Chains of the Fallen Omnibus: Soul Force Saga

By James E. Wisher

All peace is fleeting.

Six months has passed since the warlock Connor Blackman's defeat.

Now a new threat has emerged to threaten the kingdom.

While Damien St. Cloud is off exploring a mysterious underground city, his sister Jennifer is tasked with investigating a horrific murder. What she discovers goes against everything she knows to be true. A human and an ogre have worked together to kill people before turning on each other.

Can Jen solve the mystery and root out the threat approaching the kingdom? And what will Damien find in the abandoned city?

Beyond their awareness a new threat is growing.

Read Chains of the Fallen now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sand Hill Publishing
• Release date: Dec 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781945763465

James E. Wisher

James E. Wisher is a writer of science fiction and fantasy novels. He’s been writing since high school and reading everything he could get his hands on for as long as he can remember.

Book preview

Part I

Dreaming in the Dark

Prologue

The last rays of the sun tangled up with the thick evergreen limbs to cast a spiderweb of shadows across the trade road. Cormac took a deep breath of the cool, rich, late summer air then blew it out in a long sigh. The last of the day’s heat was past, thank heaven. One, possibly two more nights and he’d be back in the capital .

This patrol had seemed especially long to his aching bones. At least nothing had attacked him. Some of the younger guardsmen relished a brush with goblins or bandits, but after the madness six months ago, Cormac was glad for a little peace and quiet. Ordinary guardsmen like him were having to step up and fill in for the many warlords that died fighting the mad warlock’s demons. It was a bad situation, but the kingdom would pull through, it always did.

Cormac sighed again. Old age was catching up with him. Dena, his piebald mare, snorted as if agreeing with his unspoken thought.

He patted her neck. I don’t need any sarcastic comments from you. Your days as a filly are long past.

Another derisive snort brought a smile to Cormac’s face. He spent more time with Dena than he did his wife. Argued with her less too.

They rounded a corner and a hundred yards ahead the warm glow from the Inn Between’s windows shone across the road. Built from rough logs, the two-story inn resembled a noble’s hunting camp. Even from a distance the raucous laughter reached him. Cormac couldn’t wait for a hot meal, warm bed, and some human company.

Dena broke into a trot and Cormac let her go. She’d earned a night in the stables after carrying his creaky frame on a five-hundred-mile tour of the local trade routes.

A split-rail fence separated the inn’s yard from the road. He guided Dena through the open gate and toward the long stable. He didn’t even have a chance to dismount before a boy maybe ten years old and wearing a tan tabard with the inn’s livery came running out to hold Dena’s bridle.

Welcome to the Inn Between, Master Guardsman, the boy said, offering a quick bow. Mistress Maven is mulling wine tonight. Should be plenty left this early in the evening.

Cormac grunted and swung down from the saddle. He said a silent word of thanks when his legs didn’t buckle the moment his boots hit the ground. Heaven’s mercy, he was getting old. His battered saddlebags went over one shoulder and he adjusted his sword and cloak before digging out a penny for the stable boy.

Thank you, sir, the boy said as he snatched the coin out of the air.

Cormac grunted again and trudged toward the front door. Two steps up to the wraparound porch and he was through the door. Heat and noise washed over him, forcing out the evening chill. The common room was three-quarters filled with mostly merchants and guards. A pair of farmers in dirty overalls sat together at a corner table, a checkerboard between them.

Half a pig roasted over the fire and the savory scent of sizzling meat set his mouth watering. A single man with short hair and bronze skin wearing leather armor and carrying a broadsword sat alone at the bar. Not a guardsman unless he was out of uniform, more likely a mercenary between jobs.

Cormac grabbed a stool two down from him and set his bags on the floor at his feet. A moment later a big, dark-haired woman emerged from the kitchen door. Maven, the innkeeper, didn’t need a bouncer to keep the peace; she handled it herself, often with a rolling pin in one hand and a skillet in the other. Tonight, she had a platter laden with plates and mugs balanced in her right hand.

Maven spotted him, winked, and said, Be with you in a second.

He nodded and rubbed his tired eyes. Cormac had known Maven for years and always made an effort to visit her inn on his way to or from the capital. She returned with a single mug remaining on the tray which she set in front of the mercenary.

You look tired, Cormac. Maven leaned on the bar, giving him an eyeful of her massive cleavage.

Long trip. He dug around in his pocket and slapped down a ceramic disk marked with a crown on one side and a sword on the other. The kingdom provided the markers for soldiers on patrol to pay for their lodging and provisions. Maven would turn the disk in at tax time to get three gold royals off her bill, far more than a meal and one night’s lodging cost her.

Hungry? she asked.

Starving.

You stay right there. I’ll be back in a few minutes.

He nodded and Maven bustled back into the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the mercenary watching him.

Cormac slid down a seat. I’ve known Maven forever. I’m Cormac. He thrust out his hand.

Balthazar. The man had a grip like iron. She’s very friendly, if a bit immodest.

That described Maven to a T though you seldom heard the phrase immodest around here.

You’re from the south. Looking for work?

Not at the moment. He took a pull from his mug. I escorted a caravan to the capital. A cousin of mine lives in the north and we agreed to meet here.

Why not meet in the city? Tons of taverns to choose from there.

My cousin doesn’t care for cities and he assured me this place had the best food in the area, in or out of the city. Judging by the wine he was correct.

The food is every bit as delicious as the wine.

Maven rushed past, carved off a hunk of pork, and set his dinner in front of him. Cormac dug into the juicy meat and put the mercenary out of his mind.

Cormac sat bolt upright in bed, straining in the complete darkness to figure out what woke him. A moment later a muffled scream sounded from downstairs .

He fumbled for his boots as a second and third scream rose only to be quickly cut off. What the hell was going on down there? He’d seen his share of combat, but never at an inn two days from the capital.

