If Ninathril isn’t hidden in the carriage, I’ll go to Herman himself. Ardwin sat on a rooftop across the street from the Imperial Monastery. A beautiful cathedral of pale stones stood on a gently sloping hill. Spires and towers, connected by free-hanging arches, surrounded the massive oval-shaped building. The cathedral rose four stories, each smaller than the last, ending in a rounded roof covered with thick shingles. Stained glass windows painted their escaping light with a brilliant array of colors. Sconces and lanterns lit the many walking paths. A dozen feet of stone guarded the perimeter. He peered over the wall from his perch, glimpsing withering flowers and sheared trees mimicking the conical spires and towers looming high above. Patrols passed over the monastery’s battlements in fifteen-minute intervals. City guards—the Duke’s men.
Ardwin munched on an apple. Vitality returned, but his battered body needed more recovery time. Time he could not afford to waste.
He watched a pair of guards walk past. I need to move before Murph makes it back to the monastery. Ardwin set the apple’s core down on the roof and stood up. It was a clear night. The full moon lit up the world. The wind whipped across the rooftop, chilling him to the bone and catching his cloak. He spun, becoming invisible, then launched himself into the air. With a flap of the elf-woven fabrics, Ardwin sailed across an empty street and over the outer walls of the monastery.
Ardwin landed on a merlon, crouching. He looked up and down the wallwalk, confirming no one was around.
The stables are connected to the east wall. He bounded across the battlements. I must consider the possibility that Murph already has the sword. If so, I’ll hunt him down and take it. Two brothers wearing gray robes patrolled a circular path around the monastery but were too far away to pose a threat. Two city guards moved down the wall to meet him. Ardwin shoved off the wall and shot high into the air. He flipped forward, then fell many yards away from them. Not that it would matter. Carried by his cloak, his landing barely made a sound. Ardwin skipped along the wall, leaping over a second pair of guardsmen before spotting the stables. It was a two-story building with a complex array of fences built around it. Cows, pigs, and sheep stood in their dark pens. A road led directly up to two giant doors standing ajar. Light poured through them, as well as a little window overlooking the road. Somewhere below, a horse neighed. The animals could be a problem. Ardwin launched himself in a crescent arc, soaring through the icy air and landing on the stable's roof. Light feet carried him toward the back edge. As he suspected, a second window waited within reach. Ardwin jumped over the edge and grabbed onto the roof with both hands. His feet dangled.
Bales of hay stood stacked in rows, pressed against the window frame. There would be no entry.
Ardwin lifted himself onto the roof. He rolled over onto his back and rested his weary arms. I need to get the sword and go. How long can I keep pushing myself? He sat up. After a brief respite, Ardwin moved across the roof toward the front window. This time, he laid flat on his belly and hung his head over its edge, listening.
“Why do the Fergonians talk so weird?” a childish voice asked.
“Because they’re weird,” an older man said. “Have you ever met a normal Fergonian?” Silence followed the question. “They’re loud, proud, obnoxious, and obsessed with their looks. Every one of them.”
“Even Father Demoux?” the boy replied with another question.
“Unfortunately,” the man said.
Ardwin pushed himself away from the roof. He crouched at its edge. How many stableboys are in there? I haven’t seen a single guardsman. Are they hiding below? If I were Herman, I wouldn’t leave any guards at all. They would draw attention to the stables. He felt his teeth grinding against one another. His fists clenched. Is the sword even here? Still invisible, Ardwin jumped off the roof and glided gently to the ground. He stood before the giant wooden doors. I suppose there’s only one way to find out.
A swift breeze carried him through the gaping crack between the doors and into the stable. Lanterns hung from iron hooks, lining a central lane straight through the building. Straw and muck softened the ground and his footfalls. Ardwin searched every stall he passed. He turned left at an intersection. A gray-robed brother with bushy brown brows and short-sheared hair leaned against a stall door, holding the shaft of a shovel in one hand and a freshly forged spade in the other. The young monk looked from shaft to spade, trying to solve their riddle. Ardwin snuck around the monk, his invisibility lending him an unfair advantage against the unwitting boy.
Horses, pigs, bags of feed. No carriage.
Damn you, Murph!
