The Fragment of Shadow (The Shattered Soul Book 2)

by Ben Hale

“I must,” Lorica said. “For if I do not, the guild will disappear.”

  “Would that be so awful?” she asked, rotating to face her.

  Lorica sighed and motioned to the castle at the heart of the kingdom, its spires visible through the window. “Throughout Lumineia, the nobles reign, held only in check by their own sense of morals . . . and the assassins. If we did not exist, I fear they would rise to tyranny, and you would suffer.”

  “A difficult burden to bear,” she said.

  Lorica thought of Loralyn. “We became assassins to find Zenif’s killer. I never anticipated we would become the aspect of justice.”

  Despite her words, Lorica was drawn to Zenif’s home, and the simple life it offered. She’d spent her life fighting, and for a moment, she imagined relinquishing the ring of the guildmaster and simply fading into obscurity.

  The knocker on the door thudded, and Irenae stepped to the portal, swinging it open. When she did not speak, Lorica joined her, surprised to find the steps empty. Steeped in darkness the grass and the street beyond were also empty. Then she noticed the box.

  The crate on the doorstep was not overly large, nor did it contain markings of any kind. Lorica eyed the empty street and glanced to Irenae, raising an eyebrow. The woman shook her head, a trace of fear in her gaze. Then Lorica noticed a faint script on the text, almost as if a shadow of words . . .

  “Dim the lights,” she said.

  “Why?” Irenae asked.

  Lorica smiled reassuringly. “Do it. I know who it’s from.”

  Irenae did as requested and touched the light orb above the table. Darkness engulfed the room, while illumination spilled down the staircase. In the gloom the words on the crate were clear.

  A gift for a friend.

  Lorica chuckled as she pulled the box inside and shut the door. The box was lighter than expected, and she set it on the table to remove the lid. When she saw the contents her eyes widened, and she caught the clasp to withdraw the cloak.

  Irenae sucked in a breath and squinted in the gloom. “That’s not made of cloth.”

  “I know,” she said.

  The cloak was sheer black yet shifted like smoke in a faint breeze. She reached out to touch it—and her fingers passed through, as if the material lacked substance. The cloak re-solidified when she withdrew her hand.

  “What sort of magic made that?” the woman asked.

  “Shadow magic,” Lorica said.

  She reached up and wrapped it around her shoulders, felt the touch of consciousness, like a whisper in the back of her mind. The cloak rippled at her will, and then arced outward, rising and shaping.

  Into wings.

  Irenae squinted and raised a hand to the light orb. Lorica saw the motion but her word of warning came too late. Light flooded the dining room, and she expected the wings to fade. Instead the darkness swept aside, and wings of white took their place.

  Irenae gasped in surprise, the sound matched by a young boy’s shout of joy. Then Irenae rushed up the stairs, calling for him to return to his quarters. Lorica stood in place, marveling at the gift.

  She recognized that Shadow had crafted the wings, and likely enlisted the aid of Light and Mind to complete them, making it possible to be an extension of her mind, as well as able to withstand daylight.

  She spread her wings and they responded to her slightest thought. Her heart filled with gratitude. It was a gift fit for a king, and would have taken time to craft, even for the fragments of Draeken. The ring containing the assassin archives glowed on her finger, as if it too, recognized the act of honor.

  Shadow could have waited to prepare such a gift, yet he’d done so now, and she understood the unspoken invitation. He didn’t want her to forget her place. She was the head of the Assassins’ Guild, and it was time to replenish her ranks.

  Chapter 44: Leashed

  Through the open door leading to the weaver hall, Shadow listened to Lorica describe her purpose, the words reminding him of Elenyr, and how she spoke to the fragments. He reclined on the stack of fabrics and stared at the ceiling, considering the idea that the conflict of self was not exclusive to the fragments of Draeken. The way Lorica spoke, as if she’d once been uncertain about her talents and purpose, seemed an echo of Shadow’s own doubts.

  “This is my loom,” Lorica said.