When he finally got his boots on the correct feet, he belted on his sword and drew it. His heart raced as he eased toward the door. The screams had ended and the inn had fallen unnaturally silent.

The door creaked and he winced at the noise. Hopefully, whoever was down there hadn’t noticed.

Cormac tiptoed out of his room and over to the railing overlooking the common room. Corpses littered the floor. His gaze was drawn to a woman in black and he shook his head when he recognized Maven. Whoever did this would pay.

He took a single step towards the staircase, blinked, and found an eight-foot-tall, blue-skinned ogre facing him, a white dragon mask covering his face.

Cormac barely had time to register the monster’s appearance before a sword made of what looked like solid ice came whistling for his chest.

He raised his own weapon in time to block, but the force of the blow sent him flying over the railing where he crashed atop one of the bodies.

His breath rushed out and Cormac went limp. The world grayed out for a moment. When he recovered, he heard Balthazar’s voice.

We’re agreed on the location?

There was never any question about whether the battle would take place on the Plains of Judgement, a deep, inhuman voice replied. We’ve held the contest there every millennium since this world was born.

Cormac twisted his head enough to see Balthazar and the ogre seated at an empty table together like old friends, their weapons leaning beside them.

That leaves only the timing, Balthazar said.

The ogre snorted. The battle will happen on one of the equinoxes, just as it always does. I allow you the honor of choosing.

Autumn then.

Inch by painful inch Cormac gathered himself. If he struck while they were distracted, maybe he could kill the ogre. One on one he’d stand some chance against Balthazar.

The ogre nodded and chuckled. I know your agents have already begun paving the way. But no matter. In six weeks I shall humiliate you once again.

Balthazar laughed. Keep dreaming. This time victory will be mine.

Cormac lunged, thrusting his sword at the ogre’s neck. The monster seemed to vanish the moment he got close.

Horrendous, burning pain filled Cormac’s stomach. He looked down and saw a foot of the ogre’s ice sword jutting from his gut.

The blade ripped back and he collapsed.

Staring at the ceiling, the life running out of him, Balthazar appeared in his vision. The mercenary’s eyes glowed with an orange light. If you had stayed still and silent, we might have forgotten about you.

Cormac couldn’t draw a breath to reply.

His consciousness flickered in and out.

The pact is made, the ogre said, facing Balthazar.

Made and accepted, the mercenary agreed.

Like lightning, the two warriors ran each other through. They collapsed on either side of Cormac, who had just enough life remaining to wonder what he’d stumbled into before his heart beat its last.

Chapter 1

Damien St. Cloud made his way across the sun-drenched yard outside King’s Castle towards the training ground. Every day for he’d lost track of how many weeks, he’d been helping rebuild the capital. At last, the city was back to normal, more or less. That should’ve thrilled him, and in one sense it did since he didn’t need to do any more carpentry work, but mostly he was bored .

After a year of near constant battle, the months of quiet had dragged to the point of tedium. When his sister sent a note asking him to join her so she could show off the new technique she’d been working on, he flew out the castle door. Anything that broke the routine was welcome.

Damien waved to one of the wall guards as he made his way around to the dirt training ground on the far side of the castle. He might be bored, but everyone else seemed overjoyed by the end of the fighting. Maybe his brain didn’t work right. What kind of idiot yearned for battle?

You are your father’s son. Fredric was always keen to show his skills in battle even though he didn’t get as many opportunities as he preferred.

Lizzy’s warm, telepathic voice brought a smile to his face. He’d inherited the demon sword after his father’s murder last year, though he’d known her forever and couldn’t imagine his life without her. Damien loved the spirit bound to the blade more than most people considered prudent, but they didn’t know Lizzy. Along with his sister, she was one of the people that made life worthwhile.

I’m not sure Dad would have agreed with that, but I’m grateful for the sentiment. He adjusted Lizzy’s sheath so she sat more comfortably on his back.

Not that the strap rubbed his skin. Damien maintained a constant soul force barrier strong enough to stop a ballista bolt. It wasn’t really necessary in the capital, but he liked to stay in practice. Besides, if an assassin showed up, and it wouldn’t be the first time, he’d be ready.

When he arrived at the flat dirt patch, he found Jen hammering a training stake into the ground with her bare fist. Warlords used the slender rods to practice their sword skills. He wasn’t worried about his sister injuring herself. Jen’s powerful soul force allowed her to make her body stronger than a steel hammer.

She wore her slashed blue uniform, the openings revealing glimpses of pale skin underneath. The sword he made her was belted at her waist and a simple leather band held her blond hair back from her face. Small wonder she was known as the warrior goddess among the other warlords.

When she finished pounding the stake, it made six dotting the area. She turned to face him and smiled. Took you long enough. I finally perfected the move I’ve been working on.

The super-secret one you refuse to tell me about?

That’s the one.

Are you going to tell me about it now? he asked.

Better to show you. Don’t blink.

Jen put a hand on her sword.

All six stakes fell over, cut cleanly in half. He hadn’t seen her move. Damien studied his sister closer. Three-quarters of her core had been depleted in less than the blink of an eye.

She straightened up and grinned. What do you think? I call it god speed, even faster than lightning speed.

Impressive, though given how it drains your soul force, you’ll have to be careful when you use it. In a long fight, that trick might land you in trouble.

I know, believe me. I don’t even like using lightning speed unless absolutely necessary. I consider this more of a trump card. When I get stuck with no other options, I have god speed as a last resort.

Damien nodded. Having a trick or two in your back pocket was smart. How long did it take you to perfect?

I’ve been practicing for an hour a day over the last six weeks. You should have seen me the first time. I didn’t hold enough power back to reinforce my bones and my first move broke both ankles. Took ten minutes to get them healed.

