His gaze roamed the room’s occupants. They were the usual rabble—a couple of travelers, a few merchants, but mostly local drunks who grew roots into their favorite chair. A handful of Kingsmen milled around, still hoping to recruit new able-bodied men to the war. From the slump of their shoulders, Aeo figured they knew as well as he did they wouldn’t find any. This land had been emptied of soldiers and countrymen long ago. Since then, the only folks left in places like this weren’t the kind of men you’d want to hang your life on in a fight.
His eyes landed on a mousy-looking man in the corner, the opaque lenses of the blind perched on his nose. This must be his man. How many blind men could there be in a no-name village like this?
Aeo took a moment to study the man. He jumped at every sound louder than a half-smothered cough. He sat apart from the others, against a wall and as far back as was possible. Any further away and he would have been in the stables. He didn’t have anything on the table before him—no ale, not even a crumb to indicate an already finished meal.
Aeo ordered two pints of liquor that smelled suspiciously like pine tree sap and joined the blind man. “I hear you have some information that can help me,” he said, sliding one mug across the table.
The man cocked his head toward Aeo’s voice. He didn’t reach for the ale, if he even knew Aeo had offered it. “Do I know you?”
“No. I’m just a traveler.”
“As am I. I doubt I know anything that may be of help to you.”
“I’ve been told you know where I could find a sword called the Bok’Tarong.”
The man stilled at this name. Aeo tried to read his expression, but he’d gone as stiff and emotionless as a statue. Without being able to see his eyes, Aeo couldn’t begin to interpret his reaction.
It took a few seconds for him to find his voice. “Why are you looking for the Bok’Tarong?”
“That’s my business.”
It was clear he didn’t like that answer, but Aeo offered no other. Stubborn silence fell over the table. Aeo sipped at the pungent pine ale and immediately regretted it. Eyes watering, mouth puckered, he pushed the mug away and forced himself to swallow.
“It takes some getting used to,” the blind man said.
Aeo paused. “How did you …?”
The man smiled. “I can hear you choking.”
Aeo chuckled.
The silence returned. The man took a long swallow of ale without even a hint of gagging. Aeo could sense the challenge in that motion, but didn’t rise to it.
“The Bok’Tarong,” the blind man said. Aeo could barely hear him above an overly dramatic, drunken argument at the bar. “If you’re hoping to exact revenge you may as well give up now. You’ll be dead before you can raise your blade against the bearer.”
“I doubt that,” Aeo replied.
“So confident.”
“With reason.”
The blind man paused, as if considering Aeo’s words. “Do you understand what you’re getting yourself into? The Bok’Tarong is much more than a special sword, and its bearer is far more skilled than even the best of Arata’s swordsmen.”
“I’ve fought many of Arata’s finest swordsmen in my time. I’m still here, and they’re not.” He raised his mug to his mouth, peered down at the vile liquor, put it down again. After a moment, he reached over and placed it on a neighboring table. “As to the sword itself, I know what it is.”
“Do you?”
The man’s tone made Aeo pause. His question wasn’t as simple as it seemed. He was asking whether Aeo knew the truth, or thought he knew the truth. “It’s heavily enchanted. The magic interacts with the bearer somehow, and with the Bok’Tarong’s reputation as the most fearsome sword in the world it seems obvious that magic has something to do with it.”
Aeo waited to see if the man would approve, or share what he knew of the sword, but he didn’t do either.
By this time, the drunken argument had been resolved and a round of off-tune, off-color singing filled the tavern. A curvaceous serving girl came around, offering Aeo more of the vile ale and, judging by her smile, something more lewd on the side. Aeo ignored her advances. Normally he’d have been more than happy to explore those curves outside the confines of her corset, but right now he had more important things to do. Pity.
After another swig from his pint, the blind man sighed. “You’re going to hunt the Bok’Tarong no matter what I tell you, aren’t you?”
Aeo smirked. He liked this man. “Yes.”
