The Fragment of Shadow (The Shattered Soul Book 2)

by Ben Hale

  A Bloodsworn appeared and Lorica dispatched him with ease. Shadow told himself her comment was not serious and forced the idea aside. Then he accelerated to the end of the corridor, reaching it at the same time as the assassin.

  They slowed and came to a halt at a second great hall. More lavish than the first, it contained adornments fit for a king. A large fire crackled in a giant hearth, with gilded couches set around the fine stonework. Arches of stone reached to the peak of the chamber, the carvings suggesting they’d been made by dwarves.

  Tapestries and paintings lined the walls, some so ancient they were encased in aquaglass, the worn material depicting moments from the Dawn of Magic. Others showed the krey standing over kneeling men and women of all races.

  Twin staircases ascended to a balcony above, where Shadow spotted Relgor and Gendor. The heated argument brought a smile to Shadow’s lips, and he hoped he was the cause. He always liked infuriating a foe before their defeat. It made the victory so much sweeter.

  “There are no guards,” Lorica whispered.

  Shadow scanned the great hall and saw that her words were true. Not one Bloodsworn stood in the hall, in the doorways, or on the balcony. From the distant shouts, it seemed the Bloodsworn were still hunting for Shadow and Lorica, and dealing with all the traps he’d left behind. Lorica took a step forward but he put a hand on her shoulder, holding her in check.

  “We need to move,” she hissed. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Wait,” he said. “I want to hear their conversation.”

  She scowled, obviously reluctant to wait now that her foes stood within reach of her blade. But she inclined her head and the two leaned against the wall, listening to Relgor and Gendor argue.

  Although Shadow caught only snippets of conversation, he heard enough to understand what made Gendor angry. He wanted to ship Lorica away before she escaped, a wise tactic, considering they were already out of their cells. Of greater importance was Relgor’s response.

  “It won’t be long until Wylyn raises the tower. When our army arrives it won’t matter if the slaves are in a cage or free. They will all be taken.”

  A slight tremble came through the stones under Shadow’s feet, and he looked downward. As the cages got closer together their magics would react, and he guessed only fifteen minutes remained before the explosion. His thoughts turned to Light, and he hoped his fragment brother would escape.

  “Worried about Light?” Lorica asked.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “Good,” she said, nodding in approval. “It’s good to see you care. Now can we please kill Gendor?”

  He shrugged and then motioned into the room. She drew her sword and then stepped forward, leading them into the great hall. The two crossed half the space before Gendor spotted movement and his eyes widened in surprise.

  “How did you escape?”

  “I’m the fragment of Shadow,” he replied. “It’s kind of what I do.”

  “It’s true,” Lorica said.

  Her chuckle was tinged dark, her jaw set in a determined line. Her eyes were fixed on him, her knuckles white on the hilt of her sword, which she raised to point to the one who’d killed her sister.

  “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  “I won’t make that mistake again,” he snapped, and glanced to Relgor.

  The krey man regarded Shadow and Lorica as if seeing them for the first time. Shadow had seen that look before, on a soldier deciding if he should sell his prized bull or kill him because he refused to be obey.

  “I must say, I am disappointed. Serak assured me the cage would hold you. But it lasted less than a day. Your value is immeasurable, but only if I could bring you to market. And you said yourself, escaping is what you do.”

  “I also kill,” Shadow said, and looked meaningfully at the krey.

  Relgor sighed and waved his hand to Gendor. “As you desire. Kill the assassin.”

  Gendor’s eyes glowed in triumph and he stepped to the railing and drew his sword. Locking eyes with Lorica, he loosened the latch on his cloak—and it began to spread. Lorica sucked in a breath when the cloak swung outward, feathers appearing on the shimmering material as they became wings.

  “Do you like them?” he said. “I admit I was always envious of yours, but it took a lifetime to track down their creator. It’s too bad she won’t be able to make another set for you.”

  “Sentara,” Lorica’s voice trembled with anger. “Did you kill her?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Dropped her off the Giant’s Shelf. Even on her way down she talked to that orb of hers. She was truly mad. Gifted,” he ruffled the wings. “But mad.”

