by Chris Holzworth
Part One
I first saw Amral Jeyn in the crush of shoppers crowding Nys Eka’s dockside markets after delivering something for Ershanna to smuggle overseas. Didn’t know what, didn’t care. You don’t peek in the package unless you want to get involved, and I wasn’t looking to get involved beyond being a courier.
We spent an hour catching up, traded goodbyes, then I hopped off her boat. I clamored down the gangway, grateful for the long shadow cast by Ishtyr’s Spire and its efforts at fighting back the baking heat of the day. My gaze slid down the sky-piercing heights of the tower from where it disappeared into the heavens, followed along the blade of dark it cast.
That’s when I caught Amral staring at me from the market’s edge. No furtive glances, no subterfuge. No discernible threat. Concern faded like water in sand.
Still, a lifetime or two in the city teaches you that anyone giving hard looks is probably peddling some brand of trouble. I plunged deeper into the sea of shoppers hoping he’d lose me in the mob. Almost made it to the Dusk Span and out of the distract. I was slipping between a pair of stalls and there he was, waiting on the other side.
“You’re the soulwalker, aren’t you?”
That old familiar tune.
“Don’t call me that,” Couldn't quit keep the bite of exhaustion out of my tone.
“What should I call you?”
“Kuran’s just fine.”
“Very well, Kuran. My name is Amral Jeyne. I am in need of your service.”
“No.”
“Please, hear me out.”
“There’s countless sellswords swigging beer at every bar in Nys Eka. Go hurl some coin at them.”
“I fear very few suited to handle this particular problem. It requires someone of your distinction.”
“Dahfede’s balls, what are you on about?”
“Something precious has been taken from me, soulwalker—”
“Kuran.”
“Yes, sorry. My sister’s sword—it was stolen from our house.”
“It’s a hammered steel and a handle, friend. Find a new one. I doubt the sentimental value’s worth your trouble.”
“Unfortunately, this sword is more than simply sentimental. It’s a rarity. Not many have had dealings with the Amata and lived to tell the tale, like you.”
“How’s that?”
“Not many face the Amata and live to tell the tale. My sister did. She returned from the Outskirts with the bones of one that almost claimed her life. Forged from them a weapon—a sword of some considerable power.”
“And you misplaced it.”
“It was robbed from us From me.”
“Your sister—mighty warrior that she is—can’t handle this herself?”
“She’s dead.”
“Guess not, then.”
That struck a nerve. I could see his jaw shift as he clenched his teeth to suppress the flash of anger that stole through him.
“I would think the soulwalker of all—”
“Kuran.”
“Yes. Kuran. I would think that you would show more concern about a magic artifact falling into the wrong hands.“
Fucking fireside stories. That nonsense haunted like a wraith from one life to the next. I pressed thumb and forefinger into my eyes. Could practically feel the disapproving glare Ershanna would give me if I turned this fool down. Dark Emissaries damn it all.
“Fine. Let’s find someplace quiet and you can tell me your tale.”
A smile broke apart his bitter look.
“Follow me,” he said.
Part Two
Amral wasn’t much like his sister, as it turned out. Although the way he told it, she was the strange one. Born into a line of affluent merchants, Amira—his sister—decided to chase a life of violence over the cushioned safety and financial stability of mercantile pursuits. Wanting instead to carve her own path, she took up sword and shield and joined Granseal’s Guardians. When the sky above Zarephath shredded open, she shipped up north.
There’s a good chance Ersh and I fought shoulder to shoulder with the woman. To survive all that only to come home and wither away from sickness was an injustice.
“It was Theda.” He paced along a wall lined with leather-bound books. “Had to be. That swindler has it out for our family.”
True to the wealth conveyed by Amral’s plush robes, his three-story home was a testament to accumulated riches. Overstuffed chairs stood sentry in every corner. Curios lined shelves, opulent displays of money and power that would probably impress most people who set foot in the residence. To me, they seemed little more than a collection of dreck that cluttered the walls.
