The Fragment of Water (The Shattered Soul Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  “Elenyr,” he said. “I don’t want us to end like this.”

  “Why?” she said. “Why does it matter now?”

  His features reflected an inner conflict and then he grimaced. “Because I’m dying.”

  Chapter 25: Beacons of Light

  Elenyr’s thoughts spun, her emotions in turmoil. Guilt came first, a burst that faded into anger. It had been forty years since he’d failed to appear, and he’d wasted all that time. Last was sorrow, a bitter emotion as she realized she was going to lose him.

  “How?” she asked.

  “The healers couldn’t say,” Jeric said with a shrug.

  “How much time do you have?”

  “A few months, or years.” He flashed a faint smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not really dying,” she accused.

  “I am,” he said, indignant. “Every day, I lose a day of my life. No telling how soon the end will come.”

  She raised a hand to strike at him, the surge of anger surprising, and not helped by his laughter. She wondered how she’d ever thought him amusing, and imagined dropping into the earth in front him, leaving him staring at where she’d disappeared.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised at your lying,” she said. “You’re very good at manipulation.” She turned and strode away, forcing him to catch up.

  “Come now,” he said, laughing. “I said I’m dying, which I am. I’m nearly nine hundred years old, even if I have the good looks of my second century.”

  She glared at him, annoyed that he did speak the truth. “If you helped the fragments, then I no longer need you. I am just here to meet with the king.”

  “The king won’t be back until tonight,” he said, too quickly.

  Elenyr turned on him. “You knew we were coming here,” she accused.

  “Guilty,” he said. “Light said you were going to Herosian to meet with the king, and I knew he was going to be in Stormwall. Since you had yet to arrive, I convinced Light to enter the arena.”

  “You shouldn’t have manipulated him.” Elenyr frowned in disapproval. “He could have killed those dwarves.”

  “He’s just a kid,” Jeric said.

  “He’s five thousand years old,” Elenyr said.

  “Still a kid,” Jeric replied. “And he loves to play.”

  “True,” Elenyr admitted.

  “I miss the fragments,” he said. “How are they doing?”

  “They mature slower than normal men,” she said, “and yet I still find myself unprepared for them to be on their own.”

  Elenyr wanted to ignore him but the words came out. She wondered if his skill at getting people to talk had been innate, or gained through his travels. Most elves preferred to stay in the elven forests, but Jeric had a craving for adventure that would not be satiated.

  There had been a time that she’d enjoyed that sense of adventure, and the memories were tinged with fondness. She’d traveled with him numerous times, their bond growing with every conflict, until she’d fallen in love.

  She looked away, abruptly aware of their position in the middle of the crowd. They stood close to the entrance doors of the arena, and she spotted Fire and Light at the cooking fires, purchasing roast meat and dwarven fire ale. The next arena event had begun and shouts filled the benches. She sighed, and resigned herself to his presence.

  “What news do you have to share?” she asked, walking towards an alcove in the wall where they would have a semblance of privacy.

  Jeric outlined the events in Erathan, the Gate Chamber, and the battle at the underground lake, and Elenyr listened with growing concern. She’d known the Order existed, but never imagined it had united to such a degree, or gained such a foothold. But who was their master?

  “Water and Lira are probably meeting with King Numen as we speak,” he said. “Or perhaps they are kissing in an alley somewhere.”

  Elenyr smiled at the idea of Water falling for the Eternal. The woman certainly had her charms, and Water obviously found her attractive. But Elenyr’s thoughts were dominated by the Order, and Wylyn. It chilled her to realize how close they’d come to locating a functioning Gate.

  “And you?” he asked. “Surely you did not simply stop in Herosian. Any events I should know about?” he blinked innocently.

  “Do you already know?”

  He shrugged. “I may have heard whispers about a fissure in the Assassin’s Guild.”

  “How do you know so much about everything?” she asked, half exasperated, half admiring.

  “Friends talk,” he said. “And I happen to have a lot of friends.”

