SoulQuest (13 page)

“That was quite a security force that ambushed us,” said Tanus. “Is it usual for so many soldiers to respond to a threat?”

“We do not get many of them,” said Nyx. “So when a threat arrives, it is not uncommon for so many to assemble quickly.”

“Interesting,” said Tanus.

“How do you think the King will react to us?” asked Zarim.

“I do not know. I pray he will be sympathetic to your cause.”

“And if he’s not?” asked Zarim.

“You will likely be executed. Following the torture, of course.”

A grim smile fell across Ekala’s lips. “Of course. Can’t have an execution without torture.”

Albion smirked at this, for it was his prayer that this exact situation is what would befall those who would dare violate Nephelm’s sovereignty. On the approach to the center structure, Albion gestured to some of the battalion to help the humans ascend. Two were needed to lift Tanus, but one each seemed sufficient to carry Zarim and Ekala. Dozens of wings fluttered in perfect unison as the faeries hefted their visitors from the ground and up to the front entrance of the castle.

The castle hall was large, with a door leading ahead to the court. Just above the entrance was the balcony for the second floor. There appeared to be no stairs to access it, but when one could fly, what use would one have for steps? Albion led the group to the double doors below the balcony, and pushed them open.
 

The king’s court appeared larger than the castle seemed capable of containing. Tapestries hung on the walls and at the end of the hall sat a throne of crystal. A faerie, taller than even Albion, sat on the throne, a crown of sorts floating above his bald head, an ornate staff held in his hand. His pointed ears were longer than any of the others, and his wings more extravagant—not only blue, but many other colors were mixed in with them as well, like they were made from stained glass. He stood upon seeing the new arrivals.

“Albion! You dare bring these mortals to my court?”

Albion bowed in submission. “No, my King. I wished to execute them on sight, but another believed these...things were worthy of an audience with your greatness.”

“Speak! Who would sully the court of the King with the presence of these lower beings?”

“I’ll show ‘im a lower being...” muttered Ekala through gritted teeth.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Zarim in a hushed tone. “Let Nyx do the talking.”

Nyx stepped past the humans and bowed beside Albion. “My Lord Oberon, it is I who bear responsibility.”

“What is the purpose behind this affront, mystic?” asked Oberon.

“They are on a quest, my liege. A quest which may determine the fate of the world.”

Oberon stroked the silver beard that lined his jaw. “What sort of quest?”

Nyx shook her head. “I do not know, Sire. By your leave, I would allow them to explain their purpose.”

“You believe our home lies in jeopardy if they are not permitted to continue?”

“I do.”

“And what say you, Albion?”
 

“My position on mortals is well-known, my King. I believe them to be nothing more than a threat to our kingdom and our very way of life.”

“Yes, that has traditionally been so...” said Oberon, continuing to rub his beard. “But, as the mystic has foreseen danger in our mistrust, I shall permit them to state their case. Who among you would speak for this meager assemblage?”

“I guess that would be me,” said Zarim. He stepped forward and bent to one knee, bowing his head. “King Oberon, first I would like to take this opportunity to thank you, for you are truly a gracious and bene—”

“Spare me your flattery, boy,” said Oberon. “State your case.”

“If you say so.” Zarim stood, his hands moving behind his back. “King Oberon, we’ve been sent on a quest by Master Quand of Xanadar. A quest to retrieve the five Soulstones.”

“The Soulstones?” asked Oberon. “And for what purpose are they sought?”

“Master Quand told us that the stones have been awakened and they are sought by a dark force. If this force should claim all five, it would possess the power to remake—or unmake—reality as it chooses.”

“And Quand’s purpose?”

“Once Master Quand obtains all five Soulstones, he said he has the power to return them to their dormant state,” said Zarim. “For this reason, we’ve been sent to retrieve them.”

“You have retrieved some already?” asked Oberon.

“Just one,” said Zarim. “We almost had a second, but it was stolen from us by our enemies. We’ve been informed that a third Soulstone is here in Nephelm.”

Oberon rose from his throne, his multi-colored wings buzzing, slowly raising him above the ground and guiding him towards Zarim. “The enemy has their hands on one of the Soulstones?”

