Wrath of the Fury Blade

by Geoff Habiger

  “No. They didn’t go out the door. There must be a secret door in here they used. One moment we were fighting them, and the next Agera gave them a command and they made their escape. I’m sorry. I should have pursued them.”

  “No. You tended to the wounded and you saved me. I think that last part was more important.” She gave him a weak smile. She wasn’t surprised that the Sucra had fled. They were no better than sneak-thieves. She suspected that Grand Inquisitor Agera wouldn’t want to be here when the questions were asked. Like why did Locera target him?

  Reva’s eyes widened. She knew why—as had Locera—that Agera had a dangerous secret that could ruin him if it got out. “Shit,” she swore.

  “What is it?”

  “Come on.” Reva grabbed her sword from Ansee and sheathed it, moving to the door. “I think Agera will try to cover his tracks. We need to stop him if we want any hope of proving that this secret cabal exists.”

  Ansee nodded, his eyes widening with realization. Together they walked out into the rain. Descending the stairs quickly, Ansee asked, “Are you suggesting that we kill the Grand Inquisitor of the Sucra?”

  Reva hefted the Fury Blade, the black and red blade glinting in the rain. “I’m suggesting we do what’s needed to expose his secret society.”

  Reaching the ground, they hurried to Pfeta fey Orung’s main entrance, running across the rotunda to the stairs. Reva descended the stairs two at a time, her way lit by the soft red glow of the Fury Blade. The door to the storage room was open, as was the secret door within.

  Gods, let us not be too late. She and Ansee hustled down the passage. It was dark ahead, which made her stomach fall in dread. The torches flickered to life as they entered the room. Nothing. The walls were bare, the regalia and other stuff from the tables were gone. The flags were gone too.

  Reva whirled around. “Gods be damned.” She caught sight of a single object in the room—a framed family tree low on the left wall. Walking over she saw Lunaria clearly illuminated on the parchment.

  In a fit of rage, she slashed at the top of the frame with the Fury Blade, neatly cutting the frame (and some of the stonework) away. She switched the blade to her left hand and picked up the parchment from the floor. She wanted to tear it up, here and now, but restrained her anger. Locera had said it was a fake, but there was nobody now alive to prove that. Fake or not, nobody could ever know about this; it could ruin her life, her brother’s life, and her mother’s if anybody learned about this family tree. That had been Agera’s plan, she was sure. Ruin her and her family’s life as retribution for keeping the Fury Blade out of his hands.

  Holding the Fury Blade to her side she rolled up the parchment. From behind her Ansee whispered, “Reva, company.”

  “Taking a little souvenir?”

  Reva slowly turned at the sound of the harsh accent to see the dark elf Syntagma and three soldiers stepping from the secret panel in the far wall. She grabbed the Fury Blade and held it out, pointing it at the dark elf.

  He tried to kill you. He left you for dead in this very room!

  The blade’s words resonated in her mind, latching onto the spark of anger she’d felt at hearing his voice.

  Punish him!

  Reva gripped the rolled parchment tightly, focusing her thoughts. If he dies, he does so at my command, she told the blade. Not yours.

  He won’t show you any pity, the blade pleaded. She could almost hear the poutiness in its thought.

  And that’s what makes me better than him.

  The Syntagma became quiet, his eyes widening as he looked at Reva holding the Fury Blade.

  “I told you we’d find your sword for you,” Reva said. She waved the tip back and forth.

  One of the soldiers said something in their language, the Syntagma cutting him off with a sharp “Nincs.”

  He looked at Reva, standing erect. “Give me the Fury Blade.”

  “So you can turn around and use it on us?” Reva snickered. “Uh uh. I don’t think so.”

  Ansee saw the Syntagma shudder a bit. He doesn’t think he can wield it.

  “The Fury Blade belongs to the Underforest.”

  “Really?” Reva asked, raising one eyebrow. “Then how did it end up here?” She pointed the blade at the wall where it had been displayed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Liar,” Ansee said. He crossed his arms to get a better grip on two of his daggers. The Syntagma flashed him a glance that confirmed the statement, but said nothing.