“If I tell you the Bok’Tarong is so much more than you know, that it is more dangerous than anything you’ve ever encountered, and I doubt you stand a chance against it, you will still try, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You are either insanely brave or just insane. I’ve yet to decide which.”
Aeo smiled. “Let’s go with both, then.”
The man laughed.
“Since I can’t stop you, I may as well help you,” he said. “Last I heard, the Bok’Tarong was in the north. But I would expect it to head this way any time.”
“Why do you say that?”
A long pause. “A village to the east of here has been ravaged by the Coming Madness. The Bok’Tarong will come for it before long.”
“I don’t understand. How will this help me find the sword?”
“The Bok’Tarong hunts those touched by the Coming Madness. Find a place where the Madness is prevalent, and the sword will find you.”
Aeo sat back. Now that was an interesting tidbit. He’d never heard of anything hunting the Coming Madness before. And yet, that could explain quite a bit of what he’d heard about the sword. Was that its magic, that it was able to cut through the insane power those taken by the Madness showed and kill them? Was that why it had such a reputation for leaving rivers of blood in its wake?
Fascinating though it may be, it mattered little. Whatever the sword’s power was, or whomever it hunted, Aeo was still contracted to kill the man bearing it.
He stood, giving the blind man a nod of respect even though it couldn’t be seen. “Thank you.”
He began to walk away, but he was stopped by a word from the man. “Whatever your business is with the Bok’Tarong, it’s a fool’s errand.”
Aeo paused, but only for a moment. “We’ll see about that.”
He left the tavern, and the village, behind. He put the sun to his back and set out into the forest, on his way to battle a legend.
It was nearing morning when the mousy man from the tavern also left town, though none would call him mousy now. He walked with a long, determined stride and held his back straight and tall. His black hair tickled the back of his neck as it blew in the nighttime breeze, and he brushed it aside without thought. Once out of sight he removed his opaque lenses, revealing solid black eyes with an elongated pupil the color of peridot.
The meeting in the tavern was unexpected, but it might end up being exactly what he needed. Whether the man succeeded in defeating the Bok’Tarong’s bearer or not, it would slow down the sword. It might give him enough time to disappear.
Of course, the next to wield the Bok’Tarong would come after him, just as they always did.
And he would run, just as he always did.
The pattern had gone unbroken for over two centuries. Whenever one of the Taronese warriors got close to him, he’d either vanish as best as he could or have them killed. It wasn’t a pleasant option, but sometimes it was necessary.
Another warrior would come and take up the double-bladed sword without fail. Sometimes several bearers passed before another tried to find him. But they were always watching for him, always waiting for him to show himself. Then the chase would resume yet again.
Raeb shook the thoughts from his mind and continued down the starlit road. He’d lost this bearer, for the moment. It would take him a month to catch up to Raeb now. Two, even, if Raeb didn’t dawdle.
And if the man from the tavern happened to kill the bearer, so much the better
. It would take the next bearer at least a month, maybe two, before finding the sword. Then at least another two months to pick up his trail.
If he was lucky, they wouldn’t look for him. But Raeb had stopped believing in luck a long time ago. It never seemed to work for him, anyway.
Except today, luck had smiled upon him. Perhaps it was a sign of things to come?
Raeb ground his teeth, shoving the concept from his mind. He couldn’t afford to waste time on things like hope. Right now, he had to move.
Two months of relative safety. If he was lucky, maybe even four. Months where he wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder every moment of every day. He could rest.
Though of course, that wasn’t what he would do. He was already heading south toward the distant mountains that bordered the kingdom. He didn’t intend to be anywhere near here when the next Taronese warrior arrived.
Less than a week had passed since Aeo found the village he’d been directed to. The tiny homes were so crowded by undergrowth and covered in moss he’d been within a stone’s throw before he even knew he’d arrived.
He hadn’t needed to enter the village to know this was the right one. The entire place was thick with melancholy and dread. The residents spent more time scrutinizing each other than speaking. No one got within an arm’s length of another, and if someone approached too quickly they jumped as if poked in the back with a dagger. Though the surrounding forest was cool and peaceful, most people stayed behind solid oak doors as often as possible.
