Wrath of the Fury Blade

by Geoff Habiger

  Betulla cast a wary eye over to Agera. That also included the Grand Inquisitor. She didn’t need undue influence from him, either. He was politely recounting some humorous story involving two merchants who had both been sold the same goods by a tinker. Agera was wearing a pale blue shirt with a lace collar and matching cuffs. His light blond hair was neatly braided and tied with a green ribbon. He held a knife in his right hand as if it were a wand, punctuating his story with pokes and jabs of the blade.

  Betulla smiled politely, but she had made up her mind that she wasn’t going to stand for any of Agera’s meddling. He might be the head of the Sucra, she thought, but I’ll be damned if I let him tell me how to run my Constabulary.

  Constable Gania laughed along with everyone else as the Grand Inquisitor finished his story. Senior Constable Ghrellstone is right, he realized. Agera is a snake. He turns on the charm like a light crystal, when it suits him. Gania picked up his cup of water and took a drink as the plates were removed and the next course was served—sole baked with seaweed and a cranberry and dill sauce. He’d had a single glass of wine during the toasts made at the beginning of the meal but had barely touched his second glass. He thought Agera had noticed, but nobody else had.

  Gania flicked his eyes around the room, careful to not turn his head. He could see three of the four Constables standing against the walls as an honor guard. LCI Betulla had insisted on bringing them, not because of any fear of an attack, but as a show of her new power. (Gania bridled at that, as his mother had never liked ostentatious displays of power.) He knew the guards were actually Inspector Lunaria, Seeker Carya, and Constables Ghrellstone and Olwynn. The original guards had not questioned the orders of Constable Inspector Lunaria—and the bribe she’d paid them hadn’t hurt either. He couldn’t tell who was who, though, as each of them wore an amulet that altered their features with a simple illusion spell. He assumed that the guard closest to LCI Betulla and Grand Inquisitor Agera was Lunaria. He (she) had remained within three or four paces of their seats all night.

  Gania rubbed the palm of his right hand against his leg, wiping away the sweat, while trying to follow the comments being made by Luminary Sorellen regarding import tariffs. When will Locera make his move?

  Agera expertly tuned out the blather coming from Sorellen, concentrating his attention on the young Constable sitting to Betulla’s right. Agera was an expert at reading body language, a skill that had served him for well over eighty years in the Sucra, allowing him to gauge his opponents—everyone was an opponent in his mind—and to stay at least one step ahead of them.

  Gania was nervous about something. He’d only had one glass of wine (as had Agera), compared to the three or four for everybody else—the Baroness was on her sixth. He’d just wiped his hands and had been looking around the room. None of the others had noticed, not even Betulla. Gania’s skills were good for a Constable. With proper training, Agera mused, he might even make an acceptable Inquisitor.

  But why is he nervous? Did he fear being found out as a liar about his parents’ death and his role as their avenger? No, Gania had recounted the story as Agera had expected—and had coached Betulla on thoroughly. Only Senior Inquisitor Malvaceä and his team knew the truth.

  Could he be upset about taking part in the lie? Agera wondered. His mother had been a by-the-scroll Constable with clear ideas of what she considered right and wrong. She’d viewed everything as light or dark—no in-between. It had made it hard to deal with her on many issues. Some of that had surely rubbed off on her offspring.

  Agera saw Gania’s eyes flick to the guards that Betulla had insisted on bringing. Agera had counselled against it, but she wanted a show of power with her new position. Agera carefully looked out of the corner of his eye at the guard behind Gania. There was nothing unusual about him, a typical brutish Constable, dully observing everything with a slack-jawed expression. So why is Gania so concerned about them?

  Gania knew something that Agera didn’t and that was starting to bother him. It was like a piece of fruit stuck between his teeth, an annoyance that was starting to occupy all of his attention.

  “Oh, I quite agree,” Agera murmured in response to a question from the Mayor. Uncharacteristically, he’d lost track of the conversation but his response seemed to meet with the Mayor’s approval, who turned back to Sorellen to drive home his point.

