The Living Sword 3: The Burden of Legacy

by Pemry Janes

  “If they are after demon hearts,” Eurik said, “that raises the question of why.”

  “Nothing good, which is enough of an answer for us. We need to talk to Captain Slyvair.”

  She didn’t wait for his reply before plunging back into the crowds of Chappenuioc, leaving Eurik with no other choice but to hurry to catch up.

  ***

  Leraine knew she’d failed. She knew how dangerous those things were, but she’d been too drunk on victory, on survival, to care what happened to those demon hearts. She’d heard they’d been secured and that had been good enough for her. She’d trusted the horse people of Glinfell not to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors.

  As it turned out, she couldn’t even trust her own people to learn from their past. All around her she could see the tension, the cracks, and the fraying of the Great Truce.

  Now, she had to wait as Captain Slyvair fought well against an Elk warrior of middling skill. He pressed the sun-man, overcommitted, and Captain Slyvair took advantage. A sidestep, a well-placed slash into the back of the knee followed by a hard stab in the back.

  A softer touch would have counted for the point, too, but this way his opponent would be hampered by the pain. A small advantage, but of such small bricks victory could be built.

  Not that victory was assured. Not until the Elk lost his head and threw caution to the wind. He tried to substitute aggression for skill and paid the full price for it. Not long after, Captain Slyvair descended the steps and met them.

  “Don’t take this wrong, Silver Fang, but I’d hoped to face something better than that.”

  “Yes. But a win is a win. I’m sure you’ll face a greater challenge in your next fight.”

  “But we’re not here to congratulate you,” Rock said. “I mean, not just that.”

  The sun-man’s eyes narrowed. “Then what is this about?”

  “Not here,” Leraine said. They spoke Linesan and there was no telling who of the people around her could understand it as well. And a poor grasp of the tongue could be even worse. “This is a delicate topic.”

  She looked around. “Where is Perun?”

  “With Misthell,” Rock said. “Slyvair told Perun to guard him.”

  “I did not think it wise for him to be alone right now. No offense meant, but something is growing between your people.”

  “You . . . are not wrong. Come, we can talk more freely elsewhere.”

  Captain Slyvair followed her to the Outer Ring, up the stairs, and into a narrow alley between two feasting halls. They’d still need to keep their voices low; the walls here were thin and they could hear drunken revelers shouting over the music. If one drew away to take a piss, she might overhear them.

  The sun-man crossed his arms, his metal one covering the other. “Now, what is this about, exactly? Another revelation?”

  “Of a sort. Is it true the Glinfellers only recovered two demon hearts?”

  “Yes.” Captain Slyvair turned his head a tad to the right. “Why do you say only two?”

  Leraine closed her eyes. “I saw three after the demon died.” Mother would not have made that mistake.

  “You were injured, you suffered a bad blow to the head. Humans don’t recover so quickly.”

  “I know what I saw. But the reason that’s important is that I think the murderer stalking Chappenuioc is after them as well. It killed Tense Coil among a trove of demonic remains, and I found a heart right next to the body.”

  Captain Slyvair scratched his chin with a gleaming claw. “I don’t know if it’s connected, but with what’s going on here . . . Guild Master Haversen died that day. Not during the battle. They found him hanged in his bed chamber. The rest of his household had been slain. There was a confession with him in which he took responsibility for the state of the city’s armory and granaries.”

  “Do they know who did it?”

  Both her and Captain Slyvair looked at Rock. “Let me,” she said when the sun-man opened his mouth. “Rock, he did it. He killed his family, then hanged himself. At least, that’s what it was supposed to look like.” Leraine returned her attention to Captain Slyvair. That way she didn’t have to see more of her friend’s expression. “You think it’s this same murderer?”

  Captain Slyvair shrugged. “Possible. If you are right about the interest in demon hearts. And that third heart.”

  She let out a breath. “I’m not sure. I thought the killings here served a goal. But what you described, killing the entire family is excessive. Especially for someone that can impersonate people.”

