Unfinished, page 5
“We tried to copy anything that dealt with power that we could so that we could learn and understand the magic in the world. We didn’t have the benefit of the Society that those who were called away from our land were offered.”
And that should have been something they did have, as the Society had made it seem as if they drew away those with potential to teach so that they could return—only none ever did.
“All we wanted was to understand our power.”
“I understand,” Imogen said.
“Are you angry?”
Imogen frowned at her. “Why would I be angry? I wouldn’t want you to limit your access to skill. I want you to know what you can do, and be able to master anything that you need, especially as it might help us moving forward.”
Eleanor laughed softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, reminding Imogen of the whisper of wind that sounded like Benji’s voice in the back of her mind.
“Our land is going to be so different,” Eleanor said.
“I know that we have little choice but to have it be different,” Imogen said.
They continued creeping down the mountainside, and Imogen looked on either side of them, searching for the other Leier. Jorend was not too far from her, but he was near enough that he could command some of the others. He moved quietly and carefully, flowing with sacred patterns, primarily Petals on the Wind, as Imogen had taught the others to flow down the mountainside using that pattern.
But they had been attacked from the air. And it had been a magical attack.
They crept a little farther. Nearby, someone slipped. She heard a soft grunt, and then they fell silent.
She whispered to Jorend. “Check on him.”
“I will—”
He broke off and spun, and she heard a whistling.
His blade cut something.
Imogen jumped, shooting up on Lightning Strikes in the Storm, using that to carry her into the air, and from there, she shifted to Petals on the Wind. The combination carried her up into the air and allowed her to spin slowly in place so that she could look all around her. She wasn’t sure what was here, but Jorend had seen something. He had felt something.
There was movement. It was magic. She could feel it.
Energy exploded, and Imogen was ready, turning, and when she landed, she came into the middle of what seemed like a nightmare.
It was like the rocks were alive, but they had faces, teeth, arms.
And there were other things here as well. Long swords that seemed to be walking, staffs that seemed to be turning toward them, and even dark blobs that were like shadows that had congealed.
What sort of horror had they entered?
“Defense!”
It was the only chance she had.
She focused on Tree Stands in the Forest.
She anchored for just a moment, pushing down and pushing branches out from her, and they spread, sweeping out and on either side of her. And as they did, she felt that pressure pushing away from her, she felt the attack squeezing outward. In that moment, Imogen used everything that she could to counter it.
And then she darted forward. She swept her blade in Lightning Strikes in the Storm, curving it and trying to cleave through the rock.
Creatures fell before her, shattering. She felt the magic explode, the energy of it corrupted, and then she darted forward. Another Lightning Strikes in the Storm, but this one carrying her. She spun, Petals on the Wind, and then anchored for a moment, Tree Stands in the Forest.
The combination of patterns gave her enough space that she could reestablish herself. She tried to think about the various possibilities out there. She hadn’t focused on what she might find. She tried to look for the danger, searching as she focused on the various possibilities that Benji might have shown her.
“Turn, First,” a whisper of wind said in the back of her mind.
She spun, not even questioning why Benji would still be speaking to her, but when she did, she felt the strange blob of energy that was there. It was like the shadows had solidified. Imogen focused for only the briefest moment, and it opened up the possibilities to her. She saw all the possibilities, but only one would work in an attack.
She shifted, driving her blade down into the ground, Lightning Strikes in the Storm through the stone, and then brought it around in a strange swirling movement that was a combination of Petals on the Wind and Snow in the Wind, the new pattern that she had seen. It combined the two energies, the two sacred patterns, and the creature dissipated, a shriek coming from it.
That was not an enchantment. Some seemed like they were as far as Imogen could tell, but the shadowy forms were not.
She darted forward, and she reached the next one. The same attack, and the same result. She dispersed one after another, knowing that she was the only one here who would be able to do it. The other people with her were skilled fighters, and they had all trained with her and had all come to master the sacred patterns, but so few of them had learned enough about how to combine them, and none of them knew the Snow in the Wind technique like Imogen now did. None of them could use that skill like she could.
She jumped again, Lightning Strikes in the Storm carrying her up, Petals on the Wind holding her aloft, and she floated, looking for another attack.
She saw her Leier fighting. She saw two bodies lying motionless and couldn’t tell if they were Leier or Koral. The Koral shamans had their own protections, but were they going to be enough against something like this?
She came into the densest portion of the fight. She suspected somebody was here commanding these other attackers. As she spun, blade sweeping through stone, through other swords that seemed impossibly alive, and finally reaching the shadow blobs again, she felt the magic exploding.
Possibilities stretched out from her. It was like a whisper in her mind, as if Benji were still there, guiding her, and Imogen decided that she didn’t care if he guided her. If it worked, she would take that power, and she would accept any sort of guidance if he kept her and her people alive.
“It’s about time, First,” Benji muttered in her mind.
