Before the monotone soldier could speak again, Aurnia shoved her hand forward, willing her soul down through her arm and into the tiny yellow gemstone. She could feel its reserves of solidified power, feel the bonds shattering beneath the force of her will, feel the rush of energy growing around her in the split second before her intent manifested physically before her as a violent burst of cutting wind.

The small band of surprised soldiers careened up and backwards, losing their weapons as they slammed against the wall of a nearby warehouse. She knew the blow wasn't enough to kill them, but neither would any be eager to regain their feet.

Behind her, Captain Williams mixed orders with obscenities in his rush to prepare the three-mast Misanthrope to break port. By the tone of his voice and the frantic sounds of people dashing about, she had no doubt the man would be ready in record time. She only hoped she could withstand the constabulary's assault long enough to retrieve her two companions.

She looked back to where she'd left Nevin and grimaced. Bad luck. The boy was in a dead sprint down a nearby alleyway, a team of soldiers hot on his heels.

More soldiers swarmed the plaza like flies over rotting meat, but she still had a few seconds before they were close enough to cause her problems. Calming her turbulent mind, she clapped her hands together at her breastbone with the orlicite between her palms, then shoved them forward and spread her fingers.

Across the plaza, halfway down the alleyway between the boy and his pursuers, a shimmering ball of air coalesced, swirling tightly around a gleaming yellow core of barely visible light.

The band of soldiers didn't even have the time to balk at its appearance before the entire mass erupted. The narrow alley amplified their cries of pain and surprise as the wind knocked them prone. Three of the men slid across the cobbles toward the alley's entrance, while the fourth somehow managed to wedge his blade between the stones to hold his ground.

Breathing heavily, Aurnia nodded to herself and prepared for the soldiers rushing her from every angle. Now the boy might have a chance.

************

Bits of wood and debris peppered his back as a frighteningly powerful blast of wind erupted behind him, but Nevin ignored it in his rush. Ahead of him, the alley split left and right in a t-shaped intersection.

Equal and opposite. Gotta get lucky some time.

Setting his jaw, he took the left-most path, only to skid to an immediate stop.

A gaunt shadow emerged out of the cracked cobbles, a pale hand reaching out to offer help, an unrecognizable dark liquid coating its finger-tips.

Trust in me, Nevin. Give in and survive.

Nevin lost traction on the stone and landed hard on his hip. The blow radiated pain up his right side. He wasted little time though, scrambling back to his feet and sprinting down the alternate path and hopefully out into freedom and safety.

Unfortunately, the second alley was only about thirty feet deep, ending in a pair of metal reinforced doors secured with a rusted iron chain and lock. Swollen barrels and chipped crates lined the stucco walls on either side, covered with layers of cream-colored bird droppings from years of neglect. With a grunt of frustration, Nevin shoved the doors with both hands. The chain rattled noisily but held fast.

“Guard the entrance,” called Vincht from somewhere at the far end of the alley. “Let no one in or out but me.”

Panting from the effort, Nevin looked back over his shoulder. The gaunt figure had vanished once again, but he could feel it - feel him - somewhere nearby. Waiting for its moment.

What was this thing? He had nearly accepted its offer on the fallen tree just days before, but for some reason, its presence still terrified him. The more rational part of him wanted nothing to do with the being only he could seem to see and hear, but another part of him - the part of him responsible for fear, for uncertainty, for despair, for hopelessness - that buried fragment of his psyche longed to reach out and grab hold of that pale hand, consequences be damned.

He shook his head. No time for thoughts like that now.

He looked up, scanning the soaring walls for a ladder, a window, anything that would allow him to climb up and out of this dead end, but even if he stacked the crates and barrels one atop the other, they wouldn't come close to reaching the roof line, and that was assuming they could hold his and their combined weight without crumbling to bits.

“This is ridiculous, Nevin,” yelled Vincht from nearby, but still around the corner. He almost sounded bored. “You don't think I've memorized every inch of this port? You don't think I know exactly where each one of these streets and alleys lead? You don't think I've planned for every possible contingency, every possible route you could take to get away from me?”

He grabbed the rusted chain and pulled. Flakes of red rust shook free, and the doors cracked open slightly. He cursed under his breath. There was no way he could squeeze through that gap. He'd have to remove the chain first, but despite its superficial appearance, he doubted he had the means to sunder it.

Nevin slung the woolen bundle off his shoulder and hurriedly unwrapped the Sharasil, allowing the blanket to collapse in a heap at his feet. He gripped the coarse stone handle with both hands, set his feet, and took a deep breath.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

With one fluid motion, he brought the Sharasil crashing down on the iron lock with all his might.

Nothing. Not even a spark for his efforts. The chain itself barely even rattled.

He should have known better. The weapon weighed practically nothing, and without a cutting edge, he had little hope of it doing any sort of appreciable damage.

“It's a sword,” he whispered down to the useless cylinder of metal. He twisted his hands along the grip and closed his eyes. “She said it's a sword. Somewhere, hiding beneath all of this is a sword. I just have to call it out.”

