Soul Survivor (Spirit Shield Saga Book 0) Read online

  Soul Survivor

  Spirit Shield Saga

  Susan Faw

  Published by Susan Faw, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SOUL SURVIVOR

  First edition. July 17, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Susan Faw.

  ISBN: 978-1524229085

  Written by Susan Faw.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  SOUL SURVIVOR:

  Chapter 1 | Caerwyn

  Chapter 2 | Alfreda

  Chapter 3 | Helga

  Chapter 4 | Artio

  Chapter 5 | Caerwyn

  Chapter 6 | Alfreda

  Chapter 7 | Hud

  Chapter 8 | Artio

  Chapter 9 | Caerwyn

  Chapter 10 | Helga

  Chapter 11 | Mordecai

  Chapter 12 | Artio

  Chapter 13 | Alfreda

  Chapter 14 | Helga

  Chapter 15 | Artio

  Chapter 16 | Alfreda

  Chapter 17 | Caerwyn

  Chapter 18 | Mordecai

  Chapter 19 | Artio

  Chapter 20 | Captains Collide

  Chapter 21 | Godlings

  Chapter 22 | Mordecai

  Epilogue

  Did you enjoy Soul Survivor? | Don’t let the journey end! | Check out this free excerpt from | Seer of Souls, Book One of the Spirit Shield Saga | PROLOGUE

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  SOUL SURVIVOR:

  THE BATTLE OF DAIMON FORD

  “Artio, the moon godling, slumped to the horizon, blood red. Helga found her oozing a bloody light across the heavens.

  Convinced that her sister was dying, Helga carried her into the bowels of the earth.

  The darkness stilled Artio’s light.

  Helga believed Artio would be reborn as the rest of the mortals of the earth were, but the godling had no one to care for her rebirth and was forever lost.

  Caerwyn and Alfreda banished Helga to the depths of the underworld, never to return, for the crime of slaying a godling.

  So began the Battle of Daimon Ford.”

  Excerpt from the Tome of Salvation, Sixth Scribed Copy, Royal Library of Cathair

  Chapter 1

  Caerwyn

  Caerwyn strode through the palatial gardens of Cathair, a royal purple, autumn oak leaf embroidered cape billowing over his rune-enhanced armour plate. The segmented chest sections clicked in time to his hurried stride while his manservant sidestepped and hopped striving to keep up.

  The manservant tugged at the flapping leather straps of Caerwyn’s metal-studded leather greaves, struggling to tighten them onto his swinging arm, all the while casting anxious glances at his footing. He juggled the king’s helmet in the crook of his right elbow and his sword belt over the left.

  “One moment, my king!” he puffed. “If you will pause for just a moment, I can complete your battle armour.”

  Caerwyn growled in response and did not pause until he reached the cool shade created by the towering outer curtain wall. Stone steps led to the battlements at the end of the curving stone walkway that hugged the curtain. Horns blared overhead, long and low, warning of the approach of an enemy force.

  “Be about it quickly, Hud.” Caerwyn held his arms out at his side, his impatience evident in the tightening of his jaw. Hud swiftly fastened the greaves and swung the sheath of Caerwyn’s sword around his waist, buckling it into place before he bowed over the king’s helm, an intricately carved metal bowl with large wings decorating both sides and a long nose plate, dividing his face in half.

  Caerwyn bent his neck, and Hud slid it onto his head.

  Straightening, Caerwyn met Hud’s eyes creased with worry. He placed his hand on Hud’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Let us pray it is good news approaching our gates this day for the tidings have been ill as of late.” Caerwyn turned and strode away to the stairs, taking them two at a time, his guard of hand-picked Kingsmen hurrying to keep up in his wake.

  Hud, pensive and preoccupied, watched the god-king mount the stairs until he vanished from view. With a sigh, he hobbled back in the direction of the armoury. He massaged his hip as he limped across the stony clearing, attempting to ease the annoyingly painful twinges.

