jerked to attention when her soft footsteps stopped.
His hand dropped to the sword at his hip. He could just barely see Nico in front of him, a spot of darker shadow gone completely rigid. Keeping one hand on his sword and the other on the dagger in his sleeve, Josef crept forward until he was pressed against Nico’s back.
“Someone’s here.” Her voice was scarcely more than a breath.
Josef stared over her shoulders, but he saw nothing but shadowy outlines and dusty beams. She pointed at the darkness ahead of them, and Josef squinted. He could make out details now, the edges of crates, the forgotten tools lining the walls, and, directly ahead of them, the dark, solid shape of the Heart of War leaning against the corner, right where he’d left it. He was about to ask Nico to be more specific when something shifted in the dark, and then he saw it as well. Sitting on the stack of crates beside the Heart was an enormous, dark shape. At first Josef thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, that the shadows were stretched out, for no man could be that large. Then the shape jumped down, landing on the wooden floorboards with a crash that rattled the building to its foundation.
Josef stumbled, gripping the hilts of his sheathed swords, white-knuckled as the dark figure stretched out his hand, pointing one long finger, not at Josef, but at Nico, who was trembling in front of him. The man, for Josef could now see it was a man, smiled, his teeth glinting in the dark, and spoke a command.
Even Josef, spirit deaf, could tell the words were more than words. The moment they left the man’s lips, Nico went down. She fell hard, straight down without catching herself, landing on the floor with a bone-splitting crack. Josef was at her side in an instant, but wherever he touched her, her coat was as hard as iron. Even the air felt like stone around her skin. Her body was rigid, the frantic darting of her eyes and the slight noise of her panicked breaths the only sign she was still alive.
Josef was still trying to get her up when he heard the clank of enormous footsteps coming toward him. Leaving Nico with a curse, he drew his swords with a singing scrape of metal and turned to face the enormous man closing the distance between them.
But the man wasn’t looking at him. He didn’t even seem to notice the blades in Josef’s hands. He was staring at the girl lying on the floor.
“You were hard to find, little demon.” His deep voice was still terrible, but it was at least mostly human this time. “I don’t know how you hid yourself, but no matter. No one hides from the League forever.”
Josef stepped over Nico and took up position between her and the approaching man. “What did you do to her?” he shouted. It looked like wizard stuff to him, but Eli had always told him wizards couldn’t control other people.
“League benefit,” the man said, walking slowly. “I gave the spirits around her something to do. The League is the arm of the White Lady, so their nature binds them to my command when it comes to demon hunting. They’ll stay like that, squishing her down, until I tell them otherwise.”
Josef had no clue what the man was talking about, but he had other worries. Now that he was out of the deep shadows, the man wasn’t as large as Josef had initially thought, but he was no less a monster. He stood seven feet tall at least, and was wide enough to make his height seem normal. His head was shaved clean, and scars that stood out white against his deeply tanned skin ran from the top of his skull to the tops of his bushy eyebrows. A long cut had scarred his face into a permanent sneer, and his nose was crooked from multiple breaks. He looked like a man who’d spent his life brawling, and he carried his enormous frame with a fighter’s grace. Across his bare chest, he wore a wide, red sash festooned with a host of strange objects-jeweled rings, sword hilts, necklaces, talismans, and even, Josef cringed, a preserved hand curled in a fist.
Above the ghastly collection, a long black coat with a high collar sat awkwardly on the man’s monstrous shoulders. The sleeves were ripped off, revealing muscular arms covered in mismatched tattoos. The coat looked too small for him, but anything would look small on this man. Anything, that is, except the sword he wore at his side. That suited him perfectly. Its pommel was the size of an orange, and the hilt was wrapped in thick leather until it was almost as large as the guard above it. He wore it naked, with no sheath, the dark blade out and lying bare against his coat so that the wicked, toothed edge tore at the fabric until the dark cloth was nearly in tatters. It was eerily familiar, but the blade looked so at home on the man’s hip that it took Josef a few moments to recognize it as the sword he’d seen in Slorn’s workshop.
