Immortal Swordslinger 4

by Dante King

  “The kind that is infused with knowledge,” Yono whispered.

  The scythe dripped green fluid as I brought it to bear, and I flicked the fluid toward the minotaur’s eyes. It recoiled and clawed at its face to tear away the Ichor-infused water. I slammed the blunt side of the blade into its gut, forced the minotaur back into the wall, and tore open its throat with a flick of the Depthless Dream. Black blood coursed down into its fur.

  A weakened punch shot toward my shoulder, but I pushed water through my Physical channels and flowed around it with a quick step. I slashed off the minotaur’s hand and ripped the scythe across its stomach. Glistening intestines erupted from the demon’s torso, and I finished the hulking monster with a final hooking strike. Its skull gave way under the blow, and my makeshift scythe-blade shattered as it came into contact with the monster’s blistering heat.

  “You will not win, Swordslinger,” the Broodmother snarled.

  Black fire erupted from the portals in a wall of magic. The attack snuffed out Vesma and Hamon’s flames, but for all of its advantages, the demonic entity couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time. I reached within myself, found the Crashing Wave technique again, and unleashed another high-pressure jet of water.

  “Must you, Swordslinger?” Hamon asked as the jet slammed into his back.

  He turned and vaporized the tide of water with a gout of flame. The dungeon flooded with steam, and this time, I pushed a blanket of Acid Cloud up into the ceiling. The temperature of the room rose until sweat poured out of my face, and I pushed the trident up into the air.

  “With me, Yono!” I instructed.

  Sunlight Ichor fired from the Depthless Dream and mixed with the heavy steam in the air. The healing sap blended with the acid above us, and the Broodmother shrieked as my combination of elements ate into the blackened growths above us.

  Mahrai pumped a fist into the air, but I wasn’t done yet. I fed my techniques with Environmental Vigor, and the Acid Cloud bloomed into a tide of healing, biting gas. Viscera dripped vile fluids on the ground beside me as I guided the potent tide of energy over the Broodmother’s growths.

  “Mahrai, get the prisoners loose!” I shouted.

  The golem thundered past me and caught hold of the weakened iron bars of Cinder’s cell. It wrenched sideways, and yellow bone gave way under its mighty strength. The golem planted its feet and tore the rusted steel bars clean out of the wall. Cinder pulled a wizened man up beside her and slung his arm over her shoulder. Her face tightened into an expression of sheer determination, and she snapped something to the other prisoners.

  I refocused my attention on my technique. The cankers of physical corruption spat streams of clear fluid as they continued to shrink. I shifted the Depthless Dream into one hand, drew the Sundered Heart with the other, and fired off a Burning Wheel into the ceiling. Blue fire roared over the blackened flesh, and a piercing scream erupted from the Broodmother as it countered instinctively with its own countermeasures. But it wasn’t enough.

  Vesma and Hamon opened their palms, and pillars of flame arced across the demonic portals. Steam hissed through the air as I poured my own Vigor into the attacks with everything I had. My ears rang from the high-pitched wail of the demonic mass of flesh, but I held on and didn’t slow my attack.

  “More, Master!” Nydarth said. “Burn this abomination!”

  “It fades like a tide on a moonless night,” Yono encouraged. “A little more!”

  A translucent sack of flesh burst from the ceiling. It heaved in rhythmic pulses, just like a heart, and I focused my power around the sac. A figure writhed in the midst of the organ-like prison, and silver fire burst through the membrane in short, sharp flares of fierce power.

  Mahrai’s golem leapt into the air at a wave from its master, and it smashed its fists into the monstrous growth. Silver fire mixed with black, and the Broodmother’s cacophony of voices cut off abruptly as the sac finally burst. The smell of brimstone, rotting corpses, and ash filled the air of the dungeon, and a single figure collapsed from ceiling to the stone floor.

  I turned my attention to the portals and added a fresh burst of Sunlight Ichor to a blanket of Smothering Mist. The dimensional gates shrank at the touch of the sap combination, and seconds later, gave way to ashes. The glow of otherworldly energy faded.