The stalls opposite the entrance yielded the same result. Ardwin snuck down the right wing, his heart beating faster every second, searching each stall, left and right. He poked his head over a tall gate and looked into the darkness. A brown and black spotted hound lay curled up with a litter of pups suckling at her. The hound raised its long snout and looked up at Ardwin, sniffing the air. The beast growled.
Ardwin backed away from the stall, praying the hound didn’t start barking. Fortunately, his absence quelled the mother’s rage. The young monk never looked up from his dismembered tool.
Where’s the carriage? Ardwin darted toward the front gates, the wind in his cloak, steps imperceptible. Where’s the sword?
He passed through the gate and shoved off the ground, flapping his cloak to summon a stiff breeze. The docile beasts of burden barely stirred. He landed on the stable’s roof, then jumped to meet the stars, looking down upon a thousand yellow lights burning against the night. Herman must have hidden the carriage somewhere. Or perhaps he is paying a visit to someone, but who? He has the sword. Is he going to present it to the Duke tonight? Is that why Murph made his move? He knew Herman would be busy, didn't he? Ardwin tumbled down toward the city. I’ll check the Duke’s palace.
Ardwin leaped from rooftop to rooftop, passing over shops and homes, crossing the city with reckless abandon, and ignoring his tortured body’s demands to stop.
He headed north at Liberty Square, a massive plaza surrounded by administrative offices, banks, and government buildings. The Duke’s palace, overlooking the rest of the city from the highest hill, sat near the shore of the Twinstone River. It was not a castle like a king’s home but a five-story mansion with marble columns and layered arches over every window and door. Its stone perimeter wall stood ten feet high. Iron spikes protruded from the stacked slabs. Once again, Ardwin crouched atop a smaller building across the street, studying the patrolling guards. This time, however, there were no battlements or wall walks. A hundred yards of green lay between the perimeter wall and the mansion’s entrance. A large decadent carriage sat idle before marble steps, two horses bridled and a coachman waiting in the cold. Four guardsmen in purple brigandines stood beside the gate, thirty yards to his left. Two more guards patrolled the long lane leading from the gate to the mansion. Three stood shoulder to shoulder on either side of its illustrious door.
Ardwin soared over the wall, landing softly on the dark lawn. His cloak caught a breeze and carried him up a gently sloping knoll. He walked up to a window and peered into the mansion. He spotted a group of women sitting in a drawing room, sipping tea and chatting.
He moved to the next window.
This window revealed a dining room full of finely carved tables and cushioned chairs, but not one person. He moved to the next window, only to find a stairwell and a hallway. Ardwin looked up. I’ll search story by story if I have to. He crouched low, then jumped, flying past four windows on his way up. He glimpsed into each briefly and saw nothing of interest. Ardwin landed softly. Perhaps I can find a window ajar and slip inside?
He climbed over the edge of the tiled roof and down the side of the mansion, holding to its curves and arches. At the top window, he wedged himself between its narrow frame and peered through the glass. The room was dark, and thick flower-covered curtains obscured its glass. He pushed against the window and found it sealed tight and locked. Thus began a process of crawling across the face of the mansion and checking each window on the top floor. Nearing the upper left corner of the building, Ardwin peered through the last window, whose curtains were drawn open, and froze when he spotted Abbott Herman standing before Duke Frederick in a well-lit room. The Duke sat in a big round chair behind a long desk. Herman stood in his holy adorned red robe with a big stupid smile on his face. Has he given over the sword? Ardwin searched the desk and the room, but Ninathril was nowhere to be seen. No, not yet.
“This will mark the beginning of a new empire!” Herman stretched his hands out wide. “Think, my friend. If we unite the duchies under the Pendragon banner, we can do what no Duke has ever done. We can conquer Alexandria!”
Duke Frederick leaned towards his desk, resting his elbows on its top and interlacing his fingers. “If what you say is true, and the sword you have is the Ninathril of legend, then it is compelling. But you overestimate the power of that artifact. It is a symbol—nothing more.” The Duke waved a hand. “Ambrose won’t end the war because the Pendragon boy got his sword back. It’s a silly notion. A compelling story but politically impotent. I’m surprised by you, Herman.”
The Abbot’s smile melted into a messy sneer of old folded flesh. “It is not just an artifact. Keya assured me that someone imbued it with magic. A powerful magic.”
“Oh,” the Duke said. “Do tell.”
