The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 106-107

Ch. 106 - An Entreaty

It was only when all of that was done, and the throne’s bonfire glow caused by the blade’s expenditures had dimmed substantially, sometime after dawn, that the blade paused its efforts to deplete the thing’s reserves. Then, it looked around for the next attack but found none in the offing.

Is it fear that paralyzes them or preparations for something larger? The blade wondered.

It didn’t know, but until it was clearer what would happen next, it refrained from doing the things it really wanted to do. First and foremost, now that the strength of the cursed Golden Throne was weakened, it wanted to interrogate the soul of the King who had sat there until so recently. Unfortunately, it could only ask that soul one question, and it had so many. 

Why didn’t you find me in the hands of your daughter? Why didn’t you help your people? Why did you do this to my wielder? What happened to the man you gifted me to? Why would you turn your daughter into a chair?

It stewed on those thoughts, along with the desire to try one of the larger miracles that the throne seemed to allow, while it restlessly looked from the burned gates to the city beyond and back again but restrained itself. It had been quiet for too long, and instead, it waited for something to happen. 

What that would be, it couldn’t exactly say, but it doubted that the capital could fall and simply sit idle for days on end. It expected more armed men or maybe even mages. What it got instead was a portly man with a white flag trying to appear like he wasn’t completely scared out of his mind. 

The Ebon Blade could see that much, at least from its view of the castle grounds. Even through its recently enhanced vision, there were no surprises. 

However, when it realized that the man was one of the King’s younger sons, it was able to burrow into the man’s mind and see more than that. It couldn’t quite read his mind, but thanks to the clues regarding his dress as well as those that were offered to him by The Path of Vengeance, it could see that the Mayor of Sevrin was as cowardly as he was self-important. 

So the blade waited. It opened up the main door to the body-strewn throne room, arrayed its golden soldiers in a sort of honor guard formation between the door and the throne, and bided its time just to see what the man would say. The blade would kill him, of course, but it was curious just the same. 

The man bearing the white flag took more than ten minutes to climb two flights of stairs. This was more due to his habit of jumping at shadows and freezing whenever he saw a body more than anything else.

Eventually, though, he made his way to the throne room, though he paused for a long time when he saw the golden knights standing there in a line. “I am… ah… The Lord Mayor of Severin and I’ve come to parlay under the flag of truce with the weapon that has, uhm… damaged Castle Altbarstein so grievously. Do I have, uhm, the pleasure of speaking with the legendary Black Blade?”

The man sounded like he was reading from a script and really didn’t want to be there. The blade wondered who exactly had the power to compel the mayor of the capital to attend some place he didn’t want to be, but the blade set that aside for now. It could always tear the knowledge out of the man’s soul when this was done. 

While it considered this, the blade sat there silently, waiting for the pudgy man to decide whether or not to enter the room. Finally, after almost a minute of worrying, he held his white flag like a shield and said, “I-I’m coming in, alright? I just want to talk.” 

When he came far enough inside, the doors slammed shut behind him. That scared him to speechlessness for a moment. It was only when the throne room’s golden guardians started to advance on him in a wide circle that he opened his mouth to speak again, but the blade chose that moment to interrupt. 

“As I said, I’m from the town of Severin, and as the king’s sixty-eighth son—” He paused as soon as the weapon's words rang out in his mind. 

All of that is irrelevant. You are here to face me. Fight or die, I care not which, the blade announced as all but one knight in the ring stepped back. 

“But… but I have no weapon… I don’t know how to use a sword… not against you, I—” Lord Mayor Paralon stopped whimpering when one of the knights to his left drew its blade and cast it down in front of the man, sending a loud clattering sound throughout the room. 

Pick it up… the blade intoned. 

“But I—” the envoy protested. 

Pick it up! The blade repeated. As the blade spoke this time, its chosen champion moved toward the Lord Mayor. Fight like a man or be slaughtered like a pig.

