The Soul Forge (19 page)

“I can do it, Daddy,” Etanta said, her jaw set. Morando looked stricken
, but with the Keeper’s nod he accepted it.

“No more talk,” Gilkor said at the door, looking out at the snow-covered hills. “They’re here.”

“Gilkor, head up to the top of the building. You’ll have a good shot from there. Cynthia, when you can walk, join him. The rest of us, let’s get outside. If we keep them on the path, we can bottleneck them there.”

“When did you become good at strategy?” Zach asked, following him as he headed to the door.

“I read. You think I never read a book or two about strategy? You know, back in the good ol’ days when I had a farm to worry about defending in case of brigands.”

“Maybe I should read more,” Zach said, feeling the blade of his sword. Thomas did the same, and noted that it was incredibly sharp. The Maker’s certainly had
done a great job.

“You should read more,” Thomas chuckled. They both shared a smile before turning back and looking at the others. The room was full of the people he had befriended, those that had fought the darkness without feat. He couldn’t have asked for better people to stand with him.

“Just in case this doesn’t go so well,” Thomas said, “I just want you all to know… I’m glad I tripped on that broom.”

He knew no one would understand the reference, but they more than understood his sentiment. They took just a moment longer to smile at each other before Thomas and Zach issued a mutual war cry.

They ran into the snow with swords drawn and voices high.

Inanis were there to meet them, bunched up due to the
high rock walls they walked between. Without hesitation, Thomas and Zach dived right in.

Thomas struck first, his blade slashing at the
nearest Inanis. It cut a line in the monster, and the glowing cut shone for a brief moment. Thomas stared, silently praying that the soul sword would be able to do what it had been unable to do as the General’s sword.

Thomas’ heart literally skipped a beat.
The Inanis fell to the ground and didn’t move again. Not dead, Thomas was sure, but out of the fight. He looked at Zach, who felled an Inanis of his own with the blade. That Inanis didn’t move again either.

Thomas and Zach both looked at each other and smiled.
Then they waded into the Inanis with reckless abandon. Their weapons were potent, and anything they connected with went down in the snow. Soon, they had the path blocked off with the bodies of the Inanis, and the wooden terrors had to climb over each other in order to attack. They were cut down the moment they appeared.

The boys were careful not to try and impale any of the Inanis. Without having to tell each other, both knew that there were still people inside, and maybe they could
be saved. Any mortal injuries to the Inanis would be a mortal injury to the person.

Not that dealing mortal injuries was exactly easy.

The more they bashed the blades against their wooden adversaries, the more Thomas began to worry that they were dulling the swords. If the swords were dulled, they’d be right back into the same issue they had been at before, which was being totally defenseless against an army of attackers.

Thomas raised his sword again anyway. It wasn’t like there was another option available.

“BEHIND YOU!”

The warning came from high above them, and Thomas turned just in time to avoid getting his face ripped off by an Inanis. Apparently, the
y had gotten clever and were able to go around the mountain, circumventing the path.

“Damn,” was all Thomas could say before he and Zach were surrounded on all sides.
They stood back to back, blades held in a defensive stance, and waited for the hammer to fall.

It did a moment later when at least a dozen Inanis descended on them, claws tearing at anything they could reach.
Zach and Thomas tried to defend themselves, but they were badly outnumbered and their blades could only cut so much wood at once.

Three arrows felled three Inanis in rapid succession, turning the tables just a hair. Miranda and the Keeper joined them, using a table as a weapon to knock more Inanis down. Only by falling to the ground did Thomas and Zach avoid getting knocked over with them.

“Give the swords here and go!”

The order came from the Keeper
, and neither of them had the presence of mind to dispute it. They tossed the blades to Miranda and the Keeper and headed inside to recover. Morando was there to meet them and heal some of the minor wounds they had sustained.

“
Their numbers are great,” the Healer said as Thomas hunched over to catch his breath. “The fake Priest no doubt has brought the entire army forth to destroy us.”

“Can you take control of them?” Zach asked, but Thomas
was already shaking his head. Just the thought of trying to control the Inanis made his head spin.

“I’m still too burned from
making the soul-ore,” Thomas panted, “and there’s so many of them… I’m pretty sure even tryin’ would be a bad idea. We’re gonna have to do this by hand.”

Zach nodded, and walked towards the door. The Keeper and Miranda were putting on quite the spectacle, both of them clearly better trained than Thomas and Zach.
The only advantage the boys had was they worked better together than the Keeper and Miranda. They were constantly getting into each other’s way as they battled the Inanis.

