The Fragment of Shadow (The Shattered Soul Book 2)

by Ben Hale

  She winced and kicked a fallen blade. It clattered off the man’s boots but he kept up the onslaught, driving her back, forcing her against the wall. She twisted, redirecting her retreat toward the last one she’d killed, toward the blade protruding from his chest.

  The knife cut again, drawing blood across her upper arm. She retaliated with a blow from her wings, but he endured the buffeting and surged forward, driving for her heart, a shout of triumph on his lips.

  She reached back and caught the sword hilt. Yanking it from the dead man’s body, she raised it forward, using her retreating wing to hide the blow. He did not see the raised blade until it was too late, his own momentum driving the steel into his heart.

  He gasped, his jaw working in pain and disbelief. Lorica reached out and plucked the knife from his fingers, then she stepped around him and walked away. His body struck the ground, his dying shout weak and empty. She picked up a discarded sword on her way down the corridor and spun both weapons in her hands.

  It was time to get Shadow.

  Chapter 33: Imposter

  Laying in the center of his cell, Shadow heard a muffled grunt and then a thud. A smile crossed his features but otherwise he did not move. He listened as a creak of steel indicated the door was opening and then soft footfalls crossed the space.

  “I see you found the key,” he said.

  “You could have left me a weapon,” Lorica said.

  Shadow rose to his feet and stepped to the bars. “That wouldn’t have made it fair.”

  She grunted in irritation and reached for the rune that opened the door, but Shadow shook his head. With a smile on his face he produced a tiny, elven made crossbow. No longer than his finger, the weapon pointed at her. She frowned, but when he fired the bolt it veered to the side and struck the rune. The bars dropped into the floor and he stepped free.

  “Where did you have that?”

  “In my boot,” he said, returning the weapon to the hidden cavity of his bootheel.

  “You could have escaped anytime?” she demanded. “Why wait?”

  He yawned and motioned to the cell. “I’ve never been absent my magic. I found it quite refreshing.”

  She snorted in disbelief and turned toward the door. “We don’t have much time. I killed my guards and it’s only a matter of time until the alarm is raised.”

  “Wait,” Shadow said. “There’s something I need to do first.”

  “We can’t wait,” she said, but he was already turning toward the cells.

  He stepped to the center pillar and pressed the runes that lowered the bars on the other cells. Then he darkened the room, the lights fading and granting him a return of his power. He breathed in the shadows and shaped them to his will, fashioning ropes and a winch.

  By necessity, the cells for the fragments of Water and Fire were on opposite sides of the room. Bringing such extreme magics together would have been volatile, and Serak had obviously taken precautions to ensure the cells were kept apart. In total darkness, Shadow used large machines to dig into the floor, ripping the stones apart.

  “They’re going to hear that,” she growled.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I have to destroy this prison.”

  A shout came from without, followed by the thudding of footfalls. Cursing, Lorica leapt to the door and engaged the two guards, cutting them down before they could cry for aid. Holding position, she called to Shadow.

  “We don’t have time for this.”

  “My plan is working perfectly,” he said. “Just give me a minute.”

  “Our plan didn’t work at all,” she protested. “We didn’t know they had a cage for you, and Relgor forced you to send a messenger.”

  “That was rather irritating,” he said. “But no matter. We’ll find them soon enough.”

  “Serak isn’t here,” she said. “He went into the Deep. Seems someone is walking around with Serak’s face.”

  Her voice was hard to hear over the crunching of rock. Shadow coughed in the dust as his machine ripped into the supports beneath the cells. Dirt and chips of stone flew about the room, the cacophony eliciting another curse from Lorica, who had to fight three that rushed the door.

  “Shadow . . .,” she called in a rising tone.

  “Almost there,” Shadow said.

  The cell of fire teetered forward, its moorings broken. A moment later the cell of water did the same. Shadow lashed both cells to ropes of shadow, coiling them onto a winch that began to turn. A grinding of stone echoed as the two cells began to approach each other. Shadow’s eyes lit with delight as he gauged the distance. Then he turned and swept past Lorica into the lit corridor beyond.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “I was ready before you told everyone we were here,” she said. “What were you even doing?”

