Immortal Swordslinger 3

by Dante King

  The clang of weapons colliding filled the room until it made my ears ring. I launched a frantic attack from the right to batter down his defenses, but he twisted the whole fight around and brought the shaft of his weapon around between my legs, almost tripping me over.

  Being able to attack from two directions at once gave me an edge, and I managed to get in a couple of good shots, one against his arm and the other against his leg. But the armor there protected him, and my attacks bounced off.

  Then, Targin got lucky. A section of fallen tapestry slipped away beneath my foot, and I slid down to one knee. Thrown off balance, I wasn’t able to block his next attack. His club hit me in the shoulder, and my armor shattered, sending chunks of ice flying.

  I knocked his club aside and pushed back up to my feet. He had a way through my armor. I needed a way through his, and I thought I had one.

  With a deep breath, I called forth all the Vigor I could and channeled it into the Sundered Heart Sword. Fire flared from the blade, brighter than I’d ever seen it before. Just the flash of the flame was enough to distract Targin, and I lunged with the Depthless Dream. He moved to counter it a little too slowly, while I swung in with the Sundered Heart from the other side.

  The blazing hot blade hit the armor on Targin’s left arm. There was an angry hiss as the heat melted through the steel. Chunks of armor fell away, revealing his bare arm.

  Targin roared in fury and brought his club around in a wild arc. I stepped nimbly around it and brought the Sundered Heart in again. This time, I cut away a chunk of leg armor. The next stroke left his belly exposed as pieces of red-hot metal fell to the ground, followed by molten drops.

  At last, my opponent was exposed—the man who had ruined this land, who had threatened my friends, who had killed Choshi. I was going to make the fucker pay.

  I parried a low swing from his club, knocked it aside, and stabbed with the Depthless Dream.

  But the trident hit Targin’s belly with a clang. Instead of driving deep into his flesh, it had met resistance.

  I drew the weapon back and saw that Targin’s skin had turned black as night. It was the same on the exposed flesh of his arm and leg, though his face remained flesh.

  “Stoneskin technique,” Targin said, grinning smugly. “A special variation the cult has developed. But I doubt you even have the basic technique yet.”

  I slammed the trident in again, and then the sword. Vigor poured down both as I used their magic to try to break through Targin’s technique. But my weapons bounced off the Stoneskin without leaving so much as a scratch.

  Targin took a step back, laughing maniacally. I flung myself forward, determined to tear him in half. But Targin raised his hands, and a Sandstorm grabbed hold of me and lifted me up. I had just enough time to press an arm across my face before it flung me against the ceiling. The floorboards gave way, and I burst through, then crashed down in a rain of sand on the next floor up.

  This dusty room had once been used for storage. There were shelves all around the walls, with the dried-up husks of old food on them. Boxes were piled in one corner and amphorae in another. I had landed on a heap of disintegrating sheets, blankets, and furs.

  Targin appeared up a set of stairs in the far corner of the room. He had let his obsidian Stoneskin lapse, again revealing bare flesh between his ruined armor and torn clothes. Given that I was still fighting, that had to mean that the technique used up a lot of Vigor to maintain, and Targin was saving it for later. That was something, at least, an opportunity I might find a chance to exploit.

  “I always knew I could do more with this land than Ganyir,” Targin said as he stalked toward me. “He simply wanted to maintain the status quo, to keep us what we have become: second-rate servants to a distant emperor, the forgotten remnants of a clan whose legions once made the world tremble. But I was sure that we could be something more. We could be the province that the world revolves around, the powerhouse at the heart of an empire. And now, thanks to you, that’s going to happen.”

  I dragged myself to my feet and raised my weapons. Targin kept advancing, slowly but certainly, betraying his complete confidence in the outcome of our fight.

  “I’m going to destroy the pathetic Swordslinger and take your spirit weapons. With their power, and with the Granite Legions revived, I will stride forth across this empire, the all-powerful head of a mighty army. I will conquer every province on the continent and make the world remember why they once feared and respected the mighty Gonki.”

