?!
FOUR YEARS?!”

Thomas and Zach both backed away, but Morando said and did nothing. A clear sadness had entered his eyes,
the only sign the taller elf gave that he was present in the conversation.

“Four years of trying to exploit a loophole! Four years of
being told elven law was absolute! And now, now we find out there was such a simple way?!”

The old elf’s shouting was starting to attract attention, Thomas was sure of it. But every time he tried to recommend they have this conversation inside, the Keeper pretended not to hear him – or he really couldn’t over the sound of his own rage – and just kept shouting.

After what felt like hours, the Keeper finally calmed enough to allow them entry into his home. The moment Thomas’ feet crossed the threshold, he had to hold back a gasp of wonder.

He had thought Morando’s home had housed a lot of books, but it was nothing compared to the masses of tomes lining every available surface.
The books Thomas had read could have fit on one shelf of the library that was the Keeper’s home.

“You sure read a lot,” Thomas said before he could stop himself.
The Keeper looked back at him and gave what may have been a smile. Thomas almost smiled back, somewhat elated that the Keeper didn’t outright hate him.

Then he received a smack in the face by a book, and his opinion quickly changed.
On reflex he caught the book before it hit the ground, and the weight of it made his arms tired.

“Ow! What was that for?” Thomas yelped. At least he had managed to turn the other cheek this time.

“Read it,” the Keeper snapped. Thomas looked down at the book in his hands. The title was written in elvish, which of course Thomas couldn’t read, but as he opened the pages he saw that everything was diagramed. From what he could tell, the book was a fencing manual.

“You want me to learn fencing?” Thomas asked, though he immediately regretted the question
.

“Of course I do, why else would I have thrown the book?” the Keeper replied, making Thomas cringe.
He had walked into that one.

“I can’t just learn from reading a book…” Thomas said, “not that I object to reading, it’s just… I don’t have a lot of time to read this whole thing…”

“You will not read the whole thing. You and the other blundering ape will study under my tutelage, and we will make you proficient in swordsmanship before you exit Verdonti. That way, you will survive the bandits and the animals out there.”

Thomas gave a small, sad laugh that only succeeded in making him sad. “I wish that was our only problem.”

The Keeper looked back even as he tore through his immense volumes for the logbook. The question was obvious.

“Something… something has happened, Keeper,” Morando said, looking back at Thomas as if unsettled.
“There are… creatures attacking Ludicra.”

“Creatures?” the Keeper repeated, moving to a different stack as he mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
“What kind of creatures?”

Morando looked beseechingly at Thomas, who picked up his cue.

“They’re called ‘Others,’ sir. They’re wooden monsters that don’t feel pain and they can’t be killed. They can barely even be hurt.”

“Others?” the Keeper repeated, “what color are their eyes?”

“Their…?” Thomas stopped, stymied at the seemingly random question. It took him a moment to process everything and speak again. “No color, sir, they just seem to be blank holes in their heads.”

“Inanis,” the Keeper replied instantly, “
and the eyeless are the worst kind.”

“Inanis?”
Thomas said, sharing a look of mutual confusion with the other two, “what are those?”

“That’s their actual name. Who named them others?”

Thomas fidgeted, again ashamed to admit it. “The Dark Priest, Keeper.”

The Keeper actually scoffed. “The Dark Priest would never forget their real names. Whoever this person is masquerading as the Priest is a pretender and a fool.”

Thomas nodded, happy his gut instinct was correct. Though that didn’t make the pretend Priest any less of a threat.

“He was still pretty strong, even for a fake,” Thomas said, “he could command the… the
.. .what were they called, again?”

“Inanis,” the Keeper replied as he flipped through the pages of a particularly heavy looking leather bound book.

“Inanis. He could command them.”

“A parlor trick,” the Keeper replied. “He’s strong willed, nothing more. Now, you, boy, you can use magic?”

Again thrown by the seemingly random question, Thomas was silent for a moment. In that moment, the Keeper somehow transported himself from across the room to a foot away from him, kicking him in the shin once as if to get his attention.

The familiar pain
in his leg spread to his heart, and he had to fight himself for a moment to regain his composure.

“Yeah,” he finally replied, “I’m a magic-caster.”

“In what way has your abilities surfaced?”

“Well… like this.”

Thomas rubbed his hands together fiercely until he had a small flame brewing in his cupped hands.

“Hm. Elementary, but you have promise.”

“I… what, sorry?”

“Fencing first, then if you don’t get yourself killed, I
might
teach you the secrets of magic-casting. You and Zacharias.”

“I’m not a magic-caster, sir,” Zach said, and he sounded none too pleased about it.

“Hmph. Did I stammer?”

Thomas and Zach shared a confused look, but the Keeper refused to expound further.
Instead, he disappeared into a back room and they heard the sounds of crashing and banging. When the Keeper reemerged, he was holding two wooden sticks that looked like training swords.

He tossed one to both Thomas and Zach, and told them to face each other.

“Morando, collect the death notice. It is in the House of Commons, under watch. If I had known we could have used it… bah. Go.”

Morando left the premises without another word, hurrying off to complete his task.

“And you, boys, will learn the basics in wielding blades. When I am satisfied you are not completely inept, you may go.”

Thomas was keen to learn, but they didn’t have a lot of time to practice fencing.

“Please sir, while I’m grateful for the offer, we both are, we have to get to the dwarves before it’s too late. We need them to temper the General’s sword.”

This plea fell on deaf ears.

“If you do not stay, you will not make it to the dwarf lands alive. Now! At attention!”

Neither Thomas or Zach had any idea what that meant
until the Keeper jabbed a walking stick into both of their spines and they were forced to straighten.

“Good,” the Keeper smirked, “now we begin.”

It was a grueling three hours of work before Morando returned, and in that time Thomas and Zach were covered in welts and bruises. Zach had a bit more experience in swordplay than Thomas, but not very much. And in the Keeper’s eyes, they both were children wielding sticks.

“Back straight!” he shouted, “hands up!”