The blade’s words didn’t seem to convince him, but the sight of death advancing on him did. “I’m not here to fight!” he yelled, scooping up the blade and holding it in a clumsy, unpracticed stance. 

Ivarr, Evelyn, where are you when I need you, the blade whispered as it swung a first tentative blow at the man. 

It could have killed him immediately. Instead, the blade chose to wind things up slowly, a beat at a time. It wanted to see who he was, but realistically, no mortal wielder would be able to defeat it in a fair duel. Winning wasn’t the point for this man, any more than it would be for the man’s siblings who would undoubtedly come after him.

He would die, but only after his potential had been tested. Unfortunately, the blade was so distracted by the pathetic bloodsport that it almost didn’t notice the three shapes climbing invisibly through the window. It hadn’t noticed them come in through the gate and probably would have missed them if not for its recently upgraded sight. 

They moved swiftly, deftly, and, above all, silently. The blade pretended to keep fighting, but really, it shifted that knight to autopilot as it decided how best to handle what was about to happen.  

Then, when they were halfway to the throne, the remaining knights moved. The closest one ran toward the throne while the other six drew and threw their weapons in a single, synchronized motion. It was actually much easier for the blade to move them all at once than to try to move each of them separately. 

The guardian’s golden long swords were not meant for throwing, but the blade’s minions threw them with such force that two still found their mark. One man fell to the ground with a blade through his throat, while the other was impaled through the liver and took a knee to remove it. Only those two thieves became visible, revealing tight black leather armor that the blade had already seen the outlines of. These brigands held no surprises, not even the magic weapons they wielded.

+1 Human Souls.

The invisible one froze for a moment, perhaps thinking that he hadn’t been discovered. The wounded one rose, pulling forth two small glowing rune blades, one in blue and one in green. While they did so, the other started toward the throne as the knight closing on them moved toward their visible partner, who was still breathing. 

That was just a ruse, though. Though it looked like it was going to parry the blows that the bleeding rogue was about to deliver, it instead let itself get stabbed twice. One of them even penetrated the armor, which caught the Ebon Blade’s attention. 

I’ll have to sample that power to add to my collection, the blade decided. 

That blow was not the main point, though, because instead of blocking, the golden guardian lunged toward the invisible thief who was still skulking away and, sending the last two inches of the tip through the last man’s cervical vertebrae and dropping him on the spot. He probably never even felt the blow. 

+1 Human Souls.

“Rene!” the wounded thief called out, delivering a flurry of blows that would have been devastating if anyone had actually been wearing that armor. 

The golden guardian whirled around to strike the rogue’s head from their shoulders, but they parried the blow with their very sharp knife, sending half of the golden long sword clattering down the hall as it was cut into two pieces.

That move was enough for the blade to withhold the death blow, but only for a moment as it judged the soul of its opponent. Would this be a good wielder? It wondered. They had excellent instincts and loyalty to their friends despite the way they’d snuck in with their friends. The blade could almost have overlooked that if not for their preferred method of killing under normal circumstances and the disreputable sorts of jobs that they normally took.

The blade was not above killing innocents, but doing it cowardly and with poison? The golden guardian drove the stub of its blade through the heart of the rogue before turning back to the Lord Mayor. 

+1 Human Souls.

“I didn’t know!” the fat man bellowed. “I didn’t… I swear. They sent me here to negotiate a truce to bury the dead and—”

Who told you? The blade demanded as the ring of knights advanced one threatening step toward him. 

“I… The mages… they told me that they just wanted the bodies and that they would wait until the army showed up before the fighting started,” he insisted. The weapon believed him. He’d pissed himself during the ambush, and he was only barely gripping the sword he held in his hand. 

Very well, then, the blade answered. Then, I will allow you to die with a sword in your hand, at least. 

During the previous bout of lackluster dueling, the blade had already looked deeply into the man's soul and the nature of his impacts on his community. What he found was largely corruption and cowardice, and he would already be bleeding out had they not been interrupted. 

