The Ghosts of Broken Blades (3 page)

“There!” He shouted again. The monster’s screams made him unsure if she heard him.

She must have, however, for she struck upward with her blade at the glaring red eye. She stabbed again and again. No blood. No effect at all.

Another of the beast’s mouths bit her arm in a flash of red. With a scream of pain, she dropped her sword.

“Don’t panic,” Serth told Roubris, the sword throbbing at his side. “Get that sword. The eyes are difficult to hurt. A lot of flesh surrounds them. She needs to keep trying.”

At some point—Roubris wasn’t sure when—Karatha had managed to get her shield strapped to her left arm. She used it to batter away the beast’s many maws attempting to bite her. She could no longer afford to pay Roubris any attention.

He started to pull the weapon Serth inhabited from where he had tucked it. “No,” the spirit in the sword told him. “This sword is old. Broken and unwieldy. She needs to use her blade. It’s sturdy. Get it!”

On the ground, Roubris swallowed and exhaled the breath from his lungs. He rolled toward where the sword lay. He grasped it and called to Karatha. “Keep trying!” Roubris struggled to his feet, but only managed his knees. So he knelt. Roubris held the weapon as high as he could reach.

“Serth looks like an ordinary sword, but he’s clearly more. Much more.”

Karatha heard his shout. Her arm soaked in blood, she stretched down and grasped her sword once again. She cried out incoherently, her pain and exhaustion clear. Using the shield to protect herself, she straightened in the saddle and lunged at the glaring red eye.

A burst of red light and black ichor exploded from the creature. The mouths of the hideous thing all screamed in a cacophonous unison. It rose fifty feet or more above them, shuddering. Wings twisting, it wormed its way through the air, as if to escape. The wound, however, was too grievous. The beast collapsed in upon itself and crashed to the ground well into the distance.

Karatha and Roubris watched in silence.

“Excellent,” Serth whispered in Roubris’s mind.

∗ ∗ ∗

Karatha’s spells repaired most of the wounds the two of them suffered. A hot meal of quail eggs, cured ham, and fried bread cooked over a pleasant fire helped too.

“How did you know about the eye?” Karatha asked Roubris while they ate. “How did you know that attacking the red eye would slay it? I didn’t even know what that thing was.”

“Neither did I,” Roubris replied. “The spirit in the sword told me.”

“How did you know about that?” Roubris asked aloud, looking at the sword, which lay next to him near the fire.

He heard Serth’s voice in his mind. “I’d encountered a creature like that before.”

Roubris relayed that to Karatha and then asked, “What was it?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I am not an expert on such things.”

“You seem like one to me.”

“Well, regardless. It’s dead now, and you’re safe.”

“It was demonic in nature,” Karatha said knowledgably. “A thing of fiendish blood. Such horrors dwell to the north, in the Worldwound.”

Roubris nodded and munched on another piece of bread. He stared at the sword, but said nothing further.

∗ ∗ ∗

The road offered little for two more days. Serth’s directions were not difficult to follow. The occasional traveler passed them by, but the folk of northern Ustalav were unfriendly and wary. Roubris could hardly blame them. The landscape turned decidedly darker and more lifeless as they proceeded.

“We near the Worldwound,” Karatha said in hushed tones.

Roubris didn’t know much about the place. Only what he’d heard when he was young—a terrible place where the mortal realm intersected an otherworldly realm of demonkind.

“This is where the temple lies?” Roubris asked Serth.

“Yes. It is still a day’s travel north.”

“That’s going to take us close, I think. Close to the Worldwound.”

Roubris’s half of the conversation attracted Karatha’s attention. It was the only half she could hear, but it was enough.

“Yes,” Serth said.

“Who builds a temple there?”

“Worshipers of Deskari,” the spirit replied.

“Who or what is Deskari?”

“What?” Karatha said. “Deskari the demon lord?”

This gave Roubris a start. Demon lord? He had forgotten he was speaking to the sword out loud.

“Roubris, where is the sword leading us?” Karatha seemed equal parts angry and terrified.

“All he told me originally was that he would lead me to an old, abandoned temple. And that it wasn’t dedicated to a good god.”