  Battle is for the young, thought the salt and pepper-haired Hud, but it was an empty thought. He longed for nothing more than to be able to raise his sword in battle once again to defend his king and god.

  Hud’s sword arm was strong and true, but he could no longer sit a saddle or ride a Pegasus, a requirement of active service in the Kingsmen. Now in retirement, Hud tended the king directly, for even though he could not fly, his skill with a sword and his knowledge of battle had not dimmed. In addition to his duties to his sire, he put whetstone to blade in the armoury and oversaw the care of the winged mounts of the royal stables.

  He grabbed the large circular pull on the heavy oak armoury door and pulled, his hip squealing in protest, a personal echo of the rusted hinges. He gritted his teeth then hobbled into the dim interior as the door swung and creaked behind him.

  Rows and rows of swords hanging by their hilts on wooden racks met his eyes, glinting in the light streaming from high narrow windows set into the drystone walls. The smell of oil and polishing paste blended with the scent of cedar. He inhaled deeply, and limping over the workbench in the corner, eased himself onto it then took up where he had left off, polishing the flat of a fine curved blade. At least this much of his day was the same. He set to work, and the repetitive action relaxed him and the pain in his hip eased.

  He placed the finished sword on the rack beside him then bent to pick up his third sword, laying it on the table and dipped the cloth into the pot of hot oil, when the castle warning bells rang out in alarm.

  ***

  Caerwyn cleared the lip of the staircase, pulling his sword as he ran to the battlement to peer down at the approaching army.

  A billowing cloud of dust created by the feet of many mounts partially obscured their numbers but was easily spotted by the watchtowers, and the battlement was consequently crowded four deep with fully armed Kingsmen, who parted their ranks for the king as he made his way to his Captain General.

  Captain Brennan focused his one good eye on the king, shouldering his way to the front lines, frowning at the king as he strode up to Brennan. Despite his armour-clad form, the king screamed royalty, his purple cape fastened at the throat by an eagle pin.

  “Might as well pin a flaming bullseye on your chest,” Captain Brennan grumbled audibly. “Who told you weak-willed curs to stand aside?” he bellowed “It’s just the flaming king! Back to your positions!” he roared, his drooping mustache quivering.

  Caerwyn chuckled as the men attempted to regain their positions without actually touching his royal person. He was by far the tallest man in the contingent and easily peered over their helms as they shifted in front of him.

  “Report, Brennan.”

  Brennan passed the spyglass to Caerwyn, and he placed the narrow tube against his eye. The dust cloud resolved into a multitude of large hairy brown beasts with great curving tusks and legs as large as tree trunks. They were fully plated in armour, including the weak spot located between the eyes. One strike by something as small as a stone would kill them instantly, so they were armoured at all times.

  On the back of each beast was a saddle carrying three to four people. They were still a fair distance away, and Caerwyn was unable to determine if the riders were male or female.

  “A Prim
ordial host, my lord. They come with their battering mammoths. And there,” he pointed off to the left, “are the sabretooths.” Caerwyn leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the great cats as they padded around a small hill.

  “Have you located Alfreda yet? She must be with the most forward guard.”

  “Not yet, my lord.”

  “Well then, I am going out to greet them.” Caerwyn turned to head back down the staircase when the warning bells of the watchtowers began to peal.

  Surprised, he turned back, just as a large boulder soared over the wall, crashing into the wall of the upper story and knocking a hole straight through the stonework. Crumbling masonry rained down on the Kingsmen and cries rang out, some in pain, some in warning. Caerwyn found himself instantly crushed to the stone surface as the Kingsmen around him threw their bodies at him to physically shield him from the attack.

  “Find out where that attack came from!” bellowed Brennan, just as a second boulder soared over the wall, this time striking the base of one of the watchtowers. The impact sent a shudder through the walkway, and then the tower crumbled with a trickle of mortar, quickly joined by a cascade of stone. The tower trembled and with a sharp crack, it toppled, crushing the Kingsmen scrambling to clear the area in time.

