Soul of the Blade Read online

  Dragana nodded and followed her escort toward a large tent decorated with the king’s banner. Just below it flew another that belonged to the Mage General—a sword and a hand casting a spell crisscrossed in the middle.

  Don’t trust a word he says to you, Aeo said. Watch yourself in there. This man will eat you for dinner if you show any weakness to him.

  “I’ve dealt with plenty of disagreeable people in my time,” she replied under her breath. Aeo got the feeling her thoughts included him in that category.

  Not like him. This guy is different. He gives me the creeps.

  Dragana’s thoughts stilled. “I didn’t think anyone intimidated you.”

  No one does. Except him.

  She blew out a deep breath. “All right. Anything specific I need to know?”

  He’s the one who conditioned me to be the king’s assassin, he replied after a moment, and the one who orchestrated my contract to kill the last bearer of the Bok’Tarong.

  Her heartbeat raced. “Oh.”

  Whatever you do, don’t tell him it’s me in here.

  Before she could reply, they arrived in front of the tent. She stepped up to the flap and prepared to enter when a guard placed his hand in Dragana’s path. “No weapons allowed in the Mage General’s presence,” he said.

  Dragana gripped the hilt of the Bok’Tarong. “Do you know what this is?”

  “I … I have an idea, lady. But the rules are clear. No weapons, no exceptions.”

  “My rules are clear too. Wherever I go, the Bok’Tarong goes. No exceptions.”

  Her stare returned to the fiery, intimidating gaze Aeo was more familiar with.

  A muffled voice Aeo knew all too well came from the depths of the tent. “Let her pass, lieutenant. I have nothing to fear from the Taronese.”

  Dragana smirked at the soldier, straightened her spine, and turned away. Aeo wasn’t sure, but she may have waved his blades at the man as she passed in a little “I win” gesture.

  The moment Dragana stepped into the Mage General’s tent, Aeo’s vision went black. It was more than the shadowy darkness he experienced whenever he was out of Dragana’s grasp. This was complete, utter blackness, like when he’d been alone and lost in the forest. Despite himself, he started to panic.

  Dragana, I can’t see!

  Her face must have registered Aeo’s fear, because a smooth male voice spoke to them both. “Forgive my caution, lady warrior. There is a magic-dampening field around my tent at all times. For security and defensive purposes, of course. It will not damage the enchantment upon your sword, I assure you, but it will render it … weakened while in my presence.”

  Here. Dragana sent the thought to Aeo, along with an image of what she saw. It wasn’t as crisp as his spirit-vision would have been, but it was better than nothing.

  Aeo sent a surge of gratitude back to her.

  The Mage General’s tent looked like any other command center, filled with maps and weapons and other requirements for war. The Mage General himself hovered around these things. He was a young man, though his hair was prematurely graying around the temples. He held himself tall and rigid, but his face held the stern serenity common men associated with mages.

  Gods, I hate that man.

  The Mage General appraised Dragana before speaking with a bored, almost disdainful tone. “The renowned warrior of the Taronese and bearer of the Bok’Tarong. I’d heard rumors you were in the area.”

  Dragana nodded her head in what could have been a slight bow. “Greetings, Mage General. I assume since you know my position, you understand why I’m here.”

  “For your sake, I hope I’m wrong.”

  The Mage General remained at ease, confident his veiled threat wouldn’t be acted upon. Anger tightened Dragana’s muscles and clouded her thoughts with a haze of violence. Somehow she was able to keep her voice cool.

  “Mage General, you must understand the nature of these people.”

  “I am a mage and the right hand of the King of Arata. I understand more of the world’s secrets than any man alive.”

  Arrogant bastard. Too bad he’s probably right.

  If you don’t shut up, I’ll sheathe you. I have to concentrate. “Then I would like to know why you have allowed a large number of -taken free access your camps.”

  “All those in my camps are servants of the king’s army and of myself.”

