“How do you intend to find the Sul’toral without following stories?” Imogen stopped and turned to look at her brother. “That is the only way you can find someone like that. I don’t know what you did in the years you were gone, but most of the time, you have to chase rumors and speculation, and—”
“I know all that is involved in finding them,” he said. His voice had taken on a low and dangerous quality. “I don’t need you telling me what to do.”
She raised her hands in front of her. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“No. You never do.”
What was going on with him? She wanted to think that this wasn’t her brother’s true nature, but maybe it was.
“What is it, Timo?” Imogen tried talking to him like she once would have, wanting to have the relationship that she felt she had lost when she’d gone to the sacred temple. “You’ve been troubled since we left the city.”
In reality, it had been long before then, but she wasn’t going to tell Timo that was the real reason she had come.
“I wasn’t the one to defeat him,” Timo said. “L’aran.” He looked over to her, and she thought she knew what he was getting at.
That had been Timo’s bond quest. He had committed himself to killing the Sul’toral named L’aran. And they didn’t know if they truly had. His body had disappeared, leaving the nagging doubt that maybe he’d survived.
That might be the real reason Timo wanted to take this journey. Find Dheleus and learn whether L’aran had really died. Then Timo would know if he’d completed his quest.
“Is that what’s troubling you?” she asked.
“I wanted to be the one to defeat him.”
“Just because you weren’t the one to do it doesn’t mean you didn’t have a hand in his defeat.”
“I let somebody else take my bond.”
Imogen shook her head. The bond was a sacred thing to the Leier, a promise made when they were younger, a commitment about how they would serve. Most of the Leier made a bond to serve their people, much like Imogen had made. Some had specific context within their bond.
Then there was Timo. He had committed to bring himself against a dangerous sorcerer, a man he believed was responsible for slaughtering their parents, and he had bonded himself to that mission. It had taken him from the Leier, and it had taken others with him.
“The task is complete,” she said. “That, more than anything else, should please you.”
The howl came again, only a dozen or so paces from them.
Imogen reached for her sword and unsheathed it.
“See?” Timo said, his voice a whisper. He had unsheathed his as well, and he stood next to her, shoulder to shoulder. She could practically feel tension spilling out of him, pouring through his blade. She wanted to correct him, to warn him that transferring the tension from his body into the blade was a guaranteed way to fail. They knew they had to relax, to hold on to the flow and not force the movements. Forcing the pattern was a sure method of failing.
“I hear it. But I see nothing,” she said.
“You aren’t looking.”
She breathed out slowly and turned, sweeping her gaze around her. As she did, she could feel something in the air, some sort of an energy here. She had been more concerned about a wolf. Maybe that was all this was, but there was a crackling current she could practically feel. It wasn’t until she had unsheathed her blade that she became aware of it.
“Magic,” she mouthed. There was still enough daylight filtering through the trees to see that.
Timo stepped away from her, putting some space between them to give them both the ability to flow through their patterns. If it was magic, then that, at least, was something he could manage. That was something he was familiar with.
“Are you sure?” he mouthed at her.
Imogen nodded. She could feel the source of magic, which was not far. Could they have found the Sul’toral so soon?
Maybe it wasn’t Sul’toral, though. More likely, this was just a common sorcerer. But out here, there would be nothing common about finding a sorcerer, which suggested it was more likely to be something dangerous.
And that meant the Toral.
Imogen didn’t know if she was ready for that. Her brother might have taken on a Toral, but she had not, at least not directly. It would involve the kind of power that she wasn’t sure she possessed.
There had been a time in Imogen’s life when she would have attacked the sorcerer blindly. In her training, she had come to understand that sorcery was dangerous, dark magic that needed to be cleansed from the world. That was the purpose of the Leier. That was the reason they trained and learned how to fight, how to control themselves, and how to flow through the patterns that permitted them to defeat sorcery. Even those who never progressed to study in one of the temples learned to manage against sorcery. For those who were Firsts or higher, that type of magic was nothing to fear.
She motioned forward and readied the blade as she began to focus her breaths. She hadn’t faced sorcerers as often as she once had, but she’d had far more practice these days than she had in the years previously. At least she no longer feared what would happen if she were to encounter a sorcerer.
Imogen had meditated on the sacred patterns as she often did before fighting, knowing that the secret to them remained just out of reach of her understanding. Though she could perform them, they were not nearly as useful to her as the traditional ones she had fully mastered. With those, she had precision and power, and she could utilize them to defeat nearly any enemy. Still, there was something about the sacred patterns that had begun to feel different for her, especially recently. She was closer now than when she had been in the sacred temple.
She knew she was overthinking it.
She had to be ready, so she held her hands forward.
And then she saw movement. A shadowy form crouched in front of them, several dozen paces away, next to others lying on the ground.
