Blade and Soul: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 2)

by C. M. Estopare

  Lucius?

  A river of dark hair was pulled back. Tight. Tied into a long, flowing, tail. A tattered black cloak hid his clothing, but she spied boots. A knife at his belt, the steel dark. Obsidian.

  His fox-like features brightened beneath her gaze. His smile became wide. Almost ear to ear, as he opened his arms and shoved Kiran out of the way with a heavy shoulder.

  He moved as if to hug her.

  Marceline couldn't.

  She turned away. Crossed her arms and stared up at the western citadel's high white walls.

  Kiran paused. Baffled.

  But he could put two and two together, “You're both agents.” he breathed, “Though your aura is distinct...like that of a...”

  Lucius's fox-like smile silenced him.

  “I didn't come for him.” Marceline snapped, sensing Kiran's apprehension.

  “Then what did you come for, Marceline?”

  Lucius snorted his laughter quietly.

  “Go back. You promised—,”

  “I told you—Ludovic would have me ousted—,”

  “So, you lied.”

  Kiran let out an angry breath. Collected himself quickly, “He isn't blind, Marceline. He will feel our absence. I cannot go back without you.”

  “Marcy,” Lucius whispered, touched her shoulder slowly, “Reine is still alive.”

  Marceline spun. Shook his hand away. Stared at him with wild eyes, “I know!”

  She caught her breath. Looked to Kiran, who was speechless.

  Bringing a hand to her forehead, she muttered an apology. Found Lucius staring at her steadily. Reading her.

  “And the rest of the Savatiers? The Roselets? How did you fair?” she met his gaze. Narrowed her own eyes, “Was it you who dismissed me?”

  Marceline watched his face pale. Saw his tongue slide over his lips, before it disappeared back into his mouth.

  “Don't lie to me.”

  “I won't.” he sighed, bringing his gaze to the dirt before returning it to her, “I received correspondence from the Masters one day prior to the attack. Direct correspondence, Marcy. They wanted you to return because of your illness. They wanted you to go back and heal.” he stepped forward, lowered his voice. Strained it, “I sent word back to them, saying you'd heal just fine at the Roselets. I fought for you to stay on the contract. But,” he sighed, “Gerard got hold of the Masters' latest letter and decided that I was being too soft on you. He took it upon himself to dismiss you in my stead. He thought that because of our—,”

  She held up a hand, “Enough.”

  Marceline looked up at him. Frowned. Felt her height. Felt small and unimportant.

  Her heart clenched in her chest as if a hand tightened into a fist around it, squashing it. Flattening it within its palm.

  Lucius reached out. Hugged her.

  They embraced for what felt like a lifetime. The heat of his chest made her burrow her face into his cloak. His heart throbbed against her cheek, long and slow. The heartbeat of a predator.

  Kiran turned away, giving them privacy.

  “Whatever you're here for...” he called over his shoulder.

  With mounting disgust building up like bile in her throat, she realized she wanted to be held.

  Marceline shoved Lucius away, “I'm here for an old friend of mine.” she replied, staring Lucius in the eye, “And you?”

  “Ghyslain still lives. He is the last of them. And as his last request, he asked that I save Reine.”

  “Then we are on the same page?”

  Lucius nodded, “I hope we are.”

  Kiran turned back to face them. Arms crossed, “How do we plan on getting into the citadel?”

  Marceline looked at him, annoyed, “We?”

  “Like I said...”

  She nodded.

  Lucius pointed to the wall of the gorge beneath the western citadel, “There was a sewage drain that opened here. But the rubble has plugged it.” he shrugged, “Best we can do now is wait until dusk and scale the walls of the citadel.”

  Marceline stared up past the gorge. Groaned at the thought of climbing those high white walls. She had only scaled them once, upon first coming to Safrana, and she wasn't looking forward to climbing them again.

  But it needed to be done.

  “Right.”

  Dusk was only a few hours away.

  Marceline looked to Kiran, “This is your last chance, Kiran. Go home.”

