by Rachel Aaron
Behind him, Josef felt Nico cower.
“Nico,” he said, his voice low. “Run.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head furiously.
“Do it.” Josef’s voice strained as he lifted his weight off the Heart.
“No,” Nico said again.
Josef glared over his shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot. I saw what happened up by the mountain. I’ve seen your arm. If you fight to win here like you are, you could lose everything we’ve worked for. Run, I’ll find you. I promise.”
Nico stared at him, clutching the arm she hid beneath her coat, her dark eyes wide. Then, without another word, she turned and ran.
She tore around the cabin, sprinting wildly through the trees. Josef watched her until she vanished over the closest rise, and then he turned back to Sted. As he did so, he noticed that the man Sted had spoken to, the one who didn’t look like a bandit, was already gone.
Coldly, slowly, Josef put it out of his mind. He’d done what he could for Nico. If he was going to survive to keep his promise, he’d need all his concentration for the fight ahead.
Sted waved his arm, and the bandits fell back, taking cover in the ring of trees around the cabin. Josef stayed put, conserving his energy. His sword felt heavy as lead in his hands, a sure sign he was at his limit, even with the Heart’s help. His only hope was to beat Sted in one blow. His eyes flicked to Sted’s covered shoulders. Unless all League men could reform their bodies like the Lord of Storms, that cape was probably there to hide Sted’s missing arm. That is, if Sted was even a League man anymore. Without a coat or a sword, Josef wasn’t sure. But he could feel the Heart warning him through the warm metal not to be cocky. League or not, whole or not, Sted was no one to take lightly. He gripped his sword tighter. He’d done this before. One good blow, that was all he needed.
The clearing fell silent as Sted, still seemingly unarmed, took his position. Warily, Josef matched him, keeping the Heart close. Overhead, the treetops danced in the wind. Leather creaked as the bandits eased their weapons into their sheaths, but Sted did not move. Josef’s hands grew sweaty against the Heart’s hilt. He turned them slowly, keeping his blade even with Sted’s chest and his eyes on Sted’s feet. The blow would come from Sted’s right hand, whipping out from under the cape. He could see it already. All he needed was a hint to when it was coming and this fight would be over. The ground crunched as Sted’s heavy boots dug into the dirt. Josef sucked in a breath. This was it.
He stepped forward, bracing the Heart for the blow just as Sted’s feet vanished. Josef stumbled, eyes darting frantically. There was no way Sted was that fast, but the man was no longer in front of him. Even as his brain was finishing the thought, the Heart tugged hard in his hands. Josef spun on instinct, raising his sword just in time as the enormous man lunged out of the cabin’s shadow.
The Heart met Sted’s attack in a horrible squeal of metal, and Josef’s knees buckled under the onslaught. His instincts were screaming at him to dodge back, get a better position, but Josef couldn’t move. He just stood there, staring, trying to make sense of what his eyes saw.
Sted towered over him, taller than ever. His cape was gone and he was bearing down on the Heart with his arm, his left arm, the arm that should not be there. He had no sword, no weapon. He’d stopped the Heart’s blade with his hand. No, Josef couldn’t even call it a hand. It was a claw. An enormous black claw clutching the Heart’s cutting edge with five talons curved in a mockery of fingers. Even as Josef realized what he was looking at, the Heart began to buck in his hands.
It was a signal that needed no interpretation. At once, Josef jumped back, wrenching his sword out of Sted’s black grip. He danced across the clearing, keeping the Heart close to his chest until he was out of Sted’s reach. Only then did he look down. There, on the blade’s cutting edge where Sted’s hand had touched it, were five shallow notches in the exact shape of Sted’s talons. The metal wasn’t dented or broken. It was simply gone.
Back by the cabin, Sted straightened up. “What do you think?” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Still feeling cocky?”
