The Fragment of Water (The Shattered Soul Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  They cried out in fear, her blade cutting them apart before they could retaliate. Water leapt to the wall, bonding the soles of his boots to the stone with a brief burst of ice. From there he swung around the raging battle to reach the two captains at the back. Both snarled and reached toward Water, but he parried a blade high and stepped between them.

  The woman on the right reared back with a sneer, and drove her sword into Water’s chest—but Water morphed his body to liquid. The blade passed through him and stabbed the woman’s companion. The impaled man stared in shock at the sword passing through Water’s body and piercing his own.

  “What are you?” the woman in front of Water cried, her eyes wide with horror.

  Water stepped forward, sliding the blade through what would have been his heart if he was still flesh. The woman yanked her sword free and retreated, desperately swinging her sword again, the blade splashing through Water’s elemental form.

  “Who are you?” Water demanded. “Why do you seek the king?”

  Water may have been nearly impervious to damage in his water form, but he also couldn’t touch the woman, at least not while a sword was in his flesh. Of course, the woman didn’t know that, and she stumbled on the stairs, her fear mounting.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Water stepped forward and leaned down. “I am an elemental lord, and even the water in your body will answer my will.”

  He reached forth his hand as if he would pull the blood from her flesh and she panicked. “The Order wants the king because—”

  A dagger spun past Water and plunged into the woman’s chest. Her eyes widened in shock, and then dimmed in death. Water spun to see a new group of the enemy at the other end of the corridor. They held an unconscious King Numen as they dragged him into a cell.

  “Lira!” Water shouted.

  She looked up, briefly registering surprise at Water standing with a sword through his body, and then spun. She dropped the last of her adversaries and then charged, but the dwarf stepped out of the cell and raised his fists. The floor answered his summons, rising into a wall that blocked the whole corridor.

  Water grasped the sword in his chest and ripped it free, and then morphed to flesh. Sprinting the length of the corridor, he reached the wall just as Lira cast her spiked gauntlet again, the blow shattering the barrier and allowing them past.

  They reached the last cell and darted inside, only to watch helplessly as the hole in the ceiling sealed anew, closing off the image of the sneering dwarf and the unconscious king being dragged off.

  Water grimaced and turned away. “We need to get up there before the king disappears.”

  “Was that a sword through your body?” Lira asked as they sprinted back down the corridor and leapt over the fallen dead. “How are you unharmed?”

  “All the fragments except Mind can turn into an elemental form,” Water said. “In such a state we can only be harmed by an opposing magic.”

  “Did the woman speak of the Order?”

  Water sprinted up the steps and through the open doorway, stepping into the courtyard. “Apparently we are not their only foes.”

  He didn’t like the deeper implications of the kidnapping. The king was an ally, and taking a sitting monarch would throw the region into turmoil, especially Erathan. But why? What did the Order have to gain from such a public action?

  They raced across the courtyard and out the front gates, diving into a full battle. Soldier fought soldier, confused captains barking orders. Unable to discern friend from foe, Water reached for the stream flowing through the garden, and the creek burst from its banks, rising into a wave that knocked soldiers to the ground. The wave split around Water and Lira, and wherever it went, the figures were left bound and struggling in the puddles left behind.

  “Let them sort it out,” Water said, spotting the dwarf dragging the king out the front gates and into the street.

  He and Lira raced after, following the dwarf and his companions through alleys and side streets. Just as they closed the gap, they reached the eastern branch of the river. Water turned a corner around a warehouse and spotted the king being loaded into an aquaglass boat. His daughter was at his side. She spotted them and began to struggle, but a woman put a knife to her throat and she went still. Her terrified eyes locked on Water and he charged the river.

  The elf at the helm of the ship spotted them and reached to the river. The river flowed up and over, sealing the edge of the aquaglass boat. The ship pulled into the current and sped away as Water and Lira reached the bank. Water skidded to a halt and reached for the ship, and it lurched to a standstill, the water passing around it, forming an eddy.

