Shadows of Asphodel

by Karen Kincy

  Light spilled from the windows of Vigoren’s workshop, and Ardis let herself inside.

  The swordsmith was nowhere to be seen and, like before, there were no customers besides herself. She walked to the counter and looked around, but there was no bell to ring for service. In the glass case near her right, she inspected the lineup of antique rapiers. She didn’t like the thrust-and-parry style of fencing, but she had seen one or two mercenaries who had made a living out of killing that way.

  The door creaked open behind her, and heavy boots clomped on the floor.

  “Hello?” boomed a voice.

  She glanced back and saw a big bear of a man with long thinning hair. He let the door swing shut behind him and lumbered into the shop. When he saw her, his eyes flickered with interest, and he grinned at her.

  “Didn’t know Vigoren had a shop girl,” he said.

  “He doesn’t,” Ardis said, “and do I look like a girl?”

  The big man looked her up and down, slowly, with a revolting leer.

  “You look like a very nice girl,” he said.

  Ardis shook her head. “Try harder.”

  “What?”

  “If you want to insult me,” she said, “try harder.”

  The big man thought about this for a moment, then grimaced. His hand clamped down over the hilt of the longsword at his waist. Ardis reached for Chun Yi, but of course it wasn’t there. She glanced at the rapiers, ready to smash the case and grab one if she absolutely had to. This oaf probably wasn’t that good.

  “Come on, sweetheart.” The big man lifted his hands. “Just trying to be friendly.”

  “Vigoren?” Ardis raised her voice to a shout. “I’m here for my sword.”

  The big man moved close enough that she could smell his sweat and the beer on his breath. Not to mention see the remnants of his last meal in his beard. She pressed her lips together and tried not to gag.

  “Sword?” he said. “Why do you want a sword?”

  Ardis ignored him and edged closer to the rapiers. The big man leaned down to her height, his breath damp in her ear.

  “I have a sword for you right here,” he leered, and he grabbed his crotch.

  She challenged him with a stare. “Back off before I hurt you.”

  The big man laughed, then lunged for a fistful of her hair. She sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted his arm. He stumbled forward, off balance, and she followed with a swift elbow to his face. He grunted and brought his hands up to protect himself. She took the chance to draw his sword from its scabbard.

  Panting, Ardis pointed the longsword at the man’s face.

  “Done?” she said.

  He nodded, sweating. She backed away and inspected his longsword. It was a dull blade, not nearly as nice as Chun Yi.

  “You don’t deserve to have this,” she said, “if you threaten women with it.”

  At that moment, Vigoren strolled out from the back of the shop. Cradling Chun Yi in its scabbard, he glanced between the two of them.

  “Might I ask what the hell is going on?” the swordsmith said.

  “This idiot tried to grab me,” Ardis said.

  Vigoren glanced at him. “Is that true?”

  The big man nodded, still breathing hard.

  “Get out,” Vigoren said.

  “But—but she has my sword!” spluttered the big man.

  Ardis narrowed her eyes. “You can have it,” she said, “only because I’m not a thief.”

  She dropped the sword and kicked it across the floor. It skidded to the man’s feet. He fumbled to pick it up, then scrambled out into the night. The door swung shut behind him, and Ardis straightened her clothes.

  “Right,” she said. “My sword?”

  Vigoren cleared his throat. “I hope he wasn’t a paying customer.”

  “He was just the wrong kind of drunk,” she said. “Too drunk to keep his hands to himself, and too sober not to stay put in the tavern.”

  With a laugh Vigoren offered her Chun Yi, pommel-first.

  “I fixed the scabbard,” he said, “and I believe I unbound the enchantment.”

  Ardis took a deep breath, then swept her sword from its scabbard.

  Nothing happened. Chun Yi still looked dull and battered. Frowning, she gripped the sharkskin hilt tighter and swung the sword so it whirred through the air. The balance of the blade felt familiar. Disappointingly.

  “Are you sure?” Ardis said.

  Vigoren shrugged. Maybe he was mistaken.

  “Here,” she said. “Take another look.”

