Soul Fire

Soul Fire - Chapter 47

A man had slipped unnoticed through the darkness, exacting a terrible toll on the Asillians with his merciless blades. Unseen, he had cut down a dozen guards with ruthless precision, their demise a simple, emotionless act. He walked toward Beregran, bearing two, obsidian blades blacker than the utter darkness. He was not here to fight, rather to kill, the perfect assassin.

Darkness cloaked his body, falling around his skin like clothes. Clinging to him, a nimbus twisted, a wreath of shadows weaving around and through his skin. They had met once before on the streets of Cretia, when Davidor had come to the aid of the King's heir. At that time, it wasn't Dathion the shadowed man had been seeking, but the Sword of Llanos - the one thing the shadows feared.

For a thousand years it had lain within the walls of the palace of Asillia. For a millennium, it had guarded its king. Dark forces had been rising to draw the sword out, to lure it away from the palace and deny its protection to Asillia's king.

And it had worked.

A senseless prophecy had been recited, and a misguided journey begun. The King had sent his sons to unite a fractured world against the power from the East. The King had sent his sons with the greatest artifact his kingdom had ever known, banishing the one thing that could protect him from the rising threat.

Davidor had counseled him, advised him, and warned him.

When the King had not listened, Davidor had offered to go, to protect the heirs of the kingdom. Malithas had been their guardian by day, but the night had always belonged to Davidor.

Above all, Davidor had watched the sword.

The assassin's feet glided, the hall slipping beneath him as he crossed the distance to the throne. His swords struck twice while Davidor watched, shearing the armor of men like cloth, spinning their slain bodies to the floor of the hall.

The man of shadows paused momentarily when Davidor stepped across his path. Undaunted, he changed direction, but the Lord of the Hidden Eye interceded once more. The shadowed man struck, faster than a striking serpent, death his tool to clear the way.

Within the space of a heartbeat, Davidor too was armed, swords flying to his hands to match preternatural speed with his opponent. The assassin took a pair of steps backward at the unexpected, violent crossing of blades.

"Let us finish what we started in the streets of Cretia."

Davidor kept his voice low, his sharing of words as personal as the vendetta he harbored. The man of shadows paused, perhaps to remember. All those nights ago, Dathion had all but met his end by way of the assassin's blades. To save the prince, a man had descended from the rooftops, shielding Dathion with his swords. That man, Davidor, had matched the assassin, his skill so absolute that Dathion had escaped his killer's grasp.

With his poison coursing through Dathion's veins, and Davidor too difficult to overcome, the assassin had fled - vanishing back to the shadows from which he had spawned. Davidor's swords had borne the scars of the assassin's dark powers that night, the metal succumbing and unraveling, like frayed threads pulled hard at the edges.

Tonight would be different.

Lowering his swords like an accusation to level at his foe, Davidor prepared for the most important fight of his life. His weapons were considerable and would never be an excuse should he fail. In his left hand sang the ceremonial sword of the Hidden Eye, its blade still humming from the first blow. It had been crafted by the Dwarves from the rare, blue ore found in Cerdic lands. Time could not touch that ageless blade, and neither could the corrupting force of the shadows.