  “Then you admit to sheltering -taken without the knowledge or permission of the Taronese?”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to employ soldiers for a desperate war.”

  Yes you were, she thought. “Entana-taken are not to be treated as normal people, Mage General. Their minds can dissolve at any moment, making them an even greater threat than the enemies you fight.”

  “And yet while they possess their own thoughts, they are free of fear and pain. They are the perfect soldier. They can charge into a situation no other soldier would dare enter and emerge victorious. They fight on after losing limbs or bleeding from terrible wounds. Without them, this war would already have been lost. They are saving this kingdom.”

  “They aren’t fit to be in society.”

  “This isn’t society, my lady. This is war.”

  Dragana gritted her teeth, forcing a semblance of calm into her voice. “Even so, they are

  -taken. They shouldn’t be here.”

  “Would you stop them from fighting, knowing the greater good they are doing?” The Mage General started pacing across the tent, never turning his back on Dragana. He gestured to a map of the area, dark chalk lines marking the tides of the war. It didn’t look good for Arata. “Innocent people would be dead now if these -taken hadn’t stopped the advance of the enemy. Halkron would have overrun our army and taken possession of Arata. If you remove them now, that will still happen. Are you willing to do that?”

  She hesitated, resisting the urge to fidget and forcing confidence back into her tone. “It isn’t my call to make. I must follow the orders of the Taronese, and that means these -taken are mine.”

  Dark anger crept into the Mage General’s eyes. “You have no right to intrude upon the way I run my army.”

  “I have every right. The Bok’Tarong is the only weapon that can stop the spread of the Entana. That makes them, and the safety of the world, my responsibility.”

  “These men and women are members of the king’s military. They are protected by his decree of sanctuary for anyone who bears his crest.”

  Dragana took a deep breath, hoping it would cleanse her words of their venom. “Sanctuary cannot be provided to those who are a danger to themselves or those around them. None are more dangerous than the -taken. We cannot allow them to be used as weapons.”

  The Mage General turned to her, his face inches from hers. “My -taken warriors are granted to me by the king himself. If you wish to remove them from service, they must be released by him. The king will ask my advice on the matter, and I will inform him that my -taken are an essential part of his army. That is the truth. I cannot defeat Halkron without them, and I will not allow us to lose because the Taronese cannot accept that we use the -taken to save lives.”

  Dragana matched the Mage General’s stubborn expression. “I will take this matter to the king, if you force me to.”

  “Go ahead. Try all you want, but you will never get my -taken.”

  Dragana stared at him for a moment, indignation making her tremble. The Mage General seemed calm and unruffled as always, which made Dragana’s anger flare. She glared at him with more hatred than Aeo had ever seen. Without another spoken word, but a fair amount of silent cursing, she ducked out of the tent and stomped away.

  Aeo was overwhelmed by the sheer rage roiling inside her. She hadn’t even been this angry when she’d discovered he’d hijacked his way into the sword.

  I don’t think the Mage General would appreciate you talking about his mother like that.

  “I can’t believe he would recruit -taken.”

 
I think you’re more upset he refused the demands of the Taronese and their right to the

  -taken.

  “They are mine. He has no right to shelter them from me.”

  Aeo thought back to the last time he’d seen the king, and the Mage General. When they’d sent him off to kill the bearer of the Bok’Tarong. Maybe not. But if he’s told the king he needs them, the king will never relinquish them.

  “The Mage General will fight it, but the Taronese have always been given rights to the

  -taken. The king can’t say no. We will get them.”

  Aeo cringed at the vicious thoughts Dragana associated with “getting” the -taken, but didn’t say anything. She was too riled as it was.

  The king will never go against the word of the Mage General, he said, knowing the truth was dangerous but speaking it anyway. He’s too weak-minded, and the Mage General too commanding. The king doesn’t have the stones to stand up to him and make his own decisions.

  Either Dragana didn’t hear him through her rage, or she chose to ignore him.

