Soul of the Blade
Brenda J. Pierson
Contents
Free Epic Fantasy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
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About the Author
SOUL OF THE BLADE
BRENDA J. PIERSON
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 BRENDA J. PIERSON
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Matt Larkin
Cover by Juhi Larkin
Published by Incandescent Phoenix Books
incandescentphoenix.com
There are so many people who deserve to be listed here—
friends and family who’ve believed in me, even when I didn’t.
But the first fruits belong to the Lord,
without whose gifts none of this would have been possible.
If you like Soul of the Blade, you’ll love this epic fantasy prequel. Find out how the Bok’Tarong was born.
Click the link to claim your free copy and continue the adventure:
http://incandescentphoenix.com/brendajpierson/free-offer.html
Thanks for reading,
Brenda J. Pierson
1
Aeo stormed into the king’s dining hall, sword bared, a trail of muddy footprints in his wake. It had taken little more than a grimace to send the ornamental guards scurrying away. Pathetic. They were supposed to protect the king? They were a waste of good armor and steel.
The massive table, a single slab of cedar polished to a mirror shine, was set with a feast that could have fed a small village. Haunches of meat, loaves of bread still steaming from the ovens, bowls of custards and more things Aeo didn’t care enough to identify. The smells combined until they became a sickening mixture of grease and sugar.
Fewer than a dozen posh noblemen were seated around the table. Aeo’s sword-arm itched to slay these gluttons like the stuffed and basted carcasses they gorged on.
He lifted his sword, letting the gleaming steel reflect the firelight. A few of the men glanced at him, but the meal continued more or less uninterrupted.
Aeo walked up to the table and dropped his sword directly on its center. Metal clanged against wood and table settings, upsetting several goblets of wine and splattering pudding on the nearby nobles.
The decadent meal was forgotten. Conversation hushed as every eye turned to him.
“Next time you send me on a contract, at least make it a challenge.”
He pulled a nobleman’s scarf, emblazoned with the crest of Halkron, soaked in the wearer’s blood, from his pocket. It followed his sword onto the table. Aeo smirked as the noblemen around the table blanched and fingered their own scarves.
He turned his eyes back to his employer’s. The man was short and pudgy, soft from a life of rich food and richer pockets. Aeo could reach him and slit his throat before he even realized he was in danger.
The king of Arata dabbed at his chin, leaving a smear of oil on his face. He tried to intimidate Aeo with a steely look of power and control. Aeo did his best to contain his laughter. That might work on politicians and sycophants, but Aeo was an assassin. The world’s best assassin. Empty threats didn’t scare him. But then again, not much did.
The king waved his guests away. They tried to maintain their composure as they scurried away from Aeo. Aeo just smiled. He could smell their fear even through their suffocating perfumes.
When they were alone, the king leveled his gaze at Aeo. “Do the words ‘secret mission’ and ‘tell no one’ mean nothing to you?”
Aeo stepped around the table, helping himself to tender duck and soft, fresh bread. “Please. Anyone could have infiltrated that camp. Your nephew may have been the prince of Halkron, but he was a miserable strategist and an annoying little twit. No one will miss him.”
“My sister may!” the king replied, slamming his ham-sized fist onto the table. A moment later he winced and rubbed it. “Don’t doubt the harlot’s love for her son. He was the closest thing she had to civilization in that barbarian’s court.”
Aeo rolled his eyes. The king acted like Halkron was some gods-forsaken land filled with heathens and animals, when all that separated its people from Arata’s was a river and a slightly darker shade of hair.
“That boy was her life.”
“And now he’s dead.” Aeo licked grease from his fingers.
“If anyone were to find out I was involved …” The king stood and started pacing, pausing to pick up the bloodied scarf with two fingers. “You were supposed to eliminate my nephew and make it seem as if another Halkronian was to blame. How can that plan work if you show evidence such as this to anyone you run across?”
The scarf fluttered back to the table.
“Are you saying you don’t trust those whom you dine with, Your Majesty?” Aeo teased.
“I can’t afford for this plan to fail,” the king replied. He fiddled with his many rings, sending flickers of gold and gems sparkling around the room. “Arata desperately needs a reprieve from this war. Halkron’s first strike caught us off-guard, and we’ve yet to recover from it. If it became known I had my nephew killed, Halkron will hit us with everything they have. Our army can’t stand against that.”
Aeo snorted and reached for a goblet of wine. “Families.”
He continued to pick at the nobles’ plates while the king paced and muttered. Aeo ignored him. The man might be ruler of the richest nation on the continent, but he was an idiot. The only reason he still held his throne was because of Aeo’s subtle political influence. Or his blade. Whichever.
