A Sea of Broken Glass

by Sonya M Black

  Packs in hand, Aeron wandered back to The Poor Man’s Pub, keeping a watchful eye on his followers. They were careful, but Aeron had an advantage. He’d spent his entire life skulking in shadows. He knew the game better than anyone alive. He dropped the packs off in his room and locked the door. It was time to get a closer look at who was following him.

  Pulling on his magic, he wrapped himself in a cloak of illusion. The silent syncopated rhythm of snare and kettle drums beat through his bones. Light bent around him until he disappeared. Invisibility was a tough illusion to keep going. It would be better to alter his appearance, but that wouldn’t serve his purpose. He needed to not be seen.

  Another thread of magic disguised his window, making it appear to be closed. He hunched on the windowsill and peered up.

  He slipped out of the window and climbed the wooden siding. The retractable toe spikes in his boots provided enough grip to get him to the top without any trouble.

  The buildings were close enough together that the alley below got little sunlight. A plus for Aeron since it meant his shadow wouldn’t be noticeable if anyone was watching. He pulled himself over the edge of the roof as silently as possible.

  A man in dusty, wool pants and a sweat-stained work shirt crouched behind the signboard, watching the street below. The wind shifted and brought with it the scent of spoiled meat.

  Aeron’s eyes narrowed. A demon? Only one way to find out. He crept across the roof and drew a dagger.

  Strange that he hadn’t sensed the demon’s presence as soon as he got off the train. Demons hid in a host until danger or hunger drove them to the surface, but the taint in their blood caused a jangle of discordant notes that was normally easy for any magic user to sense. Paladins could see the telltale signs. Not so much for the average person. Demons used their magic to disguise their glowing red eyes and hide their rank odor.

  Green paladin’s fire licked over Aeron’s hand and dagger, ready to devour the taint coursing through the creature. The closer Aeron got, the easier it was to sense the corrupted notes in the man.

  Possessed, but not changed. Not yet.

  How many more were hiding in the Mining Outpost? Demons hunted in packs of no less than five. Where there was one, there would be more.

  Aeron edged closer, maneuvering so that the demon’s back was to him.

  One step. Two. He kept his breathing shallow and stuck to the long shadows cast by the sign.

  His heart thumped against his ribs as it always did right before he closed in for the kill. His shoe scuffed on a loose bit of roofing. The demon jerked, swung around, and scanned the rooftop, his red eyes passing over Aeron.

  One heartbeat. Two. The demon turned back to the street. That was Aeron’s cue. He slipped quickly behind it, covered its mouth with a hand, and slid the dagger in between its ribs and up into the heart.

  Oily, black blood covered Aeron’s blade and oozed toward his hands. Quickly, he burned away the tainted blood on his skin before he pushed his green flames into the man’s chest. With a quiet pop, the body dissolved into a stinking pile of ash.

  Aeron ran a hand through his hair. The demon had obviously been on the lookout for him. How did they know Aeron would be here? Question after question swirled through his mind, but the biggest one remained unanswered. Should he follow Bran’s plan or trust the Voice?

  Ris’s safety was his priority. Something wasn’t right. He climbed back to his room and checked the time. The Outpost wasn’t safe. That was a certainty. Bran would be contacting him soon. Aeron would wait until then to determine his next step. He ground his teeth together, uncertainty churning in his gut. His hands curled into fists. He wouldn’t let someone he cared about be a pawn again, but what was the right choice?

  05

  Bran chewed on a fingernail as he watched the train carrying Ris and Michel pull away from the station. No one seemed terribly interested in finding out why the alarm was ringing and that suited him just fine. Small pockets of townsfolk huddled in doorways, whispering to each other, eying the jail and him. They didn’t approach. Didn’t ask why he was there. They already knew.

  Greendale was a tidy town with all the amenities of a city due to the textile mills, but it still clung to the small-mindedness of a village. Everyone knew everyone else’s business, and as far as the townsfolk knew, Bran was a retired paladin, a distant relative of the LaRoche’s, fallen on hard times and living with his family while he worked off a debt.

