A Trial of Souls Read online

  The Godling

  Chronicles

  Book Four

  “A Trial of Souls”

  Written by Brian D. Anderson

  Original concept by Jonathan Anderson

  The Godling Chronicles (Book Four) A Trial of Souls

  By

  Brian D. Anderson

  Original concept by Jonathan Anderson

  Copyright © Brian D. Anderson 2013

  Cover Design Novel Idea Design

  Published by Mythos Press (An Imprint of GMTA Publishing)

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author. Contact GMTA Publishing, 2206 Wingate Road, Fayetteville, NC 28304

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Dedication

  For George Stratford, whose amazing hard work and dedication made the timely release of this novel possible.

  Prologue

  Weila crept silently atop the dune. Keeping as low as possible, she peered down over the vast expanse of the Soufis camp.

  The blood from the sentry had sprayed everywhere, and sand was now sticking in ugly, irritating clumps all over her arms and clothes. She wiped the bloody grime from her forearm in disgust, at the same time silently cursing herself for her carelessness. The man had turned around just as she was about to slit his throat; she could count herself very fortunate indeed that she’d been able to silence him before he could raise the alarm.

  The sound of obscene songs and gruesome laughter drifted up from the camp, fueling her hatred for the slavers to even greater heights. A grim little smile formed as she took careful note of their positions and numbers. When the dawn came they would be silenced forever and the sands would be rid of the Soufis plague once and for all. Though repulsed, she continued to watch for another two hours as the merry-making rose to a fever pitch. During that time six slaves were killed by their drunken masters, and a dozen fights erupted, three of which ended in death.

  “Animals,” she muttered, sliding back down the side of the dune and retrieving her bow.

  She returned to the body of the sentry and buried it in the sand. The two other Sand Masters who had accompanied her on this mission were planning to scout the area west that led to the flat, hard sands of the Crystal Plains, then rendezvous with her five miles north of the Soufis encampment. The route across the Crystal Plains would enable the Soufis army to reach Dantory in less than two weeks. If that happened, the people there would certainly be slaughtered. They would never expect such vast numbers to march on them from the deep desert. In their minds, civilization ended beyond their own doorsteps: the Soufis, nomadic human tribes, and especially the elves of the deep desert, were nothing but rumors and myths to all but a very few of Dantory’s citizens. And even if they did know what was coming, there would still be no hope of stopping the onslaught. An army of this size would be able to destroy their towns in hours, killing any who resisted, and enslaving those who did not.

  Bands of elves had been gathering for weeks at the Waters of Shajir. Twenty thousand were already there, and another thirty thousand were expected to arrive once word reached the southeastern tribes - more than enough to defeat the Soufis. And once these long-standing enemies had been dealt with, the march from their beloved home would begin. Darshan had come, and a new beginning was on the horizon.

  As she made her way through the darkness to meet up with the others, Weila wondered what life a Sand Master could find in the west. The idea of a forest or an ocean didn’t disturb her. It was the thought of being without purpose that caused the most concern. In the desert she had responsibility and direction. Her people looked to her for guidance. What would she be without that? Cursing herself for useless despair, she pushed these thoughts from her mind.

  As Weila approached the rendezvous point she caught a foul scent. Ducking behind a low dune, she inched around the base until she could see what had alerted her. Only a few yards ahead were the two other Sand Masters, both of them on their knees with hands bound behind their backs and faces beaten and bloody. Leolo was young and strong, but had only just become a full-fledged Master. Sherindi was nearly as old as Weila, and very capable. Three Soufis warriors stood over the pair, silently pacing back and forth. How they had ever managed to capture two Sand Masters was a mystery, but that was of no consequence right now. The Soufis had sealed their own fate with their actions.

  Weila drew her knife and prepared to free her comrades. Her muscles tensed, but just as she was about to charge in, another figure appeared from the darkness. Its long black cloak and fluid movements told Weila that this must be the Vrykol Darshan had spoken of. Her heart sank. The dagger she wielded was far too small to have any chance of beheading the creature, and arrows would be useless.

  One of the Soufis kneeled down in front of Leolo. “I still think they’re lying. There’s bound to be more of them about.”

  The Vrykol took a long sweeping look around. Weila froze.

  “Then perhaps a bit of gentle persuasion might help,” the creature said. In a single rapid motion it spanned the distance between itself and the helpless elves. Its hand shot out, there was the glint of steel, and Leolo gasped loudly in shock and pain. A series of desperate gurgling sounds followed. Seconds later he slumped over, blood still gushing from his throat and down his chest.

  The Vrykol looked down at Sherindi. “Your death will be considerably harsher unless you tell me where the rest of your companions are.”

  Sherindi glared defiantly and spat on the ground at its feet. “Vile creature. Save your threats.”

  The Vrykol laughed. “I make no threats. I only wish to spare you the torment of being taken back to the Soufis camp. I can only imagine what they would do to such a lovely elf woman. I offer you a quick death, here and now - nothing more. All you need do is speak the truth.”

  Sherindi lowered her head. “Do what you will.”