Warlord healing never ceased to amaze Damien. As a sorcerer, he couldn’t heal himself which sometimes left him jealous of his sister’s skills. On the other hand, he had power enough to level a fair-sized town with a single blast, so there were pluses to being a sorcerer.

Where’s Imogen? Jen crouched and yanked the nearest shaft out of the ground.

Damien grimaced. He and Imogen had gone their separate ways when he blew up over her excessive clinging. Having her underfoot every second of every day got old, no matter how beautiful she was. Sometimes you needed a moment to yourself.

She asked the archmage for a new assignment. I shouldn’t have lost my temper, but the woman was driving me nuts. Hopefully she’ll be okay.

I thought she’d gotten more stable, Jen said.

Imogen had violent, sometimes suicidal tendencies and one of the reasons he agreed to partner up with her was to keep an eye out for her bad spells. She’s definitely better. I can’t do anything about it now anyway. Still, if she does something crazy…

If she does something crazy, it won’t be your fault. Jen had an armful of sticks now. You’re not responsible for everything, little brother.

Thanks, Jen. Damien conjured a soul force bubble around her sticks and crushed them down to a small ball then flicked his wrist, sending the ball soaring out over the city. He put enough power behind it to make sure it reached the Great Green, the massive forest that covered over half the kingdom.

A moment later he sensed the approaching energy of one of his master’s message spheres. The golden orb flew out onto the training field, stopped a few feet from Damien, and transformed into the words, Throne room, both of you.

Jen glanced at him. The archmage seldom summoned them together. What do you suppose this is about?

He didn’t have a clue but hoped it would be something interesting.

Chapter 2

The northern wind cut Sigurd Iceborn to the bone, even with a soul force shield surrounding him. In every direction, snow and ice spread out for as far as the eye could see. Not that he could see very far with the gale blowing in his face. Sig had lived in the northernmost lands of the kingdom his entire life, but nothing in those twenty years had prepared him for the Ice Queen’s realm .

Luckily for Sig, he didn’t need his eyes to find what he sought. The Ice Queen’s power was such that he sensed her location from five hundred miles away. The dragon’s overwhelming might screamed at him to run away as fast as possible.

He ignored the feeling and trudged on. It would have been far easier to fly to her lair, but Sig didn’t want to draw any more attention than necessary, or worse, run out of soul force and freeze to death. His plan was mad enough, he didn’t need to do anything to increase his chances of getting eaten the moment he arrived.

The bitter cold of the wind matched the bitterness filling Sig’s heart. When his father told him he planned to name his little sister — his pathetic, weakling of a little sister — heir to Iceborn Duchy he assumed it was a joke.

It quickly became apparent that Father was dead serious. He claimed Sig lacked the temperament to manage the duchy. Too much anger, he said. It would be better for everyone if Sig didn’t have to shoulder the burden of rule.

Only by the barest thread did Sig keep from killing his father on the spot. If Father hadn’t already registered the formal papers declaring Sig disowned, he might have struck him down and taken his chances. As it was, the act would’ve been meaningless. So Sig bowed his head and accepted his father’s pronouncement.

Until they were alone that night at least. He used sorcery to compel his father to reveal the true reason behind his decision. The answer nearly gagged Sig. Father had agreed to disown him in exchange for Damien’s promise not to kill him in their duel.

That his father had made such an important decision based on sentiment rather than cold logic made it even worse. And his lack of faith — even his father hadn’t believed he had a chance of defeating Damien. Sig had left in a fury, taking nothing but the clothes on his back. He wandered for weeks, trying to decide who he hated more, Damien or his father.

In the end, he decided Damien would feel his wrath first. The problem was, he lacked the power to even annoy the younger sorcerer. Hence his current visit to the far north. If Sig convinced the dragon to grant him a portion of her power, he’d have strength enough to crush Damien and regain his rightful place as future duke.

A walnut-sized piece of hail plinked off his shield. Sig hadn’t allowed himself to think too hard about how he’d convince the Ice Queen to grant his wish, especially given her apparent hatred of humans. If he’d thought too much, he might have lost the nerve to set out at all.

He was committed now. Either he’d convince the dragon or he’d die trying.

Sig continued on through the snow for another half hour before the first hint of movement caught his eye. One moment a vague shape appeared in the storm only to vanish a moment later. The dragon’s proximity made it impossible to sense anything else, but Sig had sufficient experience to know something was out there, taunting him before it moved in for the kill.

Whether animal or ogre, whatever hunted Sig wouldn’t find him easy prey. Maybe he wasn’t a match for Damien St. Cloud, but nothing wandering these wastes could threaten him, short of the dragon herself.

Yard after frozen yard he continued dead north. His unwelcome companion kept pace, appearing and disappearing at random. Twice Sig fired a blast of soul force at it but hit only snow. Ignoring it seemed to be the best course, at least until it made a decisive move. Meanwhile, every step brought him closer to his destination.

The first blow hit Sig with enough force to send him ten feet into the air. His attacker moved with such speed he saw nothing until it struck.

He landed hard and skidded across a patch of ice. His shield protected him from injury, but the strength of the impact drained a fair chunk from his core. Many more blows like that and he’d be nothing but a red smear in the snow.

Enough playing around. His opponent clearly couldn’t fly. Sig gathered his strength and hurtled toward the sky.

A shape appeared from above and struck his head. Sig crashed into the snow with enough force to gouge a three-foot-deep trench.

He groaned and tried to sit up.

His head had barely lifted off the snow when a pale-blue club came streaking in.

His shield shattered and his head snapped back, bouncing off the hard-packed snow.

The world spun and he knew no more.

Chapter 3

Sig flashed in and out of awareness. The stink of unwashed bodies too powerful for the cold to mask sickened him. His knees and hips ached. The wind continued to howl, and shivers convulsed his body .