  He felt her glare at each of the -taken she ran across on her way out of the camp. Even as he counseled her against violence, he had to admit he didn’t completely disagree with her reaction. Now that he had witnessed the evil of the Entana for himself, he itched to battle them. And with so many of the parasites feeding around the camp, the desire to start slicing at them—and to savor each kill, strange as that desire still felt—was overpowering.

  Aeo was envisioning the grand battle he and Dragana could wage against these -taken soldiers when revulsion washed over him. It saturated him as if he’d walked under an oily, sewage-clogged waterfall. He felt as if he had to scrub the filth from his soul. His reaction was so visceral that for a moment he forgot he no longer had a stomach from which to vomit.

  Dragana had sensed his disgust and stopped. “What is it?” she whispered.

  It’s vile. Damn it, it’s vile!

  She scanned the area. “There’s a medical tent over there. It might be the suffering of the wounded.”

  No, it’s more than that. Something terrible is happening in there. It’s against my very nature. I want to go in there and slaughter it. I need to.

  Sunlight disappeared as Dragana entered the tent. It was dim inside, just light enough for the healers to work without disturbing the patients. Aeo could almost smell the stench of chemicals and death that always hung around places like this. There was something else in the air here, though—he sensed that something vile and repulsive was lurking just out of view.

  Aeo’s spirit-eyes peered into the tent. At first he couldn’t see anything, but he began to make out motions and vague shapes. He saw doctors scurrying between writhing patients and nurses preparing tables full of equipment. Around and above it all was a miasma of squirming, inky black tendrils.

  As he watched, two nurses held down a man on his right. The bed and ground around him were soaked in blood. He looked like a corpse, yet still he struggled against their hold. A doctor asked him something and the man nodded, though he looked reluctant and terrified and revolted.

  One of the inky tendrils broke from the rest and snaked toward the man. His eyes widened and he did his best to break free, but he was too weak from his wounds. The tendril hovered over him for a second before filtering into his mouth, ears, and eyes. The man’s soul screamed, piercing Aeo’s spirit like a lance of fire.

  Each second lasted a year. Aeo fought against his revulsion and his urge to destroy as the Entana drowned the man’s spirit in darkness. The clear spark of humanity dimmed, until it was extinguished by the Entana.

  The man stopped struggling and flopped onto the bed, exhausted and pale but calm. His breathing slowed and he sank into a deep, almost drugged sleep.

  “By the gods of Taron,” Dragana whispered. “What hell is this?”

  This is where the devils are born, Aeo said. They’re breeding -taken here. Wounded soldiers come in, Entana-taken berserkers go out.

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  I wish I was. They’re using the Entana to heal wounds and take away the soldiers’ pain and fear.

  Both stood in silence for a moment, watching the sleeping -taken. Knowing these men and women were taking on Entana willingly was enough to anger Aeo, but watching them accept the possession made him sick.

  Dragana was moving toward the man without a conscious thought. Her emotions were a jumble of revulsion and rage and fear. She raised the Bok’Tarong, her eyes locked on the sleeping -taken. She paused, poised over the man, ready to strike. Her heart burned to kill him, just as Aeo’s spirit screamed to destroy the Entana. But for the briefest of moments, neither of them acted against the wounded, defenseless man.

  “Excuse me, do you need attention?”

  Dragana’s eyes snapped to the small doctor approaching her. He seemed to finally see the sword raised over his patient, eyes widening and mouth opening in shock. He raced to her side, yanking her arm down and pulling her away from him.

  Dragana used his momentum to swing around, facing him. She lashed out and grabbed him in a painful grip on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  To his credit, the doctor didn’t whine or moan in pain. “I should be asking you the same question. We heal people in this tent. We do not kill them.”

  “You just condemned this man to death by doing what you did.”

  Everyone in the tent had gone still and quiet, their eyes locked on Dragana and the doctor.

