The Fragment of Shadow (The Shattered Soul Book 2)

by Ben Hale

  When it finally subsided a welcome darkness returned, and Shadow limped to the dwarves. Hort and the other fire mages cast fire in their palms, providing light as they picked their way over the rubble to reach the main shaft. Instead of a statue, they found a pile of shattered stone.

  Despite his injuries, Shadow grinned. “That went better than expected.”

  “Better?” Hort demanded, his voice rising. Then he controlled himself and stabbed a finger upward. “You should go, before I remember what you did to us.”

  Shadow noticed the menace in the surrounding dwarves and shrugged. “When you sing songs of tonight, make sure everyone knows about her pink axe.”

  The dwarf released a strangled shout and Shadow grinned before retreating from sight. His ascent slowed by his injuries, Shadow worked his way up the mine and back to the surface, but the dakorians were gone. Satisfied at the fun he’d had, Shadow limped his way south, wondering about Relgor’s swamp fortress.

  Chapter 27: Friend

  From her perch in a tree, Lorica watched the entrance to the mine. She shifted to get comfortable on the small platform she’d constructed, but couldn’t seem to get a good seat, the boredom of waiting seeping into her flesh.

  She’d once waited a month for a target, yet never felt such discomfort on a hunt. She kept telling herself it was because of Gendor, but deep down she recognized it had less to do with her target and a great deal to do with her traveling companion.

  It had been almost a week since she’d left Shadow in the tunnel outside of Torridin. Upon arriving at the mine, it had been clear the miners had not been disturbed, and she’d settled in to watch and wait.

  Her chosen hiding spot overlooked a shallow canyon, where the entrance to the mine was located. Aside from a handful of traveling dwarves, she’d seen nothing, and had begun to guess that Shadow had been the one fortunate enough to intercept Gendor.

  She tried to hold on to her anger, but on the third day of waiting she was tempted to sneak into the mine, just to prove she could. The impulse for fun was new and she stifled it, recognizing its source.

  “I’m here for Gendor,” she murmured to herself, a cold reminder of the target she hunted.

  Eight days after leaving Shadow, a small black cat climbed into her post, and rubbed its fur on her face. She snapped awake, nearly shearing the entity in two with her oathsword. But the cat merely deposited a sealed letter and then evaporated.

  She recognized the messenger as sent by Shadow and picked up the letter. She unwrapped the parchment and scanned the contents, grunting as her suspicions were confirmed. Shadow had indeed encountered Relgor and fought the dakorians. Jealousy reared up and she was forced to quash the emotion.

  She looked to the horizon and found it to be almost dawn, the touch of light above the mountains indicating the approaching sunrise. She gathered her things and then dropped to the ground, leaving the mine and working her way south until she reached a cliff. Her cloak unfurled and she stepped off an edge, falling into a curve that would carry her through a pass.

  As she flew south, she watched the mountains scroll by, wondering if she would hold true to her promise and part ways with Shadow. Part of her wanted to simply pass Shadow and leave him wanting, but they were both hunting the same targets, and she would likely encounter him anyway.

  She could also meet with him long enough to learn what he knew, and then leave, but the prospect left a bad taste. It wasn’t just that she would see him again. He could follow her with ease.

  She also had to contend with the fact that she’d started to grow attached to the fragment of Shadow. Without him, her gaze would have been fixed on Gendor, and the anguish of losing her sister would have remained bright. Instead, Shadow brought a smile to her lips, his constant need for amusement irritating, yet oddly healing.

  As she passed beyond the mountain range and descended toward the trees, she spotted the river, and followed it to where a distinctive oak curved its trunk over the water. There she spotted a figure in the shadows, taking a nap.

  Light from the rising sun passed through the leafy canopy, illuminating a bright forest and reflecting off the gurgling stream. The nearby road passed through a ford, the rocks covered in moss that Shadow had slipped on when they’d descended to fill their water skins and rest. Birds tittered in the trees, adding music to the bright forest. She dropped to the ground and furled her cloak, the sound of her boots drawing a look.

  “Took you long enough,” he said, not moving.

  “I got your message this morning,” she said. “How long have you been waiting?”

  “Three days,” he said.

  “Your messenger took a while to get to me,” she said.

  He shrugged, and winced.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “Almost healed now,” he said. “The dakorians certainly like to leave a mark.”

  “I thought you could use shadows to heal.”

  “Now you care?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  She took a step toward him, concern lifting her hand. Then she came to a stop and her hand returned to her side. “Was Gendor there?”

  “No.”

  The disappointment was sharp and she tried not to blame Shadow. “What did you learn?”

  “That Relgor is gathering supplies to a swamp fortress.”

  “The krey are hiding in a swamp?” she asked, incredulous.

  “I suspect Mistkeep,” he said. “It’s an old Verinai fortress in the Evermist.”

  “Anything about Gendor?”

  “Relgor said he was in Herosian,” he said.

  “And you believe him?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked. “You know you’ll go there. Or maybe you’ll go to Mistkeep first.”