  I rolled my eyes at the all-too-familiar speech. “You’re insane. Puffed up with delusions of grandeur.”

  “You call this a delusion?” Targin flung out his hand, and another Sandstorm raged momentarily around us, then vanished as suddenly as it had arrived. “I am already the Lord of the Gonki. The power of the Earth Core flows through me and my followers. This is true grandeur, such as the world can only imagine.”

  “Do you really think that Saruqin is going to let you have your way? That after going to all this effort to make a safe space for his cult, he’s going to let you blow it on dreams of conquest? He’s already made one false clan lord, he can easily make another. The moment you step out of line, he’ll cast you aside, just like you cast aside your brother.”

  “You know nothing!” Targin bellowed furiously. “This world will be mine!”

  He charged at me, swinging wildly with his club. I whirled aside, and it shattered a set of shelves.

  I backed off across the room, weapons raised. Targin whirled around, snarled, and rushed at me once more. I sent an Ash Cloud around his head, followed by an acrid-smelling Acidic Cloud. He dispelled both with a roaring Sandstorm, the flecks of sand carrying away my techniques as if they were nothing.

  I launched a Plank Pillar that shot up beneath one of Targin’s feet and caused him to stumble. Another came at him from the side, and though he smashed it with his club, the impact still sent him reeling.

  I slashed at his armor with the flaming Sundered Heart Sword and sliced away still more of the protective plates. Wherever the flesh was exposed, I stabbed with the freezing prongs of the Depthless Dream. But his flesh became obsidian again, and my weapons slid off. I was leaving scratches and nicks, starting to wear away at him, but none of it was working as a killing tool.

  Targin roared and released a Sandstorm burst that tore at what remained of my Frozen Armor. He charged at me, club swinging. His attacks were becoming ever heavier and crazier as he tried to smash me to a pulp. I kept dodging and weaving out of the way, but despite his chaotic approach, some of them came perilously close to leaving me as a red smear across the walls.

  Each time he missed me, he instead hit a shelf, a wall, or a pile of crates. Splinters flew as the upstart lord turned the abandoned home into a ruin. He became red-faced and sweaty with exertion as he destroyed what should have been part of his realm.

  If I couldn’t slice or stab him, perhaps there was another way. I channeled the power of acid, but instead of making a cloud, I focused the energy until it was no larger than a tennis ball. I shot the glowing green sphere toward Targin, and it splattered over his face before he could use a Sandstorm to dispel it. His skin blistered and peeled as the acidic substance broiled his face.

  Targin gritted his teeth and let out an anguished growl. His face went black as he channeled Stoneskin once more, turning his head into a strange sculpture of corrupted obsidian. It was only there for a second before it withdrew, but his technique had rid his face of my concentrated acid.

  He charged at me again, swinging his club with wild abandon. Just as I’d done before, I ducked and weaved out of the way of the blows, concentrating on keeping myself alive while my opponent wore himself out. Whenever I had the chance, I darted in to hit a weak point in his armor and cut a bit more of it away, or lunged at a section of exposed flesh, forcing him to use up Vigor on a section of Stoneskin. He battered away relentlessly, destroying the room around us, and nothing I did seemed to cause him the least pain
or distraction. He had become berserk, his whole being consumed with the desire to destroy.

  There was only so much space in the room to work with. I found myself backed into a corner with Targin’s club still swinging wildly in front of me. As he brought it up for another blow, I jabbed with the Depthless Dream and caught the hilt of his weapon between the trident’s prongs. Before Targin could pull free, I sliced with the Sundered Heart. Metal melted, and wood burned as the flaming sword flashed through, and Targin was left holding two halves of a broken club.

  Cursing, Targin flung the pieces aside. He raised his hands and channeled the power of Stoneskin once more, turning his fists into obsidian weapons.

  He punched me, double-fisted, in the chest. It was like being hit by a MAC truck. The force of the blow shattered my Frozen Armor and flung me back, not just into the wooden wall of the pagoda but through it, finishing off planks already weakened by Targin’s furious attacks. The world rushed past in a mass of splinters, and I hit the ground, landing on something softer than expected.