  “We are saving lives.”

  “Saving lives? By infecting people with Entana? You realize this is what you call the Coming Madness, don’t you?”

  “The Mage General has taught us how to control the process. It isn’t a plague when done like this. It is an amazing gift that allows us to rescue those who are far beyond our skill to save. I am a healer—I will use any means necessary to preserve a life.”

  “You aren’t saving them. You’re prolonging their death at the cost of their soul.”

  Her grip tightened on the man’s shoulder without her realizing it. He cried out when the pressure squeezed his nerves, but he didn’t cower under her fury. “None here are forced to take the Entana. Each man or woman is given a choice, and it is up to them whether they accept the Entana into themselves.”

  Dragana’s grip slackened. “Then it’s true? They choose to become -taken?”

  “The Entana can heal tremendous wounds and calm the mind.”

  “They don’t calm your thoughts. They erase them.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Not when the person is willing. When the mind doesn’t struggle, it and the Entana form a partnership. They work together, with the Entana feeding on excess emotions or sensations. Nothing more. The person’s pain and fears are relieved, their sanity remains intact, and the Entana is fed.”

  “Sacrificing yourself to a spiritual parasite isn’t an acceptable price just to be fearless.”

  The doctor led Dragana’s gaze to the sleeping man. “Tell that to him. Without the Entana, he would be dead by now. His wife would have become a widow, his children fatherless. Now he will live, fight, and return home. He has a future because of the Entana.”

  “I should kill them all,” she said. Her voice, though, held little conviction. To Aeo, it almost sounded like a question rather than a statement.

  The doctor straightened. “I would not allow it.” Dragana released the man, who rolled his shoulder and moved to place himself between Dragana and the wounded -taken. “And now, I must ask you to leave. Our patients need rest.”

  Stunned, Dragana nodded and turned to leave. The Bok’Tarong reflected the sliver of light entering through the tent flap, illuminating the deep darkness of the Entana medical tent.

  The doctor’s eyes grew wide when he recognized the blades. He placed a gentle hand on her sword-arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who you were. This must be difficult for you to accept.”

  She turned, but paused just before leaving the tent
. “I can never accept it,” she said. “Nor should anyone.”

  11

  Autumn was brutal in the mountains. The pass from Starek to Arata was low enough they didn’t run into snow yet, but the temperature was bitterly cold. The winds were even worse. There was no vegetation here to slow the gales—they barreled through the stone corridor like a river and cut through Raeb’s new wool cloak as if it were little more than a thin cotton tunic. He and Saydee would hit a brief respite from the chill when they descended into the forests of Arata, but winter was only a couple weeks off. Raeb would just have to get used to being cold until spring.

  “Raeb?”

  He sighed. The girl couldn’t make it an hour without having to find something to chatter about.

  “Once we get to Arata, what are we going to do?”

  She’d been asking that question all the way through the desert, into the foothills, and now into the mountains. She’d continue into the forests if Raeb let her. He had stalled her with noncommittal answers for a while. But she wanted a real answer, some kind of definitive plan, and Raeb didn’t have one to give her.

  He stomped along the path. He was stalling, and they both knew it. If they didn’t go after the Bok’Tarong, they had only a hint of a plan—and it wasn’t a very good plan without the sword. But how could he do that? There were more reasons for him not wanting to face the Bok’Tarong than she could fathom. Sometimes it seemed like his entire life revolved around that damned blade. It had always been a curse on his life. And now she expected him to waltz straight into the danger—which she only understood a tiny bit of—with some sort of bravado? Well, she wasn’t going to get that. Not from him.

  He slowed to say some of this to her, taking advantage of the momentary silence. It wasn’t often Saydee gave him a moment to speak when she was pressing a point.

  Raeb paused. It also wasn’t common for the mountain pass to be completely, utterly silent. Even the wind and the birds had gone quiet.

  And there was no sound of footsteps, or even breathing, behind him.