The arrangement couldn’t last, or they would be killed.

“I’m going to go back out there,” Thomas said, “you stay here and wait for Miranda. We’ll change up the teams.”

Zach was clearly torn about the change in dance partner, but he nodded his understanding nevertheless.

Thomas waited for the right moment to relieve Miranda, but she made that simple by slipping and falling as the Inanis descended on her. Sprinting to her defense, he lifted the blue-hued blade and slashed through three chests at once.

“Get inside,” he ordered, “we’re changing up the teams.”

“Good,” she muttered in response, “he isn’t exactly a team player.”

Thomas had no reply as he had to fend off four more Inanis.
The Keeper seemed in a world of his own, spinning his blade so fast it appeared to be more a shield than a sword. Thomas turned his attention to his own situation, unsure if the Keeper was even capable of sentient thought.

The Inanis were piling up, but now the bodies were hemming Thomas and the Keeper in instead of
keeping the Inanis out. They were pushed back to the door by sheer volume alone, running out of space to work. The arrows flew from above them, taking out the invaders further off, but their enemy seemed to have a never ending supply of bodies.

Thomas called the Keeper back, letting Zach and Miranda
take their places. The Maker’s forge was shaking as the Inanis attempted to get in through the walls. The impromptu barricades held, but they were swiftly running out of breathing room. After three more switches, bodies were piled high and their strength was failing, and still they kept coming.

“We’re almost out of time,” Morando said
when it was Zach and Miranda’s turn to fight, “what do you suggest?”

Thomas was silent for a moment, thinking hard. His muscles were starting to break down as fatigue settled in.

“If we find their leader, we can end this,” the Keeper
said, his breathing heavy. It seemed even the old soldier had his limits.

Thomas nodded his agreement. “We need to draw him out,” he replied, “or he’ll just keep sendin’ his minions after us.”

“How do we do that?” Morando said with beads of sweat on his forehead. They were taxing his healing abilities, and Etanta was only able to do so much.

“Simple,” Thomas said, “I start shouting.”

Without another word, he whistled. Miranda and Zach took the signal and pulled back, trading off the blades yet again. But this time, neither the Keeper or Thomas engaged the Inanis.

“Come on out, you parasite!” Thomas shouted at the top of his voice.

It was as if the pretend Priest was just waiting for the challenge. As soon as the words left Thomas’ mouth, the sea of Inanis parted to reveal the pretend Priest and the honorable swordsman from the Verdonti invasion.

“Hello, Thomas.
Pleasure seeing you again.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Thomas retorted, “but I’m afraid I ain’t so happy to see you.”

“Yes, I’d imagine not. But come, look at all the effort I put in just to make sure we’d meet again! All of the people enslaved, the homes destroyed, the families torn apart. You know, this would have been far less painful for everyone involved if you’d just given me my staff to start with.
”

“It wasn’t yer staff, ya lyin’ scum. You ain’t the Priest. We know the truth.”

“Oh do you?” the pretend Priest said. He didn’t appear the least bit agitated by the news. “Well then,” he continued, “tell me what the truth is.”

Thomas didn’t immediately answer, disconcerted.
What was this faker hinting at?

“You don’t even suspect, do you? No, I’d suppose not. Simple little…
Stable Boy.”

Thomas’ eyes widened at the mention
of his unwanted nickname. And now that he thought about it, when did the pretend Priest learn his name?

“No,” he whispered as the answer hit him like an iron fist to the gut. “No
no no…”

“Gotten there at last, have we?”
his enemy said, waving a hand. From the crowd of Inanis came forth three, two regular sized and one child.

Thomas sank to his knees, disbelief etched into every corner of his face.
So they hadn’t been able to escape after all. He had so been hoping, so willing to believe that they had.

“Oh, does this upset you? I’m sorry to see that. But when you think about it,
I’m actually doing them a service. Now they don’t have to live with the knowledge that the person they put their trust in… failed them. Not them, not Chancellor Valerium nor Chancellor Vontanado.”

“What?”

“Oh yes. I have all of them. Every person you failed to save is standing around you. The beautiful Chancellor of Ludicra, gone. The sniveling, cowardly ruler of Verdonti, gone. Elves, humans, dwarves… of them forming my faithful legion. The world is mine.”

Thomas was silent as his hand curled into a fist with such intensity that flames started brewing
. The hand holding the soul-blade increased in pressure until the handle creaked in protest. When he finally lifted his eyes, there was nothing but flame reflected inside them as the blue-hot fire chased its way up his body.