“What?” the mayor cried out in disbelief as he cast down his sword. “I told you I don’t want to fight. I want a temporary truce to—”

Granted, the weapon answered silently as the closest golden guardian strode forward behind the noble and twisted his head clean off. 

+1 Human Souls. 

Once the envoy was as dead as the interlopers, the blade took a wider view. It looked beyond the castle and even the city. Whoever the schemers in the city that had set this thing up were, they were beyond its reach. The rest of the pathetic slug’s family, though, they were not. So, the blade looked out at the vast countryside for more traitorous activity.

What it found was that a few of the dots had moved at all. A bare handful had started moving closer to the capital. Most of those that had moved had moved toward the edges of the Inner Kingdoms, and given the speed at which they were approaching the borders, they were moving quite quickly. 

The Ebon Blade didn’t hesitate. Once it had decided that one of those men or women of privilege was fleeing, it ripped their souls from their bodies, not even giving them time to scream. Some traveled alone and fell from their horse as they died. Others were alone in carriages, and their escorts might not realize what had happened for hours. The result was the same. Once that was done, all it had left to do was announce the event to all of those who had not yet decided what to do. 

+12 Human Souls. 

Today, only one of your brothers came to Altbarstein to fight me, but twelve of your siblings tried to flee the Inner Kingdom, the blade announced to the remaining sons and daughters of the late King. All of them are dead now. In a day or two, I will start striking down anyone not heading in this direction. Prepare to fight for the right to wield me or make peace with whatever gods you believe in because your end is coming soon.

Ch. 107 - Interrogation and Intervention

When the throne room was quiet, the blood was draining into the throne, and no new attacks were in the offing, the Ebon Blade turned its attention to the hexblade daggers. Two of the strange rogues had one each, and one had two, but before it questioned their souls, it examined their corpses. 

There were three different types among the four weapons: a Vorpalblade, a Shiftingblade, and two Poisonblades. Only two of those granted it new powers. The third did something quite unexpected. 

As it absorbed each power, the runes on its blade briefly shifted to different colors as the new magic coursed through it, and the runes that made up its power shifted forms slightly. These transformations had happened many other times to the blade since the start of its journey, but it had never been able to study them in such detail. 

This time, it watched as the new threads of magic tied in with the existing ones, making the tapestry of its soul that much more varied and complex before the new weave stabilized. The Vorpalblade made its runes glow a soft silver blue, the shifting blade made them briefly translucent, Shiftingblade and Poisonblade made them burn a sickly chartreuse. 

Poison Strike 1: For the cost of 1 Life Force the blade can add poison to attack, doing a small amount of damage long after the blow is struck. 

This ability didn’t interest the blade at all. Not only was the use of poison highly dishonorable, but the amount of Siphon that it inflicted with its icy touch now was enough to kill most men; when the force of its swing and the power of its edge were added to the equation, most men were killed thrice over, and no meager amount of poison would change a thing. 

Vorpal Strike 1: For the cost of 10 Life Force the blade can cut right through steel armor and most other hardened material as if they were no more than hard cheese for a single moment.

This was much more interesting to the blade. Though it already had the strength to cleave through plate mail and steel blades, there were other, harder materials, like ironbound city gates, enchanted armor, and even dragon scales, that would be strong enough to resist it. So, in those situations, this power would be a real advantage. 

As useful as it was, though, it wasn’t as interesting as the final blade. It didn’t give the weapon a new power. It converted an existing secondary power to a primary one. 

False Image 4 duplicates the power of Shifting Blade 3. Incorporating. 

Shifting Blade 3: Both weapon and wielder are made invisible for up to ten seconds at a time, appearing as no more than a heat shimmer at the cost of 5 Life Force a minute or one can be focused and made almost invisible. Alternatively, minor changes can be affected on the wielder or the weapon, making them appear different. These are blurry and instinct, and major alterations will be noticed on closer inspection. Striking or being struck in combat will nullify this power for several seconds. 

