Soul of the Blade Read online

  They were one warrior, joined in battle.

  When Dragana brought the practice to a close, Aeo was filled with elation—both his and hers. The sheer joy of being wielded by a master was overwhelming. Aeo had never felt so complete, or so content. This was what he was meant to do.

  Dragana’s thoughts echoed his. This is what I was meant to do.

  They stood together, warrior and blade, sharing the moment. Dragana’s thoughts lingered on the Bok’Tarong, then soured when she thought of the assassin in the blade. Aeo felt her simmering rage whenever she remembered who he was and how he’d gotten his place in the blades. Her joy curdled, the warmth she’d felt toward him turned cold, and she slipped him back into his sheath. “You don’t deserve this,” she whispered as she knelt to pack up her camp.

  Aeo’s temper flared. After what I’ve gone through, I absolutely deserve this. You may have grown up in that little temple of yours, but I clawed my way up in life. I wasn’t handed my knowledge like you were. I sweat and bled for every scrap. I knew that without my blade I had no life, so I treated it like my life. I’m more skilled with a weapon than any of your masters could hope to be, and you’d be smart to be at least a little grateful that you have me to help you in this damned sword.

  “You think this was handed to me? Skill like this isn’t just absorbed, you idiot. I sweat and bled just as much as you did. But my knowledge came with wisdom, unlike yours. You can hack and destroy on a whim, but I have a mission. A destiny. This blade is supposed to understand that. You’ll never be able to fathom what that means because you can’t even understand the concept of battling for a cause or battling with honor.”

  If Aeo still had a body, he’d have reached for his sword. How dare you accuse me of having no honor!

  “You were an assassin. You killed for money, without regard for whether your target deserved to die. That is the lowest and least honorable profession I’ve ever heard of.”

  Those who make enemies but are too weak or too stupid to defend themselves deserve to die. Dragana started to interrupt, but Aeo didn’t let her. The men I killed were murderers, unjust rulers, traitors, and other kinds who were a scourge on humanity. They knew they had enemies, and they knew their lives were in jeopardy because of what they’d done. Did they take action, hire bodyguards? No. Some of them even refused to carry weapons in their arrogance. These are the men I killed. And I didn’t sneak in amongst the shadows and slaughter them in their sleep like a coward, either. Each knew I was there, and they knew my intent. They were given the opportunity to defend themselves, and they failed.

  “Oh yes, that changes everything,” she said. “It isn’t wrong to kill them as long as they know I’m going to do it.”

  I’m an assassin, Dragana, not a bloody priest! I did the best I could with what I was.

  “You could have done something other than killing people for money.”

  Could I? By the time I was nineteen I’d made such a name for myself I drew the attention of the king himself. I was pulled from the life I’d created and trained as his personal assassin. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be conditioned by the crown? Years of training, of magic remolding and retraining your brain, of being forced to carry out orders you’d never consider obeying on your own? You can’t even begin to understand the compulsions they put on me. I couldn’t have gotten out of that life any more than I could get out of this sword.

  Even so, I never killed anyone who wasn’t my target. Whatever you may think, I didn’t wallow in blood and murder whoever crossed my path. My honor demanded that of me, and I kept to it.

  She paused at the description of his past, but the hard knot of anger in her thoughts didn’t soften. “But you’d proven yourself willing and capable to be an assassin. You can tell me you were forced into this as much as you want, but I know better. I can feel just how much you loved that life.”

  You’re right. I did love it. That doesn’t make me a monster.

  “You paint a horrible life with flattering colors,” she said, “but it doesn’t change the truth. Honor isn’t a simple matter of how you act. True honor is how you act toward those weaker than you. An assassin like yourself—however ‘honorable’ you’d like to believe you were—would squash them because you’d been paid to do so. A warrior of honor would defend them, protect them, and keep them safe.”

  Is that why you travel around the world killing those ‘weak’ people infected by the Entana?

