By the time he walked out of his workroom, twenty runes had lit up on the sword, various versions of strength, sharpness, speed, and more. All were fully active, as if they were carried by different men, fueled by a life. Three enemy soldiers were busy sacking the front room of his shop when he came into it holding the glowing sword tentatively. The men laughed and shouted something in their own language before one of them lifted his sword and moved forward to kill Beren. He swung his blade in a hard overhand swing, clearly meaning to overpower the bookish man. His eyes widened when Beren’s hesitant parry knocked his blow wide. Twenty-five runes. Beren tried an attack of his own that neatly took off the enemy soldier’s arm. He fell to the ground dead as soon as the sword pierced his skin. More power flowed into the sword. Beren grunted as a strange sensation flowed up his arm. But there was no time to think about it. The other two soldiers were moving toward him with careful steps. Both had their shields raised and were trying to flank him. It did them no good. Thirty-two runes. Beren swung the sword at the man on his left, feeling like the soldiers were moving in strange, slow movements. The Abolian didn’t have time to react before the blade sliced through his face. The last soldier died with the rune sword through his stomach before the body of his friend had hit the ground, falling across the bloody body of Gerald. Forty runes.
“Gerald!” Beren screamed. “What have they done to you?” He tried to drop the sword but it would not leave his hand. With his free hand he reached down and pushed the dead Abolian off his son. The gaping wound in Gerald’s chest left no room for chance or hope. My son is dead, just like that. Dazed, Beren stepped out of his shop, dimly aware of Jerik emerging from the back room with his largest hammer clutched in his hands like a weapon.
Bands of Abolian soldiers were sweeping through the city, coming from the east. The east? But the attack was coming from the west! Beren quickly realized as he walked away from his shop that as the outnumbered Sacral army fought valiantly to stop the Abolians, a second army had moved into the city unopposed from the other side. A passing group of soldiers caught sight of Beren and moved to attack. His sword was glowing brightly now with more active runes than he had ever thought possible. Too many to easily count. With barely any effort he cut them all down. Once he had started, though, it was difficult to stop. More Abolians were moving into the city at every moment. They were around every corner, down every street, all of them he encountered trying to kill him.
Beren wove an erratic path through the city. His strength and speed were always increasing, but it was becoming more and more difficult to control. His sight and mind couldn’t keep up with his own body. He tripped over rocks and corpses, stumbled over debris, slipped and fell. But even then he needed only to set his eyes on an enemy with the intent to defend himself before his body surged forward and his blade split their flesh or severed their limbs. He was trapped in a nightmare of death and fear. Only the primal need for self-preservation kept him focused on defending himself from the snarling invaders. More and more soldiers died on his blade, until he lost count. Was it twenty? Fifty? With a shock he realized that the last soldier he had cut down with the cursed sword wore the white tabard of Sacral. A scream welled up in his throat as energy crackled up his arms. When the scream finally tore from his throat, it sent everyone within a hundred paces to their knees, clutching at burst eardrums. Horrified by what he was doing, he pushed himself deeper into enemy lines.
As the sword swelled with energy, it became too much for the internal mechanism to contain. Not that it slowed down its ability to draw in more; it just passed it back to its bearer. Beren became stronger and stronger as the night wore on. His wounds closed faster than they could be inflicted on him. He became greater than any Warchosen. His strength was that of a hundred men, his body near invulnerable. Enemies rose up on all sides, and he cut them down. His movements were too fast to predict. The power continued to build, surging up his arms and across his body. He was its slave. Runes carved to ensure he couldn’t be disarmed bound his hand to the hilt as surely as if the sword were a part of his own body.
Then fire erupted around him. The Abolian he was killing burst into flames in front of him. The deepest spark of Beren’s mind, the only part that was not lost to the nightmare, screamed. He was dimly aware that a mage of great power was calling fire down onto him. Abolian soldiers were killed by the dozen as he darted around and the pillar of fire tried to track his movements. The flames passed over him several times, but the energy suffusing him protected him from the worst of it. He was not reduced to ash. His hair was burned off, his skin charred to a black ruin, and his eyes burst, sending twin streams of sizzling fluid down his ravaged face. Finally, he crumpled to the ground. The ordeal was finally over.
But the sword was not done with him yet. Mere moments after Beren hit the ground, his eyesight started to return. The pain of his burnt flesh was receding. He realized after a moment that skin was growing back on his arm. He looked up and saw more Abolians closing in on him; the sword’s runes still glowed, barely dimmed by regrowing most of his body. No! Please, not again! But there was no intelligence within his creation, no mind he could reason with. Nothing but a channel for energies he had foolishly thought he understood and could master. He could not release the sword while the runes still had power. And while there were living enemies around him, the power would not end. As much as he wanted this ordeal to be over, Beren did not want to die. If he could only make it through the enemy army and out into the Wastes. Maybe he could wait it out and return to the city later. He needed to get home. To Maura, to poor Gerald. . . . What would she think of him now with the blood of hundreds staining his hands? So much blood and yet he’d been unable to save their son. Too caught up in his work as always to be of any good to his family.
