The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2)

by M. D. Presley

  “You went back to them?”

  Isabelle tugged her imbued locket out from under her shirt by the chain. Luca could not recall the last time she wore it, swearing he had not seen it since he had thrown away Jaelle’s Listener pin. He assumed she had disposed of her past the same night he had, but then she answered his unsaid thought.

  =You kept your blade. I kept this.

  Sloshing the dark liquid in the vial, Luca scowled. He had only encountered the contents once before, but like all Blessed, feared their results.

  “Ekesh?” She nodded. Luca eyed the letter as if a serpent. “Did you read it?”

  Isabelle shot him a look nearly as deadly as her hurled stones. Reaching for the missive, he found his hand trembling.

  Reading it twice, it was only the knowledge he was not alone that kept him from fainting dead away. In plain words, Simza laid out his future: So long as he intercepted the daughter of Orthoel Hendrix from one Marta Childress and brought the girl to his mistress in Gatlin, all would be forgiven. His status as tsor would be revoked and Jaelle his again. This Simza swore by the first circle and their ancestor Ikus. But time was of the essence: Caddie Hendrix would arrive in the city of Naddi in a month’s time.

  =What does she say?

  “She wants me to bring her some girl.”

  =What’s the reward?

  “Doesn’t matter.” Luca tossed the letter into the fire.

  =And the ekesh?

  “It will fetch a bottle or two next time you head to town, I’d assume.”

  Isabelle beamed, and Luca saw a light there in her eyes that no longer seemed bright anymore. She was sweet in her own way, but there was no meat behind it. He could survive off of this second-class love, but it was not what he was due. Jaelle was always the goal, from the first time he spied her, and to pretend otherwise was a lie he could no longer endure. Simza’s daughter’s destiny was still indelibly interwoven with his, the same it had always been, the two of them trudging a circle they only thought was straight.

  Dusk still some ways off, Luca uncorked the last of the rum Isabelle thought remained hidden from him. Each moment until she succumbed to sleep was an agony of deception, his face grinning without any real mirth. Aware of Isabelle’s proclivity, Luca poured her drinks as often as he could.

  The cave soon lurched around her, Luca soothing her best he could as she awaited sleep’s release. Stroking her hair as she shivered, he did his duty by seeing her through to unconsciousness. As she dropped off, he was relieved tonight would not require another perfunctory performance on his part. Although he had luxuriated in her body the last year, it now appeared a paltry reminder of Jaelle’s lush curves he could scarcely stomach. Listening to her steady breathing, Luca suddenly realized that each time he had coupled with Isabelle in the past Jaelle joined them. Simza’s daughter was always at the back of his mind, Luca simply pushing her memory away as he deluded himself for a year with Isabelle.

  He took few supplies lest he wake the always vigilant girl, only stuffing a few dried foodstuffs into his pack beside the ekesh before dressing in his old Dobra clothes. All his supplies seen to, he drew the lockblade from its bed beneath theirs. He again feared Isabelle would awake as he felt the weight of the imbued link in the chain he could not break.

  Tsor or no, he was Ikus down to the marrow and knew now he would die if he denied the truth a moment more.

  Slinking down to the corral, he saddled his horse and the bay before slapping Isabelle’s and sending it running. It would return in time, so she would not be deprived of her mount. She would only be deprived of him, and Luca thought that a better deal for the girl.

  Why would anyone want another whose heart was not fully theirs?

  With that realization soothing him, he rode. Unaware of where he had resided for the last year, he still suspected it somewhere in southern Rhea, which meant he would have to hurry if he was to make it to Naddi in time. The night revealed to him the nearest ley, Luca tracing it west until encountering one large enough to support a train. Then he waited within it until the hourly Dobra transmissions alerted him to both his location and the hour. Bo’s watch had run down long ago, and as Luca set it, he realized he had no idea what day of the week it was before succumbing to the sleep of the just.

  ***

  Luca woke choking on his spit. Soon as he coughed himself clear, the delicious scent revealed the source of his salivation. Few could cook so well on the trail, a trait Isabelle mastered long ago as she hunkered over the fire with breakfast nearly ready.

