The Fragment of Shadow (The Shattered Soul Book 2)

by Ben Hale

  “Dwarves,” Shadow said with a snort. “Even the tax collectors carry a weapon.”

  “The paper must be made of mithral.”

  “Probably,” she said, stifling a laugh as a guard ambled nearby. “The records are held in those curving towers?”

  “I would assume,” he said.

  “The only access to the archives is through the tower,” she said. “And there’s too much illumination for you.”

  “They always think shadows hide thieves,” he lamented. “They do, of course, but still. Do they have to be so paranoid?”

  “They are stopping you,” she said. “I’d say they’re being rather smart.”

  He grinned and pointed to the top of the central tower, the access point to the inverted towers of records. “We’ll need to go through there.”

  “See if you can keep up.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said, offering a mock salute.

  She stood and made her way to the nearest wall. She paused, and then sprinted between the lines of sight for two groups of guards. Then she crouched and looked back—to find Shadow hiding in her shadow.

  “That’s cheating,” she murmured.

  “I kept up, didn’t I?”

  She flashed a faint smile and her cloak unfurled, her wings filling the view. Launching herself off the ground, she wrapped herself in her cloak, soaring above the tower and disappearing above the top battlements.

  Shadow admired her sleek approach and then pointed with his gauntlet and pressed a rune. A dim cord streaked up to the support and attached next to the top of the tower, yanking him off the ground. Soaring up the wall, he caught glimpses of barred windows before he too reached the summit.

  “What was that?” she asked as he clambered over the tower’s battlements.

  Shadow grinned and detached the lighthook. “We all know shadow magic is the best, but other magics serve their purpose.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d be so versatile.”

  He smirked and ascended past her. “Try to keep up.”

  She grinned and scaled the side of the room with him, and together they reached the top, where two ironbound doors led to the base of the inverted towers. Barred and littered with curses, it would not open easily, so Shadow reached for the exterior of the inverted tower. As he reached for a curve of stone, she tossed him a coin, which he caught.

  “What’s this for?”

  “A bet,” she said. “I find the record, you buy me a drink. If you win—”

  “I get a favor.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What sort of favor?”

  “You’ll find out when I ask it.”

  She smiled at his challenge and inclined her head. Then she lunged for the second tower. Shadow did the same, hastening up the exterior of the curved structure to reach the barred windows. Although the ground below was illuminated, the towers were darker, allowing Shadow to fasten his shadow magic and accelerate. Reaching a window, he morphed to darkness and passed through the bars.

  The inverted tower housed an abundance of shelves, all containing tomes of records dating back for thousands of years. Some tomes were so old the smiths had been forced to protect them by magic in order to retain the pages.

  Shadow cast a quartet of gremlins, the tiny creatures scattering to begin their search. Shadow then searched as well, looking for records from the current age. The Raven had spoken as if the mine had been discovered recently, and he hoped the clue would bear fruit. On the third level, he located the right room, and then set to work finding the right record.

  Despite his haste, he paused at a gilded tome inside a glass case. The tome was ancient, and the script on the cover indicated it contained records from the lost first capitol of the dwarven race. Xshaltheria.

  Reminding himself he had a bet to win, he passed it by and continued his search. As he began considering looking in another tower, one of his gremlins returned with a book, and Shadow flipped through the pages. He smiled when he found a record describing what he sought, and then snapped the book shut. Tossing it on the floor, Shadow darted to the window and slipped outside. He dropped down the exterior of the tower, but spotted Lorica leaping out her own window.

  He grinned and accelerated, the wind whistling in his ears as he plummeted toward the roof. He landed hard and rolled to his feet, but she landed almost at the same moment. Both breathless, both claimed victory.

  “I was first.”

  “I win,” Lorica said.

  He frowned. “But I found the record of a strange dark ore in a mine to the south.”

  She shook her head and held aloft a page from another archive. “Then I guess there are two mines with the right ore.”

  Chapter 23: The Burning Tavern

  They escaped from the tax collector’s office and made their way to a small tavern, The Red Beard. Named for its owner, the structure rested on a small shelf of rock abutting the great cavern wall. The front was open, allowing an unbroken view of the growing city.

  A set of stairs ascended to the ledge, which contained the tavern, a pair of homes, and what Shadow had come to see as required in all dwarven homes, a blacksmith workshop. All were illuminated by torches placed adjacent to the stairs. Fueled by dwarven firesap, the torches burned bright, the flames glowing in the darkness.

  The interior of the tavern was all stonework, likely carved by the owner or a member of his family. Arches and beams were covered with intricate runes. Shaped like a large V, the tavern contained the kitchens at the center, allowing the serving maids quick access to the entire tavern.

  Shadow claimed a seat with a view of the entrance and the blacksmith, and ordered a meal. Lorica scowled at his casual air, and the moment the barmaid departed she lowered her tone and leaned in.

  “Why are we stopping?” she asked. “We have the location.”

  “I’m hungry.” He said it like it was obvious.