  She flipped the sword and caught the flat of the blade in her left hand. Chun Yi slipped and cut her in the crook of her thumb.

  Ardis grimaced. “Damn it.”

  Blood trickled onto the blade. Iridescence shimmered down the length of the steel, then ignited in a rush of magic. Chun Yi burned like an ember, glowing cherry red at the center, cooling to ash gray at the edges.

  Ardis almost dropped the sword, but it smoldered without heat.

  “Blood magic!” Vigoren said.

  She glanced at him. He was grinning.

  “Swordsmiths dream of discovering enchantments like this,” Vigoren said. “Ancient, rare, and hidden in even the ugliest of blades.”

  Ugly? Ardis decided not to argue the point.

  “I saw it in an axe, once, years ago,” he said. “I never thought I would see it again.”

  Ardis let the sword mesmerize her. She always found burning beautiful.

  “What does blood magic do?” she said.

  Vigoren rubbed his mustache. “The blade is bloodthirsty, very literally. The more blood it drinks, the more powerful it will become.”

  “Powerful? How?”

  “Sharper. Stronger. Faster.”

  Ardis backed into an easy stance and swung Chun Yi. The sword felt exceedingly well-balanced, even lighter than she remembered. She moved through a few sword forms, then sheathed the blade. The red glow died instantly. The palm of her hands still tingled from touching the sword. She drew Chun Yi halfway, watched the glow creep along the steel again, then let it fall back into the scabbard.

  “It’s a real beauty,” Vigoren said.

  Ardis laughed. “I feel like I should be extra careful with an enchantment.”

  “Oh, that sword has survived centuries of hacking and slashing.”

  “I really don’t know a thing about enchantments. A man once let me borrow his dagger’s magic, but that’s about it.”

  “Borrow?” Vigoren said. “A mage, then.”

  Ardis shrugged. “I guess you could call him that. His dagger was black, Damascus steel, with an enchantment for invisibility.”

  Vigoren glanced sideways at her with a skeptical smile.

  “Invisibility?” he said. “That’s impossible.”

  “Well, near invisibility.”

  “How so?”

  “It looked like shadows. Shadows that cloaked him completely.”

  Vigoren’s smile disappeared. He tilted his head, his eyes dark.

  “And you’re still alive?” He shook his head. “Among swordsmiths, there are rumors about a dagger forged from darkness. The man who wields it is known for violence and cruelty. He’s what you might call evil.”

  Ardis couldn’t help but shudder, even though she scoffed at foolish rumors.

  “Evil?” she said. “I wouldn’t call him evil.”

  Vigoren’s eyebrows went skyward. “How do you know him?”

  It wouldn’t be smart to tell him more, especially with the Order of the Asphodel in Vienna this very moment.

  Ardis cleared her throat and reached for her wallet.

  “How much for the repairs?” she said.

  “Ninety koronas,” Vigoren said. “Sharkskin isn’t easy to come by.”

  She handed him the coins. Her blood smudged the silver. She blushed and pressed her fingertips to the cut on her palm.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Vigoren smiled.
“Just don’t let your sword cut you again.”

  She tried to smile back, not entirely thrilled with blood magic.

  ~

  On the way from Vigoren’s workshop to the guesthouse where she was staying, Ardis hesitated outside a brewpub. The door swung open as a man staggered out, and the aroma of wiener schnitzel wafted to her. She heard laughter and at least one drinking song. At this time of night the beer steins were always full.

  Ardis licked her dry lips and stepped inside, lured by the promise of ale and dinner.

  She found a stool at the bar and caught the eye of a barmaid. “A pint of your best lager.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The barmaid delivered a stein brimming with beer, and Ardis swigged the delicious bitterness. She propped her sore feet on the barstool, glanced around the brewpub, and sighed with growing contentment. Maybe this was what Austrians called Gemütlichkeit, the feeling of warm peace in good company. She would ask Konstantin if—

  “You!”

