Bladedancer (The Sword Saint Series Book 4)

by Michael Wallace

  Miklos lifted his huge falchion for a single, punishing strike, while Katalinka came up behind him with her blades flashing, and Sarika darted in on the other side. It only took moments to cut the commander to pieces. They whirled about and hacked off the arms of a second. The others scattered in a panic, including the slave demons, who threw down their buckets and ran screeching.

  Unfortunately for the demons, the scalding cloud that had escorted them up the road had dispersed along with the dying crows and failing rock bombardment, and the demons cooled and slowed as they ran. The temple warriors chased after them, slicing and stabbing from behind. It was a slaughter.

  The companions finally stopped, gasping, about three hundred feet back down the canyon from where the battle had started. A trail of dead and dying enemies littered the road behind them. Katalinka sheathed her swords and bent over, clutching her shirt where it tucked through her belt. Sweat poured down her temples. Yet as exhausted as the flight and subsequent battle had left her, she couldn’t help think that the victory had come too easily.

  “What just happened?” she asked, rising.

  “The hell if I know,” Sarika said. She turned. “Warbrand?”

  Miklos shook his head. “I thought we were dead. I was sure of it. And then, everything changed. Maybe the elder knows.”

  They looked to Kozmer, who’d hobbled after them to keep his sowen in the fight, but now turned and stared back up the road in the direction from which they’d come.

  “Did anyone see Andras and the dog?” Kozmer asked.

  Miklos slapped the flat of his blade across his palm to break off pieces of cooled lava sticking to the edge. “They’ll be all right. I saw the ratter drag his beast into a ditch the instant the fighting started. Terrified out of his mind, I imagine.”

  “I’m not so sure he is,” Kozmer said. “He’s faced down demons armed with nothing but a rat terrier—you’d have to be some kind of brave.”

  Miklos looked thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Not the first time I’ve seen the man’s bravery, either.”

  “What about the demons?” Katalinka pressed. “Why did they fall back? And the crows—they all died at once. What happened here?”

  “We should find out,” Kozmer said. He sounded hesitant. “Even if that means returning to the hill for another look.”

  Nobody seemed excited about going back down the road to see how the demons had managed to cross the lake. Not just once, Kozmer reminded them as they discussed it, but twice. There had been a second band of the creatures up the road from them, which was even harder to explain. An additional problem was the ratter, who should surely be allowed to return to the safety of the temple.

  “Yes, about the temple,” Kozmer said. “Are we sure it’s safe? What caused those falling rocks, and how widespread was the bombardment? Didn’t look like a localized attack—the temple has been hit too, if my hunch is correct.”

  In the end, Katalinka suggested sending Miklos and Sarika to escort Andras and his dog home, and to give Narina assistance had the temple buildings and grounds suffered from the bombardment. Katalinka and Kozmer would return to the hill to discover if the creatures were still raising a new volcano or if they’d abandoned their efforts.

  Perhaps the enterprise had fallen apart, and that would explain the failure of the demons to kill the temple warriors. Or maybe a new demonic faction had taken over and withdrawn support from the road attack in favor of quickening the pace on the new volcano.

  Moments later, the party divided in two. Miklos and Sarika went back for Andras, while Katalinka and Kozmer continued down the canyon alone. Broken tree limbs and hunks of smoking rock littered the road, and further down, where the woods had burned earlier in the year, falling rock had pummeled the handful of charred trunks into dust.

  They came across a blackened streak on the road and stopped for a closer look. “This must be where the demons came onto the road,” Katalinka said. She bent and rubbed a finger on the streak and came up surprised. “There’s an actual burn in the stones.”

  “Powerful magic,” Kozmer said. “What stopped it, I wonder?”

  Katalinka grew more apprehensive as they approached the hill, but her fears proved unfounded. There were no demons on this side of the road, no demonic crows, either, and the sky was clearer than it had been in days, with even a hint of a cool breeze. They scaled the hill, and she braced herself for what they’d discover on the other side.