  “I think my Seeker is right. You do know but are unwilling to say. No matter. It’s not important.” Reva began pacing, keeping the Fury Blade pointed at the dark elves.

  “Say I do give you the sword. What then?”

  “We will take it and leave,” said the Syntagma flatly.

  “Ha!” Reva paused. “And I’m supposed to take your word, am I?” She pointed the blade at him. “You tried to kill me…yesterday?” She looked over at Ansee.

  “Yep, yesterday.”

  “That’s what I thought. All these days are starting to run together.” She turned back to the Syntagma. “Yesterday. You pulled one of your dark elf tricks and left me for dead right there.” She pointed the blade to the floor.

  “If you don’t give me the Fury Blade, we will take it by force.”

  “I’d love to see you try.” Reva grinned, waving the blade playfully, fully in control.

  Ansee thought he saw the dark elf pale a bit, if that was possible for somebody who was almost translucent already. Then he stuck out his chin and regained control. He actually chuckled. “Stupid elf. I mean the Underforest will go to war to recover what is ours.”

  “I thought we were already at war?” Reva commented.

  The Syntagma grinned, a small, cruel smile. It actually caused a shiver to run up Reva’s spine. “You think those skirmishes in the Smoke Highlands are a war? Your King has not experienced the total war the Underforest would unleash upon your pitiful people.”

  Reva wasn’t sure if he was just full of bravado and boasting or not. She wasn’t going to risk sending the Kingdom into a full-scale war over a single sword—no matter how powerful the weapon was. This is starting to be above my pay grade.

  “So you’ll promise to leave the city if I give the Fury Blade to you?”

  Ansee tensed. He didn’t think they should keep the weapon—it was too dangerous—but he didn’t like the idea of just giving it to them either. He saw Reva casually place her left hand behind her back. Still holding the parchment, she made some gestures with her fingers.

  “Yes. Upon the word of my Queen, we will leave the city.”

  “Very well. We have a deal then.”

  The Syntagma gave a smile, thinking that he’d won, and stepped forward. In a blur Reva made her move, too quick for the dark elves or Ansee to react. Lunging forward, she thrust the Fury Blade into the Syntagma’s stomach. The weapon sunk to the guard, the black and red blade emerging from his back, almost exactly the same wound he’d given Reva.

  She let go of the Fury Blade and took two steps back. Nothing happened and she gave a quick look at Ansee, her expression saying “Well?”

  The Syntagma started to fall and was caught by two of the soldiers. The third lifted his crossbow and pointed it at Reva, but didn’t fire. Nobody seemed to know what to do. The two holding the Syntagma didn’t look like they wanted to touch the Fury Blade. The one holding the crossbow wasn’t sure if he should shoot or not.

  Reva broke the stalemate by drawing her sword. “The only way you’ll survive is if you leave, now.”

  Still the soldiers hesitated. The Syntagma finally drew a painful breath and said, “Well played, Inspector.” He coughed and then said, “Ő nyerte ezt a napot. Vigyél el innen. Van, amiért jöttünk.”

  The two soldiers began carrying the Syntagma back to the secret door. T
he dark elf with the crossbow covered their retreat, then also backed out of the room.

  Reva counted to ten slowly and then sheathed her sword when she was sure they wouldn’t come back and try something. She turned to Ansee. “What the hells? Why didn’t you do anything?”

  Ansee relaxed as well, sheathing his daggers. “What was I supposed to do? You went and just stabbed him out of nowhere. And what the hell was all this about?” He made wild gestures with his left hand, mimicking what Reva had done.

  “I was signaling that I was attacking the bastard and for you,” she pointed at Ansee, “to gate him out of here.”

  “Well, maybe if you didn’t talk with your hands full I could understand you.”

  Reva looked down at the parchment in her hand. She laughed. “Oh. I forgot I was holding it.”

  Ansee laughed as well. “So, you think they’ll really leave?”