Without even meaning to, his anger was summoning the very power of his soul.
The blue flame was dark, corrupted. Edging closer to an unnatural purple instead of what it was meant to be.

“Not yet,” he finally said, “if you want this world, you’re going to have to go through me.”

“A challenge I’m sure my right hand is up to,” the pretend Priest said, waving his hand at the swordsman. The warrior drew his blade, leveling it in front of him in anticipation.

“I will handle him,” the Keeper said, starting to move forward.

“No,” Thomas replied, standing up, “he’s mine. Keep the Inanis from getting into the forge.”

“I don’t think…”

“Do it.”

Without waiting for further
interruptions, Thomas sprinted forward with the soul-blade at his side. The commander surged to meet him, and the two blades crossed amidst the chaos of the Inanis invasion.

Thomas was focused, his anger becoming a weapon he could use. The soul-blade became more an extension of his will as it banged and clashed with the commander
’s black-bladed sword. He pushed forward, fire pouring from his body as if his insides were burning. The commander didn’t back down, meeting his every strike with skill, no energy wasted and no fear present.

Thomas, however… Thomas just kept pushing. No strategy, no plan, no qualms. All that mattered was the Priest, meaning the commander was just a target that needed to be extinguished.
The commander tried to roll away, to create some distance, but Thomas didn’t relent. His sword just kept flashing at the commander, fire pushing from his body with such intensity he was melting the snow around him.

They kept circling, swords smacking off each other so fast Thomas wasn’t actually sure how he was keeping up. He had taken to his lessons well, and there was something to be said about the power of anger.

But that ‘something’ wasn’t always a good thing.

Ignorant of his surroundings, Thomas didn’t notice the puddles that had formed. His foot slipped in one
, and he momentarily lost his balance. The commander didn’t give him an inch, pushing forward with a complicated array of strikes. Thomas was barely able to keep up, his sword only catching his opponent’s at the last possible second. Now he was the one to give ground, sweat forming on his brow.

It only made him angrier.

The fire was coming off of his body in waves now, melting the snow as it fell from the sky and evaporating it almost in the same moment. Unaffected by his own heat, Thomas was able to shift the battle due to his opponent’s exhaustion. The commander’s blows had less force behind them, his blocks less swift.

It was then a forgone conclusion
that Thomas knocked aside the commander’s blade. The more experienced warrior fell to his knees, breathing heavily.

“Well done,” was
all the commander said. Then he raised his head and closed his eyes. It was clear what he expected.

But no matter how angry Thomas was, he absolutely would not murder a
defeated opponent. The blue flame quieted to a deep red as Thomas took several breaths, trying his best to remember himself. To remember who he was. Gods, it was almost a blessing Ms. Anna couldn’t see him. How ashamed she’d be. It was necessary though. Just for a little while longer. The murderous rage was needed, but not for the commander.

No, he was
saving that bit of his temper for the pretend Priest…

That was as far as his thought went before something incredibly solid
ran into him, knocking him to the ground. He rolled several times before coming to a half, completely winded.

The pretend Priest stood over him, his face contorted in anger.
Thomas held tight to his soul-blade even as he fought to get back to his feet.

“As amusing as I find you,” the pretend Priest said, “
I’m afraid your part in this tale has ended. It’s time for you to die, and those accursed blades be destroyed.”

Thomas lay on the ground, unable to rise. Somehow, the Priest was keeping him down.

“You see, magic is very complicated,” he said, raising his hand. Impossibly, unbelievably, Thomas started to rise with it. He clawed at the air, but there was nothing to grab. The Priest was lifting him with his mind.

“Some people can make fire. Some people can heal. Some people can raise the dead. And some can move things with their minds. You are the first kind. I am the last.”

The Priest moved his hand across his body, throwing Thomas across the summit. He landed painfully at the edge of the mountaintop, struggling to breathe.

“Now, young one, you will die.”

Thomas couldn’t fight him, couldn’t even try. He had brought this on himself, letting his anger do the thinking for him. Now he was going to die and there was nothing he could do…

He shook his head, warding away the thought.
When did he become a quitter? Never before, and he certainly didn’t plan on starting now. Shocking everyone, including himself, Thomas fought his way back to his feet. The fire across his body started burning again, accelerating to blue. But it was purer now, a bright, electric blue instead of the dark-hued blue that his anger had caused.

Thomas calmed his rage, instead choosing to focus on
what was right: defending his friends, saving his home. Anger had no place here. All that mattered was doing what was right.