“And you never asked which temple? Or where it lay, exactly? Or which cult built it to which god? I asked you to get that information before we left. I don’t know if I would have come had I known we were going to such a place.”

“It never occurred to me. I thought…” His voice trailed off.

“You thought what?”

“I thought all temples were the same.”

Karatha scowled. Then her expression changed to one of disappointment. Roubris disliked the latter even more than the former. She looked away.

Serth spoke again. “Don’t worry about whose temple it is. It doesn’t matter. The place should be deserted. You’re very close now, Roubris. Just convince her to keep going. Or better yet, send her back home.”

The spirit’s words made Roubris more uncomfortable than ever. Karatha’s friendship was important to him, and he wasn’t going to let her go home without him. Besides, he was afraid, and Karatha’s skill with her sword as well as her Iomedae-granted magic made her very useful. She was also quite wise. Serth worried him. What if the spirit was leading him into a trap? Not only could she help him in such a situation, but she might see it coming.

“Karatha, I’m sorry,” Roubris said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m an idiot. Please forgive me.”

Karatha spun. “We should go back to Vigil. This land is dangerous, and we’ve no business in a temple to Deskari.”

“But the spirit assures me that the temple is abandoned. There’s just a treasure hoard left behind there.”

Karatha scowled again. At least it was better than the look of quiet disappointment.

“We could destroy it,” Roubris said suddenly. “We could destroy this evil temple after we’ve looted it. Wouldn’t that be the will of Iomedae? Wouldn’t that be justice? Wouldn’t that bring honor to those wronged by the cult’s evil?”

Karatha stared. Finally, she gave a soft smile. “You’ve been listening,” she said.

Roubris returned her smile with the most charming one in his arsenal. “Of course.”

She kept smiling, so he asked her, “Does that mean you’ll go with me?”

“Treasure hoard, eh?”

He nodded.

“My church could use a hefty donation.”

He smiled and nodded again.

∗ ∗ ∗

Serth led the pair up a rocky slope. A cold wind blew steadily through the region of bare gray stone. The landscape was twisted into odd spires and irregular gullies. A few plants struggled to live, but appeared the worse for their efforts.

When the slope became particularly steep, Roubris saw that crude stone steps had been carved into the rock, slick with moisture from a chilling rain that had fallen within the last hour. Although the sky remained dark, it would get much darker in an hour or so when twilight came. Roubris didn’t relish the idea of spending a night here. He urged them forward. The two of them dismounted and left their horses at the base of the staircase. Serth assured him that the temple lay very close, despite the fact that it was still out of sight.

Roubris was cautious. But why would the spirit lead them into a trap? What could Serth have to gain? Only by helping them would he achieve his eternal rest. They were his only hope of being freed from his imprisonment within the sword.

Roubris knew that while Serth knew more than he did about what lay ahead, Roubris had leverage. He wouldn’t be undertaking this if he didn’t. That leverage was what had made his “business” so successful for so long.

The staircase was surprisingly long and steep, winding around ancient boulders of great size and the occasional withered tree with black, drooping branches.

“There it is,” Serth said.

At the top of the stairs, rising out of the misty gloom, was the temple. A small ziggurat of large obsidian blocks, the temple perched atop a narrow pinnacle. Roubris had no idea how someone would go about building such a structure in such a precarious place. The entrance appeared to be an uninviting stone door surrounded by serpentine runes.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Karatha said quietly.

Roubris pulled the broken sword and held it in both hands. He whispered, “If this is a trap, Serth, you’ll never get out of that sword. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Serth hissed. Roubris thought the spirit sounded indignant.

Roubris remained unsatisfied. He thought back to the demonic creature they fought a few days earlier. The one Serth knew so much about. He considered how Serth knew unusual amounts about Roubris himself, how much more aware of his situation Serth was than any other trapped spirit Roubris had encountered. Roubris looked up at the malevolent temple that lay ahead of him, and then back at the broken sword that held Serth within it. He chewed his lip.

“Serth,” he said only in his mind, “you knew a lot about that creature earlier.”

“Yes?”