  Taking her bow, Weila notched an arrow. “Forgive me,” she whispered after saying a brief silent prayer. Her hands trembled for a moment as the bowstring drew tight. She could feel tears running down her cheeks. Sucking in a deep breath to steady her aim, she let loose the arrow. It struck home with a solid thud, piercing Sherindi’s heart. Weila instantly sprang to her feet and ran off into the night, hatred filling her soul.

  As she wound her way between the dunes she glanced back regularly for signs of pursuit. The Soufis had no chance of catching her, but she was concerned that the Vrykol might be able to. After half an hour she halted and listened carefully. Her path would have been difficult to follow, even for another Sand Master. Soon she smiled, satisfied that she was alone.

  “You are a difficult prey,” came a voice from the darkness.

  Weila’s smile vanished. She drew her dagger. “Come closer and you’ll find out exactly how difficult I am.” She could see the outline of the Vrykol slowly closing in.

  It stopped a few feet away to push back its hood and reveal elf features. “Do not fear. I only wish to speak with you.”

  “I have nothing to say,” she shot back angrily. Darshan had told them that there was a Vrykol in elf form, but that still hadn’t prepared her for the reality of actually seeing one.

  The Vrykol smiled, its white teeth gleaming in the darkness. “That is just as well. For I wish you to listen.”

  “You
have nothing to say that I would hear.” Her voice was hard and steady.

  “I could kill you where you stand,” it said, sounding amused. “Or you can listen.”

  Weila paused for a long moment. “Then speak and be gone.”

  “I want you to tell your people to leave the Soufis alone,” the Vrykol instructed her. “In return, the Reborn King promises to leave your desert in peace from this day until the end of time. Furthermore, we pledge to prevent the Soufis from ever returning. Once my master is finished with them, they will be destroyed and trouble you no longer.” He took a step forward. “Is that not what you want? To live free in your desert?”

  “You offer what we already possess,” said Weila. “We do not need your master’s leave to be free.”

  “You think not?” He shook his head and chuckled. “You cannot possibly understand the forces that will be arrayed against you should you hinder the plans of my lord. You may very well be able to defeat the Soufis, but your forces will be diminished. And once the war in the west has been won, the Reborn King shall cast his gaze east. He will sweep down upon you like a plague and hunt down every last elf that breathes desert air. There will be no one left alive to know that you ever existed. Do you not see wisdom in my words? Would you see your people annihilated, fighting a battle that is not your own?”

  “You think to persuade us to be idle while you seek to dominate the world?” she scoffed. “You expect us to allow evil to reign? Know you nothing of the people whose body you have polluted with your foul spirit? You cannot be so stupid.”

  “We will not dominate the world,” he replied, his voice turning into a deathly whisper. “We will burn it to cinders. Nothing shall remain. Your precious desert will seem a paradise by comparison, and there is nothing you can do to stop us.”

  He turned his back to her. “Should you attack the Soufis army and attempt to leave your lands, none of you will be spared. Darshan will still fall, and the elves will be wiped from memory. To this, I swear. Deliver my message to your leaders.” With this final demand, he stalked away, disappearing into the night.

  Weila stood there for several minutes, doubt slowly sneaking its unwanted way into her heart. She could not help but wonder how much truth there was in the Vrykol’s words. Was this Reborn King really so powerful as to make good on his threats? She shook her head and steeled her wits. She would not allow darkness and despair to rule her. Regardless of what the creature had just said, Darshan was their salvation, and he would fulfill the prophecy.

  She reached down to pick up a handful of sand, squeezing it tightly. As the grains seeped out between her calloused fingers the gritty texture calmed her, soothing her heart. The sands were eternal, and no matter where she would travel, she belonged to them. Should the end come and the fire of the elves be snuffed out, they would meet that destiny without fear. And tomorrow, she would have her vengeance. The faces of Sherindi and Leolo, and the cruel way that the Vrykol had brought about their end, burned fiercely in her mind. It was enough to erase all doubt and bolster her courage.

  Opening her hand, she released the sand and raced off into the night to join her people.

  Chapter 1

  Gewey woke to the sound of heavy pounding on his door. His eyes cracked open and he could see that Kaylia had already gone.

  “Come in,” he called, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  It was Ertik. He was dressed uncharacteristically in black wool pants together with some old and badly worn leather armor. “It is time, My Lord.”

  Gewey held back a laugh. The armor was far too big for Ertik’s slight frame, and the pants had been made for a much shorter man. “Don’t call me my lord. And please put on normal clothes.”

  Ertik flushed. “If I am to go to war, then surely I should have some protection. I do not intend to wear this all the way to Skalhalis. I’m merely attempting to get used to the fit.” He smiled down at himself and shrugged. “Or lack of perhaps? But this was the only spare armor available that even came close to fitting me. The rest had already been distributed to the soldiers who needed it.”

  “Who says you’re going to war?” asked Gewey, still amused. Ertik was by far one of the most capable and serious minded of all the people in Valshara. It was almost impossible to keep a straight face to see him thus attired.

