Soul Weaver: A Fantasy Novel (12 page)

“Nothing interesting here, friend,” she said, summoning all her courage and forcing herself to match the nobleman’s casual tones. She knew she had to avoid telling him anything. She didn’t know how many of the gang had escaped, or how many others waited back at the hideout. She wouldn’t give them up, she vowed. Besides, whatever Thorne thought she knew and could tell him…she didn’t. “I'm just a thief who knows enough to go after the biggest prize around. End of story.”

Thorne smiled humorlessly. “Friends don’t lie to one another, Shel. That is one of the reasons Rezdurth isn’t my friend.” A thoughtful look came over the archon’s face. “I’d wager it’s one of the reasons he’s no friend of yours, as well.”

As if in response to his name, Rez moaned weakly and shifted in his bonds. He didn’t wake or open his eyes, and the brief movement subsided quickly. Thorne ignored him, never taking his eyes from Shel.

He was trying to confuse her, to make her doubt her friends. He wanted to sow seeds of distrust, thinking she would turn on Rez and the rest. Well, he didn’t know Shel very well…

Then again, whispered a treacherous voice in the back of her mind, Rez
is
extremely secretive. Dismayed by the idea, Shel pushed the thought away. It was true the leader hadn’t told her everything. Why should he have? She was new, untested. She knew he would tell her everything she needed to know eventually.

“A thief who goes after the biggest prize around,” mused Thorne. If he was aware of Shel’s momentary struggle with doubt, he gave no sign of it. He chuckled, tapping a finger against his chin. “You think Rez and his gang are in it for the gold? You think they sell their ill-gotten bounty on some kind of black market for souls?”

At that, Thorne threw back his head and laughed with what seemed like genuine mirth and amusement. It was the first spark of truth he had allowed her to see, and Shel found the rich vibrance of his laughter deeply unsettling coming from the otherwise enigmatic and sinister nobleman.

The laugher broke off abruptly, and Thorne snapped his eyes back on Shel. They shone with relish as he dropped his bombshell. “They keep them, girl. Think. How many Soulweavers in this merry band of rogues? Hm? How many, besides Rez and yourself? And where do they get their power?”

Again, Shel would have shrugged. She wasn’t sure what Thorne was getting at, but she had a sinking feeling she wouldn’t like it when he finally got to the point.

“So what?” she asked, but most of the fire had gone out of her defiant show.

“So what?” echoed Thorne, chuckling again. “It’s not about gold. It’s not about living free or any of the other nonsense he might have told you. It’s about power. It’s about gathering that power and hoarding it up. And, ultimately, it’s about seizing ever more of that power until
his
power is the greatest. Rez wants nothing less than to overthrow the empire, girl. He would tear down the emperor and seat himself on the throne!”

Thorne’s voice rose excitably, building to a crescendo at the end. He gestured violently to emphasize his point. In response to the thundering announcement, Rez moaned and shifted again. He still sounded weak, but Shel thought she saw his eyelids flutter.

She was only distantly aware of it, though. What Thorne said made sense. That didn’t mean she was convinced. Rez had told her the gang lifted souls and sold them. Souls were the most expensive items in the world. Selling them, using the gold to buy food and clothes for the gang and whatever else, that made just as much sense. But it didn’t make
more
sense, she was surprised to note. Rez had referred to his band of thieves as the cold wind.

The cold wind, a thing virtually unknown in the Great and Glorious Golden Empire of the Long Summer. Cold winds were a thing of winter. Had Rez really been saying that his gang opposed the empire itself? Was he the leader of some kind of rebellion? Why would anyone want to bring an end to the Long Summer?

And what else could Rez have meant? They planned on stealing the souls Thorne was taking as tribute to the emperor. Depriving the emperor of new souls would weaken his power, threatening his mastery of the elements and his ability to repel invasions by hostile armies.

The Golden Empire was warmth and bounteous, never-ending harvests; prosperity for all who were willing to stand up and take their part of it; safety from the evil, half-human tribes that lurked on the mainland worshipping their dark, wintry gods. Why would anyone oppose the Golden Empire?

Shel took a good, long look at Archon Murdrek Thorne – arguably the second most powerful man in the empire, the highest authority beneath the emperor himself – and thought she could probably come up with at least one good reason.

