Free Soulbreaker by Terry C. Simpson Page A

had returned.
    “We suspected as much,” Kulabi said with a nod, “but with the advent of the Crystal Skies coinciding with this claim, there will be no dissuading them. Which is why we bring a proposal.” The Voice hesitated.
    “Go on.”
    “Make a treaty with us, the Thelusians, the Marissinians, and the Kheridisians,” Kulabi said quickly. “Along with your Farlanders we can stop the western forces.”
    Ainslen threw his head back and laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Consternation spread across the faces of the Heleganese. When he finally sputtered to a stop, Ainslen asked, “Is that the best you could do? Concoct some tale, hoping I would come to terms? I ought to have you all flogged for even thinking I would take this seriously.”
    “We apologize for any offense,” Kulabi said, bowing, “but this is not some tale. A tide of death sweeps from the west.”
    Ainslen waited for the hint of a lie but received none. However, he knew the skill he’d stolen from Winslow wasn’t infallible. As long as a person firmly believed what they said to be the truth, it would appear as such. Still, he refused to give quarter to any who would stand in his way. Either they recognized him as king or they would feel his wrath. He sat back on the Soul Throne and drew from its power, knowing the Voices would see the fount of soul around him. “Be gone from my sight.”
    “Sire, I beg of you,” Kulabi began. Tyoti’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.
    “Return to your tribes and tell them this: I already have the Darshanese and the Farish Islanders with me. Marissinia isn’t far behind. Soon, Thelusia will fall. All the dissenters to my rule will pay. So, indeed a tide of death comes.” He made his voice low, venomous. “Do they wish to be washed away or would they rather be given a boat?” He flicked a hand out to his Blades. “See them out. Allow them two day’s rest. If they are seen in the city after that, throw them in the dungeons.”
    When they left, a courier approached the throne. A Blade stepped forward to take two letters from the man and pass them to Ainslen. One was written in a hand he hadn’t seen since the delivery of the Dracodar remains he’d given to the counts.
    As he read that letter, he smirked. The letter accused him of conspiring with their former king, Lomas, to steal a priceless Kheridisian artifact. Included was a Kheridisian declaration of war for his refusal to hand Jemare to them as promised. Whoever wrote the letter raged about the need for retribution over the Red Swamps. I wonder which bit they took issue with, his head or the box. He smiled at that last. As much as they threatened, he knew they would not expose themselves to an open fight, and for that reason he to plan accordingly.
    One of the issues with the Treskelin was that it afforded the Kheridisians a place to hide. Despite their willingness to pay tribute and their kingdom’s close proximity, they had never truly given over to the Empire. Not once had their rulers allowed the Order’s wisemen within their borders. The few Kheridisians who converted to the Order had been runaways who sought to escape their people’s uncivilized ways. He didn’t blame them for their choice. How could a people live without roads or the luxuries of castles and baths, or even simple homes? Supposedly they lived among tree roots, trunks, and branches. He could not fathom such a life.
    Despite their inferiority the Kheridisians remained mostly unconquered. Stories abounded about the powers within the Treskelin, confirmed by the soul magic that emanated from the great ash trees. Every living thing possessed a soul, but beyond rare beasts and creatures with some form of sentience like the derins, few could meld. What intelligence was there in a piece of wood?
    It all brought him to the question of what else lurked within Kheridisia’s confines. King Lomas had provided him with Dracodar remains in a ploy that was meant to look as if Jemare’s