The Blade of Highwind: The Complete Trilogy, page 11
Despite all my time studying the Pale, I had never actually seen an army of walking corpses before—few in the Imperium had, given how harshly the Sovereign Council cracked down on any form of shadow magic. But I had heard the stories about the Winter Witch in Darenthi, the woman who had ripped open a fracture in the Pale and raised an army of fallen soldiers to defeat the Chol. I’d always wondered if the story had been exaggerated—it wouldn’t have been the first time that the Council or the Zarul had embellished certain details to make our enemies look like monsters.
But the sight before me was very real. There were easily thousands of animated corpses filling the cavern, all possessed by malefic demons of the Pale that had escaped the fracture in search of a host. Even in the darkness, they were plainly visible thanks to the orange pinpricks of light blazing in their rotten eye sockets. Every one of them was facing us, as if awaiting the word to march up to the surface. Individually, they were horrifying.
As a horde, they would be absolutely devastating.
A woman’s voice drifted up from below. “This…this is wrong.”
“No, it is necessary. You will understand soon, I promise.”
The voices pulled my attention down to the base of scaffolding directly below us. Two women stood in the long shadows, both with nearly identical local accents. The first was clad in black leather armor that nearly made her invisible, though the lower half of her face was cast in an eerie blue light thanks to a glowing vatari crystal necklace. I would have pegged her as a Senosi Huntress ever before I saw the crossbow clipped to her belt.
The woman next to her was even easier to identify. I instantly recognized her resplendent golden armor and matching spear from my divinations, though her face remained concealed in the darkness. She was the last of the Sanctori, Inquisitrix Marcella’s elite guards and champions.
“Sorcery has never been necessary,” the Huntress said in a low snarl. “This relic…these abominations…they spit on everything we’re fighting for!”
“Everything we fought for,” Veleca the Sanctori corrected. “The Crusade is over.”
“It doesn’t have to be—how many times must we argue this? The dragon is long gone. We can still rebuild!”
“No. This isn’t about the cause—it’s about revenge. It’s about honoring the memory of our fallen sisters by butchering everyone responsible for their deaths.”
I shared a look with Shayera. Her face had turned as hard as the bedrock surrounding us, and her knuckles had gone white on the grip of her sword. This was even worse than I had feared…
“You’ve gone mad,” the Huntress seethed. “You never should have listened to the enemy. Or used that…thing.”
Veleca raised her left hand, and I saw the unmistakable greenish glow of the Runic Focus in her palm. The relic was small, the size of a small stone tablet—and could have been mistaken for one if not for the massive shadow rune inscribed on one side. I still found it difficult to believe that something so simple, so seemingly innocuous, could unlock the power of an entire discipline of magic. Avetharri artifice often felt more like looking a thousand years into the future than several millennia into the past.
“It is merely a tool,” Veleca said, “and all tools serve a purpose.”
The Huntress shook her head vehemently. “It’s not just a tool—it’s a means of controlling you, don’t you see? The Crell never would have given it to you otherwise.”
My blood turned to ice. I couldn’t move or even breathe. I told myself that I must have misheard, and I almost believed it until I saw my shock mirrored on Shayera’s face.
“I wish you would trust me,” Veleca said, reaching out to touch the Huntress’s arm. “I promise you: the Crell will suffer, too. Like all sorcerers, their hubris will be their downfall.”
“How?”
“Because they believed that they could tease the viper yet avoid its fangs. They have no idea what’s coming for them…”
As she traced her finger across the shadow rune, her eyes began to glow, as did the tattoos on her wrists—not blue like Shayera’s or even green like normal Senosi, but a brilliant shade of violet unlike anything I had ever seen before.
The face it revealed was haunting. Veleca had the gaunt, leathery skin of a woman who looked far older than she should have, given the life-extending nature of Senosi markings. Without the pure energy of her Conduit to feed upon, it was almost like she was aging faster than a normal human…
“The future may not be ours, sister,” Veleca said bitterly. “But it will not be theirs, either.”
