Diamantine (Weapons and Wielders Book 2)

by Andrew Rowe

  I’ve…gotten much faster, haven’t I?

  My speed and clarity had been enhanced when I’d first bonded with Dawn and continued to increase in the weeks that followed. After the mark on my hand had changed to the new symbol, I’d seen another huge improvement, but I hadn’t stopped there. I was still getting faster with every passing day.

  It felt amazing.

  I advanced. Arrows and ballistae failed to stop me. Lightning crackled from one of the towers, but with a thought sent to Dawn, I charged her blade with light and reflected it toward the caster.

  Someone — or something — fell from one of the towers to crash into the moat below.

  There was silence for a time after that.

  I reached the portcullis. With my free hand, I grabbed the metal.

  Reshape.

  I formed a person-sized gap and stepped straight through it.

  With that, I was in an open courtyard.

  An army awaited me there.

  Dozens of figures in black armor barred my path, wearing strange helms with no slits for eyes. At first, I assumed they were simply golems or animated armor, but when I approached, they moved with a fluidity that implied flesh and bone within their metallic shells.

  They formed a front line with shields and spears, with archers beyond. Behind the archers, I caught a glimpse of a few figures in dark robes, with only blackness visible beneath their hoods. Sorcerers, most likely.

 

  Nah.

  I charged.

  A jump took me to the side as a blast of lightning flickered from one of the robed figures. Then Dawn flashed upward, a shockwave severing a torrent of arrows.

  A blast of ice from another robed figure hit the ground in front of me. I continued moving onto the ice and slid toward the spear-wielding figures on the front line.

  Spears jabbed forward to meet me. A flick sliced through wooden shafts, sending spear-points to the floor.

  I didn’t stop running. Instead, I focused my mind.

  Body of Stone.

  Then I crashed straight into the first spear-bearer. Even with the weight of his armor, the force of my impact sent him crashing to the ground.

  The archers spun toward me, but I was in too close for them to be effective now. I crashed through the line of archers, sending out a broad pulse of magnetism that blasted arrows out of hands and spears off of their intended paths. Then, I rushed toward a cloaked figure who was gathering a ball of flame between his hands.

  Radiant Dawn.

  I didn’t even let him hurl it, I just smashed Dawn right into the fireball and sent it straight into the robed figure’s chest. He fell to the ground, his robes ablaze.

  I paused only to spin and slice straight through another blast of lightning from another robed figure, then ran straight through the courtyard to the castle entrance.

  Stopping to fight them all would have been a waste of time.

  Release Body of Stone.

  I ducked and weaved around a few more arrows aimed at my back, then reached the stairs that led upward toward the gate of the castle proper. A giant glowing glyph shone on the castle gate, but I knew a trick to beating those now.

  I reached the castle gate, pressed a hand to the stone on the side, and willed the hinges to break.

  With a shove from a single hand, the castle gates crashed loudly to the ground.

  More arrows flashed at me from behind, and I could hear the soldiers rushing toward me as well.

  I stepped inside the castle doorway, then stamped my foot. A wall of stone burst from the ground, blocking the doorway. Arrows crashed into it harmlessly.

  Then I was finally inside.

  The entrance hall of the castle had bright purple carpeting and beautiful paintings along the walls. I noted a couple suits of standing armor as well, each apparently wrought from solid gold. I kept an eye on them, knowing they could either be decorative or more monsters in disguise.

  I paused to take a breath and determine where to go. My body ached from using so much metal and stone mana so rapidly, but it was a good ache. I was still eager for more.

  The hallway ahead led to a wide-open chamber. There were additional paths to the left and right, as well as a large spiral stairway in the center. Finally, near the base of the stairway there were doors on opposite sides.

  There were no obvious signs of monsters. I stepped into the room, searching for any hints of where to go next.

  The hallway to the left led to a gigantic circular metal door. There were eight different keyholes around it and dozens of runes etched into the surface. Unlike the previous doors, there were also runes on the walls around it. I didn’t know if that would actually prevent my metal shaping trick or not, but it definitely lowered the odds.

  The path on the right led to another stairwell. From the orientation of the building I’d seen outside, I suspected this one led to the high tower.

  The last places I checked were the two doors near the stairway. The one on the left was locked, but a quick mental command solved that. It led to another stairway, which quickly terminated at a heavy wooden door. From the look of it, I guessed that it led down to the prison.

  The door on the right was unlocked and slightly ajar.

  I’m not the first person here. Someone moved very fast — or it was simply someone who started the test earlier, due to an advantage.

  I threw the door wide, but there was no one waiting on the other side. Just another stairway, this one circular, and leading deep below.

  The caverns, probably. I stepped away and closed the door.

  I figured I’d go back to the side that was presumably the prison and free the prisoners in there if I had a chance, but I had limited time, and that wasn’t my top priority. Similarly, rescuing damsels and raiding the treasure vault were obviously tempting, but neither were my primary goals for going to the castle.