  “If there was any other way, I would do it. But the Entana would ravage this world if we didn’t do something. Those who are -taken are lost to us, but we can save the rest by eliminating the disease. It’s a terrible sacrifice, but one we must make.”

  You paint a horrible life with flattering colors, Aeo mocked, but it doesn’t change the truth.

  He got the briefest hint of Dragana’s anger and confusion before she unstrapped the baldric from her shoulder and flung Aeo to the ground. He was plunged into darkness, except for the distant light of his bearer’s presence, and left completely, utterly alone.

  He chuckled to himself. He’d gotten under her skin and poked at something tender. He relished the accomplishment and played it over in his head.

  If he thought about that enough, maybe he could ignore the aches she’d inflicted when she’d gotten under his skin and poked at something tender.

  6

  Wake up, Dragana!

  The warrior-woman stirred, but remained asleep.

  Wake up!

  She woke with a start and grasped the Bok’Tarong. “What is it?” she whispered.

  That was a great question. Aeo hardly understood himself. But somehow, through the darkness and silence of his rosy gold prison, every one of his senses was pulled toward … something. He was still figuring out what. It was as if a silent voice was whispering [over there] until he went and looked.

  Another camp, I think, he said. To the south.

  “How did we not see it? We came through there just a few hours ago.”

  They just arrived. There’s something … wrong about it.

  Aeo sensed Dragana’s thoughts sharpen as she forced herself into alertness. Her heart beat faster. Her anticipation was palpable. “Tell me what you feel.”

  Oh boy. It was like the hair standing up on the back of your neck for no reason, the twisting in your gut when you know something is wrong, that instinct that no matter how much your brain assures you everything is all right, you’re absolutely convinced it’s not.

  I can’t describe it. Something is just wrong over there. It’s unnatural, oily. Like something’s festering and rotting.

  Dragana growled, deep in her throat. “Entana.”

  She rose from her bedroll in absolute silence and crept through the darkened trees. No moonlight reached them, but Dragana navigated the trees with practiced skill. Twigs and pinecones crackled under her feet. Aeo could almost smell the sweet, earthy scent of mushrooms and loam.

  Just ahead. Be careful.

  Dragana knelt, then eased onto her belly. She crawled toward a faint flicker dancing on the trunks. Firelight. Despite the awkwardness, she held the Bok’Tarong and gave Aeo sight as they surveyed the area.

  The camp was spread out at the bottom of a hill. Two tents and a few bedrolls filled a small open space between the trees, the modest fire smoky from burning moist, sappy needles. A few people lounged around, either staring at the fire or in various stages of fitful sleep. On the surface, it looked like any other group of adventurers turning in for the night.

  But Aeo knew that wasn’t the case. The wrongness was so thick he could barely breathe. As he watched, the shadows skewed and stretched until there were normal shadows and then there were shadow-beings. They clung to the people like leeches. They made Aeo want to gag.

  Dark tendrils snaked in and out of the peoples’ heads like a nest of diseased worms. If he concentrated, he could see a thin line extending from them to the sky and out of sight. The tendrils’ appearance matched Aeo’s feel
ings—they looked oily, festering, unnatural. He had no doubt what these abominations were.

  “There are five that I can see,” Dragana whispered. “And more than enough weapons for everyone.” Aeo felt her analyze them in her mind: none look awkward around the blades, muscle tone, hardness of eyes and body … these people are no strangers to battle.

  Aeo couldn’t argue her conclusion. He did, however, have one more thing to add. They’re -taken.

  Dragana’s heartbeat raced. “Are you certain?”

  His spirit-eyes remained locked on the tendrils squirming in the men’s heads. Oh yeah. Quite certain.

  “What do they look like?”

  I don’t think I can describe them.

  “Then show me.”

  Um … how?

  Aeo felt a surge of irritation from her. “The true spirit of the Bok’Tarong would know how,” she mumbled.