  “Can’t hold it for long,” Water said, gritting his teeth. “Not with that elf driving the current.”

  “I’ll get to the ship,” Lira said.

  She stepped onto an air stone and sprinted away from the shore—but a shadow passed over Water and he glanced back—to see the dwarf stepping into view. The stone on the bank rose up around him, covering him in a goliath charm. When it hardened, he was the size of a rock troll, and a giant hammer grew out of his hand.

  “Lira!” Water shouted.

  She reversed and darted back, raising her sword to block the stone hammer. Her strength stopped the blow, but the dwarf expertly spun, his feet making the ground shudder as he attacked from the opposite side.

  Water ducked the hammer, but the dwarf had cast a second hammer, this one rising from the ground. The first was blocked by Lira, the second landed on Water’s side. The blow knocked him sprawling, shattering his attempt to hold the ship. The vessel leapt way and dropped into the river, disappearing from sight. The dwarf raced along the bank and leapt into the water, the river swallowing him from sight.

  Water’s vision cleared to see Lira kneeling at his side, his blood on her hands. A look of relief passed over her face and she helped him rise. He groaned, but managed to regain his feet, his eyes searching the river.

  “Are you well?” she asked.

  “They were prepared for us,” Water said, holding his side as he growled. “They were prepared for me.”

  He looked to the end of the river, but the ship was gone. Even with him and Lira present, the Order had kidnapped a king, and already the cries went up from the city. Water grimaced in pain, wondering how the Order was staying ahead of them, the emotion quickly followed by anger and regret. He’d failed to protect King Numen, and now the king’s family was in the hands of the Order.

  Chapter 24: Stormwall

  Elenyr dismounted her horse and patted its flank. The stable boy accepted the reins and guided the mount into the stables, while another accepted the steeds from Fire and Mind. Fire turned away and rubbed his backside.

  “I hate horses,” he said.

  “How can you hate horses?” Mind asked.

  “I can create a horse out of fire,” he grumbled. “One that doesn’t leave me hurting.”

  Elenyr hid a smile at Fire’s discomfort. “People tend to notice when you ride a fire steed,” she said. “And it’s attention we do not need, especially now.”

  Fire grunted in annoyance and stretched. “I still prefer my own mount.”

  “I prefer a fire mount as well,” Mind said, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a fine horse.”

  They’d reached Stormwall three days after departing Herosian, arriving as the sun set. Exiting the stables, they entered the packed streets and worked their way toward the sea shore, their passage slowed by the crowd.

  Stormwall sat on the southern edge of Blue Lake, the city shaped like a crescent moon, wrapping around a small cove. The city was new but growing quickly, showing additional taverns, inns, and meal halls since Elenyr’s last visit. Stormwall had few permanent residents, most of them warriors that trained with the mercenary guild that owned the arena.

  Tens of thousands flocked to the city for the yearly games, the inns and taverns now swollen with guests. The rest of the year the city was host to man
y soldiers, warriors, and hunters that came to train with the Bladed, the legendary warriors that owned Stormwall. Soldiers from throughout the kingdoms came to learn from the Bladed, while others came hoping to join their illustrious ranks, a challenge made difficult by their number.

  The Bladed were comprised of exactly one hundred, each assigned a number that corresponded to their rank. Dressed in dark blue uniforms with a splash of silver on the shoulder, the Bladed displayed their number above their heart, and Elenyr spotted 67 speaking to a crowd outside an inn.

  The behemoth barbarian towered over the woman fawning over him, a sight that made Fire sniff in disdain. “Mind is a greater swordsman than any of them.”

  Mind almost smiled and shook his head. “I’ve had quite a bit more time to master swordcraft,” he said, and then glanced to Elenyr. “And I’ve been trained by the best.”

  Elenyr privately approved him for his modesty. Mind had been training with a sword for five thousand years, and his skill was without peer. Still, the men and women in the Bladed were legendary for a reason.