  Vesma swayed as she cut off her flow of power. Mahrai darted across the floor and caught her just before she fell to the ground. I released the flow of Vigor, and the green mist filtered out into the air. A wave of fatigue washed through me, but my reserves were only half-spent. I’d endured worse before. A throbbing headache pulsed through my skull, but I pushed it to the side.

  The single figure in the center of the room stirred.

  His bald head glistened with viscera and sweat, and the Dying Sun robes hung off his lean frame in shredded tatters. Black ooze dripped from his eyes as he turned to look at me, and I sheathed the Sundered Heart. I kicked the monk over onto his back and pressed the Depthless Dream to his throat.

  The monk’s hand darted out and wrapped around the shaft of the trident. Sunlight Ichor bled from the tips of the trident, and I fed the technique with the environment’s power. The monk opened his mouth and vomited a stream of dark fluid up into my face.

  I ignored the foul-smelling liquid and dragged the Depthless Dream down over his chest. The gold-green sap slid over the monk’s skin. Black veins bulged from his skin, and his body writhed as it fought off the demonic corruption of the Broodmother.

  “Gods above,” Vesma whispered, horrified. “What’s happening to him?”

  “Who cares?” Mahrai said. “Don’t stop, Ethan. We can’t afford to fight him here.”

  The monk stilled, and a pathetic moan slipped free of his throat. “Swordslinger.”

  I halted the flow of the Sunlight Ichor.

  “Give me a damn good reason not to kill you here and now,” I said.

  “You’ve freed me,” the monk said weakly. “Thank you.”

  His eyes cleared and met mine. I didn’t move the Depthless Dream away from his chest, but I took my weight off it just a little. The man’s eyes were lucid, but I still didn’t trust him. I fought off a tide of trepidation and asked the first question that entered my mind.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Ultin. A—” He vomited more black fluid and feebly wiped it away from his mouth. “A brother of the Dying Sun Monastery. The orb brought us to this plane for a purpose. You, Swordslinger.”

  “You’re from another plane?” Vesma demanded. “How?”

  “The Orb,” Ultin whispered. “The cursed artifact.”

  Nydarth gasped at his words but immediately went silent again. Questions flooded my mind, but I took a deep, steadying breath, and focused on the task at hand. My immediate priority was the source of the demons in Wysaro Castle.

  “The Broodmother. Is it gone?”

  “You slew it,” Ultin said weakly. “It invaded my mind, used my knowledge, controlled me like a puppet to do its bidding.” Blood slipped free of his nose and streamed over his mouth. “Even with all my training, I was powerless to stop it.”

  The heat haze of the minotaurs, the black fire of the Broodmother, and the silver fire from the monsters flitted through my memory. They all matched the Augmentation ability of the monks. The pieces fell into place in my mind, but a cold thrill raced down my spine at the thought. Somehow, this Orb had managed to corrupt the strongest practitioners of the Wandering Path and turn their powers against us.

  “And yet you still defeated it, Master,” Choshi said proudly.

  Heat washed over my face as Hamon stepped to my side and leveled his gaze at the crippled monk. His expression was unreadable, but the cold tone of his voice betrayed his thoughts.

  “You freed me,” Hamon said. “Why?”

  “To sow chaos in the castle and distract the Swordslinger,” Ultin answered. “Then, the Broodmother took me within herself to empower the demons. To kill you once and for all
.”

  His pale face met mine with a pleading expression. “Forgive me.”

  “He has fought long and hard, Master,” Yono said softly. “But his soul is in agony. Demonic corruption is at war with his very nature, and his time grows short.”

  “Claim his life,” Nydarth argued. “See justice served, Master.”

  “Not until I get some answers,” I replied.

  “Where is my father?” Hamon asked.

  “He left the valley days ago,” Ultin whispered.

  So, Jiven’s loyalists hadn’t been lying. Jiven was already a step ahead of us.

  “What is he planning?” I demanded. “Where is he headed?”

  “I do not know.” The monk coughed. “But he wanted his revenge on our greatest student, and used us to get it. We took the Orb to him, and it corrupted us. Invaded our minds, turned our powers to Wysaro’s bidding. We were to bring the valley to its knees.”