  In the darkness, Shadow cast a dagger, and smiled. In his youth, many had scorned his magic, claiming it to be a devil’s skill. Useful to assassins, criminals, killers, and thieves, his magic was sought after by those of nefarious intent. He couldn’t blame them. He frequently had nefarious intent of his own.

  But were the fragments of Draeken only pieces? Or could they be more? More importantly, did he want to be more? The questions were uttered in the darkest recesses of his mind, never to be voiced. Doing so would be the pinnacle of vulnerability, and he didn’t do vulnerable.

  Still, he recognized that his current predicament had been created due to his attachment to Lorica. But Wylyn’s leverage was significant. He’d actually considered killing Lorica himself, just to end Wylyn’s hold over him. But the mere thought of harming the assassin was worse than the idea of his will being trapped.

  On impulse, he leapt to the rafters of the weaver hall, and to a window fastened in the bedroom of the boy. The opening allowed the child to view the workings of the weaver hall from his room. As expected, he was not in his bed, and instead had crept down the stairs to listen. From the window, he watched the child, whose eyes were bright with wonder.

  Shadow cared nothing for the boy. He could die or live, it mattered not, but if the child died it would devastate Lorica, as would the death of Irenae. Shadow settled back in the rafter, wondering how his desire to protect the assassin extended to this simple woman and her child.

  He pondered the question and then he cast an elf out of shadow, dispatching him to the front door. It lifted the knocker and then dissipated. Dropping to the floor of the hall, Shadow slipped into the portal between the weaver hall and the home and watched as the assassin discovered the crate.

  Drawn to Lorica’s impending discovery, Shadow advanced to the limit of darkness, risking discovery as he watched the assassin don the new wings. His smile was one he would never have shown to anyone, and he realized that he had never given a gift. Elenyr did, and some of the fragments had, but Shadow never had. As he watched Lorica’s delight, he could not recall ever feeling such a strange emotion.

  Reluctantly he retreated. He still had work to accomplish this night, and it would not do for Lorica to discover the note in the crate before he was ready. Striding to the door, he morphed to his shadow form and slipped away. Then he circled the pools of light in the street and plunged into the city.

  A ghost of a smile appeared on his features as he wove his way into the dark streets of Herosian. As he left Lorica behind, his thoughts turned to the last three weeks and the events that had led to his current situation.

  He made his way from the seventh circle all the way to the first, passing the noble circles and even the military district. The guards never saw him, only a flicker in the shadows as he breached their vaunted defenses to reach the castle at the heart of the city.

  The fortress was even larger than Mistkeep, with enormous towers, several great halls, and curving courtyards. King Porlin had expanded on the work of his predecessors, and smaller turrets clung to the larger, providing hanging balconies that connected to suspended bridges. Like a city in and of itself, the castle was the largest on Lumineia.

  He passed the guards by the door, pausing only to tie the boot laces of the haughty captain. Then he ascended through the fortress, winding up stairs and through guarded doors, finally reaching his destination, a chamber in the largest of the towers, and formerly the king’s own quarters.

  The door was shut and flanked by two very observant men in guard uniforms. Neither were actual soldiers for Talinor, but they looked the same. Shadow allowed himself to be seen and the first caught the handle, swinging th
e door open.

  “She’s expecting you.”

  Shadow offered a mock salute as he stepped through the portal, the guard shutting it behind him. The receiving room was occupied by several more guards, including the hulking, bone armored dakorians on either side of the entrance.

  The guards drew their swords and blades, the sheer number suggesting they feared Shadow. He was tempted to show them why they required such caution but resisted the urge. This time. Instead he faced the woman standing at the window where she could survey the city. At Shadow’s entrance she turned and regarded him with a cold stare.

  “Wylyn,” Shadow said, “You always look so pleased to see me.” He winked. “Be careful, I bite.”

  “You were not supposed to depart,” she said coldly.

  “I didn’t speak to a soul,” he said, and then gestured to the room, which had an abundance of light orbs. “Were you worried I might kill you?”