  I groaned, rolled over, and looked at where I’d landed. A fat Hyng’ohr soldier lay on the ground, knocked flat by my arrival. He seemed to be out cold.

  I shook my head as I tried to rid myself of a wave of dizziness and nausea. When I looked up, Targin was standing in the gap he’d created with my body, staring down. A mad gleam flashed in his eyes as he raised his obsidian fists and jumped into the air.

  The upstart Lord of the Gonki hurtled toward me. I flung myself clear, and he hit the ground, fists down. A massive Ground Strike ran out from him in every direction, flinging all the combatants in the area from their feet. The pagoda trembled as the shock wave hit, then creaked alarmingly. The upright post at one corner splintered, and the building came crashing down.

  Targin bared his teeth and stared at me, spittle flecking his lips. He raised his fists again.

  Short on Vigor, I called upon the element that was strongest around me, hoping that would give me enough of a boost to be effective. The air became a whirling fury as I flung a Sandstorm at Targin. It knocked him from his feet, and he fell flat in the sand.

  This was it, the chance I so desperately needed. My whole body trembled, and my nerves tingled with pain as I squeezed the last of the Vigor from me. As Targin started to rise, the sand beneath him became a pool of Mud Entrapment. His legs sank into it, first ankle deep, then knee deep, as I pulled the effect of the technique into a single, focused point beneath him.

  Targin cursed and tried to pull his right leg free. All that did was put more pressure on his left leg, which sank deeper into the ooze.

  I got to my feet and walked unsteadily over to him, sword in hand. The fire had died from the blade, and now, it was just cold, sharp steel. Sometimes, cold, sharp steel was all you needed.

  I thought about all the people Targin had hurt, about those who had died at his hands or his orders. I thought about Choshi, lying sprawled on the sand, her head caved in. I shook with fury as I raised my blade.

  No, Targin wasn’t mine to kill. Ganyir was a broken man because of what his brother had done, and maybe executing him would heal the wounds of his past.

  “Surrender,” I said as I pointed the Sundered Heart at Targin’s neck. “You’re beaten. But you have to atone for what you’ve done, and it’s not my place to mete out justice. If you keep resisting, you’ll force my hand.”

  Targin looked up at me, and I saw sadness there. The mad fury that had overcome him seemed to fade.

  Then, he looked out across the village to where Ganyir was fighting the remnants of the corrupted clan soldiers. His lips peeled back in a blood-flecked snarl, and he raised his fists for another Ground Strike.

  “I will never surrender!” Targin roared.

  “So be it,” I said.

  I slid the blade forward, straight through Targin’s throat. Blood pattered down into the mud, then flowed freely as I pulled the sword out. He bent at the waist and slumped face-forward in the sand, his legs still trapped in the quagmire around him.

  Tahlis appeared out of the ground next to me. His blind eyes gazed into the distance as he sniffed the air, then ran a probing hand across the lord’s corpse.

  “Not a dignified way for a would-be-lord to go,” he said. “But then, death is seldom dignified.”

  Across the battleground, the last of the corrupted clan troops fell, his shoulder shattered by a punch from Lord Ganyir. We had beaten the army sent against us and taken out the pretender to the lordship.

  But at what cost?

  Exhausted as I was, I couldn’t rest yet. I had to check how the initiates were doing. By accepting a role in their training, I had become responsible for bringing them to this point. I needed to make sure that they were all right.

  I walked back toward where the fighting had started. Choshi’s body lay where she had fallen. I rolled her over and brushed the dirt from her cheek. Freckles stood out against skin that had turned deathly pale. Her eyes stared vacantly into the distance.

  I closed her eyes. “You deserved better than this. I’ll make sure that your sacrifice is remembered.”

  None of the other initiates were nearby. Perhaps they hadn’t realized that she was missing yet. This was their first real battle, and it would be easy to get lost in the jubilation of victory. But though I didn’t want to deprive them of that joy, they needed to know the truth about their friend.