  A shout cut through the hubbub. She turned around and saw none other than the big man from the swordsmith’s shop. He was advancing on her from the corner of the pub, and he wasn’t alone. Two equally hulking friends backed him up. The big man’s eye looked bruised where she had elbowed him, but he was grinning.

  Ardis tensed instantly, since she doubted that was a friendly grin.

  “Missed me?” he asked.

  He loomed over her, pressing her against the bar, and his two friends sat on the barstools flanking her. She shrugged and drank more beer. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw that all three men were armed with swords.

  “This is the bitch who gave you that black eye?” one of the friends said.

  “Yeah, Dirk,” said the other, “she’s a head shorter than you.”

  Dirk. So that was the big man’s name. She would remember that.

  “Sorry,” Ardis said, with a nod at Dirk. “That looks nasty. Well, nastier than usual.”

  Both of the friends guffawed, and they were sitting close enough that it hurt her ears. Dirk’s face reddened. His grin looked even more forced. Ardis drained the last of her beer, then set down the tankard with a decisive thunk. She caught the eye of the barmaid, who looked a little worried, and flipped her a coin.

  “I’m done for the night,” she said. “This pub just got too crowded.”

  She slipped past Dirk, and surprisingly, none of the thugs tried to grab her. Maybe it was Chun Yi sheathed at her belt. She pushed through the door of the brewpub and quickened her pace. Footsteps clomped after her.

  A glance backward proved that Dirk was in pursuit.

  Ardis’s hand closed over the hilt of Chun Yi, and she felt a jolt of adrenaline. She lingered near an alley and considered her options. She was supposed to be on break between missions as a mercenary. She was supposed to be relaxing, not picking fights with idiots twice her size and three times as stupid. She was—

  To hell with it. Dirk needed to be stopped.

  Ardis darted into the alley. Dirk followed her, his sword flashing in the lamplight. She glanced over her shoulder. A dead end. She would have to be careful not to get cornered. Dirk stumbled to a halt, his breath fouling the air.

  “I warned you that I would hurt you,” Ardis said.

  “You need a man between your legs,” he said, “you uptight little bitch.”

  She smiled grimly and drew Chun Yi. The blade smoldered with blood magic, and she saw surprise in Dirk’s eyes.

  Was he stupid enough to attack her now? Yes, he was.

  Ardis waited for him to charge, then swept past him and sliced his ribs just enough to hurt. Chun Yi crackled at the taste of blood.

  With a shout, Dirk spun around. His sword whirred toward her head, and she blocked his attack. The shock of it drove her backward and sent reverberations down her arm. She recovered her balance and pivoted away from him.

  He was much stronger than she had thought. But she could still outsmart him.

  The thought steeled her muscles. When Dirk attacked again, Ardis slid Chun Yi along the length of his blade and stabbed him in the shoulder. Dirk bellowed. Blood trickled down her sword’s hilt and dripped hotly over her hand. When she yanked out Chun Yi, the blade sizzled and spat a trail of sparks into the air.

  Dirk attacked again, but his sword swung wide. She dodged the blow with ease.

  His stance left him vulnerable. In one swift movement, she crossed blades, reached under his sword’s pommel, and grabbed his hilt. With a savage twist to his wrist, she wrenched his blade sideways and disarmed him.

  Dirk bellowed again, like he thought he could intimidate her, but it was too late.

  With a sword in each hand, Ardis stared at him through narrowed eyes. Chun Yi smoldered on the verge of flames, and she was struck by an urge to cut his neck and let all his blood flow. But she was merciful.

  “You lost,” she said. “And this time, you won’t get your sword back.”

  Dirk backed away, holding his head low like a wounded bull. His blood dripped down his shirt and pattered on the cobblestones. At the mouth of the alley, he groaned, swayed, then turned around and fled down the street.

  Ardis watched him run. Then she tossed his sword into the nearest garbage heap.

  Ardis strode through the dark and glittering night. She returned to the train station where Wendel had left her. As if the sky remembered, it began to rain again. She drew Chun Yi and watched raindrops hiss and die on the blade. She touched her fingertip to the steel, but it still felt cool and smooth under her skin.