  Trembling with rage, Lorica began to stalk forward. She didn’t speak, and her wings flared wide. Gendor smirked and launched himself off the balcony but banked to the side and flew down a corridor. Lorica leapt into the air and flew in pursuit.

  “Have fun!” Shadow called, and then turned his gaze on Relgor. “I guess it’s just you and me, now.” He scanned the room again, but there were still no guards.

  “Tell me,” Relgor said. “Is there any price I could offer that you would accept?”

  Shadow cocked his head to the side and then nodded. “One.”

  “Do tell,” Relgor said, leaning forward.

  “Slit your own throat,” Shadow said. “Do that, and I give you my oath that I’ll let Wylyn sell me to whoever she wants.”

  “You go willingly . . . but I do not get to reap the benefits?” Relgor chuckled, the tone one of admiration. “Such a clever tactic. A pity. I think if the circumstances were different, you would relish all the Empire has to offer.”

  “Probably,” Shadow said. “Will you pay the price of my loyalty?”

  “I’m afraid your offer is too high,” Relgor said, touching his throat. “I do like my life, after all.”

  Shadow shrugged, his smile turning smug. “Either way, I get to watch you die. You really should have posted more guards.”

  “I don’t need them here,” Relgor said. “For Serak has his own protections, and I think he must have thought of you when he crafted this particular sentry.”

  Relgor didn’t move, but the balcony where he stood grew brighter, the light mounting to the point of blinding. Then a massive frame stalked into view. As tall as a horse and twice as long, the scaled reaver padded to Relgor’s side. Cast from pure light, the sentient was so bright that Shadow squinted, but he could not tear his gaze from the beast.

  Its jaws were long like a wolf’s, with hundreds of teeth visible. Its body was scaled, small fins extending from the powerful legs, granting the reaver speed when underwater. The long tail contained a barbed tip, the barbs flattening and straightening as it stepped up to the balcony and dropped to the floor. It rumbled a warning, its lips lifting into a chilling snarl.

  Shadow began to retreat from the sentry, glancing to Relgor in doubt. The reaver had obviously taken years to create, a little magic added every day, until the mind was finally finished, granting the sentient flesh a purpose.

  Relgor settled into a chair and picked up a glass. “I may not get to sell you, but at least I’ll get to watch your final battle.” Then he looked to the reaver. “Make certain I get to witness the kill—”

  The wall next to Shadow exploded, stones clattering onto the floor as Light tumbled into the room. His clothes were rent and torn, his hair in disarray. He rose to his feet and spotted the reaver of light, his eyes widening in delight. Without noticing either Shadow or Relgor, he strode to the reaver.

  “You shall do nicely,” he said.

  The reaver snarled, but the moment Light put his hand on the creature’s flank, it dropped to its knees, allowing Light to climb onto his back. Then Light rode his new mount back the way he’d come, the reaver blasting through the too-small opening before he disappeared. Light’s laughter echoed back.

  “Willow!” he shouted. “Look what I found!”

  Relgor’s features were fr
ozen in disbelief, and he looked between the broken wall and Shadow, his jaw working as if he wanted to speak, but words failed him. Shadow shrugged helplessly.

  “You should have had more guards.”

  Relgor’s shock faded to fear, and then he turned and fled. Shadow, a smile on his face, followed. Relgor was a man used to power, to control, and now he fled like a frightened rabbit. He was the best type of prey, and the hunt was on . . .

  Chapter 35: Wings of an Assassin

  Lorica flew down the corridor, banking through a tight turn and running along the wall, surging to catch up to Gendor. A Bloodsworn appeared and cried out in surprise, but she flew past before they could draw a blade.

  “Do you flee out of fear?” she taunted.

  Gendor swerved up a staircase, his momentum bleeding away as he turned up the turret. She did the same, folding her wings as she reached the top, and sprinted after Gendor’s fleeing form. She surged forward, closing the gap and swinging her sword.