  “As a final act of revenge against Guildmaster Xilarion,” Cinder added. “I overheard the guards talking about it. My uncle’s ambitions were never simply the province itself.”

  “But if he could strike against the guild and still follow his greater strategy,” Hamon said slowly, “he would. My father never forgives, and never forgets.”

  “Sounds like someone we know.” Vesma glanced at Hamon. “But how did he manage to do this under our noses? Surely the guild, or the locals, would have heard whispers of it?”

  “Tymo,” Mahrai hissed. “He’s behind this.”

  Ultin went still at the name of my teacher, and I pressed the trident deeper into the man’s chest. “How are Tymo and Jiven connected? How deep does this scheme go?”

  “You must swear something to me, Swordslinger,” Ultin whispered.

  “You’re not in a position to be making demands, old man,” Mahrai said.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Swear on your mantle of the Swordslinger that you will bury me among my brothers,” Ultin said. “Please. Do not leave me to rot among this testament to my weakness. I beg you, Swordslinger, please.”

  Tears spilled out of Ultin’s eyes and mixed with the blood from his nose as he fixed his eyes on mine. Regret and sorrow warred within his gaze, and I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the old guy. He hadn’t wanted any of this. Everything he told us lined up with what I’d seen, and my gut told me that Ultin wasn’t lying. But I needed confirmation. I needed to know if Tymo had truly turned against us and banded together with Jiven to unleash the forces of darkness against Flametongue Valley.

  “You deserve to die in a fucking ditch,” Mahrai spat. “You slaughtered helpless civilians to bring about this evil. You did everything you could to get us killed. I don’t care what you say, old man. You’re guilty.”

  Indecision slipped across Vesma’s expression. Cinder murmured something to the prisoners, and they started out of the room with shambling steps. But she stayed behind and stood beside Hamon. I looked back to Ultin’s pleading eyes and made my decision.

  “I’ll bear you back to the monastery,” I said. “And if there’s a single one of your brothers who still possess a shred of integrity, I’ll convince them to bury you there. But I can’t promise anything more than that.”

  “Swear it, Swordslinger,” Ultin rasped. “Please.”

  “I swear it on my mantle,” I vowed. “If every monk hasn’t turned from the Wandering Path, I’ll see to it that you’re buried alongside the others.”

  The monk’s face relaxed, and he sighed deeply. I placed the Depthless Dream back into my harness and crouched by his side. Ultin’s chest heaved as he hacked up more of the corrupted fluid, and I cushioned his head against the stone floor.

  “Tell me about Tymo,” I said quietly. “What’s his part in all of this?”

  “He and Jiven have a shared past,” Ultin whispered. “A bond. The threads of their fate are twisted inexorably together. A blood oath was struck between them, and Jiven called upon Tymo to fulfill it. I see that you hate him for that, Swordslinger, but—”

  Ultin shuddered, gasped for breath, and fresh blood flowed from his nostrils. His face trembled under its mask of blood, but he found a fresh reserve of strength and forged on.

  “—but Tymo couldn’t have turned from this request. He convinced the Hierophant to re-emerge on this plane. He sent us out to deliver the Orb, but we couldn’t have foreseen what it did to us. There was a brother who stayed in the forest—”

  “He’s dead,” I said.

  Ultin breathed a sigh of relief. “Then the worst of the threat to Flametongue Valley has passed. With the Broodmother gone, demons cannot enter freely onto this plane.”

  “Tymo held us back from the valley,” Vesma said slowly. “He distracted us so that Jiven could escape with this Orb and flee.”

  “Fucking bastard,” Mahrai said. “I knew he wanted to keep us in the dark.”

  “Does the Hierophant know?” I asked Ultin.

  He shook his head. “Our leader is blameless, Swordslinger. His only intention was to follow the guidance of the spirits and train the next Swordslinger on his Path. Tymo used this to his advantage, to shield your eyes from the truth.”

  The monk’s breathing shallowed. His face took on a serene expression, and a soft smile crossed his face as he stared up at me. His fingers curled around one of my bracers, and he tugged me closer. I leaned down, and his warm breath washed over my ear as Ultin spoke his final words.