  “Excessive or thorough.”

  “And he despises humans,” Rock added.

  Captain Slyvair nodded. “If this . . . impersonator enjoys killing. Then he’d indulge himself whenever he has an excuse. Though what is his excuse here?”

  “That is the other reason I wished to speak with you. If its goal is getting demon hearts, then—”

  “Bait,” Captain Slyvair said, giving her a toothy smile.

  “Yes. We let it believe it has succeeded in drawing away the guardians. Best way to do that is to actually have the guardians leave.”

  “And have some who aren’t guards and so should be able to escape his notice close the trap instead. But we’d have to get inside your holiest of holy places for that. Will your holy men and women allow that?”

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  A laugh bubbled up from deep within Captain Slyvair’s chest. “I look forward to seeing the clash. And the fight, should you prevail.”

  Leraine drew herself up. “Then I have your assistance?”

  Captain Slyvair’s mirth receded and he thumped his chest with his flesh fist. “I will stand with you. My axe will fell your enemy.”

  Chapter 24

  Baited

  “This was not necessary,” Sharp Prong said, eyeing Eurik and Slyvair.

  “I disagree.” Bitten Fin shifted his position. He sat on the only chair in the stuffy room.

  Light filtered through little gaps and seams in the wooden structure, reflecting off the gold and silver to turn total darkness into concealing gloom. The scent of oil mixed with the sharper smell of a glowing slow match.

  “This is the best plan to end this now,” Bitten Fin said. “And if it doesn’t work, there should be no harm. At least the increased presence of our guards in the Outer Ring and quarters will ensure the peace there.”

  “But why let outsiders into the inner sanctum? We could have handled this ourselves.” Sharp Prong rolled her vipaen in the palm of her left hand with her right. She kept her voice down to a hushed whisper. They all did. And fell silent with every loud creak or thump.

  “And risk alerting our quarry? Even if we restricted this party to shamans alone, there’s too great a chance the killer would learn of this trap. He’s impersonated one shaman already.”

  “You would have done this without me?” She made a cutting motion with her bronze rod. “You’d rely totally on these . . . three?”

  “We will not let you down,” Silver Fang said. “And I assure you that both Captain Slyvair and Rock are honorable warriors. But, Bitten Fin, are you sure about keeping some of the guardians at their posts? It may decide to kill them rather than go around them.”

  Bitten Fin let out a long sigh. “It can’t be helped. It would look far too suspicious if nobody guarded the inner sanctum. I’ve set it up so that there are plenty of gaps in the coverage. I made them so obvious I got complaints about that. We have to hope the temptation will prove too much for the killer.”

  Silence fell once again in the room. They weren’t right next to what they believed the murderer’s goal to be, but instead held a post closer to the stairs. They’d been waiting for some time now, and the tension ratcheted up at each false alarm. The person coming down the stairs stopped at the level above, that plank groaning was the wind.

  Eurik’s eyes were half-closed as he stirred the air with his fingers. Wind c
hiri drifted through the cluttered chamber, allowing him to perceive where everybody and everything was. The practice helped keep his mind occupied, but it couldn’t keep him distracted.

  Slyvair squatted nearby, inspecting the axe he’d been lent. A crescent blade set directly onto the handle. The other side had a wooden block carved into the rough shape of a ram’s head. He didn’t join the discussion, hadn’t said a word since they settled down to wait.

  “We will see,” Sharp Prong said. “But I warn you, Bitten Fin. If this does not work, if these outsiders take but a pebble from the inner sanctum, you will find yourself replaced and I will call for a harsh punishment. There are limits to your airhophir.”

  Eurik perked up. “I’m not familiar with that word.”

  The shaman sniffed, then continued speaking to Bitten Fin as if Eurik had said nothing. “Heed my words.”

  “I am fully aware of the task assigned to me and what I have to do. You should be glad that I let you come along,” Bitten Fin said.

