by Mike Morris
Sheathing his sword, he stared at the dead bodies that littered the gardens. He could so easily have been left to rot among them.
A click of a pistol hammer being pulled back broke the silence. Someone was behind him.
"Don't move." A woman's voice. A South Islander judging by the accent. Dangerous by the no bullshit tone.
Rane did as he was told, and cursed himself for being caught off-guard a second time.
"Turn around real slow. Make a move towards any weapon and I'll shoot you in the head."
Again Rane followed her orders. The woman stood a few feet from him, the pistol rock steady in her hand. Rane knew there wasn't much chance of her missing if she was inclined to shoot. She'd not miss even if she were shooting from ten times the distance. She was, after all, the deadliest woman he had ever known.
"Hello Myri." She'd not changed much in the two years since he'd last seen her. She'd grown her hair out into long dreadlocks but that was about all. Her chocolate skin was as beautiful as ever and her eyes were big enough to drown in. Myri Anns, as deadly and as beautiful as they came. She’d another pistol holstered underneath her long leather coat, and three knives hung from her belt. Her sword, identical to his own, sat on her back. "It's good to see you."
"Hello Nathaniel." Her voice was cold. Her eyes hard. Professional.
"Why the gun? You going to shoot me?"
Myri curled her lip. "I might just do that. Depends if you killed these people. Depends how far gone you are."
"This isn’t my work. Marcus killed everyone here. He's turned into some sort of monster."
He could see the news rocked Myri but she did her best to keep her composure. Her gun remained still in her hand. "With your left hand, unsheathe your sword enough for me to see the blade."
"What's going on?"
"Just do what I fucking told you to do."
Rane slid two inches of steel out of the sheath and no more. The blade sparkled in the moonlight. He felt the urge to free it, kill Myri. She had a gun on him after all. Could he do it before she pulled the trigger? He ground his teeth as he fought the urge.
"You can put it away now." Myri's eyes never left Rane's face as she spoke, examining him for other things unsaid. He let Kibon slide back into its sheath but kept his hand on its hilt.
"You going to put the gun away as well?"
Myri lowered it so the pistol was aimed at Rane's gut. "When I'm sure you're not going to try and kill me."
Rane made a show of letting go of Kibon with his right hand as his mind catalogued the ways he could still hurt her if he had to. He was fast. Maybe fast enough to reach her in time. "Mind telling me what's going on?"
Myri ignored him and looked towards the house. "Is Marcus still in there?"
"He threw me from a window, said he was going into Rooktown to eat. He's turned into some sort of demon. I don't know why he didn't kill me."
"Shit. Too late. Always too late." She shook her head. "Another one fucking lost." She released the hammer on the pistol and placed it back in its holster. “Fuck!”
Rane grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. "Myri! Tell me what’s going on. In the last ten days, I've found out I have a price on my head, had bounty hunters turn up at my house and kill my wife, then I discover my best friend has turned some kind of flesh eating monster. And you appear threatening to kill me if I don’t show you my sword."
Some of the tension fell from Myri as her eyes filled with sadness. "There's a reason why magic is outlawed. A damn good reason why we’re not supposed to mess with that shit.”
“Myri — tell me what’s going on. Please.”
“Fucking damnation is what’s going on. We’re all cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“We all agreed to put part of our souls into our swords in exchange for speed and strength and crazy healing powers — but we never questioned what was going to happen to our souls once they were in our weapons, did we?"
"No." A knot formed in Rane's chest.
"We didn't stop to think what would happen to our souls every time we killed someone, or every time we plunged our souls into a demon and bathed it in their blood."
"No." Rane struggled to draw breath. Somehow Kibon was in his hand again and when he looked, Myri had her pistol out once more. He sheathed the weapon. "Sorry. I don’t know how that happened."
Myri wasn't so quick to put her gun away this time but eventually she did. "The steel drinks the blood of whoever we kill — that's why you never have to clean it after battle. That's how it makes us stronger. It absorbs the essence of our enemies. Trouble is, each death taints the soul in the sword."
