The Fragment of Shadow (The Shattered Soul Book 2)

by Ben Hale

  “I didn’t say he was my brother,” Shadow said.

  “He looks just like you,” she said. “Who else could it be? And if he is another fragment, I assume he is the fragment of Water?”

  Shadow’s anger turned to amusement. “You really are clever.”

  “So I’m right?” she asked, and shook her head in disbelief. “Yet you sent him into a cage.”

  “Water was never in danger,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal.

  “Would you say the same if he was dead?”

  Shadow regarded her for several moments, and then he reached to the shadows of the alley. Breathing the darkness in, he sealed the wound on his neck, causing her eyes to widen. He flashed a humorless smile.

  “I don’t scar.”

  “When you get your family killed, you will.”

  “You know nothing.”

  “Do you even have a heart?”

  He waved his hands in disgust and turned away, striding into the storm. He wanted to reject her accusation but fleetingly wondered if he really had risked Water’s life. He’d risked all the fragments before, including Elenyr, and never given thought to the consequences. He half expected Lorica to simply depart, but then he heard her footsteps.

  They made their way to the edge of the city and procured horses from the stables at the northern gate. Mounting, Shadow flicked the reins and left Keese in his wake, ignoring the assassin that continued to remain at his side. Neither spoke, but they made their way north.

  The miles dragged by as they worked their way across the rain soaked hills of Talinor. When they reached the border, they crossed the Blue River into the kingdom of Erathan, and the rain finally let up. The clouds remained dark but lacked the hint of danger that had been present in Keese. The lightning pushed south, leaving them in their campsite in the trees.

  She started a fire and Shadow cast a bow of shadow. Leaving his pack, he stalked the forest until he found a bird hiding under the bushes. An arrow of shadow pierced its body, and its companions took flight. Retrieving the bird, Shadow returned to the fire, annoyed that today the hunt held no pleasure.

  He’d always liked hunting. With his gift, he could see the animals like it was broad daylight, even sense their shadows as they sought to hide. He could send an arrow through the night, bending its path to strike a target well out of sight. But today he couldn’t shake the assassin’s words. Shadow dropped the bird by the fire and began preparing it, yanking the feathers out with such vehemence that Lorica grunted.

  “It’s already dead. You don’t have to mangle the poor creature.”

  “Do you want to eat?”

  She raised her hands, and he finished preparing the bird. Adding some spice from his pack, he hung it over the fire with a few sticks and made sure the other end of the stick was in darkness. He then crafted a wheel that let the stick rotate, allowing the meat to turn.

  “That’s very clever.”

  “Now you want to be nice?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “For cutting me?”

  “Actually, I don’t regret that.” She flashed a faint smile. “But I’m sorry for not telling you the truth about my sword.”

  He sank into a seat by a tree. “I probably didn’t give you much of a reason to.”

  “Was that an apology?”

  “Not really,” he said, and then swept a hand to her. “I guess neither of us is accustomed to trust.”

  “Then let’s start with a game of truth,” she said, settling into a seat across from him.

  He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How many questions?”

  “Three each,” she said.

  “The rules?”

  “None,” she said.

  He watched the meat begin to sizzle, considering her proposal. He wanted answers, but it would cost him as well. Still, she didn’t know enough about him to ask his greatest secrets. With a smile, he inclined his head.

  “I believe its custom to let the lady go first.”

  She shook her head. “I already know one truth from before Keese. It’s your turn.”

  He shrugged and then swept a hand to her. “Who’s Zenif?”

  Her jaw clenched, the firelight dancing across her features to reveal anger, grief, and then regret. She’d threatened his life if he ever spoke the name again, and he idly wondered if she would draw her blade. Instead she sighed.

  “My brother,” she said.

  “And the weaver hall you visited?”

  “Was his,” she replied, staring into the flames. “My family were all soldiers except for him, and he wanted to be a weaver. He was good at his craft and married a good woman. Then one day he was delivering cloth to the castle in Herosian the same day Gendor was there for a target. Zenif was killed.”

  “I assume that’s what made you become an assassin.”

  “The Assassin’s Guild has always balanced the scales of justice,” she said. “They kill those who think they stand above the law, those who merit death. The nobles do not fear the people, they fear assassin blades. But killing an innocent is forbidden, and it took years to figure out that Gendor was the one who slew him.”

  “So that’s how two sisters became assassins,” Shadow said.

  She leaned back against a fallen log. “I think that’s enough of that truth. It’s your turn.”

  “By all means,” Shadow replied, motioning in invitation. “What would you ask?”

  “Are you human?”

  He laughed lightly, the sound fading into the trees. “Do I not look like a man?”

  “You do,” she said. “But you can turn your body into shadow, and you wield shadow magic as if it’s part of your being.”

  “Very perceptive, assassin. I am human, but not entirely. In fact, I am the product of the guardian charm.”

  A flicker of fear tightened her features. “I thought they were all destroyed.”

  “Not all,” he said. “Most guardians die because so much magic corrupts the flesh, eventually causing madness.”

  “Why have you survived?”

  “A question all its own,” he said. “For the answer is not what you expect.”