  Down below, similar projectiles were falling amongst the Primordial ranks, crushing man and beast alike.

  Brennan jerked himself upright as he spied more massive stones tumbling from the sky.

  “Get the king below. Now!”

  Brennan hauled the men off of Caerwyn then dragged the king upright by an arm and onto his feet. Caerwyn, spying the confusion and panic of the Primordial forces now trapped outside the castle walls shrugged off the hands of the Kingsmen and grabbed Brennan by his sleeve. “Get the Primordial inside the walls. Now!”

  Brennan turned and bellowed an order to be carried to the gates. “Open the gates! Open the gates! Sound the horns for sanctuary! Hurry!”

  The runners set off, calling out as they ran. The horns on the walls sounded three short blasts followed by a long wail, the universal sounding of sanctuary. The gates shivered then parted, sliding slowly over the gravelly surface. The Primordials on the plain, hearing the call, galloped their mounts toward the safety of the castle walls while the deadly missiles continued to fall all around them.

  The gates clanked and ground their way wide open as the Primordial warriors swept across the threshold, following the great cats, who slunk close to the ground, yellow eyes angry, yowling and spitting their displeasure, while the lumbering mammoths bellowed angrily, snorting fire at any that came too close. They swung their great horned heads, creating islands of calm around then while the ground buzzed with warriors.

  Caerwyn reached the commons just as the last of the Primordial crossed into the crowded green. His eyes frantically scanned the convulsing crowd, seeking the face of his sister, Alfreda.

  Caerwyn pushed his way into the milling mass, giving his guard apoplectic fits as they tried to shield him from all angles in the midst of the panicked crowd. He dodged the gouts of fire that blasted across his path, causing the Kingsman on his right to swear, frantically patting down the flames ignited on his tunic. It was then that he spied her.

  She stood unperturbed beside a sabretooth, stroking the cat’s sleek head and murmuring to it, her eyes also scanning the milieu. As her beautiful head turned, the sun turned her normally black hair to purple. It curled to her shoulders and one side was tucked behind her tiny ear. Their eyes met across the crowd, and they crinkled into a smile of greeting. Caerwyn rushed over and swung his twin into his arms, whirled her around, and hugged her tight to his chest.

  Alfreda hugged him back and as her feet touched the ground once more, her smile faded.

  “We must talk,” she murmured “Right now and in private.”

  “Agreed.” The bombardment had ceased as soon as the Primordial people reached the sanctuary of the castle. Caerwyn snapped his fingers and a Kingsman stepped forward, saluting. “Find Hud, and bring him to the library.” He made to turn away but Caerwyn’s hand on his arm halted him. “And I want to know the count of the injured.”

  “Yes, sir!” He snapped another sharp salute then set off at a jog for the armory.

  “This way.” Caerwyn took his sister by the elbow, turning her in the proper direction.

  “I remember the way, Caerwyn,” she said with a tilt of her chin and plunged into the throng.

  Chapter 2

  Alfreda

  Alfreda was short in stature, which was not to say she was diminished. What she lacked in height, she made up for in bearing. She rose only to the tip of Caerwyn’s shoulder, yet she parted the crowd by sheer presence. Her people calmed as she passed and bowed low, hands over hearts, a queen amongst her subjects.

  Caerwyn bobbled along in his sister’s wake, appearing to be little more than her manservant rather than her brother. The only thing destroying this image was his royal armour, but to the Primordial people, it had no more value than the true servant who fell in behind them silently carrying her bags. Alfreda was the mother goddess and the sum total of all things regal and worthy of worship, in the eyes of a Primordial. No other being could come close.

  Once clear of the press of people and animals, Caerwyn moved up alongside her and steered her not toward the residences, but toward a round building visible only by the conical shape of the metal-plated roof set back behind a private wall of the garden reserved for royals. Caerwyn produced a large key and let them in through a small garden door set into the limestone wall.