The pretend Priest shoved his hand forward at the same time Thomas did
. Twenty feet apart, a spurt of flame met condensed air, and neither was able to claim the advantage. Thomas felt the familiar pain of using his magic creep into his brain, but he accepted it. No ignoring, no pretending it didn’t exist. Not this time. This time he simply welcomed it like an old friend.

He would feed his power with his pain
, utilizing it.

The Priest stared him down, though neither one really looked at each other. They were looking through each other, through to the very core of each other. It was so strange. Thomas had never before imagined his life ending up this way
, fighting a mental war with the incarnate of darkness itself.

Without really knowing why, he smiled.
Now he truly understood why Thomas had found the adventures and the quests so enthralling. Being here, facing the enemy, saving lives…

There was nothing like it.

The blue flame started to push the hardened air, his will overpowering the pretend Priest’s. The Priest fell to his knees, putting up both hands to ward off Thomas’ magic. Thomas didn’t falter, taking step by painful step. The maelstrom opened up in his mind, putting every single scrap of consciousness to the torch. Still he moved forward, refusing to give in, refusing to surrender.

He would take death before surrender.

Standing over his foe, Thomas swung his other hand down, fire bursting forth from it. How far he had come from barely able to make sparks in his stable. How much he had given, how much he had seen. Lives destroyed, families torn apart. Innocent beings falling to the dark. He thought of Chancellor Valerium. He had so been hoping to see her again. Now she was probably just another Inanis, mindless and savage. Just like the Kimpchiks. Just like everyone else.

His friends would not share that fate. He wouldn’t allow it.

Finally, his will overpowered the pretend Priest’s. Experience fell to courage, and the Priest smashed into the ground with the pure force of the explosion.

Then he started laughing.

“You find somethin’ funny?” Thomas said, lifting his soul-blade.

“Do you think you can kill me with that thing?
Don’t you understand how it works?”

“Not really,” Thomas admitted, “but I’m bettin’ the sharp point oughta do the job.”

The Priest only kept laughing, and Thomas hesitated. Something was very amiss here.

“Don’t let him into your head,” Zach said from the door, “he’s just trying to stall. Finish him!”

Thomas nodded, trying to shake free of the nagging feeling in his brain, but something stalled his hand.

“What do you mean?” Thomas found himself asking.

“Why should I tell you?” the Priest said, smiling.

Thomas mulled it over before shrugging. “That’s a fair point.”

Without batting an eye, Thomas thrust the blade into the Priest’s chest. Bone cracked and blood spurted out, but the wound didn’t seem to do nearly as much damage as Thomas thought it would.

This was proven true when the Priest stood up, his laugh gone, and pulled the blade from his chest. The wound it left behind dripped blood, but it wasn’t
the geyser it should have been.

“You see, this is why children shouldn’t be given sharp objects.”

The Priest suddenly slashed, and only a desperate dodge kept Thomas alive. This was insane. The pretend Priest was dead. How was he still moving?

An arrow flew out, catching the Priest in his arm. He fell to the ground, howling in pain, the wound from the arrow doing more damage somehow than a blade to his heart!

Suddenly, Cynthia was at his side, pulling him back to the forge. But he couldn’t go, he had to know. And they wouldn’t reclaim the advantage if they abandoned the field now.

“How?
How are you alive?”

“The sword,” the Priest muttered, speaking as if the words had life of their own, “works against the
soul
. It’s the fundamentals of soul-ore. If you want a weapon that will physically harm beings, you’re using the wrong weapon. Soul-ore directly attacks and tries to purify the soul of whatever it touches.”

“So why aren’t you purified then?”
Cynthia asked, her eyes narrowed. Thomas noticed beads of sweat on her forehead. That was certainly strange.

“
A soul… is only purified… if the attacker’s soul is as pure – or purer – than the soul it’s trying to purify. If your light isn’t greater than my darkness, than I can’t die.”

“How do you know that?” Thomas asked, thunderstruck. “How do you know what soul-ore can do?”

“Because… I was there when Chromwell discovered it, stole it. I was there when he experimented with it.”

Thomas stared, his mouth wide open. This… this was blankly impossible. Thomas had clearly taken leave of his senses. He couldn’t have been there. He would have to be close to the General, close to his inner council…

“Who are you?” he found himself asking.

“I am…
” He stopped talking, looking as if he was trying his very hardest not to say what he was being forced to say.

“I… am…
Tiber Odenyt.”

Thomas literally fell over backwards.
When he had recovered himself, he had to work very hard to get his breathing under control.