Blade and Soul

by C. M. Estopare

  His voice exploded through the clearing, the deep bass calling all to attention as birds fled.

  Ludovic—no, the Soliel—was delivering a speech. One that would put fire in the bellies of his people. One that motivated them to take another home—to take their old homes back from the highscale.

  Safrana would be theirs again. Marceline heard snippets. Little bits of his speech.

  She stared towards the two citadels on the horizon. The dragon prowling. The creature setting its serpentine eyes on the grassy countryside.

  Sometime today, she'd kill a dragon.

  The thought numbed her.

  Even with the highscale dead—her duty wouldn't die. Not yet. For, she still had to deal with the consequences of a broken promise.

  She'd still have to deal with the Masters.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Marceline

  At noon, the highscale shall turn to ash.

  You have one hour to make it right.

  They prowled on the tree line, crouching. Watchful as the gargantuan highscale staked out its turf before the two rising citadels of Safrana. Smoke wafted up from the western walls, as silence was cast over the east.

  The ballista from a day ago, the very same ballista that almost took the highscale out of the sky as it worked as Reine's savior, were silent now. Presumed dead.

  A shame, for they could have worked in the party's favor.

  Oh well.

  Marceline stood alongside five others, her own people. Men and women promoted to agents out of necessity. Their skills were lacking, though they practiced a calm demeanor as they stared at a breathing dragon.

  Three believed it was simply a play on the mind, that a sorceress or a daemon had summoned an illusion to trick them. The other two believed that this thing—this very real monster—was a sign of things to come. To them, it was a sign of the end.

  To Marceline, it was simply a block in the road. Another obstacle she had to overcome.

  She listened for Ludovic's signal. Listened to the ominous huff of the dragon as it watched the clearing, its own scales prickled as if sensing the tension in the air. Its sharp obsidian wings raised, ready to take flight if need be. Its wide mouth slightly open, embers rippling over the sides of its scaly lips.

  Marceline waited, kneeled in the dirt.

  A dark object flew through the wood. A spear. It pierced through low hanging branches and dead trees, meeting the sky at an angle. With the snap of its massive tail, the highscale deflected it.

  And welcomed a sea of roaring men and women, riled up at the opportunity to take back their homes.

  At the forefront of the charge, Marceline noticed Ludovic.

  She waited.

  More spears flew, their wooden staffs attached to long, thick, threads of shining nets. Four were propelled as the party advanced, a single whooping warcry erupting from hundreds of gaping mouths as more spears attached to weighted nets were thrown. Before long, the highscale was trapped.

  Marceline hissed, motioning to her agents. Snapping her fingers.

  Moving through the brush like foxes, Marceline and her agents left the tree line at a crouching run. Keeping their heads down, they swam through the tall grasses as the highscale wreathed and thrashed beneath the netting. Its spiked tail cut through the grass, forcing the line of Marceline's agents to snake farther towards the right as they avoided that massive, scaled, tail.

  Before long, they made it to the highscale's imposing body. Its size rivaled the expanse of the entire western citadel. It was monstrous—the creature's hind leg could have easily smashed ten of her.

  Slipping her dagger from her sheath, she clamped down on it with her teeth and climbed. Her agents followed, mirroring her movements as they attempted to ignore the initial shock and awe of climbing a creature said not to exist.

  Digging her fingertips between glinting black scales, Marceline fought to hold on as the creature bellowed a gut-wrenching screech. The sound rocketed through her body, sending tendrils of fear snaking down her back like slimy sludge. The hairs on her neck rose as her foot slipped on the cusp of the highscale's meaty hind leg. With a pulsing breath, she regained her foothold and continued to climb. Ignoring the agents who struggled to remain calm beneath her, she clutched the creature's rolling back and pulled herself up.

  She met its serpentine eye with a gasp. It threw her a sidelong look.