  I walked back toward where the battle had started. The bodies were more frequent here, Hyng’ohr soldiers and Augmenters scattered across the ground. The city had taken one hell of a beating fighting on the side of the Unswerving Shadows. I only hoped that those who had died were committed to the cause, not ordinary soldiers sucked in by civic duty. Still, in matters of war, everyone who fought on the other side was an enemy.

  Across the bloodstained ground, I spotted Drek and Onvar. With a heavy heart, I hurried over to them.

  “I have bad—” I began, but the words died in my mouth when I saw the looks on their faces. They were mourning already, their expressions drawn down by grief. Following their gazes, I saw why.

  Elorinelle sat in a pool of blood, her bow abandoned beside her. Her hair fell past her pointed ears and dangled across her face, but I didn’t need to see her eyes to know that she was crying. Her whole body shook with terrible sobs.

  Fig lay on the ground, his head in Elorinelle’s lap. His chest was smashed in, bloody ribs protruding through his robes. One arm lay crushed and limp, while his other hand was tangled in Elorinelle’s hair.

  “Gonna… miss… you…” he gasped, blood flecking his pale lips. Then, his eyes went dull and his hand flopped to the ground.

  I knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. The power of sap had given me healing magic. If there was some life left in him, then perhaps I could keep him alive long enough for Kumi to find some water, to bring on the real healing, to save us all from greater grief.

  But it was too late.

  “Swordslinger!” Tahlis called out.

  I ignored him. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be as important as respecting the fallen and seeing my students through this difficult time.

  “Swordslinger.” Tahlis grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me to face him. “I need you now.”

  “But Fig—”

  “The living need you still.”

  He dragged me to the shade beside one of the houses. Zedal sat slumped against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. One was bloody and twisted.

  “You have healing magic, don’t you?” Tahlis said.

  “Yes,” I replied. “But I’m out of Vigor.”

  I drew a knife and cut away the clothing around the injured leg. Zedal gasped at every movement, but she didn’t scream or cry. As in all things, she was determined to master herself here.

  What lay exposed was a terrible mess. Her bones had been fractured from the knee down by a series of mace strikes. Fragments of bone had shredded skin and muscle. Now, blood was streaming out. Tahlis
had done his best to stop the bleeding with a tourniquet, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Kumi!” I shouted. “Quickly!”

  She ran over and knelt beside me, peering at the wound. After a moment’s scrutiny, she looked up.

  “Deepest regrets,” she said to Zedal. “We don’t have enough water for me to heal this properly here and now. We can’t seal the wound while keeping your leg, but if we don’t seal it, then you might not make it back to help alive.”

  Zedal closed her eyes. Her forked tongue flicked out to taste the air.

  “Lose the leg,” she said. “It’s no good to me dead.”

  Kumi took my knife. “I’ll do this as quickly and cleanly as I can. Then, I’ll use my water magic to safely seal the stump. Ethan, I need you to hold her still while I cut.” She looked at me and shook her head. “On second thoughts, you look shattered. Tahlis, you hold her. Ethan, go rest.”

  I didn’t resist the order. The battle had exhausted me physically and magically. Now, the aftermath had battered me emotionally. I was shaking for a dozen different reasons. Rest was most definitely needed.

  I walked away from the hasty surgery and found a different shady spot to sit in. I looked out across the broken pagoda and Targin’s body. I thought back to when I’d first seen him, arguing with Mahrai on a rooftop not an hour before. Ours had been a brief but brutal acquaintance.

  Now that I had time to consider it, that rooftop argument took on a new significance. Mahrai had said that she fought only for herself, not for the cause of Targin or the Unswerving Shadows. If that was the case, then maybe she could be drawn away from their side. Perhaps we could save ourselves the effort of fighting her and her golem again, and, in the process, save her from the darkness she had been drawn into. She wasn’t fully corrupt, like so many in Hyng’ohr, and that meant there was hope for her. Her actions showed it as loudly as her words. If she had wanted to walk the Straight Path, she would have stuck around and tried to kill me, as her comrades had done. But she had gotten out of the fray before it even started.