The Huntress remained silent for several seconds before she also touched the relic. Her own tattoos took on the same violet glow, as did her eyes. Her sunken face looked every bit as worn and weathered as Veleca’s.
“How much longer until we begin?”
“The preparations are nearly complete,” Veleca said. “The rest of our forces are already waiting.”
She whistled, and the sound of soft, booted footfalls approached from within the darkness. Shayera tensed beside me, her elven eyes able to pierce the shadows far deeper than mine. I couldn’t make out the newcomer until she moved into the violet nimbus surrounding the two Senosi…but once I did, my heart stopped.
This woman was markedly younger than the others, perhaps not even Shayera’s age. She wasn’t dressed like the Sanctori or the Huntress or even a Vorsalosian soldier, but her hardened red leather cuirass, matching pleated skirt, and the round, gold-rimmed shield slung across her back were instantly recognizable.
An amazon warrior from Nol Krovos.
“I eagerly await your command, mistress,” she said in a rich voice colored with an exotic accent I had never heard.
The Sanctori scoffed derisively as she held up the relic directly in front of the other woman. “Lead our forces to Tel Noroth,” Veleca ordered, rotating the glowing tablet in her fingers. “I want them in position by nightfall tomorrow.”
“It shall be done, mistress. Your enemies will rue the day they ever crossed you.”
Veleca scoffed again, the Huntress beside her openly scowling at the amazon. The girl’s brown hair was styled into a tight ponytail, and her tall, athletic frame looked coiled and ready to strike at any moment.
“Wretched creature,” the Huntress spat. “I cannot believe you’re willing to trust this…thing.”
The amazon smiled. It was so wide, so sinister, that it didn’t seem like it belonged on the face of an otherwise attractive young woman. “We share a common enemy. Soon we shall—”
The girl broke off. Her unsettling smile vanished, and her eyes began to dart around the dark cavern.
“What is it?” Veleca asked.
“We are not alone, mistress.”
My stomach clenched. We hadn’t moved at all, and there wasn’t any source of light nearby to reveal us—we should have been practically invisible. But then the amazon suddenly glanced up and stared right into my eyes as if she had no problem seeing me at all.
Shit.
Shayera’s hand clamped around my wrist and pulled me away with such force it nearly yanked my arm out of its socket. We bolted toward the passage behind us, stealth entirely forgotten. I was grateful that she didn’t seem eager to fight—the two of us obviously couldn’t take on an entire army of walking corpses, and my magic was useless against the Senosi. It could still help cover our escape, however, so I called a surge of power to my fingertips as I prepared to collapse everything behind us. Hopefully the scaffolding would delay pursuit long enough for us to escape.
It was then, just when we had entered the passage and began to ascend the stairs, that I heard a ferocious grunt and a rush of air behind us. I risked a quick glance back over my shoulder…and saw the amazon girl arc up through the darkness and land in a crouch barely ten yards behind us, shield drawn and dagger in hand.
I stumbled and nearly fell. It was impossible—no one could have jumped a hundred feet straight into the air, not even a Senosi who had just gorged herself on magic. And yet the amazon rose to her feet, the same sinister smile on her face as before.
“Go,” I snapped, pushing Shayera up the stairs and turning. “Run!”
The Aether crackled down my arm as I unleashed a scintillating violet burst of raw arcane energy. The missile spiraled through the air, but she hoisted up her shield to intercept it an instant before it struck her torso. The bulwark splintered around her forearm as the magic ripped apart the wood, but I didn’t wait to see if it wounded her. It was time to go.
Whirling back around, I sprinted up the steps as fast as I could after Shayera. I heard the amazon’s footfalls as she pursued, but it was so dark I couldn’t see if she was gaining ground. Terror clawed at my chest. We just needed to get out of this passage…
The instant I emerged into the pitch-black chapel, I whirled around and launched another arcane blast at the doorway behind me. Just before it struck, the bolt split into five smaller missiles, each smashing into a different part of the ceiling to weaken it. There was a chain of brilliant explosions, a low but rapidly rising rumble…and then the short hallway and the passage beyond it collapsed.