  Alfreda’s guard and Caerwyn’s guard jointly crowded their way through the garden gate and Caerwyn glared at them, frustrated by all the fussing. The kingsmen pointedly avoided meeting his eyes.

  He retraced the route he had taken earlier that day, their guards bobbing in their wake like a raft of ducklings. Reaching the library door, Caerwyn halted them with a raised hand. “No one is to enter except Hud, on our command.” The dual contingent of guards strung themselves out around the building, reminiscent of a string of festival lanterns but without the gaiety. Caerwyn mounted the steps, Alfreda matching him stride for stride then he slammed the door shut behind them, shutting them away from the crowd.

  “You should not treat them so,” said Alfreda, her eyes twinkling. “They are protecting you the only way they know how.”

  “I would have no quibble over it except that I do not need protection. And neither do you.”

  “From mortal men, yes. But from the gods? That might be different.”

  “And what, pray tell, are they going to be able to do to shield me from a god’s wrath?”

  “A distraction perhaps or a lie? They are quite adept at it when they choose to be.” Alfreda wandered over to her favourite chair under the tall stained glass windows and curled into the high-backed, overstuffed seat. She tucked her feet under her, disappearing into the tapestry folds of the chair. “I hate to think that our people would betray us, but events are outpacing our knowledge of them. I fear the people no longer pray to the gods.” She lifted the lid of the tea pot sitting by her elbow and seeing that it was empty, commanded “Tea!” It filled with a hiss and an aromatic citrusy scent filled the air, steam rising from its spout. She tipped the hot brew into her cup, then reached over and filled one for Caerwyn.

  Caerwyn’s forehead creased into a frown as he sat down heavily, legs splayed, elbows resting on knees. With a deep sigh, he reached over and picked up the waiting cup.

  “How many were hurt or killed today? The Kingsmen run around trying to protect me when it should be the other way around. I should be protecting them.” He took a sip then put the cup back down with a rattle and grunted. “We are their caretakers, not the other way around. I hate seeing lives wasted, prematurely ended for no good reason. Those deaths out there today should not have happened. Their souls are now our responsibility. It is our fault.”

  “It is not our fault, and you know it. What is our problem and potenti
ally our fault is the escalating problem with Helga. That is why I came to see you,” said Alfreda.

  “You are closer to her than I am. What is she experimenting with?” Caerwyn asked. “Is she responsible for this? Is it something she and Artio are doing together? I asked Helga outright, and she laughed at me and told me to mind my own business.”

  Alfreda set her cup down, picked up the pot of tea, and refilled it to the brim.

  “Artio is up to something. As the caretaker of the heavens, she is responsible for safeguarding the movements of the stars and planets. It is her domain and her charge. But lately I have noticed that the timing of the planetary movements is off. It is the tiniest of increments, true, but there should be no variation at all. It’s almost as though she is absent,” she said thoughtfully, shaking her head. “Maybe she is taking a vacation? Absurd as it sounds, she has not been seen for months.”

  “Well she does like to work undisturbed” said Caerwyn “If something was really wrong, and she was really missing, it wouldn’t be a slight problem. It would be catastrophic.”

  Alfreyda nodded, lips pressed together in puzzlement. “I first noticed it one night when the stars dimmed, as though a haze covered the sky, the moon’s timing slightly off. I might not have noticed at all if were not for the butterflies. They are sensitive to the slightest change in the world and are the first to suffer when their environment changes. She frowned. “I think the moon’s slippage is creating a disturbance in their internal equilibrium.”

  Caerwyn grimaced and took another sip of tea, as though to wash away a sour taste. “It’s another sign. Artio plays with the planets like she is plucking toadstools in the forest. While they are hers to command, she forgets that she can cause harm to the mortals around her, both animal and human. If she causes their deaths, and then their souls become our responsibility. I’ve begun to notice an influx of human souls beyond the normal. I can only imagine what Helga is doing, shut away in her home under the mountain. Do they not understand that their interference with the natural world is causing calamitous results? People are dying!”