“Not by choice, we tried to get it from him,” said Zarim.
 

“Then time is most-certainly of the essence,” said Oberon. “We must take them to the repository.”

“But my Liege, these mortals—!”

Oberon’s head snapped in Albion’s direction. “Silence! Your King has spoken. These three are guests in Nephelm. I will not tolerate insubordination!”

Albion bowed his head. “Most sincere apologies, my Lord. It was not my intention to slight you.”

“Do not question my judgment again, Albion,” said Oberon. “Else you wish to incur my wrath.”

In the Forest of Eternal Night, the foundling looked up from his perch high in the trees. The presence of a new arrival in his domain awakened him and he smiled at the chance to cause some more mischief. Jumping from his high branch, he soared across the distance to the next tree and held out his hands. He gripped the limb and swung, letting go and flying in an arc. The foundling grabbed a vine and swung low and released the vine. After a flip in the air, he landed among the weeds, knees bent and one hand on the soft, damp soil.
 

His prey moved through the forest with caution and the foundling was prepared to act on this new intruder. Normally he didn’t get as many visitors as had turned up today. Boredom had begun to set into his routine and now with the opportunity to punish some intruders, he could hardly contain himself. He felt cheated when Albion and Nyx interfered with his last encounter, and he would compensate by torturing these new intruders as long as possible.

He slipped into character and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the black void that normally lay behind his lids was replaced with the blue eyes of a human child. He sat on the ground and wrapped his arms around his legs, pulling his knees close to his chest. The foundling lay his head atop his knees and began to sob.

Footsteps grew closer. The foundling stifled his excitement, but it was difficult. This was his favorite part of the game, when his chosen victims got sucked into his world. He raised his head, glassy eyes staring up, his cheeks moist with his tears. The man who stood before him raised his arm and brought it down in a sweeping motion.

The foundling’s severed head hit the ground and his body slumped a moment later. The man’s arm rested by his side, the curved blade attached to his gauntlet spattered with the foundling’s blood, which gathered along the edge and dripped from the pointed end. He shook his arm to free his blade of the crimson fluid. The tall, lanky man stared down at the severed head, the foundling’s eyes still open but now back to their natural state of a black void.
 

“What was that, Jeske?” The voice bellowed in the woods. The lanky man known as Jeske glanced at his companion, whose size made him appear as a boulder with arms and legs.

“I assume that was the guardian of the forest, Graf,” said Jeske. “Emphasis on
was
.”

A third figure approached the other two. This one was well-built, with a physique halfway between Jeske and Graf. “Is Nephelm near?”

“Yes, Holtz,” said Jeske. “We’ve defeated the guardian, and thanks to the master’s magicks, we should be concealed from them. Once we’ve breached their walls, our mission is to get the stone.”

“What if we meet opposition?” asked Graf.

“Then I trust you to do what you do best, my large friend,” said Jeske. “Kill any who oppose us.”

Swul hovered over the Forest of Eternal Night, but all he saw below were the treetops—a wide expanse of forestry as far as the eye could travel, and not even the slightest indication that a city was present somewhere in the midst. That was just the way Oberon wanted it to be, but Swul knew better. He could sense something pulling him down. It was the magical shield Oberon cast around Nephelm to try and keep out intruders, he could feel it.

“Guess it’s time t’ find out whether or not you can go home again.”

Swul dove, plummeting straight towards the ground. His blue wings unfolded from his back and began fluttering at rapid speeds to slow his descent. The winds were wild, batting him around as if he were nothing more than a fly. Swul fought against them, straining his wings to try and stay on-course. As he approached the ground, he saw the image beginning to fade. Parts of the forest were still there, but now in the middle, the walls of the city became visible.
 

The strong winds died down and Swul found it easier to control his flight. He was still on something of a rapid descent, but he managed to straighten himself out and at least direct himself a bit more. He came towards the edge of the forest, plummeting straight for the trees. Swul raised the axe and swung it in front of his small body, cutting into a large branch that blocked his path. The branch struck the ground with a loud crash, followed by Swul himself landing face-first.
 