  Reva nodded. “I don’t think any of them really wanted to hold that sword. Did you see how scared they were of it? Even that arrogant Syntagma. I don’t think any one of them could control the Fury Blade, and they knew it. If one of them tries to take it out, the Fury Blade will take control. It’d be a blood bath. They’ll flee as quickly as they can to get him to a healer and somebody who can safely pull the sword out.”

  “Well, I’m glad you no longer have the damn thing,” Ansee said. “Are you all right?”

  Reva paused for a moment, considering the question. She was pretty sure she’d made a stronger enemy out of Senior Inquisitor Malvaceä and now had nobody who could tell her anything about her father and how he’d died. But she had managed to control the Fury Blade, with Ansee’s help, and the case was now really closed. “I am now. Thanks to you.”

  Ansee shrugged, “I had to give you a chance to fight the sword. I knew that if you’d killed Malvaceä—no matter how much he deserves it—there’d be no chance to save you.”

  Reva put her arm around his shoulders, leading him from the room. “Come on. Let’s go see what kind of chaos is going on upstairs.”

  Forty-four

  Reva grimaced as her right hand cramped up for the third time in as many minutes. “I hate parchmentwork,” she grumbled, massaging the spot between her thumb and index finger.

  Ansee laughed from his table across from her. “Come on, Inspector. This is the glamorous part of being a Constable.”

  Reva blew a raspberry at him before picking up her quill again. The stable was mostly empty; everyone else had gone home at the end of the day. They’d spent several hours at Pfeta fey Orung—most of it dealing with FC Aescel, members of the Mayor’s staff, and officers from the Red Watch. The injured had been taken to healers and the dead taken away.

  There had been a lot of consternation and wringing of hands as she’d recounted the events. She didn’t honey-coat anything and the elves from the castle and the Mayor’s office were shocked and dismayed by her account of the Sucra’s betrayal during the fight. They chose to either disbelieve what she said or ignore her outright. Only Aescel had seemed to understand and stood by her as she recounted the events.

  She was making sure that she put everything into her report now. She had no illusion that anything would happen; she expected the Sucra to get away with their actions, but she felt better knowing that her account was in the official record.

  She heard Ansee’s stool scrape against the floor and then felt him bump the tables, causing her quill to jerk on the page. “Be careful,” she scolded him, before becoming aware that there was a presence next to her and that the stable had become even quieter.

  “I believe that’s my fault,” said a melodious voice to her left. Reva looked up to see King Aeonis standing next to her.

  Reva pushed back her stool and saluted. The King had a long, narrow face with a hawk-like nose and small chin. His face was wrinkled around the eyes and down the sides of his cheeks. He was bald across the top of his head and long, loose, white hair fell from just over his ears and the back of his head.

  He wore a doublet of green and gold brocade with silver and blue sleeves. Solid gold and brass epaulettes, shaped as an oak leaf over a twisting braid of rope, covered his shoulders. A red and black sash ran from under the right epaulette across his chest and was tied to the belt at his left hip. Three medals—the Order of Arona, the Onyx Cross, and the warhawk-headed broach of the Lord Knight Commander—were pinned to the sash. At his left hip, the jeweled pommel of his longsword glittered in its sheath.

  King Aeonis looked at Reva with amber-colored eyes and smiled. “I’m sorry to be disturbing you, Constable Inspector.”

  “It’s not a problem, my Lord,” Reva answered. Now that the shock of seeing the King was fading, she relaxed. She’d met the King on two other occasions and wasn’t flustered around him anymore. She now noticed that the Mayor, LCI Betula, and FC Aescel were with him. She nodded to each of them to acknowledge their presence.

  “I wanted to personally come and thank you for dealing with this deranged killer.” The King gestured to LCI Betulla. “The Lord Constable Inspector has told me it was your idea to pretend to close the case in the hopes of luring the killer out and catching him.”

  Betulla smiled, a mixture of triumph and determination. Reva read the look. It said, “Play along or you’ll answer to me.” Inside, Reva seethed. The deaths of the Baron and his wife, as well as the Green Cloak, were due to Betulla’s insistence on closing the case when all the evidence said otherwise. Their blood was on her hands, and she didn’t even seem to care. Reva was tempted to ignore the warning, but gave in. She’d play along, for now.