  It was quiet on the opposite side of the lake, and her hopes rose when she got a good look. Her first impression was that the demons had abandoned their work entirely. A few stood frozen alongside the canals, which looked stagnant, a crust forming on the surface. Other demons seemed to have vanished, perhaps returning to their underground homes. She hoped not; the more that froze and died on the surface, the better.

  And then she caught movement on the hillside above the lava canals. A small but determined knot of slave demons trudged toward the would-be volcanic cone, lashed on by a single overseer that seemed only slightly less despondent than the workers he was whipping. A second cluster of demons led them, pouring out lava to keep the ground hot.

  “So they haven’t given up entirely,” Kozmer said. “Interesting.”

  “I still don’t understand what happened,” she said. “What stopped them?”

  “What started them in the first place? That’s probably the better question.”

  Katalinka shrugged. “The dragons and demons began a war. Each side is doing what it can to win. These creatures are building a volcano to push up to the heights and burn out the dragons. Isn’t that what we already decided?”

  “And the stones raining from the sky?” he asked. “Where did those come from?”

  Something occurred to her. “It’s not the falling rock we should be thinking about. It’s the demonic crows. We know who draws them already.”

  Kozmer tapped his staff. “That, my friend, is a good point. An excellent one. Yes, it must be. Damanja came into the mountains as their champion, perhaps unwittingly, perhaps not. Her presence strengthened them.”

  “But the enemy failed. Now the demons are weakened and dying. Well,” Katalinka added, looking across the lake, “maybe not entirely. But does that mean Damanja is dead? It must be.”

  “Or crippled,” Kozmer said. “And it can only have been Narina who did it. Damanja must have broken through our sowen shield while we were away and attacked the temple. And been defeated.”

  The thought of her sister facing the crowlord alone made Katalinka shudder, but thank God Narina seemed to have come out on top. She was glad they’d sent back Miklos and Sarika anyway, in case the crowlord was still wounded and dangerous and lurking in the area.

  “Assuming all that is true,” Katalinka said, “why are the demons still working? If Damanja was fueling them somehow, wouldn’t the survivors slink back to their holes for good?”

  Kozmer twisted his staff and continued to stare across the lake, a thoughtful expression on his face. The demons on the other side—those few who remained—no longer paid the humans any attention. They were a weak shell of their former vigor, and most likely incapable of mounting another attack across the lake.

  “There were seventeen fiefdoms on the plains,” the elder said at last. “Seventeen crowlords. Damanja can’t have defeated them all. If she’s dead, someone else will rise to take her place. Or try to. No doubt wars being fought up and down the east side of the island, and someone is going to emerge victorious now that Damanja is gone.”

  “If you’re right, then this lull isn’t going to last long.”

  “No, I wouldn’t imagine so,” he said. “The crowlords have a connection with the fiery abyss. Damanja’s crows turned into creatures of the underworld. She was able to rain volcanic rock from the sky. Whoever comes next will have the same powers and work toward the same goal. The demons will grow stronger as the new crowlord grows in power.”

  “Then we don’t have much time to stop
this.” Katalinka gestured across the lake, where a second group of surviving demons chipped away the crust of a canal to get at the lava remaining below. “We have to fetch the others—my sister, especially—and stop them for good.”

  Chapter Eight

  The hammering coming from inside the shed was so furious that Katalinka thought at first there were two people working in the smithy. But it was only Narina, who held a sword core against an anvil while her hammer battered it at a pace that seemed impossible to sustain.

  Bartal held a smaller hammer in hand, as if the frater had been keeping time for her at one point. He’d taken a step back and looked on in bewilderment as the master sohn hammered away, her hair loose from its pin and flying about her face. Sweat poured down her temples, and the muscles on her lean arms strained with every blow. Her shirt seemed to have split open on one sleeve from the violence of her work.