  The statement was a challenge, all but daring her to use her second question to ask. He realized he was giving her more information that he should, but the game was too captivating to resist.

  “Then it’s your turn,” she said.

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  She blinked in surprise. “Why would you care about that?”

  “It’s the only thing that matters,” he replied, sweeping his hands outward. “People live this life hoping to fall in love and have children, so they can also love and continue the cycle. Wars end, ages expire, but love always continues.”

  “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

  The meat spit, the juices dripping into the fire. “Once,” she finally said.

  “What happened?”

  Her lips tightened. “My affection was . . . unrequited.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  She snorted and jerked her head. “If you must know, he told me I was intimidating. He said I was too strong to love.”

  “That’s the very trait I find most attractive,” he said.

  She motioned to him. “You know my next question. How have you survived?”

  “Because I am unique,” he said, leaning in so the fire illuminated his dark eyes. “Guardians are made of flesh and magic, but I was torn from the flesh of another, and in that sense, I am more magic than man.”

  “Still,” she said. “There were never guardians made of shadow magic.” Her eyes lit up with understanding. “You and Water, you’re fragments of the same guardian.”

  A smile spread on his face. “A truth few on this world know.”

  She regarded him as if seeing him for the first time. “In the Assassin’s Guild, Elenyr traveled with two others that
looked like you. Just how many fragments are there?”

  “Five,” he said. “You met Mind and Fire. The last is Light.”

  She looked in the dark trees and he could see the weight of knowledge settle upon her. Magic was an enigma to many, and to learn that beings existed with such powerful magic was hard for most to digest. Shadow took the opportunity to remove the cooked meat from the flames. Using a knife, he severed a section and passed it to her on the blade. She accepted it with a nod of gratitude, her eyes distant.

  “They are your family,” she said slowly.

  “As much as one like me can possess.”

  He stabbed his own meat and began to chew, savoring the succulent flavors. For several moments they ate in silence, and he waited for her to accept what she’d been told. He had no doubt she understood far more about his past. She was clever enough to perceive more than the words that were spoken, but he did not regret the answer. Elenyr frequently warned about revealing the truth of their identity, and he’d never done so, until now. He found it freeing.

  “You may ask your final question,” she said.

  “Will you remain an assassin after Gendor is killed?”

  She stopped eating and her tone turned doubtful. “If I do not, the guild will die with me, but I am uncertain as to my path beyond Gendor.”

  It was evident the question cut deep, and Shadow found his amusement gone. He’d thought to hear of a life beyond the Assassin’s Guild, but now realized the question carried more weight than he’d thought. Suddenly wanting the game to be over, he swept his hand to her.

  “Ask your final question.”

  She hesitated, as if she had two questions and was uncertain which to ask. “Are you capable of feeling remorse?” she finally asked.

  He laughed lightly. “That’s what you wish to know?”

  “Yes.”

  His laughter faded, his smile going with it. He wanted to reply with an easy answer but found the words difficult to speak. He considered how she would have seen the events in Keese. He’d placed his brother at risk and lied to her, and done so without a second thought. As a fragment of Draeken he’d always known he did not possess all the emotions, but he’d thought he had a piece of everything. Perhaps he was wrong.

  “I think you know the answer,” he said, his tone irritated.

  She nodded and continued to eat. Both weighed down by the revelations shared, they did not speak again, and the truth finally drove them to their beds. With the fire dying nearby, Shadow looked to the stars, and wondered if he even had the capacity to feel.

  Chapter 22: Office of Taxation

  They departed their camp the following morning and neither made mention of the conversation, or its ramifications. Despite the obvious avoidance, Shadow felt oddly connected to the assassin, a kinship he could not define.

  At night Shadow hastened their journey, the cloudy skies allowing him to fly. Lorica flew at his side, and the two soared in the dark heavens, her white wings contrasting with his dark ones. He often found his eyes drifting to her, trying to explain the growing attachment.

  At first he’d found her attractive, and although she was undeniably beautiful, it was not desire that stirred his blood. Instead it was an odd mix of confidence and trust that he’d never felt before.

  After a week’s journey, they reached the dwarven mountains. The Tyndrik range of peaks stretched across the northwest, many covered in snow even in summer. Small fortresses dotted the peaks and cliffs, entrances to the mighty cities hidden beneath.

  Shadow and Lorica ascended a canyon to a citadel. Little more than a gate in a cliff and battlements above, the entrance boasted a full company of armored dwarves. Shadow and Lorica quietly joined the rear of a caravan arriving from Erathan and slipped away the moment they were inside the tunnel.

  Like many of the tunnels of the dwarven kingdom, the entrance had once been a mine and followed a meandering path as it plunged into the underside of the mountain. Shortly after entering, they reached the labyrinth of tunnels that comprised the dwarven kingdom.

  While mining, the dwarves had discovered an enormous cavern at the heart of the mountain range and had decided to build a new capitol. The tunnel exited onto a ledge overlooking the city, and Shadow and Lorica came to halt to survey the view.

  “The city will be enormous,” Lorica said.

  “When it’s finished,” Shadow replied. “But it will take lifetimes to build.”