  He felt the weight of his long years, all seven-hundred-and-sixty-four of them, though he didn’t look a day over forty. Light, it shouldn’t be this hard to keep Ris safe. They’d done it for twenty-eight years with no one figuring out her identity. So how did Tolbert find out about her? Who sent him?

  Instinct told Bran to run after Ris, to put himself between her and anyone or anything that threatened to do her harm. But, he couldn’t do that. Not yet. He had to know why Tolbert was there.

  “Can you do this?” Cre’s deep rumble drew Bran’s attention away from the train. Cre sat on a crumbling wall, rubbing at a round stone. A Lord of Light and a bear of a man, large and gentle, until provoked, with black curls cut short and dancing blue eyes. He stood a head taller than Bran with shoulders wider than most door frames.

  Bran stood and dusted off his backside. “We need answers.”

  “I don’t think you plan on doing much asking.” Cre stretched as he stood.

  Bran cracked his knuckles. “You’re right.”

  “Maybe you should let me do the interrogating.”

  Bran ignored the comment. He planned on having his revenge. “Have you been in touch with Llyr?”

  “Yeah, he’s not sure how Tolbert got word of Ris. This wasn’t a sanctioned arrest. At least not that anyone on the Council will admit. The Darkness’s influence is spreading amongst our ranks.” Cre nodded to the miller’s wife, who stood in her yard talking over the fence with one of the town’s biggest gossips.

  “Then why is he here?” Bran marched toward the jail, his objective and purpose clear. Cre sauntered alongside, fingers tucked into the front pockets of his stained work pants. Bran couldn’t understand how such a large man could walk with such ease.

  Cre was silent for several moments. “That’s what we’re about to find out.”

  They passed the greengrocer who looked away as they walked by.

  “Tolbert has poisoned the reputation of the Bastion with what he did here.” Bran ignored the sidelong glances from the townsfolk. They’d never been comfortable with him. Paladins weren’t feared, but they weren’t loved either. Magic was the sole province of the Bastion and healers. Those without magic had an innate distrust of it, but they didn’t hesitate to go to a healer or paladin when they needed help.

  Bran understood their fear. In the Lady’s time, magic was a part of the world, used and celebrated because it was a gift from the Lady. After her fall, it became the reason for demons, but it was also the only way to destroy them.

  “Executions tend to make people wary,” Cre rumbled. “Not that the reputation of the Bastion had far to fall. Not since the Council was formed, and they appointed that rat to be the Voice of the Lady.” They arrived at the jail, and Cre held the door open. “Shall we?”

  Bran stepped into the jail and put his hands over his ears. A quick twist of his magic silenced the alarm. The stone walls of the building looked bleak and barren, and the air was stuffy and stale. Bars covered the windows. The utilitarian nature of them underscored the starkness of the place. How had Ris survived in such a gloomy atmosphere?

  “Where are the Guardsmen?” Cre asked. “Someone should’ve come to see what was up with the alarm by now.”

  Bran grunted. “Not likely. Tolbert’s done a good job of keeping the Guardsmen away from the jail.”

  “There’s something strange….” Cre’s magic, a low rumbling of bass drums, filled the air and highlighted the bitter and spiteful remains of Tolbert’s magic.
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br />   Bran opened his senses, looking at the tangled web of red and black magic lingering in the air. They weren’t the normal colors of a paladin’s magic. That should have tipped them off earlier. Tolbert had threads of Darkness running through his weaves.

  Cre waved a hand through the air, dissipating the last dredges of Tolbert’s spells. “I wonder how long he’s been using tainted magic?”

  “How did we not notice?” Bran opened doors as they passed, peering into the dim rooms. The third door revealed Tolbert strapped into a chair, glaring at them. The room smelled of old blood and rotten things. Oil lamps on the walls flickered and shadows in the dim recesses of the room danced, giving the impression of living things.

  Fury boiled through Bran. Ris had been strapped to that chair. Her blood had been spilled in this room. He clenched his hands, his nails digging into his palms. Demon’s balls, he would kill Tolbert for what he’d done.

  “Get me out of here,” Tolbert demanded.

  Cre nodded toward the restrained man. “That’s convenient.”