He suddenly realized what he must be doing to the enemy army. So many men lost. All to some unexplained force. He was certainly doing his share to keep the city and Maura safe. He had failed Gerald. He would not fail Maura. So be it. He would be a thorn in the side of the army. He would endure this hell for her sake, and pray that it was enough to keep her safe. However big this army is, if one part of it is focused on killing me, then it isn’t attacking the city. With new resolve he focused his still-healing eyes on the blurry shapes that were only now moving into the area of burning grass and bodies. He darted forward, taking the nearest soldier’s head clean from his shoulders. The power started to build again. Clarity returned to his eyes. He wished they were still just indistinct smudges, but he would not stop now. Lightning stabbed the ground around him. A ball of fire flew toward him. But now that he was paying attention, it moved with almost laughable slowness. He moved away from its point of impact, cutting down soldiers like rushes as he went. Flames exploded outward again, incinerating everything in a large area, but he had already moved beyond their reach.
Beren continued his butcher’s work, chopping into body after body until he realized the soldiers were running. He pursued a group of fifteen or so and cut them down to a man. The second group he overtook were hindered by a man in dark red robes who seemed unable to walk much less run. Yes! Run! They are retreating! Just a little more now. He cut them down like all the others. The man in the red robe offered no greater resistance than any of the rest as Beren continued his clumsy massacre. Finally, there were no more enemies in sight. Nothing but the smoking battlefield and countless corpses.
Beren came to a stop. He looked down at himself and saw that his whole body was drenched in blood. Only the sword was clean. It was still as spotless as it was when he first polished it. He ran his bloody hand down the flat of the blade and watched as the blood dried to a flaky ash and fell away. I have made a terrible thing, he thought as he sat down on a rock. How long will I have to wait before I can let it go? And what in all the hells am I going to do with this thing? The idea of destroying it occurred to him. He supposed that he should be able to unmake it in any number of ways after the power had all bled out. Destroying it would be
the right thing to do. No man should have this kind of power. It’s all the worse that it is not earned. Not worked for. All it takes is picking up a sword. And if I can do this with it, what would a Warchosen like Jenus be able to do? Or worse, Zorat? She had outfought Jenus himself in the arena. Trained as she was to fight at great speeds, she could crush Sacral by herself. Yes, I will destroy it. The sword had absorbed the life energy of hundreds of people. It would take time to burn it off. But maybe I can speed things up a little.Beren stood up and started to hack at the stone under his feet. His arm a blur, chunks of stone went flying off in all directions.
The merchant Sorley turned out to be every bit as horrible as Shade had suggested.
Nial and Zuly watched from the shadows as he beat employees or other merchants or had others tortured or even killed. He acted more like a demon himself than an overweight middle-aged merchant. What surprised Nial the most was that he made little or no effort to hide what he was doing. The city watch patrolled the streets and yet they never happened to pass down this particular stretch. Those who were killed were dragged out the back of the shop and dumped into a cart and covered with a tarp before being hauled away.
In only three days of watching him intermittently, they had seen the cart leave twice.
Dressed like a street urchin, the girls were all but invisible to the crowds who walked through this part of the city. The merchant’s guards had chased them away a couple of times without actually putting any effort into the task. The shop itself was large and ostentatious for this part of the city. The homes and shops in this area were mostly small and cramped, if a little cleaner and better made than those in the slums.
Sorley’s shop looked like it had swallowed several of its neighbors. The remnants of old signs had been painted over imperfectly. Still, from what the girls had been able to tell, Sorley still lived in the rooms above his store. It seemed as though the horrid man never left his little kingdom.
Skeg had not been surprised to hear about the man or the seeming indifference of the city watch.
“The city watch are men, same as any others. They make less money than they would like, and in their eyes, changing their patrol route is a small thing for a doubling or tripling of their pay. Even honest men will agree to such things for the good of their own families.”
“The other thing I don’t like is the carts that come and leave his shop at night. If he’s willing to do those horrible things during the day, whatever he wants to hide must be worse,” said Nial.
“Now you’re thinking clearly, child. If you can find out what he’s trading in that makes a man like that ashamed, we may find a clue about why Shade wants him dead.”
Zuly looked at him intently. “You really think we can find out who he is?”
“Maybe. Knowing what he cares about can tell us a lot.”
The girls returned to spy on the merchant the next afternoon. His mood seemed to have changed. He was almost pleasant to those around him and had those who displeased him only lightly beaten. The cart around back remained empty today. Night brought greater activity than ever before. At least three carts were brought in over the course of the night, the last arriving just a few hours before dawn. Sorley locked up his shop after it arrived. Then he posted twice as many guards outside as he had before.
Time to move, thought Zuly. Four guards, each within easy sight of two others. We’ll go in another way. Nial nodded and they moved off into the next street. Using their new trick, they lifted themselves up onto the roof of the nearest building. It was a lot slower than lifting someone else, but Zuly was sure no one would walk down this little street in the minute or so that they needed. After they got to the roof, they started moving back toward Sorley’s house. They crouched on the edge of the roof across the street for a long time waiting to see if the guards had heard them. Zuly jumped off the ledge and used their power to float over the guards’ heads. Nial watched them a little nervously, but none of the men looked up.
