The Knife's Edge (12 page)

The Kage.

“Is it done?” the leader asked, the closest of the nine. His voice was like a claw raking inside her ear.

“Yes,” Vera answered. “All the inhabitants of Tir Re’ Dol are dead, except for the one. I gave him the message and he will relay it. You can be sure of that,” she couldn’t help but smile. With the fear she had inspired in him, their pawn would ride until his eyes burned and the horse fell beneath him. “We left him a beast to ride, but it will take him some time until he alerts the rest of Daerval.”

“Good,” said the nightmare. “Then it is finished.”

“However,” she paused. The nightmare turned again, and she almost regretted her words. Still her driving need for knowledge overrode her better judgment. Her voice gained strength. “What’s the point? Why warn the prey before the kill?”

A dark hood hid its features, but she felt as if the nightmare was smiling, as if it knew her hunger for knowledge. It squared to her. The jutting spike on its metal pauldron—differentiating it from the other eight of its kind—was the length of her whole arm. Its black cloak wavered as it took a step forward, red snow crunching beneath its plated boot. It took another, and still she remained motionless, until it stood towering head and shoulders over her. She looked into the nightmare’s hood, but saw only darkness. Still she knew that arrogant smile was there.

“Do you fear me?” It asked calmly.

“Yes,” she replied. Her voice was smoother than she anticipated, but the words stung. There was no use lying. She didn’t know what the other eight Kage would do, and it was almost certain death, but she wouldn’t let him lay a hand on her.

“Not nearly enough.”

She swallowed. “You didn’t answer my question.”

It laughed, or what she hoped was laughter. “It will do them no good. It is the Great One’s wish that they know their demise. A week is no matter. Besides, it will take us several days here. We have things to do still,” it said, and she knew that smile turned wicked. “There are still several towns within the mountains to destroy before we finish the southern lands.”

“But why? They will know of your arrival, and if they have any wits about them, they’ll flee.” She was careful of her tone, trying not to bite off each word. The fools. He’ll slip right through their fingers.

“Fleeing serves no purpose without the key. And if they flee with it? Then they run right into our hands.”

Vera released a hidden breath as it turned its back; at the same time, she glimpsed its true features and saw merciless scarlet eyes. She sunk to one knee, pressing a fist to the snow. Head bowed, she was glad they could not see her teeth grind in fury. “Am I done?” she asked.

The nightmare turned and its cloak, edged in blood, flung behind him.

“Burn it all, than you may take your leave.”

She coiled with restrained lust. Her hands rose at her sides, a pale glow surrounding them and she shook with power. She threw them to the sky and the inn ignited, sending flares into the night air. She unleashed a fierce cry, and fire roared to life, consuming all it touched.

At her feet, a man held a small girl. She watched the two corpses burn. Holes were torn through their abdomens. Such a shame. The fool girl and her father would have lived, if only for a while longer, had they not run to her for help. The thought sparked an idea and she knew how to get Kirin. Oh, Kirin, your luck has run out. Soon you will be leaving the safety of the woods and I will be waiting. The sword and its power will be mine.

She walked through the huge gate, flames hot on her back. Ahead, her niux waited. To the east, she spotted the tail of the dark army, leaving the city as well, roving towards its next kill. Vera’s boots left red prints in the fresh snow, as she approached her niux.

“We follow the Kagehass?” A verg rumbled, watching the dark caravan.

Drefah growled. Aside from her pet, none were allowed to speak. The huge leathery skinned creature knew it too. At any other time she would cut its tongue from its mouth, but instead she answered, “We do not.” The beasts trundled. To disobey the Kage was a fate worse than death.

“Then where to, mistress?” A saerok rasped. It stood on the balls of its feet in the thick snow. Standing several feet taller than her, its patchy fur ruffled in the wind.

“We go south,” she told her dark army, “towards Lakewood, and towards the sword.”

A Fire Lit Within

G
RAY’S PULSE BEAT IN TIME WITH
the flickering flames. The fire raged before his closed lids, pushing back the shadows in the quiet glade.