  A swell of noise came from the arena, the shouts indicating the end of a conflict. Merchants on both sides of the streets called out their wares, their merchandise adding a savory scent to the scene. Children raced about, while entertainers of every type sought to garner attention. Elenyr spotted a dwarf that she and Water had seen on their journey back from the north, his coin-operated machines drawing many of the youths.

  Elenyr passed through a gap and reached the gates to the arena. Bordered by squat turrets that doubled as homes for the Bladed, the gates were open, allowing spectators to stream through. Elenyr paid their entrance fee, a meager four coppers each, and then walked to the back of the benches.

  A high wall surrounded the cove, the barrier manned by those apprenticing with the Bladed. The Bladed didn’t perform regular guard duties, and they walked among the spectators, or helped prepare the warriors attempting to fight in the arena.

  The stands themselves were fashioned of rough wood and stone, some sections sporting a roof and cushioned seats. All were full, and Elenyr had to ascend a few steps to get a view of the arena.

  An island of aquaglass floated on the still surface of the cove, the transparent surface scarred from thousands of duels and battles. Benches and raised stands lined the shore, allowing the spectators to witness the events.

  On the opposite side of the cove, waves lapped through the gap in the shore, a short channel of water leading to Blue Lake. A large wall formed a barrier to east and west, preventing the waves of frequent storms from entering the arena.

  The arena floor itself floated on the center of the cove, and was large enough for a dozen warriors to battle. Two bridges allowed combatants to enter. The strict rules of combat usually prevented death, but injuries were common. Elenyr looked to the top of the arena wall, where a series of ornate huts overlooked the stands, providing a premium view of the duel.

  She spotted the one reserved for the royals of Talinor, but it was empty, causing her to frown. The king was supposed to be there, so why was he not watching the arena? She turned to Mind and he nodded.

  “I’ll see what I can learn.”

  With Mind’s memory magic, he was the most adept of the fragments at getting answers. Often he had not even needed to ask a question, and merely had to listen to the thoughts of guards to find the truth.

  “I’m not familiar with those two,” Fire said, motioning to the current duel.

  Two pairs of warriors battled on the arena, and they couldn’t have been more different. One side had two dwarves, both armored and bearing giant axes. Their foes were thin—an elf and a mage—both covered head to toe in bright, enchanted cloaks that shimmered in the light.

  The elf had two aquaglass swords, while the mage carried a shield of light attached to a chain. As Elenyr watched, the mage hurled the shield at one of the dwarves, the weapon striking his chest plate and driving him backward. The mage yanked on the chain and the shield spun back into his hand, a burst of laughter escaping his lips.

  The swell of noise from the crowd made it clear the dwarven brothers were favorites, but the two odd warriors were quickly gaining a following. The elf with the blades darted in, evading the dwarven axe with ease, and landed a dozen blows on the dwarf’s armor, the ringing matching the music played by a renowned bard. Laughter erupted among the crowd, contrasting with the scowling of the dwarves.

  The two dwarves charged, fire spilling off their axes as they sought to trap the elf and the mage on the edge of the arena. Both the mage and the elf were laughing, the sound coming from their cowled features. The mage leapt into a high flip, sailing over the dwarf, his cloak billowing behind him. Then he spun and hurled his shield, knocking the dwarf sprawling.

  “They look familiar,” Elenyr said.

  “They sound familiar,” Fire added.

  The second dwarf had trapped the elf at the edge of the arena, and sought to drive him into the water. With four bodies at the edge, the arena began to tip, the enchantments lifting the opposite side out of the water. The elf slid backward, eliciting a groan from the audience. If he fell in, he would not be permitted to re-enter the arena.