  He wasn’t about to let a challenge like that pass by. He followed the instincts that had shown him how to fight as the Bok’Tarong and led him to these -taken. [Focus on them until nothing else exists.] He concentrated on the Entana tendrils. Once they were sharp and clear in his vision, he reached out to touch Dragana’s thoughts.

  A brief flash of surprise filled Dragana, but it was overwhelmed by revulsion and rage. “By the gods of Taron. They’re fully -taken. How are they still sane?” She paused. “Forget sanity, how are they even alive?”

  Aeo had no answers to offer, and for once he didn’t think gloating would be appropriate.

  “There’s something wrong about this,” she whispered. “Entana-taken don’t act like this.”

  What do you mean?

  “Once a person is fully -taken, they lose all control of themselves. They become violent, raving lunatics. These people are fully -taken, without question, but they’re acting sane.”

  Was that a hint of fear in Dragana’s voice? It couldn’t be. But then again, if Aeo had encountered someone lost to the Coming Madness but still in their right mind, he’d be frightened of them, too. What do we do?

  She sneered. “We find out what’s going on.”

  And kill them.

  She gripped the Bok’Tarong. “Ready?”

  Aeo took another look at the tendrils. To destroy those monsters? Absolutely.

  The warrior-woman charged down the hill, leaping over a fallen log and skidding through the underbrush with hardly a sound. The shadows grew harsher, confusing Aeo’s depth perception, as she neared the circle of firelight. Dragana didn’t miss a step.

  She burst into the camp and slashed through the first -taken’s belly before he’d even noticed her presence. Aeo tasted blood—tasted!—and felt its heat wash over him. The sensations of battle filled long-dead nerves. He drank them in, reveled in them, and let them feed his bloodlust.

  Dragana plowed through the defenses of the unprepared -taken. They were still fumbling with their weapons when she knocked them down with bloody, though non-fatal, wounds.

  One of the two standing -taken blocked her next strike with a massive broadsword. His muscles bulged as he tried to overpower Dragana’s defense. She twisted aside, letting his momentum push him forward, and came around the side. The man was back on his feet in an instant, again using all brawn and no brains.

  The berserker style, where the warrior sacrifices finesse for strength, had never impressed him. He’d fought several of these brutes in the past and each time, they’d been overwhelmed by the skill of a true warrior.

  He would be no match for Dragana and the Bok’Tarong.

  Aeo used his spirit-eyes to oversee the battle, taking on the role of master strategist and aiding Dragana’s defense. Brief thoughts and suggestions helped strengthen the warrior-woman’s stance or give the blades a better angle for deflecting a nasty blow. No matter how hard the berserker looked for an opening, he couldn’t find one Aeo hadn’t already helped close.

  Still, these -taken soldiers proved to be more resilient than either Aeo or Dragana had expected. The two she’d bashed had regained their feet, making it four against one. Berserkers were difficult enemies, but rather than ignoring pain, these -taken didn’t seem to feel it at all. They didn’t hesitate to block the Bok’Tarong with a shoulder or forearm. Cuts that would have incapacitated a normal person didn’t seem to faze them.

  Even as Aeo watched, blood stopped flowing from one such gash in a -taken’s arm, and the flesh began mending. How are we supposed to beat these guys if they can heal any wound we give them?

  It had to be a killing blow. Nothing else would stop these monsters for long. An instant kill against enemies who can’t be tired out, bled out, terrorized into panic, or incapacitated by pain? Impossible.

  Aeo moved his spirit-eyes around the battlefield, assessing their enemies. He started to give a suggestion to Dragana when he caught sight of something on the edge of his vision. Dread flooded him. He’d been so focused on the -taken, he’d forgotten about the Entana.

  The parasites’ tendrils whipped around and shot out at Dragana. Her body didn’t react to the stings, but Aeo could see her spirit cringe with each strike. Every hit bruised her confidence and sapped her willpower. The wounds weren’t mortal, but they were devastating in their own dangerous way.