  “Why would you come?”

  The words appeared unbidden on his tongue, and Luca recoiled at the severity of his question. Isabelle scrutinized him, her eyes mirrors giving away nothing. Her Mind roiled though, Luca nearly retreating from the agony thrashing in her head.

  =Do you trust me?

  It was an obvious trap, yet Luca nodded nonetheless. Soon as he did, her anger abated a bit as she grabbed a pot of water warming over the fire. She then set the pot and a bar of soap down beside him. He yearned to withdraw as she pressed against him, but kept stock still even as her hand slid down his side to rest on the hilt of the straight-blade knife he kept.

  =Do you trust me?

  Again, he knew it as a trap, and again, he found his lips lying for him.

  “Yes.”

  Isabelle barked a course laugh and slid his blade free. Grabbing handfuls of his beard with her other hand, Isabelle hacked away. She grasped firmly, but never yanked, his own blade freeing him of the beard she so adored.

  =Simza read me every word. Twice so I didn’t miss a one. She told me what she promised you, and I said you would never choose the girl who denied you all she could. So we made a wager, Simza and me. We made a bet.

  “What do you owe her now?”

  Isabelle’s hand faltered the first and only time, the knife’s edge kissing his cheek. The blood barely began to bubble before Isabelle licked her finger and plugged the wound with a hard press. By the time she released him, his cut was already staunched. Without another thought tossed his direction, she lathered him with soap. It should have been a rough cut, but soon his face shimmered smooth by her steady hand. Only then did Isabelle bury his knife back in its sheath.

  =I have always loved you, Luca. Always, since I can remember walking my path. But I might have well loved the mountain or the wind. Neither can love me back any more than you. Yet I love you. I do. It is a weakness inside me. A sickness I cannot spit out, yet I would love you again all the more today if I thought you could love me tomorrow. Weak. Weak is what it is. And because I am weak, I will give you what you want. I will give you Jaelle because I love you.

  Luca’s lips formed “thank you,” but dared not utter the words. He still suspected she heard him somehow. Isabelle always knew him best.

  =And once you have your black heart’s desire, we are through.

  Luca then felt her cut him off from her head. She was done with him and better for it.

  That he knew marrow true.

  Chapter 37

  Blotmonad 29, 567

  Their future depended on the next few minutes, but Marta refused to move. The Osterdock Bridge and Luca disappearing behind them, she would soon force the barge captain to steer the boat to the Theade River’s edge to complete their escape. Graff’s Blessed Breath would undoubtedly trail them again, but the lush woodlands of Rhea would aid them. Her haversack and the majority of Carmichael’s cash within would be a hard loss, but she paid it no mind. She needed to take immediate action, but she remained rooted as she watched the irresolute Isabelle.

  The part of her heart that was warmed since discovering Caddie nearly broke at the loss of Luca, so she could not imagine the desolation that must be raging inside Isabelle. The Render was relentless as time, but at least Graff was not cruel. He was an executioner, not a torturer.

  “His death will at least be swift,” she offered.

  The half-Ingios girl whirled upon her, Marta almost expecting
Isabelle to attack. She instead barked her crude laugh and sneered in a grim approximation of Luca’s familiar grin. Marta could not tell if this was acceptance of Luca’s fate or rejection of it as she sat Caddie and Valentine down.

  The Sagle Line of ley parallel to them meant word of their escape may have already reached all of Newfield, but she was not particularly worried. The Covenant Sons never knew her true name, and any reports of a former Fury masquerading as May Oles stealing a daemon’s glass heart did not affect her choice to care for Caddie one iota. She was still a traitor in any Easterner’s eyes, and her brand superseded any need of inquiring after her name. Carmichael would certainly know by now of one of his mission’s success, so perhaps finding another Cildra clansman to relay a message to him would earn her either her reward or punishment. If the former, at least the Home Guard would cease their hunt.

  She doubted her brother could curtail the Render though. Graff’s greatest strength was operating alone and independent of orders. His survival at least meant the glassman was dead, which was at least one victory allotted her. With enough distance and planning, perhaps she could trap him again or, better yet, end him. But first she needed distance.