  “Many of the female variety,” Elenyr said, spotting a pair of women that had noticed Jeric. They batted their eyes and offered sensual postures, waving to him like Elenyr was not even there.

  Jeric smiled at them, sending them into fits. When they departed Elenyr shook her head, wondering how she’d fallen for such a rogue. Gritting her teeth, she watched the women flit away.

  “They’re just friends,” he said.

  “I’ve heard that before,” she said.

  “I was always faithful to you,” he said.

  “Except when you didn’t show up,” she countered. He frowned, but before he could speak she changed the subject. “How much do you know about the Order?”

  “They’re dangerous,” he said, “but until now, they’ve been content to hide in the shadows. “Now that the krey have returned, they’ve taken a much more active role.”

  “How many in their ranks?”

  “Four legions, I would guess,” he said. “Maybe five. But they have people in every guild, every army, every kingdom. I wager they even lurk among the Bladed.”

  “But what will they do?” she asked.

  “Serve the will of the krey.”

  “That’s disturbing,” Elenyr replied.

  “Do you know of an ancient tower that could rise?” Jeric asked.

  Elenyr shook her head. Elenyr watched the current arena combatants through a gap in the benches. Both women, they fought with short, spiked blades, drawing shouts from the spectators. It was an open event, allowing anyone to enter. The games were simple and varied, and the people loved the chance to view such a contest.

  “The krey view us as slaves,” Elenyr said. “And for us to be free threatens the entire Krey Empire.”

  “Then Wylyn will seek to remove the threat, while also turning a profit.”

  Elenyr noticed a Bladed woman catch Jeric’s eye and give a subtle hand motion. Jeric twisted, a casual motion that could have been him just shifting his feet, but it also hid his hand, allowing him to return a signal.

  Elenyr frowned and motioned to the woman as she departed. “What was that about?”

  “The king has arrived.”

  Jeric stepped from the alcove and Elenyr looked to the king’s viewing chamber. The portly monarch was indeed sitting down at his chair. King Justin of Griffin was also at his side. The two monarchs were obviously well into the ale, their faces turning a shade of red, King Porlin’s laughter robust.

  “Why did a Bladed give you the message?” Elenyr asked, lowering her tone.

  “A friend,” he replied, working his way through the crowd to the royal viewing chamber.

  Elenyr recalled the woman’s expression, the casual deference she’d paid to Jeric. It had been subtle, but her behavior had been that of a subordinate carrying out an order, not a friend helping a friend.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

  Jeric grinned and shook his head. “Don’t you have a king to speak to?”

  Elenyr scowled at the deflection, but they’d reached the guards. After a quick conversation, Elenyr and Jeric were led into the viewing chamber. She felt a tug on her consciousness and glanced to the spectators nearby, spotting Mind sitting with Water and Light. The three seemed content to wait, their smiles making it clear they wanted Elenyr to stay with Jeric.

  She grunted in irritation but o
pened her thoughts enough that Mind could view what was occurring, and then stepped through the curtain to greet the kings. Both raised their glasses to Elenyr and smiled broadly.

  “Erina!” King Porlin said. “Join us. The competition has been particularly thrilling today.” Then his eyes lifted to Jeric and brightened. “And Master Jeric! Your gift is most appreciated.” He tapped his glass and sipped, making it clear the gift had been of the drinkable variety.

  “Most generous,” King Justin said, nodding in gratitude.

  The two kings couldn’t have been more different. King Porlin was a large man, broad like a barrel. Lazy and prone to amusements, he favored everything in excess. But he was more intelligent than he appeared. He kept his kingdom in order, and his generosity was legendary.

  King Justin was a soldier. The second son of his late father, he’d not been fated to take the crown, and instead had been a general in the military, proving his worth in combat many times over. When his older brother had died from illness, he’d become the crown prince, and later the king. On the exterior he seemed just and honorable, but Elenyr knew him to harbor a streak of cruelty that rarely showed itself to outsiders.

  “As much as I would like to enjoy the games,” Elenyr began, “I come on a most serious matter.”

