Shadow Walker (The Sword Saint Series Book 3)

by Michael Wallace

  Miklos had expected the boy to return to the other bladedancers once he’d helped Katalinka limp around the shrine walkway. This discussion seemed beyond him. But it wasn’t Miklos’s place to send him back, and Kozmer didn’t seem inclined.

  “This isn’t some little rash or cough,” Sarika scoffed. “It’s not going to pass on its own.”

  “No, it won’t,” Miklos agreed. “And the longer those two stay away, the more they kill, the stronger they become and the harder to defeat. The only doubt I have is whether we should try to stop them in more. . .permanent ways.” He addressed this to Sarika and the elders. “Pardon me for being blunt, but I think it’s come to that. Certainly with Narina. It’s going to take everything we have to stop her by force.”

  “Don’t be so quick to dismiss the boy’s suggestion,” Kozmer said. “He touched on something important. Something beyond the sanctity of our temples or the danger of the missing sohns. There’s a deeper reason they must be stopped. It’s the only way to stop the bloodshed.”

  “Meaning?” Miklos asked.

  “A pestilence doesn’t begin and end with one person,” Kozmer continued. “This one is spreading out of control. And what is its source? The dragons, the demons. Their war. It will tear the land apart. We’ll see death everywhere. Thousands by the hand of the sword saint alone. Those who survive the slaughter will find their homes and farms buried in ice or carried away by rivers of lava.” The elder bladedancer rapped his staff against the planks. “But if we recover our missing sohns, if we fight off attempts to reinfect us with this madness, we can end it.”

  “You think it will burn itself out?” Sarika asked.

  “I saw it before, when I was a young man,” Kozmer continued. “It isn’t inevitable. The dragons will return to their lakes, and the demons to their underground fires.”

  It was an intriguing possibility. Could the old man be right, and everything could be put to right again? Miklos scarcely dared to hope.

  Katalinka chuckled. “You don’t know everything yet, old man.”

  “I’m sure I don’t.” Kozmer gave her a solemn look. “Tell me what I’m missing.”

  “There are others in the game,” she told him. “You can retire from the battlefield, but they won’t. The dragons are awake. The demons have emerged from their fiery pits.”

  “That’s what he was saying,” Sarika said. “Without a champion, the dragons will go back to sleep. The demons will have nobody to fight. It will end.”

  “If you say so,” Katalinka said.

  As if to punctuate her words, thunder sounded high above them on the mountains. The rain had slowed to a drizzle over the past hour, but now fell with renewed vigor. Within moments it came thundering onto the roof, loud enough they had to raise their voices to be heard. And the air had grown chilly, too. Any colder and Miklos thought the rain would turn to snow.

  The bladedancers had already suffered a killing frost; the last thing they needed was to see their pasture buried by a blizzard. At least they had pasture, as well as their food stores: vegetables and fruits, a granary, hard cheeses, and huge barrels of beer.

  In contrast, Miklos’s warbrands had sealed off their shrine, locked down the forge, and buried what food and supplies they couldn’t carry with them. And the firewalkers had it even worse. Their gardens, farms, shrine—everything they owned but their swords and the clothes on their backs—had burned in a lake of fire. They could only survive through the mercy of their hosts.

  It would be a lean winter in the mountains. The plains would be worse.

  “So. . .” Miklos said, when the lull in conversation grew uncomfortable. “Lujza first, is that your idea?”

  “She’s closer,” Kozmer said. “And she’s weaker. She should be easier to take than Narina. But she’s elusive. It might not be possible to catch her.”

  The other elder, Drazul, nodded solemnly. “I agree. Lujza is lost to us.”

  “Drazul,” Sarika protested, “we can’t give up on her.”

  “We went into the mountains and tried to call her back,” he said. “She continually slipped away.”

  The firewalker sohn thrust out her chin. “So we’ll try again.”

  “You’ll never get her,” Katalinka said. “She’ll wait until she can ambush you. Stay away if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Which is why I was thinking Narina,” Kozmer said.

