Soul BinderPersonas of Legend 1
Dante King
Copyright © 2020 by Dante King
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
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Chapter One
We’d been waiting three days when the riders finally arrived.
One of the scouts whom I’d sent out to guard the perimeter of our camp came in at a run with the news. When he was through the stockade gate, he jogged across to where I was sitting, on a sawn log by the big central fire. In the ruddy light of the blaze, his eyes were wide as he looked up at me and delivered his news.
“Riders, sir,” he gasped. “Twenty of them, coming from the direction of Saxehold.”
“Well done, lad,” I told him, “go to your post now. I’ll see to the rest.”
My axe was leaning against the bench at my side, and I swung it up onto my shoulder as I headed toward the gate, with the rest of my warband behind me. Twenty seasoned warriors, lifted shields and axes, and checked the gleaming buckles and leather straps on their iron armor. These riders were expected; we weren’t anticipating a fight, but it never hurt to be prepared.
Silently, I led my band outside the stockade. Pitch-soaked torches threw red light onto the tall pine trees of the Grimwood. We stood with our backs to our freshly-raised stockade wall and waited. We didn’t have to wait long.
The newcomers rode up quietly, tall figures on nimble little horses appearing one by one out of the darkness. Twenty hooded and cloaked warriors called their steeds to a halt outside the stockade.
One rider came forward and pushed back a heavy hood to reveal a shining fall of golden hair. It was a woman. Her strong, fair-skinned face and bright blue eyes shone out from her dark cloak in the light of the torches. She scanned the waiting warriors and the freshly raised stockade, saying nothing. Then her eyes fell on me, and she smiled.
“Leofwine,” she greeted me.
“Cara Ironside,” I replied. “Welcome to our camp.”
She cast another critical glance over the stockade, then raised an eyebrow. “Quick work,” she said. “Expecting trouble?”
For answer, I gestured to the gate. “Come inside and bring your warriors. I’ll tell you all about it.”
She shrugged, dismounted, and followed me into the camp.
This was not the first time we’d met. Cara Ironside was well-known around my hometown of Saxehold, and she had caught my eye before now. It was no secret that I found her attractive, but we were both warriors in our prime. In Saxehold, romantic relationships were not considered appropriate between active war leaders. That didn’t stop me looking at her, however. When we got to the central fire, our warriors following, she shrugged out of her cloak to reveal figure-hugging leather armor. I ran my eyes up and down the lithe curves of her body with frank admiration. She returned my look and smiled.
“Well, Leo,” she said, and I was pleased to hear that she shortened my name to the more familiar form, “are you going to tell me about it?”
I looked around. Cara’s warriors were all women, some of the best shield-maidens in Saxehold. They all crowded around the central fire, side by side with my warriors. There was some good-natured jostling and flirting going on, and some men were bringing meat and ale from the stores to prepare a meal. One man was hauling out a harp, and another had got a game of dice going with two of Cara’s shield-maidens.
“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” I suggested. Cara glanced around at our gathered warriors, smiled at the group playing dice, then nodded her agreement.
We went to my tent, which was set up a little way off from the main fire. I gave orders for food and drink to be brought to us, and we went inside. The tent was made from well-cured hides and carpeted with furs. Heat and red light radiated out from a brazier of burning charcoal which sat in the center of the snug space. Cara looked around approvingly.
“This is comfortable,” she said, “and well-kept. These furs...?” She gestured at the thick bearskin and wolfskin rugs which covered the floor and made up the generous sleeping pallet.
“All my own kills, of course,” I said, letting the pride in my work come through in my words.
“Impressive,” she said, and I could tell that she meant it. She sat down by the brazier, loosening her collar and continuing to look around the tent with her careful, observant eye. Her golden hair glowed like polished bronze in the light of the brazier. I was suddenly very glad that I took care to keep my tent tidy and in good order.
There was wine on a low table at one side of the tent, and I poured some into silver cups for us. She eyed hers appreciatively as she took it from my hand, then smelled the wine and took a sip.
“So, how much do you know already?” I asked as I sat opposite her. She regarded me thoughtfully, took another swallow of wine, then set her cup down beside her.
“I only know what Thane Johan told me, Leofwine. The Festering has taken hold in the Westmarsh, and you are tasked with finding the source of it. You can only take one companion, and for some reason, that companion has to be me. He told me