  “We have thirty minutes until those two cells come together,” Shadow said. “When they do . . .”

  Her eyes widened. “It’s going to take out half the fortress.”

  “Exactly.”

  A man rounded the corner and shouted in surprise. Shadow and Lorica sprinted towards him but he was too far away, and the guard reached the end of the corridor. He slapped a rune embedded in the wall, causing a keening wail to rise within the fortress, the sound echoing down every corridor and in every chamber, the sound magic signaling that the fortress had been breached.

  Lorica glared at Shadow and he shrugged apologetically. “Let’s find Gendor and finish him.”

  She spun her blade. “It’s about time.”

  They sprinted down the corridor and up the stairs at the end. The door swung open into a great hall, where forty Bloodsworn were closing ranks, leveling swords and crossbows, which they aimed at the two escapees.

  Lorica leapt into the air, avoiding a volley of crossbow bolts that thudded into the wall, just missing her feet. She caught an arch and swung out of sight onto a higher level, and sprinted around the curving balcony, firing at the light orbs. The tinkling of shattered glass punctuated the shouting men as the room fell into a flickering light.

  Shadow dived behind a couch. Crossbow bolts pierced the leather and passed through, the steel heads poking out the back. Shadow rolled beneath the couch as the gloom mounted, and then turned to his shadow form.

  Pulling himself free, he leapt into the midst of the soldiers, a shadow among shadows. Swords swung at him, clattering off the helms of their companions, while crossbow bolts filled the air, flying in all directions.

  Shadow ducked an arm and attached a thread of darkness to the man’s wrist, and then fastened it to the foot of the man next to him. One turned, and both went down cursing. Shadow weaved past the captain and thumbed his nose, before lashing the man’s sword to his trousers.

  The man swung at Shadow, ripping the pants right off his legs. He tripped in the tangled cloth, losing his sword and his dignity. Shadow caught the captain’s shirt and stripped it from his body. He turned and ducked, avoiding swords as he donned the tunic, but paused in front of a mirror, admiring the look. He liked the look of a uniform, even if he hated the trappings of obedience that came with it. Then he leapt over the man’s falling form and rolled under a swinging blade. It crashed into a table instead.

  Shadow leashed a line of darkness to the nearest man’s neck and sent a thread above, yanking him all the way to the ceiling. Another cried out when the man next to him flew upward, and Shadow took advantage of his distraction to lash his wrist to the waist of the woman behind. The man caught sight of Shadow and swung, knocking himself and the woman into a tangle of struggling arms and legs.

  An elf appeared in a corridor and skidded to a halt, his eyes going wide at the chaos. Then he pulled from the dim light to cast a light in his hand, partially repelling the darkness. The raging melee unfolded before him, his angry orders dying on his lips.

  Men and women fought to stand, the shadows lashing them to each other, the wall, the furniture, and even the ceiling. One woman hung upside down, her feet bound to t
he wall. She furiously yanked on her legs, but they refused to budge. Shouts and howls filled the dark hall.

  The light from the elf’s hand gradually burned through the shadow ropes, and one by one the Bloodsworn came free, only to be met by the falling men and women that had been lashed above.

  From the balcony on the second level, Shadow leaned against a pillar and surveyed the scene with a smile of pleasure. The Bloodsworn had been well trained, but all their talent was for naught in a darkened room. Then Lorica caught his elbow and dragged him away.

  “We must hasten.”

  “Do you have to spoil all my fun?”

  She grunted in irritation. “You’re just making them mad.”

  “Don’t tell me that wasn’t fun to watch.”

  “I can’t say that,” she said, her lips twitching.

  She shoved him into an alcove as Bloodsworn raced by. When they were gone she stepped out and into a stairwell, hurrying upward. Shadow fell into step behind her, and the two raced higher into the fortress.