  Throwing back its massive head, it screamed. Charged forward through Ludovic's people and leaped into the air, the shadow of its all-encompassing wingspan widening over the field of green. Its elongating shadow swallowing the entire plain as it spiraled up and up. Gaining speed. Height.

  Screams erupted down below. The wind was ripping her people off the dragon’s back.

  Clenching her jaw, Marceline forced herself to work against the strong pull of the wind as the highscale flew in a slow and lazy circle. Spikes climbed up its back, from its tail to its head. Things that resembled thick black pikes jutting from the staff of a soldier. With a grunt, Marceline scrambled up the sprawling expanse of the creature's rolling back. Again, it threw her a glance.

  Its eyes—they were familiar.

  Her hand slapped a spike. With a cry, she flung herself around one of the dragon's back spikes.

  Looking down the way she came, no one climbed after her. No one followed.

  All five of her agents had fallen.

  She shook her head. Felt tears prickle on the rims of her eyelids.

  She still had a job to do—a duty to uphold.

  Looking forward, she judged the distance between this spike and the next. Guessed at how long it would take to make it to the dragon's head and plunge her dagger into its thick skull.

  She looked at the sky.

  And set her jaw.

  “Did I not help you hours past?”

  Marceline fumbled.

  Had the highscale...spoken to her?

  The creature's voice was deep and throaty. Raspy, like the thundering tone of a volcano.

  She ignored her curiosity. Fought against the wind to grab hold of another spike.

  Just seven more to go.

  Finishing its initial spiral, Marceline was thousands of feet up in the air. Down below, Ludovic's people looked like an ocean of vicious black ants.

  She climbed. Clutched to her current spike as her eyes watered against the racing pull of the wind.

  Pulling herself further forward, she caught hold of another spike.

  Six.

  The creature's back rolled and she lost her footing as it suddenly spun. Holding hard, clutching as tightly as her arms would allow her, she wrapped her entire body around the massive spike as the sky suddenly swam under her.

  “I know you feel guilt.”

  It roared. Thrashed its head to the side as it turned and spun once more.

  Marceline's mouth watered as her stomach rolled.

  “My bonded...your charge...the djinn stole her from you, just as he took her from me.”

  Reaching for another spike, her fingers went numb as her eyes widened.

  It knows Reine was my charge.

  But how?

  The ground was thousands of feet away—if she took her mind off of the task at hand...

  Reaching for another spike, she sprinted for it head first. Met it with a gasp and settled there.

  Five.

  “I am an agent in my own right,” it told her, voice growling within its throat, “an agent of the Fates—”

  It screeched.

  Smoke met Marceline's nose. Fire.

  Flames licked up from the highscale's chest as an undulating ball of fire died there, the ball smacking into the dragon's heart with a hiss.

  Ludovic had thrown fire.

  From down below, another fire blast rocketed towards the dragon as the creature screeched. The fire ball smacked it, flattening against its rib cage.

  With a flutter of its eyelids, the highscale went limp.

  It descended head first, helpless
as a baby bird as it fell towards the ground.

  Air batted Marceline, attempted to throw her from the highscale's back.

  Marceline held tight—though her strength ebbed as her muscles cried out in gripping agony. Every part of her was shaking—everything was ready to give way and be free. Be at peace.

  But Marceline's duty was not yet done. This was her obstacle. Her stake in life.

  She would not die before it did.

  With a lengthy growl, the highscale came to. Slid through the air like a kite before it touched down to the ground once more. Marceline sighed. Reached forward for another spike and barreled towards it.

  Four.

  Spears and arrows whistled into the sky, blanketing everything in a black rain as the dragon swiped with its massive hand. Its talons ripping men into meat ribbons.

  Marceline stole a glance at the sky.

  The creature did not have long.

  “This is not a fair battle,” it raged, spinning in a tornado of air, “for I have been cursed.”

  It knew.

  Pulling back its thick neck, heat came to life beneath Marceline's boots. Smoke funneled from between its lips as it brought its head back to meet Ludovic's party. Flame churned within its gullet.