  “Nonsense,” King Porlin said, gesturing to the contest about to start between a cowled rock troll and a trio of sand trolls. “We cannot have talk of such weight on such a night.”

  The sun had begun to set, casting the arena into shadow. Large light orbs ignited, glowing in the gloom, flooding the stands and the floating arena floor with light. The combatants fought in the deepening darkness.

  “Of what do you speak?” King Justin asked.

  “The ancient race has returned,” Elenyr said.

  “Word is there are only two of them,” King Porlin said with a dismissive wave. “I’ve dispatched a contingent of cavalry to find them. Their handful of outlanders will not last long.”

  “So the rumors are true?” Justin asked, a trace of anger appearing in his voice. “When did you intend on informing me?”

  “After the games,” King Porlin said. “Minor inconveniences need not be discussed during festivals.”

  He shouted to the battle when the rock troll picked up a sand troll and flung him clear out of the arena, the troll landing in a heap on the shore next to the benches. The other two sand trolls sought to flank their opponent, but the hooded rock troll remained in place, lazily spinning his hammer.

  “The krey are dangerous,” Elenyr said. “But the true danger lies in their allies, the Order of Ancients.”

  “Just a myth,” King Porlin said.

  “The Order is no myth,” King Justin said.

  “You know of them?” Jeric asked.

  The king nodded, his expression dark. “The day before my departure to the games, I found a dagger stabbed into the wall above my bed. It had a few drops of blood on the blade, and a note informing me that the Order of Ancients required my obedience, or it would cost me the throne. I dismissed the threat, but then discovered a small cut on my son’s arm. He said he’d woken to find the injury, and assumed it had come while he’d been sleeping.”

  “The Order infiltrated your castle?” King Porlin’s smile had faded.

  “It seems so,” he replied. “I ordered an increase of the guards and an immediate search, but found no sign of the attacker.”

  “That’s why you brought your family to the games,” King Porlin said.

  King Justin’s expression was dark. “Indeed.”

  We have a problem.

  Elenyr blinked in surprise at the mental intrusion and looked to Mind. The three fragments were on their feet, staring intently at the battle being waged in the arena. The rock troll had defeated the second sand troll and was stalking the third, his hammer spinning, the troll scrambling to escape.

  Then Elenyr noticed what Mind had spotted. The rock troll was clad in a cloak and cowl, revealing only his hands. For a rock troll to hide the tattoos of his Sundering was odd enough, but the strange shape to his helmet was distinctive, almost as if there were two horns pointed downward . . .

  She sucked in her breath and stepped to the edge of the viewing balcony, watching as the rock troll caught the handle of the axe as the troll attempted to strike, and ripped the weapon from his hands. Then he kicked the unfortunate troll off the arena. A Bladed stepped on the arena floor and gestured to the victorious troll.

  “For our final open duel of the night, our victor proves to be the Unnamed!”

  The rock troll turned to the Bladed—and swung his hammer, smashing him in the chest hard enough to break bone. The Bladed fell in a heap, his lifeless body broken. The shocking kill silenced the crowd, and then the rock troll ripped the cowl from his head, tossing the cloak aside to reveal the bone-plated armor, the horns descending from his skull. He was not a rock troll at all.

  He was a dakorian.

  Chapter 26: The Broken Crown

  The dakorian’s appearance drew fearful shouts from the audience, with many recoiling in terror. Soldiers rushed to the shore of the cove while Bladed appeared from all directions, weapons clearing sheaths, the glint of steel bright in the torchlight. Heedless of the army gathering against him, the dakorian sneered.

  “Slaves of Lumineia,” he called, raising his hammer and the stolen axe. “I am a dakorian, soldier of the Krey Empire. I am here to proclaim the return of your masters. Those you call the ancient race have come, and in time, all will kneel at their feet. Your time of freedom is at its end.”

  Spectators retreated up the benches, calling out in fear, staring in horror at the outlander. He turned toward the royal viewing chamber, using his hammer to point at the two kings now standing beside Elenyr. The dakorian sneer caused King Porlin to flinch.

