Soul Forge (Book One of the Soul Forge series)

Valdren was beautiful. Brilliant white stone reflected shafts of sunlight from every marble wall and tower. Instead of cobbles, the roads were smooth and constructed of large, flat bricks for carts to travel over with ease. Noblemen and women wandered back and forth through the streets. All of them nodded respectfully to Gira or greeted him enthusiastically by name, and he returned every interaction with a warm smile and a wave.

His thick muscles were shown off by his sleeveless, open-collared tunic, his silken black hair tied in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. Gira was perfectly at ease among the people of Valdren even when the streets turned from grand villas to smaller dwellings, and the townsfolk shifted from wealthy nobles in expensive fabrics, to bakers and butchers in worn cloaks and scuffed boots. He still returned every single greeting with genuine delight.

“Aren’t we supposed to be heading to the castle?” Elda asked, glancing at the white towers reaching for the sky behind them.

“I thought you’d appreciate seeing some of Valdren first. Sypher tells me you spent much of your life behind the palace walls in Eden?” Gira asked conversationally, guiding her through streets he knew like the back of his hand.

“I did. My father was afraid someone would harm me and my mother was afraid a man would ruin me.” She gazed around in wonder. “This place is almost as big as Eden.”

“Valdren is the third largest kingdom on Valerus,” Gira explained. “I’m sorry I can’t show you more of it. There’s a wonderful garden with a pond further into the main city and there are many beautiful bakeries and stores I’m sure you’d enjoy.”

“Maybe I can look around some more in the future,” Elda suggested hopefully. “For now, you obviously have somewhere in mind. Where are you taking me?”

“To the best bookstore on Valerus,” Gira grinned, gesturing at a brightly painted wooden door across the street. It was a brilliant, vibrant blue with a gilded golden handle and a heavy knocker. The window was covered by heavy curtains in the same shade of blue, making the store look more like a home, but when Gira used the knocker the door swung inwards on well-oiled hinges.

“It doesn’t look like a store,” Elda frowned.

“That’s what makes it wonderful. After you,” he insisted. She ducked through the door, her eyes taking a minute to adjust to the gloom. The scent of leather bound tomes greeted her like an old friend, drawing her further inside even though she couldn’t see properly yet.

“Welcome to Bennigan’s Books! How can I help you?” asked a bright, deep voice from the back of the store. A head poked out from behind one of the shelves, a man as tall and muscled as Gira appearing with several books tucked under his arm and a pair of black glasses perched on his nose.

“Benny, good to see you,” Gira grinned. Bennigan set his books aside and swept the Shifter into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet despite his pronounced limp. When he set Gira down, he tucked shoulder-length brown hair behind his ears and beamed.

“I’ve missed you, friend! Where were you?” Bennigan asked, but before Gira could reply his head swivelled to peer at Elda. “Who’s this?” he asked curiously.

“Princess Elda Gild of Eden, our latest Keeper,” the Shifter told him.

“Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Bennigan answered, taking her hand and bowing low. Her cheeks coloured when his lips brushed her knuckles.

“The married Princess of Eden,” Gira corrected. Bennigan grinned impishly and straightened up.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I can’t help but be tempted by a pretty face,” he winked. “What can I do for both of you today?”

“We were on our way to see the King, so I thought we might take a detour,” the Shifter explained.

Elda grinned up at Bennigan. “I haven’t seen much of the world.”

“Then allow me to show you!” he boomed. “I have some of the finest and rarest books squirrelled away in the back of my store. Who better to lay eyes on them than our next saviour?” He beckoned the pair of them into the bowels of the shop, squeezing his broad shoulders between the closely packed mahogany shelving. He was tall enough that he had to duck beneath the cloth-covered doorframe at the furthest point, leading them up a set of narrow wooden stairs that creaked under his weight.

Another door at the top was locked with a heavy brass key that Bennigan produced from a chain around his neck, turning the tumbler with an echoing click and letting the door swing open with a flourish. The space beyond was bathed in sunlight streaming in through several carefully constructed skylights in the roof. Several podiums stood in the centre of the room, draped with black cloth. The walls were covered by thick black curtains.

“Behold, my treasures,” the book keeper announced, pulling a decorative rope hanging from the ceiling. Eldas brows crept upwards when shutters closed over the windows in the ceiling, the black curtains shifting aside on their own in the same moment that enchanted lamps set into the walls flared to life, bathing the spines of dozens of ancient books in a soft white glow.

“How long did it take you to gather these?” Elda gasped.

“My family has been collecting books for six generations,” Bennigan boasted proudly. “Put these on and then you can browse the shelves.” He handed her a pair of white cotton gloves. Elda slipped them on and approached the shelves, awed by the sheer age of some of the volumes she was suddenly allowed to peruse.

A blank spine bound in black caught her eye. It was older than the rest of the volumes of the shelf, the pages delicate beneath her touch. It looked like it might have been a personal journal which meant it was one of a kind. Time had dulled the leather but it was still almost pristine. The language was unfamiliar, every page neatly penned in black ink, somehow still as stark against the page as it had been the day it was written. Elda turned them carefully, noticing illustrations throughout. Some were sketched with charcoal, others pencil or ink. All of them were detailed and had clearly taken a long time. She paused when her eyes fell on one of them, a frown knitting her brow.

It spanned across both pages in the dead centre of the book. The only writing on the paper consisted of a myriad of symbols that had been drawn as part of the picture, carved across the surface of what looked like some sort of monolith. It was tall and pointed, surrounded by jagged, curving teeth of rock reaching upwards like a pair of jaws trying to swallow it whole. It was hard to tell from the drawing, but it looked like the structure was inside some sort of cavern.

“What’s this?” Elda asked, turning the book carefully to show the page.