  “You’ll get to see it,” she said.

  “Probably,” he said with a shrug.

  He didn’t really care about the rise and fall of cities. To him they were all the same, especially those built by the dwarves. Still, he could appreciate the effort the dwarves were making for Torridin.

  Rolling underground hills were dotted with structures, the sounds of new construction echoing and reechoing off the walls. Artisans labored on a section of the cavern wall, shaping a great fire dragon. It would take centuries to complete yet would cover just a fraction of the walls of the cavern. Other artwork was just starting, and Shadow guessed that the bearded race would not be satisfied until the walls of the cavern were adorned with fire.

  In all their irritating custom, the dwarves had forsaken the building of taverns, inns, and other common structures in favor of blacksmith shops, and the ring of hammers on steel added a backdrop to the shouts and the construction.

  “Where do we go from here?” Lorica asked.

  Shadow descended the road to the burgeoning city. “We know Relgor is looking for a certain mine,” Shadow said. “One with a particular material.” He swept his hand to the city. “Someone down there knows where it is.”

  “So I’m just supposed to talk to people?”

  Shadow grinned at her frown. “Of course not. We steal the information.”

  “Do you always steal?”

  “It’s more fun,” he said. “And in my experience, much faster.”

  She grunted and swept a hand to the city. “Lead the way.”

  Shadow descended the wide slope that entered the new capitol, advancing up a street dominated by dwarves. A handful of other races were browsing the wares of the smiths, so their presence was not unusual. As they passed a smith, Shadow pilfered a favorite hammer and used threads of shadow to place it on a neighboring anvil. As he departed, he listened to the accusatory shouts and laughed to himself.

  “Is that necessary?” Lorica asked.

  “You would begrudge me a little fun?”

  “A young dwarf is being disciplined because of your fun.”

  “That’s what makes the dwarves so tough,” Shadow said, coming to a halt and leaning against a statue of the current dwarven king.

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But it’s still unnecessary.”

  “Of course it is,” Shadow said.

  Shadow watched a young dwarf be cast out of the smithy. He scrambled to his feet and hurried northward, a pack on his back. Lorica frowned when Shadow fell into step behind the messenger.

  “You knew that would happen,” she accused.

  “Guilty,” he replied. “That forge is owned by Grund, a particularly grumpy individual, even among his kind. He owns a quartet of mines to the west. Every day at noon he dispatches a messenger to retrieve a report on the progress of his properties.”

  Lorica looked up at the giant orb hanging from the stone ceiling, the light bright enough to fill much of the enormous cavern, but not quite so bright to be noonday. She began to chuckle, the sound tinged with recognition.

  “Grund sent the messenger early as punishment.”

  “I didn’t want to wait,” Shadow said.

  “So this is immortality?” She swept a hand to the city. “You know a great deal about everyone, but are still impatient?”

  “Patience is overrated,” he replied.

  The messenger slowed to a walking pace when he was well out of sight from the smithy and paused to grab a meal of deep fish. Dropping a few coins in the vendor’s hand, the messenger mun
ched on the meal as he ambled west and then south, unaware that he had two shadows in his wake.

  Shadow came to a halt and watched the messenger enter the mining hub on the southern side of the growing settlement. Mine tracks exited nearby tunnels and intersected beneath the structure. Others curved into the city. Dwarves used the uncomfortable carts for transportation, and several were unloading. They passed through the structure and parted for their homes, the dirt on their faces revealing their occupation. Adjacent to the intersecting tracks stood the mine archives, a tower rising from below, connecting to two curved towers descending from the ceiling.

  Shadow pointed to the structure. “All the mines issue a daily report to the king’s treasurers, who in turn send a report to the clan houses. Grund doesn’t like to wait, so he gets the report directly from the treasurers.”

  “And you didn’t know its location?” Her voice was mocking.

  “I don’t know everything,” he said with a grin. “And I’ve never experienced the soul crushing activity of reading tax records.”

  “You get an opportunity now,” she said. “Unless you can think of a better way to find the right mine.”

  Her teasing smile on her lips, she led the way down to the treasurers, and Shadow had no choice but to follow. He caught up to her on a set of stairs. As it rounded a bend and passed through a tunnel, he motioned to her sword.

  “How do you stalk your targets?”

  “I watch and listen,” she said.

  “But how do you find them?”

  “Most contracts contain a target and a location,” she said, stopping at the end of the corridor, her eyes lifting to the office. “Those with just a name require pressure. A few well-placed threats are usually sufficient to garner the truth.”

  He watched the guards in the office. “Unfortunately, the dwarves guard the location of their mines with surprising vigor. It is not uncommon for a rival clan to force the miners out and claim possession. The records here are used to help resolve disputes.”

  “Which explains the army,” she said wryly.

  The office was more a fortress, albeit inverted, with two curving turrets that descended from the ceiling of the cavern. Both intersected with a tower rising below. Mine tracks dominated the bottom level of the tower, the vaulted ceiling and open walls permitting an unbroken view by the hundreds of dwarven guards. Through the barred windows in the upper levels of the tower, dwarves could be seen toiling over archives, with axes and hammers on their backs.