  I headed straight up the spiral staircase.

  It led to a gigantic set of double doors. These weren’t locked like the others — in fact, they opened as I approached, seemingly of their own accord.

 

  I’d be hard not to be, given the commotion I made outside.

  A long hallway led toward a grand chamber, with the dark purple carpet leading toward the inevitable destination — a throne of crimson and gold.

  My opponent lounged lazily on his throne, not even bothering to turn toward me as I approached. Instead, he gazed wistfully toward a painting on one of the nearby walls. I assumed it was probably supposed to represent his lost love, Kalinor. The story of his repeated attempts to find her reincarnation throughout history had struck me as romantic.

 

  I’ll pass. He’s not my type.

  As I approached, I examined him more closely.

  He looked like a beautiful man on the early end of his twenties, with pale skin and a clean shave. He wore all white, with his silvery hair adorned by a silvery crown inlaid with bright white stones.

  I recognized the crown; it was Above All, one of the three regalia that served as the sources of his “great and wicked” powers. Of the three, it worried me the least — it simply enhanced his existing abilities to “beyond mortal limits”. Power enhancement was something I was already abundantly familiar with, and I could handle someone who was simply extremely strong, fast, or magically powerful.

  The other two were far more worrying.

  The next was an amulet with a single pale crystal. That was Shining Alone, arguably the most famous of his regalia, and clearly the most powerful. Claw-like protrusions extended from the metallic base of the amulet to pierce into the Pale King’s chest. That wasn’t a necessary function of the item — rather, in his obsession, the Pale King had permanently affixed the amulet to his chest to prevent it from ever being taken from him.

  Knowing the amulet’s legendary properties
, I could see why.

  In spite of the spikes piercing into his flesh, The Pale King didn’t bleed. The amulet’s powers perpetually locked his body’s state. With the amulet, he was frozen in time, never changing — and unable to experience taste or touch, adding to the romantic tragedy to the story. He considered this a worthwhile sacrifice for an item that prevented him from being harmed by virtually any attack, bleeding, aging, or contracting diseases.

  Stasis magic did exist — I’d seen Wrynn Jaden use it. Normally, however, someone in stasis should have been frozen, paralyzed and unaware. The Pale King’s amulet supposedly acted like stasis, but he could still function within it. If that was true, it was one of the most absurdly powerful things I’d ever heard of.

  I pondered the logistics of how he could have attached the amulet to himself if he was already immutable. Maybe it hadn’t turned on until he attached it, or something? More likely, it was just an oversight in the original story. Tragic romances weren’t exactly known for their emphasis on magic system consistency.

  Either way, he was supposed to be basically invincible, and I knew exactly how I wanted to counter that.

  It was a beautiful image in my mind. My destructive aura tearing straight through his defense, defeating the Pale King in a single perfect cut.

  I could feel the aura beginning to spread across Dawn’ blade as I imagined it, and I felt a deep longing to make use of that power.

 

  It’s...the perfect scenario for this, Dawn.

 

  She was right. It was insidious. My aura was my strongest tool, but if I kept using it in every situation, it was going to gradually take more and more control of my life. Every time I slipped, it felt a little harder to resist the urge to use my power again in the future.

  I fought my aura back down with great effort. I took a deep breath, focusing my mind to keep the destructive power restrained. I wasn’t going to dismiss the idea of using it entirely, but I’d save the aura for if I really needed it.

  My eyes turned to the last of the Pale King’s regalia. A wickedly curved two-handed sword rested next to the throne, just out of his reach. The crossguard was designed to look like two additional curved blades, which I found somewhat ridiculous from a practical standpoint, but aesthetically pleasing. It sat within a scabbard of black metal that was entirely wrapped in ever-shifting chains, which were said to restrain the dark spirit within. If the Pale King drew the sword for too long, the spirit within it would seek to take over his body, and if it succeeded, it might never relinquish control.

  Those same chains were interlinked with his amulet and crown, allowing the three regalia to serve as parts of the same whole — The Pale Crescent Shining Alone Above All. A dramatic name if there ever was one, but I rather liked it. The unifying theme was supposed to be “solitude”. Each item was something that separated The Pale King from humanity in some way.

  The sword interested me the most. Not just because of my usual inclinations toward swords, mind you, but because of the stories about this particular weapon.

  Once, I might have laughed at the idea of a dark spirit within a sword struggling for control over its owner. It sounded like something written for a cheap opera. After traveling with a Dawn for a while, the idea of the Pale King’s sword having a mind of its own sounded eminently more plausible — and extremely important, if it was true.

  Of course, this wasn’t the real Pale King, even if he existed. It was just an illusion or a summoned monster playing that role for a test.

  The sword, the necklace, and the crown had to be fake, too...didn’t they?

 

  Won’t Octave be jealous?

 

  I snorted and kept walking toward the throne.

  He held a wine glass in one hand, but with a very different dark fluid within it.