  Her attacks grew slower and weaker. Her thoughts, once clear and single-mindedly focused on the battle, strayed to worries and doubt. She hesitated to take risks, staying away from more daring moves altogether. The -taken were cowing her into a corner, backing her into a position where all her advantages would be lost.

  Aeo helped her against the -taken as best as he could, but his attention was caught by the attacks of the Entana. Dragana’s spirit bled and wept. Her righteous, infuriating confidence had withered under the relentless assault of the Entana. Aeo couldn’t allow that. Fear was the worst enemy of a warrior.

  Two soldiers charged at her, far enough apart she couldn’t avoid them both. She ducked under one blade and rose to parry the other, but she wasn’t fast enough. A sword grazed her upper arm, deflecting off the carving of her spirit. It wasn’t a deep cut, but any loss of blood or strength was devastating.

  If he didn’t do something, Dragana would be crushed underfoot like a flower in a stampede.

  Another tendril lashed out at her, and he struck at it on instinct. He saw a ghostly hand—his hand!—leave the Bok’Tarong and snap a shining replica of the double-bladed sword at the tendril. Aeo felt the solid contact of blade against flesh, as if both had been physical. The tendril hissed in pain. It snaked back to the -taken and cowered.

  Aeo’s thoughts spun and whirled. He’d hurt the tendril. He’d left the Bok’Tarong and injured the spirit that was attacking Dragana.

  He could fight.

  He stretched his spirit out beyond the steel of the Bok’Tarong, tearing his arms and torso free of the metal prison. The pain was dizzying. Aeo felt as if he were ripping himself apart, that he was leaving a chunk of his soul behind in the Bok’Tarong. He remained anchored in the sword, but now he had arms and a weapon. He could make do with that.

  He stared at the tendrils waving around him. For a moment he didn’t act, he just calmed his mind and breathed. Strong, steady, and swift.

  Aeo burst into a flurry of motion, slicing several oily tendrils with his first swipe. He couldn’t side-step into a better position, but he made do and worked his spirit-blade all the harder. The Entana shrank back before his furious attacks and left Dragana’s spirit alone.

  The tide of battle began to change. The -taken became more cautious and seemed to notice their many wounds. Aeo’s hope was bolstered by his freedom, and now that the Entana were leaving Dragana’s spirit in peace, her confidence was returning. He vaguely wondered if his own emotions were affecting hers, but he didn’t have time to ponder that. The Entana were still trying to breach his defenses and get to Dragana. Her spirit was still wounded. He couldn’t let them get through.

  One of the -taken slashed forward, clearly hoping to take Dragana’s head from her
shoulders. She fell to her knees, rolling behind the -taken, and sliced clean through the muscles of his calf with a backstroke. The -taken might not feel pain the way they should, but their bodies still worked the same as anyone’s. Without that muscle, the -taken toppled into one of the tents.

  Aeo felt her hope swell as she recognized her advantage. She pressed the -taken all the harder, ignoring the pain in her arm and doing what she’d been trained to do—kill Entana.

  One -taken sank to the ground, his massive blood loss taking its toll. She scored a wicked hit on another, taking him out as well. An almost casual swipe at the one with the shredded leg dispatched him, too. It was now one-on-one.

  With those odds, he didn’t stand a chance.

  Dragana knocked the -taken to his back and placed the Bok’Tarong against his throat. She stood over him, panting and sweating, and Aeo thought she’d never looked more alluring.

  He tore his attention from Dragana and looked down at the -taken. Firelight stretched the shadows and emphasized the darkness, skewing his features into something monstrous, demonic. Fitting, given the monster inhabiting his mind.

  The Entana tendrils in his head squirmed and snapped at her, but he held his spirit-blade at them much like Dragana did to the -taken.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “We are agents of the Entana,” the man replied. There was no trace of fear in his voice, even though the enchanted Bok’Tarong was pressed against his skin. “Well met, lady warrior. We didn’t expect to find you so quickly.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “That we were told you would show yourself sooner or later. Our masters have an interest in you.”