While Aeo enjoyed eating the king’s feast and watching him sweat, another man entered the dining hall. He was close to Aeo’s own not-too-impressive height, but where Aeo had the solid look of a well-muscled warrior, this man was thin like a scholar. He held himself rigidly, as if the serenity plastered on his features masked the tension of a drawn bow. Aeo kept himself calm by sheer willpower. There was only one person in Arata who could make Aeo feel like a guilty child, and this was him.
Even the king, who was supposed to be the ultimate authority in all of Arata, did his best to remain invisible around this man. “Mage General,” he greeted.
“Your Majesty,” he replied. Somehow he managed to make the title sound like a mockery instead of a respect. It might be the only thing Aeo liked about him. “Allow me to extend my regrets at the loss of
your nephew.”
The king shot a glare at Aeo. “I just received the news myself. How did you hear?”
“I am a mage, Your Majesty. Surely you can’t think Halkron is out of my reach.”
“Of course not.”
Aeo shook his head. He may as well kiss his boots and offer him the throne at this rate.
The Mage General looked toward Aeo. He inclined his head in the tiniest, most insincere greeting Aeo had ever seen. “I trust you are well?”
No thanks to your training, Aeo thought. Years of conditioning to turn me into the king’s assassin didn’t set me up for the happiest life in the world. “I do my best with what I have,” he replied.
“And that is all we have ever asked of you.”
The Mage General turned away, brushing Aeo off as if they had never spoken.
Even though the mage’s eyes were averted, Aeo didn’t dare release the shudder building inside him. Any contact with the Mage General, no matter how trivial, always left Aeo with a sheen of cold sweat on his forehead. One look into his eyes and Aeo could almost feel the man’s magic intruding into his thoughts, twisting and tearing them apart in order to make him obey. It didn’t matter that ten years or more had passed since his conditioning had been deemed complete. Aeo would never be able to hold onto his confidence in that man’s presence.
While Aeo tried to maintain his composure, the Mage General grasped the king’s pudgy arm and pulled him aside. From the tone of their whispers and the king’s scowl, it was clear he wasn’t happy with the topic. The Mage General grew more animated as he pushed his point, waving his arms toward the west and pointing to the ground as if to stab it with his forefinger. The king shook his head, without much conviction, not even trying to argue after the first few attempts.
“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he said aloud, his tone weary beyond imagining. He didn’t look back to the Mage General. Instead, he raised his eyes to meet Aeo’s. “I have another contract for you.”
“So soon?” Aeo asked. “I’ve not had any time to enjoy my coin.”
“Your drinking and whoring will have to wait. This is urgent.”
Aeo sighed. “Of course it is.”
The king glared at his sarcasm, but Aeo just stared back. He took another drink of wine, not blinking.
The king looked away first. Coward.
“You say you want a challenge. I’ll give you one. Have you ever heard of the Bok’Tarong?”
Aeo shrugged. “Rumors. It’s supposed to be some kind of enchanted, double-bladed sword. Wherever it shows up, people die.”
“Do not discount such legends so quickly,” the Mage General said as he approached. The intensity in his eyes made Aeo put his food down, at least for a moment. “The Bok’Tarong is very real.”
“If you say so.”
The Mage General glared at him like he was a child in need of a good beating. Aeo had seen that look—and received the corresponding beatings—many times in the past. It took all of his willpower to return the glare without flinching.
The king interrupted their contest of wills. Aeo wasn’t sure whether he did so to stop it or because he was unaware of it. “How would you like to take that blade for your own?”
Aeo paused. That would be plunder worthy of his skill. And if the rumors were true, Aeo would never again have competition for the title of best assassin in the world. Not like there was much as it was, but still.
“You know my rule. I will not slaughter without reason. My target must have earned his death.”
“Yes, yes, the assassin with a conscience. I remember. The one thing we couldn’t beat out of you.” Aeo quirked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. The king didn’t seem to notice. “I assure you, whomever bears the Bok’Tarong has more blood on his hands than you do.”
“And with the Bok’Tarong in your possession,” the Mage General added, “the tide of war will turn in our favor.”
Aeo saw something he didn’t quite understand in the Mage General’s eyes. He wasn’t just supportive of Aeo taking the Bok’Tarong—he was pushing for it. For reasons Aeo couldn’t begin to fathom, the Mage General needed Aeo to have it. “What’s so special about this sword, anyway?” he asked, forcing his tone to be one of calm and disinterest.
“It is, indeed, enchanted,” the Mage General replied. “One of the few enchanted weapons in the world.”
“What does the magic do?”
A pause, no longer than the blink of an eye. “Only the bearer of the weapon can be sure of that. The communion between bearer and blade is what makes the magic so potent.”