The man in black's voice filled his mind. “You wanted to kill that soldier, didn't you?”

He nodded. “He was gonna hurt Aidux. I did. I wanted him dead.”

It was the first time he had admitted it. Even in his own mind he'd denied wanting to cause that soldier harm. He had lied to Theis, but more importantly, he had lied to himself. Owning up to his darker urges scared him, but it also left him with a feeling he hadn't experienced for quite some time.

A feeling of control.

Theis continued. “And the Sharasil reacted.”

Could it be that simple? He squeezed his eyes closed until little white stars danced in the blackness behind his eyelids. I want to kill. I have to!

The weapon shook in his hands, not from some internal magical process, but by the sheer force of his grip on the handle. Grimacing, Nevin's head slumped forward and the tip of the weapon relaxed to the cobbles.

With a painful swallow, Nevin realized he was on his own, fighting with a bladeless sword, in an alley with but one way out.

************

Aurnia threw her arm out once again, and once again a pair of surprised spearmen went flying, but she was beginning to feel the strain. The warmth of her soul was starting to burn, and not just from the effort of casting such involved and draining magic.

The yellow gemstone wasn't shaped properly for this. For sustained spells, the cut was perfect, but forcing these bursts of energy through the cube-cut orlicite was akin to trying to shove an entire lake through a single channel dam. Each time she cast her soul through it she could feel its internal defect cracking further. At this rate, she wouldn't have much left to get them across the Calorthian Void, and the soldiers were still coming.

Her soul suddenly screamed in warning.

Soldiers were about to be the least of her worries.

Down the plaza, a metal reinforced door set into the side of a tall warehouse shuddered as some unseen bulk hammered into it from the inside. Soldiers all around flinched at the impact, looking at each other uncertainly and tightening their grips on their spears.

A second hit tore the door from its hinges, sending it cartwheeling across the plaza with the terrible scream of ripping metal. The jagged projectile barreled end-over-end through the nearest group of soldiers, cutting two down with a spray of blood and too-short cries of anguish.

A nude mass of pallid flesh and unimaginably corded muscle leapt into the sunlight, loping forward on bone-bare knuckles and gulping lungfuls of briny ocean air. At some point in its forgotten past, the creature was a human man, but maturity and some unknown magical process had engorged its muscles and enlarged its frame to absurd proportions. Had it been able to stand upright, it might have cleared ten feet in height, but its overdeveloped musculature bent its upper body into an awkward hunch. The skin of its face was pulled tight over its skull, and a fan of wiry black hair jutted out in every direction from the top of its head.

That's a Breather.

Aurnia backpedaled, but quickly realized she couldn't outrun the creature, not on her best day. While its arrival wasn't entirely unexpected, its abrupt appearance unbalanced her.

Like a snake before a big meal, the creature's jaw was unhinged and hanging, nearly grazing its swollen chest muscles. Over a foot of slimy, pinkish tongue snaked out of its horrifically slack mouth to taste the air before being sucked back inside the toothless hole. Its labored breathing ceased and it jerked its head in Aurnia's direction, staring at her with through wide, bloodshot eyes.

And then, holding its breath, the Breather charged headlong across the plaza.

Caught by surprise, an unprepared group of five soldiers tried to get out of its way, but the beast charged right through their midst. The impact struck them like a runaway wagon, sending four of them tumbling end-over-end. The fifth wasn't so lucky. The Breather took hold of the middle-aged spearman by wrapping an over-sized hand around the man's thigh and hoisting him above its head.

The man's skull split like an overripe melon when the creature slammed the unfortunate soldier's body to the stone floor, all without the beast breaking stride.

Aurnia quickly looked around. The Misanthrope was the closest shelter, but she knew that even a bevy of strapping sailors would no match for a Breather that's caught a scent. That thing could literally tear a hole through the wall of a boat with its bare hands. Luckily, the rest of the soldiers had slowed their advance, not particularly eager to be nearby when the Breather reached its mark.

She extended the fingers of the hand holding the orlicite into a blade and took a hard step in the direction of the charging creature, slashing her hand diagonally through the air while she focused her intent. Stone exploded from the cobbles in a thin razor-sharp line ahead of her. The line raced forward toward the Breather, peppering the air with shards of grayish rock dust.

The Breather wailed in agony as the invisible blade of air collided with its midsection. It stumbled forward, limbs flailing in the air.

A slow smile spread across Aurnia's lips.

Soldiers froze in place, even backed away, wary to face off against a magic user that could stand up to their province's answer to magic users.

But the beast would not be put down so easily.

When it couldn't regain its balance, it rolled along its back and came to its feet. A neat line of blood revealed a thin gouge in its flesh from thigh to shoulder, but the damage was minuscule compared to what the cutting wind had done to the stone. The Breather slowed to a stop, allowing the dust to settle before sucking in another lungful of air and extending its worm-like tongue once more to taste the air.

Aurnia's smile vanished.

The tongue retreated back into its home with a wet schlurp, and the Breather galloped toward her once more.