  Katalinka looked on in silence until at last Narina let go of the tongs and dropped the hammer, which fell to the ground with heat rising off the metal. She gave a little nod to her assistant. “Go. Take the core. Quickly now, I need it hot again.”

  There was such urgency in her voice that Katalinka didn’t say anything as the frater snatched it up with a pair of tongs and shoved it into the coals. He began to work the bellows with only slightly less urgency than his master. Narina bent to a bucket of water at her feet and splashed it on her face, then wiped it away with her sleeve. She turned around, and there was an unnatural glow in her eyes and an almost feverish flush on her face as she took in her sister.

  Katalinka took a step back. “Are you all right?”

  “I defeated Damanja.”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “We returned a few minutes ago. Kozmer and I had guessed as much already, but others confirmed. It sounds like it was a close thing.”

  “Very close.”

  “And Ruven?”

  “The boy is fine, thank God. The dogs, too.” Narina took a deep breath as if reliving the moment. “We lost three people, two of them bladedancers. Several others were injured. They held their ground so I could make it to the shrine.”

  Katalinka nodded. She’d heard a bit of that, too. “Good thinking, taking the fight to the shrine. You’d have an advantage there. All those sparring sessions.”

  “She was strong,” Narina said with a shake of the head. “So blasted strong—I thought I’d lost.”

  “But you didn’t. Here you are, and your sowen is stronger than ever. I could feel it from the post road.”

  “Something changed. Another burst of. . .I don’t know what to call it.”

  Curious, Katalinka reached out for a closer inspection of Narina’s sowen. Her sister felt like she was carrying an iron shell around her, as if she’d been gathering herself for a fight, instead of swordsmithing.

  “More power,” Katalinka said. “Did you take it from the crowlord, is that what happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Narina frowned. “Yes, I think so. But that’s not what I mean—I wasn’t talking about my sowen. I feel anxious. No, that’s not right, either. Urgent. I need to finish this.”

  “That’s the demon blade, yes? You just finished the dragon. Why not rest a few days first?”

  “I can’t stop—I kept the anvil inside in spite of this infernal heat so I wouldn’t lose time.”

  “And you started when?”

  “Two hours ago,” Narina said. “I told you, it’s too urgent to wait.”

  If true, she must have begun minutes after the battle ended. Urgent indeed. Katalinka tried to peer into the flames.

  “You can’t work too fast,” she warned. “These things take time. Days, weeks. Longer, maybe.”

  “I don’t have that kind of time. And I don’t need it. It’s coming to me, Katalinka. I feel every aura, every line, and I pull them when I strike the metal. I know exactly where to strike—the only hard part is working as fast as my instincts tell me to.”

  “You’ll have to take a break, whether you want to or not. We need you at the shrine.”

  Narina glanced at Bartal, who was working the huffing bellows, clearly exhausted but uncomplaining, then back at Katalinka with a frown. “Now?”

  “We have to tell you what we saw and what we learned. You killed Damanja, and that weakened the demons, but it won’t last long. We have an opportunity.”

  “But my sword. . .”

  “The demon blade can wait,” Katalinka said. “This cannot.”

  #

  By the time Narina had cleaned up her tools, washed, and changed, the others had already gathered ahead of her. Fraters had apparently come through and raked the sand, obliterating evidence of the fight. They’d carried away the crowlord’s body (what was left of it), the ash from the dead crows, and the handful of volcanic rocks that had broken through the shrine’s protective barrier as they rained down from the sky.

  Only one sign of the fight remained, a faint black line across the middle stone where Damanja had struck it in an attempt to knock Narina to the ground. The crowlord had, in fact, damaged it slightly, leaving a black scar it would forever carry. Narina touched it and was not surprised to discover that the mark was warmer than the rest of the stone.

