Darkened blade, p.1
Darkened Blade, page 1
“Aral the jack, formerly the noble Aral Kingslayer, is the best kind of hero: damaged, cynical, and despondent, yet needing only the right cause to rise from his own ashes.”
—Alex Bledsoe, author of Wake of the Bloody Angel
Praise for the Fallen Blade novels
BLADE REFORGED
“Once again Aral and his Shade, Triss, find themselves in the middle of a royal mess—literally. Yet this time it is assassin versus assassin versus assassin. That alone promises readers some high-quality entertainment. But Kelly McCullough adds several twists, backbends, and handsprings that only a mind as devious (or demented) as his could possibly conceive.”
—Huntress Book Reviews
CROSSED BLADES
“Kelly McCullough has once again written a magnificent story which deals with love, betrayal, and redemption.”
—Fresh Fiction
“If you are seeking a fantasy unlike most others, you will not go wrong by choosing any title by this author. Kelly McCullough’s writing style is indefinable, his imagination is creative and unique, and his [plot] execution is simply exquisite!”
—Huntress Book Reviews
BARED BLADE
“The second Fallen Blade fantasy stars an interesting hero with an irreverent, self-deprecating attitude . . . Fans will appreciate the magnificent McCullough mythos.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Full of action, fun characters, and an interesting plot.”
—Whatchamacallit Reviews
BROKEN BLADE
“Creative world-building really helps the reader to immerse themselves . . . A strong beginning to a new fantasy-mystery hybrid series.”
—Fantasy Book Critic
“Broken Blade explores a different side of dark fantasy than the typical European/medieval fare . . . I could definitely spend hundreds of pages wandering around in the wilds of McCullough’s newest creation.”
—Flames Rising
“Broken Blade is a compelling read that was hard to put down . . . Mr. McCullough has the ability to make even his dastardly characters sympathetic.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Filled with multifaceted characters, layered plots, and the type of quixotic scenarios that only the imagination of Kelly McCullough could possibly create. The author, once again, crosses genres . . . Stories by Kelly McCullough are one of a kind—just like him. I found Aral’s world to be compelling and highly addictive. Brilliant!”
—Huntress Book Reviews
“McCullough’s atmospheric little tale of betrayal and skullduggery is brisk, confident, intelligently conceived, and suspenseful . . . With as promising a start as this, McCullough’s new series is looking like one sharp blade indeed.”
—SF Reviews.net
“Broken Blade is perfect for a fan of political/hierarchal conspiracy in a fantasy series . . . It’s also filled with some heart-pounding action . . . The story is positively bursting with excitement.”
—Whatchamacallit Reviews
More praise for the novels of Kelly McCullough
“Entertaining and rapid-fire.”
—San Francisco Book Review
“One long adrenaline rush.”
—SFRevu
“Original and outstanding . . . McCullough handles his plot with unfailing invention, orchestrating a mixture of humor, philosophy, and programming insights.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Imaginative, fascinating, with a lot of adventure thrown in.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A rollicking combination of verbal humor, wild adventures, and just plain fun.”
—VOYA
“This fast-paced, action-packed yarn is a lot of fun . . . Weaving myth, magic, IT jargon . . . into a bang-up story.”
—Booklist
“McCullough has true world-building skills, a great sense of Greek mythology, and the eye of a thriller writer. The blend of technology and magic is absolutely amazing.”
—Blogcritics.org
“McCullough has the most remarkable writing talent I have ever read.”
—Huntress Book Reviews
“The book is filled with action and suspense. The world-building is awesome, the plot intense, and there is plenty of pathos and humor.”
—Three Crow Press
“WebMage has all the qualities I look for in a book—a wonderfully subdued sense of humor, nonstop action, and romantic relief. It’s a wonderful debut novel.”
—Christopher Stasheff, author of Saint Vidicon to the Rescue
“Inventive, irreverent, and fast-paced, strong on both action and humor.”
—The Green Man Review
“A unique first novel, this has a charming, fresh combination of mythological, magical, and computer elements.”
—KLIATT
“[A] fascinating world.”