  “Let me? I thought you at least wise enough to know you could not have stopped me.” She stopped fiddling with her vipaen. “And you’re the one who volunteered—”

  Someone came down the stairs and they all fell silent once more. But this time, it didn’t stop. The person came down all the way to the ground floor. It was harder to hear them walk over the stone. Flint struck steel and fresh light slipped underneath the door.

  “Wait.” Bitten Fin’s voice was soft, Eurik only heard it because he strained to catch any sound right now.

  Eurik drew a bit more wind toward himself, maybe catch some hint of who had come down here. It carried the scent of oil, the click of a sword in its scabbard swinging about. Is this the killer? He’d have to be impersonating a guard, then. They are the only ones who could walk around with a sword without rousing suspicion.

  It would be a good choice with all the guards moving about. Every time the schedule had changed back on the island, there had been confusion as well. And that had been with a small group, not dealing with thousands of angry people and a string of murders.

  He considered letting them know his suspicion, but the light was shifting; the new arrival was on the move. The light spilling in grew stronger; nobody in the room dared to move, and the tension only jumped when that person stopped.

  Did he notice something?

  Maybe not, because he started moving again. He spoke to himself. Was he counting? At three he stopped, so did the light for a moment before it flickered and steadied. A door screamed like a cat losing a fight, the hint that he was going for the right room.

  That had been Sharp Prong’s work, though Eurik didn’t quite understand the mechanisms behind it. He hadn’t sensed anything different in the metal when he’d brushed against one, yet now they behaved as if they hadn’t seen a drop of oil or use in years.

  “Wait,” Bitten Fin repeated. “We need to be sure what it’s after.” He pushed himself off his chair.

  “Oh no, you stay here,” Sharp Prong said. “You are not a young hunter anymore. Leave the capture to us.”

  He hissed between clenched teeth. “I’m not that weak.” A muscle in his cheek vibrated as he put more weight on his left leg. “But very well, you can take the lead. Now, let’s go.” He picked up the slow match and their own oil lamp, but did not light it.

  Their door opened quietly, Silver Fang in the lead with Sharp Prong right behind. Both Eurik and Slyvair waited a moment longer. Eurik knew he couldn’t match his friend’s ability to move without making a sound and Slyvair must have felt the same. Bitten Fin had more confidence and was two steps behind them, after which Eurik and Slyvair followed.

  His heart thumped in his chest. Deep shadows hid much of the floor and it only took one coin or bowl getting underfoot to alert the murderer. That, it turned out, wasn’t the problem. Light spilled out from the open door, casting shadows on the walls and banners hanging here and there. But that light was moving back to the door.

  He emerged just before Silver Fang and Sharp Prong could reach the door themselves. He wore the armor of a guard, sword and club worn on his belt while he held up an oil lamp with his left hand. The murderer stopped, surprise so clearly written on his face that even Eurik couldn’t miss it.

  “Shaman, what—”

  “Save it,” Bitten Fin said, lighting his own lamp. “You’re not fooling us.” He stepped forward, passing in between Sharp Prong and Silver Fang.

  “Bitten Fin, stay back,” the former said, but he dodged her touch and got even closer to the murderer. He was ignoring their plan.

  “I only want to know—phracto’s got a heart!” Bitten Fin leaped at the thief, knocking him back. The thief’s head bounced off the solid doorpost and both oil lamps shattered against the wall next to them. Flaming oil covered the wall, dripping down even as the dry wood caught fire.

  Bitten Fin gave the hungry fire one look. “Alert everybody! We have to put out that fire!”

  Silver Fang and Slyvair ran for the stairs, Eurik stopping after the first step as he thought better. “I can slow it down.” Maybe.

  Sharp Prong shook her head. “I’m not leaving you alone with this thing.”

  “Fine.” Bitten Fin hauled himself and the impostor away from the growing fire. It was hungry and hopped from the wall to the nearest banner hanging from the ceiling. There was plenty of light now, reflected by the heaps of gold, silver, bronze, copper, and iron objects; anything not encrusted by rust.