  He hated traveling on an empty stomach, and although the dwarves were known for their steel and stone, their skills in the kitchen were second to none. Besides, The Red Beard was renowned for its food.

  “Relgor and Gendor could be arriving at the mine as we sit here and eat,” she said. “We must hasten.”

  “It appears I’m not alone in my impatience,” he said, his tone teasing.

  She released an angry breath. “We have our target.”

  “We have two,” Shadow reminded her. “And more questions than answers.”

  “Gendor is serving the krey,” she said. “And Thorg said he would be here.”

  “He is serving Relgor,” he corrected.

  “That’s the same thing.” She folded her arms and sat back.

  “How many have you killed?”

  She raised an eyebrow at the turn in conversation. “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Everything.”

  Shadow smiled to the barmaid that dropped a plate in front of him and he breathed deep of the savory scents. The steam curled around his face, briefly obscuring her scowl, and he realized he’d seen the scowl less since their conversation in the woods. He missed the expression.

  “Still not hungry?” he asked.

  Lorica regarded Shadow for several seconds, so he shrugged and reached for the fork. She sighed and ordered a plate for herself. When the barmaid moved to another table, she lowered her voice again.

  “Assassins don’t share how many they’ve killed.”

  “I’ll show you my hand if you show me yours.”

  She regarded him as he ate, and then looked away. “Twenty-seven targets in ten years. A score of others when I was a soldier. You?”

  “I’ve lost track.”

  “You lie.”

  He shrugged. “Honest. After I passed a thousand I stopped counting.”

  “You’ve killed a thousand,” she said slowly.

  Shadow shrugged. “I stopped counting a long time ago.”

  She looked away, clearly uncertain how to accept the information.
He’d killed more than the entire Assassin’s Guild combined, and it had never bothered him. He was curious about how an assassin dealt with the legacy of their craft.

  “You have taken many lives,” she said quietly.

  “I have taken the lives of those who needed killing,” he said, using his fork to point to her. “Same as you.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Ever killed an innocent?”

  He chuckled sourly. “The first lesson Elenyr ever taught. We do not kill innocents. The second lesson was how to tell if they were innocent.”

  “I bet that was a hard one for you to learn.”

  “It was,” Shadow said fervently.

  He thought back to their conversation in the woods, and how it connected to Elenyr’s early teaching. Of all the fragments, he’d struggled the most with the endless lessons on morality, a topic he found to be intensely boring. He didn’t feel anything when killing a foe, and at first he’d assumed he didn’t feel anything when killing at all. Elenyr had made the difference clear in a way he would never forget.

  “But it’s a kitten,” Shadow had said, holding the tiny animal aloft. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Kill it,” Elenyr said.

  Shadow shrugged and placed the dagger on the throat of the kitten. Just as he started to pull the blade, a twinge tightened in his chest, and his hand came to a halt. He tried again, and again, the twinge coming each time.

  “I don’t want to,” he said, surprised at his own reluctance.

  “I know,” Elenyr said, relief coloring her tone.

  Shadow recalled cradling the small body and feeling the strange twinge in his chest. He didn’t like it, and whenever it returned, he stayed his hand. Water and the others might look on the exterior and know, but Shadow could never tell if someone deserved death, and relied on instinct.

  “What does this have to do with Relgor and Gendor?” she asked, drawing him from the memory.

  “You’ve spent your life battling enemies of your country, and then hunting targets within that same country.”

  “One of my targets was a dwarf,” she said.

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “But our foe is a krey, one who has lived several times my own life span.”

  “Your point?”

  Shadow withdrew a scrap of parchment from his pocket and placed it on the table. At the top he drew three lines, each converging on a single name. Then he spun the parchment so she could see the inscription.

  “You have Serak at the top,” she said.

  Shadow pointed to the three lines. “The Bloodsworn are the assassins, the Ravens are the thieves, and the Order of Ancients is the army.”

  Her eyes widened. “You think they all serve Serak.”

  “They do.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Three keys to controlling the populace,” he said, raising his hand to count them off. “Subdue the common folk with an army, steal from those that can be manipulated, and kill those who stand against you.”

  “It’s a government,” she breathed, examining the parchment with wide eyes. Then she snapped a look at him. “When did you figure all this out?”

  “At the tax collectors,” he admitted. “Sitting in that office reminded me that kingdoms are run on control. Commoners might go about their lives without thinking on it much, but control greases the wheels of commerce, industry, construction, even war.”

  “But this was all set up long before the krey arrived,” she said, her voice pensive.

  “What do you mean?”

  She held her tongue until the barmaid delivered her plate and a mug. Then she leaned in. “I think they were setting this up because they knew the krey were coming.”

  Shadow pushed his empty plate away, pleased with the insight. His instincts said she was right, and the implications were dramatic. When Shadow had spoken to the fragment of Water in Keese, Water had described Serak’s meeting with Wylyn in the Gate chamber beneath an abandoned temple. Now Shadow wondered if the krey had been communicating with Serak for much longer. An ageless being like Serak would be patient, and would have prepared Lumineia for their arrival.