  “Tymo is the key,” Ultin whispered. “He has the answers you seek. Please, forgive me.”

  The monk’s hand slipped from my bracer, and his body stilled. His eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, and a serene smile transfixed his face in death.

  Silence reigned throughout the dungeon for a long minute, and a raging tide of fury suddenly rushed into my blood. Tymo had betrayed his core teachings and used his fellow monks as pawns in a game.

  “He must face justice,” Nydarth snarled. “For all the blood he has spilled.”

  “The situation may be more liquid than it appears,” Yono chided. “A blood debt is no small thing, Master. Tymo may have his own reasons. And you triumphed, despite Jiven’s best efforts to destroy the valley.”

  “If he’s as nice as you say,” I said quietly, “then I’m sure he’ll be happy to explain himself.”

  I scooped up Ultin’s corpse, charged my body with strength, and turned to leave.

  Mahrai’s golem intercepted me with a shove and took up a position by the door. I spun to look at Mahrai, and she leveled her staff at me with hard eyes.

  “You’re not going back, Ethan,” she growled.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cinder stalked forward to Mahrai and glared at her. “You’re part of this?”

  “Say another word, bitch, and I’ll punch you through the wall,” Mahrai growled. “Of course I’m not.” She returned her gaze to me. “You can’t take on Tymo alone, Ethan. He’s too damn powerful, and you know it.”

  “We just destroyed a portal into the spirit realm, killed badass minotaurs, and ended the threat to the valley,” I said to her. “Tymo is the only loose end left before we hunt down Jiven Wysaro.”

  “You’re running on fumes,” she argued. “He’ll kill you.”

  I shook my head. “This has to end, Mahrai. And Tymo is the only one who knows where Jiven is headed. If we don’t find out where he’s going, all of this is just the beginning. He will spawn more of these things if we can’t find him and stop him once and for all.”

  Mahrai’s face tightened, and she shook her head. “I’m not letting you leave without us.”

  “I’m the only one who can get there in time,” I said. “It took us the better part of a day to get here together. And someone needs to get Cinder and the others to safety. The guild needs to know that Flametongue Valley is safe.”

  “None of that matters if you’re dead!” Mahrai suddenly shouted.

  Her voice echoed through the dungeon, and she flinched at
her own voice. Her lower lip trembled slightly as she glared at me, and I walked forward until I stood three feet away from her. I raised Ultin’s body slightly in my arms to draw her attention to him.

  “I made a promise, Mahrai,” I said softly. “I have to go.”

  The golem shifted uneasily behind her.

  “Mahrai,” Vesma said, “if anyone can do it, Ethan can. Horix couldn’t kill him. Saruqin couldn’t manage it, either. Hamon tried and look how that turned out for him.” She shook her head. “I don’t like it any more than you do, trust me. But you have to believe he can do it.”

  “At least let me go with you. Or wait for Xilarion. Or something,” Mahrai said.

  “Do you trust me?” I asked.

  “You know I do.”

  “Then trust me to do what needs to be done.”

  “He trained you. He knows everything you do, and more besides.”

  “So did Ultin, but that didn’t help the Broodmother in the end,” I said. “Mahrai, you have to help the others. Cinder and Hamon are the last leaders of the clan in the valley. They need to survive to keep peace in the region. I need you to get them back to Wysaro City.”

  Her eyes drifted away. “And if I say no?”

  “You won’t,” I said. “You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.”

  Mahrai met my eyes again, and she gritted her teeth. “Fine. Go get yourself killed.”

  “That’s my girl,” I said.

  “She still struggles with her inner demons, even now,” Yono whispered. “The loss of her family drives her to extremes. But she will learn to trust, in the end.”

  “Are you really ready to take on Tymo?” Choshi asked.

  “Let's find out,” I replied.

  The golem shifted out of the doorway, and I paused at the arch to look back at my friends. Vesma and Mahrai watched me with concern, and Hamon viewed me with the same dispassionate gaze he’d worn since I’d arrived at the castle. Cinder’s face was a mixture of confusion and fear, but she offered me a nod as my eyes combed over her.

  “Gods go with you, Swordslinger,” she said.