When he’d lost consciousness, his personal shield – the only thing keeping him warm – vanished. His eyes fluttered open for a moment and he caught a glimpse of massive, blue-skinned bodies surrounding him. The ogres were dragging him somewhere.

He tried to concentrate, at least long enough to restore his shield, but his mind refused to obey. The blow he took must have damaged him worse than he first thought. These damn monsters were probably taking him back to whatever passed for a village in this wasteland to turn him into supper.

Cursing his weakness, Sig tried again to summon his power and again he failed.

Pathetic.

Damien never would have been captured like this. How could Sig even consider challenging him when some stupid brute ogres defeated him?

Time passed, and he flashed to awareness again. The wind had fallen silent at last. He forced his frozen eyelids open and stared up at an icy tunnel’s ceiling. Needle-sharp stalactites of ice waited for a chance to fall and skewer him. Where the hell was he? With the wind gone all he heard was the thump of his captors’ feet.

Sig tried to tap his core and this time the power flowed, sluggishly, but anything at this point was an improvement. Focusing with all his might, he reconstructed his shield and agitated the air trapped inside to warm it. Even that tiny bit of heat felt amazing, at least until his toes started to thaw. The pain from that forced him to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. If the ogres noticed he was awake, they might hit him again, and right now Sig was in no shape to fight.

They continued deeper into the tunnel. His captors passed several branches but kept to the main path. Slow and subtle, Sig increased the power to his shield, making it rigid around his shoulders to reduce the strain of being dragged.

With his mind clearing by the moment, he considered making a break for it. Now that he’d regained awareness he discovered he was nearly on top of the dragon. It appeared the ogres were taking him exactly where he wanted to go. For the moment he’d play dead and let them. Arriving as a prisoner wouldn’t make the best first impression, but it would get him an audience.

Ten minutes later they passed a row of masked ogres standing at the edge of the tunnel. They soon left the masked ogres behind and entered a huge vaulted cavern. The ceiling was so far above him Sig couldn’t see it in the dark. The ogres’ steps echoed as they moved deeper inside.

He grunted when they dropped him. His captors withdrew and soon he heard nothing but the beating of his heart.

Stand, human, said a voice of such power and depth it hurt his ears. Your act may fool my servants, but it doesn’t deceive me.

Sig swallowed and eased his way up, being careful to do nothing the dragon might interpret as a threat. When he reached his feet and looked up, he realized the stupidity of his concern. The Ice Queen towered over him, a creature of spikes and jagged edges. She shifted, and the entire cavern trembled. What arrogance had seized him to think he might do anything to threaten such a creature? No wonder the ogres withdrew. She clearly needed no protectors.

Eyes with vertical pupils as long as he was tall bore into Sig. It felt like the dragon was looking straight into his soul.

Why have you entered my domain? the Ice Queen asked.

Sig tried to answer and found he had no voice. He coughed and tried again. I wish to offer my services.

Why?

I need more power to defeat my enemy. I knew nowhere else to find it.

Her booming laugh drove him to his knees. I admire your honesty. How deeply you must hate this enemy if you’re willing to join my servants in the slaughter of your fellow humans.

His stomach twisted, and he nearly threw up. In truth, he only wanted to kill Damien and maybe his father. He held no ill will toward the soldiers of the kingdom.

Sig swallowed his bile and clambered back up. I had hoped to serve in another way. My enemy is a powerful sorcerer. By giving me the strength to kill him, it would help your force when next you move against the kingdom.

Ah, I see. You think I’ll give you the strength to satisfy your desires in the hope that it might serve me in some small way. Clearly, you’re as stupid as you are arrogant. There are no half measures. If I grant you power, you will serve me for the rest of your days in whatever way I desire. Perhaps I will allow you to kill this enemy you so despise. Or perhaps I won’t. That is for me to decide. Of course, I may simply snuff you out like the vermin you are and let my ice trolls feed on your corpse.

He winced. Clearly Sig had badly misjudged how the dragon would react to his offer. He tried to think of something he might add as a sweetener to change her mind, but standing in the presence of something so powerful, he couldn’t imagine anything a mortal like him had to offer.

You are in luck, little human. You have arrived just in time for the Millennial Choosing. A contest will be held to find one worthy to be my champion in the most important contest in the world. Your drive in coming this far has impressed me. I will give you a chance to prove yourself worthy of my blessing.

His heart leapt. Given the chance, surely he’d prove himself better than any grubby ogre.

Should you win the contest, I may allow you to kill this enemy of yours before you return to my side to serve me for the rest of your days.

If he accepted, there was no guarantee of getting what he wanted. Not that he held any illusions about what would happen if he refused. There was no duchy in his future unless he ruled it in the dragon’s name. And was that really so much worse than ruling in the king’s name?

What must I do?

The first contest begins tomorrow. Survive until morning and I’ll tell you more.

Chapter 4

P rofessor Dorius?

Damien didn’t recognize the wiry little man with the gray beard standing in front of the throne, but his sister obviously did. The stranger wore formal robes, but the boots sticking out from the red hem were scuffed and carried specks of mud. Whoever he was, he didn’t spend his days inside.

The scores of chairs filling the audience chamber were empty, the courtiers having left for lunch. Speaking of which, Damien could use a bite himself. The only people in the room were Uncle Andy, better known as King Andrew; Damien’s master, Archmage Lidia Thorn; and Professor Dorius.

Damien and Jen bowed to the king before Damien asked, Is everything all right, Master?

No, the archmage said. We have two problems, hence the reason I called you both. Jennifer, I believe you’ve met the professor. Damien, this is Professor Dorius, one of the leading scholars at King’s College. He’s been exploring the underground ruins for years now, but he’s run into a problem. Professor?

