The Knife's Edge

by Matthew Wolf

  Gray nodded slowly, it all made sense. My past… he thought, pulse racing. Vera slowly ran a finger down his arm towards his sword. His eyes focused on her hand. But one thing didn’t make sense. “He already did find me. You said he would kill me as soon as he saw me. He didn’t.”

  “I was going to ask that myself. How did you survive?”

  “He warned me and then left. There was nothing more to it. Your story doesn’t add up, Vera.”

  Vera sighed as if he were daft. “Is that so? Well, I guess all men need to be told where to put their feet on occasion in order to stop them from tripping over themselves. Answer me this, when he came to you, did he grab the sword?”

  “Yes,” said Gray. “But he gave it back.”

  “And when he grabbed it, did it cause him pain?”

  “It did,” he answered slower, curious.

  “You see? He cannot simply kill you and take the sword.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is in the prophecy, Kirin,” she said. “Once the sword chooses a new bearer, the old owner must wait for the sword to ascend, but once the sword turns, any can bind their soul to its purpose. Until that time, all but the true bearer will be pained by its touch,” she explained. “In this phase, Kail cannot wield it. Instead, he waits for you to turn the blade before he can grasp it once again.”

  Suddenly something rustled in the brush. The woods abruptly darkened. The fire sputtered dying in a rush.

  “They’re coming,” she said.

  “Who’s coming?”

  “Those who follow Kail, the ones I came to protect you from. This is not something you can face alone,” she said. “There are so many…”

  “The town of Lakewood is not far,” he said, “You should run now.”

  “You don’t understand!”

  “I’m not leaving you,” he answered, when a sliver of darkness crept along the blade. Master the sword, the words echoed in his head.

  “Damn you and your stubborn pride,” she cursed. “You haven’t changed at all. So be it. Together, then.” Strange pink light filled her palms. She tilted back her head, as if letting the power consume her. Faint veins in her neck glowed green. She stood beside him, facing the woods. “Last chance,” she offered.

  “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.” Gray watched as a darkness slunk along the ground, nearing until it was almost upon them. It reached for his boot. He stepped back quickly, but before he could, the darkness shrieked. He looked to his sword in surprise. The darkness is afraid of the blade’s light, he realized. The blade roared, as if in response, its silver luminescence pushing back the darkness. He looked at Vera. The darkness avoided her all together.

  It moved away, crawling up the trees, and it turned the leaves to black ash with a sizzling hiss. Gray swallowed hard. Vera’s eyes didn’t even flicker.

  Vergs stepped out of the woods, and saeroks stalked behind. Just like the stories, they were covered in sparse fur and loped on all fours. They rose onto two legs, standing twice as tall as him. Thick-hided monstrous vergs, their steps rattling the earth, lurched out of the woods, a steady stream. They were completely surrounded. Abruptly, the vergs laughed. Saeroks echoed their nightmarish brethren, and the sound blended together in a blood-chilling chorus. Gray saw an opening, and charged with a cry. Words flared before his mind and power filled his limbs. Quenching the Fire.

  He cut into a saerok, severing claws as it attempted to parry his mighty blow. The blade cut with liquid ease. The saerok cried out, and its jaws flared wide. A roar like fired sounded, and a seething ball of black hurtled over his shoulder. It smashed into the creature before him, tearing it apart.

  Gray saw Vera in the corner of his vision as a verg swiped at him. Fear fueled his limbs, and he rolled between its legs hacking left and right. It howled in pain. A saerok appeared before him, lashing out. Its swipe caught his shoulder and he rolled aside. Gray lost himself in the movements. A voice whispered. Trimming the Stalks, meets Wind Dances in the Reeds, flowing into Tempest Fury. Vera fought by his side. Beasts fell before her fiery black bolts, even quicker than his sword. What was more, he could swear in his flickering glances that the beasts looked shocked as she cut them down—it seemed the only reason they weren’t dead. Gray dove beneath a strike when a cry sounded beside him.

  Vera.