Again, the urge to attack Myri rose up inside him like a tidal wave, as if her words were putting his very life in danger. He swallowed the feeling back down. He needed to hear what she had to say.
"The more we kill, the more stronger we get. The more we kill, the more tainted we get," said Myri.
Rane closed his eyes, shook his head. "No." Not his sword. It wasn't true. The voice urged him to shut her up. Put an end to her lies.
"The more blood we feed the sword, the urge to use it grows stronger. It takes over our minds until using the sword is impossible to resist. The deeper the taint, the worse our desires."
Rane's mind drifted back to a bounty hunter he'd killed without even noticing it. The mob he slaughtered in Candra. The urges he'd had to kill anyone since the war. He shivered.
"Then one day you're gone and all that's left is a real fucking flesh and blood, deadly monster. As bad as any Jotnar or Grendun or Valkryn." Myri paused, swallowed. "I've seen Legionnaires — people you and I know well — eat human flesh, commit mass murder, do things that would turn your stomach, things you can't even imagine.” Her eyes shone with emotion. "That's why they're hanging us. That's why they're offering such a big reward for us dead or alive. We're as dangerous as anything Mogai sent against us.
"The colour of the sword is the only way to tell how far you're gone. It changes colour as the taint takes hold. The blacker the blade, the less of the person remains — until there's only the monster left."
The voice growled a warning. Rane stepped back. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. "In that case, show me yours."
Myri nodded but took her time reaching for her sword. She swung the sheath off her back, jaw clenched. She looked at Rane, almost afraid. Then there was a flash of anger and she pulled two inches of her sword free. The metal was mottled; dark stains running along its length. But not black, not yet. She slid it back into the sheath with a grunt. "I've still got time."
"How bad have you got it?"
"You saw my sword. The colour. I'm pretty far down the path. Sometimes it can take everything I've got not to draw my sword and just give in. Take the pain away and enjoy the buzz that makes me feel like a god. Seems like the easiest way out — except I know it's not. I've seen what happens at the end of that road. So every day, every hour, every minute I can ignore the voice in my head and keep my sword in its sheath is another victory for me."
Rane breathed in slowly, trying to calm his thoughts. Make sense of what Myri was saying. "And this... taint is happening to all of us?"
"There were four hundred and fifty of us at the ceremony. Born fighters one and all. Killing's what we're good at. No one's sword got starved of blood, especially in those last years of the war." Myri paused as if the memory was too difficult to accept. "Too many of us had turned before we knew what was happening, could do anything about it."
Rane's mind reeled with the information. He watched her, looking for any signs she wasn't telling the truth, anything that might betray her true intentions. He wanted her to be lying. Even seeing her blade, even having fought Marcus, he didn't want to believe her. But her words. Her words explained so much. The urges, the voice. By the Gods, what was he becoming? "Does the Lord General know?"
Myri nodded. "He does. I was with him when the bounty went out. He tried stopping it, asked for
calm from the heads of the six nations, but they wouldn't listen. After everything we'd done for them, they wouldn't give him time to fix things."
"Can we be cured?" He fiddled with Kara’s locket. Rane was almost too scared to know the answer. He'd rather kill himself than turn into a demon.
"We didn't think so at first, but the Lord General has found a way. He's gathering what's left of us at the old castle in Orska."
Rane felt the knot in his chest loosen just a little. There was a way out of this mess. A way to be free. "Orska? Up on the northern coast? It was a ruin the last time I saw it. The Rastaks overran it when they first crossed the border."
Myri nodded. "It's also in the middle of nowhere. Far enough away to be forgotten. Safe for us to gather without the world noticing and marching against us. He sent a few of us out to find what's left of the Legion. Warn them of what was happening and tell them to meet up at the castle. Marcus was the last name on my list," said Myri. "I was too fucking late.”