Yes, well, in my most recent delving I discovered something interesting: a door I can’t open. It clearly leads to something important, at least judging by the surrounding markings. I’ve searched for weeks for some way to move it, but if there’s a release, it’s beyond my ability to locate. My theory is that the makers of this door were sorcerers and it can only be opened by a sorcerer. Thus the reason for my visit to the capital.

Damien wasn’t sure he understood. You want me to go exploring?

The archmage smiled. I want you to help the professor, yes. I’ve watched you moping around. You need a change of location almost as badly as Imogen. You’re just not built for the quiet life, Damien. Too much of your father in you.

Wait, Jen said. How do you know there isn’t an army of those black goblins behind this locked door? It might have been sealed for a reason.

Jen had told him about her battle with the goblins in the ruins and how they resisted sorcery. Damien’s heart raced at the thought of getting to fight one. He hadn’t had a challenge in far too long.

Don’t worry, Dorius said. Judging from the markings there’s a place of worship beyond the door. I believe it’s some sort of cathedral.

But you don’t know, Jen said.

No one can know until the door is opened.

I’m game. Damien jumped in before his sister made her next argument. Despite his power she still acted like he couldn’t take care of himself. He loved her for it, but sometimes she got carried away. When do we leave?

I acquired three months’ worth of supplies before coming to the castle, Dorius said. We can depart as soon as you’re ready.

I need ten minutes to pack. Where do you want to meet?

The eastern gate, Dorius said.

Damien nodded and looked to his master.

Go on, have fun.

Damien. Uncle Andy spoke for the first time. Take care of yourself. The kingdom can’t afford to lose you.

Damien raised an eyebrow and the king’s stern expression cracked. Karrie and I would be upset as well.

Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ve got Lizzy to look after me. He grinned and jogged out of the throne room.

A little less than ten minutes later he joined the professor at the east gate. Dorius had traded his formal robes for a leather duster that hung down to his knees. He held the lead of a heavily laden mule.

You’re not planning to walk the whole way, are you? Damien asked.

Did you have another suggestion?

I’m a sorcerer, I figured we’d fly. I can get us anywhere in the kingdom in two hours.

Dorius brightened. Excellent. There’s an inn where I leave the mule while I’m underground. Follow the main road two hundred miles then turn down the southern branch for another fifty and you’ll see the inn.

Damien conjured a sphere around the professor and his mule. The three of them rose above the tree line and shot off like a crossbow bolt.

An adventure at last. Damien could hardly wait.

Chapter 5

Jen watched her brother run off and fought to keep from worrying. It didn’t matter that she’d witnessed him level mountains a few months ago, Damien would always be her little brother and now that Dad was gone, she had to do all the worrying herself. Not that she imagined her father worrying all that much .

She couldn’t deny how happy he looked. After being cooped up in the city Jen didn’t blame him for being excited. Hopefully, he’d keep his wits and not do anything crazy.

Who was she kidding? Dorius was more likely to get them into trouble than Damien.

Jennifer, the archmage said. He’ll be fine. And there’s the matter of my second problem.

Jen gave a little shake and forced Damien out of her mind. Right. How may I be of service?

Are you familiar with the Inn Between?

Jen pursed her lips. I think so. It’s a couple days’ ride west of here, right? We stopped there a few times when we were out on patrol.

The archmage nodded. That’s the one. There was an incident two nights ago. The stable boy who brought word nearly killed his horse getting here. Someone massacred all the guests. The boy only survived because he was out grooming the horses instead of inside sleeping. It sounds like a real mess and you need to get to the bottom of it.

I’ll gather my team and be there by dark. She glanced at Uncle Andy. Have you decided on a new champion?

Are you certain you don’t want the position? he asked.

Not a chance. I’m not as disciplined as Dad. If some noble mouths off to me I’m liable to knock his teeth out.

Yes, I heard about your run-ins with Captain Tosh. Still, I’d prefer someone I have total faith in.

There are ways of making sure someone is loyal. Jen turned towards the archmage. Right?

Of course, anyone even considered for such an important position would be thoroughly questioned. I believe His Majesty is referring more to his comfort level with whoever he chose. For the moment, I’m handling the job and the interim commander of the Citadel is taking care of training. No need to rush the decision. This is the sort of thing you want to get right the first time.

If there’s nothing else, I should get going.

No, that’s all, the archmage said. Good luck.

Thanks. Jen bowed and took her leave. The guys would be happy for a mission even if it was another murderer hunt.

She left the castle and jogged to the Iron Horse Inn. Her team preferred staying there rather than in the overcrowded barracks and she didn’t blame them. They’d been using their enhanced physical abilities to help with the rebuilding which earned, them in particular and warlords in general, a lot of goodwill with the citizens.

It was important work. With their help, things went two to three times as fast as normal. As warriors, her men considered it a waste of their talents, but they did their best just the same.

With the work mostly done, they’d been lounging around on leave for the last three days. Well, it was time to get back to work.

Jen adjusted her sword and pushed through the swinging door into the inn’s common room. Her eyes adapted at once to the dim interior and she soon spotted her second, Edward Mark, sitting at a corner booth, a mug in one hand and his maul leaning next to him. He was hard to miss at nearer seven feet than six. Edward kept a grim watch over the room and appeared determined not to have fun.

He noticed her a moment after she entered and sprang to his feet. Talon Wrath seemed to appear out of the shadows beside her. Jen hadn’t detected him even with her enhanced hearing. She didn’t know how the man did it, but he had a gift. It was a good thing he was on their side.

Rhys heaved himself up out of a booth and shrugged his heavy steel shield onto his back before slinging his mace through the loop on his belt. Her father had assigned the veteran to keep an eye on her and even after she proved herself he agreed to stay on which pleased her. He was a steady presence and had a thorough understanding of healing, both extremely useful in their line of work.

That only left the team’s puppy, Alec Wright. Alec was Damien’s age, eager to please and as lethal with a war staff as anyone Jen had ever met.