  She clutched her chest. The menacing dark power that surrounded her quickly dimmed. Saeroks and vergs descended upon her.

  He shouted and ran towards her.

  “No!” she cried, thrusting out a hand, “Run, Gray! Run you fool!”

  The words sounded all too familiar. Gray stopped, paralyzed by the words. No! Not again! He dashed towards Vera, heedless of the corpses that littered the ground.

  A saerok jumped before him, blocking his way, and he cut, but the beast grabbed for his sword in one powerful hand. Gray pulled with all his might, slicing its hand. The creature cried out, but two more saeroks joined it, falling in at its side. There are too many. It was the voice of a warrior who knew an unwinnable battle.

  “Run,” a saerok said mockingly as blood poured from its wound. Other saeroks and vergs were still coming out of the woods. They approached in a slow, ominous death-stalk. Gray cursed loudly, his mind filled with rage.

  Finally he turned, and tore through the woods. He heard the breath of saeroks on his heels and the crash of brush behind him, and he ran faster. He dared not look back as he jumped over root and vine, tearing heedlessly through the shrouded forest.

  At last, he glimpsed a light like a beacon through the trees.

  Lakewood.

  A Festival

  THE LIGHT OF THE TOWN WAS lurid in Gray’s vision as he ran, nearing the stone gate. Exhausted, he fell to his knees. “Someone help!” he bellowed and pounded on the gate.

  He glanced over his shoulder, flinching, expecting to see beasts hurtling out of the night and across the stretch of earth—but there was nothing. The creatures that had been scraping on his heels were nowhere to be seen. He paused, as his breath came quick and hard. Suddenly, he heard sounds and lights danced, bobbing up and down upon the rampart. In the center of the door, a slot scraped open. A helmeted eye peered out. “Quick, I need help! Someone’s hurt!” The slot slammed shut. His fists clenched and he shouted, “What’s wrong with you? Why will you not help?”

  Suddenly from behind, he heard the clop of hooves on the soft dirt. He twisted, half expecting to see the monsters. Instead, he saw an orange light in the darkness. He hid behind a nearby rock as the light approached, resolving itself into a cart. A skinny man, wearing the simple garb of a merchant sat in the driver’s seat. Who else would attempt to enter at this time of night? Gray wondered. The cart rolled closer and he saw it was full of hay. The merchant stopped before the door. The slot slid open again.

  “Who is it?” a voice called.

  “It’s me, open the door!” the merchant ordered.

  “Show me the sign!”

  The merchant grumbled and pulled back his sleeve, exposing his forearm, showing the guard something Gray couldn’t see. This was his chance. Gray slid from his hiding place. He dashed towards the cart, staying low and quiet. The merchant’s back was still turned and he dove into the mountain of hay, wriggling and burying himself deep. There was a scraping sound. The gate slid open. Through the hay and the wooden slats of the cart, he saw a soldier in leather and mail approach.

  “Did you see a young man?” the guard questioned gruffly.

  “Man? I saw no one,” the merchant replied. “What are you talking about?”

  Gray was right below the merchant’s seat and could hear the man’s wheezing breaths. Moist straw pricked his flesh all over, and sweat trickled down his brow as he waited for the two to speak again. What were they doing?

  “I suppose I was mistaken,” the guard said at last. “You see and hear strange things at this hour. The darkness plays tricks on you. What’s your name, brother?”

  “You may call me, Ereb
os,” said the merchant.

  “Was the road difficult?” the guard asked.

  Erebos snorted. “I did not travel from the lands to the east, moving day and night to exchange pleasantries.”

  “Whatever you say,” said the guard. “So it is time then?”

  “Soon enough. We must prepare for their arrival. Are any suspicious?”

  “None yet. However, there is a new presence in town giving orders.”

  “Who is it?” Erebos asked.

  “I’m not sure. They arrived just recently. I heard it is a woman. The watch has been doubled already. It is only a matter of time until someone suspects. I’m not sure if I can wait any longer.”