“By the Gods. I can’t believe it.” But he could. It explained so much. His sword was poisoning his soul.
“At least I found you.” Myri’s face tightened with resolve. “I've got a spare horse. Let's get out of here."
“And go where?”
“Didn’t you hear me? Orska. To Orska. Join up with the others and get fucking cured. Unless you want to hang around here and turn into one of the tainted.”
"What about Marcus?"
"He's not our problem now. We can come back and deal with him we're cured and with the whole Legion behind us."
Rane shook his head. "What about the people he's going to kill until then? What about the ones he’ll kill tonight? We owe it to them to try and stop him."
"You only just survived your encounter with him — why do you think it'll be different next time?" shouted Myri. "Do you know how many Tainted I've fought?"
"No."
"I've faced three. Do you remember Johnny Rose? He was eating a priest's intestines when we came across him. He killed three of us before we stopped him. The second was near Rostland. I had four others with me. We didn't think the demon was one of ours at first. She had the sword of course, but we thought she'd stolen it. But Anam recognised her. Sara something or other. They'd fought together at Gettis. Took six bullets to put her down long enough for one of us to cut her head off. She still managed to gut Oscar and Helga."
"And the other?"
"I was on my own." Myri's anger dropped as the memories took her back. "I was rounding up the people on my list, telling them to head to Orska. His name was Stannias. Lived in a little town a few days ride from here. Seemed as normal as can be when we met — but I didn't check his sword. I'll never make that mistake again."
"But you got him?"
"Shot him in the head while he was trying to rip my throat out with his teeth. Seems that still does the trick."
"By the Gods," muttered Rane. What were they all becoming?
"So we leave Marcus, get this fucking curse lifted off our heads, and then we can come back mob-handed and deal with him. Alright?"
Rane couldn't argue with her logic but he still shook his head. "It's our sworn duty to help. Remember — 'Those weaker than ourselves.' But it's more than that — if the positions were reversed and it was Marcus hunting me down — he wouldn't stop until he had succeeded. He wouldn't want me to suffer any more than I had. He's my friend and he needs me. I'm not going to let him down.
You can go to Orska. I won't stop you. But I'm going after Marcus. It's the right thing to do."
They stood staring at each other, the argument going on unspoken, until finally Myri looked away. "It's not that I'm scared or I don't care — but you saw my sword. I don't want to become one of those monsters. What if killing Marcus is what puts me over the edge?"
Rane held Myri, drawing her close. "Then don't use your sword. We have other weapons. If it comes to it, let my sword be the one to strike him down. And then we go straight to Orska and the Lord General."
Myri chewed her lips, looking like she hated Rane at that moment. He didn't blame her — but he also knew he couldn't handle Marcus on his own.
"Fine." Myri forced the word out. "Let's go this fucking done then."
And the two Legionnaires went to kill their friend.
13
Rane and Myri rode towards Rooktown with only a sliver of moon to guide them. Soon even that was gone as the darkness of the woods swallowed them. At least the journey gave Kibon time to work its magic on Rane's battered body, but with each pulse of energy that took away another ache or bruise, he felt sick at the thought of what it was really doing to him. How long before he turned into a demon like Marcus? He glanced over at Myri. How long did she have?
He sat slumped in the saddle, exhausted from the fight with Marcus and by Myri’s revelations. The fire that had fuelled him since Kara’s death was all but extinguished. What revenge was there to seek when suddenly the warrants for the capture of the Legion made perfect sense? Kara had been right to fear him after he’d told her what the Legion had done. If she were still alive, he’d have no option but to leave her for her own safety. And what of their child? What effect would the taint have had on the baby? He shuddered at the thought. And now he was hunting his best friend — a mass murderer. By the Gods, what a mess.