“And why’s that?” I asked, swirling the cup of wine he’d poured for me. He’d waited a moment after, as if expectant. Probably looking for a compliment on its vintage or something. My aristocratic etiquette had rusted over in my last few lifetimes.
“Jealousy, I imagine.” He gestured at our surroundings. “The Jeyn line’s done well for itself, and our services during the northern campaign built us quite the reputation among Nys Eka’s nobility.”
“I still don’t see how that would drive the man to kick in your door and steal a family heirloom. Seems a pretty petty move on his part.”
“The sword is built from the bones of an Amata, soulwalker.” Amral looked at me as though I were stupid. “Any number of Nys Eka’s less reputable institutions would comfortably slit throats to get their hands on something like that. The Malrain, even the Endless Reach.”
“Why are you so certain it’s this Theda and not the Malrain or Reach?”
“I suppose that’s not out of the question,” He scratched his beard in thought. “Though, I doubt the Malrain know the sword exists. Not unless Theda tipped them off. As for the Reach, I don’t know. It would be dishonorable to steal a dead woman’s sword.”
“In my experience, soldiers are not immune to dishonorable impulses.”
Amral made a face like he’d tasted something sour.
“Alright,” I held my hands up placatingly. “Let’s stick with the Theda theory. “Where do I find him?”
“He’s usually holed up in the old warehouse district, just north of the Shattered Sky. Do you know the place?”
Naturally. In all of Nys Eka, Theda had set up shop in Yslev’s neighborhood. Didn’t have to wonder why.
“Intimately.”
Part Three
Where the Dusk Span bridges the western bank of the Ringil River, Nys Eka takes on a noticeable change. Vanished World ruins give way to buildings crafted by our own hands. At the foot of the Span, warehouses group together like the discarded shells of some long-forgotten brood of sea monsters—lingering remains from when travel along the Ringil served as the city’s chief trade route. After that trade took to the seas, the aristo-merchant elite found a better fitting shell in the towering Vanished World husks in the heart of the city. Artists took their place west of the river and converted the warehouse district into a sprawling salon, inside and out. Every surface in the Gardens of Everlasting Splendor is splashed with bright colors, blanketed with murals, populated with sculptures, or otherwise adorned with every imaginable artistic expression its denizens can dream up.
Always one with an eye for opportunity, Yslev Raffe came in after the artists and secured a fruitful enterprise as the go-between for Nys Eka’s nobility and the more illicit services provided on the poorer side of the river. The aristo ruling class aren’t without the same unbecoming habits the rest of us possess. Ys built his empire by catering to those needs.
If Theda set up shop next door to Ys, it meant his line of business was equally unseemly. And that meant he was dangerous.
I considered my options. Visiting Ys at the Shattered Sky and having him set up a meeting would be the sensible thing to do, but it might also scare Theda into selling the sword sooner. I could steal the sword, but would take time. I briefly entertained rallying Ershanna and maybe even Yslev himself to help take the least subtle approach, but things tend to get out of hand with those two. We didn’t need trouble from the Reach trouble tumbling down on us.
In the end, I settled on speaking to Theda directly. Didn’t take much effort to determine which warehouse was his. A few overly accessorized artist sorts high on hinas happily pointed me in the right direction. Before long I was standing outside Theda’s operation being eyeballed by a bored, irritable guard posted at the door.
“What you want?” the muscle grumbled.
“I’m here to speak with Theda.”
“He expecting you?”
“Can’t imagine how he could be.”
“Then get lost.”
I pressed thumb and forefinger into my eyes. Tried to rein in my frustration at the card I was about to play.
“Tell him the soulwalker’s here to see him.”
That earned me a familiar look—some mix of disbelief, awe, and amused dismissal. The bruiser banged on the door with the back of his heavy boots. When it cracked open, he exchanged a few whispered words with someone on the other side. Then the door swung shut again. The guard and I stood there, pointedly looking past one another.
The door cracked open again. A hand beckoned me.
Inside, the warehouse was crowded with shipping containers someone had somehow managed to haul from the rail yard, forming a labyrinth. The man who had waved me in led me through the narrow space without a word.