  “Have you forgotten you set a trap that’s going to destroy half the fortress?”

  “No,” he said. “But I want to see the explosion.”

  “You’ve lived a long time for someone so reckless.”

  They reached the top corridor and darted behind a cabinet of weapons, allowing another patrol of soldiers to rush by. Orders were being shouted, but they contradicted others he’d already heard, suggesting the Bloodsworn did not know how to react.

  “We need to hurry,” she said. “We can’t fight the Bloodsworn and Gendor.”

  “Then stop playing around,” he said.

  He darted past her and hurried down the hall. A pair of guards rounded a corner and Shadow surged forward, drawing the dagger he’d pilfered from the melee below. Sidestepping the lunge, he knocked the blade upward and then struck the man’s arm. He stumbled back, allowing Shadow to drive the dagger into his stomach.

  Lorica stood over her fallen foe and shook her head in disapproval. “You’re getting slow.”

  “Are you turning this into a competition?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  He grinned. “I took out six below.”

  “Seven,” she said smugly. “Eight including this one.”

  He spotted movement behind them and spun, hurling the dagger the length of the corridor. The guard that had just appeared met the blade, his shock matched by his dismay as he tumbled down the stairs from which he’d appeared.

  “Eight,” he said, picking up a sword and stepping past her. “And counting . . .”

  “That doesn’t count,” she protested.

  “Does too,” he replied.

  They heard approaching footsteps and separated to opposite sides of the corridor, both striking as a patrol appeared. The quartet of Bloodsworn went down in seconds, unprepared for the ambush.

  “Still tied,” Shadow said.

  “For now,” she replied.

  Shadow stole a look at his companion, surprised to find her enjoying the conflict. When they’d met she’d been set on killing Gendor, and now she stood just feet from reaching him, and she bore a smile on her face.

  “I fear I’ve ruined you,” Shadow lamented.

  “How so?” she replied, peeking up a stairwell before ascending.

  “You’ve lost sight of your target,” he said. “And what he did to you.”

  She came to a halt, surprise appearing on her features, as if she hadn’t realized the distraction. Then she frowned and shook her head, accelerating up the steps. Regretting the choice to bring it up, Shadow followed.

  “I’ll see Gendor soon enough,” she said.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “For what?”

  Recognizing the room at his side, Shadow swung the door open and darted in. Lorica hissed his name but he ignored her as he sifted through a rack of weapons. Finding the one he wanted, he returned to the hall and offered the weapon to Lorica.

  “I think you’ll need this,” he said, presenting the red blade.

  “My oathsword,” she said in surprise.

  “I saw it when I searched the castle before,” Shadow said. “I figured you’d want it for Gendor.”

  “Thank you,” she said, discarding the Bloodsworn blade.

  A pair of hurried footfalls came from the stairs they’d just exited, and Shadow grinned. “Ready for another?”

  “Always,” she replied.

  They flanked the steps, and Shadow claimed the position affording a view down the stairs. When the two appeared, Shadow blinked in surprise. He’d expected more guards, but instead it was a dark elf woman he recognized, standing next to Serak himself.

  “Willow?” he blurted, stepping into the open and pointing his sword at her. “What are you doing with him?”

  Serak’s eyes lit up with delight and he rushed up the steps, avoiding the blade with ease to engulf Shadow in an embrace. Startled, Shadow fought to release himself from Serak’s grip, but Serak gushed into his ear.

  “Shadow!” he cried. “I’ve missed you so much, and there is so much for me to tell you. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen in the Deep.”

  Shadow finally disentangled himself and put his sword between them. “A few hours ago you wanted me dead. Now you act like you love me?”

  Serak giggled, and then passed a hand over his face, his features fading. The haughty gaze, the cruel lilt to his lips, were replaced by wide eyes and a beaming smile, revealing the fragment of Light.

  Chapter 34: The Unguarded

  “Light?” Shadow exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for—”

  “We should get out of sight,” Willow exclaimed.