When the rock stopped shifting, I let out a relieved breath as I resummoned a globe of light into my palm. Shayera stood just beyond the altar, both swords at the ready.
“Come on,” I said, turning. “We need to get back to the city so we can—”
The plug of rubble blocking the doorway exploded right beside me. A chunk of stone came flying straight outward, glancing off my chest. Even the glancing impact had enough force to hurl me backward into the altar, splintering it around me. I wheezed for air that refused to come, my vision clouded by black spots and swirls of dust, praying that my ribs were only bruised rather than broken. Through the haze of pain, I watched as the amazon girl calmly strode through the remaining rubble.
How in Zarach’s name…?
I knew I didn’t have time to try and conjure an answer; her dark eyes were staring right at me. She had dropped her broken shield, but she smoothly drew the sword from her back and took a menacing step forward. I called out to the Aether in a desperate attempt to conjure a defensive barrier, but I couldn’t clear my head enough to shape the magic. The amazon raised her weapon and swung for my neck—
Only to be caught by the moonsilver blade of Shayera’s dueling saber.
I froze, eyes locked on the swords crossed mere inches in front of my face, knowing that the smallest twitch by either woman could slice open my throat. But then Shayera roared and slammed her shoulder into the amazon, knocking her away from me and the altar. The amazon stumbled but kept her footing, and her dark eyes lit up with recognition when Shayera positioned herself in front of me and raised both her sabers.
“Dal’Rethi,” the amazon sneered. She shifted to a double-handed grip on her imposing blade, which seemed like it should have been far too heavy to lift for any woman, even an athletic one. “But not real Dal’Rethi, merely a pretender. Delightful…”
She lunged. Shayera turned the thrust aside with one sword while slashing with the other, but the amazon was just as quick. She ducked and countered with a second thrust, which Shayera once again avoided. Their movements became a mesmerizing dance of death, as if the two of them were suddenly alone in a gladiator’s pit.
The amazon was a fearsome fighter. I had expected nothing less, given the reputation of the warrior-women of Nol Krovos. I was schooled enough in the art of combat to recognize the extraordinary natural talent on display, and it was clear that despite her young age, she had the skill and raw athleticism to match any warrior I had ever met.
It was equally clear that compared to Shayera, she was an apprentice picking a fight with a master.
The half-elf’s every step, every motion, was fluid and precise. I had yet to see Shayera fight with both blades at once, and the difference was almost unfathomable. She wasn’t merely a duelist—she was an unstoppable whirlwind, a living tempest of steel. Fighting with two blades—especially of the same length—sounded incredible in stories and looked fearsome on statues and paintings, but when a ten-year-old version of myself had demanded to learn how, my instructors had not-so-politely reminded me that it simply wasn’t practical. The combination of strength and coordination required was simply beyond most swordsmen. And even if the technique had been easy, it offered few tangible benefits over an off-hand dagger or shield or simply a larger weapon.
I had always been skeptical of their claims, especially when I read about the legends of the Dal’Rethi Blade Dancers. My people had copied so many traditions of the Avethian Empire in the hopes that the Imperium might one day rival its power, yet we cast aside tales of the Dal’Rethi as if they were children’s fables unworthy of consideration.
Here, now, Shayera Starwind proved all of them wrong. Each weapon acted independently yet remained a part of a greater whole. They effortlessly transitioned between offense and defense, between precision slashes and perfectly timed ripostes, as if she were two people in one. Her form and footwork back in the Bloody Boar had left me in awe, but it was only now, in this moment, that I realized how much she had been holding herself back.
This duel was over almost before it began. After evading several more of the amazon’s strikes—presumably to learn her opponent’s weakness—Shayera went in for the kill. While one sword carved into the amazon’s leg just beneath the straps of her skirt, spraying blood across the floor and prompting a shriek of pain, Shayera’s second saber slashed right across the other woman’s throat. The amazon girl choked, gurgled, and collapsed to her knees.