  He eased himself down from the branch. She watched the controlled motion, the tightening in his jaw, and realized that although the injury had healed, he was still sore. It was disconcerting to see him in pain, but more disconcerting to find that she cared.

  “Are you sure you are well?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “I expected you to be ecstatic upon learning the location of the Bloodsworn.”

  “I expected you not to be limping.”

  Shadow chuckled wryly and lifted his shirt, revealing a deep bruise across his side. The purple mottling on his flesh surrounded a long wound across his ribs, making her wonder if his ribs had been broken.

  “Everything can be killed,” he said. “And shadows don’t heal as well as the other elements.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t be hurt.”

  “I said I don’t scar,” he said. “I never said I couldn’t be hurt.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For me being hurt?” he asked. “Or what you said?”

  She looked away, watching the leaves rustle in the wind. Then she sighed and looked back. “Both.”

  “The mighty assassin brought to humility,” he mocked. “I bet that’s unpleasant.”

  She scowled and pointed to him. “Don’t you have something apologize for?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said. He stooped to the stream and refilled his water skin.

  She drew in a breath and almost walked away. She knew of Mistkeep and could probably locate the fortress on her own. If the rumors were even partially true about the swamp fortress, it would be an ideal place for Gendor to hide his Bloodsworn. Now that she knew the target, she could leave Shadow behind and hunt Gendor on her own.

  But that wasn’t what she wanted.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “What you said about my sister was harsh, and it’s hard to remember that you are just a fragment of a person.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That one of the other fragments may have gotten the emotions you lack.”

  Shadow regarded her, his features tight with annoyance. She wondered if he felt that way because she was wrong, or because she was right. Then he closed his water skin and fl
ashed a sour smile.

  “Apparently I have no empathy.”

  “I could teach you,” she said.

  He burst into a laugh that sent a bird out of the trees. “I’m going to learn empathy from an assassin?”

  “Why not?” she asked. “I’m learning how to enjoy life from a fragment of a guardian that shouldn’t exist.”

  He seemed to be considering the idea, but she could see in his eyes that the prospect intrigued him. She’d offered a challenge, and that was one thing Shadow could not resist. She could have invited him to steal a dragon’s egg and he would have had the same look.

  “It will require us traveling together.”

  “I’ll have to endure it,” she said.

  He grinned and reached for his pack. “I wondered if you would return at all.”

  “I had to,” she said, falling into step beside him as they turned onto the road. “You knew about Gendor. But you could have put that information into the note.”

  “Couldn’t risk it being intercepted,” he said, but there was a sparkle to his eyes that implied he was lying, making her think that he too, had wanted her return.

  “You could just admit you wanted me to come back,” she said.

  “And why would I admit to that?” he asked.

  “I’m not used to having friends either,” Lorica said.

  “Is that what we are?” Shadow asked.

  “Perhaps I misspoke.”

  He grinned. “Perhaps.”

  She noticed a strange look in his eyes, a surprise at the word, as if he’d never heard it before. The way Shadow fought, the way he planned, the way he talked, all bespoke one used to being alone. He had his fragment brothers, but they were his family, and he didn’t care much for his connections in the Thieves Guild. It left her wondering if he’d ever had a real friend.

  As they worked their way south again, she realized that her initial attraction for Shadow had dimmed. She still found him handsome, but the connection between them went deeper. As a rule, assassins made occasional allies that helped them reach their targets, but allies were not necessarily friends.

  “So what’s our plan?” he finally asked.

  “You’re asking me?”

  He pointed to her. “You’re the assassin hunting an assassin. Surely you know the best method to reach him without being killed.”

  “Have you ever been in Mistkeep?” she asked.

  “A few times,” he said. “But not in ages, and it was abandoned then.”

  “What do you make of the fortress?”

  “Delightfully creepy.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly inviting.”

  He shrugged. “It sits on an island in the middle of the most lethal swamp in Lumineia. It’s filled with darkness and dust, perfect for me, not so perfect for anyone else.”

  “If the Bloodsworn call it home, they’ve likely made it livable, and Gendor would have taken precautions against an assassin’s blade.”

  “I could get in,” he said.

  “Probably,” she said. “But Gendor serves Serak, who’s been watching you for five thousand years.”

  “Which means he’s probably ready for me as well.” He released an annoyed grunt. “I hate it when it’s hard.”

  “Because it’s less fun?”

  “Exactly,” Shadow said.

  She cocked her head to the side as a thought occurred to her. “Why don’t we give them what they want?”

  “What do they want?”

  “You,” she said.

  “You want me to get captured?” he asked. “That doesn’t sound very friendly.”

  “But it was brotherly?”

  The reminder of the events in Keese brought a smile to his lips. She hoped it suggested that he could trust her as much as Water trusted him.

  “Water was unharmed when he came out of the cage”

  “I’ll get you out as well,” she said.

  “So I’m supposed to trust you?”

  “That’s what friends do.”

  “If I get killed the first time I trust a friend, I’m going to lose faith in this friendship thing.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “That’s a no,” Shadow said.

  She blinked in surprise. “I thought you’d like my plan.”

  “I do,” he said, “But you should be the one caught. I know the fortress and have the magic to find you. It only makes sense.”