Herman lowered his gaze. “It drains the soul of any living being it slays. And transfers the power that soul contains to he who wields the blade.”
Frederick burst out laughing. “What is this? Are you mad, Father?”
Abbot Herman glowered. His cheeks glowed red. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. And I can convince you. Keya will prepare a demonstration. Tomorrow. Will you attend?” Having regained his composure, the Duke leaned back in his chair and twiddled his thumbs. “Will you?”
“You are too ambitious for a holy man,” Duke Frederick said. “I will come.” He nodded. “But if the sword is as powerful as you say, then it shouldn’t fall into the hands of a child.”
“You want it?” Herman asked. He folded his arms over his chest. “Isn’t that dangerous? Claiming the sword of Arthur will strain your relationship with Alexandria and strengthen the bond between Milanis Duchy and the Duchy of Chios. The Master of Chios will want his sword back. He may send an army to take it.” The old monk tucked his hands behind his back and shook his head. “I don’t think it is wise.”
“Don’t tell me what is wise and what isn’t,” Frederick said. “You are standing in my home. In my city. Truthfully, Father, I never cared for the Temple, but Walter knows his role and how to play it. You’d do well to learn from the Imperial Exemplar and to remember your station. You do not possess the sword of Arthur but are simply holding it for the Master of this city, whose taxes you suckle to sustain your existence. You hold that sword for a man whose army spread your faith across the continent. My family has done more for Alexander’s legacy than the kings of the East ever have. What good is an endless war? Back and forth they go. For centuries!”
“This is true.” Abbot Herman nodded. Ardwin glimpsed a subtle smile playing on the Father’s lips. “How are your relations with Fergonia?”
It sounds like Herman has co-conspirators in the Fergonian monasteries. He knew Frederick would take the sword. Even without his elf’s magic promises, it’s too tempting a treasure. Ardwin’s aching arms grew shaky. I can’t stay wedged in here forever. He forced himself to focus on breathing, losing track of the conversation. Herman isn’t giving over the sword tonight. First, he must give Frederick a demonstration of the sword’s power. Then Frederick will want to claim the sword ceremoniously. He loosened his grip on the windowsill and pushed off the building with what strength remained. His cloak carried him safely to the lawn below. Ardwin sat for a time, resting his limbs on the damp grass. He eyed the Abbot’s carriage. Is the sword in there?
The next step in his plan revealed itself. When Duke Frederick realizes there’s no demonstration to be seen, he’ll make Herman the laughingstock of the entire city.
Abbot Herman rushed out of the mansion and into his carriage. The coachman, a short and round man wearing a tall black hat, snapped the reins. Two gray horses tugged the lavishly decorated carriage into motion. Ardwin, sitting behind a thorny bush, got to his feet and ran after the carriage as it rolled away from the Duke’s palace. His cloak allowed him to keep up. He followed the carriage out of the front gate, then, halfway down the cobbled street, Ardwin soared into the air and landed on the roof of a luxury apartment. Street lamps lit the road below. He skipped across rooftops, following the Abbot’s carriage. A bobbing bubble of light moved down the street—the lamplight of guardsmen patrolling. Ardwin spotted many yellow orbs burning in the shadows between buildings. There are too many guards around. The right moment will present itself. Until then, I’ll just have to keep following.
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As they left the mansions and apartments of the wealthy behind and passed through Liberty Square, the rooftops turned from thick shingles to shoddy work and flimsy tiles. Guard patrols became fewer, but still too many. The carriage came to an intersection but didn’t head for the monastery. Instead, it turned left toward the docks.
A half block down the street, a man wearing a gray robe ran straight toward the carriage, waving down the coachman, who tugged at the reins of his horses.
“No passengers!” the coachman squawked as they came to a stop.
“Message for Abbot Herman!” The gray-robed man jogged past the coachman in his high seat. He doubled over, one hand resting on his knee, the other extended toward the carriage’s window. Ardwin watched as a shadowy hand reached out of the carriage and snatched the note from the messenger.
Ardwin’s pulse ran a little quicker. Is word of Keya’s demise beginning to spread? Does the exemplar know?
“Rutger!” Herman cried. “To the monastery!”
“I can’t turn around here, your eminence!” the coachman said. “The carriage is too big. We’ll need to turn around at Stugart Square!”