  The others weren’t waiting on the covered arcade that wrapped around the inner courtyard as she’d expected. Instead, she heard murmured voices from within. Inside, she found Katalinka and Kozmer sitting cross-legged on a rug in front of the bells, sharing tea with Drazul and Miklos. Sarika stood to one side, polishing the gleaming white edge of her sword with a cloth made of kid leather. She wore a glossy black leather vest over a jerkin that came halfway to her knees, and heavier boots than she’d been wearing when she’d set out that morning with the others.

  Kozmer patted the rug for Narina to sit. “Tell me about your blades.”

  “The dragon is finished, except for a few details on the hilt. Bartal has been working on that. He’s good with his hands, a skilled craftsman.” She shrugged. “He has his limitations in the forge, of course, but he’s an asset to the temple.”

  “I heard about the battle,” the elder said. “The point is, can you carry the weapon into battle? So you’ll have two master dragons, I mean? Yours and your fathers.”

  “Give me two days and I’ll have a new master demon, as well.”

  Kozmer’s lips thinned. “The demon can wait. It’s your dragons we need. Let me tell you what we discovered on the post road.”

  Sarika finally took her seat, although she declined the hot tea and kept polishing her sword as the elder went into detail about how the battle had played out. Narina had heard a few words about this already from her sister, but the elder filled in the details. She stopped him when he mentioned the end of the third, and final, aerial bombardment, when the cloud of demonic crows fell from the sky and died.

  “That must be when I killed Damanja,” Narina said.

  She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, remembering the surge of power that came to her as she’d walked away from the training ground. She’d sensed the injured fraters and elders from a distance, and felt the breath of life leaving those who’d suffered mortal blows. There was a deeper connection to the land than she’d felt before, as well, a sign of the power she’d taken from the crowlord upon the woman’s death.

  She opened her eyes. “Damanja was calling in those attacks. The crows, the hailstorm of volcanic rock, the black lightning in the sky. All of it.”

  “And apparently fueling the demonic works at the same time,” Katalinka said. “After she died, we went back for a closer look. The work had nearly collapsed.”

  Kozmer took over once again, explaining their discovery and their conclusion about the potential rise of another crowlord.

  “There’s time to shut this down.” Kozmer nodded at Drazul and Sarika. “The firewalkers think if you can drive them back to the volcano, you can put them down for good.”

  “Which volcano?” Narina asked. “Surely not
Manet Tuzzia.”

  It was the elder of the two firewalkers who spoke up. “Temple lore says that Manet Tuzzia is the seat of demonic power,” Drazul said. “Close it again, and you will close their ability to torment the world.”

  “Why would their seat of power be named ‘Sleepy Mountain’?” she asked.

  “Tuzzia doesn’t mean sleepy,” Drazul said. “It means sleeping. Or dreaming. The words are the same in the old tongue. Something that is asleep or dreaming can wake up. The demons have been put to sleep before in ages past.” He glanced at Sarika, who nodded. “And we think you’re the one to put them down again.”

  “I have no idea how that would be done,” Narina said.

  “Defeat them in battle,” Katalinka said with a firmness that didn’t match the unease in Narina’s gut. “Find the source of their power and destroy it.”

  “That would mean crossing the lake,” Narina protested, “killing the demons on the other side, then following their canals to the volcano. I’d cross lava, climb the caldera, and then what? Fight a whole army of the things? These aren’t peasants we’re talking about, or crowlord soldiers.”

  “You’re the sword saint,” Katalinka said. “This is what you’re made for.”

  “I am not the sword saint,” Narina said. “Don’t ever say that.”

  Kozmer drained his tea and held out his cup for Katalinka to pour him more. “What does the legend say? The sword saint will grow in power until she can defeat an entire army by herself. You’ve already done that.”

  “Don’t exaggerate,” Narina protested. “It was a few dozen riders at most.”

  “And since then you’ve grown in power,” he said. “Again and again. Do you need a test to prove your power? Is that what it would take for you to believe?” When Narina didn’t answer, he continued. “What else can the sword saint do? She will have the ability to bend the land to hide her presence, and to open the earth to swallow her enemies.”