—MIT Science Fiction Society
Ace Books by Kelly McCullough
The WebMage Series
WEBMAGE
CYBERMANCY
CODESPELL
MYTHOS
SPELLCRASH
The Fallen Blade Series
BROKEN BLADE
BARED BLADE
CROSSED BLADES
BLADE REFORGED
DRAWN BLADES
DARKENED BLADE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
penguin.com
A Penguin Random House Company
DARKENED BLADE
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2015 by Kelly McCullough.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-63823-1
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / May 2015
Cover illustration © John Jude Palencar; dragon © Shutterstock.
Cover design by Judith Lagerman.
Maps by Matthew A. Kuchta.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
For Laura, my bright shining star
Acknowledgments
Extra-special thanks are owed to Laura McCullough; Jack Byrne; Anne Sowards; Neil Gaiman; my mapmaker, Matt Kuchta; and cover artist John Jude Palencar and cover designer Judith Lagerman, who have produced wonders for me.
Many thanks also to the Wyrdsmiths: Lyda, Doug, Naomi, Bill, Eleanor, Sean, and Adam. My Web guru, Ben. Beta readers: Steph, Dave, Sari, Karl, Angie, Sean, Matt, Mandy, April, Becky, Mike, Jason, Jonna, and Benjamin. My family: Carol, Paul and Jane, Lockwood and Darlene, Judy, Lee, Kat, Jean, and all the rest. My extended support structure: Michael, Lynne, Bill, Nancy, Sara, James, Tom, Ann, Mike, Sandy, and so many more.
Penguin folks: Rebecca Brewer, Anne Sowards’s wonderful assistant; managing editor Michelle Kasper; assistant production editor Julia Quinlan; interior text designer Laura Corless; publicist Nita Basu; and my copy editor, Mary Pell.
Thanks also to the readers who’ve been so helpful in answering my crowdsourced questions about things that happened in earlier books: Allen Monette, Benjamin Billman, Chad Elstad, Dextre Tripp, Keith Williams, Taylor McCoy, Vicki Brown, Yann Le Scouarnec, and Zedd Epstein. With six Fallen Blade books in print now, it’s gotten much harder to hold it all in my head.
Contents
Praise for Kelly McCullough
Ace Books by Kelly McCullough
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Maps
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Terms and Characters
Currency
Calendar
Days of the Week
1
I speak to the dead. Usually they don’t answer me back. Usually . . .
This time was different.
It’s been nine years since the death of Namara and the destruction of her temple. Nine years that saw my few remaining fellow Blades driven and harried before the forces of the archpriest called the Son of Heaven. Nine years of death and darkness and retreat. But only recently have I learned the real reasons for the fall of my goddess and her temple. . . .
My goddess was murdered by her peers for the crime of caring more about justice than the safety and comfort of those who inhabit the Empire of Heaven.
We were assassins once, killers in the service of Justice who used magic and the sword to bring death to those high lords of the eleven kingdoms who considered themselves above the law. Where courts and trials could not reach the great, we could. And they hated us for it. Us and our companion shadows, the elemental creatures of darkness known as Shades who conceal and complete us.
We knew of the hate of the mighty, and their fear, and we welcomed it. It was a sign that no one was beyond the reach of justice. What we didn’t know was that the gods themselves were also frightened, for Namara had made the swords that she gave us into a tool that might slay even a lord of Heaven, and that was the true reason for our fall. I know it now, but what to do with the knowledge? That is the question that had me calling out to the dead. That is the question that had brought me an answer.
Perhaps.
The bar was the Gryphon’s Head, a place I knew as well as I knew the dark parts of my own soul. It was the place where I had plumbed the depths of despair back in the days when I was trying to drink myself into the grave so many of my fellows had already entered. But this time it was different. None of the regulars were in evidence, not even Jerik, the bartender, who was one of my few true friends in the world.
No, tonight, the Gryphon was peopled with the dead. When I walked through the door, the first person I saw was Alinthide Poisonhand, whom I had loved from afar as a boy and who had died trying to kill a king. She nodded to me, but she said no words, merely pointing to an empty table by the back wall. It was my usual place, and the only table without a full complement of the fallen. Most of the closer dead were Blades and priests—those I had known at the temple in my youth.
But not all. At another table sat two kings that had fallen to my swords, forever changing my name from Aral Brandarzon to Aral Kingslayer, as the world knew me now. They glared hate at me, Ashvik and his bastard half brother Thauvik. Nor were they alone. Nea Sjensdor sat with them, Lady Signet, and preceptor of the Hand of Heaven—the order of sorcerers that had destroyed my temple—and another I had slain. There were more, for somehow the taproom of the Gryphon’s Head now looked both exactly as it ought and seemed to stretch out to encompass hundreds of tables.