Kid’s upstairs, Edward said as though reading her thoughts. Do we have an assignment?

We do, go get him.

Edward didn’t even take a step before a skinny, blond boy with a dusting of freckles across his nose came bounding down the stairs, pack in one hand and staff in the other. Any moment Jen expected him to come tumbling off his feet, but he never so much as stumbled.

I’m coming, Commander, I’m coming. I would have been waiting, but I didn’t know we were on alert.

Warlords are always on alert, Talon said. So what’s the mission?

Not here. Jen led them out of the inn.

Should I saddle the horses? Alec asked.

No, it’s only sixty miles. Jen grinned. I figured we’d run.

Five minutes later they were bounding down the trade route at half warlord speed, a pace they could maintain for days and that would have them at the Inn Between before sunset.

They killed everyone except the stable boy? Edward asked.

Jen had already told them everything she knew, but her second seemed to want more. So the archmage said. I suspect we’ll find out more when we arrive.

It doesn’t make sense, Edward said. Why would anyone want to murder the guests at an inn? I mean, it wasn’t the sort of place wealthy people stayed. They couldn’t have gotten enough to make it worth all those lives.

Jen had met people who killed for the sheer joy of it. Perhaps this was something like that. Whatever the reason, our job is to find out who did it and bring them to justice.

Is the king looking for a trial or the quieter sort of justice? Talon asked.

He didn’t specify, so I assume it’s up to us.

Quiet it is. Talon didn’t smile, but Jen could sense his eagerness all the same. She shared it. Few things angered her more than the mindless killing of innocent people. Whoever did this would get what they deserved.

Chapter 6

Jen and her squad made good time, reaching the Inn Between with an hour of sunlight remaining. The fence’s gate was closed and the inn dark and silent. No guests waited for the place to open, to Jen’s considerable relief. She happily killed the kingdom’s enemies, but she lacked skill when it came to dealing with people nonviolently. Perhaps they saw the closed gate and took the hint. If so, she owed the stable boy a word of thanks .

The inn itself was a big, two-story log cabin featuring a wraparound porch for people to sit and enjoy a pipe on a clear night. They hopped the fence and marched to the front door. Jen enhanced her hearing, but only the drone of insects filled the air. She’d walked enough battlefields to recognize that sound.

No sense putting it off. She held her breath and pushed the door open. The common room looked like a madman’s fever dream. Bodies covered the floor, furniture lay in broken shards, and flies crawled over everything. It was more horrible than she expected and her expectations had been pretty low.

Heaven’s mercy, Alec said. It’s worse than the cultists’ base we found last year. I thought nothing could top that.

The world is full of surprises, Rhys said. Each generally less pleasant than the one before.

Enough talk. Jen wanted to get this done and get after those responsible. Talon, check the perimeter. Rhys and Alec, upstairs. Edward, you’re with me.

The team dispersed. Everyone knew what to do so Jen concentrated on her area. A cursory glance revealed they’d all been killed by edged weapons. Weapons wielded by someone with tremendous strength, perhaps even warlord strength.

As she scanned the bodies, a patch of blue drew her gaze. She leapt over the corpses and landed beside a dead ogre. It still had its killer’s sword lodged in its chest. She frowned. The ogre’s sword stuck out from the breast of the human that ended its life.

Apparently they struck simultaneously. From the way the bodies lay they hadn’t fought. How did they kill each other at the same moment yet not even exchange blows? It made no sense.

Jen turned her attention to the body lying between them. He wore a blue guardsman’s uniform and from the gray in his beard he’d been serving the kingdom for years. A few inches from his hand rested a standard-issue kingdom arming sword, its blade unbloodied.

Clearly the guardsman hadn’t landed a blow. Judging from the size of the wound, it was the ogre that ran him through. She bent over and closed his eyes. They’d have to bring the body back for identification and to notify his family. Thank heaven his commanding officer had to perform that awful duty.

Commander? She looked up at Rhys who stood at the second-floor railing. Nothing but bodies up here.

How big are the wounds?

Big. I haven’t seen wounds like these since the last northern incursion.

She nodded. The ogre had handled the upstairs. But did he handle the downstairs as well? She grimaced. They would have to sort out the bodies and see if the injuries shed any light on what happened. Jen hated this kind of thing.

Edward, we need to get the bodies sorted. I want to know if the ogre did all this, or if he had help.

Understood. Edward didn’t offer a word of complaint as he started dragging corpses out of the heap.

Jen reached for a leg, but before she could grab it the door creaked and Talon appeared in the entrance. She left Edward to his task and crossed over to her scout.

Tell me.

He shook his head. No one left but the stable boy. I found ogre tracks. Definitely a berserker, it was covering ten yards at a stride. Whatever did this never left the inn.

Yeah, I found the ogre dead inside. Come in and take a look. It feels off. The ogre was killed, but there’s no sign of a fight. And if it was a berserker—

It was. There’s no doubt in my mind.

Okay, it was a berserker. We’ve fought those monsters. No way should it have gone down easy, yet it was taken out with a single thrust to the heart.

By who? Talon asked. One of ours?

Not unless he was out of uniform. Jen led him over to where the ogre and his killer still lay.

Talon crouched and pushed the dead man’s head off to one side. Jen hadn’t given him much of a look. She’d been too focused on the ogre. Now that she did, she saw he clearly wasn’t from around here. The deep bronze skin and dark hair marked him as a southerner, maybe even a bandit out of the badlands.

Edward joined them, taking a break from his gruesome task. I’ve found three killed by a far smaller blade. The ogre couldn’t have killed everyone.

Jen ripped the southerner’s sword from the ogre’s chest and took it over to the three bodies with smaller wounds. The blade slid into the first body like it was a sheath. Her jaw clenched, and she slammed the sword hard enough to bury the tip six inches into the heavy plank flooring.