It took all of Josef’s determination not to look away. There was something incredibly wrong, something vastly inhuman about the black thing growing out of Sted’s left shoulder. It hung crooked from his frame, a foot longer than his still-human right arm and twice as large, bulging with muscles that twitched and spasmed. But most horrible of all was the spot where the black arm connected. Just below his shoulder, Sted’s pale skin and the black abomination met in a twist of red, raw flesh.
At once, everything came together. The fast movement, jumping through shadows, the arm… Slorn may have thought it was impossible for a nonwizard to become a demonseed, but Josef knew those signs well enough. He looked down at his injured sword. They needed a different strategy.
Straightening up, Josef flipped the Heart in his hands and plunged it point first into the ground. He could feel the metal clinging to his skin, warning him not to do this, but there was nothing else to be done. If Sted was a demon, then fighting him with the Heart would only make him stronger and the Heart weaker. There would be no winning that way, and so Josef let the Heart go. The moment his fingers left the wrapped hilt, he felt his wounds seize up. A tide of pain and dizziness swept over him, and he nearly fell. He planted his feet at the last moment, steadying himself in a fighter’s stance, and thrust his hand toward the bandits standing at the edge of the circle.
“Sword. Now.”
He heard the bandits shuffle, but he kept his eyes on Sted. The enormous man looked skeptical for a moment, then he nodded, and Josef heard the familiar sound of a blade sliding from a sheath followed by the thunk of metal on the dirt beside him. Without looking, he ducked down, hand sliding across the leaf litter until his fingers found the hilt, and brought his new sword up with a flourish.
Sted’s face broke into a cruel smile. “You’re going to fight me with that?”
Josef glanced at the sword in his hand. It was pathetically short, more like a long knife than a sword, and dull gray with tarnish.
“It’s a blade,” Josef said. “That’s all a swordsman needs.”
“Really?” Sted grinned wide. “Show me.”
The words had barely reached Josef’s ears before Sted was on top of him. Josef caught Sted’s open claws a second before they landed in his head, digging his feet into the dirt as his poor, dull sword fought to hold the parry inches from Josef’s face. Above him, Sted’s eyes began to glow like embers, and the dull metal of the sword started to hiss as Sted’s claws bit into it. Hiss, and then vanish.
Josef ducked and rolled, breaking the parry and dragging his sword to safety, but Sted didn’t let him go. He lashed out, claws digging through Josef’s shirt and into the flesh beneath. Josef gasped and rolled away, but it was mostly instinct. His head was getting fuzzy as he scrambled in the dirt, wiggling out of Sted’s grip just in time to catch the next swipe on what was left of his sword. But even as he raised his arm, he felt his muscles going slack. The damage from the Lord of Storms that the Heart had been holding back for him was building up again. His vision was dimming until he could barely see Sted break his parry with a sideways swipe. The sword tumbled from his fingers, breaking into pieces as it hit the ground, and Josef would have followed if Sted had not grabbed what was left of his shirt.
“What is this?” Sted’s voice roared in his ear. Josef felt his feet leave the ground as Sted lifted him by his collar. “What happened to your back? You’re so bloody you can barely stand. Is this how you face me? Is this the best you can offer?”
Josef tried to point out that Sted had been the one bellowing at his door, not the other way around, but all he managed was a choked gurgle. It was very hard to breathe with Sted holding him up by his neck.
Sted dropped him with a disgusted grunt. Josef landed hard on his side, and for a moment all he could think of was the pain. When his mind at last cleared enough to focus on things outside his body, he
found he was being lifted up by several of the bandits while Sted’s booming voice shouted out orders.
“Get him to his sword. It’s the only thing keeping his carcass alive. We’ll take them both back to camp.”
Someone said something Josef couldn’t hear, and Sted roared in anger.
“No, we’re not going to kill him! No one is to touch him without my permission! Josef Liechten is my fight, and I will have it proper and on my terms if I have to kill every one of you sorry bandit dogs! Now get his sword in his hand! You’ll never lift it otherwise.”
Josef felt someone take his hand and thrust it clumsily forward. A wave of relief washed over him as his fingers met the Heart’s hilt, and he was even able to wrap his hand around it.