  He shook his head, a look of determination hardening his face.

  Marceline threw up her hands. Smiled, “So be it.” ...merci.

  THE SUN DIPPED LOW, casting dark clouds across the sky. Signaling the oncoming night.

  “If we climb the gorge here, it'll be a straight shot.” Lucius said matter-of-factly, “We can take a breather there, on the edge of the rock, and then keep going. Right onto the eastern parapets.”

  “Right.” Marceline replied, her eyes following his finger.

  “You're telling me you humans can make that?” Kiran asked, baffled and wide-eyed.

  Marceline smiled. Brought her hands to her hips, “That's nothing.” she joked, “You should see what they make us climb at the Bann.”

  Beneath his breath, Lucius chuckled.

  Kiran was the first to climb. Lucius second. Marceline followed last, keeping her eyes to the sky. Never looking down. Refusing to give in to her fear of heights.

  Beneath them, the gray rubble trembled. Groaned and crackled.

  The three stopped. Marceline sighed. Forced herself to look as she freed a hand from the wall and retrieved her dagger.

  “We should keep going!” Kiran called down, “Whatever's down there...” he quieted. Murmured a prayer.

  Lucius shook his head quickly. Turned away. Refused to look.

  Marceline had no choice.

  Far below her, stood her agents. Adelaide, Clara, and Talon. Faces ripped asunder by the fall and the rubble stared up at her. Glazed eyes dilated. Misshapen bodies frozen like dismantled statues.

  Clara's bottom jaw was missing, the body part swimming amongst the rubble. Adelaide had been scalped. Dark red oozing from her skull where her hair should have been. Talon raised an arm, the flesh ripped from him. Red oozing from the stripes of missing skin.

  They stared at her dejectedly. Clara sputtered a moan.

  Marceline began to climb down.

  She'd put them out of their misery.

  “Marceline!” Lucius hissed from above, stopping.

  Pebbles rained upon her head, but she wouldn't stop.

  This was her duty. These were her people.

  More undead emerged, erupting from the rubble like grotesque flower heads. They pulled themselves free, throwing stone and steel with a loud clatter. Moans erupted from twisted throats. Screams.

  Marceline froze.

  More rose. Tens. Hundreds.

  Marceline cursed.

  She couldn't kill them all. If she dropped down there, those things would rip her apart.

  “Don't be stupid.” Lucius hissed.

  “Look—we'll come back with a larger force. Give them all mercy—but right now...!” Kiran's voice. More pebbles fell as he stumbled.

  “These things will overrun the citadels if we don't take care of them now!” Marceline called up.

  “We are only three.” Kiran replied, sighing heavily, “They outnumber us.”

  Marceline looked down.

  An undead horde of hundreds had sprung from the rubble. The great bridge's dead surged towards the edge of the gorge, staring. Marveling at the three as they climbed.

  I have no choice.

  If I die, the blood price falls to the Spears.

  Merde.

  “I'll come back for you.” she told her agents, searching their eyes for any hint of understanding.

  There was none. Nothing floated in their eyes anymore. No light. No comprehension.

  They were shells of their former selves.

  Marceline shook her head. Sighed.

&
nbsp; “I'll come back.” she swore as she began to climb, following Lucius and Kiran as they continued their ascent.

  Far below them, Clara dug her fingers into the wall of the gorge. Then Talon, Adelaide.

  Their climb would be a slow going one.

  NIGHT FELL AS THEY dropped into the lower districts of the western citadel. Keeping to the roofs of tall stone houses and manors, the three raced towards the glittering white spire of the chateau centered within the heart of the citadel.

  On the lavish cobblestone streets, guardsmen broke into a run. Nightwatchmen barked commands. Rushed through the darkening streets with glowing torches in both hands.

  Marceline ignored the fiery scene taking place on the streets, while Lucius followed running men and women with his eyes.

  “They're going towards the makeshift gate on the eastern wall.” Lucius murmured, mostly for himself, “But, why?”