“And now you’ve led me here, to the edge of the Worldwound itself.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not the spirit of a man, are you?”

“No.”

“You’re the spirit of a slain demon.”

“Yes.”

Roubris cursed.

Roubris had no idea what to do with the information he’d just gained. The spirit trapped in the sword leading them to the temple in the Worldwound was not that of a slain warrior, but instead a demon. Can you trust a demon? Ever? It seemed like a bad idea.

Of course, Karatha might know. But at this point, telling her that Serth was a demon also seemed like a bad idea. She would, as likely as not, demand that they turn around and go home immediately. And maybe that would be the wise thing to do, but maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe the treasure Serth promised him truly lay within the black ziggurat temple at the top of the rocky spire they climbed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Serth’s voice said in Roubris’s mind. “Well, not literally of course. I can’t tell what you’re thinking unless you try to speak to me with your thoughts. But nevertheless, I’m certain you’re worried that the fact that I wasn’t once a mortal soul means I must be lying to you. That this is a trap. I can assure you that it is not. I may not have been what you assumed me to be, but I am still in the dire situation you perceive. I am still a slain spirit trapped against my will in the weapon I once wielded in battle. And only you can communicate with me. Only you can help me. So the treasure vault hidden in the temple ahead is most assuredly real. You get paid and I get freed. That’s your standard mode of operation, is it not? This is no different.”

Damn it all if that didn’t make sense to Roubris. Demon or man, Serth wanted to be freed. Roubris had never thought about it before, but demons must have souls like mortals, right?

He had encountered the spirits of nonhumans trapped in weapons before. Orcs from Belkzen, mostly. Helping them had practically no potential for profit, so he never actually tried. But helping Serth had the potential for the greatest profit he’d ever earned. Or so Serth said.

Serth the demon.

He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Your wellbeing is of utmost import to me, Roubris,” Serth said mentally. “Without you, I never get out of this. I assure you, the path ahead of us is safe.”

Roubris grinned. He still had the power in this situation. He still had leverage.

“All right,” Roubris said aloud. “Let’s go in.” Still holding Serth in his hand, he took a few tentative steps toward the rune-girded doorway that led into the temple. Karatha followed. She drew her own sword, Severance.

To Roubris’s surprise, the door bore a conventional lock. He smiled sheepishly at Karatha. “I can take care of that.” He put the broken sword away and pulled his set of lock picks from his pack.

“It’s a temple of Deskari. We should expect a trap. Or even a curse. Wait.” With a brief wave of her hand and an invocation to Iomedae, she cast a very quick spell. She nodded and folded her arms. “There is indeed a ward or something more sinister on the door. Let me take care of it.”

Roubris shrugged and backed away. “Be my guest.”

Karatha cast another spell. This time, the gestures and prayers were far more involved. Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. A golden glow limned the door. It brightened, faded, and then brightened again before disappearing. Karatha sighed.

“It was difficult, but whatever nastiness the clerics of Deskari had in mind is now dispelled.”

“And the lock?”

“You’ll still need to take care of that in the conventional manner.” Karatha stumbled a bit over the word “conventional.” Perhaps it was the irony.

Roubris nodded and got to work. He had been picking locks most of his life. His mother had him picking simple door locks since he was tall enough to reach them. Although the lock was difficult, his success was never in question. It took time, but as far as he knew, they were in no rush.

Once he finished with the lock, the door swung open, silently.

Roubris rolled backward. His hand went for his dagger. He looked for whoever had opened the door, but no one was there.

“It was probably just designed that way,” Karatha said.

He pulled out Serth again. The weapon remained silent, and Roubris decided that he was fine with that. Karatha produced a small, smooth stone attached to a tiny hook and affixed it to her belt. Within seconds, the stone shone with a light as bright as sunshine coming in through a small window. This illumination extended into the dark recesses of the windowless temple. Roubris would have sworn that within that place, the light dimmed, as if intimidated.

As plain as the outside of the ziggurat was, the interior was elaborate. A black iron grillwork covered every surface, with leering metallic faces, claws, and twisted thorns jutting out all over it at unpredictable angles. Dust and cobwebs then covered this baroque, rusting skin.