Since then he’d been surrounded by people who were moments, or years, away from the Madness. Not knowing how long they had left had driven everyone to a kind of madness of its own. Aeo had never seen a person, let alone an entire village, so poised on the edge of self-destruction.
He kept his distance from the villagers and their strange, distorted eyes, but it was like the Coming Madness had permeated the very trees. He couldn’t escape the tension or fear in the air. More often than not, he found himself pacing or pushing his way through extra sword exercises just to keep busy. Sitting still and waiting were impossible here.
At long last, Aeo heard footsteps on the deserted forest road. He wanted to cry out in relief. Was it the Bok’Tarong, finally arriving to end this misery?
Aeo crept through the underbrush, keeping low and in the shadows so he wouldn’t be seen. The sweetness of loam and rot was so strong he could taste them. He pushed leafy ferns out of his way, only to have them spring back into his face an instant later. They were great for cover, but a huge nuisance the rest of the time.
He made sure his sword was loose in its scabbard as he waited for the Bok’Tarong to appear.
The footsteps didn’t sound right. They weren’t a warrior’s purposeful, strong stride. They were slower, more shuffling, like those of the old or infirm. Just a peddler, then, or some poor fool lost in the forest. Still, Aeo didn’t turn away from the road.
A moment later, a frail old man came into view. He hobbled down the road as if each step would be his last. His skin hung loose on his bones and was blotchy with age spots. His joints looked stiff and painful.
In contrast to his age, he was dressed in a warrior’s clothes—black flowing material neither too tight nor too loose covered most of his body. A belt with a rosy gold buckle encircled his waist, and a matching baldric crossed the front of his chest.
Aeo snorted. This was to be his mark? Aeo the assassin, slayer of emperors and dragons, was contracted to kill an old man with a fancy sword? There had to be some mistake. This man couldn’t be the bearer of the Bok’Tarong. He couldn’t be responsible for the hundreds, maybe even thousands, of deaths attributed to that double-bladed sword.
Aeo waited, still and silent as a serpent, while the man passed by.
There was no mistake. This man, old as he was, was either a thief or Aeo’s target. Because slung across his back was the massive Bok’Tarong.
The blades were rosy gold, and one was slightly longer than the other. Their edges snaked in and out like a woman’s curves. Where they met there was a simple leather wrap in place of a normal hilt. They seemed to stick to the baldric without any kind of sheath or thongs to hold it in place. That confirmed it was indeed enchanted, though he hoped there was more to it than that. A cheap trick to hold the Bok’Tarong wasn’t what Aeo had been expecting.
Aeo didn’t move until the man was out of sight. Only then did he creep out of the ferns, brush the rotted leaves and mud from his clothes, and follow him.
He’d never been so grateful for the abundance of trees. The man shuffled so slowly Aeo had to stop and hide several times in order not to overtake him. If the road had been open, he’d never have been able to avoid being seen.
He crouched behind an old fir, just beyond the first of the houses, while the man entered. He wasn’t expecting much to happen—a brief conversation, maybe, before the man fled from the Coming Madness.
He didn’t expect there to be screaming.
Aeo sprinted into the village, unsheathing his sword as he ran. Could he have been so wrong? Could that old man be such a feared warrior that he walks into a village and people die? It might be coincidence—maybe someone had succumbed to the Madness—but Aeo couldn’t make himself believe it.
The smells of cedar and wood smoke were drowned by blood and death as he entered the village square. In the seconds it took him to catch up to the old man, two men and a woman had been killed. Their strange eyes were even more disturbing in death. They stared at him, empty of humanity, but still marked by the Coming Madness.
He knelt beside the bodies. A single slice across the throat to each. Clean kills. Aeo wasn’t sure he’d have been able to manage as much in so short a time himself—and he could manage just about anything.
