Sword of Kings

The Blood Compact

The howls grew closer.

Vaelor's heart slammed against his ribs. Forty Shades. Maybe fifty. The ghost's estimate echoed in his skull like a death knell. One Shade had nearly killed him. Forty meant there wouldn't be enough of him left to bury.

Daemon Dune didn't flinch.

The tall mercenary strode deeper into the cave, boots crunching on frozen dirt. He moved like a man who'd walked into certain death a hundred times and walked out anyway. His amber eyes swept the darkness, cataloging exits, counting shadows.

"The cave has a back passage," he said. "Narrow. Tight. Leads to a ridge about half a mile south. We can make it if we move now."

The silver-haired woman, Lyssara, tilted her head. Her mismatched eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

"We won't make it," she said. "The Shades are too fast. They'll catch us before we clear the ridge."

Daemon's jaw tightened. "Then we fight."

Aveline Frost spoke for the first time. Her voice was low. Flat. The voice of someone who'd said goodbye to fear a long time ago.

"Fighting forty Shades in the open is suicide. We need a choke point. Narrow ground. Somewhere they can't surround us."

She looked at Vaelor. Her pale blue eyes fixed on the sword.

"Your blade can kill them. We saw what happened to the one you cut down. The others will be more cautious now. They know what that sword can do."

Vaelor's grip on the hilt tightened. The ghost stirred in his mind.

"She's right," the ghost purred. "They fear the blade. But they'll overcome that fear once they realize you can barely hold it. You're shaking, boy. They can see it."

He was shaking. His whole body trembled. The cold. The exhaustion. The hunger. The sword's drain. All of it pressed down on him like a physical weight.

"I can't fight forty of them," he said. "I can barely stand."

Daemon's eyes narrowed. "Then you're useless to us."

"Daemon," Lyssara said. A warning in her voice.

"I'm stating facts. He's half-dead. The sword is the only thing keeping him upright. If we drag him through that back passage, he'll slow us down. We'll all die."

"Then what do you suggest?" Aveline asked. "Leave him?"

Daemon's smile was cold. "I suggest we take the sword and let the Shades have what's left of him."

Vaelor's blood went cold. His arm rose, the blade swinging toward Daemon. The movement was clumsy. Slower than he wanted. The ghost guided his hand, steadying the steel.

"Try it," Vaelor said. His voice cracked. "I'll put this through your chest before you get within three paces."

Daemon laughed. A short, bitter sound.

"You couldn't hit a barn from ten feet right now. You can barely breathe. Put the sword down before you hurt yourself."

"Daemon, stop," Lyssara said. She stepped between them. Her silver hair caught the moonlight like a frozen waterfall. "We need him. The sword chose him. If we kill him, the blade becomes just a piece of metal. We can't use it."

Daemon's eyes flicked to her. "The sword chose him? Or the sword grabbed the first warm body that stumbled into its tomb?"

"The difference doesn't matter. He's bound to it now. And we need that binding if we're going to survive what's coming."

Vaelor stared at her. "You know what's coming?"

Lyssara's black eye seemed to pulse. It wasn't a reflection. Something moved in its depths. Something that shouldn't exist in a human eye.

"I see futures," she said. "All of them. In most, you die tonight. In a few, we all die. In one—" She paused. "—we make it to Cinderhall. We destroy the sword. And the realm lives."

"And in that future?" Vaelor asked. "What happens to me?"

Lyssara's lips pressed together. She didn't answer.

Aveline stepped forward. Her hand was still on her sword hilt, but her posture shifted. Less combative. More focused.

"The Shades are closing in," she said. "We have three minutes. Maybe less. Make your choice, Vaelor. Are you with us, or are you dead weight we leave behind?"

The howls grew louder. Closer. Vaelor could hear the hiss of melting snow. The crackle of freezing air. The Shades were almost at the cave mouth.

The ghost whispered.

"They're afraid of you. All of them. Even Daemon. He hides it well, but he knows what you carry. He wants the sword for himself. He'll kill you the moment he thinks he can take it."

Vaelor's head pounded. The ghost's voice was a constant pressure behind his eyes.

"Don't trust them. Don't trust anyone. Use them while they're useful. When they're not—"

"I know," Vaelor said. His voice was barely a whisper.

Then he looked at Daemon. At Aveline. At Lyssara. Three strangers. Three agendas. Three knives waiting for the right moment to find his back.

But right now, they were his only chance.

"Fine," he said. "I'm with you. We fight together. But if any of you tries to take the sword—"

"You'll cut us down," Daemon finished. "We know. Heard you the first time. Now move."

They fell into formation. Daemon took the front. Aveline the rear. Lyssara and Vaelor in the middle. The cave's narrow walls forced them close. Vaelor could smell Daemon's leather armor. Aveline's sword oil. Lyssara's strange scent—like frost and old books.

The Shades reached the cave mouth.

---

They came in a flood of darkness.

Vaelor had never seen a proper Shade up close. The one he'd killed was smaller. Weaker. A scout sent to test the sword. These were warriors.

They didn't have shape. Not really. They were masses of black mist coiled around something solid—bones, maybe, or just hardened shadow. Eyes glowed in their depths. Dozens of eyes. All fixed on the sword.

Daemon didn't wait.

He charged.

His blade came up. Not fancy. Not flashy. Just brutal efficiency. The edge caught the first Shade across its midsection. Black mist scattered. The creature shrieked and dissolved into ash.

"One," Daemon said. "Forty-nine to go."

Aveline was right behind him. Her sword moved differently—precision strikes, each one placed exactly where it hurt most. She cut a Shade's arm clean off. The limb dissolved. The creature staggered back.

"Your sword," she shouted over her shoulder. "Use it!"