Imogen motioned to her brother. Timo swept off to the left, moving with more fluidity now. He was graceful, like anyone who reached the level of First of the Blade, but she remembered a friend describing him as rigid compared to her. Perhaps that was true. She hadn’t thought about that in quite some time. There was something to be said about flowing through the patterns rather than fighting through them.
Whatever sorcery this was had already attacked others, suggested by the fallen figures on the ground. Her people had long believed that sorcery was dangerous, that all who practiced sorcery were evil. It had taken Imogen leaving her land to come to feel otherwise. That wasn’t to say that she thought all sorcerers were helpful, but she did recognize that not all were what she had been trained to believe. Not all were what she had been trained to fight.
There was another possibility: the people on the ground had needed the help of a sorcerer. But out here in the forest, that seemed far less likely than any other alternative.
She crept forward, moving carefully, keeping her blade ready.
The sorcerer bent down, almost as if they were smelling one of the fallen figures. What were they using the body for?
Imogen froze. There was something off here. Based on her experience with sorcery, she knew that patterns were important, which was why her people were taught such precise sword fighting. Using their techniques and their patterns, they could disrupt most of the powerful spells the sorcerer could perform. There were other ways of creating magic, though. Power could be placed into an item, enchanting it. Imogen carried several enchantments on her even now, something that her brother would find appalling were he to learn about them. And there were spells that involved incantations, along with natural items, though Imogen knew little about that.
She slid forward, staying quiet, her feet lighter than the shadows. As she darted toward the figure, she braced for what magic she might find. Even as she did, she couldn’t tell if there was anything out here otherwise. There was no barrier, no protections.
Timo crept
alongside her, though not as silently as she would have preferred. He ignored her glance in his direction.
It was almost as if the sorcerer was inviting them closer.
Imogen took another step, staying as quiet as she could. All the time she’d spent in the city had made her less stealthy. She flowed toward the sorcerer, then froze as he looked up at her.
He had dark hair, lean features to his face, and almost a haunted quality to him. She couldn’t quite make it out, as if there was a haze that surrounded him that made it difficult for her to fully evaluate what he looked like.
There was something off about him, and it took her a moment to realize what it was.
She had thought that the sorcerer had been leaning down, smelling the fallen bodies. But that wasn’t it at all.
He had been feeding.
The sorcerer looked up, and Imogen caught a glimpse of blood staining his face. He locked eyes with her and let out a long, mournful howl.
And then he bolted toward her.
Chapter Five
Imogen froze in place.
There was something strange about the way the sorcerer moved. He came at her with so much speed and ferocity that she could scarcely react.
Then he was upon her.
She twisted off to the side. She needed the precision of the traditional patterns.
Imogen darted around one tree, finding that the traditional patterns she had been using didn’t work quite as well. Ultimately, she ended up flowing into one of the sacred patterns. This one was called Petals on the Wind, a pattern that was more handwork than footwork and, from her previous experience, was not very useful. She braced herself, getting out into the open, trying to prepare for his attack.
The sorcerer jumped.
There was power to the jump that was different than she expected. She had thought him to be a simple sorcerer, despite there being nothing simple about a sorcerer feasting on the blood of the fallen. He had the face of a man, though it was distorted and wretched, but his lower half looked peculiar. Covered in tattered pants, he moved with a strange, almost lupine grace.
There was something about the way he looked that reminded her of the story Bug had mentioned. A half man, half wolf creature that supposedly prowled the forest.
The sorcerer jumped again, landing right in front of her. Imogen spun, sweeping her blade off to the side, trying to carve away from him. The air felt hot, almost as if it crackled with the energy the sorcerer used. There was a foulness to it, a putrid stench that filled her nostrils, something that she might even call magic. And then she spotted colors swirling around the sorcerer. Sorcerers tended to add color to their spells, though not all of them did so.
She swept her blade around in a sharp arc, trying to create some distance between the two of them. The sorcerer lunged, sweeping an arm at her. It was only then that she realized there was something off about his arm as well: there were claws on the end of his hand. He raked them at her, and something crackled against her when he did.
Imogen twisted, bringing her blade around in a precise form, sticking with the traditional numbered patterns. In this case, she used form five, then transitioned to form six and jabbed up with the blade.
The sorcerer swept his long claws toward her once more. Imogen was forced to back away again. Each time she tried to bring her blade forward, this sorcerer—or creature, since she was no longer sure it was human—came toward her, moving faster than she could react.
Imogen believed she was a skilled sword fighter and could handle any fight she might find herself in, but she couldn’t even handle one strange sorcerer?
She needed more space to move. In the forest, with all the trees scattered everywhere, it was difficult to find the necessary space. Though she flowed from movement to movement, trying to stay locked into the patterns, she couldn’t do so as well as she needed.
Where was Timo?
Together, they wouldn’t have much difficulty slowing something like this, though maybe it was for the best that Timo was not rushing forward to attack. She’d seen how willing he was to slaughter sorcerers.
Now, it might be justified.
