The Spirit Thief

Coriano ripped his sword free and landed neatly. The beam clattered to the ground behind him, sending a shower of dust and splinters into the air. Josef struggled to his feet, clutching his chest, which was bleeding freely again. He drew his short sword and dropped into a defensive position.

“You can’t be serious,” Coriano said, sounding almost annoyed. “You can’t really expect to beat my Dunea with that metal hunk. She was made by Heinricht Slorn himself, the greatest master of Shaper wizardry the world has ever known. She was forged to be a killing blade in the hands of a master swordsman. This is her purpose, her nature, and you would face her with a sword so deep asleep, it doesn’t even know which side its edge is on? Be reasonable, man. You won’t be able to land a touch, much less a blow.”

Josef grinned. “Only inferior swordsmen blame their swords, Coriano.”

Coriano’s eyes darkened. “We’ll see.”

He lunged again. Josef sidestepped, sliding his blade along the flat of the white sword, going for Coriano’s knuckles. The older swordsman spun, and the white blade flew up to bite into Josef’s left shoulder. Josef gritted his teeth and dropped to one knee, spoiling the blow and saving his tendon, but the shallow cut was enough. Pain shot down his arm, and he felt himself going off balance. The cut had sliced through the leather strap that kept the Heart of War in place, and the enormous sword’s weight threatened to topple him. He twisted, slipping out of the harness before it could pull him to the ground. The Heart of War rang like a bell as it hit the stone floor, and the entire room vibrated with the deep, clear sound.

Josef didn’t have time to see where it had fallen. Coriano’s sword was coming again, a high blow aimed at his right shoulder. Josef dodged and swiped at the one-eyed swordsman’s side, hoping to catch him off balance, but Coriano’s white blade was there before Josef saw it move, and the top third of Josef’s short sword clattered to the ground.

Coriano returned his sword to the ready position. “We’ve been here before, Josef,” he said calmly. “We both know how it ends. Pick up your true blade and fight.”

Josef’s downswing caught Coriano off guard. The jagged edge of the broken blade bit deep into the bounty hunter’s leg, and only the older man’s speed saved his artery from being cut clean through. Coriano danced away, sword flashing. Josef grinned and swung his stub of a sword, flinging an arc of Coriano’s blood onto the dusty ground.

“One touch,” he said.

Coriano didn’t answer. He lunged with a snarl, and they began a complicated dance around the treasury. Coriano’s blows fell lightning fast, and it was all Josef could do to dodge them. There were no wasted strokes in Coriano’s style, every white flash was a killing blow, and only Josef’s instincts, sharpened over years behind the sword, saved his skin from a new collection of holes. He blocked when he could, but the white blade whittled his sword to shavings. By the time they came around again to where the Heart had fallen, he was down to a chunk of hilt.

Josef was panting now, and even Coriano was looking strained. He was leaning to the right, favoring his uninjured leg, but even though the pain must have been blinding, the one-eyed swordsman never gave an opening. His sword flashed like a silver fish, and Josef gasped as the tip flew across his chest, leaving a burning trail. He stumbled, and the broken hilt flew out of his hand and clattered off into the dark. A hard kick followed the cut, and Josef found himself on his back again, gasping painfully, with Coriano standing over him. The swordsman’s face was twisted in disgust. He laid his white sword against Josef’s neck, where the artery pulsed, and the blade’s light flickered.

“She’s angry,” Coriano whispered. “Angry enough that even your deaf ears should be able to hear her. All this time, chasing you through country after country, and when we finally catch you, this is all you can give us.” He flicked his wrist, and the white sword’s tip plunged into Josef’s previously injured shoulder. “You’re slow, and your guard is sloppy. You rely on gimmicks and refuse to fight with your full strength. Is this the master of the Heart of War?” He plunged his sword into Josef’s other shoulder. “The greatest awakened sword in the world, with all of humanity to choose from, why did it choose you?”

The white sword slid down his blood-soaked chest, and Josef bit his tongue to keep from screaming.

“You are a waste of time,” Coriano sneered, and, with a smooth thrust, he plunged his sword into Josef’s stomach. When Josef struggled, Coriano looked him square in the eyes and twisted the blade, wedging it deeper. “You’re not even worth dragging back for your bounty,” he whispered, his voice sharp and deadly as the metal in Josef’s flesh. “Lie here and rot, Josef Liechten.”

He yanked his white sword out, and Josef couldn’t stop the groan as his own blood ran hot and free down his sides and onto the cold ground. With a final disgusted look, Coriano turned away, casually wiping his blade on his sleeve.

He walked over to the Heart of War, still lying abandoned where Josef had dropped it. Its surface was ink black in Dunea’s pearly light as Coriano kneeled, running his fingers over the sword’s dull, dented edge.

“Not a whisper,” he murmured. “Not even a presence. Can this truly be the Heart of War?” He glanced over at Josef’s prone body. “They say it was forged at the dawn of creation. The Heart of War is a legend that Dunea and I have dedicated our lives to finding, the greatest awakened blade, the ultimate test.”

He reached out and grabbed the Heart’s crudely wrapped hilt, but when he pulled, the sword did not budge. He scowled and pulled harder. The sword stayed completely still, as though it were part of the floor.

“The weight of a mountain,” Coriano murmured, rocking back on his heels. “It is the real thing, the true Heart of War. Only the hand it chooses can lift it.” He traced the hilt one last time, and the awe on his face faded. “How tragic that we should meet it now, when it chose so poorly.”

He stood up, sliding the River of White Snow back into her sheath. “The Heart will lie here, then, until it chooses a new master.” He looked sadly at Josef. “You, on the other hand, will be carted off and buried alone as a thief. A fitting end for the man who failed his sword and denied us our great ambition.”

He shook his head and turned away, limping toward the treasury door. Josef lost track of the uneven footsteps’ sound almost as soon as they began. The dim cavern was growing darker, and the cold stone pulled at him until he was as heavy and motionless as the floor itself. However, even as the sound around him faded, the mantra in his head grew stronger, one word echoing through his fading consciousness.

Move.

It had been there since he took the first blow, soft at first, easily lost in the heat of combat. Now, when things were still and his life was leaking out of him, it was deafening.

Move.

Move.

MOVE.

Josef closed his eyes. He had to be very close to death indeed to hear this voice. Finally, he answered. “I can’t.”

Get up, it shouted, loud enough to make him wince. He turned his head slightly. The Heart of War was barely a foot away. All he had to do was reach out, but his arm would not move.

Take me, the deep voice said. Fight with me.

“I can’t,” Josef said again. “How will I become stronger if I rely on you to win my battles?”

The strange voice sighed. If you don’t draw me, Josef Liechten, you will die here, and this pathetic weakness will be the height of your achievement.

Slowly, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps, Josef moved his arm. Slowly, he dragged his hand across the stone floor, now damp and sticky with his blood. He reached out, one finger at a time, inch by painful inch, and gripped the long, crude handle of the dull, black sword.

Now-the Heart of War gave a satisfied sigh-we can begin.

Coriano had just reached the iron treasury door when he heard the scrape of metal on stone. He looked over his shoulder, and his good eye widened. At the center of the room stood Josef Liechten. His head was down, and his wounds were still bleeding sluggishly, but he was standing straight, in a fencer’s ready position, and in his hand was the Heart of War.

Coriano turned and drew his sword. Dunea was quivering with anticipation, her light bright and eager, but the Heart of War looked no different than it usually did, and Coriano felt a stab of disappointment.

“Is your blade still asleep?” he asked, circling. “All awakened swords gain their own light as they grow. I