Free Soulbreaker by Terry C. Simpson Page B

Blades had infiltrated their kingdom. An act, that by their agreement, gave the Kheridisians the right to see Jemare delivered to them as retribution for the Red Swamps. They could complain, but in truth, he did not break the conditions of the treaty. He’d sent Jemare’s head in a gilded box.
    In retaliation, they had involved themselves in Keedar and Winslow’s escape and were currently hiding the boys. Ainslen ground his jaw. Rather than crumple the letter like he wanted to do, he folded it and placed it in his coat pocket.
    The other letter was a report from Lestin and Shaz. The wisemen had succeeded in controlling the uprisings among the dregs. He continued to read, heat rising in his face with each word. Another two Farlanders and a Blade had gone missing in their last foray into the Smear. Felius Carin had returned from his previous search with no answers for the disappearances. Useless sow. Scowling, Ainslen stormed from the throne room.
    Of the three main things required to be a great king, he had relied on the first two: strength and fear. It frustrated him that the third, respect, was proving so difficult to obtain. Patience, he told himself, the Dominion will show you the way

5
    A Temple of Plans
    Q ueen Terestere stopped at the open doorway, intrigued by the mention of the Blight. The class reminded her of the days she once spent teaching the noble children of Kasandar. Watching them learn and grow had brought light to the darkest days.
    A score of initiates occupied the room, heads shaven, robes the customary red and blue of the Order. They ranged in nationality from ebony-skinned, broad-shouldered Thelusians, to slant-eyed Marishmen. One in particular caught her eye. A young boy with bronze skin and light colored eyes. A Caradorii. She pursed her lips, wondering if this one knew what was transpiring with his people in the west.
    A Deacon, identified by the bald strip running from his forehead back down to his nape, was their lecturer. The hair on the sides of his head was done in intricate braids with beads on the ends that made a clicking sound whenever he became animated. He stood on a dais, peering over his spectacles. “Why do you think the Blight occurred?” he asked.
    Several students raised their hands. The Deacon picked out a hook-nosed Darshanese.
    “Because we forsook the Dominion,” the young man answered, smiling.
    “And?” the lecturer prompted. He waited a moment before his smile faded. “Anyone else?” Multiple initiates still had their hands raised. This time he chose a Kheridisian girl, brown-skinned, tall even for her race, her nose adorned with several rings.
    She stood and bowed to the man. “The people chose to worship the Dracodar instead, as if they were the Gods. They relied on melding for everything, even the smallest task. They built temples and chantries dedicated to the Dracodar kings rather than to the Dominion. Worst of all, they forgot the Word.”
    “Thank you, Renia. A good, comprehensive answer.” The Deacon gestured to her and she smiled shyly, offering him a curtsy before she sat. The lecturer continued, “Our punishment was not only the plague that we know today as the Blight, a plague that purged our world of the faithless, but also the Thousand Year War that followed as well as the loss of much of our ability to handle soul. The Gods bless and they curse, they give and they take away, they feed and they starve. Now, we struggle to do things we could once achieve with a mere thought. Such is the cost of heresy.”
    The Caradorii raised his hand. The Deacon acknowledged him with a nod.
    “If the Gods were upset with the Dracodar for usurping their rightful place, why punish the people?” The Caradorii’s accent was thick, his voice measured.
    “Because we knew better. If I watch a man commit murder, and say or do nothing when the watch investigates, then I am complicit in his crime. If a person steals goods, and you buy them, your hand might not have