  “Very.” Bran stepped toward Tolbert, his magic building into a weapon.

  Cre laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re too emotionally invested in this.”

  Bran shoved Cre’s hand off. “So?”

  “Ris is like a daughter to you. We need answers, not vengeance.”

  “I need both,” Bran said.

  “Let me out.” Tolbert squirmed against the straps that held him.

  Cre pressed a finger into Bran’s chest, over his heart. “Don’t give into the Darkness.”

  Bran flinched at the reminder of his curse, held in check by powerful magic. One misstep and he’d succumb to the Darkness. “Never.”

  Cre grunted. “Then let’s get down to business.”

  “Gladly.” Bran called his magic, building the song until golden flames writhed over his hands. “Let’s see what Tolbert has to say for himself.” He grabbed the man’s chin and a gale of notes whipped around the Inquisitor before blasting into his face. Tolbert’s eyes widened, his mouth gaping in a silent scream as Darkness crawled in black lines under his skin.

  “Well now, that’s interesting.” Cre’s magic joined Bran’s, the low rumble of drumbeats a counterpoint to Bran’s woodwind tones.

  “He’s possessed,” Bran said, his voice hard. He fought the urge to destroy the demon and Tolbert with it. He knew what it had done to Ris. Had seen the evidence with his own eyes. Cre was right though. Answers were more important than revenge at the moment.

  “Has been for a while it would seem. How long, I wonder?” Cre pushed more magic into Tolbert until the man’s eyes glowed a sullen red. “How was he able to hide this?”

  Bran chewed on his thumb nail. “Could someone be Cloaking him?”

  Cre offered a hesitant nod. “Could be. If they are, it means the Bastion is no longer safe.”

  Tolbert licked his lips, his eyes never leaving Cre. “The Lords of Light wish to know, yes, oh yes. But, they don’t ask the right questions.”

  “Let’s see.” Cre grabbed Tolbert’s face, turning it back and forth. “You must be one of Ruin’s lot.”

  Bran buried his hands in his pockets. Cre, with his easy-going nature, was better suited to getting answers.

  “What were your plans for the girl?” Cre asked.

  The demon’s face pressed outward from Tolbert’s, its pasty visage a twisted parody of a human. Razor-sharp teeth showed behind the thin-lipped grin. “She’s tasty. Yes, oh, yes. Sweet and spicy. Makes my blood sing.” The demon’s image disappeared behind Tolbert’s face.

  “Did Ruin send you?” Cre crossed his arms.

  The demon laughed, a high-pitched barking that set Bran’s teeth on edge. “What will the angry Lord of Light give me, yes, oh yes? Will he give me freedom?”

  Bran shifted, wanting to call his holy fire to end the creature, but he forced himself to be still.

  Cre smiled down at the wretched thing. “Freedom? I can give you that.”

  The demon shifted its gaze between Bran and Cre, weighing the deal, looking for a trick. “The Lady sleeps and slumbers, lost in dreams of Darkness. But, Ruin longs for freedom and sends me to find the tasty girl.”

  A chill threaded through Bran. Light preserve them. He forced himself to breathe. To not think about the danger Ris was in. Ruin was the worst of the three tainted vessels.

  “Why?” Cre asked.

  “The girl is the last. There will be no more vessels after her. The Darkness wants her. Ruin wants her. They dream of freedom.”

  Dread settled in Bran’s stomach. How did they know about Ris? He’d been so careful. So had Aeron. How was this possible?

  “War and Plague? Are they after her as well?” Cre bent close to the demon.

  Bran held his breath. Light, the last thing they needed was for all three of the tainted vessels to be hunting Ris.

  The thin lips spread into a hideous grin before settling back into Tolbert’s normal smile. “She thinks she’s safe. Thinks she can run. But, she doesn’t know. No, she doesn’t. Doesn’t know we’re waiting. Always watching. Everywhere she goes. She can’t hide from the Darkness.”

  “What do you mean?” Bran growled.

  “The Lords of Light think they’ve taken her from us. Think she’s safe. But, it’s a trap. Oh, yes it is.” The demon giggled and licked its lips.