There was another flurry of movement. Imogen was tempted to reach for her enchantments. She hadn’t expected to use magic so soon after leaving the city, but perhaps it was necessary. She needed to end this. Her patterns didn’t seem to be working nearly as well as what she expected.
She shifted to the side, bringing the blade around, but the creature was gone. A burst of strange energy came toward her, and Imogen hurriedly spun her blade, spiraling it in a pattern she had learned when she was first developing her skill. The power slammed into her sword, and she was able to deflect it away.
At least the patterns still held.
Where is Timo? she wondered again. He should be here, but it feels almost as if…
As if the creature is trying to divide us.
Imogen kept her blade controlled, already starting to think ahead, analyzing the fight in front of her. There were a dozen different patterns that sprang to mind, and any one of them could be used together. She could also mix them.
If magic kept him from her, she needed to give Timo time to get through it so the two of them could fight side by side.
Imogen swept her blade around in a sharp arc and caught the creature on one of its arms. She expected to carve its limb completely off, but when the blade struck, it bounced off slightly and rebounded, leaving her arms jarred with the effort.
She tried again, twisting her blade once more and forcing it through another series of movements. She swept forward, trying to catch the creature again. When she did, her sword bounced off.
What was going on?
Imogen shook her head, and she settled herself. This was no different than any other fight. This was magic, and Imogen was trained to withstand it. What she needed now was to figure out why this thing could move this way. Once she did, then she would be able to handle this.
Only then could she be successful.
She darted forward. The suddenness of her movement caught the creature off guard, and it staggered off to the side. Imogen swung the blade around at one of those arms, needing to at least diminish its capacity to harm her. As she struck one of the long, loping arms, her sword cleaved through some of the flesh. The creature howled again.
Definitely a creature. Not a sorcerer.
Still, there was an element of sorcery at play here.
She turned and nearly stepped on one of the three fallen figures. Two of them had massive chunks of flesh missing from their necks where the creature had been feeding. Though it was grotesque, even more disturbing was how this creature looked very much like a man.
A shuffling sound reached her, and she spun.
Timo was creeping forward, blood staining his shirt. Imogen had been facing this thing. What had her brother been fighting?
There wasn’t time for her to take any longer with her confusion. She had to figure out how to put down this creature—and quickly. It stalked toward her, then suddenly spun, streaking through the trees toward Timo.
“Timo!” she yelled.
He looked over to her, eyes glassy. Almost too late, he brought his blade around, his movements slower than they should have been. They were almost lazy, not the practiced patterns she knew he was capable of.
She raced forward, but the creature was fast.
Too fast.
It had already thrown Timo back and was trying to jump on top of him.
Timo rolled, spinning his blade, but he wasn’t quick enough in the confines of the trees, and not with the creature threatening to press down on him. There was no pattern that would save him before this creature pounced.
Imogen had been through so much with her brother. She wasn’t about to lose him now.
She darted forward, swiping her blade in form six, then stabbing with a series of spiraling movements that were a combination of forms three and seven. She mixed them together in ways she had long ago mas
tered, which she had trained her body to perform with barely any thought.
Her sword bounced off the creature’s back, but it still let out a sharp howl. It spun, looking back at her, darkness fluttering in its eyes.
Imogen jumped back, and she tried to give Timo an opportunity to get up.
A distraction. That was all she needed.
“Do you speak?” she asked.
The creature tipped its head to the side, and in that movement, it looked so much more wolflike than it had before. It sniffed, breathing in the air, as if trying to determine something about her and Timo. Then it lunged toward her.
Imogen spun off to the side, changing to one of the sacred patterns, needing space to do so. This one was Stone Garden, and she used it to be as rigid as she could, powering the blade from side to side. It bounced off the creature, which yelped once again.
The thing turned and looked at Timo, who was back on his feet, his blade moving in a flurry of movement as he finally started his patterns to defend himself. Imogen allowed herself to relax for a moment. The two of them could easily handle something like this.
The creature leapt toward them. She moved closer to Timo, bringing her blade around in another pattern. She started with several of the more complex traditional patterns, seventy-one mixed with twenty-two and a flourish of ninety-three. They were perfect. Precise.
Imogen had trained to maintain that precision. She prepared for it. She was ready.
She swept her sword at the creature’s legs. Still, it yelped and turned toward her, raking with one claw. Timo jumped in front of her, then cried out and fell back in a spray of blood. Imogen darted forward with form eight, then form four, then form two—a stab, a slash, and a sharp swipe. She twisted, flowing into one of the sacred patterns again without meaning to. The creature was forced back with each steady movement of her blade.
Finally, it looked up at her, snarling. She brought her blade up but froze in place. The creature turned and loped off, disappearing into the darkness of the trees.
Imogen looked over to Timo, who remained down, motionless. She hurried to her brother and crouched next to him, her sword ready. If the creature were to return, she wanted to have her weapon prepared, but she saw no sign of it.
Unbonded (First of the Blade Book 1) Page 5