  Gendor turned and parried the blow, their swords ringing in the corridor. She struck high and then low, driving to breach his defenses, but he knocked her sword wide and leaned into a kick. She sidestepped and struck him in the knee with her free hand. He stumbled back, rolling off the wall to avoid another strike.

  She followed the blow with her blade, but he switched his grip and blocked. They stood so close she could feel his breath on her face, and see the hatred burning in his eyes. They twisted and turned, each attempting to breach the other’s defenses, until Gendor leaned in and struck her face with his forehead.

  Stars exploded in her vision and she recoiled, instinctively darting back. The air whistled as Gendor’s lightning sword sliced in front of her stomach, cutting into her armor and drawing a shallow line into the skin.

  “The Angel of Death,” he wiped the blood off his lip. “A name you do not deserve. The people should not love an assassin.”

  “Do you even know how many innocents you’ve killed?” she asked.

  “Does it matter?” he shot back. “Everyone dies anyway.”

  She saw Zenif’s face and her blood boiled. “When you kill it leaves a scar,” she growled, attacking with such ferocity that he was forced to retreat. “Every life taken, every death, hurts everyone in their life. We don’t just kill, we leave a wake of carnage.”

  She lunged and then twisted, bringing her sword on his opposite flank. He narrowly blocked, but again was forced to retreat when she used her wings to strike a cabinet. He dived away when the cabinet crashed to the floor, scattering the displayed blades.

  “My sister understood that,” she spat. “She knew that the assassins choose targets for where they will do good, not harm. And what do you do? Kill the most honorable person you’ve ever known.”

  “Your sister was a fool,” he said.

  He flared his wings and jumped into the rafters, and she followed, leaping to the beams and dancing across them, maintaining the onslaught. Gendor sneered as he fought for an advantage, but her anger would not be bound.

  He scored several hits, but each was shallow, and the sting only drove her to greater lengths. As if realizing he needed space, Gendor turned to a window and dived into the night. Unwilling to let him escape, she leapt after.

  From a ledge just below the window, Gendor swung his sword, slashing across her leg as she soared by. She gritted her teeth to prevent a shout and spun, her wings flapping for altitude. Gendor, his wings also spread, stood on a tiny ledge, flicking the blade free of her blood.

  “You were always so impulsive,” he said coldly. “Without your sister, you would never have become an assassin, yet you think you deserve to be guildmaster.”

  “Has the ring opened for you?” she challenged.

  His lip curled into a sneer. “It opens with an act of honor, an antiquated requirement. It’s only a matter of time until I find a mage that can force it to obey my will.”

  She hovered above the center of the fortress, the mist creeping over the battlements. A sliver of a moon hung in the night, providing just enough light for her to make out the towers and battlements of Mistkeep.

  Windows glowed from the light within, and voices rang out. Punctuated with the sounds of battle, she had no idea if it was Shadow, Light, or Willow that was the cause. Stone cracked and smoke billowed out of a pair of windows on another turret. A body flew out of a nearby window and the man screamed as he fell.

  “Your Bloodsworn are dying,” she said.

  He walked along the ledge, eyeing her position as he twirled his dagger. “I admit you and the fragments are stronger than I anticipated. But you have no idea how powerful Serak is, and how much he has plotted. He and the krey are certain to win.”

  “If they do, you won’t be there to see it.”

  She’d gradually risen through the air, and now she dived forward, sacrificing height for speed. Gendor sprinted along the ledge and leapt away, his dive taking him into a courtyard steeped in mist.

  Lorica banked against the wall and kicked the stone before inverting her fall and dropping after him. Like a cauldron of smoke, the courtyard was filled with the greenish mist, and Gendor disappeared into its embrace. She pursued, the mist filling her vision as she followed the flapping of his wings.

  A flicker of motion came at her side and she wrapped herself in her cloak. Gendor burst into view, narrowly missing her as she fell. Unfurling her wings, she swept upward and followed, her sword cutting only mist.