“Go!” Herman’s voice sounded bitter and brittle.
What’s your plan now, Herman? You no longer have your elvish sorcerer to protect you. The coachman snapped the reins and yelped at his horses. The stout beasts stomped the cobbles and kicked the carriage into a breakneck speed. Ardwin followed.
Four blocks down the street, their road split into two. The carriage turned right, down a dimly lit street curving ever so slightly away from the docks. A block down the road, they passed a guard patrol. From the high roof of a building, Ardwin scanned for other patrols. He found none. Looking ahead, the narrow road opened up into a circular plaza. He leaped off the building, cloak, and hair fluttering in the night air as he dove feet first toward the speeding carriage.
Ardwin landed on its curved roof. The carriage rocked under his feet. He balanced upon a plank in the middle of a stormy sea.
He lost his feet.
Ardwin thumped against the wooden roof. Arms spread wide, and grabbing a hold of each edge, he clung to the carriage. After regaining his bearing, Ardwin released one hand, rolled off the roof, and flung himself through an open window. He landed in the seat across from Abbot Herman, who stared at the letter in his hands. Four little candles lit the interior. Beady brown eyes moved across the parchment. Ardwin slid Animiki’s Talon from its sheath, then joined Herman in the opposite seat. The Abbot clutched the letter to his chest and scooted toward the carriage’s wall. “Who’s there?” He raised a withered, old hand to his head. “I’m losing my mind.”
“Can’t hold on?” Ardwin asked. He stifled the Abbot’s scream with a hand over his mouth. He lifted his dagger to the man’s throat and rested it on thin collarbones. “Unlike you, I don’t have the stomach for torture. Tell me where Ninathril is. Or die.” He lowered the hand covering the priest’s mouth.
“It—it’s here,” Herman managed. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Beneath us right now.”
“You don’t have the stomach for torture either, huh?” Ardwin chuckled. “I guess your elf did all the dirty work for you. You gave in so quickly. I truly question your ambition if this is the extent of your resolve.”
“You killed Keya,” Herman said. “What chance does an old man like me have?”
“That’s very smart.” Ardwin grabbed a fistful of fine fabric and dragged the old Abbot across the carriage by his robe’s collar, into the opposite seat. “Get the sword.”
Herman nodded, so Ardwin released him. The old priest fidgeted with the red cushion. “You win this time.” The seat swung open with a loud pop. Herman reached into an elongated cavity. He turned, Ninathril in its sheath laid across his hands. “But you won’t make it out of Burgundia alive. I look forward to our next meeting.”
Ardwin, still invisible, snatched Ninathril up. “I’m not sure what will happen when my task is done. But I will remember everyone who stood in my way. If you hound me, I may return the favor one day.” He opened the door of the carriage and jumped out. His cloak, caught in the tumbling winds of the speeding carriage and sprinting horses, sent him flipping through the air. Thankfully, he landed safely on his feet. The carriage shrunk away into the city, swallowed by bricks and shadows. He held the sword up to his eyes.
Now, I need to get out of this city.
With a jump, Ardwin shot himself into the sky. He landed on a nearby roof.
Leaping from building to building, he headed straight for the river. I may not clear the Twinstone in a single leap, but I can skid across and use momentum to make it. I don’t have time to wait for a barge. He bounded over a five-story apartment and landed on a two-story building. Ardwin hopped off the roof and into a large plaza. Empty trade stalls filled the square. He darted across. A thud and a thump echoed in the empty square. He knew that sound. Ardwin fell face-first on the ground and immediately rolled behind a nearby stall. His left leg throbbed with pain. A bolt protruded from either side of his thigh. How did they see me? Do they have more elves?
Footsteps approached.
“Are you well, old friend?” Murph called from the darkness. “I’m sorry it had to end this way!” His voice grew louder. “Reveal yourself. It’s over.”
Ardwin remained invisible under the trade stall. Warm blood drained from the bolt embedded in his leg. Tracking me will be easy, even without his elves. Ardwin forced himself to stand up. He drew his dagger into his left hand. I must fight!
Ardwin crawled out of his hiding spot. Murph stood, pointing in his direction. “I see your blood! Come to me, brothers and sisters! Our prey is weak!” Thin shadows bounded down from rooftops and spirited out of nearby alleys. He counted twelve in total. Each of them wore black trousers and black shirts covering the entirety of their long limbs. Each shadow towered above Murph. They moved to encircle Ardwin. “Kill him!”
