The Knife's Edge (41 page)

They reached a fork in the road. On the left, the wide stone street wound up towards the palace, and before him was a stone wall. It crawled with finger-thick ivy. In the center was a stone door. On either side of the door, iron brackets burned with small fires. Above, the golden dome and Shiroku Palace threatened to fall down on their heads.

“That’s it?” he asked.

Balder whispered under his breath. “Look at the guards.” Four stone-faced soldiers stood stationary with halberds nearby the small door. Balder was right. It was far-too curious for four soldiers to guard a single door.

Another file of armored soldiers ran past. For the briefest moment, in the darkness of a soldier’s helmet he caught the glimmer of scarlet red eyes. He caught his breath. Kail? But the man was gone like a dream as the file mixed with other groups and headed down the road.

“Snap out of it, Gray. Quick, turn your back and look over my shoulder, but pretend like we’re talking.”

“We are talking,” he said, still searching men’s faces. Up here, it was almost a constant flow of men coming up and down the wide white road, clothed in plate, mail and sword.

Balder sighed. “Yes, but pretend like we’re talking about something other than what you’re staring at, and wipe that anxious look from your face.”

“What look?”

The stonemason’s thick gray mustache twitched as he talked, “That look that says, ‘I’m planning on tricking the guards behind us and escaping.’” Gray looked away. “Not at the ground! At me! Look at me!”

“How are we going to do this?” he asked, trying to look calm with the thousands of soldiers storming around them. He watched a great ballista made of wood and metal, mounted with a giant spear twice as long as him. It rattled down the street, pushed by a group of men with shields. In the distance, men climbed spiral stairs on nearby towers and gongs rang stridently.

“One last chance to back out. Are you sure you are up for this?” Balder asked, his eyes shifting.

“I’m ready,” he said. His voice was steady.

Balder’s mustache curled. “Good. There are a few things you should know first though. When you enter, if by some miracle I get you in, it will be dark, and it is very long. It is full of many turns. If you have a choice, always go straight, the other paths are dead ends, I think.”

“You think?”

Balder shrugged. “I’m not sure, no one has ever taken them; at least not in a thousand years. Some say they are shortcuts to places that exist no more, some say they extend deep into the bowels of the mountain, taking weeks to traverse. Anyway, the right path should take a full day’s journey. Don’t get discouraged.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Balder.”

“Don’t thank me yet. This will not be easy. From what I’ve heard, those men are under strict orders to attack anyone who even comes close,” Balder said and paused. “One last thing, not many people know it but my real name is Jiro. Balder is my last name.”

Gray ran a hand through his hair with a chuckle, “If it’s all the same, it would be hard for me to view you as anything but Balder.”

“Balder is just fine. Now, I’m going to create a distraction. When I do, and if it’s enough, the guards will leave their posts. Use that window of opportunity to get in, but make sure no one sees you.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked. “If you get caught…”

“I don’t plan to,” Balder snorted. “I plan on destroying something I’ve thought an abomination since the moment I finished it. Just watch for your window. Now go stand over there until it happens,” the man said, pointing to the outside of a quiet inn.

He grabbed Balder’s arm. “If I don’t see you again…”

The stonemason winked. “Then the safest of travels, Gray.” With that, he jaunted off in the other direction.

He waited excitedly as he watched the crowds of soldiers pass. He imagined he was a small stone in a river, easy to overlook. Suddenly there was a thunderous crash. The sound shuddered the streets as if a building had collapsed, coming from the way Balder had gone. Soldiers hurried to the scene. Gray was impressed at the extraordinary shockwave, and he anxiously watched the four remaining guards. They peered at one another in uncertainty.

Please, he thought.

They exchanged a signal and three of the four took off down the street, leaving one behind. Gray cursed. He didn’t have a choice. He started walking towards the stone door, not quite sure what he was going to do when he got there. The soldier eyed his approach. Another crash, louder this time, shook the streets, pounding in Gray’s ears. He threw himself to the ground, along with hundreds of others. More soldiers rushed to the sound and gongs rang, clanging through the streets. This time, the last guard left his post running to the sound.

