Alden woke to a ghost staring at him.

She hovered inches from his face, her body horizontal above his where he lay on the bed. His hot breath plumed through her flesh and out her back.

The hunter’s skin erupted in gooseflesh as he blinked himself awake, yet the hovering specter remained. The young woman’s mismatched blue and green eyes bored into his half-lidded hazel gaze. Her lips parted. His groggy brain wondered what such a beauty could have to say to him so early in the morning.

Then she screamed. The high-pitched shriek tore from the ghostly woman’s gaping mouth and her eyes bulged in fury.

Alden screamed in reply. Every muscle tensed at once. He threw himself sideways out of his sleeping furs but remembered too late he’d been sleeping in an unfamiliar elevated bed. His butt hit the hard pinewood floor with a loud thump and a painful jolt.

Laughter rang through the room like the tinkling of bells. The ghost, a pale-skinned brunette with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, laughed into her white-gloved hands. She righted herself in the air and drifted toward the floor until her small, white-booted feet appeared to be touching the pinewood slats. Her elaborate white dress with embroidered blue flowers rustled as she settled.

Alden sat on his rump on the wood floor, casting a baleful glare at the laughing ghost. He raked a hand through his black hair which stood up spiky clumps. He wore only a pair of rough hide pants and a leather necklace of carved bone charms. “Mira, you brat. You scared me out of my wits.”

The ghost covered her mouth with one gloved hand and batted her long lashes. “Oh, did I? I didn’t realize.”

The hunter narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling arguing with you will get me nowhere? It would be easier to reason with a wyvern.” He crawled to his feet and snatched up his golden wool sweater and pulled it over his head. Cheap pine chair legs scraped on the pinewood floor as Alden flopped into the only seat in the room to yank on his hide boots.

“You know,” Mira sighed, “you wouldn’t have to wake up like this every morning if you just discarded the sword. What is this, the third time?”

Alden grunted as he pulled on his second boot. “I wouldn’t have to wake up like this is you weren’t so stubborn.”

“Well, I am. I’ll be as stubborn as necessary. I have all the time in the world to make you give up. You can’t keep me, Alden.”

Alden sighed. “Mira, why do you insist on being this way? I want us to work together.”

Mira’s smirk fell from her face. She clasped her white-gloved hands together in front of her waist. “Every owner of the ghostblade has made the same request, Alden. In my earliest winters I agreed to help young hunters on whatever foolish quest they claimed was so important. They believed my sword made them special or invincible. And one by one I watched them all die grisly deaths. I’m tired of watching that happen. That’s why I’m not going to give up. I want you cast me aside or bury me somewhere where I can be forgotten.”

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Warm air blew through the hide covering the window. Alden closed his eyes and inhaled the alien smells of a large city. Pine, body odor, cooking spices, damp wood, urine, and sawdust. Outside, a continuous drone of voices mingled with an occasional shout or cry. Somewhere, a woman was singing in a language Alden didn’t recognize.

Alden spoke without opening his eyes. “How long have you been trapped in the ghostblade, Mira?”

She didn’t answer.

When the silence dragged on, Alden opened his eyes. Mira stared at him. Tears glistened in the ghost woman’s mismatched blue and green eyes.

“Long enough to know that all young men seek glory, and most find death instead. I won’t be part of that cycle anymore.”

“I don’t want glory, Mira. I want to save my village from corruption and darkness.”

Mira cocked her head. “So you say. And you want to achieve this by winning fame in a tournament and being declared the best hunter in the nation. You would risk your crew’s lives on me, a powerful sword, because I give you an edge in the competition.”

A growl escaped Alden’s throat. “Winning the tournament is the only way our claims will be taken seriously. We’ve been turned down by every tribe we’ve approached. No one wants to believe the Scourge is back.”

Mira gave him a pitying look. “Alden, you don’t recognize the difference between helping others and furthering your own ambition. If you force the issue, you’ll die in front of the audience you seek to impress. If you’re determined to die, then I’ll make sure the people of Veruscia believe this sword is so cursed they’ll destroy it or bury it for all time. I won’t be used for glorious suicide ever again.”

Alden’s hide boots thumped on the wooden floor as he walked to the corner and snatched up the sword in question. Forged from a gleaming silver alloy, the six-foot greatsword was the only metal weapon Alden had ever seen. Two twining roses stretching straight out to either side of the blade formed the crossguard. The blade rested in a red leather sheath. More red suede leather wrapped a long hilt capped with a beautiful uncut purple gem the size of Alden’s fist.

With a hiss of metal, Alden drew the ghostblade halfway from its sheath. The polished blade was eight inches wide and sharpened on both sides. Etched runes lined the center of the blade. The arcane markings shimmered with aquamarine light. Alden didn’t know what the runes said, but he could feel power emanating from the etchings.

Aquamarine light reflected in Alden’s hazel eyes as he stared at the blade in wonder.

“You’re going to die, Alden,” Mira said from behind him. She didn’t sound bitter, just resigned. “Your ambition will kill you. The question is whether or not it kills your friends, too.”

Alden slammed the sword back into its sheath. “You’re wrong, Mira. I’m going to save everyone.” The hunter turned on his heel and looked the ghost in the eye. “I’m even going to save you.”

Her two mismatched eyes widened in surprise before she schooled her expression back to neutral. The ghostly young woman disappeared from sight without another word.

Alden set the heavy sword back in its corner with a thump. He strapped on his leather belt with his long knife of metal-laced monster bone, checked his pouch of shell money, and left the inn room, clicking the door latch shut behind him.