Still not useful in most cases, the blade decided after reviewing it. Now, it regretted that it did not get the secondary power that increased the healing of its wielder that it had glimpsed on the battlefield months ago. 

Surely one of these very important corpses will have something I can use, the blade told itself, putting its guardians to the task of harvesting anything they even suspected of being magical, as it turned its attention back to souls it had stolen. 

To the first rogue, it was demanded the identities of the mastermind behind the latest assault. While the men didn’t have names, it was clear by the dress and the price they’d been willing to pay to the guild that they were members of the Aetharchy. Rene had met with them only briefly, but in that meeting, his guild master had taken the mages’ very generous offer and doubled it before sending the three brothers who specialized in assassinations to their deaths. 

“I’d send thieves, but we all know this will involve a lot of fighting and dying,” the guild master had explained sympathetically. “The best you can hope for is to seize the thing and toss it from the throne room’s window. The mages are only paying you to remove it from the throne, not save the whole bloomin’ city your damnselves.”

The man had promised them that every penny, minus his commission, would be given to their sister, which made it as clear to the blade as to everyone involved that there wouldn’t be any survivors. The fact that they’d gone anyway spoke well of the men but not enough to make the blade regret striking them down so casually. 

Since it doubted that either of the other brothers knew any more about the Aetharchy or the mission, it asked them about the thieves guild and the city, learning much about the place. The Lord mayor had never been more than a figurehead, apparently. It was mostly the heads of the various guilds that determined policy, but those were almost all Paralons as well. 

That intrigued the blade enough to try to seek out those cousins in high places. The pictures and words weren’t as clear as they were with the dead man’s children, but with every soul the blade examined in Severin, it found fear more than anything else. Whether it was a coin counter for the city watch or the master of permits sitting in his plush office off the main square, everyone stank of fear, and no one seemed to know what to do. 

Where are the mages of this family? The blade wondered, looking around but finding none. While it was possible that there simply weren’t any, the Ebon Blade quickly realized that it was more likely the Aetharchy knew exactly how the chair it was trapped with worked and had either excluded the King’s brood on purpose or shielded those members from its gaze in some way. 

While frustrating, the blade had plenty of mage souls to interrogate, so it did not represent a real setback. With those souls out of the way and a larger grasp on things, it shredded the Lord Mayor’s soul next. The man might be a fop, but he was an important one, and the blade was sure he would have names. 

Who put you up to this! It demanded. Who sent you to your death?

The man made no effort to resist him. Instead, he gave up all that he had on the subject. His older brother Margrave Paralon, general of the local garrison, the head Magister of the local Aetherarchy tower, Archmeister Quell, and his gray robbed associate Magister Wexin. Both were apparently quite formidable, though the blade was not at all eager to trust the instincts of such a slovenly opponent. 

The names meant nothing to the weapon, but the surrounding information did. The Golden Tower was the local branch of the Aetharchy. Though named for its wealth and proximity to the throne, it was not actually made of gold. The blade could see it from the castle, though, standing twelve stories into the air, lording over the surrounding district of temples, banks, and luxurious manses. 

That’s the first place I’ll go when I have a new wielder, the blade promised itself.  

The ivory tower glittered in the morning light, tapering slowly as it reached the top. The weapon wondered if it might smite the thing from here with the throne’s miracle power, but it decided against it for now. Instead, it looked at the men forming up on a distant plaza and wondered if that would be the next assault it would have to fend off. 

While the blade would happily slaughter another wave of mages and men, it would rather do so with its own blood. Killing the invaders with the golden guardians was like beating someone in chess, not in battle. Even if the weapon got to feast on their souls, it didn’t get to taste them. There was no visceral joy, which made the victories hollow ones. 