  How much blood did her sword want to devour?

  A train’s shrill whistle pierced the air. Ardis shivered and sheathed her sword. Driven by determination, she bought a ticket for the next overnight train from Vienna to Frankfurt. There, she could travel to Brussels, then Antwerp. Her ticket wasn’t first-class this time, though, and Ardis smiled faintly at the memory.

  She shared a couchette car with three young German men in school uniforms. They were all very polite to her, though they kept eyeing her sword. She stashed Chun Yi in the crack between her berth and the wall, then kicked off her boots and lay down. Weariness weighting her bones, Ardis stared at the ceiling.

  “Chun Yi,” she mouthed to herself.

  Wendel’s question echoed in her mind.

  And how exactly did Pure Justice happen to fall into your hands?

  It had belonged to her mother, and before that, it had been the property of her mother’s husband. He thought of her mother as his property as well, though he treated her even more poorly. At least he knew the value of the sword and kept it safe on the long voyage from China to America. He didn’t think of her mother as breakable.

  It was her mother who broke him in the end, and with his own sword.

  When he hurt her one too many times, she defended herself. That was what she called it—defense—but her eyes glinted with vengeance every time she told the story. In some way, Ardis took a twisted comfort in knowing both she and her mother had killed with Chun Yi. But she still didn’t know where the sword came from.

  The overnight train clattered from Vienna and ventured into the deepening darkness. Ardis let her eyelids close, then fell asleep.

  She dreamed of blood, and guns, and smoldering magic.

  ~

  Frankfurt and Brussels passed by in a blur of gray skies and sprints through train stations to make her transfers. When Ardis arrived in Antwerp on Monday morning, she hopped from the train and glanced around with bleary eyes.

  So this was the new Antwerp Central Station. She had heard about its impressive arches, ornate stonework, and immense windows that fanned like peacock tails. In America, you didn’t get this kind of fairytale architecture.

  Ardis peered at a clock mounted above a gilded molding of Antwerp’s coat of arms.

  A quarter past eight.

  Damn, she was late. Diesel’s train arrived from Ghent at eight o’clock sharp, and she was supposed to meet him here.

&nbs
p; Ardis broke into a run and barreled down the platform. A conductor blew his whistle at her, signaling for her to slow down, but she ignored him. Staggered by the immensity of the entrance hall, she slowed to a jog. She reached into her jacket and took out a photograph of Diesel from the envelope Margareta had given her in Vienna. He wore spectacles over his dark eyes, and had a neatly-trimmed white mustache.

  Photograph in hand, she hunted for him in the entrance hall.

  There, on a bench, Diesel sat with his hands folded in his lap. He wore an understated suit, but she could tell it was costly from the cut and style of the fabric. He had the same calm expression as his likeness in the photograph. When she walked up to him, he glanced into her eyes. She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat.

  “Dr. Rudolf Diesel?” Ardis said.

  “Yes?” he said

  “My name is Ardis,” she said. “The archmages of Vienna sent me to travel with you.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Much as I would rather travel alone.”

  A subtle accent sharpened his soft voice. She remembered he had been born in Paris, then lived in London. He was a wanderer, like her.

  “Sir?” Ardis said. “Are you ready?”

  Diesel stood and bent to grab his luggage. She beat him to it and took his bag for him. He cleared his throat and stepped back.

  “Please,” he said, “let me. I don’t require a porter as well as a bodyguard.”

  “I insist,” Ardis said, though his bag was heavy.

  Diesel sighed. “Very well. Shall we?”

  He strolled toward the doors, and Ardis matched his stride. It was awkward to carry the bag with Chun Yi sheathed at her waist, though she managed not to struggle. She didn’t want him to think she was weak—or worse, extraneous.

  “I had hoped for a bite to eat,” Diesel said, “unless the archmages wish otherwise?”

  “I go where you go, sir.”

  Ardis’s stomach rumbled, and Diesel’s mustache didn’t quite hide his small smile. As they stepped from Antwerp Central, the early sunlight slanted down into their eyes. He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose.