The Fragment of Water (The Shattered Soul Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  Light and Mind took the right flank, the two working in tandem to cut down the attackers. The Order, their attention elsewhere, didn’t see them coming, their bodies falling to the ground as the pair swept around the arena.

  Jeric and Fire went the opposite direction. With his flaming sword in hand, Fire darted into the fray, striking at the mages in the ranks of the Order. Bursts of light and fire illuminated the night, and smoke filled the scene. A portion of the wall was on fire, but the Bladed did not flee, their discipline absolute.

  Elenyr reached the arena gates and the last of the Order fell to her blade. When she turned back, the people fled around her, some calling out their gratitude but most fleeing, their fear too bright to realize she had saved their lives.

  All at once the conflict was over, the din of battle ending as quickly as it had come. Innocents flooded out of the arena until only a few stragglers remained. Bladed and apprentices slew the Order members that did not flee, and all eyes turned to the furious duel in the arena.

  The rock troll swung his axe upon the dakorian, but the warrior blocked with his hammer before twisting, using the end to strike the rock troll in the skull. The First Blade rocked back, and the hammer swung across his body, the spikes in the head cutting deep into the troll’s flesh. But Mox rolled with the blow and used his own axe to knock the hammer upward.

  He darted into the opening, feinting to the side before reaching up and grasping the dakorian’s left horn. Twisting his body, the rock troll yanked the dakorian to the arena floor, where he landed brutally. The dakorian expertly rolled away, but not before the rock troll dealt a glancing blow, his flaming axe cutting through the bone armor to draw blood.

  The dakorian rose to his feet near the center of the arena, a scowl on his features. A trace of disbelief flickered in his eyes, as if he thought the rock troll’s survival beyond possibility. Then the dakorian noticed the dwindling battle and retreated a step. With a growl, he slammed his hammer into the arena floor, the shaft piercing the aquaglass and sending cracks outward. Then he whirled and sprinted to the edge of the arena. Of the litany of scars on the dakorian’s body, one stood out, a dark burn across his leg.

  Mox gave chase, but the dakorian reached the end and dove into the cove water, disappearing through the gap in the storm wall. Shouting in praise, Kings Porlin and Justin descended to the arena and strode to the rock troll.

  “Well done,” King Porlin said.

  “Indeed,” King Justin said, sheathing his sword. “Without you, the attack would have been victorious.”

  Bleeding from a dozen wounds, the rock troll turned and strode to the hammer. Motioning to it, he said, “This wasn’t an attack they intended to win.”

  Elenyr joined the fragments and Jeric on the arena. “I agree,” she said. “They wanted damage and fear, not destruction.”

  “They failed in both because of your presence,” King Porlin said. He wiped sweat from his brow, his hands shaking. “You have our gratitude.”

  Elenyr’s gaze swept the abandoned arena. Bodies of the wounded were being tended by healers, while Bladed, apprentices, and Talinorian guard helped those with smaller injuries. The Order dead lay scattered about. Then Elenyr noticed the wounds on Mox’s body, the volume a testament to the tremendous duel.

  “Why did he flee?” Elenyr asked.

  “He was here to deliver a message,” Mox said, pointing to the dakorian hammer.

  He shifted, allowing them to see the hammer. The shaft had been plunged into the center of the arena, the weapon scorched and blackened from his battle with Mox. At the top, two broken halves of a golden circlet were smashed into the metal.

  A broken crown.

  “King Numen’s crown,” Elenyr said, recognizing it.

  “They have killed him,” King Porlin said, his tone filled with shock.

  “They wanted to threaten us,” King Justin growled. “To let us know we can be killed.”

  Jeric strode into view, his eyes softening as he glanced to Elenyr. “They wished to sow discord,” he said, nodding to Elenyr. “But that was not their only intention.”

  “Of what do you speak?” Mox asked.

  “As we fought the Order, a ship viewed the conflict.” He motioned to the gap in the seawall, where the barrier allowed a view of the moonlit sea. “They wanted to test us, to see for themselves how much of a threat we pose.”

  “The dakorian is a match for my kind,” Mox said, motioning to the wound on his chest. “And now they know it.”

  As they debated the purpose of the attack, Elenyr stepped free and motioned to Mind. The fragment followed her to the edge of the arena, his expression curious. When they were out of earshot of the others, Elenyr lowered her voice.

  “Do you think the kings are in danger?”

  “Not yet,” Mind said, frowning in thought. “I think Wylyn wants the people to be afraid, and the Order will gain followers, mark my words.”

  “What did you get from the minds of the Order?” she asked.

  “They are men and women that have lost much,” he said. “They believe they have been wronged by their nations, by the people, and they think the krey will deliver them to their rightful place.”

  “Any indication on where the krey are hiding?”

  “I caught a glimpse of a krey outpost,” Mind said. “There were dark elves present, and from Light’s description, Serak was there as well.”

  Elenyr tightened her jaw. “That’s the second time we’ve seen a connection between the Order and the dark elves. Perhaps we go to them for answers.”

  Chapter 27: Burned

  Erathan was in an uproar, the streets of Heth filled with soldiers. It took hours for Water and Lira to finish explaining to the captain of the guard, an unappealing woman that asked incessant questions, how the king had been kidnapped. It took all of Water’s skill to ward off her suspicion, and still the woman wanted Water and Lira to remain in the city for further interrogation.

  Water did learn one thing from the conversation. The dwarf that had attacked them was well known for his criminal acts. He’d robbed and murdered his way across the kingdoms, an act that would have earned a hefty bounty, except he didn’t have one.

  “You know him but do not hunt him?” Water asked.

  “Someone pays the bounty before it can be issued,” the woman said. “We call him the Dark Dwarf, and suspect he is a member of the Assassin’s Guild. He was seen entering the city shortly after you arrived, and he left a horse bearing Herosian colors outside the city.”

  Water and Lira exchanged a look, and he guessed she was thinking the same thing. Someone was paying to keep the Dark Dwarf’s actions from coming to light—someone powerful. In light of what they had learned about the Order, and his presence when the king had been taken, it appeared that the Dark Dwarf worked for them.

  “Where can we find him?” Lira asked.

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” the woman retorted.

  Another soldier appeared and captured her attention, and the woman jerked her head in dismissal. Water and Lira strode away, leaving the castle behind. Lira began to speak but Water motioned her to silence until they were outside the fortress walls.

  “The Order has powerful members,” Lira said.

  “We do not know if the Dark Dwarf is part of them, or works for them,” he said. “But if he is an assassin, I suspect his name is Thorg. Elenyr has spoken of the Assassin’s Guild members and he would match the description. What is disturbing is that the assassins have a very strict code, which it seems Thorg is not obeying.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lira said, her tone harsh. “We need to eradicate them.”

  Water cast her a sharp look. “We do not slaughter.”

  “Tell that to the Mendelen.”

  He’d never heard the name, but her tone was dark, her features forbidding. Hesitation bound his tongue, and the two departed the city in silence. They used the descender to reach the lake below the Giant’s Shel
f, and then a boat carried them to the forest.

  The miles passed without a word, the Giant’s Shelf fading behind them. Water cast about for a topic but the rigidity to Lira’s features did not lend itself to conversation. He desperately wanted to ask about the Mendelen, but feared inciting her to greater wrath.

  “Can we go back to dancing?” he finally asked.

  She snorted in disbelief and glanced his way. “You don’t understand.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “I understand that I enjoyed dancing with you.”

  “There are things I cannot tell you.”

  “So you didn’t enjoy dancing?”

  After a moment she met his gaze. “I cannot deny that.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he said with a smile.

  “You don’t have to look so smug.”

  “Me?” Water asked, feigning ignorance. He ducked under a branch. “I would never be so smug.”

  She shoved him and he laughed, the tension passing. But Water had seen the depth in her gaze, of anger, of loss. Lira had demonstrated courage and valor, a conviction that went beyond any woman he’d known. But this was the first time he’d seen fear in her eyes.

  They worked their way south and west, towards the village King Numen had said was attacked by Wylyn. Lira did not speak about the Mendelen or her fears, and Water did not press the topic. He’d gotten a glimpse of a haunted memory within Lira, and yearned to know what she feared.

  He wondered what had led to her pain, what tragedy had driven her to become an Eternal, to fight for Ero, the one that had given her the magic she possessed. But patience was a virtue gained by one free of time, and so he waited.

  They camped in the trees, and Water cast a quartet of entities to stand guard. Despite his fatigue, sleep was slow in coming, and he pondered the revelations about the Order until deep into the night, his thoughts inevitably returning to Serak. He hoped by morning Lira’s mood would lighten, but she spoke little throughout the day. And the next.

  He tried to tell himself it wasn’t because he found her attractive, that it was just out of duty. But the harder he tried, the more he found himself stealing looks at a woman that made his heart feel alive for the first time. He yearned to understand, to see what she held back, and to be the one to offer solace.

  The road wound its way south and then split to the west. They passed a handful of travelers, but the road was empty. The days passed in snippets of conversation, and during the lulls in conversation sound came from their boots scraping across the road, an endless rhythm that did not seem to lull Lira’s dark mood.

  “Are all the krey ageless?” he asked, three days after departing Heth.

  “All,” she said. “Eons ago they figured out how to perfect their bodies. They do not age or contract disease. Their bodies do not wear after time, so they simply continue to live.”

  “And the dakorians?”

  “They are one of the races the krey have conquered,” she said. “The krey reward their most loyal with a perfected form, and they then become ageless. Those with four serrations on their horns are high captains, and earned that honor. Tardoq, Wylyn’s personal guard, is one such, and I believe he’s over ten thousand years old.”

  “So what’s the oldest krey you’ve met?” he asked.

  “Some are considered new, and have lived for less than a thousand years. Others have lived for tens of thousands, even more.”

  He swept his hand to the empty road. “It is a hard thing to imagine a life without end.”

  “Not so hard,” she said.

  “What’s it like, living so long?”

  “At first it feels like a curse,” Lira said. “You miss those you love, your family, the place you call home. But as you spend more time with other ageless it becomes normal. The days bleed into years and centuries, and one day you realize you no longer see an end to your existence.”

  “But the krey can still be killed.”

  “I have killed many of them,” she said. “And many dakorians.”

  “The krey do not fight?”

  “They use the dakorians,” she said. “Or constructs.”

  “Constructs?”

  She motioned to him. “You are a being of flesh blended with magic. A construct is the same, flesh bonded to powerful energy, giving the wielder incredible power. Constructs come in many forms, but they are all deadly. Think of them like a glove for a soldier’s mind, a powerful body the soldier can use for a short time.”

  With the sun filtering through the trees, illuminating the shaded road, all seemed at peace, and the conversation about the krey made him feel closer to Lira. He wanted to ask more pointed questions, but hoped that simply talking would help her open up.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What was your life like, in the beginning?”

  “Not much to tell,” he said wryly. “Draeken fractured the first time he tried to use his full power, and I remember standing in the sun before we merged back together.” He winced at the memory. “Elenyr managed to get Draeken to separate and train us on our own. She hoped we would master ourselves, allowing Draeken to master the fragments.”

  “And after?” she asked.

  He heard the curiosity in her tone and hoped it meant her mood had softened. “The first few decades were brutal, and we caused a great deal of damage. If our protector was anyone but Elenyr, they would have been killed. Over time we managed to control our magics, and then Elenyr began to take us into the world.”

  “You must have been eager,” she said.

  “You have no idea,” he said. “Shadow managed to sneak out a few times, and he was lucky he didn’t kill anyone.”

  “So she took you outside your refuge one at a time?”

  Water nodded, recalling a yearning to be the one chosen, and jealousy when he was not. Looking back he realized they were probably much like children, despite their age, and it had taken many years before Water had accepted Elenyr’s wisdom.

  “Our excursions were small at first,” Water said. “But we gradually dealt with more pressing matters. Elenyr was very careful, and planned each excursion to test and strengthen our discipline.”

  “What did you do?”

  A flutter of something soft brushed across his face and he brushed it away. “I studied with water mages and built buildings. I even spent time as a guard.”

  She grinned and motioned to him. “Your magic is formidable, and you did guard duty?”

  “That’s what Shadow said,” he replied. “But Elenyr wanted us to see that magic was more than just fighting. She wanted us to see all that could be created, not just what could be destroyed. I helped build forests and enchant rivers through cities. I also helped stop a few floods.”

  “And Fire?” she asked. “Surely there is little he can do besides destroy.”

  “He used fire to shape wood and forge great structures. He’s the best artist of us all.”

  “An artist?” She shook her head. “I would never have thought.” She wiped at her cheeks, brushing aside what had fallen on her face.

  “Mind helped to negotiate treaties and train soldiers while Light filled villages with illumination. Shadow—when he could control his sense of mischief—used his magic to create special weapons the guards could use against thieves and brigands. Of course, he was frequently the one that caused the trouble, but they didn’t know that.”

  “They are your family,” she stated.

  “We are brothers first and fragments second,” Water said, a small smile on his face. “And each of them has saved my life many times over. Our magic may be strong, but it is when we are united that we are truly powerful.”

  He brushed at his face again, irritated by the smog. Lira chuckled. “I cannot imagine such a bond. Do you always agree with the fragments?”

  He burst into a laugh. “Hardly. Do you not occasionally feel an internal conflict? Imagine that conflict split between two beings. We once had a feud endure for more than a year, and I think Fire
still has the scar from Light.”

  “Light did the damage?”

  “Fire may have the anger, but Light has the rage.” He recalled the fury of the fragment in their early years. “And trust me when I say, do not steal his cheese.”

  “Oh?”

  He smiled. “Fire wasn’t the only one to get scars from Light.”

  She brushed at her face, and this time he looked up. .The air was full of dust, the particles floating down to settle on them. Confused, he reached up and caught some on his hand. It looked like snow, but was grey rather than white.

  “Ash,” he said.

  They exchanged a look and she nodded. “We’re here.”

  The road curved around the trees and the village came into view. Water slowed, but his caution was unnecessary. Homes and shops had been reduced to smoking beams, the wood turning white, ash rising with scattered plumes of smoke.

  They advanced onto what had once been the main road through the village, but had to pick their way over the remains of the stables. Beams had collapsed, the supports falling into the road, wisps of smoke curling around them.

  The blacksmith shop was in ruins, the home behind it nearly unrecognizable. Water sucked in his breath when he saw the shape in the ash where a body had lain, and then spotted the others, all signs of the slaughter visible by the tracks in the ash.

  “Erathan soldiers retrieved the dead,” he said.

  When there was no response, he turned to Lira and found her with her hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with horror. It was the look of someone seeing a memory, the present eliciting a haunting past.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t seem to hear him, her features rigid, her eyes wide as she took in the ash falling like snow, drifting through the air to settle on her clothes, the still smoking wood of homes, and the scorched ground.

  “Lira,” he said, an urgency to his voice.

  He took a step toward her but a sound nearby made him spin. Already on edge, he cast his water staff and scanned the village for the danger. It came again, and Lira sucked in her breath. She wiped at her eyes and then stood with him, both realizing the same thing.