  “Well, my Lord, I’m grateful that LCI Betulla saw the wisdom of my plan and gave me permission to go through with it.” She saw Betulla smile approvingly. “I’m just sorry we were unable to prevent the additional deaths.”

  The King lowered his eyes. “Yes, the loss of Baron Dávolé and his beloved Kaitlynn will be felt here and in Macaela. The lives of too many good elves were cut short by this killer…” He looked quizzically at Reva.

  “Roya Locera, my Lord. He was an archivist at Pfeta fey Orung.”

  The King nodded solemnly. Behind him the Mayor said, “I am still in shock that a member of such outstanding heritage could have committed these atrocities.”

  FC Aescel asked, “Do we know his motives, Inspector?” Reva wasn’t sure if he was trying to steer the conversation or just prompting her. He already knew what Locera’s motivation had been. Unfortunately, Reva couldn’t fully disclose Locera’s true motivation. Agera had seen to that with the destruction of the secret society’s meeting room. Without any hard evidence, not even Aescel would believe her. So instead, Reva told them what she’d told Aescel earlier.

  “It appears that Locera was angered by the death of his sister and he blamed First Magistrate Avecath. The weapon he used was apparently cursed, and once he started killing he had to continue. We’ll never know if he also blamed Lady Ochroma, Mr. Aucarii, LCI Gania, and the others for his sister’s death, or was just in the thrall of the weapon.”

  “And what of the weapon?” asked Betulla, a little too excitedly.

  This had been pure luck. After Reva and Ansee had left the dining room Senior Constable Ghrellstone went to make sure nobody disturbed Locera’s body. While on the balcony he saw a large leather pouch, its drawstrings cut. It must have come from Malvaceä, been cut during Reva’s battle with him. When Willem opened it up, he’d been surprised to find the pommel of the fake Fury Blade staring him in the face.

  Reva smiled, picking up the pouch from her table. “It’s right here, ma’am.” She opened the bag and let the pommel and hilt of the sword ease out. The black and red gemstone shone in the light of the stable. Betulla’s name had been among Locera’s notes and Reva had seen her wearing the enamel pin with its one black star. She didn’t know if Betulla knew that this was the fake sword or not but she was sure that the word would get ba
ck to Grand Inquisitor Agera. He knew, Reva was sure, and he’d also know that the real sword was now out of his grasp.

  The King reached up with his right hand and Reva had to rudely pull the sword away. “I wouldn’t do that, my Lord. As I said, we think the weapon is cursed and affected Locera. I wouldn’t want you to become cursed as well.”

  “Oh, yes, Áeorias,” the King said in thanks. “What will happen to the weapon?”

  Aescel spoke up. “We’ll keep it safe until we can get the wizards at Auros to remove the curse. Then we’ll destroy the weapon.”

  “Good,” said the King. He turned to Reva. “Again, we are in your debt, Inspector.” He grasped her hand between both of his. They were cool and smooth.

  “And yours, Seeker.” He moved over and grasped Ansee’s hands as well. He turned and gave a meaningful look to Betulla.

  “I know you were only doing your duty, as any member of the Constabulary would have done,” Betulla said. Reva thought she might have been gritting her teeth. The sarcasm was thinly veiled. “But it is with my thanks and gratitude, and the gratitude of First Constable Aescel and Mayor Sovien, that we present to you and Seeker Carya these commendations of valor.” She held up two rolled parchments with wax seals and ribbons affixed to them.

  Reva and Ansee took the proffered commendations. Reva sighed inwardly. She knew now, publicly at least, and maybe even within the Constabulary, that Betulla wouldn’t be able to punish them for anything—at least anything connected with this case, and possibly anything else for at least a few weeks. Oh sure, it won’t last, Reva told herself. But I had better make the most of it.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” she said. “I would beg of you one more small favor.”

  Betulla’s nostrils flared slightly, and then she smiled and said, “If it’s within my power to grant it.”

  “I would request that Constable Gania be transferred to Acer Division to serve under me. He has the makings to be a fine Constable, just like his mother, and I’d like to mentor him.”