  Marceline shook her head—it would burn them all alive!

  With a screech, she ripped her dagger from between her lips and stabbed the highscale in its neck.

  The creature simply laughed.

  Rearing back its head, it took off once more. Heading towards the sun.

  With a gasp, Marceline lost her hand hold as it took off. Air ripped at her grip as her muscles cried out. Cramming her feet between the cracks in the dragon's scales, Marceline held fast to the spike and brought her free arm to meet it.

  Another slip up like that and...

  The dragon soared towards the western citadel, heading for the dilapidated chateau.

  Marceline shook the thought away and climbed. Raced for another spike and panted. Felt her strength leaving her as she got closer to the creature's thick skull.

  Three.

  Three more.

  I can do this.

  She sprinted through the final two, finding a second wind as the dragon flew farther and farther from Ludovic's people. From here, they were miles away. A sea of black birds congregating on a plain of green.

  If something went wrong, they wouldn't make it in time and she would die.

  She looked to the sky, noted the position of the sun.

  The highscale did not have long.

  Steadily, it flapped its wings. Circled the chateau in lazy strokes.

  Meeting the final spike on the dragon's neck, she raced toward its head.

  “Against all odds, you have beaten them.” it breathed, setting itself down upon the ground, “But, do you know the consequences?”

  With a blood stopping war cry, Marceline kneeled and plunged the dagger into the center of the dragon's skull.

  Scarlet erupted from the wound like a geyser. Blue and orange flame came to life in the cracks and crevices zigzagging between the creature's scales and burned through the leather of her boots. Standing, she sprinted the length of the dragon's neck as it roared in sad acceptance of its fate. Careening off of the dragon's side, she jumped several stories and rolled to a stop once her legs hit the ground.

  Something snapped. Her shin—her knee. She hissed—cursed. Cradled it after rolling to a stop and ignored the acrid scent of smoke.

  Black agony sounded from between the highscale's massive lips. It opened its mouth to screech. To scream and bellow in confusion as its lengthy neck dropped into the side of the chateau and lay there. Its massive scaled body stretched out. Its wings flapping like a boat sail adrift in a storm. The god-like creature called its fears to the heavens and lay there, defeated, as its body was swallowed by flame.

  Its final cry to the heavens shook the entire citadel. It filled Marceline's heart with dread as she leaned against a wooden beam some ways away.

  They had done it.

  My duty here, is done.

  Next, came the Masters.

  Within moments, ash became it. Crystalline gray dropping between massive blackened bones.

  A victorious warcry rang throughout the entire citadel. Ludovic's people.

  Marceline felt empty. Couldn't tear her eyes away.

  Like snow falling from the sky, white forms began to erupt from the dragon's blackened bones. They flew, an amalgam of shades fidgeting and dancing. Swallowing the dragon's bones before they fled away to amass before her.

  They formed together into the shape of a person. A man. Handsome and tall, with long flowing hair the color of midnight.

  Marceline's jaw dropped—the Couture boy.

  He looked at her expectantly.

  She hadn't even remembered his name.

  Inwardly, she cursed herself. Outwardly, she was transfixed.

  A silken robe of white adorned him, trailing sleeves touched cobbles.

  “Marceline.”

  He remembered her—why couldn't she remember him?

  The Couture boy—the youngest.

  Her lips moved, though no sound came. Her heart skipped beats.

  “You, me,” he pointed, opened his arms wide, “all of us. We were all simply pawns in a glorious scheme. One that would have wiped Safrana off of the face of this world. Thus, bringing a halt to everything that is to come.”

  Marceline froze.

  He cocked his head, “But you could never be a god's pawn, could you?”

  And he deteriorated. Breaking up into faded orbs of white that dissipated. Melted away like snow.

  Dimitri, Marceline realized. Gawked.

  His name was, Dimitri.