  Whirling his arms over his head, Eurik drew the wind toward him and away from the fire. In some ways, fire was almost alive. It could starve, for it needed food; it could freeze, for it needed warmth; it could suffocate, for it needed to breathe.

  Anywhere else, he would have opted for smothering it with sand or stone. But that was not an option here, so he would have to draw the air away instead. Prevent fresh air from reaching the fire and let it smother itself with its own exhalations.

  This would have been so much easier if I’d followed the Path of the Sun.

  A useless thought. There was a reason for the order of Ways. Each person was different. Came to understanding in a different manner. His would end with fire. If he would but live a century more.

  The flames surged, crawling toward the ceiling and the ashes of the first banner drifted to the floor.

  If fire doesn’t end me first.

  But his idea worked. The flames diminished as a dome of smoke enveloped the wall. That smoke swirled along with the whirling wind. Eurik felt sweat drip down his back as he struggled to keep the two separate. But it was working.

  A commotion to his right put a crack in his concentration. Sharp Prong staggered, clutching her side. She’d toppled a pile of bronze armor gone green with age. Blood seeped through her fingers. The impostor already lay on the ground with his throat cut, and Bitten Fin drew a bloody knife back for a throw.

  Time flowed differently when wind chiri quickened your senses and let your thoughts fly fast like the wind. Why has he betrayed us? No. The killer. Here comes the knife. Stop it? Sharp Prong is alive. Knife halfway. Can’t switch, no time. Don’t forget about the fire. Catch!

  His right arm dipped and plucked the knife out of the air. It was of simple construction with a blade shorter than his hand and an undecorated wooden handle. His whole body spun around. Eurik couldn’t stop for a moment or he’d lose a hold of the winds and the fire would roar back to life. He just had to buy some more time. And while he’d never practiced it, Silver Fang and the killer certainly made it look easy. So he threw the knife right back.

  Boosted by the wind, it whirled through the air in a blur, only to bounce flat off the murderer’s chest. He caught it before it hit the floor and charged Eurik. In a blink or two, the false Bitten Fin was on him, slashing with the knife, punching, kicking.

  Eurik dodged, the wind letting him keep pace with his assailant. But he didn’t just dance with the murderer, the fire still lived. A palm thrus
t to the murderer’s shoulder only rocked him back a little, a kick blocked instead of deflected left Eurik’s leg numb. Dance of the Whirlwind wasn’t cutting it against the false Bitten Fin, but if he tried using his reserve of earth chiri he’d lose control of the fire.

  End this. Now.

  Taking a chance, Eurik steered the racing winds away from the fire and into his opponent. It picked him up and threw him across the room, but in the moment that he extended his arms the murderer sliced a fiery line across his left arm.

  Heat belched forth; unbreathable air punched Eurik in the face and sent him staggering. He lost his grasp on the winds and the fire came back. Not so fast—it had charred much of the wall—but it hadn’t been starved fully.

  Backing away, he set himself to try and fight the fire once more. But Eurik caught movement from out of the corner of his eye, Sharp Prong stirred; she was still alive. A moment of hesitation, then he hastened over to crouch besides her.

  He laid a hand on her face and sent his senses out. Wasn’t easy, since the human body was a mix of chiri and water dominated. But blood held a sprinkling of earth, and bones were a steady framework to guide his search.

  The knife had gone through arteries and had hit the lung. Blood wasn’t just leaking out, it was flowing into that lung. There was a . . . bubbling quality to Sharp Prong’s breathing. But he could fix this.

  Eurik hadn’t considered he’d be using them for this, but it should work. He focused inward—on the three heavy stone pills sitting in his stomach—and pulled the earth chiri out of one of them. He guided the energy into the shaman’s body.

  There wasn’t enough to simply strengthen everything, he had to be more targeted than that. Half went to promote the production of blood, to replenish what had been lost. The rest Eurik used to take hold of the blood that had gotten into the lung and everywhere else it wasn’t supposed to be and pull it back. Not all the way back into the arteries. Instead, he compressed and hardened the spilled blood to plug the holes.