Gray stuffed his hands into his pockets and hurried towards the door. He reached it and looked around. The surrounding soldiers were still too busy to notice a young man in a dark corner. The door was solid stone. Gray saw iron handles indicating that it took several men to move the giant block. He put one hand to the door and called on the nexus.

Filaments of air slid between the crack of the door, probing. The crack was nearly seamless and Gray cursed. How do I move the door, if I can’t fit any more of the power inside? He paused. Perhaps I don’t need to… With a breath, Gray extracted thin threads of wind. Carefully, he slipped them between the slim cracks. Then, gathering all of his remaining power, he let it flow, pouring into the crack in one swift burst, thrusting filaments of wind until it overflowed. Wedged by the wall and the door, the power expanded. Abruptly, the door scraped open—not much, though just enough for Gray to enter sideways. Without wasting a moment, he slipped inside.

There was a loud bang, and darkness filled his vision. The door had shut. Panic shot through him. He twisted in the darkness, reaching out with the power. He felt for the crack in the door. His blood ran cold. There was no seam. He was trapped. A cold sweat broke out on his skin. How can that be? He probed with his power, searching frantically for the crack in the door, but after a while, he could deny it no longer. The slit in the stone was gone.

He tried to control his breath and backed away. Darkness enveloped him. His heel hit something and he tripped, tumbling backwards, landing in something wet. Terror rose in his throat. A voice echoed in his skull, Stay calm. Use your breath and center your thoughts.

At the same time, something brushed his leg and he snatched it back. “What was that?” Silenced echoed as he listened to his own shallow breaths. At last, he took a deep breath. “Just my imagination,” he said aloud. As if in reply, a sound came from the darkness, like a chill breath. Gray resolved the words.

The sword.

Suddenly he remembered the sword and its glow. Hope flashed inside him. He unsheathed the blade from his back in a rush. It blazed silver, pressing back the darkness; though the silvery light illuminated only a few feet before him. He leaned forward, his eyes searching. At the edge of his vision he saw shadows moving, twisting and blending.

“Give us the sword,” a voice whispered.

“What do you want with it?”

“Give it to usss,” it answered and the darkness shifted.

A familiar voice within his skull spoke forcefully, Use the pendant, boy! Now!

The eerie breath spoke like a thousand soulless voices, “Give usss the sssssword…”

“It’s mine!” Gray replied, his grip tightening on the blade, “Be gone!” Silence answered his words. Something touched his boot. He flinched and thrust the sword downward, shining its light upon the ground. In the gleam of silver, a dark black mass slunk upward, reaching his ankle. Gray kicked at the darkness, smashing down with all his weight. The dark mass evaded his foot and shot higher, reaching his calf. In panic, He tried to kick the boot off but the darkness lunged. It gripped onto his other foot, pulling him to the ground and the air was knocked from his lungs. He lifted the blade and watched as black tendrils crawled higher. The silvery light of the sword dimmed as a black vein snaked across its surface. He twisted and pulled at his bound legs, but to no avail. The darkness scuttled higher. It burned through the thick layer of wool. Suddenly the ground writhed as if alive and he knew it was everywhere.

More tendrils of darkness crept across the blade and the sword’s light vanished.

Dark Deeds

M
ARIS WATCHED AS
G
RAY SLIPPED THROUGH
the stone slit, disappearing into the ancient tunnels. Meanwhile the Ronin was lost in memory.