They moved down a little and tried one of the windows but were brought up short. Nial found she was blocked by an invisible barrier a finger’s breadth from the glass.
Wards. Strong ones. If we push through these, we’ll get noticed, Zuly thought. We’ll have to find a different way in.
“What about just making a hole in the roof?” Nial whispered. That just might work, my dear Nial. With demonic strength the girls pulled up first a few tarred planks, then mortared stones. No wards blocked their progress. You are so smart, my sweet Nial. Nial grinned as they dropped down into the darkness within.
They landed without a sound, slowly floating down to the floor. Their demon sight was more than enough to see in the dark room. It’s his bedroom, thought Zuly. A large bed did dominate the room. There were stains on the sheets, colorless in the dark, but both the girls could easily imagine what they might be. Chains hung loose from the bedposts. This man is like the others. Tonight we will take his soul. They opened the door carefully and crept through the house. The upper floor was an overly large home for a single man. Several large bedrooms furnished like the first filled the extra space. All of them were empty. A thick door barred the way down to the shop. It was locked with several well-made steel locks and chains. We’ll make too much noise opening this. The girls looked around again before deciding that the floor would probably offer an easier way through. Again they tore through the mortar and stone, lifting each stone out of its place and carefully setting it aside. They floated down through the hole they’d opened and into Sorley’s shop. Piles of goods were stacked everywhere. Bales of furs and jars of spices and exotic oils. All were neatly organized and ready to be resold.
Still not what we’re looking for. There must be a basement. Unless he has a secret way out and we didn’t notice him leave.Sure enough, they found another door at the back of the shop that seemed a likely choice. It was as heavily built as the door to the top floor, though most of the locks and chains hadn’t been secured. Just one lock. Nial bent the metal with her power. Stairs led down. They could see another solid wood door at the end of the staircase. Still not a trace of light. Three steps down and the step buckled under their foot. A line of needles jolted out from the back of the nearest step and punched deeply into their leg. Nial gasped before Zuly could take control and silence their body.
Probably poison. We have to get back to Skeg, thought Zuly. No, answered Nial. We’ll never get in the same way again. We’ll just have to be strong and finish quick. Already their leg was starting to feel numb. Zuly floated them over the remaining steps. Then the time for being quiet is over. They smashed in the door at the end of the staircase with a burst of their power.
They heard muffled screams and crying as well as a man’s voice swearing. Inside the basement torches and lamps blazed. A full dozen cages lined the walls. Nine of them held children. Boys and girls, their ages ranging from six to twelve. Two crates stood in the center of the chamber. Nial recognized them as having been delivered that same day.
Sorley had prepared a cage for his newest pet. He had pried open the front of one crate and was chaining up an unconscious boy of seven.
“What the fuck are you doing in here? Who the fuck let you in?”
Zuly reached out with her power and plucked the man off his feet. “I would have liked to enjoy this more,” said Zuly. “But I’m in a bit of a hurry. So you’re going to give me your soul and fast.”
Sorley’s fingers were ripped from his body one at a time. Blood sprayed. Sorley screamed. “Say it! Say you give me your soul!” Five fingers and two minutes was all it took. His soul joined their collection in the obsidian sphere. By then, the tingling feeling had risen to their thigh.
We need to get out of here now! thought Zuly.
“Not yet!” shouted Nial. She reached out and smashed the locks from every cage, from every manacle. “We have to get them out of here.”
We can’t, sweet Nial. We could die. The best we can do is make sure they have a clear way out. They floated
back up the stairs, power lashing out to smash the trap they had triggered. They had been so proud of their floating trick; now it seemed frustratingly slow.
A moment later the front door of the shop exploded in flames. The guards ran forward to see what was happening, only to be plucked off the ground by unseen forces, dragged into the shop, and smashed into walls. The girls left broken bodies and the smoldering remains of the front of the shop behind and floated up into the darkness. Behind them, furtive shapes ran out of the destroyed shop and out into the night. First one alone, then more in small groups. By the time the city watch arrived, no one living remained to answer any questions.
The girls floated into Skeg’s shop, their eyes wide with panic. “Mister Skeg! We’ve been poisoned!” Nial shouted. The cut on their leg had long since stopped bleeding, but the numbness now extended all the way up to their waist.
Skeg ran over to them, not even trying to hide the worry he felt. “I’m no poisoner, but I should be able to help. How did it happen? How do you feel?”
“It was a needle in a trap and now I can’t feel my leg!”
“How long ago was that?”
“Just help me!” Nial screamed in panic, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I need to know, child, or I won’t know how to help you. Now how long?”
The crying cut off abruptly. “It has been just over an hour, Mister Skeg,” answered a somewhat calmer Zuly. “We couldn’t run or even walk so we had to fly, and it’s so damned slow! Our foot was numb within seconds of being poisoned, but it’s spreading much more slowly now.”
The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone) Page 12