  At this, Katalinka let out a bitter laugh. “Even less likely. How would you even find her, for one?”

  Miklos gave her a hard look. “You know the answer to that.”

  She glanced at him, eyes blinking, startled. She reached a bandaged finger and pulled down the linens around her mouth. She looked worse than the boy. Far worse. Her lips were nearly gone, and her gums red and raw. It was gruesome, and Miklos fought down a shudder.

  It was a testament to her growing sowen that she’d survived the firewalker treatment at all. Miklos understood something of that. In fact, he thought that he, too, could have survived the boiling water. Enduring the pain without going mad was another thing entirely. He gave Katalinka credit for that.

  Her tone was cautious as she turned to Miklos. “Why do you say that?”

  “I felt my brother in arms,” he said. “There was a connection between us.”

  “There’s a connection between all members of the temple,” Katalinka said. “Doesn’t mean I can track them like a dog with a scent.”

  “You couldn’t before. But you can now, I’ll wager. That’s what Lujza is doing, how she’s staying clear of us. She can feel her fellow firewalkers, and escape whenever they draw near.”

  “And couldn’t Narina do the same?”

  “She could, but she won’t,” Miklos said. “Lujza is hiding because she knows she’s not strong enough to take us all. Narina won’t hide because she knows she is strong enough.”

  “We’re in agreement on that much,” Katalinka said.

  “How can either of you be sure?” Kozmer asked.

  “Katalinka and I could give her a fight—we’re stronger now, too,” Miklos said. “We could not, however, defeat her.”

  “Not openly, no,” the elder said. “But a trap, on the other hand. . .”

  “Explain yourself,” Miklos told him.

  “It’s right in front of you.” The elder looked around the small group with his eyes narrowed, as if sizing them up one by one, including Gyorgy. “Between us, we have all the tools we need.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Katalinka barely made it to the post road before she needed to stop. She’d limped down the mountain trail the best she could, but her muscles were too weak, the flesh on her feet too tender to put weight on them. Her companions had anticipated as much, and temple fraters had constructed a sling, which Miklos had been dragging behind him for when she could no longer walk.

  There had been talk of hitching up one of the work goats, probably Brutus, who already knew the way and had proven to be calm enough under stressful conditions. The goat could have pulled a cart laden with weapons, supplies, and those who needed carrying in order to travel the fifteen to twenty miles a day Miklos said would be necessary. But chances were they’d be forced to abandon the animal by afternoon, when they reached the lava flow. Maybe Brutus would find his way home, but possibly not. It didn’t seem a worthwhile trade, the goat’s life for a few hours of ease in what would still be a punishing sprint out of the mountains onto the plains. It thus fell upon them to complete the entire journey on foot.

  It wasn’t only Katalinka who would struggle to keep the pace. Gyorgy was still recovering as well, and of course the two elders, with their walking staffs, couldn’t be expected to stay with Miklos and Sarika, as the two healthy sohns had more stamina by far.

  “That’s all,” Katalinka wheezed when she could no longer continue. She leaned against the walking staff she’d used to lever herself down the mountain, a gift from one of the elders of the temple. Her lungs still ached from the steam burns, and s
he couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She pulled down the linens bandaging her face. “I can’t go any farther, not on foot.”

  Miklos set down the heavy poles of the sling. A canvas sheet stretched between them, currently holding their packs and swords. He eyed her with a frown, then cast a glance back into the trees. He was guarding his thoughts from her prying sowen, but she could see them on his face all the same.

  “I know we’ve barely set out,” she said, “but I’m not exaggerating. My feet are already bleeding.”

  “Twenty miles,” Miklos said. “That’s how far we need to go before we stop. I’d planned to march all day. Longer, if it starts to rain again and slows our pace. Nobody says you’re exaggerating. However. . .”

  “I know.” Katalinka licked her lips. “Maybe you should leave me behind. I’ll rest a couple of days and catch up if I can.”

  Kozmer placed a bony hand on her shoulder. “I know what you must be going through. I know it would be easier to send you home. But we can’t do this without you. You’re the only one who can find Narina, pry her sowen out of the landscape so we can track her.”