And then smiled.
“Good,” she rasped, even as blood bubbled out of her neck and cascaded over her breastplate. “Squirm for me, elf meat…”
Her voice was so dark, so chilling, that she didn’t even seem human. And when the gaping wound at her throat inexplicably sealed shut, I belatedly realized why.
She wasn’t.
The amazon—or rather, the demon possessing her body—vaulted to her feet with supernatural speed and slammed her shoulder into Shayera, mirroring the half-elf’s opening move. My companion flew across the chapel and tumbled over the only remaining pew, her swords flying from her grip and clattering upon the stone floor.
Move, Mirek. You have to move!
I rolled away from the altar and clawed back to my feet. My vision was still swimming with black spots, and the sudden movement made me nauseous as hell, but I knew that I only had seconds to save both of our lives. I opened myself to the Aether, allowing it to surge through my body and limbs despite the burning trail it left in its wake. My fingertips crackled, and I launched another bolt of arcane energy at the demon.
At this range, the spell should have disintegrated a steel breastplate, let alone flesh and leather. But while the missile easily burned a gaping hole through the amazon’s cuirass and the skin beneath, the demon had already strengthened its vessel. The hideous wound began to regenerate almost immediately.
Fuck.
Without the aid of a powerful enchanted weapon like a wraithblade, entrenched demons were exceedingly difficult to kill. I would have to pummel the monster’s vessel with barrage after barrage of energy…energy I was no longer able to muster. A fresh surge of pain shot through my body as the Flensing unleashed its wrath, leaving me staggered and utterly defenseless.
“Sorcerer,” the demon hissed. “The mistress will wish to feed on you herself.”
Paralyzed, I feared she was about to impale me, but she simply reared back and bashed my face with the pommel of her sword instead. I collapsed to the floor, my mouth filling with blood, and I nearly lost consciousness altogether.
But while I laid there in a daze, trying to muster the strength to pull myself back up, I heard Shayera scrambling to retrieve her weapons. I lifted my head just in time to see her leap back into the fray, her twin swords a blur of steel.
It wasn’t enough. With her necklace already drained, she couldn’t call upon her markings for aid, and her superior skill was simply no match for the demon’s unholy resilience. When Shayera slashed across the amazon’s now-exposed stomach, her blade tore open a wicked gash that should have spilled the other woman’s entrails upon the floor. Yet despite the spray of blood, the wound sealed almost as quickly as it opened, and the amazon retaliated with a sudden, brutal kick to the center of Shayera’s chest.
A loud snap echoed through the chapel as the blow cracked her ribs, and she dropped her swords and toppled onto her back. She wheezed in search of the breath that had been stolen from her lungs, and her hands clawed at the ground as if searching for her fallen blades. I reached out in desperation, fearing that the demon would simply kill her right then and there—
Instead, it dropped its sword and crawled on top of her.
“Elvish blood, yet not a trace of magic?” the demon said, a hand closing around Shayera’s throat as it straddled her, pinning her to the ground. “The mistress will be disappointed. You would have made such a delicious feast…”
Gritting my teeth against the pain shooting down my arms, I pulled myself into a crouch and reached out to the Aether again. It raked talons of white-hot agony through every inch of my body as I called it to my fingertips, but I had to do something, anything, even if it just bought Shayera a moment to flee. Arcane energy gathered at my fingertips, slowly building up for a strike with everything I could draw in…
“Perhaps I shall take a new vessel instead,” the demon said. “It has been an age since I…I…”
The demon’s eyes shot wide when Shayera’s markings suddenly flared to life. I had no idea why—she hadn’t absorbed any magic—but the transformation in the amazon’s facial expression could not have been more striking. A heartbeat ago, there had been nothing but cold malice, but now…
Now I saw fear.
“Impossible,” it hissed. “The Dal’Rethi are…”
The amazon blinked, and her grip around Shayera’s throat visibly relaxed. Her breath turned unsteady, and she jerked and glanced around the room as if she had no idea where she was.
