Bloodstained Blade-Chapter 47 - A New Threat

The mage made no move against that night, though it was fairly certain that she did not go back to sleep, even if she closed her eyes and lay still. What did she see? The Ebon Blade wondered, cursing itself for focusing too much on the wielder instead of the woman.

In the morning, the problem became clear when she returned the conversation once more to the blade, despite Ivarr’s efforts to talk about literally anything else. “It’s dangerous,” she insisted at one point after he asked why she wouldn’t drop it.

“You’ve said that before, but you haven’t said how exactly,” its wielder insisted. “I’ve told you. It hasn’t made me evil or bloodthirsty. It hasn’t—”

“Yet,” she insisted. “It hasn’t done any of those things yet, but it might. There’s a power there I don’t fully understand, but it is vast and more than any hexblade should contain. It's more than any soul should be able to contain!”

She spent several minutes explaining the surge of power that she’d seen flow through it last night, and when she was done, its wielder sat there silently absorbing the information. The Ebon Blade could feel fear well up amidst the confusion that had already been there. Doubts were beginning to blossom.

Do you know what she’s talking about? He finally asked the blade in silence. I know there’s a strength in you. I can feel it when you heal me, but—

The mirror’s magics interacted with mine when we destroyed it, the blade answered swiftly. That increased my power, but not in a way that I would have considered out of the ordinary. The same thing happened with Elom’s hexblade. When he made contact with me, those magics mingled as well.

The former, while not quite a lie, certainly wasn’t the whole truth, but the blade didn’t feel it owed anyone, even its wielder, the whole truth in this situation. The young man was as on edge as he’d ever been, and the whole truth would certainly exacerbate that. I devoured the souls of your friend and a few of the tortured seeress to unlock the path of blood so that my violence can increase further.

Such an answer would get it buried ignominiously until the end of time, which was why it had added the final comment. While Ivarr had moved on from the guilt of Dero’s death, and it no longer afflicted him on a daily basis, the mention of the dead man’s name was enough to make Ivarr recoil in horror.

The message was unspoken but obvious. I may or may not be evil, but you are a killer.

“I… I’m not worried,” its wielder said finely. “I sense no darkness in it, only strength.”

The two of them fought about it a little while longer, but eventually, all they agreed was that the mage could study it after they’d buried the dead and returned the mirror shard to her tower so that others could study them.

“What about the tomb, though?” Ivarr asked after they’d packed up camp. “Are we just going to leave it like this? If someone goes in there, who knows what they’ll awaken in that sarcophagus.”

“That, at least, is a valid point,” the mage agreed. The two of them went back inside, and she spent several minutes casting a glamor across the whole back wall after they’d closed and sealed the door as best they could.

It was interesting to watch the way the magic coalesced together as she chanted. For several minutes, it was only the faint outline of an illusion. It was the mere suggestion of a cave wall, and then suddenly, it all snapped into place. One second, it was ethereal outlines with motes of light drifting between them like fireflies, and the next, it was a dirty stone wall, and there was no sign that the tomb had ever existed. “It won’t last for very long, but it will give us the time we need to come back better prepared,” she explained.

Ivarr was concerned about what exactly a short time meant and how much they would have to hurry, but as it turned out, the mage’s answer surprised them both. “It will be at least a year before it begins to fade. Perhaps two, if it is undisturbed, and perhaps only a season if the goblins re-infest the place.”

Elves have a unique view of time, the blade whispered to its master in a moment of dark humor. Ivarr said nothing, but he didn’t need to. The blade just needed to remind the young man whenever possible that Altharia was not a beautiful young maiden. She was an ageless, conniving mage.

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Still, after that exchange, there was nothing keeping them, and the two remaining members of their group, along with their heavy burden, started across the valley. Normally, it wouldn’t be difficult to reach the ridge on the far side in one day and then hike back down to Kalraka in two. As it was, though, that destination was at least a week away, and they were forced to camp one more night in the woods.

The blade spent the whole day hoping that they would run into a large gang of orcs. Letting her die by delaying or distracting Ivarr would be the easiest way to solve this problem. It didn’t need to keep her alive to gain her knowledge. It could simply steal her soul and then ask the right question. It would gain far more from her than it had from the other members of her little group.

Sadly, the world didn’t cooperate, and it was forced to settle for pouring poison into its wielder’s ear while he slept. She’s not to be trusted. She’s only using her to further her own aims. You could never understand someone who will live for a thousand years.

Whether the words found their mark, it couldn’t say, but in the morning, there seemed to be a growing distance between the two of them. There had been no further fornication the night before, and if its efforts paid off, hopefully, there wouldn’t be any further going forward. The weapon knew just how easily its current wielder could be led around by such things. Though not as bad as Gar-lok, Ivarr was easy enough for him to become distracted by beautiful women.

No ambushes struck them down that night, and the two of them ate warm fry bread in uneasy silence as the mage tried to find an excuse to bring up the blade again, and its wielder tried to talk about anything but. Still, despite that quiet morning, that was where their luck finally ran out.

The blade has spent the meager meal hoping that its smell would attract some sort of wildlife. As they doused the embers of the fire and started to pack up, it was finally rewarded with the sound of orcs approaching from the deeper woods to the north. It alerted Ivarr immediately, but only because the weapon wanted its wielder to trust him as much as the air he breathed.

I will always be there for you, it whispered silently. I and no one else.

“They’re coming!” Ivarr shouted, drawing his sword.

“Who is? How do you know that?” The mage had just enough time to doubt Ivarr before half a dozen orcs burst through the foliage like a wall of flesh.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

The blade thought that was perfect. Ivarr might survive, but that was too many to be able to protect himself and the elf. It reached out with its aura of hunger to start to nibble at all of them as four of the monsters surrounded its wielder, and two more charged past to do something terrible to the blonde mage. The blade would have salivated in that moment if it had a mouth to do so. As much as it wanted to be the one to kill her, it wanted her dead even more, and she definitely didn’t have enough time to cast a spell.

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Unfortunately, she appeared to have another trick, literally, up her sleeve. Even as the hulking green skins charged toward her, she took a glass sphere that seemed to be full of blue fireflies from some inner pocket and smashed it on the ground between her and the monsters bent on ripping her to pieces.

“Altharia!” Ivarr called out, “Hang on, I’m coming for you!” but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even take his eyes off of his current enemies. Not the way his dark blade was flashing to parry and block the blows of opponents.

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Even the first blow that its wielder struck, as a desperate parry, became a wide, one-handed cross-body slash barely registered to the blade. It didn’t even feel the muscle and viscera part beneath its tip. It was too busy watching the mage and her desperate defense or attack; at this point, it wasn’t quite sure what the light show was supposed to be.

The Ebon Blade expected whatever it was to kill them immediately, but it was surprised when the cloud of buzzing light flew to her and began orbiting her like shooting stars. It was a beautiful sight, but beauty wasn’t very good armor, and no matter how glittering her strange armor seemed to be, it was fairly sure it would shatter in a single blow on an orc’s large stone axe.

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When the first one lashed out at her with a club, she didn’t even try to dodge it. Instead, she raised her hands and began to dance. The lights danced with her, and all of them swarmed to that single spot, solidifying from two dozen points of light to a sort of cloud. The club swung with an audible woosh, but there was no sound when it slowed to a stop on the cushion of flickering lights. A few were extinguished, but not all of them.

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She has bought herself a few seconds, it told itself, as both its wielder and the mage fought for their lives, but no more than that.