  “We don’t know that. It’s nothing but a guess.”

  Miklos bent over the sling to adjust the supplies and weapons, which had shifted about bumping down the hill to the road. “You sounded confident enough yesterday.”

  “Today I’m not. Today I feel like a tired old woman.”

  “You’re her sister,” Kozmer pressed. “And your powers have grown. I have faith in you.”

  “Yeah?” she said. “You’re alone in that.”

  He held her gaze, and she twinged with guilt. Kozmer’s fellow elders remained at the temple, where they could soak their old bones in the baths, sleep in their own beds, and meditate in the shrine. Meanwhile, he’d already completed one long, grueling trip onto the plains, and a few days later was facing another. The firewalker elder, Drazul, wasn’t as old as Kozmer, but he, too, had traveled recently, and couldn’t be relishing a journey through blood-soaked lands. Who was she to complain?

  “I felt that,” Kozmer said. His grip tightened on her shoulder, and it was a warm, comforting gesture. “Your empathy is returning.”

  “I know what you need from me, I just can’t do it.” She wobbled, and if not for the staff and Kozmer’s steadying grip, would have fallen.

  “That’s why we brought the sling,” Sarika said. “Miklos and I will take turns dragging it until you feel better.”

  Miklos looked doubtful. “We have so far to go. Even a few more miles would help. Can you walk until we reach the lava flow, at least?”

  Katalinka took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

  They set off again. Miklos and Sarika led the group, while Kozmer, Drazul, and Gyorgy struggled to keep up, with Katalinka in the rear. She hobbled as fast as she could, wincing in pain with every step, but the others pulled steadily away. A few minutes later, the firewalker and warbrand sohns rounded the corner and disappeared from her sight, and the other three began to disappear shortly thereafter. The last of the group, Gyorgy, gave her one last backward glance, and then he, too, was gone.

  “Come on,” she pleaded with her sowen. “Are you going to heal me or not?”

  It was working. She could feel it gradually pulling her back together. A full day and two nights had passed since the second of her boiling baths, and most likely a couple more days in bed would have healed her. Instead, each step created fresh pain that needed to be overcome.

  Somehow, she kept going for several more minutes before her body gave out. Still clutching the staff, she sank to the ground in the middle of the post road, groaning. She slid across on her backside to the edge of the flagstones, and there she leaned against a moss-covered mile stone and closed her eyes to fight against the pain.

  Miklos came trotting back up the road a few minutes later, the empty sling folded together and tossed over his shoulder. He was a large, powerfully built warrior, endowed with the stamina of a warbrand, but even those reserves were not endless, and it must have galled him to be forced to backtrack carrying the heavy load.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “No point apologizing. You’ve done what you could. Come on, let’s get you lying down.”

  He spread the sling and helped her into it. Once she was in place, he hoisted up the two handles, partially elevating her off the ground. The bottom of the sling bounced against the cobbles as he set off, but it was a discomfort that she could bear.

  “How is your sowen?” he asked.

  “In rough shape.”

  “Strong enough to feel the landscape?”

  “I can’t touch the auras—not with any confidence—but I can see ahead. Farther than before, in fact. That part is. . .I don’t know, stronger, maybe.”

  “My sowen is also stronger than it was before all this started,” Miklos said. “And a good thing, too. Not sure I could manage dragging your tired carcass halfway through the mountains if it weren’t. But the way forward is blocked. There’s something standing in our path. I’m hoping you can identify it.”

  She closed her eyes and felt ahead. The post road was nearly empty, and those living in the patchwork of mountain farms stretching between the road and the river had locked down. Animals were in barns, humans indoors. The only people out and about seemed to be her own companions, roughly a mile below them by now, still trudging ahead.

  The road, forest, and river continued down the canyon halfway to Hooffent—although it was doubtful the village was still standing—and then suddenly vanished. She’d have taken that for the results of the fire, except that the river, too, went missing. It wasn’t dammed by flowing lava; otherwise, the water would have backed up the canyon and formed a lake to drown the road and farms. The water itself should still carry an aura, but she didn’t sense it. What’s more, if she tried to push past it, she found only a void.

