Robert J. Duperne - Soultaker

SOULTAKER

Ragnarok Publications | www.ragnarokpub.com

Publisher: J.M. Martin | Creative Director: Jeremy Mohler

Soultaker is copyright 2017 by Robert J. Duperre. All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or fictitious recreations of actual historical persons. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors unless otherwise specified. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Published by Ragnarok Publications

206 College Park Drive, Ste. 1

Crestview Hills, KY 41017

ISBN-13: 9781945528040

Worldwide Rights

Created in the United States of America

Editor: Alana Abbott

Cover Illustration: Tomasz Chistowski

Cover/Interior Design: Shawn T. King

For struggling artists everywhere
(you know who you are)

S hade kept his eyes closed while his fingers danced over the guitar strings. Sweat drenched his beard. For at least the moment, he was in heaven; music was one of the only things remaining in his life that brought him peace, that quieted his pain and regret. It didnt matter that most of the taverns patrons werent paying attention to the beauty he and his fellow knights were creating. As long as the music stemmed from him, he was sane. As long as he could concentrate on an endless succession of chords, his mind didnt linger on her.

A rasping tenor rose above the organized chaos of the song. Shade opened his eyes. The tavern was dim, lit by six sputtering torches affixed to the earthen walls. He glanced at his two brothers in arms, on stools beside him. Meesh slapped his palms against the skins of his bongos, his long brown hair whipping about each time he flung his head to the side. Abe had his own guitar in hand, and he expertly strummed out a rhythm with his head thrown back, beads of sweat breaking out on the creased black skin of his brow as he crooned the lyrics to a song the three of them had belted out a thousand times. The tune reached the chorus, and Meesh joined in with his warbling baritone. His brothers harmony was perfect, as usual. Shade grinned.

Shouts sounded over the music, and Shade pivoted on his stool. There were less than twenty people in the tavern, and of them only three sat at the tables before the low stage to watch the performance. The rest gathered around the bar and grumbled among themselves while tossing back mugs of home-brewed liquor. This wasnt surprising. Even by Wasteland standards, Barrendale was a tiny settlement: barely four hundred people lived here, which meant Shade was more than grateful that even three of them had grown to appreciate the music. The first night theyd played here, none had paid them any mind.

Currently, a disagreement had broken out. Two large men with ratty beards shouted. One shoved the other, which brought both of them to blows. One pulled a rusty knife from his belt. The barkeep lifted an iron rod and brought it down on the bar with a crash. The knife-wielder sheathed his blade and the two men stopped their fighting and sat back down. The barkeep offered them each another cup, and they drank. In a matter of moments, the two were clapping each other on the back, laughing.

Shade chuckled to himself as they brought their song to its final chord. He and his mates moved onto the next one without pause.

They had been at it for nearly an hour now, and even though Shades fingers were sore, he didnt want to stop. The barkeep, a thick man with a large gut named Burrell, offered him a nod. Shade appreciated the gesture. It wasnt all that common for proprietors in the outlying backwaters to allow them to perform, especially if they knew just who they were harboring. Even though their presence was appreciated in dire times, not everyone was hospitable to representatives of the Pentus, especially the Knights Eternal, and many nights it was difficult just to find lodging. Barrendale was located in the far south of the Wasteland of Yussai, however, bordering stiff prairie grasses, beyond which lay the incessant storms of the Unknown Lands. Even brigands and demons tended to avoid such inhospitable places. In fact, the populace was so cut off from what went on in the rest of the Wasteland that they had welcomed the Knights Eternal with open arms. Shade wondered if he and his brothers had interpreted the Oracles instructions correctly.

Abe thrummed an intentionally dissonant chord. As if on cue, five new men entered the tavern.

Shade stared at them across the span of empty tables. Each of the five newcomers stood in front of the swinging tavern door, unnoticed by the rest of the patrons. They wore rags covered with coppery dust. Their skin was rutted and peeling, posture hunched, beady eyes rimmed with red, streaks wending down their cheeks like cracks in glass. Each held a staff, the long curved blades at the end carved from bone. One of them looked Shades way for a scant moment. His tongue licked blackened, cracked lips. Shade had only seen men like this twice before in his life, but there was no doubt whoand whatthey were.

Scourgers. After two weeks, they had finally shown their faces, and with no warning. Shit, thought Shade.

Abe and Meesh had stopped singing though their instruments still hummed. Shade glanced to the side to see that both his brothers in duty were looking his way. Abe appeared disappointed; Meesh, excited. Meeshs blue-gray eyes widened as he jutted his chin toward the corner of the short stage, where their instrument cases were propped against the wall. Both Shade and Abe shook their heads. The confines of the tavern were too restricting to use ranged weapons. Shade shifted on his stool just in case, locked his elbow in preparation to reach for the hilt affixed to his belt.

Just as he did so, the five Scourgers rushed toward the drunken, oblivious patrons with weapons held high, while behind them another six barged through the swinging doors. Their mouths opened wide; high-pitched shrieks escaped their throats. Shade, Meesh, and Abe dropped their instruments and surged to their feet. Burrell the barkeep turned with a start, his flesh gone white as he reached for his iron rod. The other patrons turned as well. Some men, including the two whod almost brawled, pulled out their meager knives and prepared to fight, others knocked over stools and each other in their attempts to flee. One of the Scourgers leapt over the bar and tackled the proprietor. The three men whod been watching Shade and his brothers perform slipped out of their chairs and rushed to his aid.