A human and an ogre murdered an inn full of people before killing each other with single, precise strikes. She’d never encountered anything so insane and after last year that was saying something.

What was she supposed to do now? The killers were still here and already dead. No one remained to punish for this atrocity or even to explain what had happened and why. Hopefully, the archmage could shed some light on the situation once they showed her the bodies.

Chapter 7

Achill ran down Marie-Bell’s back as she stared at the ruins of her former home. Not that you could tell that the mountain of rubble had once been a fortress that housed hundreds of paladins. When Damien blasted the area, he’d done a thorough job, erasing all signs that this had ever been a pass much less a fortification .

Not that she blamed him. With the blue crystal demons about to overrun their position, there had been no other choice. Still, it pained her to see the results. She missed the chapel the most. She’d never seen a more beautiful room.

A bitter breeze from the Haunted Lands carried a hint of rot and sent her blond hair dancing around her face. The undead and demons were still out there, even if most of them couldn’t get through the rock pile. Marie-Bell made a point of patrolling this stretch of the border on a regular basis. It made her feel like hanging around was a little less of a waste of time.

She kicked a stone and sent it tumbling aside. Off and on for six months she’d been visiting the heap of rubble in hopes of finding any surviving relics, or so she told herself. In her heart she knew that was nonsense. Nothing survived the blast that struck this place. No, her imaginary search served as an excuse to avoid letting go of the past. She had to find some way to move on before she drove herself crazy.

Maybe it would be best if she joined one of the other orders, at least for a little while. Some sort of structure to her days might take her mind off what she’d lost.

Marie-Bell sensed an approaching soul force a moment before a red-robed sorcerer descended from the sky. The redhead was the most beautiful woman Marie-Bell had ever seen. Only the angry crinkles around her eyes spoiled her perfect appearance.

I heard rumors of a blond ghost haunting the fortress ruins, the sorcerer said. Figured it was you. Been a while.

Marie-Bell forced a smile. Imogen. Are you alone?

Bright red lips thinned. Yeah, for the moment. Damien and I decided to go our separate ways. The archmage sent me out here to patrol the border. I blasted a flock of blood ravens a couple hundred miles north of here, but nothing bigger. What about you?

I’m stuck in the past.

Marie-Bell’s body stiffened, and she leaned against her hammer to keep from falling over. White light filled her vision.

Imogen said something, but she couldn’t hear it.

Marie-Bell’s heart raced and for a moment she feared something terrible had happened. A figure appeared out of the light and she calmed at once. Her handsome partner flew towards her on white wings.

The angel hadn’t visited her like this since their first meeting in the chapel so long ago. Usually he sent her feelings or the faintest of nudges if he contacted her at all. Her course remained hers to choose for the most part. If the angel was visiting her directly, something must have happened. Something bad.

Her vision cleared, giving her a clear look at her partner. He hadn’t changed a bit since their first meeting. His white robe gleamed in the light while dove wings flapped gently, holding him in place before her. Dimples formed when he smiled.

I have watched you in peace and war, the angel said. In all ways you have acted with honor. I could not be more pleased with my choice for paladin.

Marie-Bell’s cheeks burned. Thank you. I tried my best.

His beautiful smile faded. Once more I must ask a great effort from you. I risk the wrath of the archangels by coming to you, but I fear what may happen if I fail to act. A great danger is on the horizon. Some amongst us argue that it may not arrive, but I see no hope. If I am wrong, I will accept full responsibility for my rash act. I cannot force you to accept this quest, for the risks are vast, so I must ask if you will trust me.

Of course I will. This was what she’d been waiting for, Marie-Bell had no doubts. What would you have me do?

He beamed. The two great artifacts of your order must be recovered from the Haunted Lands. The armor fell far to the north, near the lair of the dead warlock Connor Blackman. The sword rests with the remains of your order’s greatest hero in the palace of the mad king at the center of the Haunted Lands.

What about demons, guards, or traps? Marie-Bell asked. Everything that lived in the Haunted Lands hated paladins. She risked death with every step in the evil place.

Darkness shrouds the lands beyond the mountains from my sight so I can offer you little council. Much has happened between now and when the sword and armor were lost. The artifacts may not even be where I last sensed them. You must use your own judgement in completing the quest.

The enormity of the task settled over her like a suffocating shroud. Can you give me any advice?

Trust your instincts. The artifacts will resonate with the holy power within you. When you get close, you will know. Extend your awareness to find the lights in the darkness, but be careful. Every time you call on your powers it will be like a torch in a cave. Everything in the darkness will see it and wish to snuff it out.

He pulled back, returning to his own realm.

Wait! I have more questions.

I dare not tarry longer. My absence must not be noticed. Best of luck, my paladin.

And he was gone. Marie-Bell blinked and found herself staring into the bloodshot eyes of a worried Imogen.

Are you back? Imogen asked.

Yes, I’m okay.

Where did you go?

My partner called me to a space between Heaven and the mortal plane. He gave me a quest. Marie-Bell hefted her hammer and turned north. I must go.

Wait. Go where? Imogen asked.

The Haunted Lands. This is the task I’ve been waiting for.

Are you crazy? There’s nothing but demons, undead, and corruption out there. Just patrolling the border leaves me with a headache every night.

It is truly horrible. Nevertheless, I must go. My angel has tasked me to recover a pair of the order’s lost artifacts: the armor worn by my former commander and a sword carried into the Haunted Lands by one of the greatest paladins in history centuries ago.

You’re not going alone, Imogen said. If you’re mad enough to go out there, I’m coming with you. If nothing else I won’t be bored.

No, though you may be dead.