Vaelor raised the blade. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold it. The ghost pushed against his mind, demanding control.

"Let me help you," the ghost said. "Give me one more memory. Just one. I'll make you strong enough to cut through all of them."

"No," Vaelor said through gritted teeth.

"You'll die without me."

"I'd rather die."

He swung. The blade carved through the air. It found nothing. The Shade dodged. Its talons—if you could call them that—lashed out and caught Vaelor across the chest.

Pain exploded through his ribs. Three deep gashes. His tunic shredded. Blood soaked through the fabric.

He stumbled back.

Aveline was there. Her blade met the Shade's next strike. Steel against shadow. Sparks flew.

"Move!" she shouted.

Vaelor moved. One step. Two. His legs were rubber. His chest was on fire.

Lyssara grabbed his arm. Her fingers were cold. So cold. But her grip was strong.

"Keep your eyes on the sword," she said. "Don't look at the Shades. Look at the blade. It will guide you."

He didn't understand what she meant. But he obeyed.

He looked at the sword.

The steel was black and silver. Rippled like water frozen in motion. In the depths of the metal, he saw shapes. Faces. Memories. His mother's face, dissolving into ash. His father's face, screaming. His own face, crowned.

The blade hummed.

And then Vaelor understood.

He didn't need to aim. He didn't need to see. The sword knew where the Shades were. It could feel them. It hated them. It wanted to destroy them.

All he had to do was hold on.

He swung again.

This time, the blade found its target. A Shade caught full in the chest. It exploded. Ash rained down around him like black snow.

Again. Another Shade. Gone.

Again. Two at once. Their shrieks filled the cave. The walls shook. Dust and debris rained from the ceiling.

Daemon was laughing. A wild, fierce sound.

"That's it," he shouted. "That's the power. Feed it. Let it feed on you. Become the monster they fear."

Vaelor didn't respond. He couldn't. The sword was taking more than he had to give. His vision blurred. His heart stuttered. Every swing drained another piece of him.

"One more," the ghost whispered. "Just one more. You need it. They're not stopping."

He looked up.

A wall of Shades filled the cave mouth. Twenty of them. Maybe thirty. They were pressing forward, climbing over the ash of their fallen brothers. Furious. Hungry.

His arms ached. His chest burned. His mind was a haze of exhaustion and pain.

He couldn't do this.

"You can," the ghost said. "Give me the memory of your father. The one where he tells you to hide. Give me that, and I'll give you the strength to survive."

Vaelor hesitated.

His father's face. His father's voice. The last words he'd ever heard from the man who raised him.

"Get inside. Stay down. Don't come out until I come for you."

He'd held onto that memory for twelve years. It was the last shred of his childhood. The last scrap of innocence.

But the Shades were coming. And if he died here, the memory died with him.

"Give it to me," the ghost urged. "You can have it back someday. When you're strong enough to take it. But right now, you need to live."

Vaelor closed his eyes.

The memory unspooled like a thread pulled from a tapestry. His father's face. The hayloft. The smell of burning wheat.

Then nothing.

It was gone.

And in its place came a wave of power.

Vaelor's eyes snapped open. His hand steadied. His heart slowed. His body didn't feel like his own anymore. It felt like a weapon. A tool. An extension of the blade.

He swung.

---

The next few minutes were a blur.

Vaelor cut through the Shades like a scythe through wheat. He didn't think. He didn't feel. The ghost guided his arms, his legs, his breathing. Every movement was perfect. Every strike found its mark.

Daemon fell back, watching. Aveline's eyes widened. Lyssara just nodded, as if she'd seen this coming.

When it was over, forty-seven Shades lay in ash at their feet.

The survivors fled into the snow.

Vaelor stood in the middle of the c*****e, chest heaving, sword dripping with shadow-mist. His hands were steady. His heart was calm.

He felt nothing.

Daemon approached slowly. Cautiously. His earlier arrogance was gone.

"Well," he said. "That's one way to earn a seat at the table."

Vaelor turned to face him. His eyes were dark. Hollow.

"Where do we go next?"

Daemon's lips quirked. "South. The Sunken Citadel. There's a man there who knows how to break the bond between you and the sword."

Lyssara stepped forward. "That's not the deal we made."

"I changed the deal," Daemon said. He didn't look at her. He was still watching Vaelor. "The sword is too dangerous to carry all the way to Cinderhall. We need to unchain it first. Make it something we can control."

Aveline sheathed her sword. "The Sunken Citadel is a death trap. The drowned god doesn't bargain. It consumes."

"Then we'll be careful," Daemon said. "Or we'll die trying. Either way, we're not getting out of this frozen hell without help."

Lyssara's black eye pulsed. She opened her mouth to speak.

Then she froze.

Her mismatched eyes went wide. Her skin paled. Her hands flew to her temples.

"The ghost," she gasped. "He's speaking. He's telling me—"

She collapsed.

Vaelor caught her before she hit the ground. Her body was cold. So cold. Ice crystals formed on her lips, her lashes, her silver hair.

"What's happening?" he demanded.

The ghost laughed.

"She's seeing what I want her to see. A future. A lovely future where we all live happily ever after."

"Stop it," Vaelor said.

"No."

Lyssara's eyes snapped open. Both of them. The blue and the black. They were fixed on something only she could see.

"He wants us to go to the Citadel," she whispered. "He wants—"

She stopped. Her expression shifted. Something new flickered in her gaze.

"He wants us to find the drowned god."

Vaelor looked at her. At Daemon. At Aveline.

He knew they were walking into a trap. He knew the ghost was playing them all. He knew the Citadel was a place where people went to die.

But he also knew one thing.

The sword was hungry again.

And it was telling him exactly where to feed.