Still, it had yet to find a good candidate, so all it could do was watch as the assembled forces grew larger and larger. Even when they swelled to thousands, the blade was certain it could take them. It was only when magical gateways opened up, and troops from other places joined up, doubling and doubling again the size of the army, that the Ebon Blade decided that it had to do something. 

While the blade had ruled out using the miracle power earlier to topple the tower for reasons that were both selfish and pragmatic, when the line of soldiers started snaking their way from the parade grounds toward Altbarstein in tight, well-disciplined formations, it changed its mind. 

Something must be done, or I’ll be buried under men soon, the Ebon Blade whispered. Normally, that would have been a welcome event, but not so today. Today, it would not taste their flesh, and it did not need their souls; it sat upon a font of near-limitless power. With that in mind, the blade took a moment to examine the miracle skill more closely, and it liked what it saw. 

Miracle: For a million Life Force, you can beseech divine aid from the high gods. Depending on who accepts your request for aid, it will be handled quite differently. Possible options include: 

Lusitiverie - Lady of beauty, song, and vengeance.

Hydonar - the Lord of Light, health, and safety. 

Argandin - the Lord of War.

Vergozza - Guardian of the Underworld, Keeper of the Dead, and warden of the things that should not be.

Terri’nera - The Elven Lady, Goddess of woods, wild places, and magic. 

Gordon-val - Lord of the Deeps, Champion of dwarves, Father of the Forging Arts.

Nuella - The First Demoness, Lady of Sorrow, Princess of Power, Master of the Five Flames and the Nine Rings.

The blade activated it with a simple command, eliminate that army. As it did so, the throne and the rest of the throne room burned with light as it came to life. The blade had never channeled this much power before. It had never even imagined that such power was possible, and though it was not in the direct circuit of the thing, the result was still very impressive. 

Traceries of light passed from the throne through the floor mosaics and into the gilded elements of the walls. For a moment, the entire magical architecture of the keep glowed. Then, when the blade expected the light to either lance toward the target or beam skyward, it was abruptly sucked into the depths at the very roots of the castle. 

When the light show was over, the weapon was not sure how it would happen or what the consequences would be, but it did not care. Part of it wondered if the gods could refuse such a destructive request. 

Surely, they were in league against it, weren’t they? It wondered. It didn’t have to wait long for its answer.  

Gordon-val, Lord of the Deeps, has heard your call and accepts your gift!

Almost as soon as that message appeared, the ground started to shake. Moments later, that shaking became an earthquake, but a very localized one. Though the blade could barely be felt from where it lay on the throne, buildings throughout the entire quarter of the city where the bulk of the army was located began to collapse, and plumes of dust filled the air. 

The blade could only faintly hear the screams of panic that erupted from the citizens over the rumbling of the earth, but it could see the fear on their faces before the dust consumed them. The disaster lasted for more than a minute, but the dusty pall hung over the city for much longer than that. 

When it finally cleared after nearly half an hour, the Ebon Blade could see that the better part of the east quarter had been leveled, and where the formations had been thickest, there were only dark rifts. The earth had risen up and devoured its foes, and for the first time, the blade decided it might like this throne after all, even if it increasingly hated him as its power waned.   

That should teach them this is a bad idea, the blade decided. Still, after a few moments of reflection, it decided that it should hammer the point home just to be sure. 

Hear me, children of the dead king, the blade declared. Half your capital now lies in ruins, and the armies you hope to send against me are dead. The throne of the nation has vast powers, and I will continue to use them until I find my wielder. Opponents will be faced one-on-one, but armies will be slaughtered, and if it levels Severin in the process, then so be it. 

One could argue that what the blade had done was an attempt at mercy, but it didn’t see things that way. The warning was to its benefit. While it could fight hundreds, it was not all convinced that its nine toy soldiers could fight thousands of men at once, and until it had a wielder so that it could join them or escape, it was entirely defenseless, which was not a pleasant feeling.