He lay there for a few moments before finally spreading his arms, placing his palms against the ground and slowly pushing his torso up. Swul groaned as he fell on his backside, a pain in his hip. He reached for his belt and plucked the crushed remains of the radio transmitter, frowning while he examined it. Swul tossed it over his shoulder. “So much f’r that.”

Pulling himself to his feet, Swul straightened his hat and his wings raised him off the ground. He had a pretty good memory of how to progress through the Forest of Eternal Night, but he needed to stay on his guard. The foundling who protected the Forest was not one to be trifled with and Swul needed to be ready to deal with him, if necessary.

A feeling of dread overcame him. Swul thought it must mean that the foundling was close. And in that, he was right, but when he discovered the foundling, it wasn’t what he expected. Swul gasped, eyes widening as he hovered over the foundling’s head, which was detached from the rest of his body. The earth upon which it lay was dark with blood. Swul landed and just stared into the lifeless eyes, still not sure what to make of it. Zarim wouldn’t have done this, would he? If he had, that meant it was too late for them. Once Oberon found them, he wouldn’t show any mercy.

“Hold!”

Swul silently cursed himself for being sloppy. His grip tightened on the handle of his weapon. He could hear the buzzing of faerie wings behind him and he knew how this must look. The owner of the melodic voice came closer and Swul now had a definite sense of who it was.
 

Albion grabbed Swul’s shoulder and spun him around, his mouth dropping. “You’d
dare
come back to this place?”

Swul swung the axe in an upward stroke as he turned, and Albion barely managed to defend himself with his sword. The faerie warrior’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits, rage bubbling inside him at the sight of this traitor. He let out a war cry and lunged forward, thrusting his blade at Swul’s chest.

The pirate twisted to the side, and slammed the butt of his axe’s hilt against Albion’s forehead, and in the same motion struck a blow to Albion’s nose with his elbow. Albion spun away and Swul flew above him, crashing down against Albion’s back with both legs. The commander struck the ground, rolling onto his back just as Swul’s axe sliced through the air. Albion closed his eyes to prepare for the finishing blow, but it didn’t come.

Gingerly, Albion’s eyelids slid open. He saw the edge of Swul’s axe, positioned just a scant distance from his own head. Swul stood over his conquered foe, the grimace on his face made it apparent that he sincerely wanted to cleave Albion’s head in two. Instead, he moved it to the side and offered a hand. Albion stared at the hand for a moment before he accepted it and stood.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” asked Albion.

“Don’t think it’s got anythin’ t’ do with sentiment,” said Swul. “I just don’t wanna hear her bitch about it.”

“Why did you kill the foundling?” asked Albion.

Swul shook his head. “Got it all wrong. I found ‘im like that.”

“What? You’re certain?”

He scoffed. “D’ya really think I wouldn’t know whether or not I beheaded someone? Ain’t exactly sleepwalkin’, is it?”

“I suppose not. Why are you here?”

“Lookin’ for some friends.”

Albion sheathed his sword. “The three mortals?”

Swul grabbed the collar of Albion’s armor. “What’d you do to them?”

Albion held his arms out to both sides. “I have done nothing. Oberon told Nyx to take them to the repository.”

Swul released Albion. “That don’t make much sense.”

“Agreed. But if you are not responsible for the foundling’s death, then that means today has been quite a day for visitors.”

“Aw hell,” muttered Swul. “C’mon, we gotta get to the repository!”

“What is it?” asked Albion.

“My buddies an’ me ain’t the only ones after Oberon’s stone!”

Unlike before, no extra soldiers were needed to carry Zarim, Ekala, and Tanus to the tall structure that lay just outside the city’s limits. From the castle, a simple spell cast by Oberon acted as an invisible platform, carrying the three behind him and Nyx as they flew to their destination. Behind the city was a small mountain, with a gap leading into a cave. This was the access point of the repository, a treasure trove of Oberon’s most valued artifacts. Beautiful jewels, weaponry both deadly and ancient, dusty old tomes that contained forbidden knowledge about the distant past, charms of varying magical potency, all this and more were stored down in this vault.