  “Shut up and keep a look out.” Marceline snapped, “I could care less—,”

  A muddled cry rang out through the city in the direction of the rushing guardsmen. They began to double time it, dashing through the streets in a blur of orange and white light.

  “It's that horde,” Kiran told them, offering a hand to Marceline as they climbed down from the roof of a tiny stone cottage, “it must be. If we take the streets we'll get to the chateau faster.”

  Marceline cocked her head, “How would you know that?”

  Kiran simply smiled, crooked his fingers and caught her hand.

  The three hit the street within seconds.

  Careening through alleyways, they flattened themselves to the darkness of the walls as guardsmen rushed past with flaming torches. They screamed of an eastern invasion. Told their men that the unwashed hordes abhor fire.

  “And water!” one joked as he passed them, a detail of four ignoring the joke. Their faces as white as linen bed sheets.

  Making their way to the chateau, they scaled the outer wall and dropped into the outer gardens. A sea of nobles surrounded the chateau's main doors, the people surging into the main vestibule as they gathered.

  “Remember last time,” Marceline murmured as they took refuge near a large, twisting, oak, “that quake happened and they moved all of the civilians into the main vestibule?”

  Lucius nodded, “You think she'll be in there?”

  “Most likely.”

  Kiran smirked, “Good luck finding your friend in that.”

  “I've got an idea.” Marceline replied, walking around the oak, “follow me and keep quiet.”

  The men did as they were told. Marceline sprinted the length of the chateau, bounding into the back gardens with Kiran and Lucius on her heels. They came to a lengthy maze of sculpted hedges, the sprawling landscape of green made complete with tiny orchards of purple leafed trees and dried marble fountains. A smattering of nobles conversed here, walking the gardens as they spoke. Picking flowers. Calming their nerves.

  “They say the easterners have returned.”

  “Undead—blighters—by the Fates, I don't know the terms for these things...”

  “Roux blew the bridge for a reason—and now...”

  “The chateau guard will stop them. Worry not...”

  Marceline moved among the crowd like a shadow. Shrugging off her hood, she kept her head low. Making eye contact with a stranger for half a second before moving on. She searched for Reine's eyes, her haughty aura. Her hair of fleece.

  She saw nothing.

  “Monsieurs et Madames!”

  The conversation stopped as a man wearing gleaming silver armor strode from the main vestibule and called out to all. He opened his arms and motioned them towards the open glass doors of the vestibule.

  “For your own safety, please...”

  And they rushed. Piling upon each other as they surged inside, speaking, questioning, calling to their loved ones farther out.

  Marceline, Kiran, and Lucius followed suit. Merging with the crowd as they rushed in.

  High ceilings met them. A gleaming chandelier the size of a small cottage hung high over their heads. Polished marble floors reflected their exhausted faces as they raced in, followed the crowd and deposited themselves near a window.

  Click, click.

  The noise made Marceline's skin crawl.

  It resounded around the main vestibule. Hundreds froze. Threw their gazes this way and that.

  Marceline couldn't help nudging her shoulder into the back of a tall elderly gentleman. The large chamber was packed with people just like him. Civilians all wanting to go to their beds—to enjoy their lives.

  Not be trapped in this enormous chamber.

  Non, Marceline corrected herself, prison.

  For they had been locked in.

  The crowd erupted into a myriad of screams at the sound of the doors locking. The people surged angrily, dashing towards the doors, at the chateau guard. Marceline found herself staring straight, her eyes not seeing.

  A window stood before her. Tall. Towering.

  She blinked.

  A horde of undead scaled the chateau's outer walls. The chateau guard had locked them inside for their protection.

  “Merde...” Lucius cursed into Marceline's ear, his face going paper white.

  “I've never seen so many.” Kiran blurted, his eyes all but bulging from their sockets.

  “They're coming!”

  “They've locked us in here to die!”

  Skulls crunched. Steel sang and passed through bodies. Women cried, hit the floor. Bodies piled. The dead.