“Good,” Sted said. “Take him back to town and get him to the medics, and don’t let him drop that blade. Remember, he is my fight. Keep everyone else away from him, especially those Council pigs. Anyone who touches him will answer to me. Go!”
Josef felt the world sway as the bandits hurried to do Sted’s bidding. They carried him strung between two men like he was a hunting trophy with the Heart dragging behind them, its hilt tied to Josef’s hand with a long strip of cloth. Sted walked beside him the whole time, enormous and terrible, shoving his cape back over his monstrous arm. When he saw Josef looking, he grinned wide.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll kill you soon enough, but on my terms. I didn’t sell my soul to slap your beaten carcass around. Rest and enjoy what little life you have left, Josef Liechten. When you’re ready to give me the victory I deserve, we’ll face off again. That time, Master of the Heart of War, I won’t stop until I have your heart in my hand.”
Sted began to laugh at that, a horrible, mad sound. Josef felt himself jerk as the bandits carrying him began to move faster, desperate to put some space between themselves and the mad monster. Josef stayed awake as long as he could, but soon even Sted’s laughter faded behind the rush of blood in his ears, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
Nico ran. She shot through the forest, scrambling gracelessly over fallen logs and gnarled roots with little thought to where she was going. All that mattered was speed, getting away, so she ran until her legs burned and her lungs felt like they were going to burst.
You’re such a coward, the Master whispered. Running to save yourself while the swordsman goes to his death. He can’t fight in his condition.
Nico gritted her teeth and ran harder.
You’re not even making progress. Look, all that work and you’ve barely moved.
Nico glanced over her shoulder before she could stop herself. The Master was right. She could still see the thin plume of smoke from the cabin’s chimney through the trees. She also saw no sign of pursuit. Nico slowed down, sucking cold, precious air into her burning lungs as she eyed the forest, straining to hear above the thundering of her heart. But the forest was still and empty around her, the sunlight moving in dapples across the leaf litter as the wind tossed the treetops high overhead. Under her coat, clutched against her chest, her transformed arm began to ache.
Pity you didn’t take me up on my offer, the Master said. If your hearing was anything like what it used to be, you would never have stopped.
Even before the words had faded from her mind, a pair of hard, strong hands grabbed her shoulders from behind.
Nico shrieked and kicked backward, landing a solid strike on whoever was behind her. But the hands on her shoulders didn’t even flinch. She scrambled desperately, panic clouding her mind, and all at once, her coat reacted. She felt the black fabric clench around the hands on her shoulder, the stiff cloth growing sharp as needles as it dug into the skin.
The person holding her grunted in pain, and the grip on her shoulders vanished. Nico tumbled to the ground and was up again in an instant, clutching her coat with a whisper of thanks. As soon as her feet hit the ground she was running, pounding flat out into the woods, only to come skidding to a stop a second later.
She hadn’t seen anything move, hadn’t heard steps on the leaves, yet, somehow, a man in a long brown coat, his hands bleeding from where her coat had stabbed him, was already in front of her, watching her with calm, brown eyes.
“Amazing coat you have there,” he said softly, holding up his injured hand. “That wasn’t in the briefing. You caught me by surprise, but don’t count on doing it again.”
As he spoke, the wounds on his hands closed before Nico’s eyes. She blinked, then blinked again, but the wounds were still gone, leaving his skin whole and smooth. She’d never seen anything like it outside of demonseeds, but, while she wasn’t sure who or what this man was, she knew he wasn’t a seed. His skin was too swarthy, his build healthy and whole. She watched, dumbstruck, as the man quietly wiped away what blood was left on a handkerchief. Nico swallowed. Whatever he was, one thing was certain: he was faster than her. Running was out of the question. If she wanted to get away, she’d have to fight.
She planted her feet in a defensive position, keeping her transformed arm close to her chest. It twitched beneath her coat, itching for the chance to lash out, but Nico locked it in place. She might be weak like this, but she didn’t need demon strength to take down a larger opponent. Josef had taught her well. All she needed was a lucky break, an open jab at his throat, and she could knock his wind out and get away.