It was a dark night. Like phantoms, they gathered in the quiet stone courtyard. He looked to his eight brothers in arms; all silent, cloaked like emissaries of death and justice. The message from Hiron was urgent—King Endar of Runile, a city within the Kingdom of Ice, had turned, betraying the nine kingdoms and was attempting to flee that night. They waited until a group of hooded men appeared from the shadows. Maris smirked. The king and his men watched the darkness in fear, unaware of the eyes that watched them as they slipped into the tunnels. Wordlessly, with his brothers at his side, they followed. The scent of the betrayer king and his guards was sharp and full of terror. They chased down the King and his guards, meeting them at a juncture. The men froze at his voice. Endar turned. He still remembered that face—round eyes like glass beads and a wide, slack jaw. In the flickering torchlight, the king’s skin was pale white, drained of blood. The traitorous King knew what their appearance meant, just as he should have known the moment the fool committed his act of betrayal. The roar of Maris’ blade, and the others filled the dark caverns.

Maris suddenly returned to his body. He squatted on the balls of his feet, standing upon a stone roof, looking out over the town square that was roiling with unrest. He shook his head, still remembering the blood that had been spilled, and the valiant attempts of the king’s guard. Always a shame when good men die for a wretched man’s cause.

Below, guards ran to and fro, their bright plate made him squint as dawn replaced night, looking more like shiny, armored playthings than soldiers. At the same time, nobles attired in rich silks and heavy brocade watched from the safety of their homes while torches were lit and orders were shouted to find the intruders.

It was the chaos that followed the crazed man’s act. Maris shook his head. He wasn’t sure if it was bravery or stupidity or a mix of both, but Gray’s foolish friend seemingly got away with it. Either way, Maris was quite grateful for the man’s deed. He rubbed his chin, eyeing the now shattered statue that lay in ruins upon the white paved stone. He could still see half of his face, or what he assumed was his face lying upon the ground like a cracked melon. He held out his hands like a picture frame, bordering the face in his mind.

“No, no, no, the features are all wrong,” he declared with a sigh. But why? He wondered, scratching his chin. Maris cocked his head, embracing the leaf. The stone lay a hundred paces away, but his vision narrowed. He saw the face more sharply as if he were standing before it. “Yes, see? That’s it—the nose is far too broad and my chin is sharper than that, surely,” he said and squinted. “But the hair isn’t half bad,” he admitted. He fanned his hair upward in taller spikes, trying to imitate his likeness. The statue of the king that had been in the act of vanquishing him now lay in complete ruins—only a glimpse of the stone hand with its encrusted rings still intact.

Maris turned suddenly somber, eyeing the tunnel and where they boy had gone. Is what I did right? To hell with prophecy, he always said, then why did I abide by it this time? Because the Traitor was right. A torrent of emotions assaulted him. What would the others think if they knew I had conspired with the Traitor? He knew that was the least of his issues. He didn’t care about himself. The fate of much more was in the balance.

“It had to be done. The Knife’s Edge is too important to ignore, and the boy too young to set his own course,” he said aloud. Yet to decide the boy’s fate and play him like a puppet was wrong. Maris had trained Gray with pride, and knew his talents. He was just like the Traitor, in nearly every way. One day the boy might even surpass the legend, for he had seen a glimmer of the boy’s potential, and it was vast.

Putting his hand to the rooftop, he embraced the leaf as he had done countless times.

He raced forward through the city, along the earth, feeling the streets that trembled with soldier’s boots. He moved past the white gates, back from where they had come, along the icy paths. Suddenly, the ground pulsed. Maris tensed. He pushed forward. It shuddered again, far heavier than anything he had felt before. He pressed on until he found what he dreaded. His senses shook as the raucous stampede of hooves clambered, shaking the mountains all around—at its side, was the scrape of claw, and dark metal boot, marching forward. Heading north.

His eyes snapped wide and slowly, his breathing settled. He looked over the rooftops, and past the vast walls. He still felt the ground thundering with the march of war.

They were coming.

A Dark Way

I
N THE PITCH BLACK,
G
RAY HEARD
only his frantic breaths as the dark presence slithered up his legs and burned his calves like fire.

“Give it to ussss,” the darkness hissed, echoing off the walls.