Another scream pierced the air, and Aeo ran toward it. He turned a corner into the village proper and was met by a whirlwind of limbs and blades. Villagers were scattered through the area, some fleeing, others seeming at peace with their fate. Those who hadn’t fled fast enough littered the ground. Their blood splattered the wooden walls and painted the dirt crimson.
In the middle of all this was the old man and the Bok’Tarong, though he was hardly the same man Aeo had seen on the road. He moved with the grace of a dancer and the strength of a lifelong swordsman. The massive double-bladed sword pulsed with rosy gold light as it passed from shadow to sunshine. With each swing, the old man took down a villager.
For several breaths, all Aeo could do was watch in bewilderment. The man had been hardly able to walk down the road five minutes ago. Now he was working that sword so brilliantly Aeo was, for the first time in many years, afraid he might not be able to defeat this opponent. What kind of magic was going on here? Aeo wasn’t one to fear powers he didn’t understand, but this was beyond anything he’d ever seen before.
While he marveled, five more villagers fell to the Bok’Tarong.
His grip tightened on his sword. This man was murdering unarmed civilians. That was enough to make Aeo’s blood hot with rage. But these people were also touched by the Coming Madness. Their deaths were already scripted, and unless they were stopped they would cause immense damage before their suffering came to an end.
Massacre or mercy? Aeo couldn’t decide.
Three more deaths. Two of them had died screaming in terror. The other almost looked happy as the Bok’Tarong carved through his throat.
Skull-crushing pain erupted in his mind as he hesitated. He was an assassin, the king’s man, here on a contract. The morality of that contract wasn’t his responsibility. The king had said this man must die. And if his training had drilled anything into his head, it’s that if the king said a man must die, then he must die. Whether or not Aeo liked it.
He was charging forward, sword bared, before he’d even realized he was moving. Such was the nature of the Mage General’s conditioning.
He intercepted a swing of the Bok’Tarong with his own blade. The distinctive ring of metal on metal silenced the sc
reams for just a moment. He met the old man’s eyes and saw a wild fire in them, insane rage rivaling the Coming Madness. Whatever magic gave him the strength of a man in his prime was ravaging his mind as well.
Aeo disengaged his sword and took a step back. The man’s eyes stayed on his for a heartbeat, then he turned to look at those yet to be slaughtered. The move opened a small space under his arm, a direct line to his ribcage and his heart.
A clear shot. Aeo could run him through here and now and be done with it.
The temptation was gone in a second. Killing a man without a fight, without a chance to defend himself, was the coward’s path. Aeo was no coward.
Besides, it was the fight Aeo craved. Not the kill.
The man turned back to Aeo. He swung the Bok’Tarong. Aeo parried, then slashed downward from the left. The man cocked his wrists, turning the sharp points of the Bok’Tarong toward the slash.
Aeo realized his mistake as his blade slid into the narrow Y of the Bok’Tarong and the man rotated the blades to capture it there.
Releasing his left hand from the leather grip, the man jabbed his palm upward at the base of the nearest blade, turning the Bok’Tarong in a sudden spin and ripping the trapped sword from Aeo’s hand. It flew end over end, landing with a swish in a large fern.
In a matter of seconds Aeo, the champion assassin, was disarmed.
His mind reeled as he stared at the man, waiting for him to strike. How had this happened? What kind of magic could make an ancient man so skilled he could defeat the greatest assassin in Arata?
Why was he not striking?
Aeo looked closer at his opponent. The Bok’Tarong was held in a ready position, leveled at Aeo’s throat, but the man wasn’t preparing for a strike. He was just watching him, with no emotion in his face. Only his eyes gave a hint to his thoughts, but Aeo wasn’t keen on meeting them again. One glimpse at the madness within had been enough.
Aeo took a step to the side, then another, inching his way to his fallen sword. The man followed his movements, keeping Aeo in his gaze but not striking. He could have cut Aeo down at any moment, but he didn’t. A man of honor, this one. Aeo could respect that.
Soul of the Blade Page 2