“Author unknown, language unknown, origin unknown, I’m afraid,” Bennigan shrugged. “That was one of the first books my family ever collected. We still don’t know anything about it. Looks neat though,” he grinned.

“Could it be Angelic?” Gira asked, peering at the pages.

Elda shook her head, curiosity piqued. “The runes are too sharp. They’re not like the ones on Sypher’s sword.” She lifted her eyes to Bennigan. “If you ever find out where it came from I’d love to know. Do you think you could arrange word to be sent to me in Eden?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” He cocked his head. “You mentioned Angelic just now, didn’t you?”

“We did,” Gira nodded.

“Perhaps this will be of interest to you then.” He reached out and pulled the black cloth from one of the podiums, revealing a tome the polar opposite of the one Elda was slipping carefully back onto the shelf.

The binding was hard and solid, not flexible like the strange journal, bound in something different to leather that shimmered startling white in the sudden light. Bennigan opened the glass case and removed the book, holding it out to her carefully in his gloved hands.

“This is the same texture as the cloak Sypher let me borrow,” Elda murmured, running her fingers over it. The cloak was fastened around her neck, reflecting the same shimmers in deepest black.

“Dragonscale,” Bennigan nodded. “Incredibly rare. He must like you.”

“They’re married,” Gira chuckled when Elda stared at the book keeper with her mouth open.

“Sypher came into contact with dragons?” she gasped. “I definitely have to ask him about it when we get back.”

“In the meantime,” Bennigan answered wryly, “what do you think of my book?”

“It’s beautiful. These runes look Angelic,” she murmured, running her fingertip over the embossed title shining in elegant silver script. “I know someone who can read this.”

“You do?!” the bookish giant asked, gripping her shoulders suddenly. “Then you must take it! Or bring them here!”

“You’d really let me take this to him?”

“Is he not able to bring himself to the book?” Bennigan asked.

“He’s the Soul Forge,” Gira explained. “Unfortunately, he’s a touch busy these days.”

“Do you think we could convince him to come back here?” Elda asked doubtfully.

“No matter. Take it,” Bennigan insisted. “Guard it with your life, but take it to the only person in this world that knows how to read its contents. When he knows what it says, find a way to return it to me and tell me what’s inside.” He grinned cheerfully. “If you don’t return it, I’ll break down Gira’s door and bring myself to you for it.”

“This book is precious to you, Benny,” the Shifter muttered, frowning. “What if it gets damaged?”

“Hold on.” The book keeper bent to rummage through a cupboard, pulling out a small cross-body satchel with a brass clasp, just big enough to comfortably fit the book. He took the tome from Elda and wrapped it carefully in the black cloth, slipping it into the bag. “This satchel is specially designed and enchanted to protect its contents from harm, even if it should fall into a river. When you aren’t reading the book keep it in here at all times, always wrapped in the cloth.”

“I will,” Elda promised, taking the satchel from him and slipping it over her shoulder. “Thank you for allowing me to take this to Sypher.”

“Take care of it for me.”

King Artan’s castle was huge and grand, all heavy white stone and towering spires. The ceilings were impossibly tall and every window was made from intricate stained glass, depicting famous stories of the previous monarchs of Valdren. Some of them even featured Sypher in their images, his black armour and white hair almost as vibrant in the glass as they were in person.

The King chose to meet them in the throne room, though when they entered his throne was empty. One of the guards pointed to an open set of glass doors at the far end of the room, leading onto an enormous terrace overlooking the whole of the city. Artan stood at the railings, looking at his kingdom with a pensive expression.

“King Artan,” Elda greeted when they drew near. He turned as if he hadn’t expected them to be there.

“Princess Elda, Gira, it’s a pleasure to see you both,” he nodded politely. “I’m surprised the new Prince isn’t with you.”

“He had other matters to attend to,” Elda answered with a smile. “As I’m sure you can imagine, my selection as the next Keeper comes with a good amount of chaos.”

“I’m sure it does,” Artan chuckled. “My scouts have been in uproar since spotting the Corrupted on their journey.”

Elda’s ears pricked up. “They saw them?”

“Aye,” the King nodded. “After Gira asked me to send out my soldiers, I sent word to your father in Eden to keep an eye out as well. His patrols picked up their trail heading to the East. They brushed the upper border of Eden, skirting between the valleys and the edge of Shade.”

“The only thing out that way is Rift,” Gira mused. “You’re sure they didn’t turn into Shade?”

“Certain,” Artan nodded. “They used cloud cover to hide themselves well, but they were spotted several miles further east, still following the border.”

“Would they be stupid enough to make their base in the middle of a desert?” Elda asked, chewing her lower lip. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to camp in the valleys nearby? They’ve chosen to base themselves as far away from the rest of Valerus as they can and the rest of the Keepers are all here, at the opposite side of the continent.”

“I don’t know,” Gira shrugged. “Perhaps Sypher will have a suggestion for us.”

“Will you be returning to the Soul Forge immediately or can I interest you both in a drink and a meal?” the King asked, smiling warmly.

“As much as we’d love your company, Your Majesty, the news is quite urgent. We should tell Sypher as soon as we can,” Elda admitted. “Thank you for your hospitality, King Artan. When things have settled I’ll make sure to visit you again.”

“That would be wonderful. I wish you both the best of luck.” The King tipped an imaginary hat to them both and turned back to the balcony. Gira didn’t speak until he and Elda were back in the streets, winding their way back to his villa.

“You’re brooding,” she noted, nudging his elbow.

“I’m concerned the Corrupted may be one step ahead of us. It’s entirely possible that their secrecy is a ruse. Perhaps they want us to follow them to Rift so they can trap us there.”

“The only way to know that for sure is…” Elda trailed off, reluctant to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Gira nodded, sighing heavily. “We’d have to spring the trap.”