Ardwin spun around while simultaneously jabbing his left thumb with the pointed hilt of his dagger. A bolt of lightning shot forth from his dagger and struck the elf before him. The elf’s body tumbled stiffly through the air, leaving a trail of black smoke. His magical cloak kicked up a whirlwind that swept the graceful assassins off their feet and sent them flying across the plaza in every direction. Trade stalls toppled, colorful canvases tore free, sailing away into the night. A crossbow bolt passed beside his head. Two more clanked against the building behind him. Ardwin tried to leap into the air, but the pain in his leg stole his momentum. Instead, he jumped a few feet forward and rolled across the ground. Ardwin made a second leap of faith. This time, he flapped his cloak and stirred enough wind to send him soaring towards the rooftops. He turned and aimed his dagger at an elf sprinting across the plaza. He offered his blood to the blade and lit the night with lightning. The elf fell dead, body rigid, black clothes smoldering. Ardwin landed on a roof and crouched low just as four bolts passed over him. Why aren’t they using their magic?
Ardwin ran across the spine of the roof.
Three thuds announced three assassins behind.
Ardwin jumped, flapping his cloak with one hand and holding his dagger in the other as he spun. He spotted gleaming steel in the hand of a pursuer and aimed his next attack against it. Silver lightning flashed, streaking through the air, striking the elf’s knife and arcing to any metal worn by the other two. All three fell, sundered by electricity. Ardwin cleared a small street and landed on the spine of another rooftop. His cloak carried him swiftly, but his leg was quickly losing strength. Ardwin wiggled the retaliating rapier in its sheath, loosening its seat. His foot slipped on a tile, but he regained his balance. Ardwin spotted a black blur out of the corner of his eye.
They attacked from all sides.
“On guard!” Ardwin yelled. The pearl-speckled rapier sprang to life, whacking and slicing at the assassins. Ardwin switched his dagger to his left hand and drew Ninathril, hacking a long leg. The elf attached to it cried out in pain, then rolled down the slanted roof, disappearing over its edge. Ardwin turned on an elf wielding two silverlite daggers. He brought his sword down, but the elf slipped to the left. The assassin stabbed at Ardwin’s ribs, but the Retaliating Rapier appeared in time to parry the blow. Ardwin didn’t need to jab his thumb. Instead, he simply flicked it across the surface of Animiki’s pommel and felt it surge with energy. A blast of lightning seared the assassin and temporarily blinded Ardwin. Steel sang its battle song, but everything was too blurry to make sense.
His vision returned slowly. He tried to run, but slipped and rolled down a slanted roof instead. He tried to catch the ledge, dropping Ninathril, but his body didn’t move when he commanded. Thankfully, his cloak caught in the wind and broke his fall. Ardwin twirled in the air and landed gently.
His rapier continued fighting above, so Ardwin picked up Ninathril and stumbled down the dark alley. Footsteps approached from behind.
The assassin bounced between the alley’s walls, kicking off one then the other. He flipped backward in mid-air. Three glints of metal shot toward Ardwin, who raised Ninathril to shield himself. A sharp little knife embedded itself above his collarbone. The others bounced off his sword. He let Animiki claim another immortal with its lighting. Ardwin limped through the dark alley, leaning against a building. Another assassin jumped from the rooftop to his left. They sprinted down the alley, charging straight at Ardwin. Ardwin pointed his dagger at the assassin. He was too late.
The Retaliating Rapier dove point first from the sky, skewering the elf. Ardwin left the alley, stumbling onto a wide street.
Three shadows fell from a rooftop across the street. Ardwin spun, summoning every ounce of strength his body could muster. The winds swirled around and around. Window shutters ripped from their hinges. Street lamps clung to their poles, chains dangling sideways, lights snuffed out. The whirlwind swept the assassins off their feet, screaming as they tumbled end over end down the cobblestones, slamming into buildings.
Two more shadows leaped onto the street, joining Ardwin, who scanned the rooftops.
The Retaliating Rapier bolted toward the assassins. Steel rang against steel. Ardwin aimed his dagger at the magical rapier and released a bolt of lightning, which forked, zapping the elves. Both fell.