  Gania’s right hand stayed down and Agera sensed more than saw that he’d brushed it against his sword hilt. It occurred to Agera that he’d not heard from Malvaceä since that morning. Had he succeeded, he would have reported in and Agera would have known if he’d been killed trying to carry out his orders. That suggested that Malvaceä had not yet taken care of the killer.

  That means the killer is still on the loose, Agera realized. The realization didn’t scare him but he was angry that Malvaceä had not done his job. But how would Gania suspect this, Agera asked himself. Unless…

  At that moment a thick mist fell from the rafters and landed on the table between Agera, Gania, and Betulla. The mist swirled and coalesced, becoming a solid form rapidly before their eyes.

  An elf, with flowing gold-brown hair and wearing leather armor tooled with leaves and vines painted green. His black boots stood on the table, the left boot planted firmly on Betulla’s plate. The elf wore a green and black Basvu mask, two red fangs grinning from the black lacquer mouth.

  The elf laughed, raising a sword above his head. Agera recognized the Fury Blade—the black blade glowing with a pulsing red light. “Your masquerade of lies ends here, Agera,” the elf cackled. He brought the Fury Blade down, the sword easily cutting through one of the rafters. The black blade filled Agera’s vision, in a killing arc aimed right at Agera’s head.

  Thirty-nine

  The world around Agera slowed to a crawl, as if somebody had cast a spell of slowness upon the room. He watched the Fury Blade swinging toward his head, looking like a glowing forge falling on him. He was distantly aware of everything around him: screams from others at the table, dishes and wine glasses spilling and being knocked over. He saw Constable Gania leap up, his chair falling behind him, pulling his service sword out, too slow to be of any use. Betulla screamed in panic, her arms raised to shield herself even though she wasn’t the target. He felt his own body trying to shove back from the table, his reflexes reacting when his mind did not, but he knew it was too late.

  Agera closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. He knew the ring of protection he wore would not stop the Fury Blade, despite its power. It could stop most assassins’ weapons, from knives and daggers to arrows or bolts, if they were poorly aimed, but the Fury Blade would meet little resistance when it encountered Agera’s head.

  CLANG!

  Agera opened his eyes at the clash of metal. The Fury Blade hung motionless, a mere hand above his forehead. In front of him two other swords were crossed, blocking the attack.

  On his right stood one of Betulla’s guards, whose face and body shimmered briefly and then resolved into the form of Constable Inspector Lunaria, her illusion spell failing as she stopped concentrating on her disguise. On his left stood one of the waiters, who also quivered as his magical disguise fell away, to reveal Senior Inquisitor Malvaceä. Around the room magical disguises fell as Green Cloaks and Constables drew their weapons, the need for deception no longer necessary.

  “You’ll regret coming here,” Malvaceä said between clenched teeth. “But I promise I’ll make your death quick.”

  “You’re under arrest, Locera,” commanded Lunaria. “Drop the Fury Blade.”

  Locera laughed, controlling his rising fear. The blade wanted him to strike. It could sense the tension in the room, could anticipate the blood that would feed its fury. Strike now!

  No, another time. Locera managed to control the weapon. The odds are not in my favor.

  No! This is the perfect time. Release me and I will even the odds.

/>   Better to live and fight again, on my own terms. Locera’s confidence and strength of will surged, staying the weapon. He reached into a pouch, pulling out his last potion of gaseous form. “I think not, Inspector.”

  Ansee stood next to a serving table near the doors. He was behind Locera with a good view of his hands as he stood on the table. Ansee had been waiting, expecting that Locera might try to make his escape if outnumbered. He’d not expected the Green Cloaks to show up as well, but their presence had pushed Locera further out on the branch to the point where Ansee was sure he’d try to make his escape. As the vial emerged from the pouch at Locera’s side, Ansee yelled, “Bunu alacak!” thrusting his right hand forward, a yellow glow surrounding it.

  Locera was surprised when he felt the vial in his hand almost fading away. He’d been so focused on Lunaria and the Green Cloak, and on keeping the Fury Blade in check, that he’d ignored the rest of the room. That mistake cost him. The vial in his hand was surrounded by a yellow light and then disappeared with an audible POP. Locera whirled about, seeing Seeker Carya standing by the door, the vial of gaseous form in his right hand.