  She made one more attempt, then gave up. “I don’t understand it.”

  “Seems like the world has vanished,” Miklos said. “Or at least, we’re blind to it.”

  “But what could do that?” she asked.

  “No idea.” She couldn’t see Miklos’s face, but his voice was grim. “But we’ll soon find out.”

  #

  Katalinka was half-asleep in the sling by the time Miklos caught up with the other four. Sarika had fallen back with Gyorgy and the two elders, and was using her sowen to keep them moving. They’d divided the weapons and provisions between them so as to empty the sling. Sarika and Miklos now swapped duties—Sarika dragging the sling, and Miklos using his sowen to encourage the others—and both seemed relieved at the change in pace.

  Katalinka tentatively prodded each of their sowens as they continued, more out of curiosity than anything. Gyorgy was stronger than when they left. His healing seemed to have accelerated. The others were not so lucky. The two elders were already exhausted, Sarika had used some of her own strength to shore them up, and of course Miklos had come trotting down the mountain, dragging a sling like a beast of burden.

  The morning had been drier than yesterday, but now the rain began again, first as a fine drizzle, and then harder. A biting wind accompanied the change in weather, driving the rain into their faces. That was challenging enough to push through, but ice soon joined the rain. If it had changed to snow, that might have helped a little, but it continued falling as a half-melted, half-frozen sleet, the worst of both worlds.

  The wind, rain, and sleet failed to clean the air, which smelled like sulfur and smoke. The forest was no more, replaced by a dismal, blackened landscape, punctuated here and there by the gaunt, charred figures of trees that had stood far enough from the others so as not to go up in flames, yet had scorched to death in the heat all the same.

  The ground rumbled beneath their feet. Something exploded above them on the opposite side of the canyon—invisible because of the storm—followed by a roar like spouting gas. It must be a volcano, Katalinka thought, erupting so violently that it made th
e ground shake.

  Glowing lights flashed here and there among the smoke and rain, and she spotted red eyes watching from behind them. A demon.

  “Who has my swords?” she demanded. “Give them to me. Quickly.”

  She struggled out of the sling and regained her feet as Kozmer hurried over with her weapons, already out of their sheaths. She snatched them from his hands so fast she almost cut his hands, then wheeled about, ready to face the demon. The others were at her side, with Miklos and Sarika each armed with the swords from their respective temples.

  But the monster was already turning on its cloven, fiery heels, and it disappeared into the rain and sleet, and they stared after it until it was gone before finally relaxing.

  “That’s a different kind than the ones that destroyed our temple,” Sarika said.

  Miklos said, “I’ve seen them before. Some sort of cursed hybrid—the fat, toad-looking demons and the long-limbed ones with horns were eating each other, and that’s what emerged.”

  Gyorgy pointed to their right. “There’s another one!”

  It emerged from the side of the road with a hiss and a belch of smoke and fire. A long, glowing tongue snaked out to taste the air, and then it turned about with its tail lashing and disappeared into the smoke and mist much like the first.

  “Another hybrid,” Miklos said. “They must have fought and eaten each other until they were all like that. What does it mean?”

  This last part was addressed to the two older men, but after a glance between themselves, all the elders had was a baffled shake of their heads.

  “Whatever the hell they are,” Sarika said, “why doesn’t the rain kill them?”

  Katalinka groped into the darkness with her sowen. “There are holes of lava flanking the road. The demons come out, return when they’re chilled. Can’t you feel them?”

  “No, I’m blind in all this smoke,” the other woman said. “What’s ahead of us? That’s empty, too.”

  Katalinka made another attempt, but her vision didn’t extend so far, and the void she’d sensed earlier was only a few hundred yards ahead, where it formed an impenetrable barrier. She wobbled with sudden exhaustion, and Kozmer was at her side again, this time accompanied by Gyorgy. The pair held up her arms.