Ardwin heard the clank of a crossbow mechanism falling into place. He flapped his cloak and shot across the street, passing into a new alleyway. Ardwin kicked off the building to his left with his good leg. He flapped his cloak once more and shot up into the sky. Above the rooftops, he spun, releasing a gale, sweeping the crossbowman out of his nest. Ardwin landed on the rooftop. He cradled a light head in his hands. Elves cried out to one another, coordinating in their native tongue. They’re regrouping! Ardwin stood, gathering his wits and his wind, huffing for air. His limbs trembled. His head swam. My body’s too weak.
Ardwin ran for the docks. A strong breeze carried him over a wide street, cutting between the apartments and warehouses. He leaped from roof to roof, frantically flapping his magical cloak.
He spotted the Fisher’s House and found the main road winding toward the docks. The Twinstone River ran swift and true year-round. Its rushing current grew louder and louder. Where’s my rapier? Ardwin looked over his shoulder and saw pristine white pearls gleaming in the moonlight. It must have come back on its own. I didn’t even notice. He didn’t notice two guardsmen standing at the end of the docks, either. Invisibility allowed Ardwin to leap over them unseen, but his crash landing stirred as a pile of buckets splashed into the river. The men looked around wide-eyed, searching for a specter, cursing the full moon and its witchcraft. Ardwin ran along the dockside until he found an empty pier. He ran to its end, then collapsed onto his knees, staring across the waters. I don’t have the strength to cross on my own. He shook his head. I’m at my wit’s end. Is this it? The end?
If there’s even a chance…
“Padair?” Ardwin croaked through dry lips. “My friend? I need you. Where are you?”
“Gus?” the Satyr materialized to his left. “What happened?” Two tiny hands fell on his shoulder. Ardwin crumbled under their weight, falling sideways, lying limp against the river-soaked boards. Darkness crept over the peripherals of his vision. “Gus, you’re bleeding!”
The world went black.
Ardwin awoke to chirping birds, croaking frogs, and rustling reeds caught in a swift current. Sunbeams split upon the thin branches of a tall willow. A cold breeze passed through his blanket with ease. Dry, brown leaves softened the ground where he lay, crunching beneath him as he stirred. He rolled his head, taking in the scene. Tall reeds and thick-bladed grass surrounded. Padair sat on the curve of a fat root upon which Ardwin’s aching head rested. “Where are we?”
“South of Ottoburg,” Padair said. “I rolled you into the water and swam as far as possible, but they sent boats downstream. I had to hide. This willow has a few burrows and enough marshland to slow them. We need to move, though, my friend. I heard dogs barking earlier. They’re closing in. What did you do?”
“Look at me.” Ardwin covered his face with his hands. “I can barely walk. How am I supposed to outrun them?”
“Gus?”
Ardwin groaned. “I made it this far just to fail?”
“Gus?”
“What?” Ardwin stopped his rambling and glared at Padair.
“The only reason you’re not dead is because of our bond,” Padair said. “The least you can do is tell me why I had to save you—again. It sounds like a good story.”
Keya’s words resounded in Ardwin’s mind: “Most form a bond with an entity and borrow its power.”
“I guess I’m not important enough to know,” Padair continued. “I’m not one of your human friends, am I?” He laughed. “Bah-ah-ah. Nope, I’m just a stupid animal. You don’t mind asking me for help, though. No, anytime you’re in trouble, you can call me. You saved me once, Gus. We’re even.” The goat man stood up and dusted off his furry knees. “I filled your flask with water, by the way. You’re welcome.”
“Stop,” Ardwin extended his hand toward Padair, palm forward and fingers splayed. “Thank you. I’ll explain everything when I feel strong enough.” He closed his eyes. “What did you say about this bond we share?”
“Nothing.” Padair waved his hand.
“It’s important,” Ardwin begged. “I just want to understand.”
“Humans, elves, and dwarves are more alike than different,” Padair said. “I would explain in greater detail, but all that swimming has left me rather tired, and I am being hunted for some inexplicable reason. I should maintain my silence and regain strength for the trials ahead.” Padair crossed his arms and released a huff of air. “I don’t know why I subject myself to this treatment. You humans and your egos.”
Ardwin rolled over onto his side. Are all bonds so tenuous? He thought of Murph. What holds our world together?