“Ah,” Sted said, laying a hand on the sword’s hilt. “You like my new baby, yes? You must be the demon’s guardian.” He looked Josef up and down. “Aren’t you a bit puny to be the master of the Heart of War?”
Josef ignored him. “Who are you? What are you here for?”
“What kind of question is that?” Sted cackled. “Don’t you see the jacket?” He flipped his torn collar. “I’m Berek Sted, best killer in the League of Storms, and I’m here to kill the demon.”
Josef raised his swords. “You’ll find that harder than you think.”
“Really?” Sted laughed. “I like you, swordsman. Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. See, I kind of owe you. When I got to Gaol, I couldn’t find the girl. I’ve never been good at finding demons and all that League mumbo jumbo. But I could feel the Heart.” His scarred face grew almost wistful. “Any swordsman worth the name can feel a sword like that. It’s a force of nature. So I followed it and waited and, sure enough, here you are. I hate owing people, so how about I make you a deal to call it even?”
Josef scowled. “What kind of deal?”
“A fighting chance,” Sted said. “It goes like this: You give me a good fight, something to make me remember why I put up with the League. If you beat me, I’ll let the girl go and tell old Alric I couldn’t find the demon.”
Josef stared at the man. “Wait,” he said. “You’re a member of the League of Storms, and you’re offering to let the demon go if I fight you and win?”
Sted shrugged. “The League is work, you know? You look like you know how to give a good fight, and I always say pleasure before work. Anyway,” he chuckled, “it’s not like I’ll
Josef glanced down at Nico. She was still on the floor, prone and flat against the boards. He did a quick calculation in his head. They had a little under half an hour before they were supposed to meet the elder Monpress and Eli at the wall. Not much time, but it wasn’t like he could ask the man to wait. He’d just have to be quick. In any case, he thought as his hand tightened on his sword, wasn’t this the kind of challenge he’d been looking for?
“All right,” Josef said. He bent over, laying the wrapped Fenzetti on the floor beside Nico. “You’ve got your deal.”
Sted’s scarred face broke into an enormous grin. “Wonderful! If you put up a good enough show, I might even add something of yours to my trophies.” He cackled and pounded his chest, making the grim collection on his sash clatter.
“I’ll pass,” Josef said, dropping into a defensive crouch.
“Suit yourself,” Sted said. “Start whenever you’re ready.”
Josef balanced on the balls of his feet, swords out. The Heart was on the other side of the room still, but that was fine. He was going to win this without the Heart’s help. Across the room, Sted watched him, arms slack at his sides. Josef chose his spot carefully, a stretch of unguarded muscle to the left of Sted’s ribs, just above his stomach. When he could almost feel his sword cutting the man’s flesh, he sprang.
He threw himself forward, moving with a speed that would have impressed Coriano had the other swordsman been alive to see it, and dashed hard to the right, making a feint toward Sted’s leg. Then, at the last second, he swung his swords around to bite into his true mark, plunging the flashing steel straight into Sted’s flesh. But as the blow came down, Josef knew something was wrong. Sted wasn’t blocking. It wasn’t that he’d seen through the feint; he hadn’t even moved. The man just stood there, smiling as Josef rushed him, not even flinching when both of Josef’s swords landed in his undefended side.
Josef felt a shock move up his arm as the strike hit, but it was all wrong. The impact was far too strong. It was like hitting stone, not flesh. Josef slid with the blow, letting his momentum carry him past Sted. The moment he was behind the larger man, Josef flipped his swords, turning and thrusting them into Sted’s back. Again, the blades struck true, and again that horrible reverberation went up his arm, only this time it was accompanied by a sharp crack. Josef’s eyes widened, and he jumped, landing in a crouch on a crate several feet away.
He held his swords in front of him, grimacing at the two inches missing from the top of his left-hand weapon. The tip had snapped clean off, leaving a square nub where the point should have been. But Sted, who had just taken four killing blows, stood the same as ever. He looked over his shoulder at Josef, and then reached behind him,