Chapter 8

Damien removed the last pannier from the mule’s harness and patted it on the flank. The aromatic cedar sawdust covered the worst of the smell from the inn’s small stable. They’d landed twenty minutes ago nearly a mile up the road. Dorius insisted he didn’t want to advertise that Damien was a sorcerer. The why seemed a little vague, but Damien didn’t care enough to argue .

He’d been surprised at how well the mule adapted to flying and how poorly the professor handled it. While he hadn’t gotten sick, Dorius’s face had taken on a distinctly green tint. Some people took to flying and some didn’t. Damien even knew a few sorcerers that refused to fly. He didn’t understand it, but then he didn’t have to.

With the mule secured in its stall, Damien conjured a two-wheeled cart around the panniers and pretended to pull it out of the stable. The inn was a typical roadside affair that you’d find anywhere in the kingdom. Half-rotted clapboard siding clung to the exterior of the building. The place needed some serious maintenance. Damien grimaced. His time working in the capital had him thinking like a carpenter.

The professor had gone in to talk to the innkeeper and make sure no one had come asking about him. Dorius had a paranoid streak a mile wide. He seemed certain someone planned to show up, unseal the door, and steal his glory. Exactly what glory he expected to find exploring an underground city Damien didn’t know. He doubted Dorius knew either, but that didn’t affect his obsession.

Five minutes after Damien finished with the mule, Dorius emerged from the inn and trotted down the front steps. We’re in the clear. No strangers have been snooping around. Are we ready?

Yeah, all set. Is the cart okay?

Dorius looked the construct over. Brilliant actually. Well done.

They set out down the road, walking at a brisk pace along its rutted surface. Didn’t look like the road repair crews made it out this far. He’d have to mention it to someone when they returned to the city. If they didn’t fix the ruts, spring rains might wash the road out completely.

Nearly a mile from the inn, Dorius turned off the road and on to a narrow game trail. Thick branches hung over the path, slapping them in the face and reducing visibility to almost nothing.

I could slice off some of these branches and you wouldn’t have to worry about bumping your head with every step, Damien said.

No! Dorius glared around at everything and nothing in particular. As long as the trail appears natural, no one will give it a second look. We can’t do anything that might jeopardize the entrance’s location, not now that I’m so close to the final breakthrough. Once I finish my paper on the Builders and their city, I’ll be the most famous scholar in the kingdom. Nothing can go wrong at this crucial juncture.

Okay, but you can relax. I’d sense it if anyone was nearby, we’re totally alone.

Oh, I have total faith in you. Dorius peered around again. Don’t think I’ll forget you when I write my paper. You’ll get full credit for helping me complete the final leg of my investigation. For years I’ve been searching for one big break and at last I’ve found it.

The professor droned on about the design of the sealed door, but Damien tuned him out. Hopefully, once they got underground, he’d relax a little. If he kept on like this, Damien was going to seriously regret agreeing to join the expedition.

He stretched out with his magical senses but found nothing beyond a pair of squirrels. Other than maybe hunters, no one would want to be out in the middle of the woods anyway.

After twenty minutes of thrashing through the forest they reached Dorius’s camp, assuming an empty clearing with a ring of stones for a fire pit qualified as a camp. At the far edge of the clearing a cave waited in the shade of the roots from a fallen tree.

Is that it? Damien asked.

Yes, now hurry. The sooner we’re out of sight the better.

Dorius practically ran over to the cave, ignoring the dirt falling from the roots as he brushed past them. Damien didn’t bother pointing out that there was no one to see them in the first place and strode over to the opening. Now that they were out of sight, he transformed the cart into a golden disk that drifted along beside him.

Inside the cave a large rock jutted from the ground with a rope tied to it. The rope slithered down a hole and disappeared into the darkness. The professor grabbed on and slid out of sight.

Damien hopped in after him, floating along beside the professor as he climbed. It took most of five minutes to reach the cavern floor. When his feet hit, Damien conjured a pair of glow spheres and sent them up into the air.

Twenty yards beyond their arrival point, a city much like the one under Port Valcane spread out before them. One-, two- and sometimes three-story buildings sat in neat rows along proper streets. It was like someone took a city from above ground and dragged it down here.

I don’t suppose you want me to fly us to the door.

I’d like nothing better. Unfortunately, I doubt I could find my way from above. I need to see the landmarks from ground level. Besides that, we need to descend another level to reach it.

It goes deeper?

Much. The professor brightened at the prospect of giving a lecture. The Builders appear to have delved deep into the earth. Either that or they dug up from below. Given the lack of weather, it’s difficult to determine which levels of the city were built first. My instincts tell me they had to come down into the earth, but wouldn’t it be fascinating to find a race that evolved in the depths of the earth? Can you imagine how different their worldview would be?

All Damien could imagine was how powerful they had to be to transmute goblins into whatever sort of creatures his sister fought. It was a good thing for everyone they were long gone.

Have you studied the ruins under Port Valcane? Damien asked.

Briefly. After your sister mentioned them I spent a month wandering around, but the cultists had so badly damaged the natural state of the ruins it was a pointless endeavor. That’s why I’m desperate to keep anyone from finding this place before I’m finished. Besides, as far as I could tell, the Valcane ruins only had a single level. That argues that this is the primary site.

If you say so. Where are we headed?

The level two access point is about an hour and a half from here. I thought we’d take a little detour and I’d show you where your sister fought the enhanced goblins. Rest assured I’ve learned from my mistake and won’t be releasing any more of those ugly things. I also keep a cache of supplies in one of the buildings, so you won’t have to tow those satchels the whole way.

Damien nodded, hoping the professor’s confidence proved well founded.

The two of them set out through the city, pausing twice as the professor studied the surrounding buildings. Damien didn’t see much to distinguish one from the other. Some of the embellishments carved into the doors and window frames gave him the creeps. Many of them featured a rune that resembled a staring eye. It felt like he was being watched everywhere he went. That might