  “Steel your nerves,” the merchant commanded under his breath, “The reward is well worth the wait.” A straw pricked Gray’s ear, and another tickled his nose. The desire to itch made his skin crawl, and he struggled for a breath in the stale air.

  “What’s in the cart?” the guard asked abruptly, moving closer, so close Gray smelled the guard’s breath that stank of ale. If he wanted, he could reach out and grab the man’s sword from his sheath. The guard pushed at the straw with his gloved hand.

  “No use looking back there, just hay,” Erebos said. “I stole the cart on my way here, and killed the man who owned it. I saw no use emptying it. It proved useful and aroused less suspicion. Now if you don’t mind, the last thing I want is to be sitting in the cold and jabbering with you. Direct me to the nearest hovel and I’ll be on my way.”

  “The Golden Horn is our best inn,” said the guard, “Talk to Mishif. He knows everyone and everything that goes on within Lakewood. He’ll set you up. Till next I see you, brother.”

  Erebos grumbled something in reply, and Gray heard the horse nicker as the merchant flicked his reins. The cart rumbled through the gate, and he glimpsed the tall stone walls, and the cobblestone road.

  As soon as he entered the town, and got a fair distance from the gates, he slipped out the back of the cart, and rolled to the street. He ducked into the shadows of a nearby roof and caught his breath, brushing hay from his clothes.

  Beyond he heard sounds of laughter and cheer. He saw colorful displays of tents. Delicious smells hit his nose and made him groan. A festival? It’s as good a place as any to look for Mura. He headed towards the lights as a round of explosions lit up the night sky.

  Lakewood

  FIREWORKS EXPLODED IN THE NIGHT SKY.

  “Come join us, Darius!” a group of girls called in unison.

  With a smile and a bow, Darius declined, for something more interesting caught his attention. A laugh rose above the others. Cari stood behind the counter of a nearby apple stand.

  Darius dodged through the crowd, and with a nimble twist ended up right in front of the stand. He rested an elbow on the counter and added a wink.

  “Happy harvest, Darius,” she said shyly, but her light blue eyes were not shy.

  “Evening, Cari.” She looked sweet, but somehow different. Her heart-shaped face was framed by dark wavy hair. He liked how she wore it down and loose, unlike the others girls who pulled their hair back. He realized in that moment that she was no longer a girl.

  “What can I get you?” she asked.

  Darius looked back. He eyed her until she blushed, then he laughed and she did the same. Appearing out of nowhere, a batch of girls swarmed in from all sides. They tugged at Cari, giggling and coaxing her to join them.

  Darius turned on his most charming smile. “Evening ladies.”

  “Darius,” Vivian said as she arched an eyebrow. “What sort of trouble are you causing tonight? Come, Cari,” she said, and before he knew it they had linked arms and were tugging her away.

  He sighed, snatched an apple off the counter, and tossed a copper onto the empty stand. Turning, he moved into the crowd when he was hit hard. Knocked from his feet, he landed in the dirt.

  Dazed, he shook his head as a hand extended before his face. He looked up into the face of a young man roughly his own age. His disheveled dark hair matched his brows, and his angular face was smudged with a thin layer of dirt and a weeks’ worth of unshaven stubble—not much more than I can grow, Darius conceded in the back of his mind.

  The man’s deep-set, green eyes were the only clear feature. “Are you all right?”

  Darius took the hand and stood. With his other hand, he deftly checked to make sure his bag of coins was still there. Cutpurses were rare in Lakewood, but they were not unknown.

  “Quite all right,” Darius replied, brushing himself off and taking another sidelong look at the young man. “You look a bit travel worn,” he said, and thought it an understatement. He bowed. “Darius is my name. What’s yours?”

  “What does that matter?”

  Darius shrugged. “I just want to know, that’s all. Not many visitors to Lakewood. Don’t get your hackles up.”

  The stranger looked embarrassed. “Gray,” he said, shaking his hand.

  “Good,” said Darius, “Now that we have that settled, what brings you to town?”

  “A friend. I’m looking for him.” Gray ran a hand through his hair, as if nervous.

  “Is he a newcomer?”