  He cocked his head to the side, his thoughts shifting to what Serak had said in the cellar of the Ravens. Before he could study it further, a group of dwarven guards appeared on the steps and ascended to The Red Beard. Their features fixed, their hands on their axes, they were obviously not there to eat.

  “Looks like we have friends,” Lorica said.

  “Here for us?” Shadow asked.

  The dwarves entered the tavern and stepped to the bartender, a woman that cast a furtive look at Lorica and then pointed to their table. Lorica scowled when the dwarves spread out and drew their axes, the captain pointing a meaty finger to his soldiers to cut off an exit through the open windows. Other dwarves vacated their chairs and retreated to the back of the two wings of the tavern. The captain came to a halt and used his axe to point to Lorica.

  “The Angel of Death,” he growled. “You should never have come back to Torridin.”

  “I told you I killed a dwarf,” Lorica said.

  The captain’s eyes flicked to Shadow, eyeing him as he shoveled food into his mouth. “You and your companion are to be brought before a tribunal, who will likely issue an order of execution.”

  “Me?” Shadow protested, his mouth full. “What did I do?”

  “You share a meal with an assassin,” another dwarf spat. “One that killed a clan prince.”

  “A clan prince selling orc children to slave traders,” Lorica said mildly. “He should be glad I only took his head.”

  Shadow swallowed and wiped at his mouth, causing the dwarves to shift uncertainly. “You take the north target,” he said. “I’ll take the south.”

  “You aren’t going after any targets,” another dwarf sneered, opening a pair of anti-magic shackles.

  Lorica ignored them. “I’ll meet you at the river crossing where you almost fell in.”

  “I did not almost fall in,” Shadow protested.

  “You said it was the moss,” Lorica said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

  Shadow pulled a coin from his pocket and dropped it onto the table. “I do owe you a drink,” he said.

  “And I owe you a favor,” she said.

  “I’ll collect another time,” he said. “Do be careful.”

  “Are you actually concerned for my wellbeing?”

  “I’m the one who can’t feel anything, remember?”

  The dwarf captain glanced between them, his bewilderment rapidly turning into anger. “Enough!” he barked. “Step out of the chairs and place your hands on the table.”

  “If you insist,” Lorica said.

  She stepped out of the booth slowly, the tension in the room mounting as she put her hands on the table. Shadow did the same, taking up position on the opposite side of the table. The dwarves shifted their feet and glanced to each other for support, and then the captain motioned the one with the shackles forward.

  “One thing,” Shadow said, bringing them to a halt. “You knew she was an assassin, yet you only brought a score of soldiers?”

  “I brought a company,” the captain said, his eyes lit with triumph as he made a hand signal.

  A great rushing of feet heralded the arrival of a hundred additional guards, including several bearing the mark of fire mages. They sprinted up the stairs or dropped down from the roof, so many that the glare from the axe blades reflected in the tavern. Many carried nets in their hands, ready to cast over someone with wings. They even brought a ballistae, the bolts carrying more nets.

  “You planned well for me,” Lorica said, nodding her approval. “But you couldn’t have known about my companion.”

  “He doesn’t look like a killer,” a female dwarf said, eyeing Shadow.

  The guard captain glared at her and she flushed. Shadow grinned and winked at the woman, deepening the red in her skin. Then he used the distraction to slip his
hands to the edge of the table, and Lorica did the same.

  “Get them in shackles,” the captain barked.

  Two dwarves shifted forward and approached Lorica and Shadow. Surrounded by soldiers and looking across the table at Lorica, he sensed the same kinship as before, and a smile spread on his face.

  “You always think this is fun,” Lorica said.

  “You don’t?”

  “Perhaps I’m beginning to.”

  “Quiet!” a dwarf barked. “And don’t move!”

  “What if I have an itch?” Shadow protested.

  “Don’t move!” the dwarf barked, his hands extending with the anti-magic shackles. “If you move to attack we will—”

  Lorica groaned. “Kill, harm, maim, make bleed, we know. Can we get on with this?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Shadow said.

  The two dwarves with the shackles exchanged a look, and then reached for Shadow and Lorica. Shadow winked to Lorica, and the two heaved the table off the ground. The edge struck the two dwarves and they were knocked backward, preventing a sudden charge by the captain, who raised his shield for the expected blow. But the table was not aimed at them.

  Like most taverns in Torridin, The Red Beard contained a light orb in the rafters, filling the breadth of the tavern with light. Its position and magic covered the tables at the front of the tavern, while a second and a third glowed in the two wings. The table flew upward and crashed into the orb, shattering the charm into sparks and shards of glass.

  As the sparks faded, the front of the tavern was lost to shadows, the sudden darkness punctuated by the captain’s shouts and the thudding of rushing boots. The dwarves converged on the broken table but both Lorica and Shadow were absent. The captain whirled and shouted for quiet, allowing all to hear a rising laugh echoing in the gloom . . .

  Chapter 24: Demons at Dinner