  Lorica nodded in agreement and retreated to the room across the hall. Barely lit, the chamber contained crates and barrels, the dust thick on the wood. Shadow shut the door before turning to Light.

  “I thought you were with Water and Lira.”

  “I was,” he replied, speaking in a delighted rush. “Then I met up with Elenyr and she sent me into the Deep with Willow. And who is your companion?”

  “We don’t have time for tales,” Lorica said. “And I’d rather not be inside when that trap explodes.”

  “Right,” Shadow said, and pointed to Lorica. “Assassin. Dead sister. Betrayed. Revenge. Fun. More fun. Want to kill Gendor.” He raised an eyebrow to Lorica. “Did I leave anything out?”

  She snorted a laugh. “I think that covers it.”

  Light grinned. “Became Serak. The Deep. Tired. The Queen’s Hand. Battle. Willow is beautiful. Kiss. Another Kiss. Mistkeep. See Shadow.”

  He beamed like he’d accomplished a challenging task, and Shadow sorted through the wealth of information. Willow smiled at the description, and Shadow noticed Lorica eyeing the woman’s copious tattoos.

  “What do you need?” Shadow asked.

  “We’re hoping the queen of the dark elves is here,” Willow said. “She was taken by the Order.”

  Shadow recalled his searching the fortress before he’d found Lorica. He’d covered the entire fortress except one corridor, the one with the dark elf guard. He grimaced as he realized the corridor’s location.

  “It’s on the east side,” he said. “But in a few minutes that entire wing is going to explode.”

  Light and Willow exchanged a look. “Then we’ll hurry,” Light said.

  Willow’s jaw set and she swung the door open. A roving patrol appeared on the stairs at the same moment, the three men looking up to see Willow standing in the door of the storeroom. All three reached for their weapons.

  Willow grabbed her bare shoulder, where the hilt of a crossbow was tattooed onto the flesh. The weapon curved down her back, the bow extending onto her stomach. At her touch the ink turned liquid and poured into her hand. The crossbow rose from her body, leaving clear skin behind as she pointed the weapon.

  The weapon triggered three times, the bow snapping so fast that the three bo
lts seemed to fly as one. Black bolts pierced the Bloodsworn armor, knocking them into the wall and down the stairs, the clatter of their fall drowning out their dying groans.

  Willow pressed a rune on the crossbow and a thread of ink appeared between the crossbow and the bolts, yanking the three bolts back into the weapon. Nodding in satisfaction, she returned the crossbow to her shoulder, the ink sinking into her flesh and returning to a tattoo.

  “Let’s go,” she said to Light, and then darted into the corridor.

  “Isn’t she incredible?” Light whispered to Shadow, his voice tinged with awe as he slipped out the door and followed her out of sight. “Good luck!” he called back.

  Willow nudged Light and his features returned to Serak. Then they were gone. Shadow turned to find Lorica staring, her expression stunned at what she’d just witnessed. Shadow smirked and stepped into the open.

  “I take it you’d never heard of Willow?”

  Lorica fell into step beside Shadow. “That’s not a magic I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Elenyr said it’s a unique,” he said. “Willow got a tattoo of a dagger as a young woman and found that she could draw the weapon and make it real. It can never fully leave her skin, but she’s a walking armory.”

  “Indeed,” Lorica mused. “She would make a good assassin.”

  “Already trying to build your new guild?” Shadow asked.

  “Perhaps,” Lorica said. “You want to be part of it?”

  The comment was said in jest, but Shadow faltered in his steps. He’d never considered a life outside of the fragments, but the prospect of being an assassin with Lorica appealed to him. For an instant he imagined hunting dangerous prey, instilling terror in the hearts of the corrupt and cruel.

  A broad smile spread on his features as he imagined the fun of such an occupation, of targets and assignments where he could go as he pleased, hunt as he liked, never having to report back to Elenyr . . .

  His smile faded as he imagined a life away from Elenyr and the other fragments, and uncertainty stilled his amusement. Was that a fate he desired? He’d always said he preferred to be alone, but was it true?