  “Yes, I was told to talk with a man named Mishif? Can you direct me?”

  “Bah,” said Darius. “You don’t need to talk to Mishif.” He put a hand on his shoulder, drawing him in. He noticed Gray’s tattered gray cloak and its insignia of two crossed swords. “First off, he’ll talk your ear off, and go on about regulations so long that you’ll realize you’ve spent a month standing in the same spot, and your friend has off and left town. And second, because I know everyone in Lakewood, including the newcomers.”

  Gray looked relieved. “That’s excellent! So then, you know a man named Mura?”

  “Hm,” Darius paused, finger to his lips. “Nope.”

  “But you just said…”

  “I never said I was good with names,” Darius replied, raising his hands defensively. “But if you give me a description, I’d be glad to oblige.”

  Gray narrowed his gaze. “All right, he’s probably a hand shorter than you.”

  “Good start,” said Darius nodding.

  “…And he dresses in gray and black, and he will likely be worn from travel. He will be unshaven, and he wears his gray hair pulled back loosely in a knot.”

  “And he looks like he can chew leather and clean his teeth with sharp steel?”

  Gray’s eyes brightened. “Yes!” he said and then paused. “Well, I suppose that sounds like him.”

  “Don’t know him,” said Darius as he cuffed Gray’s arm. “Just sounded like a good description.” Gray looked as if he were ready to hit Darius in the jaw. He laughed, shaking Gray’s shoulder to ease the tension. “Hey, come on, relax.”

  “I don’t need to relax, I need to find this man,” he said and turned away, once more looking over the heads of the crowd. “It’s important.”

  “Hey you, stop!” A voice cut through and Darius looked up as a guard’s helmet bobbed over the heads of the crowd. The guard pressed his way through the throng of revelers, causing a commotion. He was heading straight for them.

  Darius spoke quickly, watching the guard’s approach over Gray’s shoulder, “Sorry, my friend, but this is where we part. I wish you the best of luck in Lakewood and for the record, I meant no harm.”

  “What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

  The guard broke through the last set of men and women. Darius twisted, his fingers dangling at his side anxiously. He looked for a way out but saw none. The guard was tall and would surely see his departure. Suddenly, there was a scuffle and a man tripped, falling into the guard’s path and slowing his advance.

  Now’s my chance. He gave Gray’s shoulder a parting grasp, and then slipped away, ducking through a gap in the crowds. Thanking Lokai for saving him yet again, he hurried away. But curious, he paused before he had gone too far, and looked back.

  The guard grabbed Gray b
y the arm, and pointed angrily to his sword. Gray fought but the guard hauled him away. What? He wasn’t after me, he was after him.

  Who was his new friend?

  The Courtyard

  THE GUARD PULLED GRAY TO A halt.

  They were on the keep upon the hill, and had taken a circuitous route through various courtyards and hallways to get here. Ahead, a series of stairs led to a training yard open to the bright night sky. It was filled with men and women in rings. In one, a man instructed while others sparred. On the far side of the yard, men faced stacks of hay with bow and arrow. Despite the time of night, the grounds were alive with energy, and shouts filled the air. A full moon and orange paper-lanterns lit the scene.

  “She’s waiting for you, over there,” said the guard, pointing.

  “Are you going to give me my sword back?” He eyed Morrowil, which the guard held in one meaty fist. The fool had no idea what he held.

  “No. Swords are forbidden in Lakewood. It will be kept in the Tower until you leave our walls. Besides, you’ll have no need for it. Lakewood is a safe town. We make sure troublemakers like you don’t stay long.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Gray said. He turned as a female’s voice, full of power and grace, cut through the din of battle. Now loose from the guard’s grip, Gray debated running. But his curiosity was too great, and he followed the voice.

  As he moved through the combatants, he noticed the skill of two men who clashed in the center of a circle. Too wide a stance, he remarked as the smaller of the two retreated under a flurry of blows. Gray saw the small man’s face break out in sweat, furiously parrying. The tall man pressed the clear advantage, ready to win.