“If Rez wants to tear down the empire,” she said, “then I'm sure he’s got his reasons for that.”

Thorne scowled at her response, dark eyes flashing. Before he could speak, however, another voice was raised.

“It’s good to hear you say that, Shel.” It was Rez, awake now if looking beaten and delirious. He’d worked the leather-wrapped gag out of his mouth and worked his jaw open and closed with a sour expression, as if trying to rid himself of a foul taste on his tongue.

He was in terrible shape. Besides being beaten, sliced, and burned there was something else. Staring at him, Shel gasped when she realized what it was. She remembered the first time she had sensed his power, in the training room with Sanook. That power was now much diminished.

“Rez…” Shel licked dry lips, suddenly terrified. “What have they done?”

Behind her, she heard the hunchback weaver chuckling. She couldn’t turn her head, but from the sound she knew he had come further into the room. He was right behind her. She thought back to that same training session. Sanook had held her in bonds of air much like the ones she was in now…

“Shall I give her a demonstration, Rezdurth?” asked Thorne, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he glanced back and forth between his two captives. Suddenly, he flung out one hand with fingers splayed. Shel saw the glow, the distortion in the air. Thorne contracted his fingers slowly, curling them in until they made a fist.

At the same time, Rez bucked and writhed against his bonds. A low groan rose in pitch, becoming an agonized scream. Shel’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she saw what happened next. A fuzzy, indistinct glowing appeared in the center of Rez’s chest. It bulged outward, drawn inexorably toward Thorne’s grasping fist. The incandescent energy clung to Rez, but in the end was torn free. It shot across the room in a flash, collecting itself round Thorne’s fist before dissolving into the archon’s arm.

Thorne’s eyes flashed with light and then became dark again. Rez sagged on the torture rack, breathing heavily. Sweat beaded his forehead and his eyes were squeezed shut in pain. Thorne had stolen one of his souls.

“That’s impossible…” breathed Shel. No one could forcibly take a soul without its owner’s consent. Yet, that was exactly what Thorne had done. Shel stared in open-mouthed horror at the archon. Behind her, the hunchback barked an evil laugh.

Brushing his hands off, Thorne turned to Shel and smiled darkly. Rez moaned in pain.

“As you can see, Gutterweave,” the archon said, “it is quite possible. Rez here had quite a lot of souls when he came to us. I have relieved him of that burden.”

Shel looked over at Rez, still sagging on the rack. He was weak and in terrible pain. She sensed the diminished power within him and gasped. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he had been stripped of every soul but his own. Even that was a weakly flickering ball of wounded energy within his body. She had to do something, or Rez was going to die.

“Not even the emperor knows this secret,” Thorne continued, turning away and moving back behind his desk. Seating himself, he steepled his fingers in front of his chin and regarded Shel over them with dark, hooded eyes. “For a thousand years he has depended on the Conclave to replenish his power. No longer.”

“You want to overthrow him yourself,” said Rez, wheezing and struggling to get the words out through his pain. “You call us rebels…”

“Why shouldn’t I be emperor?” asked Thorne. “I am stronger. I require no Conclave of Archons to prop up my strength. I require no one! I can take what I need, take what I want! The Golden Empire will be all the stronger under my leadership!”

“Murdrek…” wheezed Rez. “You're…insane…”

“She’s doing something!” The hunchback’s warning was shrill, tinged with alarm. “She’s trying something clever, my lord!”

Thorne’s head jerked around, eyes narrowed. “Crush her,” he snapped at his minion. “She is weak. I sense no extra souls in her. Crush her!”

The bands of air wrapped tightly around Shel began to constrict, cutting off her air. Shel pushed back, the same way she had against Sanook in her training session. But this was no training session.

Frantically, she pushed back against the hunchback’s weaves. She struggled to force away the constraining bands of air. Shel raised her arm – a titanic struggle in itself – and readied a powerful weave. Thorne’s eyes widened in surprise.

“What have we here?” he mused.

Behind her, Shel heard the hunchback gasp. She had broken her bonds. She had to act fast, before her jailer could overpower her again…before the archon pitted his own considerable strength against her. Raising her fist high over her head, she met Thorne’s eyes defiantly. Then she brought the fist down hard and fast, splaying open her fingers as if throwing a handful of dust down on the floor.