  Running, always running, she mentally chided as she caught Caddie’s hand in hers.

  There would be no more running, at least not without purpose. Thus far she acted as a pawn in Carmichael’s game, but with Hendrix gone, the game was ended. Outside her brother’s influence, she could direct her own future. The goal was obvious: keeping Caddie safe. That directive, driven so far down into her will that she could almost imagine it her own choice, was surely a weed that would need seeing to, but for now, she was too weary to care. Her purpose was to care for Caddie, and to succeed she would need to know more.

  “Your Gazers, they can pick the lock to Caddie’s mind?”

  Valentine smoothed her disheveled skirts and again attained her aristocratic air. “I myself have partaken of their ceremonies and can attest to their abilities to dredge memories from past turns on Sol’s flow. What’s more,” her eyes glittered, “they can resurface lost recollections from the current turn on the wheel. If any can uncover the girl’s secrets, it is they.”

  “Good enough. Will you take us to them?”

  “At my age, few adventures await me still, so I would consider it a dear gift if you would allow me this one last opportunity.”

  “A yes, then?”

  “Emphatically.”

  A new avenue opening, Marta still sought to secure an old one as she returned to Isabelle. Her mocking smile long gone, the girl squinted into the distance as if she could conjure Luca by desire alone. No stranger to loss, Marta allowed her the moment before moving on.

  “Will you come with us?” Isabelle still ignored her, and Marta reached deep to find her words. “I do not know what he meant to you, but I know Luca’s sacrifice will not be in vain. I intend on killing that Render, and if you come with us, I will do everything in my power to let you swing the blade.”

  Isabelle grinned again, grasping the locket beneath her shirt with both hands and rapping them against her heart three times. Marta did not know exactly what the gesture meant, but it seemed good enough. In the soft spot of her heart, Marta hoped that, with any luck, she would give Isabelle the vengeance she deserved.

  The hard part of her heart, however, knew with unflinching certainty she would sacrifice Isabelle and Valentine in a second if it kept her daughter safe.

  ***

  Luca felt the heft of his lockblade in hand as the Render remained immobile. His enemy again assumed the look of an imbecile, but Luca refused to be fooled a second time. Tracing his thumb over the etching along the lockblade’s hilt, Luca then properly gripped it as Laszlo showed him long ago. Intending on employing every one of Bo’s dirty tricks, he put his faith fully in Simza’s claim that his imbued lockblade would render him victory so long as he held it open in hand.

  “Care to test your glass dagger against mine?”

  Not bothering to look his direction, the Render’s fingers splayed, and Luca went stiff. Good eye never leaving the disappearing barge, Graff lumbered to Luca, pressing his hand down.

  Luca fell to his knees, the Render’s hold utter and unyielding. Twisting his hand like a conductor, Graff compelled Luca to offer his lockblade in his open hand. Supplicating before his enemy, Luca surrendered his treasure to his better.

  “Thank you, oh, thank you.” Clement’s words tripped over each other. “I’m a fellow Westerner, from Arcus, and I…” The man cut off when Graff lolled his head to gaze upon the Tinker. Securing his silence, Graff looked Luca up and down.

  “Do I know you?”

  “You owe me your life,” Luca challenged. “Back in Point Place, I showed you mercy.”

  Graff ignored his statement as he claimed the imbued blade with his fat fingers. “This thing has Waer’s mark upon it. Unholy and unclean. As are any who carry it.”

  From Clement’s goggles, Luca knew the truth to the Render’s hypocrisy, but chose to spin a web of lies to earn Caddie every available second.

  “It’s a new weapon for the Covenant Sons. We can show you how they make it. That Tinker there, he designed it.” Immobilized as he was, Luca still saw the horror on Clement’s face. The Tinker would surely spill the truth soon enough, so Luca barreled on. “Both big bugs in the Sons, us. And we’ll feed you all sorts of treats so long as you let us live.”

  “Is this true?”

  “Marrow true.”