Here were all my dead. Those I had loved. Those I had hated. And those who had meant nothing to me at all. These last were perhaps hardest to face, for I had killed many over the years, most for no more reason than that they had stood in the way when there were those I needed to slay. I will not attempt to excuse their deaths. Not here, and not when I, in my turn, stand before the lords of judgment. I did what I felt was right at the time, and I will pay the price when it comes due.
Slowly, I walked through the ranks of the silent dead, approaching the place that waited for me. There were only two chairs there, though five could have sat at the table comfortably. That, too, was in keeping with my past experiences, for once I had called the Gryphon’s Head my office and used that table to conduct my business. One chair was mine, and one belonged to my client, whoever that might be at the time.
I paused then, looking for my shadow and, with it, my familiar Triss. For Blades are sorcerers as well, dependent on our darkling companions to focus the gift of our magic. My Shade assumes the shape of a dragon made of shadow when he is not concealing himself within my own. But, there and then, though I could feel that he lived through the link that bound our souls, I had no shadow. I missed him dearly, for I love Triss more than I love myself, and I rely on his advice in all things.
Still, I drew back my chair and sat down, as I knew that I must. When I looked up, I was no longer alone. The greatest of my dead had come. Namara. My goddess.
“Hello, Aral, I’ve been waiting a long time to speak with you.”
When I had met with her in life, she usually wore the shape of a great stone statue with six arms and skin like granite. Today, she had assumed the size and shape of a beautiful woman in a scarlet dress. The only obvious evidence of her divinity were her six arms, but even without that, I would have known her, for her image was forever burned into my soul.
“You’re dead,” I said, wishing once more for Triss to come and stand beside me.
Namara inclined her head ever so slightly. “I am.”
“The dead do not return to us.” The words came out flat and hard.
“No, we do not.”
“Then, how . . .”
“I was a goddess, Aral. I am allowed certain dispensations.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You carry me in your heart. As long as it beats, there will a tiny part of me remain. When I knew that I was to die, I took steps to see that what I cared most about might live on beyond my own ending.”
“I . . . what do you want of me?”
“Only what I have ever wanted of you. Justice.”
“Is that why you’re here? To tell me you want me to . . . what? Do justice?”
“Yes.”
I was suddenly achingly furious. “Why now? Why not when I was in the fucking depths of despair and half dead from drinking myself unconscious every night?”
“Because I am dead. I’m not really here, Aral. I exist now only in your heart, and the hearts of those who once served me and may yet again. I do not speak from beyond the grave, I speak from within it. I could not come to you before you yourself summoned me up. Only in following the path I would have wished of you have you become again the man who can hear this message.”
“And your message is to seek justice?”
“That, and nothing more.”
“How?” I yelled. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I want justice, but I don’t even know where to look to find it.”
“Here,” she said, and reached a hand across, placing her palm on my chest above the heart. Her touch burned.
“That’s no answer.”
“It’s all the answer there is or ever was. You have found the path. Follow it.”
“But I can’t see it.”
“Neither could I. To seek to follow justice is to walk in shadows. Some days they part and you can see clearly where to put your feet. Some days they thicken and you may stray far from the road, at great cost in blood and souls. Know that now, for a little while, your feet are exactly where they need to be. That is all there is.” She began to fade.
“Wait, will I see you again?”
“I have delivered my message.”
“That’s no answer.”
“It’s the only one I have. Now let me leave you with a gift.”
One of her hands turned over and a cascade of efik beans spilled out of it. I looked at them with a sort of horror, expecting the drug craving again, the hunger that had been slowly devouring my soul. But I felt nothing.
“I . . . I don’t want them.”
“When you passed through smoke you left the flesh behind for a time and, with it, the needs of the flesh. That broke the physical desire in a way that only the power of a god could. What the Smoldering Flame began, I can finish here in this place and time, sealing the wound that was opened by the Kitsune.” She seemed little more than a ghost now.
“Will it last?” I asked, needing desperately to believe that it would.
She shrugged. “My power is broken. So that is up to you. It always was.”
“And the alcohol . . .” I couldn’t even ask the question.
“Was never sacred to me. That demon you must fight alone.”
Alone.