“Would you be quiet!” she snapped.
One of the Leier near her, a man named Olint, frowned.
Imogen shook her head, and then she jumped again, Lightning Strikes in the Storm shifting to Petals on the Wind, and then came to land once more, driving her blade down, switching from Lightning Strikes in the Storm into Snow in the Wind. The combination of it caught the shadow blobs, but not fast enough to keep it from dispersing and shooting toward Olint.
“Tree Stands in the Forest!” Imogen shouted.
Olint reacted. He paused, and in that moment, everything pushed back.
Imogen darted toward him, but the shadow blobs started to engulf the Tree Stands in the Forest. Imogen jumped, shooting into the air, and then came to land inside the Tree Stands in the Forest, next to Olint. She drove her blade down, and he remained transfixed, frozen in place, and she spun, sweeping the blade around. It caught the blob, and it dispersed again.
Olint nodded to her. “What is that technique?”
“Lightning Strikes in the Storm mixed with Snow in the Wind,” she said.
“Very good, First,” he said, tipping his head in a bow. He jumped, and he surged forward, Lightning Strikes in the Storm followed by Snow in the Wind.
Imogen smiled to herself.
They really had grown more skilled, and so many of her people had come to understand the sacred patterns in ways that none of her people ever had before. And it was simply a matter of showing them, and from there, he had already begun to master it.
Imogen marveled at the speed with which her people had come to terms with the sacred patterns. Why had they been kept from them before? Why had Master Liu and the other sacred sword masters prevented them from learning them? There had to be an answer to it, she knew, but she wondered if she would even find that answer. Could it be Abigail?
The last time she had seen Abigail, she had offered Imogen and the others a bit of advice, and that had taken her to the sacred temples, where she had come to see Timo’s plan. She had said nothing about masking some additional plan, but then again, this fit with what she knew of Abigail.
Another attack exploded, and Imogen jumped again, and she crashed down to the ground, driving her blade down. Creatures scattered, and she darted through them, carving, spinning, her blade a blur, and then she stopped.
There was no further creature to attack.
She turned, looking around, trying to figure out how many of her people had fallen.
“Report!” she demanded.
Jorend strode forward. He had a gash on one cheek, and blood streamed down, catching in his beard, but there was a hardness to his eyes, and resolve in the way that he set his chin. “We lost three of the Leier,” he said. “One shaman fell.”
“So many,” Imogen said.
“But we faced an army of creatures,” he said. “I think that against those numbers—”
“An army,” Imogen said. “But probably not all they can throw at us. How many do you think we can fight?”
When Jorend didn’t answer, Imogen looked around her. It had been a brief fight. It had been a fight filled with magic, with power, a fight that Imogen once would have embraced, but now that she was leading, and these were her people dying, she did not want to embrace fighting like that. She wanted to protect her people. But she needed more information.
She looked over at Jorend. “Gather them.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to surveil.”
“We could come with you.”
“Not the way I’m going.”
She gathered herself, and she focused, harnessing every ounce of concentration that she could, thinking about everything that she knew about the sacred patterns, and she used Lightning Strikes in the Storm, but she used it to carry her up.
The discovery that she could use this pattern to carry her into the sky had opened up possibilities for her, and now that Imogen knew the key to it, and now that she could carry herself up into the sky the way that she had learned how to, she let it guide her. She shot high into the air, darkness swirling around her, clouds passing by her. And when she was high enough, she shifted into Petals on the Wind.
She couldn’t stay in Lightning Strikes in the Storm, but she could use the combination, and as she floated, Petals on the Wind, swirling through the sky, she looked down upon the ground.
She saw the tattered and battered remains of the creatures that they had fought through. There were hundreds of them. Many of them stone, some of them metal, like those strange swordlike creatures, but she saw no remains of the shadow blobs. She didn’t know if she’d even harmed any of them. Maybe all she had done was chase them away.
And as she looked down upon the ground, she continued to look for other possibilities, other creatures, but she didn’t see anything there, either. She floated, letting Petals on the Wind carry her, and as she stared, focusing on possibilities, she let that knowledge guide her as well.
In the distance, she caught sight of something. It was a dark line along the base of the mountain, and she knew immediately what it was.
She floated closer and was not surprised when an attack blasted toward her.
She was Petals on the Wind, though, and she avoided it, but another attack came, then another. She could feel the magic bursting against her, power that was building, rising in intensity as it continued to slam toward her, and with each attempt to attack, Imogen could not help but react, trying to deflect it and trying to find some way to counter it, but her efforts were not going to be enough. The line extended far into the distance. Creatures, a writhing mass of magical and enchanted creatures. All of them coming toward the Leier homeland.
They had thought that they were facing an army, but that had not been it at all. They had faced the vanguard. Nothing more.