  He cast a dagger of shadows, the action causing the Order members to bristle and raise their weapons, but the blade withered under the glare of so much light. He watched it crumble and then his eyes flicked to Wylyn, a smile forming on his features that made even Wylyn scowl.

  “I do not need the darkness to kill,” Shadow said. “I simply prefer it. The terror of one used to arrogance is indeed the sweetest, as Relgor would know.”

  “Need I remind you the price you will pay for betrayal?”

  She reached to the orb at her side and tossed it to him. Shadow caught the orb, and although he ignored it, his touch activated the image, showing Irenae and her son working in their hall, the memory taken from a false buyer. Unwilling to permit the tug in his chest to show on his features, he flicked the orb to the side, letting it shatter, as if it didn’t matter.

  “I have not forgotten,” Shadow said easily.

  “Serak was wrong, you know,” she said, circling the room. “He said you would never have friends.”

  “Is this about Mistkeep?” Shadow scratched his chin. “I did leave quite a mess. I would say I’ll clean it up, but I have no intention of doing that.”

  “The Angel of Death taught you of friendship,” she said. “But I wager she never told you the price.”

  Shadow groaned. “You lecture more than a mother—and I never had one.”

  The krey’s lip curled into a sneer. “Friends may support you, even believe in you, but they can be used against you.”

  “I already told you I would do your bidding,” Shadow said, folding his arms with an irritated sigh. “Why do you feel the need to gloat like a spoiled child.” His eyes lit with understanding. “Or is it because I killed Relgor? Tell me, did you even like your son? Or was he simply . . . one who could be used against you?”

  She came to a halt and stared at him. “I think it’s time you know the truth.”

  “Please don’t tell me you favor me.” Shadow feigned panic. “I’d rather die than receive a krey kiss.”

  She ignored his comment, and instead she flashed a knowing smile. “I believe you are under the assumption that Relgor negotiated a deal with Serak long before my arrival. Indeed, you believe he sought to work behind my wishes, without my knowledge or approval. In truth, I learned of Relgor’s deal with Serak only days after it was made.”

  “You sound like one who has lost,” Shadow said. “Can you not admit Relgor was smarter than you?”

  “I allowed him to believe his little ruse,” she said. “After all, those who believe they work for their own fate are always more willing than servants. The illusion of free will is a powerful motivator.”

  Shadow began to laugh, his tone low and mocking. Although her words were persuasive, he’d lied enough to recognize a liar. This particular lie sounded legitimate because it was believable. The more Shadow laughed, the more Wylyn’s black eyes swirled with red.

  “Don’t insult me,” Shadow said. “We both know your son bested you, and if I hadn’t killed him, he probably would have killed you.”

  Her glare seeped with cold fury, but she could not speak. He’d caught her in a lie, and anything she said now would merely bring more amusement to Shadow. The guards shifted their feet, disliking the tension in the room. Ultimately, she sought to retain her dignity and swept her hand away.

  “You bore me. Speak to Tardoq about your assignment. I assure you, it will not be pleasant.”

  “I assure you it will be pleasant.”

  Shadow mimicked her voice to perfection, eliciting a scowl. Smirking, he strode to the side chamber that had once been the king’s private training hall. He stepped inside and the door was shut behind him, leaving him alone with Wylyn’s Bloodwall.

  Tardoq stood in the center of the circular room, examining a giant war axe. “The weaponry on this world is impressive,” he said. “I will have to add it to my collection. I also keep the bones of my foes, you know.”

  “Sorry,” Shadow said. “I don’t think I have any bones.”

  “Then you—”

  Shadow groaned and pushed the rune on his gauntlet, cutting off all sound from the chamber. “As much as I enjoy threats, they are growing tedious, especially when you know what I saw.”

  “You saw nothing.”

  “I saw that you could have saved Relgor,” he said.

  The dakorian regarded him, his eyes like orbs of obsidian. Then he snorted. “Wylyn would not believe you,” he said, his tone of dismissal.

  “Don’t you want to know why I have kept your secret?”