  Locera raised his left hand and pointed at the Seeker. He could already feel the Fury Blade rejoicing at his emotions—fear and anger. There would be no escape for him now but to fight for it.

  Taste their blood! Feed me! Release me! That is your only escape now!

  “All that comes to pass now,” Locera yelled from behind the Basvu mask, “is on your head, halpbloed lover!”

  Locera let the Fury Blade take full control, submitting himself to its will. The blade lifted, feinting toward the Grand Inquisitor. Agera rolled off of his chair and Malvaceä flicked his sword up to block the strike, but there was nothing to block. The blade twisted in Locera’s hand and dove, piercing Malvaceä’s left shoulder.

  Malvaceä yelled in pain and frustration and the Fury Blade pulsed. With a backhand swing, Locera brought the blade around to his left, catching Reva in the shoulder.

  The blow should have severed Reva’s arm, except for two things: Locera hadn’t put a lot of force into the swing, instead arcing around to sweep at LCI Betulla, and the ezustacél mail armor she wore under her tunic. Silversteel was lightweight and stronger than normal steel. With a normal weapon the fine chain links would have absorbed the attack, but the Fury Blade was far from normal. The ezustacél didn’t stop the blade from cutting a deep gash in Reva’s arm, but it did keep it attached to her body.

  The sweep of the Fury Blade continued, seeming to move faster and gain strength with each blow it landed. It caught Betulla across her chest, drawing a bright red line as it sliced from left to right. She screamed and fell back, landing with a clatter on the floor.

  The blade continued its furious arc, swinging toward Gania’s head. Fear gripped the young Constable’s stomach, grabbing it and twisting it into a knot, but his training forced his sword up in time to parry the blade. The Fury Blade cut a deep gouge into the service sword—part of the steel flaked away like a piece of wood from a carpenter’s chisel—but Gania’s move managed to deflect the blade, stopping its course. The Fury Blade pulsed again and Gania swore that he saw that the blood was being drawn into the black and red blade.

  Panic filled the other dinner guests. As Locera and the Fury Blade tried to cut down the head of the table, chaos reigned at the foot. The two Guild Luminaries tried to flee the table and managed only to collide with the Mayor. Together all three managed to flee around the melee toward the exit.

  The Baron pulled his wife behind him while drawing his sword. The Baroness had been sitting immediately to Gania’s right and would have received the blade in turn had Gania not parried the attack.

  Eoin, Betulla’s husband, cried out, “Nyssa, my love!” and tried to make his way to the head of the table.

  The attack had been so fast that the Constables and Green Cloaks seemed to be standing still. Ansee was determined to end the fight now before it got any further out of hand. He began channeling his magic, building a globe of blue-white lightning between his hands.

  “Don’t let them interfere!” yelled Malvaceä.

  The attack came from behind Ansee from one of the waiters-turned-Green-Cloak. The female elf thrust her sword into his kidney. Again, Ansee’s triggered protection spell saved his life. The blow was deflected and merely knocked him off his feet, but it had been enough to distract him and break his concentration, making him lose his spell in the process. The magic dissipated into the air with a slight crackle of electricity.

  “Son of a succubus!” exclaimed Senior Constable Ghrellstone as the Green Cloak in front of him turned and brought his sword in an arc clearly meant to sever Willem’s head. Willem managed to block the blow and then counterstruck, landing a glancing blow on his opponent’s right arm.

  Across the room, Constable Olwynn wasn’t as lucky; the Green Cloak nearest him swung a short sword across his stomach, bright red blood spurting from the wound. He then brought the pommel up with a loud crack against Olwynn’s jaw, knocking him senseless.

  “What in the hells are you doing, Malvaceä?” gasped Reva. Blood flowed from the wound on her arm.

  “Taking advantage of the situation to deal with two problems.” Malvaceä pulled a dueling dagger from its sheath and swung at Reva.

  She parried the swing. “You’re mad!”

  Malvaceä laughed. He swung again at Reva with his sword while using the dagger to block an attack from Locera. “On the contrary. Locera can’t be allowed to live and I’ve decided that you are just too troublesome to keep around.”