  “No mercy for traitors.” Graff drew Clement’s direction. With a grunt, the Tinker’s lifeforce bled from his body, the Render slashing Luca’s lockblade through the exposed Breath without a second thought.

  Released of the Render’s grasp, Luca scarcely took a step before Graff again shackled him. His chance at freedom evaporated even before the dead Tinker finished falling. Tracing his finger up and down the black blade, Graff’s good eye returned to the Dobra.

  “Ikus?”

  Luca could not help but laugh at the idea of still being a part of the tribe, but answered proudly nonetheless. “Yes.”

  “Listener?”

  “No.”

  Graff pressed Luca into the ground with his drawing so hard that the Dobra believed it Sol himself grinding him down.

  “I am Render, the greatest of my order. I can count all the stones in every host for a mile around, so do not lie to me again. Tell me true, why does an Ikus and traitor willingly serve Waer?”

  “You speak of Waer as if you are unacquainted,” Luca spat. “But I know the blackness you carry in you. I saw it clear as day.”

  Graff stared stupidly for a moment before laughing long and hard, a lewd and unctuous sound. Luca had heard something similar from Marta at the absurdity at being mistaken for May Oles. The barge was long out of sight before he ceased and Luca felt himself released.

  “You will walk within my Mind, Listener.”

  Bewildered, Luca felt the Render’s Mind open. Everyone else he had ever encountered kept their thoughts to themselves, no more so than when they suspected a Listener nearby, but Graff fairly blared his thoughts directly at the Dobra. As they assailed him, he recalled sending messages along the lines of ley, the Render’s thoughts on full display for anyone with the ability to hear. It was impossible for Luca to resist as he was hauled into the man. He felt dank and viscid inside Graff’s head, drawn deep into the Render’s mental lake by some unseen millstone sinking him further and further down. Even his intimate connection with Isabelle paled in comparison to the full view afforded him of Graff’s Mind.

  In every other person, thoughts constantly swirled about, similar to schools of fish flitting in the same vague direction until something altered their course along a new trajectory. Not so with the Render; his every thought was lockstep in one grand and ceaseless school. Yet Luca’s horror at beholding the perfect order of Graff’s Mind shrank to insignificance when he encountered the black Breath at the Render’s core. All Graff’s th
oughts kept at a prescribed distance as they revolved around this loathsome lodestone, the blackness turning its eye upon Luca and unveiling to him the truth.

  It was the truth.

  There could be no other word for the sheer certainty swimming around him, and Luca involuntarily found himself falling into his allotted place along the path. The Render was not some mindless hound running down an innocent girl, rather a chosen savior with the sacred duty to all of Ayr. The world teetered on a knife’s edge, its destiny terribly tangled with that of Caddie Hendrix.

  If one lived, the other would surely die.

  Graff cast Luca from his Mind, not bothering to grip him again with his Blessed ability. His limbs again his to control, Luca crumpled under the weight of awareness.

  “You understand now?”

  He did not want to speak, to give voice to the crushing revulsion of it, but Luca obeyed the unrelenting force that rode the Render.

  “I do.”

  “Good. Then you will serve me, not for yourself and those you hold dear, but for Ayr.”

  Luca would have answered in the affirmative, but the Render did not wait. Clasping his hand, Graff gripped Luca’s Blessed Breath in the Dobra’s Mind and wrenched it free from his body. Without pause or ceremony, he slid the imbued lockblade through Luca’s exposed Breath to severe his connection to Sol. Twirling his fingers to keep the Breath in place, Graff caught it in a luz jar, sealing the Dobra’s fate.

  “I do not deal with traitors, but I will deal with you because you knew only lies. But now you know the truth and are set down the righteous path. If you walk it well, you may again be Blessed by Sol.”

  Luca reeled in his new world: a blinded, deafened, and dreadful existence. Colors tarnished before his eyes, sounds muffling together into an indistinguishable mess. With the same care spent swatting a fly, the Render removed the essence that made Luca unique, gelding him and rendering him indistinguishable from the barren masses he always believed himself above. Death would have been better, and were he a stronger man, Luca knew he would throw himself off the Osterdock Bridge rather than face his new disfigured future.