  “This is my keep,” Gendor’s voice seemed to come from everywhere. “And you think you can defeat me here?”

  She flapped for altitude until she came above the mist. Battlements and turrets rose above her, while other sections of the castle blocked the horizon. No one was in sight, and she turned and twisted, scanning the mist for Gendor.

  A faint flapping was the only warning, and again she folded her wings, diving into the mist to avoid Gendor. His blade plunged into her shadow and he growled in dismay, before he too disappeared into the mist.

  “You cannot hide forever,” she called.

  “I’m not hiding,” his voice seemed to float upward, dark and sinister.

  The hair of her neck raised and she flapped again, soaring upward. A clanking of steel signaled another threat, and a pair of ballistae bolts exploded from the mist, trailing a wide net. She avoided the first but the second came inches from entrapping her wings. Then the mist filled with more, all rising to claim her.

  She bared her teeth as she swerved, fighting for the freedom of height. The clouds briefly cleared, and for a moment the moonlight pierced the mist, revealing the quartet of ballistae on the floor of the courtyard. Manned by Bloodsworn, the weapons were quickly reloaded and fired again, the view fading as clouds blocked the moon anew.

  “Come and get me,” Gendor’s voice taunted from the dark mist. “Or are you too—”

  A large shape plowed through the courtyard wall. Broken stones clattered across the war machines and their operators. Lorica blinked in surprise as the reaver of pure light streaked through the courtyard, its body knifing through the ballistae as if they were made of parchment. Evidently chasing a fleeing quarry, the reaver had a rider on his back that looked like Serak, but his peeling laughter indicated it was the fragment of Light.

  “Sorry!” he called back as he disappeared.

  The illumination from the reaver and the distraction were all Lorica needed, so she dived into the green mist. A pair of ballistae managed to fire but she veered past the volley and flared her wings, her speed taking her below the angle of the weapons. Spotting Gendor, she turned toward him and raised her blade.

  The assassin snarled in anger and spit toward the departing reaver, which blasted through another wall on its way back into the castle. His trap spoiled, Gendor flapped his wings and raced up the beam of a broken ballistae before launching himself skyward.

  Lorica realized the man had prepared the trap just for her, rightfully attempting to negate Lorica’s greater experience in the
air. But now he had no choice, and the two battled for dominance in the sky above the fortress.

  Both fought for altitude, attempting to use the height to gain the advantage. More in tune with her wings, she continued to ascend above, her blade cutting into his wings despite his efforts to keep her at bay.

  He curved wide, attempting to flank her, but she twirled in the air and knocked his dagger aside. Then she swooped in, again cutting his wings. The shining material became torn and ragged, each cut damaging his ability to fly.

  They tangled again, and although he cut her hand, she again sliced his cloak. She caught his wrist with her free hand and twisted, throwing him wide before slashing him across the chest, drawing blood. His wings flapped hard, struggling to hold him aloft.

  “Die at my blade,” she called, “or die on impact. I don’t care which.”

  Gendor scowled and went into a dive, attempting to return to Mistkeep before his wings gave out. She pursued him, and Mistkeep filled her vision, growing larger as they both plummeted from the sky.

  She angled her body, accelerating to catch his right wing. Flaring her wings, she slowed them both and flipped him onto his back. His sword came for her throat and she struck his hand, knocking the lightning blade from his hand, sending it spinning into the mist. He drew his dagger and slashed, but she parried with her sword and kicked him in the chest, slamming him into a roof.

  She’d slowed their fall but he landed hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs. She landed above him, using her speed to drive her sword through his cloak, pinning him to the roof. Fighting for breath, he swung his dagger, but she caught his wrist and put her boot on his hand. She pressed him against the roof and reached for the ring.

  But it was absent.

  “Where’s the Guildmaster’s ring?” she demanded.

  He held open his other hand. “Go and get it.”

  He released the ring and it tumbled down the slope, bouncing off the edge before falling free. Scowling at the choice, she leapt to the edge and dived, chasing the glittering object as it fell outside the fortress, towards the mist and the lake.