Cross-legged on the ground, the leaf sat in his mind’s eye, but it was not what he sought. A swirling ball of air flashed. He reached for it, but it retreated, racing away. This time he didn’t let it go. Eyes clenched, he followed it, pushing into his consciousness. The ball of air was just beyond his reach. He reached out. Pain shot through his limbs as he ran into a wall. His concentration wavered, but he held on, bashing against the wall. At last, it shattered. His eyes opened, returning to the real world. His heart raced as he took in his surroundings.

Before him, the fire still burned. Shadows danced in the trees, as if waiting to move into his small camp. But everything seemed different. His world was crisper, sharper.

Slowly, he stood, confused but calm. He was soaked in sweat. It rolled down his limbs as he reached for his sword that stuck upright. He gripped the handle. It had never felt more right.

He inhaled deeply. With two breaths, he gained control of his breathing, something he had never done before, but somehow knew he could. Still, his heart beat wildly. There was nothing but his body and the sword.

Heron Rises on One Leg, a voice whispered, and the sword parried an unseen blow. Without slowing, he twisted the blade, disarming the shadow opponent, and striking. Crane’s Beak. Before the strike was finished, his left leg circled, raising a fan of dirt as he swept the opponent’s legs. Ten Moon. He switched his grip stabbing behind. His muscles flexed in the last moment, power resonating through the flashing blade as the sword snapped to a halt. Setting Sun. With a cry, he spun, pivoting in a full-circle and cutting down a charge of unseen foes. Still, he was moving. Wind Dances in the Reeds. With the momentum of the spin, he dove into a fluid roll, cutting left and right at the enemy’s legs. Tempest’s Fury. Gray unleashed a cry as he pounded his feet against the ground, and sprung backwards. He flipped, head over heels. His back arched as he landed on his feet, and drove the sword down with all his might, and slammed it into the ground.

His breath challenged the fire’s crackle. Again, he stilled it in a matter of seconds. His limbs shook, but inside he was calm. He eyed his camp and saw his pack showered in dirt, and the ground torn up.

His hand trembled, but not in fear. “My memory is coming back.”

Unwinding his bandaged arm, he saw only smooth skin. The wound had healed.

Cautiously, he reached into his mind. The swirling ball of air came forth and his world expanded. Suddenly, he smelled a rabbit as it raced down a game trail. No. He felt it. He reached out and his mind shifted.

He sniffed the air, wet nose twitching as he smelled for danger. Nothing. He continued, moving through the grass, searching for tender stalks. He hopped closer, nibbling at a leaf, eyes flitting all the while. Suddenly, he froze. His muscles stiffened, fur ruffling from a sudden wind. His heart hammered faster. DANGER. The sensation flooded him. He leapt, pounding through the brush. SAFETY. AHEAD. The words were short and simple. Feelings, not whole, concrete thoughts. His heart beat harder and he saw the tangle of brush, taking a final leap and—

Gray gasped loudly, breaking from his trance and staggering backwards. He reached for his sword, looking up and behind him. He clutched his racing heart. His heart. “What was that? It’s as if I was dying…”

There was a fluttering sound and he turned. Perched upon a branch, was a hawk. Its head swiveled and he followed its gaze. Upon the stone, beside the fire, was the carcass of a rabbit and his hunger surged. “Is that for me?” the hawk tilted its head. “All I’ve had to eat is dried meat and cheese, you have no idea how hungry I am.” A few minutes over the flame and… He reached out a hand and touched the rabbit’s soft fur, when a flash of pain ran through him. He leapt back as if stung. His hand appeared unscathed, and yet it felt as if he had just put it to the flames.

“I had its sight, smell, and feelings ripped from me as you caught it,” he said. “I must still feel its pain.” He shook his head, turning. “It’s all yours. I’m not as hungry as I thought. Go on.” The hawk seemed to understand and swooped in, tearing up the small animal.

He turned his head, unable to watch, and then sat down on a nearby rock, staring into the flames. He wished Mura were here. He glanced sidelong at the hawk as it ate. “I suppose you don’t know what’s happening do you?” The hawk finished its meal and was now cleaning itself, watching him. He marveled, wondering why the bird still stayed. “Perhaps you’re lost like me,” he mused, and then paused. “You need a name. How about Maris? He’s one of the Ronin. My favorite, aside from Kail of course. He was quick and sharp too, not to mention the most unpredictable of the bunch. Sounds like you, right?”