We eventually emerged in what remained of the warehouse proper, where a man in his mid-fifties sat behind an incongruously ornate desk littered with parchment. He gestured to the battered wooden chair opposite his desk. I tried not to roll my eyes as I sat down.
“The soulwalker, huh? That’s a pretty good line. I thought you’d look—I dunno. Exceptional.”
“I take it you’re Theda?”
“You take right. But between the two of us, I’m the one who’s not a myth. So how do I know you’re not some drunk trying to hustle me?”
“You don’t. Not about to summon godsfire from the sky just to show off, so how about the benefit of the doubt?”
He chuckled.
“Sure. I’ll indulge you. So, what is it that brings the storied soulwalker before me?”
“A sword. I imagine you know the one I’m talking about. The owner would like it back.”
“Would he now?”
“Theda, whatever rivalry you and that aristo trash got going is none of my concern. But a weapon fashioned from Amata remnants is something I can’t ignore.”
Theda leaned forward.
“ Why is it being in my hands any worse than Amral’s?”
“I suspect with him, it’ll stay hanging on a wall.”
“I’m curious—what story did that scumbag merchant sell you, soulwalker?”
“Just call me Kuran.”
“Kuran, then. I ask again: What story did Amral sell you?”
“He’s convinced you broke into his home, stole the sword.”
Theda guffawed. “Then Amral Jeyn sold you lies, soulwalker—Kuran, sorry.”
He sifted through the pile of papers atop his desk, shuffling them left and right like a dealer in a gambling hall. Plucked from the pile and held it before his face for further scrutiny, then thrust it toward me. I looked it over.
I’m not Amral’s competitor,” Theda continued. “I’m his banker—in a manner of speaking. I deal in debt. And Amral’s hole runs deep. He gave me the sword, you see. Put it up as collateral to keep his family business afloat.”
And there at the bottom of the hastily scrawled agreement, a scratch-mark signature in Amral’s name.
Well, shit.
Part Four
Should’ve seen this one coming, soulwalker.
Should’ve given Amral a hard look myself, but instead I let him point me toward the nearest magic artifact and chased after it like a grimbeak smelling blood. Ersh’s lost causes were going to get me killed. Again.
Didn’t really matter, though. I’d come for the sword. Wasn’t leaving without it.
“Look, Theda. Let’s not make this any messier than Amral’s already has. You know I can’t leave here without his sister’s weapon.”
“If you wish to clear Amral’s debt, I’ll happily hand the sword over to you.”
I looked at the paper. Sighed. Pressed thumb and forefinger into my eyes.
“Not happening.”
“Then the sword stays.”
Theda gestured. Sound of shuffling from behind me. I turned around to find four of his lackeys crowding me, three with hands resting on hilts.
The fourth with a crossbow leveled at my chest.
Theda laced his fingers together, pressed his hands to the back of his head, and leaned back in his chair.
“My associates will escort you out.”
I rose from the chair. Turned to face the four armed men. Brushed aside my coat, fingers twitching over the sword at my side.
“I really doubt he’s paying any of you enough for this,” I said.
Heard the song of steel sliding from scabbards.
“Money’s pretty good to me,” the nearest of them growled.
I kept my eyes on the bowman, hand moving toward my own sword. As soon as my palm grazed the pommel, he squeezed the trigger and loosed the bolt with a dull thwack. I reached within myself, grasping for the gossamer threads of energy that tethered me to all these lifetimes. Felt a sharp cold, like breaching the frozen surface of a pond and plunging your fist into frigid waters.
I pulled. The air shimmered around me, folding in itself. The arrow snapped in half mid-flight, then in half again. And again.
The broken pieces dropped to the dirt.
Panicked, the bowman started to crank the crossbow and load a fresh bolt. I freed my blade and charged. He looked up in time to see my sword sink into him, run through until the crossguard pressed against his chest like the hand of a spent lover. I watched his eyes widen with the unmistakable certainty of what I was. Then put a hand on his shoulder for leverage and pried my sword out of him. He dropped to his knees and collapsed forward.