  She stared, silent. Her thoughts picking through his words. They made no sense. Absolutely no sense.

  If you kill her, there will be grand consequences.

  Pawns in a glorious scheme...

  The Fates...

  Had the gods themselves been toying with her? Had the Fates destroyed her chances of ever being a true Agent of the Bann? Was it them who took Adelaide and the others away? Who stole Fort Endure?

  Was the djinn simply an agent of the Fates? Just as the highscale had been?

  What else did she not know?

  A presence surrounded her. Multiple presences.

  Ludovic's people.

  They danced in the dilapidated streets, singing songs—falling to the cobbles in happy tears as they realized that the citadel was theirs again. They had found another home.

  Marceline's job here was finally over and done with.

  Now, she would have to seek out the Masters.

  Marceline stiffened. The happy noises around her died away.

  In the distance, she heard growls. Feverish pants.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Marceline

  Though the main street before the chateau pulsed with people, in the darkness of alleyways and dilapidated shops, milky white eyes glowed. In the darkness, things scuttled.

  Ludovic's people continued cheering, unaware that the danger was not yet over.

  Searching for Ludovic, Marceline found him in the center of a half crescent of people. Hobbling as fast as her broken leg would allow her to go, she forced herself through the undulating crowd. Heart throbbing in her chest as things moved in the distance. Curious things. Hungry things.

  She grabbed his shoulder, “Don't celebrate here.” she hissed, voice hoarse, “We need to move.”

  He shrugged her hand off. Raised his own as a boy peeled from the cheering crowd around him. Motioning with his fingers, the little boy—one Marceline knew—raced up to him. Turned and puffed out his chest.

  “Here, hiding in plain sight, I present to you all: the rightful heir to the glass throne of Safrana, son of Duchess Mariett Victor—Arthur Victor!”

  The crowd roared, hands flew up into the air.

  At the raucous noise, the creatures swept from the shadows. Moving like shadows themse
lves as they scuttled up the street on all fours, blackened limbs crawling like the many appendages of a centipede. They moaned and howled—finally grabbing the attention of the crowd.

  People froze. Turned their heads and stared, mouths gaping.

  The creatures stood still as well, heads cocked. Milky eyes unseeing.

  They crawled forward. The crowd stalled.

  With the highscale gone, the creatures were no longer afraid. No longer forced to thrive in the shadows—sunlight burned them, steam rising from the tops of their obsidian heads—but they continued to crawl, some breaking into sprints. The creatures hissing and cawing—ignoring the pain the light brought them. Relishing in the thought that today, their hunger for live flesh would be sated.

  Marceline drew her dagger. Beside her, Ludovic shoved the boy behind himself.

  Marceline cursed. With her bum leg—there was only so much she could do.

  The creatures descended upon the group like a wave. Crashing down with outstretched arms and talons. Mouths elongated to show their protruding yellowed fangs as they fell upon the outer portion of the crying crowd.

  Screams replaced the cheering. Fear replaced the happiness.

  But after taking back their homes—after fighting for the citadel—Ludovic's people would not go down so easily.

  They picked up spears, swords, bows. They fought, backs to the chateau, as they became one mind. One thought—survive.

  The chateau was defensible. Destroyed, but together they could maintain it.

  The group moved towards it, the spider-like creatures crashing upon them over and over. Descending like an unyielding wave.

  Men and women screamed. Children were lost to the outstretched hands and black talons. Friends, family members, a gaggle of faceless people too slow to stay close to the crowd were taken. Gone. Just like that.

  Before long, the survivors closed themselves within the chateau and the creatures turned away to scuttle back towards their hideouts. Back towards the slimy embrace of darkness.

  Marceline knew they'd be back.

  FIVE WEEKS PASSED LIKE this. The creatures descending upon the chateau at all times of the day—morning, noon, night. At night, they came back en force. With the sun gone and the moon often safely behind the clouds, no light burned them. No light burned away their hair and melted their slick skin.