The bird ruffled its brown and gold-tinged feathers.

“No? Well, how about Motri? I had… something named that once when I was younger, I think,” he said with a half-hearted smile. The bird squawked, louder this time and unexpectedly flew closer, alighting upon the pommel of his sword. Gray’s smile deepened. He took it for agreement. “Good, then it’s settled! Motri it is.”

Motri squawked again. He laughed when suddenly the bird gave a fierce cry, and flapped its wings. “What is it?” Motri continued to flap his wings, and then took off in a flash of feathers. “What did I say?” he whispered, and then looked up and froze.

A figure stood in the darkness. In its hand a black blade gleamed.

Gray’s own sword stood upright, paces in front of him. Two steps, he calculated, heart pounding. His vision flickered up to the figure. It hadn’t moved. It looked like just another shadow, but it was surely there. I can reach it, he thought, eyes rooted on his sword. He looked straight into the dark outline and lunged. A flurry of wind rushed over him. The figure stood, an arm’s length away, spanning the gap in the blink of an eye. The man towered, shrouded in a frayed cloak, face hidden by a dark cowl. Fear roiled through Gray.

“Let go,” the man ordered in a deep rasp.

Gray shivered, but held onto the sword. “Who are you?”

“I won’t ask again. Let go.”

“No. Not until you tell me who you are.” The man gripped his wrist. Gray pulled at the sword and a tremor of pain shot through him. He cried, falling to his knees. Something beckoned inside his mind. The swirling ball of air. He let it come. Tempest’s Fury, it whispered, filling him with power and confidence. He rose.

“Stay down,” the man seethed.

Gray’s body was smashed to the earth by an invisible force, his breath forced from his lungs. He tried to rise, but his whole body felt coated in stone. He saw wisps of wind. They layered his body, flowing over his limbs. “What is this?” he cursed.

Calmly, the cloaked man reached for Gray’s sword and gasped. The man’s arm shook as he pulled the blade from the ground. “You’re a child playing with something you don’t understand. Something you can’t even begin to understand.” The man ran two fingers along the blade’s surface. Gray watched in wonder as the sword changed. Darkness flowed over the blade. The cloaked man knelt before his face and the blade’s point flashed before his eyes. “Master the sword. Do not let it master you.”

“Who are you?” Gray whispered.

The man stood silently, and within his hood, Gray glimpsed a flicker of color. Scarlet red eyes. With a gust of wind, white clouds swirled and the man vanished, and Gray’s bonds fell. Shaken, he rose to his feet and eyed the woods. He wiped his cheek, feeling a thin line of blood.

She’s coming, the wind hissed. Gray twisted as leaves crunched in the near distance.

Kirin

“
K
IRIN…” THE WHISPER, SIFTED THROUGH THE
glade. Gray tried to track its origin. He glanced to the sword. It had returned to its normal silvery sheen. He snatched it, clutching it in both hands. There was a rustle and he twisted.

There, standing at the edge of the woods, was a woman.

She had a slender frame, and wore a simple black dress. It more than hinted at her lean body. She stood coolly. His eyes panned up, taking in her raven black hair and then her face. She was beautiful.

“Hello, Kirin.” Her voice was as familiar as a lover.

Gray shook his head and stepped back. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” He gripped his sword tighter.

“You don’t remember me?”

He searched her face. “I’m sorry,” he admitted at last. “How do I know you?”

She stepped closer. Gray raised his sword and its sheen flared bright for a moment. “Really, Kirin? You would harm me? Have you changed that much?”

Danger, a voice warned. “Stay back,” he said, more bluntly.

She bit her bottom lip. “I’m not armed. See for yourself,” she turned full circle, showing off her perfect curves. The dress was even more form fitting in the back. “No?” Fine then. You always were stubborn.” Confidently, she reached down and pulled back her skirt to expose her thigh and its flawless pale skin, higher and higher.