  “The thoughts of a slave are meaningless to me,” he replied, sweeping the blade. “I have been tasked to tell you of your next—”

  “Why did you let Relgor die?” Shadow said, folding his arms.

  Tardoq regarded him for several seconds, and then surged across the room, closing the gap in the span of a second. Grasping Shadow about the throat, he raised him up and slammed him into the wall.

  “I am a Bloodwall,” he snarled. “My loyalty is absolute. Question it again and I will kill you myself.”

  Shadow managed to keep his words to himself. He had his answer. Such an enraged response meant only one thing, Shadow had spoken the truth. When he remained silent, Tardoq tossed him across the room and stabbed a bony finger to the window.

  “Return to the Hauntress and discover her plans. Wylyn wishes to know where she will journey next, and when.”

  Shadow came to his feet and strode to the window. He smirked and swept his hands wide. “As you order.” He leaned back and fell out the window.

  Wind buffeted him as he fell down the side of the turret. Then he cast his wings of darkness and banked around the turret. He swooped under a high bridge, startling a guard before turning around another. Passing outside the fortress, he soared above the city, and then folded his wings and dropped to the roof of a noble’s house, the House of Runya.

  Owned by the only elven family in Herosian, the house had risen to gain a great deal of respect among the populace, and the head of the house was a friend of Elenyr. Shadow alighted on a balcony and let the light from within destroy his wings. When he stepped inside, a dozen elven blades turned on him. Then the guards recognized him and the captain motioned him up the stairs.

  “They are above.”

  “You have my gratitude, good lady,” he inclined his head to the beautiful elf and winked, before climbing the stairs to the large room situated on the top floor of the house. Upon opening the door, Thorilian, head of the House of Runya, and his wife Venia, both in battle armor, stood around a map of the castle. Two other elves were also present, one light, one dark.

  Willow and Jeric.

  Chapter 45: Unleashed

  “You’re late,” Jeric said.

  “They had to threaten me,” Shadow said, a smile lighting his features as he recalled their ignorance. “They think I’m still loyal to them.”

  “Are you?” Jeric asked.

  Shadow feigned a wounded expression. “Of course not.”

  He strode across the room. Built of elven wood an
d stained dark, the polished flooring would have been at home in a palace, yet few knew it had been made by Thorilian’s own hand. He and his wife had been outcasts of other houses and had built the House of Runya from nothing. Now their home commanded attention, even if it did not reside in the elven kingdom.

  Also of wood, the walls were lighter in tone, and contained aquaglass ovals, each depicting a member of the family, the three sons as handsome as they were lethal. One was a member of the Bladed, while another a captain in the royal guard in Ilumidora. The third resided in the house, and Shadow guessed he was gearing for combat as well.

  On the opposite side of the room, a massive map of Lumineia hung from gilded brackets. Crafted by Venia, the scene depicted the great castles of Lumineia, the scene so lifelike it appeared real. And it was. The image actually connected to the fortresses, a spell the fragment of Light found fascinating, permitting a view of the current weather at each castle.

  “You like to play both sides,” Thorilian said, folding his arms.

  “He is always on our side,” Willow said with a nod.

  Jeric nodded his agreement. “Is it set? Is Wylyn in the castle?”

  “She is there,” Shadow said.

  “Light’s information was accurate, then,” Willow said. “And Wylyn has not told Serak of her deal with Shadow. If he had . . .”

  “Serak would likely have stopped her from coming to Herosian,” Shadow said. “He is too clever for his own good.”

  “Then Wylyn’s distrust is our advantage,” Jeric said.

  “We strike now,” Thorilian said. “Before she can slip away again.”

  “Light has yet to arrive,” Willow said. “And he should have been here yesterday.”

  Her tone was worried, but Shadow swept his hand to the room. “We have enough. Wylyn will not survive the night.”

  “Are you certain you wish to do this?” Jeric asked, looking to Thorilian. “If it is discovered you aided our attack, the consequences could be devastating.”

  His wife leaned in, her eyes forceful. “We did not claim our home out of fear. Is this so different? We will not stand idle when such a threat has risen.”