  Locera laughed, swinging again at Reva and Malvaceä. Reva barely managed to block the strike, while Malvaceä wasn’t so lucky, the Fury Blade slashing across his right forearm. “Just like another Lunaria I knew,” he cackled.

  Reva didn’t have time to ponder his words in the middle of the melee. From behind Locera, she saw the Baron take a swing at him.

  “You scoundrel!” yelled the Baron. He swung up, hoping to catch the attacker in his thigh, but Locera was too fast. Moving with enhanced speed, he blocked the blow and counterthrust, piercing the Baron in the chest. The Fury Blade reveled in the blood and, with a flick of Locera’s wrist, drove itself down and out through the left side of the Baron’s chest. The Baroness screamed and caught her dying husband as he fell to the floor.

  Reva saw Locera shudder when the Baron fell. She knew that he was no longer in control, that he had given himself over completely to the Fury Blade. She swung at his legs while kicking out with her left leg at Malvaceä. She was pleased when her boot connected with his hip and he was knocked to the floor.

  Locera, however, had managed to jump over her swing. He somersaulted in the air and landed behind Gania’s chair, the blade swinging wildly. It caught the Green Cloak facing Willem in the back and he screamed at the hot, sharp pain. The blade swung around, catching the Baroness behind her left ear, neatly cutting off a large portion of her skull. She fell without a word.

  Gania managed to kick his chair back toward Locera, who deftly dodged it as it tumbled across the floor. Gania had been expecting this and landed a hard blow on Locera’s right arm. Blood welled up and quickly soaked through his green shirt.

  With a howl of rage Locera swung at Gania, who managed to raise his sword in time. The Fury Blade cut through Gania’s sword, cleaving it neatly, but the attack was deflected and the blade only grazed the top of Gania’s head. Blood gushed from the wound and Gania fell to the floor.

  Reva saw Gania fall and managed a feeble yell of “No!” The other guests had managed to flee out the door into the storm. Filled with the Fury Blade’s blood lust, Locera followed. The room was a chaotic mess with Ansee and Willem still dealing with the Green Cloaks. They appeared to be handling themselves, so she took off after Locera.

  Behind her, Malvaceä picked himself up and gave chase.

  Forty

&
nbsp; A warm, heavy rain—strong enough to get through the foliage of the overhead branches—pelted Reva’s face as she followed Locera out the door. The balcony was three paces wide and wrapped around the trunk of Pfeta fey Orung. Stairs led down to the ground on her right and another set of stairs led up to the second story on her left.

  Ahead, she saw Locera take a swing at one of the Guild Luminaries as he ran for the stairs down to the ground. The swing was wild and only managed to cut a thin gash in the Luminary’s back. He howled in pain and lost his footing on the stairs, which saved his life, as the next swing of the blade would have taken off his head. A flash of lightning lit up the scene like some bad melodramatic adventure play.

  “You need to fight the sword, Locera,” she yelled. “This isn’t what you wanted.”

  Locera turned to face Reva, rain running down the front of the Basvu Mask. “I will feed!” he said, the voice low and guttural. “For too long I have sat, starving, my hunger unsated. Then this whelp taunts me and controls me. No more! I will feed on all of you!”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up!” Malvaceä yelled. He charged past Reva, managing to cut off Locera’s path down the stairs, and attacked him.

  Reva agreed with Malvaceä’s sentiment; she couldn’t stand it when criminals began their diatribes. What do they hope to accomplish? Boring me to death? She quickly moved in and pressed the attack on Locera.

  Locera was fast—even faster than he’d been before. He managed to not only parry nearly all of their attacks but to keep up a steady attack of his own on both Reva and Malvaceä, keeping them both off balance. The few blows they did land were deflected off the armor or left only scratches.

  Reva’s sword moved in its own blur, managing to block most of the blows aimed at her. Had she been facing Locera alone she didn’t think she’d have been able to keep up. As it was, Locera—or the Fury Blade—was having to divide its attention between her and Malvaceä, reducing the effectiveness of its attacks.