  Marceline twirled, her skin tingling. Came face to face with the elder she had jabbed. He flung his shoe like a weapon. Missing. The heavy black sole crashing into the window. Cracking it.

  Marceline jabbed him in the throat. He went down.

  Blood bathed the white marble floors in splotches. People bled out, twitching upon the floor. Dancing. While others swung at each other. Ganging up on the guardsmen, taking them to the floor. Suffocating them with hands. Thousands of blood stained hands.

  Marceline's heart flew into her throat.

  We need to get out.

  Her eyes caught sight of a hallway. The lip of a stair.

  She touched both men by the shoulder, turned, and sprinted.

  They fought through the onslaught of bodies, charging.

  Marceline made it to the stairs. Climbed and was tugged down.

  A woman stood over her, breathing heavily, “You're one of them—aren't you—” an iron arrowhead stabbed through her skull. Erupted out of her eye with a squelch.

  She dropped to the floor before Kiran.

  Go, he mouthed as he removed the arrow and dropped it back into the quiver on his back.

  They raced up, the crowd wising up. Following. Screaming as undead poured through the doors. The windows.

  Will we die here?

  They hit the second level of the chateau. Polished floors of cedar met them.

  Up ahead, the long shadow of a woman danced.

  She sang.

  Her voice was hollow. Ghostly. It made Marceline do a double take.

  It's Reine.

  It had to be. It was her breathy voice. Her voice of silver bells.

  Of course, she'd be in her room. Merde...

  Lucius exchanged a glance with her. Kiran shivered. Shook his head and backed away.

  Marceline sprinted ahead.

  Finally—finally, she had found her.

  But would she be able to get her out of the chateau alive?

  Beneath them, screams rang out like distant bells. Chiming and chiming, screeching as the undead descended on them. Flesh ripping. Limbs being stripped from flailing bodies.

  This was a war she could not win. A battle she could not fight.

  All that mattered now was Reine.

  She still sang. Danced.

  Her shadow became shorter as she went deeper into her room.

  Marceline stopped at the edge of the door frame.

  The singing stopped. De
volved into humming.

  Marceline took a breath. Swiped her dagger from her belt.

  For all she knew, this could be a trap.

  The shadow brushed its hair. Dancing beneath the glow of a tapering candle.

  Marceline pushed herself forward. Faced the door. Saw Reine's back.

  “Reine—”

  “Marceline.”

  She clapped. It rang throughout the hall.

  Behind Marceline, Kiran and Lucius ran for her. Kiran reached out his hand.

  Froze.

  Reine brought her hand up, index and thumb together. Snapped. Dropped her clothing. Her skin, her hair, everything.

  Marceline tightened her grip on the dagger until the leather bit her.

  Merde.

  A man took her place. Large. Broad shouldered. Built like a wandering merchant.

  He continued clapping. Held the brush in one hand. Turned.

  Mismatched eyes met her own.

  He looked like the man on the bridge. The man who had begun all of this. Who had terrorized her. Destroyed her chances of ever having a career with the Bann.

  He looked like the Slayer of Safrana.

  Marceline roared. Rushed forward.

  It was like running through molasses. Her limbs slowed down. Paused. Her breathing slowed.

  As everything around her froze.

  The man continued clapping. Smiled viciously. Laughed.

  The brush morphed. Sharp steel elongating from its handle as he approached her.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Marceline

  Footsteps rushed up the hallway. The scuffle of two feet fluidly morphing into four.

  The djinn's spell paused the world, air freezing as time took a breath. Marceline's heart fell silent. Pumping blood turning to slow moving slush in her veins.

  Through it all, she glared. Glared at the silver tip of the djinn's elongated brush-knife as the smiling man approached her. Dancing towards her like a drunkard. Like a man who felt the turning of the world and moved with it.

  He laughed. Mismatched eyes lighting up.

  “I do admire your bravery.”

  He stood inches away. The tip of the knife hovering above her forehead. Marceline found the strength to move her aching neck. To follow the gleaming thing with her eyes, breath hitching in her chest. Air escaping slowly through her parted lips.