He was hiding something. Aeo was sure of that much. He knew more than he was saying, and that didn’t bode well for Aeo. The magic didn’t worry him, but the Mage General’s intensity did. If this was some plan to be rid of him …
The king, in a rare moment of insight, had noticed Aeo’s hesitation. He stepped in front of Aeo, leveling as firm a gaze as he could muster on him. “Your next target is the bearer of the Bok’Tarong,” he announced.
The order reverberated in Aeo’s head. The words burrowed through his thoughts and into his heart. Whether or not Aeo would have accepted was no matter anymore. The king had ordered—Aeo would obey. He didn’t have a choice anymore. His conditioning as the king’s assassin guaranteed that.
Aeo rose from the table and drained his goblet. “Where can I find this man?”
“He travels without reason. Who knows where he is now?”
Aeo glared at the king. “Then how am I supposed to find him?”
The king shrugged as if he couldn’t be bothered with details like that. “Ask around. Commoners love to tell tales. Someone who’s seen this sword will want to brag about it.”
“That isn’t much to go on.”
“You say you’re the world’s greatest assassin,” the king replied. For the first time in their long partnership, Aeo heard something bordering on true authority in his voice. “Surely that means you can find one man with a remarkable sword.”
Aeo squared his shoulders. If the king would challenge him, then Aeo would show him just how great he was. “The next time I see you, Your Majesty, the Bok’Tarong will be mine.”
He spared a glance at the Mage General, but little else. He wouldn’t say anything to him until he returned with the Bok’Tarong. Then he’d have something to rub that arrogant look off the Mage General’s face with.
Before leaving, he “borrowed” a large platter and loaded it with as much food as he could carry. The king scowled, but didn’t say anything. Like the coward he was.
The ornamental guards found other things to look at as he made his way out of the castle.
Warm spring air, with a hint of summer’s heat, welcomed him into the king’s courtyard. Below him stretched Karim, the massive capital of Arata. From this vantage point, at the top of the lone hill in the area, even the trees of the surrounding forest seemed miniscule. The people scurried like ants on meaningless errands. No wonder the king was so bad at remembering to take care of them.
As he descended from the castle and the hill crowded with nobles and sycophants, Aeo was confronted by the more familiar aspects of normal life—merchants hawking their wares, mothers calling out to children, the smells of meat and bread and sewage and smoke. This was the common district. The real world. Aeo much preferred this to the perfumed and sterile halls of the castle.
A few steps off the stuffy nobles’ hill, Aeo tossed a piece of duck to a small beggar. She couldn’t have been more than seven. An even younger boy, perhaps her brother, peeked out from behind her. Aeo knelt down, offering the boy some bread. He was skittish, but Aeo smiled and waited. He knew all too well how hard it was to accept food from a stranger, when all you’re used to is abuse and starvation.
Finally, hunger overcame fear and the boy snatched the bread.
Several of the beggars he fed had the strange, distorted eyes of those suffering from the Coming Madness. Was he doing a mercy to these people by
feeding them? Death, even by starvation, had to be better than waiting for the Madness to strike. And once it did, there was no mercy anyone could give. Swords couldn’t stop one consumed by the Madness. It was as if the lost one had traded their sanity for superhuman strength—some even said they could heal from wounds that would kill a normal man. If a person didn’t die before succumbing, or find a way to facilitate that end, the only thing that could stop them was themselves. Luckily, most who got that far didn’t retain enough mental capacity to remember the importance of food, or that bears and mountain lions weren’t good sparring partners.
Aeo moved away from those poor souls before the temptation to put them out of their misery became too much.
He’d hardly gotten out of the castle’s shadow when the king’s food ran out. Ever since Halkron broke the treaty and attacked Arata, people were being forced into poverty by the hundreds. The streets were filled with war orphans and destitute craftsmen and victims of the Coming Madness like they’d never been before. Stupid as he was, the king was right about one thing—Arata couldn’t stand much more of this war.
Aeo pushed those thoughts out of his mind. For now, he had to focus on his current mission. This Bok’Tarong wouldn’t be easy to find. Arata was huge, and her forests were as treacherous as a harlot with a dagger. Without any direction, he could easily be seduced and lose himself in the woods.
Aeo headed to a nearby tavern. Running across someone with information would be as much a matter of luck as skill. He may as well start here.
2
Aeo grimaced as he entered yet another wretched tavern. Even this far from Karim, in a tiny village lost amongst the firs and cedars, the tavern was just like all the others he’d visited—dark, smoky, thick with the smell of unwashed humanity, overcooked food, and whatever don’t-ask-what’s-in-it drink the locals fancied.
With any luck, this should be the last one he’d have to visit for a while. After a month of travel, maybe more, he may have finally found someone who was able to point him to the Bok’Tarong.
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