The man watched her take her position with a blank, calm expression, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world. Then, faster than Nico’s eyes could track, he struck.
A fist hit her hard in the gut. Nico gasped, but before her brain had registered the pain, the man’s leg swept around to knock her own out from under her. She reeled and would have fallen, but at the last moment her transformed arm shot out to catch her. Nico stared at the black claw clutching the ground below her, unsure if the arm had moved by her reflexes or on its own. Whichever it was, she didn’t have time to worry about it. The man was right in front of her, his fist coming up to catch her jaw. Nico scrambled back, bringing up both arms in defense as the man’s fist missed her face by a fraction, leaving his guard open. Seeing her chance, Nico struck, her hand flying for his now unguarded throat.
It was only when her jab entered her field of vision that she realized her mistake. The hand flying for the man’s throat was not her pale, white fist, but the black, transformed claw. It struck before she could think to stop it, digging deep into the flesh of the man’s neck. Desperately, frantically, she tried to pull back, but it was far too late. Dark, delighted laughter rippled over her mind as the man’s spirit roared up inside her, and the demon arm began to eat.
Nico shook uncontrollably as the man flowed through her, past her, and into the thing buried deep inside her. She could feel his soul as it slid by, warm and alive and pulsing with controlled strength, but she could do nothing to stop its flow as the demon ate and ate until the blackness was drowning out her conscious mind.
Then, without warning, it stopped.
The thing inside her roared in frustration, sucking and pulling at the connection through the black arm, but its efforts changed nothing. The flow of the man’s spirit had dried up. All at once, the dark weight on her mind began to recede, and Nico cracked her eyes open. She knew already what she would see. She had eaten men before. She would see his body falling from her hand, gray and lifeless, turning into ash as it hit the ground, too empty to even hold its form.
But when she looked up she saw the man, still alive and standing in front of her. Her black claw was still lodged in the flesh of his throat, but though she could feel the demon pulling, trying desperately to get at the life just under the man’s skin, nothing was happening. Somehow, the demon could not eat him.
“How?” She didn’t know she had spoken until the word was out.
The man pried the black arm from his neck, and Nico saw the gouges from the claws already beginning to close. “I am king of myself,” he said simply. “My body is mine alone. Nothing can happen to it that I do not a
llow.”
He dropped his grip on her black wrist and raised his arm. Nico saw the blow coming, but she was too amazed to even move out of the way as his hand came down hard on the back of her neck. The last thing she felt were the man’s arms as he caught her, and then everything was gone.
CHAPTER
14
The water over his head parted, and Eli sucked in an enormous breath. He sat there a moment, reveling in the joy of breathing, before Miranda’s face dipped down to fill his vision. She grabbed his head, checking his eyes and throat.
“You’re right,” she said. “He’s fine.”
Eli thought she was talking to him until he heard the water at his throat bubble in answer.
“Of course I’m right,” Mellinor said. “It’s my water.”
Miranda’s mouth twitched in a smile before returning to a stern line as she looked down at Eli.
“Turn him around,” she said haughtily. “I’m going to change out of these wet clothes and then we’ll see what the plan is.”
“Shouldn’t you include me in this conversation?” Eli said. “This is my neck you’re talking—”
His words cut off with a choke as Mellinor heaved sideways, spinning him dizzily in his watery prison. Eli thrashed, but the water was like cement around him, and all he managed was to get a giant mouthful of cold, salty water down his windpipe as the sea spirit turned him completely around. He coughed loudly and spat out the water on the wall that was now five inches from his nose, filling his vision.
“There’s no cause for violence,” he said, still hacking.
“If you want to keep enjoying the air, you’ll keep your mouth shut,” Miranda said, her voice floating from the room behind him. “One more word and I’ll let Mellinor put you back underwater. Gin! Do you see Sparrow anywhere around?”