  Really? A glass of blood? That’s such clichéd villain territory that I’m almost embarrassed for him.

  <...You mean the Children of the Tyrant don’t drink blood?>

  No...? Why would you even think that?

 

  I didn’t bother to mention that she’d just accused me of believing stories from books too easily a matter of minutes earlier. I just sighed, steeling myself as I approached the throne. Cliché villain or not, the Pale King was undoubtedly supposed to present a major threat. And given how dangerous some of the summoned monsters I’d seen had been, I couldn’t afford to let my guard down.

  If this guy had a level of power similar to Ifrit’s, I was in for a very serious fight.

  I couldn’t wait. I raised Dawnbringer, resting her against a shoulder as I neared the throne.

  The Pale King finally seemed to notice me when I came within about twenty feet. He turned his gaze toward me slowly, deliberately, and raised his glass to his lips to drink. “Ah. Another knight come to unseat me, it seems.”

  I continued approaching. “Something along those lines.”

  “That’s close enough, mortal.” He shifted just slightly in his chair, moving to straighten his back. As he moved, I realized his other hand was not empty — he had a length of chain wrapped around it. “You’d best identify yourself before we begin this tedious business. I can’t promise I’ll remember you, but perhaps if your name and skills are memorable enough, you’ll earn a grave.”

  I kept walking, only stopping when I was just out of striking distance. “I’m Keras Selyrian, Wielder of Dawnbringer. Amuletless Alliterator, Sorrowful Slayer of Sacred Stones, and Supporter of Sapient Spirits. And,” I shifted into a fighting stance, “The end of your reign.”

 

  Oh, did I? Tragic.

  “Dawnbringer.” The Pale King spat, truly focusing on me for the first time. “You’ll pay for the insult of bringing that foul weapon into my domain.”

 

  Just one last thing first.

  “I’m obligated to offer you a chance to surrender. Free your prisoners, and I will allow you to surrender peacefully to the proper authorities.”

  “Authorities? I am king here, fool! The land, and all within it, belong to me!” He stood from his throne. His right hand tightened around the chain. With his other hand, he discarded his still half-full wine glass, and it shattered on the stone at my feet. “Enough of this banter! Have at you!”

  With a subtle pull of his hand, the chain moved more than it should have. It uncoiled from around the scabbard like a snake waking from a long slumber. Then, after it flowed free from wrapping the weapon, a single point of the chain affixed to the pommel pulled at the weapon, drawing it from the scabbard.

  The curved blade gleamed bright white, shining like the moon on a cloudless night.

  I could have moved before The Pale King was ready. I was more than fast enough to strike while the sword had remained sheathed. But ending the story there wouldn’t have been very satisfying, would it?

  Not for the audience, not for Dawn, and most certainly not for me.

  Instead, I waited as the Pale Crescent flowed from the scabbard and into its wielder’s hands. Then he moved, slashing downward in the air between us.

  For someone who had moved so lethargically before, he was deceptively fast. Each cut left a gleaming white line in the air, a spectral echo of the cut that he’d made.

  I moved to the side swiftly, expecting the crescent cuts to move forward much like my
own technique. No such thing happened.

  Instead, each gleaming slash remained floating in the air, frozen in stasis as the wielder’s body had been.

  I don’t remember anything like that in the books.

 

  I didn’t have much time to contemplate an approach to his technique. The Pale King snapped his fingers. A moment later, a torrent of black water erupted from the stone floor beneath me. As I danced backward to avoid the sudden flood, the Pale King shot forward, his rush bolstered by a blast of sudden wind behind him.

  He passed straight through the glimmering cuts in the air, unharmed. Then he was right in front of me, swinging his curved blade downward toward my neck.

  I parried with Dawn easily, dancing to his right side and making a quick thrust. He battered Dawn aside, sparks of mana igniting the air each time the swords met. A few more quick blows made it clear I wouldn’t pierce his defenses easily, and that I had a growing problem.

  Each and every movement of his sword left an echo in the air.

  In an instant as I backed away to make room, I tested Dawn against one of them. The moment she struck the echo, she rebounded off as if I’d crashed into steel.

  More worryingly, the echo didn’t dissipate, nor did it move. I’d put enough strength behind the swing to disarm an ordinary swordsman, but the slashes seemed inviolable, much as The Pale King himself was supposed to be.

  As he thrust at me and added another glimmering line to the growing number of cuts in the room, I realized I was quickly running into a new problem — as our fight continued, the amount of usable space in the room would rapidly decrease. I didn’t know how much the blade echoes would hurt me, but chances were high that they’d work similarly to my own projected cuts. A few of those would very quickly bleed me dry.

  My heart beat faster just thinking about it.

  As I dodged the Pale King’s thrust, I threw a blast of flame with my off-hand. He swung his sword to cleave the blast in twain, much like I might have.

  I’d expected that. With a moment of mental effort, I split the blast around his sword. The flames crashed into him — and, as I’d guessed, he was entirely unharmed.