Imogen shifted, letting Petals on the Wind carry her a different way. She had no choice but to do so. It brought her back toward her people, back toward her land, and when she came to land on the ground, she looked over at Jorend.
“What do we do? Push forward?” he asked.
She shook her head. “We have to retreat.”
Chapter Six
INTERLUDE
Imogen crept to the edge of the roof, holding on to it carefully, though she wasn’t able to see very much from her vantage. She didn’t expect to, either, other than the street that spread out down below. From here, she could make out the throng of people working their way along the street. It was late enough that most were coming from taverns, though there were a few that came from the market that ran into the late night, a place where various items of questionable function were bought and sold. Imogen had spent her share of time there, and though she had come to understand that there was a purpose behind such things, that didn’t mean that she had come to like it.
“It’s still not safe for him,” Vortel said, sliding up next to her and looking down.
He was an older man who had been training with Imogen, along with the others, though he had not progressed as rapidly as some of the others. He preferred to watch, though, not minding that he would never push for any real level of skill. Had he been in her homeland, he would never have made it past the level of Third, but he had a dogged determination to him that Imogen respected. More than that, he had continued to train, wanting to learn whatever Imogen was willing to teach. Most here had proven willing learners.
“We have to give him the opportunity to demonstrate whatever skill he might have,” Imogen replied.
He snorted. “He doesn’t have any skill.”
“He has more than you.”
“That doesn’t take much.”
Imogen found herself smiling. She enjoyed his company, mostly because he was very matter-of-fact, and she had come to appreciate that trait. Too many people in this city had proven to have embellished their abilities, their skills, and their intelligence. Most of the time, Imogen didn’t really care, but occasionally it became draining for her.
“Why push him like this?”
“Everybody must have the opportunity to demonstrate their skill,” she said.
“I’m not concerned about that. You have been teaching them. But why push?”
“Do you want the sorcerers to continue to have their way with you?”
That elicited a darkness from Vortel, and he slid forward, pushing his face so that it stuck out over the ledge of the roof. “I don’t know that a sword is going to be the weapon we need against the Society. What we need is our own sorcerers.”
“You don’t fight magic with magic,” Imogen said.
At least, you didn’t if you hoped to win. She knew better. If they were to try something like that, it would be far too dangerous. The Society—at least the sorcerers that Imogen had encountered here—had proven worthy adversaries. She suspected that they were all like that. All skilled in ways that made them dangerous. She had managed to deflect several attacks, but how much longer could they accomplish that? At some point, they had to test what Imogen had been teaching to know if it was enough.
“I’d like a little bit of magic.”
“Then find magic in your blade.”
“That’s not how you describe it. You talk about it as finding precision. Speed. Strength. Isn’t that what you have told us?”
Imogen tipped her head in a polite nod. “At least you’re listening.”
“Of course I’m listening,” he muttered. “All of us want to become like the great Imogen Inaratha. She who is the First of the Blade.”
When she had first described her abilities, and the level of training that she had acquired, they had referred to her as the First of the Blade. At the time, it had felt too much like a stinging insult, reminding her of what Master Liu had said to her. She would only be a First. She would never get a notch on her blade, and she would never be a sacred sword master.
Gradually Imogen had come to see that it was not meant as an insult. They truly did appreciate her skill with the blade, and as far as she’d been able to tell, they all wanted to learn what she could do, and all wanted to model much of that.
“Just keep an eye on what he’s doing,” Imogen said.
Matrin slipped along the street. He was only a few years older than Imogen and had shown a propensity toward understanding the blade in a way that very few had. She had been working with him, along with the others, to the point where he had grown skillful enough that she could almost call him a Second. Not quite, but close. There were others who had been learning at the same pace, and increasingly, Imogen felt there was a possibility that she might mold these people into something else. She had a nagging doubt about it, though. She thought about what Master Liu had asked her to do, the way that he had instructed her to come to this city, to find a dangerous magical weapon, and to deflect it. Was that what she was doing now?
She didn’t need to ask it to know the truth. She was not.
Matrin turned a corner.
And then she felt the surge of power.
It was subtle, but in this city, Imogen had come to feel that power more easily than she had in other places, as if that connection to magic and what it represented was meant to be detected. Either that, or it was simply her proximity to it. Whatever it was, she identified power.
She pushed up, jumped forward, and scrambled along the roofline until she found her way farther than she had been before. She peered down, looking at the ground, and from here, she could see where Matrin was moving. He had been doing so quietly, but quickly enough that she wanted to praise him for his skill and for what he had been doing.
Two others preceded a third, and it was that third in which Imogen detected the influence.
Magic. Sorcery. The enemy of her people.
Matrin unsheathed his blade.
Stood motionless for a moment.
Imogen understood the reason. He was gathering himself as he prepared his attack. What he did now would involve something that he had never done before. Sparring was one thing, but taking on two swordsmen—along with a sorcerer—was something else entirely.