The half-hour ride back to Rooktown seemed to take an eternity. The slightest sound or movement had both of them jumping in their saddles, hearts racing as a fear long forgotten blossomed once more in Rane's stomach. Since he'd been bonded to his sword, he had become unbeatable. There was no enemy he couldn’t defeat, no injury that wouldn’t heal. And, in that time, Rane had forgotten what it was like to be truly afraid, to face a better opponent and find the courage to stand and fight even though he knew he might die in the attempt.
But, in facing Marcus, that sense of mortality, the awareness of his own limitations, had come flooding back. Marcus was stronger, faster, more ruthless than him and Rane had no idea if he could stop him, even with Myri's help. And now he knew the very thing that kept him alive was killing him. The voice that wanted him to kill was his own corrupted soul.
As they left the woods once more, Rooktown appeared. No lights burned in any window, no sound carried on the breeze, no movement caught the eye on the walls or beyond. It hurt even more to see it like that, knowing that Marcus had been the one to pick it clean.
"Place looks dead already," said Myri, as if reading Rane's thoughts.
"You saw only some of the bodies up at the manor. Marcus has been busy," replied Rane.
"Wait a minute," said Myri, stopping her horse. She reached back into her saddlebag and pulled a short sword free. She offered it to Rane. "Take this. Might keep you alive for an extra minute or two."
Rane pulled it free of its sheath and the single-edged blade caught a glimmer of moonlight. It was smaller than Kibon, but otherwise identical. "Is this an Edo-made sword?"
"Yes, and you know how fucking priceless they are, so don't lose it. I want it back afterwards."
"I can't take this. You use it."
"I'm okay," replied Myri. She reached back into the saddlebag. "I'm going for quantity over quality." Rane watched her produce knife after knife from the bag and fix them about her person. Finally she produced a musket. "And something that'll make a big hole in the bastard."
"That will."
"Ready to go and get killed?"
Rane took a deep breath. "I am."
“Any chance I can persuade you to just leave with me now?”
“No.”
Myri sighed, nudged her horse forward. "Let's get it over with."
The buildings loomed overhead as they weaved their way back to the town centre, watching the cracks and the crevices, the ledges and the rooftops for any sign of Marcus. At least they didn't have to work out where he was going. The whole town had been reduced to what was inside the Hare and Hound. If it were lives he sought, he would only find them there.
Ran
e had to make a conscious effort to resist the urge to draw Kibon. He drew a pistol from its holster, keeping his thumb on the hammer. The voice didn’t like it, grumbling and complaining every step of the way until Rane’s head swam in confusion.
He scanned the buildings and the rooftops, looking for anything out of place — a shape that didn't belong, a reflection that shouldn't be there, a silhouette or anything breaking the skyline or sudden movement where there should be none.
"Trouble is, Marcus has been trained like us," said Myri without needing to ask what Rane was doing. "He knows what to avoid."
"Maybe before, but with any luck he's lost that discipline. I can't believe that's much of the Marcus left in the demon I faced."
"You know what they say about luck."
"Only fools believe in it." Rane smiled. "But I bet you've still got that rabbit's foot tucked away somewhere."
"Damn right. It's the only reason I survived the war."
"That and a cursed sword." The moment Rane said it, he regretted it. The look Myri gave him confirmed it. Maybe once they were cured, they could joke about it, but not now. Not when they were about to try and kill one of their own, not when their swords were slowly killing them.
"I'm sorry. I..." said Rane but Myri cut him off with a wave of her hand.
The town square was as deserted as when Rane had left it. They dismounted and tied their horses and Rane led them on foot over to the inn, his stomach churning with dread at what they might find but the hum of chatter escaping into the night helped ease the fear.
"We're in time by the looks of things," said Rane.
Myri arched an eyebrow but said nothing as Rane holstered his pistol and entered the inn.
Inside, the Hare and Hound was just as packed as before. Once more every head turned their way as they entered and Rane was painfully aware that he and Myri both looked like they were about to start another war. He spotted Kaitlyn by the fire with her husband, and headed over.