  “Your thrones are made of stone and wood, artifices of false power. In the coming days you will face a choice, to relinquish your kingdoms, or be buried with those foolish enough to fight. Your kingdoms are naught. Your lives are naught. The lands you call your own do not belong to you. Tremble, kings of men, for your rulers demand your loyalty . . . or your lives.”

  The dakorian reared back and hurled the troll’s axe, the weapon spinning end over end toward the kings. Both recoiled in fear, too slow to evade the weapon. Elenyr was on the far side, helpless to stop the weapon—but a large hand reached from the shadows of the room and caught the axe, the blade stopping inches from King Porlin’s belly.

  Mox, the First Blade, stepped into the open and handed the axe to King Porlin like it was a trophy. Then he turned to the dakorian and drew the much larger axe from his back. When he spoke his voice was calm.

  “You killed one of mine,” he said.

  The dakorian glanced to the Bladed, who still lay at the edge of the arena. “He’s just a slave.”

  The First leapt the wall at the front of the platform and advanced toward the edge of the arena, the people and soldiers parting for his passage. He hefted his axe, setting it into a spin that emitted an eager whine, the weapon’s magic spilling flames across the curved blade.

  “I think you’ll find we are not the slaves you claim us to be.”

  The dakorian sneered as the rock troll advanced across the bridge, the gathered crowd glancing between the two massive combatants. Elenyr made to follow but Jeric caught her arm, holding her back.

  “He can handle the dakorian,” Jeric murmured. “We have another problem.”

  Elenyr followed his gaze to the crowd, where dozens of men and woman were slipping unnoticed into the benches. Clad in black robes, they worked their way toward the ring of soldiers lining the shore of the cove.

  Elenyr realized the tactic in an instant. The dakorian had drawn the people’s attention, while the Order planned to strike the backs of the Bladed. Renowned for their weapon skills and honor, the Bladed were admired by many in all the armies—and their destruction would strike fear across Lumineia. With the people riveted on the ap
proaching duel between Mox and the dakorian, they didn’t notice the Order passing among them, their anonymity like armor, their daggers approaching the backs of the Bladed.

  “We have to stop this,” Jeric said in a rush as the two leapt from the viewing chamber.

  “There are too many,” Elenyr said. “So we’ll have to draw attention to them.”

  She joined Mind, Fire, and Light, who had descended the benches and stood on the shore. Elenyr stabbed a finger to the nearest member of the Order, a woman creeping up behind a Bladed, and called to Light.

  “Light, take the shadows!”

  Light smiled and reached for the torches blazing around the arena, the light bending and twisting, morphing into columns of illumination that landed on the Order members. One by one, they all found themselves standing in a pool of light.

  The crowd saw the robed figures with blades pointed to the Bladed. They reared back, shouting in fear. The Bladed turned and spotted the attackers just feet from them. Screams rent the night air as the Order and the Bladed closed in battle, the people fleeing in terror. The dakorian and Mox clashed into each other, the titanic battle going unnoticed as the Bladed fought for their lives.

  “What do we do?” Light asked.

  “Protect the people,” Elenyr said, spotting more Order members attacking the fleeing crowd.

  Elenyr cast Mox a look before leaping into the chaotic battle. Townsfolk and merchants milled about, screaming, while black clad Order members unleashed their blades upon them. Soldiers and Bladed fought, the conflict spreading into the raised benches.

  Elenyr left the soldiers to fend for themselves and sprinted into the crowd. The melee prevented her companions from reaching the attackers, but Elenyr lifted her cowl and became the Hauntress, green smoke cascading off her body, flowing into her dark cloak. Then she turned ethereal and passed through the masses.

  She reached an Order member about to kill a mother protecting her children. Elenyr turned corporeal just long enough to strike, and then she was gone, already reaching the next. Order members fell to her blade as she passed through the crowd, clearing the way of attackers so the innocent could flee the arena.