  Bran clenched his hands to keep from strangling the creature. “You wanted her to get away?”

  “She will run, and we will chase. And catch.” The demon bared its teeth. “And then we will feast on her fear while the Darkness remakes her.”

  Bran grabbed the creature by the throat and let his magic build, a screeching of flutes ready to rend the demon to shreds.

  Cre pulled him away from the demon. “Wait.”

  Bran pushed Cre away and straightened his clothes.

  “Why would you tell us this?” Cre asked.

  The demon grinned. “The Lords of Light can’t stop what Ruin has planned.”

  “And where is Ruin?” Cre stepped closer, looking into its eyes.

  “Can’t tell you. That would ruin Ruin’s plan.” The creature giggled.

  “But you know where Ris is?” Cre asked “You know where she’s going?”

  “She runs toward the sea, and then to hills, but we will get to her before then.” The demon grinned.

  Cre caught Bran’s eyes and nodded. Bran pulled on his magic, building the wind into a song that roared in his blood. Golden fire danced over his palms as he stepped up to the Inquisitor, pressed his hand to the man’s chest, grabbed the tangled threads that bound the demon to its host, and yanked. A thin scream echoed in the small room as the demon dissolved into a pile of ash at Bran’s feet, leaving a dazed and confused Inquisitor strapped to the chair.

  “I did promise it freedom,” Cre said, one eyebrow raised.

  “As if you would ever make good on a promise to a demon.” Bran nudged the pile of ash with his toe. “I freed Tolbert. That was the best I could do. We have to catch up with Michel and Ris.”

  Cre blew out a breath. “We can try to track Ruin, but I have my doubts that we’ll reach them in time.”

  Tolbert groaned and blinked, struggling against the straps that held him in place. “Where am I?”

  Bran untied the man. Knowing Tolbert had been possessed mitigated a small portion of his rage. Not much, but it was a start. Killing the demon helped to assuage the rest.

  Possession could happen to any one of them. It didn’t stop Bran from disliking Tolbert. He pushed his magic deep into Tolbert’s mind to plant a command, navigating around the man’s natural defenses. “Return to the Bastion, Tolbert. Report to Lord Llyr. He’ll take care of you.”

  Tolbert shook his head. “But—”

  Cre patted the man’s shoulder. “Go on. There’s a train station not far from here.”

  Tolbert ran a hand through his stringy blond hair, blinkin
g repeatedly. “Train. Right. Catch a train to the Bastion. Speak with Lord Llyr.” Tolbert stumbled out the door.

  Cre chuckled. “You’ve got a deft touch. He’ll be standing in front of Llyr’s desk before he realizes you planted that command.”

  Bran pulled a silver chain from around his neck and held up the crystal sphere that hung from it, a golden glow pulsed in its depths. He focused his thoughts on Michel and tried to find the man in the sea of minds that touched the Between. There was a vague impression of him, a distant flicker that disappeared as soon as Bran found it. He tried again.

  Nothing. Michel was hidden behind a barrier.

  “Demon’s balls,” he muttered.

  Bran tried to contact Ris. It was a fool’s hope, but he’d try anything if it meant warning her of the danger. He found her, blazing like a sun in the darkness. The Shield bond pulsed between them, a gold and orange braid of magic that stretched into the distance. He tried to use their bond to reach her, to warn her, but he was pushed away. He attempted a second time, and the failure made him grind his teeth. Someone didn’t want them warned.

  “I can’t reach Michel.” Worry drove spiked fingers into Bran’s brain. “Or Ris.”

  Cre looked up from his crystal, unfazed by Bran’s declaration. “What about Aeron? Warn him what to expect, and he can pass it along.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry, Bran. Ris is in good hands with Michel. He’ll protect her. Contact Aeron and let him know what we found out.”

  Bran stared at Cre for a long moment before he returned his focus to the crystal, looking for Aeron. It took little effort to connect to the paladin since he was bound to Aeron through Ris. Aeron face swam into view, distorted by the curve of the seerstone. The frazzled look he wore told Bran all was not well. “They’re on their way.”

  “That’s a relief.” Aeron’s voice echoed in Bran’s head. “But, we may have a problem.”