  “I am to represent Amon Dähl,” he explained, head held high. “I may be no soldier, but I have been an agent of my order for longer than you have been alive, and have faced death many times, though not in battle. I also have other skills that could prove to be useful.”

  Gewey held up his hand and lowered his head. “I do not doubt you for a moment. But...” He peeked up and was unable to contain a grin.

  Ertik looked down once again at his ill-fitting attire before meeting Gewey’s eyes. There was a brief pause - the pair of them then simultaneously burst into laughter.

  “I think perhaps I’ll forgo the armor after all,” said Ertik, shaking his head. A moment later he was serious again. “Kaylia sent me to tell you that the army is assembled and ready.”

  Gewey’s humor instantly evaporated. He sprang up from the bed, cursing. “Why didn’t she wake me earlier? I need to check my gear and...”

  “It’s all been taken care of,” said Ertik. “Your horse and sword are already prepared and awaiting you outside, and your clothes are in your wardrobe.” He gave a disapproving look that was accompanied by a sigh. “I must tell you, I do not like that you intend to go into battle without armor.”

  “I think Kaylia would agree,” remarked Gewey as he walked to the wardrobe. “But I have no intention of coming close enough to enemy swords to need it.”

  “Still, you should use caution,” Ertik retorted.

  “Perhaps I could borrow yours,” said Gewey, smirking roguishly. He could see Ertik was not amused. “Don’t worry. If at any time I feel in the need of protection, I’ll put some on. I’m certain Kaylia will have made sure that I have it available should I change my mind.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” said Ertik. “She is a remarkable person. You are lucky to have someone like her watching over you.” He drew a deep breath. “Anyway, your breakfast and bathwater is being brought as we speak.”

  Gewey nodded. “Thank you. I’ll join you as soon as I’m ready.”

  Gewey examined the clothes Kaylia had left for him: an open necked crimson shirt and black pants; both made from elven cloth and tailored to his form. Sewn onto the shirt’s breast was the image of a silver sword set against a full moon. He had been told that this was the sigil of Amon Dahl given to the knight chosen to protect the Sword of Truth. He tried on the soft leather boots. They were polished to a mirror shine and hugged his feet like a pair of suede moccasins. His belt had been cleaned and rubbed with oil that gave off a sweet scent much like maple syrup. This immediately reminded him of mornings in Sharpstone with his father. He smiled inwardly, seeing the man’s kindly face in his mind.

  A few minutes later his food and bath water was brought in, and soon he was dressed and making his way through Valshara. The halls were quiet and solemn. Those he passed bowed low, though none were able to meet his eyes. With the exception of Kaylia and High Lady Selena, his name was now Darshan to everyone within the temple walls. These were the only two who were seemingly still unaffected by the dramatic way in which he had used the flow of the spirit to establish his control over the doubting council members.

  It hadn’t taken very long for him to become aware that the consequences of his use had not been contained to the receiving hall. The entire temple suddenly knew of the name given to him by Gerath, and they began to all but worship at his feet. He realized that Aaliyah had hit upon the truth. The flow of the spirit was by far the greatest of all the powers. That the Reborn King had gained such a vast following in such a short time could be easily explained if he had gained this ability as well.

  As Gewey exited the temple he found his horse awaiting him, along with six guards - three elves, and t
hree humans. All were wearing gleaming steel plate from head to toe and held long spears adorned with a small banner matching the sigil on his shirt. Each man had been carefully handpicked by Kaylia and Aaliyah to be his personal guard.

  Gewey was surprised by how close the two elf women had become in so short a time, considering that they had been rivals for his affections only a matter of weeks before. The bond he’d created with Aaliyah in the desert had given them a common goal - his safety. Though indeed odd, he was pleased that the situation had not caused jealousy or resentment.

  He mounted his horse and urged it toward the gates, his guard keeping pace on either side. The few people about in the yard lowered their heads and closed their eyes as he rode by. To Gewey, it looked disturbingly like they were praying. Not that he minded prayer, but he had the uneasy feeling that the prayers were to him, and not for him.

  When they reached the end of the passage leading from Valshara, Gewey halted. Facing him were fifteen thousand soldiers in tight formations of one hundred men. Just beyond these were ten thousand elf fighters, and in the distance he could see the heavy cavalry who were flying the Valsharan banner of the sword and moon. Along the cliff wall were dozens of wagons carrying provisions.

  The moment he was spotted, the army let out a thunderous cheer so loud Gewey wanted to cover his ears. He had heard stories about armies and warfare, but nothing could have prepared him for this. His heart raced as he raised his fist high in the air, prompting the soldiers to cheer even louder.

  While casting his eyes over the scene, the sheer scope of what was to come began to set in. Urgency had meant they were unable to wait for their full strength to muster, so the enemy would most likely have superior numbers. Nevertheless, what they did have assembled was still impressive. And even though Angrääl may have more soldiers, they wouldn’t have ten thousand fierce elf warriors fighting on their side. Gewey allowed a small amount of the flow to pass through him. What’s more, this army would have a god leading it.