I turned to face the remaining three men.
The nearest came at me with an overhead swing. I stepped aside and cut him down with a backhand stroke, sending a ribbon of blood splashing across the packed dirt of the warehouse floor, staining it black. I met the next attacker while he hacked wildly at my head. Brought my own blade up in an arc and severed his sword arm between elbow and wrist. His weapon fell to the earth, fingers still gripping the handle. He stared in disbelief at the bleeding stump where his hand once was. A low keening escaped his lips.
I stalked to the last of Theda’s underlings He looked from the bodies of his two fallen colleagues to the mutilated man, then over to me. Dropped his sword and ran, disappearing down the narrow space between the storage containers. Smart man.
That left only Theda. I saw him feverishly trying to unlatch a door at the back of the warehouse. I sighed, strode over to him, and slashed at his thighs. The blade bit through leather and flesh. He dropped to the ground in a heap. Started babbling for mercy. I grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and hauled his face an inch short of mine.
“Where’s the sword?”
Part Five
I left Theda tending to his wounds. Wound my way through the shipping containers until I found one marked with the symbol he’d described. Hauled the armor-thick metal door open and stepped inside. Enclosed within was a pile of assorted trinkets Theda had no doubted amassed from debt collections over the years. I sifted through the mess of artwork, heirlooms, and antiques. Didn’t take long to find the Amata blade.
For all its much-vaunted value and exotic making, it struck me as underwhelming. Seemed like any other sword, save the strange runic lines that branched out from some sort of blue filament embedded along the fuller. Something more for show than slaughter. Then again, if it’s one thing I’ve learned about magic artifacts, half the trick is selling the prestige.
I slung the sword over my shoulder and headed out.
***
One of Amral’s servants ushered me through the foyer into the over-decorated antechamber. I busied myself by trying to decipher the meaning of an abstract sculpture while the merchant made a show of making me wait. I was on the cusp of profound insight when Amral finally made his entrance.
“The soulwalker returns.” He clasped his hands together. “Did you find the sword? Is that it?”
“You tell me.” I pointed it at him.
“Yes. Yes! Wonderful! Oh, my sister can rest soundly in the void, knowing her cherished weapon is back where it belongs.”
He held his hands out expectantly. I rested the blade back on my shoulder. That earned a vexing look.
“The job is done, soulwalker—”
“Kuran.”
“Kuran. Yes. Please, return to me what is rightfully mine.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You lied to me, Amral. Said the sword was stolen. Your friend Theda told a different story, though.”
“He is no friend of mine.”
“But he is a business associate, no? One you owe so much to you put up the sword to pay off your debts.”
“The matter is . . . complicated.”
“If you say so.”
“That sword belongs to me, soulwalker.”
“It belonged to your sister. And while I never met the woman—at least that I can recall—I suspect she’d rather safer hands than yours held it.”
“You have no right!”
“Anyway, you have bigger concerns than two feet of killing steel, Amral.”
Rage gave way to a look of confusion and fear.
“What are you talking about?”
“Granted, Theda’s going to need some time to get back on his feet, but rest assured—once he can stand, he’ll come for you. I suggest you pack whatever’s most precious and be gone before he does.”
“You didn’t kill him?”
“No.”
“You can’t abandon me to that animal! You have to protect me!”
“Don’t think I do. Good luck, Amral”
I started to leave.
“Soulwalker, stop—”
“Kuran,” I threw over my shoulder.
“Whatever! Please!”
I felt Amral grab my arm. Turned around and smashed the pommel of his sister’s sword into his nose and sent him sprawling. I kneeled beside him. Locked eyes with him.
“Get packing, Amral.”
I reached inside his cloak and fished out a small purse. Pocketed it.
“For my troubles.”
I rose and left. Held the antechamber door open to as a servant rushed inside. Watched him try to stanch the stream of blood trailing down his master’s broken nose. I spared Amral one last look, then strode through the streets of Nys Eka, sword at my side.