She concentrated all of her power. Shel imagined the white hot ball of soulstuff burning in her hand. When she hurled it at the floor, all of her power slammed into the bare stone like an invisible battering ram. Stone cracked where her power struck and the titanic recoil sent a shockwave through the room.

Shel, standing dead center of the blast, was hurled off her feet. Her shoulders crashed into the heavy door with a shockingly painful impact. The door gave way and Shel tumbled into the hallway. She saw Thorne similarly thrown back, his chair upsetting and splintering to pieces as the archon was tossed against the far wall like a rag doll.

The hunchback who’d held her prisoner burst into flames, shrieking and waving his arms. He beat his hands over his body, but it was no use. Within seconds, the misshapen little man was consumed. By the time Shel’s back slapped down against the floor in the corridor, nothing was left but ashes.

“How?” demanded Thorne, picking himself up from the floor. He dusted himself off with one hand; the other arm hung limp and crooked at his side. His face seethed with rage. “How did you conceal this power from me?”

From the overturned torture rack, Rez laughed bitterly. “She’s more powerful than you can imagine, Murdrek! Run Shel!”

Shel didn’t know what he meant. She didn’t think she was very powerful at all. She had just gotten lucky. Now she had to escape. She looked desperately toward the upended torture rack, but there was no way she could get to it and free Rez before the archon struck back.

“I'm sorry,” she breathed. Then she turned and ran.

Murdrek Thorne screamed for his guards. Dust – blasted from the cracks between stone blocks in the walls, ceiling and floor by the raw power of Shel’s weaving – drifted with slow grace on the air. Rez fought the pain to lift his head. Blood trickled from the corner of his smile.

Murdrek turned on him, snarling with rage. “What is this girl?” he demanded.

Charging across the room, Murdrek Thorne reached out with his own weaving. The upturned rack was seized in invisible hands and torn up from the floor. Rez gritted his teeth as the leather straps jerked him along with the table top, which Thorne slammed against the wall as he drew near. The archon’s teeth were bared in a rictus of fury as he advanced on the helpless prisoner.

Rez just laughed. It was all he could manage.

He had said Shel was more powerful than Murdrek could imagine. He hoped it proved more than a bluff, because everything depended on the girl now.

Thorne seized Rez by the shoulders. The archon leaned in close, bringing their faces to within an inch of one another. His eyes blazed with hate and madness.

“Who is she?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“She’s hope,” said Rez, making it up as he went along. After all, that was what he always had done. It was only fitting that he should die the same way he lived. Bluffing and lying through his teeth. Oh, Dunmir, he thought. Let it be more than a bluff.

“She will die screaming,” Murdrek snarled. Abruptly, he released his hold on Rez and spun away. He hurried back to the splintered hulk of his desk and tore open one of the drawers. When he turned around again, he held a dull, colorless gemstone in one hand. An evil smile twisted Murdrek Thorne’s lips.

Staring at the jewel in the archon’s hand, Rez felt the blood drain from his face as he realized what Thorne meant to do next.

“No,” he said hoarsely. Ignoring him, Murdrek moved closer. Rez fought weakly against the leather straps holding him in place, but he couldn’t escape. His voice rose in pitch as he became increasingly frantic. “You can’t. It isn’t possible. It’s not possible, Murdrek! I won’t let you!”

The archon now stood inches away from Rez, holding the dull jewel aloft between them. His smile was sinister and confident.

“I can,” he said. “It
is
possible, Rezdurth. It’s possible, and you have no say in the matter.”

***

Shel ran blindly down corridor after corridor, looking for a way out. She was lost in a maze of stone hallways each decorated with the same banners. Even the tapestries, depicting a variety of summery outdoor scenes, all looked alike to the young woman. An edge of panic was rising in her thoughts as she turned yet another corner and failed to find a door leading outside.

There were, however, a trio of armsmen waiting for her in that next stretch of hallway.

“There she is!” shouted the one out front, and all three drew their short swords and charged toward Shel without another word.

Skidding to a stop, Shel looked back the way she had come. Twenty feet down that corridor, another guard raced toward her. She frowned, turning back to the three who were almost on top of her.