  Then the elf leapt forward, kicking off the dwarf’s helmet and flipping over his head. He called out to the mage and the mage cast a ball of light the size of a wagon. It fell onto the arena, echoing as it struck the edge, tilting the already tipping arena ground. Teetering at the edge, the dwarf was bounced into the water, his shout ending as he went under. The second one desperately spun his arms and balanced on the edge, but the elf advanced and poked him in the chest, sending him over.

  The sphere of light faded and the arena righted itself, and the First Blade, a rock troll named Mox, strode out onto the platform. The large warrior carried an enormous axe on his back, the tattoos across his torso, arms, and face a fearsome list of all his kills. But his smile was broad as he gestured to the victors.

  “A most interesting victory by the Beacons of Light,” he said, his voice booming over the cheers. “The Bearded Brothers are eliminated.”

  The dwarves glowered as they waded out of the cove, their armor dripping wet, their flaming weapons sodden. The Beacons of Light danced about, cavorting in their victory. Elenyr frowned as she watched the mage move, almost too fast for man or elf . . .

  “No,” she breathed, recognizing his motions.

  Fire began to chuckle. “Is that . . .?”

  Mox motioned to them and they removed their cowls, revealing Jeric and Light. Jeric was obviously well known, and his appearance elicited a swell of noise, men shouting in praise, women calling his name, waving to gain his attention.

  “What are they doing here?” Fire asked.

  “They should be with Water,” Elenyr said, annoyed that Jeric was here, annoyed that Light was with him, bus mostly annoyed at the surge of attraction. To her extreme annoyance, Jeric spotted her and smiled.

  The elf bowed deeply, and Elenyr scowled. Fire glanced her way and raised an eyebrow. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

  “I can if he’s dead.”

  “What even happened between you two?” Fire asked. “I thought you were in—”

  “Don’t say it,” she said. “The man is an insect.”

  “That’s not what you used to say.”

  She glanced his way and found Fire struggling not to laugh. Then Light spotted Elenyr and his face lit up. Abandoning the arena, he sprinted to the edge and leapt twenty feet to the shore, eliciting shouts of praise from the crowd. Light didn’t notice the noise, and wove through the crowd to reach Elenyr.

  “We hoped to find you in Herosian!” He jumped about, his evident excitement unable to be constrained.

  “Care to explain why you’re in the arena?” Elenyr asked, folding her arms.

  Light’s expression turned guilty. “Jeric said we had enough time for a quick match, and you know how much I like to duel.”

  “It’s true,” Fire supplied. �
�He does.”

  “And you listened to Jeric?” Elenyr ignored Fire.

  “His argument was very persuasive,” Light said.

  “I’m sure it was,” Elenyr sniffed.

  Jeric stepped into view and clapped Light on the back. “He’s built for combat. He deserves a chance to prove it.”

  “Jeric,” Elenyr managed to convey all the scorn and disdain into the single word.

  “Elenyr,” he said, unperturbed. “It’s been a few decades.”

  “Not long enough,” she said.

  “I think you need some time together,” Fire said. “Light? Let’s find Mind.”

  Elenyr jerked her head. “You should stay.”

  “No,” Fire said, a laugh on his lips. “I think we should go.”

  “Why?” Light asked quizzically. “They just got here, and there’s a lot we need to tell them.”

  “You can tell me on the way to getting a roast turkey leg,” Fire said.

  “Really?”

  Elenyr’s protests were ignored and the two fragments left for the cooking fires. She watched them go, her irritation mounting. Then she spun and walked away. Undeterred by her dismissal, Jeric jumped to catch up.

  “We have much to discuss.”

  “I’d rather hear it from Light.”

  “Elenyr.”

  The softness to his voice caused her to turn, and for the first time his expression was serious. She regarded him for several moments, the people gliding around them, the crowd ignoring the apparent tension.

  “I’m sorry,” Jeric said.

  Elenyr held his gaze, but saw a different city, an inn where she’d waited. Four days she’d sat alone. Then she’d gathered her things and departed, leaving her heart behind. She shook her head to Jeric.

  “I’m sorry too,” she said.