  “So I’m supposed to trust you?”

  He smiled broadly. “Isn’t that what friends do? And it sounds like fun.”

  She hesitated, and then inclined her head. “Perhaps you are right.”

  He laughed in delight, and she couldn’t resist a smile, partly because it sounded like fun, and partly because he was right. She still wanted to kill Gendor, but the bloodlust had started to wane, and she found a contrasting desire. As they made their final plans, she found herself stealing looks at Shadow.

  Lorica still didn’t trust Shadow completely, not yet. But despite her best efforts, her trust was growing. It oddly reminded her of Loralyn, who’d always had the gift of knowing who to trust. Except for Gendor, a mistake that had cost her dearly.

  Her smile faded, and she reminded herself that Shadow had his own goals. Although their friendship was forming, what would Shadow do if their goals were not in alignment? She hoped it didn’t happen, if only because she had no desire to kill Shadow.

  Chapter 28: Lorica’s Gambit

  “You really think this is going to work?” Shadow asked.

  “It was your idea,” she said.

  “Then we know it’s a good one.”

  She laughed, the sound tense. The entire journey to Herosian they’d talked about the best way to infiltrate the Bloodsworn, a challenge made difficult because Serak knew Shadow’s magic, and personality.

  “I don’t see another option,” she said.

  The tactic they’d devised was dangerous, but it was the only approach she thought would outsmart their foes. Of course, their plan could very well kill them both, but as Shadow declared, “That’s what makes it fun.”

  She surveyed the noble house from their vantage point on a nearby roof. The sun had set hours ago and Herosian lay steeped in darkness. The streets were well lit by elven light orbs, illuminating the seven rings of the city. The third circle boasted the most light, the homes of the nobles glowing in the night.

  “Do you trust Indra?” Lorica asked.

  Shadow’s smile indicated a growing attraction for the girl he’d met on the wall of the city. Lorica had watched while Shadow asked for her aid, a request that earned him a kiss. She thought she would be jealous, but that emotion was surprisingly absent.

  “She gave us what we needed,” Shadow replied.

  “And the kiss?”

  “A bonus,” Shadow replied. “She’s very attractive.”

  Her grunt said it all, and he grinned. Then Lorica’s eyes were drawn to the young man exiting the front of the large house. He was hardly an adult, his features still boyish, despite the haughty gleam to his eyes.

  Ostensibly the cousin of a count, Yolan secretly housed the Bloodsworn that came to the city, and his house guard were all Bloodsworn. Indra had pointed them in the direction of Yolan’s home, and Lorica and Shadow had been surveying it for the last few hours.

  “You think he will take the bait?” Shadow asked.

  “He’s young and brash,” she said. “He won’t be able to resist.”

  Shaped like a horseshoe, the house wrapped around a fountain at the center. Elven cast, the water flowed upward into intricate spirals, a quartet of trees providing shade for the inverted waterfall. Flowers and other shrubs lined the structure, extending into gardens all the way to the exterior wall.

  On the outside, the wall looked like any other barrier around a noble’s house. But Yolan had subtly fortified the wall of his home, and when a gardener opened the hut to retrieve a tool, Lorica spotted the armory within.

&nbs
p; “I’ll see you on the other side,” Shadow said.

  She looked to him, measuring the certainty in his gaze. Their plan risked them both but required her to take the first plunge. Shadow still needed her, so she doubted he would abandon her to her fate. Still, it was the first time she would fully trust Shadow.

  “Friends don’t leave friends to die,” she said.

  “Lesson one of an assassin’s guide to empathy?”

  “Lesson one,” she said with a faint smile.

  “I’ll be there,” he said.

  She measured his dark eyes, the set to his jaw, and believed him. Nodding, she turned and dropped off the roof, flaring her wings to descend to the ground. Then she stared at the doors across the way, readying herself for the show she needed to put on.

  She recalled Gendor’s face, his arrogance, his guilt. Then she thought of Loralyn as she’d died. The embers of anger and guilt fanned into flame, growing hotter as she relived a moment of such anguish. Gendor had killed her brother, her sister, and now he needed to be avenged. Drawing her oathsword, she stepped from the dark alley and crossed the street.

  Her gaze fixed on the door, she approached the opening. The two guards spotted her and called out a warning, but she continued to close the gap, until she passed into the pool of light around the door and they recognized her.

  “The Angel of Death!” one cried.

  He yanked his sword free but Lorica was faster. Her blade flicked out, slicing once across his chest before she spun and grabbed the throat of the second. Dragging him through the opening, she put her blade at his stomach and raised her voice.

  “I’m here for Gendor.”

  Raspy and laced with menace, her voice reverberated off the bricks of the house, summoning the attention of all the guards. In the shocked stillness she plunged her sword through the Bloodsworn in her grasp.

  “How many of you do I have to kill before he comes?”

  She dropped the assassin’s body on the ground and whirled, avoiding a crossbow bolt that streaked toward her side. Then she surged into motion, charging the fountain. The Bloodsworn guards converged upon her, weapons clearing sheaths, crossbows being loaded.