Flame's Shadow Read online

  As the fight went on, and the minutes passed, it became clear that Lexari was losing his stamina. Dravus wasn't willing to rule out that this was simply another ruse, but it didn't seem like it. Lexari's bald head was soaked in sweat, which ran together with his blood to soak the collar of the shirt he wore beneath his armor. He moved slightly too slow, and a jab of Zerstor's glanced of his breastplate. A bloom of rust marked where the pitted sword had struck.

  Lexari moved back, putting more distance between them, and summoned a second shaft of light into his other hand. His eyes were hard as he and Zerstor watched each other, and Dravus could feel his heart beating faster in sympathy. Lexari twirled his spears around, fast enough that they briefly appeared as disks of light, then charged forward.

  His attacks were fast and furious, and a cheer came up from the crowd as Zerstor spent all his efforts on dodging away from them, the sword in his hand more of a liability than an asset. Twice Lexari got in a solid hit, but both times it was from the side rather than a stab forward, passing through the armor and striking Zerstor's side like a staff instead of a spear. Dravus held his breath as Lexari kept up his onslaught, hoping that the killing blow would happen any moment. The world seemed to narrow itself down to those two men, the beacon of light and the giant of rust, both moving faster than they had any right to. Zerstor stepped back to avoid another thrust of the spear towards his chest, and swung his sword towards Lexari's side at the same time.

  There was a blinding flash of light. Dravus tried his best to blink it away, and he could hear the cries and groans from the people around him. Lexari's form was burned into his vision, halfway split at the waist. Dravus had seen the sword moving, had seen it touch the armor again ... and then Lexari had turned into a being of pure light, like an apparition, so quickly and so powerfully that it was only possible to make sense of it after the fact.

  Lexari stood in front of Zerstor, gasping for breath. He was entirely intact, his form fully physical once more. His eyes were wide. Zerstor had his sword held up in a defensive position, and if Dravus was having trouble recovering his vision, he could only hope that Zerstor had it worse.

  Lexari spun his spears around once, then leapt forward again to press the advantage. With his vision half gone, Dravus could barely see except to note the rapid movements of Lexari's light. If Lexari was going to win, it would be now.

  Lexari screamed in pain, and one of the spears went clattering to the ground. Three fingers were still gripped around it, but there was surprisingly little blood. The battle had turned in an instant, on a single strike that Dravus hadn't even been able to follow. Lexari staggered back now, with his ruined hand clutched to his chest and his spear out in front of him in his left hand. If the fingers that still clutched the spear of light were nearly bloodless, the wound itself was more than making up for it.

  "Please," Lexari said, his voice so soft that it was difficult to hear. Zerstor stalked forward, with his sword leading in front of him. Dravus hadn't realized how close he was to the action until Zerstor passed within two yards of him. A quick glance backwards showed that the crowd had ebbed and flowed, and after the blast of light had put up a greater distance. Dravus felt as though he was stuck in place. He was closer to the illustrati than anyone else, and he couldn't do anything more than watch.

  Zerstor batted Lexari's hand to the side with his sword, and the second spear of light went tumbling down to the ground. With a burst of speed, the hulking man in rusted armor wrapped his hand around Lexari's throat and lifted him up into the air.

  "A fitting end," said Zerstor. Lexari tried to form another construct of light, but Zerstor grabbed his uninjured arm and snapped the bone, loudly enough that everyone around could hear it. Lexari screamed in pain. "They won't be able to speak of you without uttering my name," said Zerstor. His voice was loud, and carried across the crowd.

  Dravus's eyes were drawn to the spear of light that lay on the ground not ten feet away. Lexari was dying, and a foolish plan formed in Dravus's mind. It would be a gamble larger than the one he'd taken with Korata, but it was double or nothing at this point. Before he could consider it too deeply, he raced forward in a dead sprint and grabbed the spear of light from the ground, then tacked hard the other direction, just like he'd done on the rooftop, to propel himself at Zerstor.

  There was only time for an instant of doubt when Zerstor turned around, his black beard thick with sweat and his eyes sharp and piercing, but Dravus wasn't acting on a level that permitted doubt. The spear had been moving too fast anyway. It slid straight through the armor with no resistance, and struck Zerstor in the heart.

  He'd been holding Lexari with one hand, and dropped him with a gasp.

  His death wasn't instant, but it was close.

  * * *

  Dravus dropped the spear.

  A confused cheer came up from the watching crowd, which rippled around the plaza until it was taken up by those who couldn't see. Dravus's arms and back were slick with sweat, and he was breathing hard. Everyone was looking at him. His plan had only gone so far as picking up the light and attacking Zerstor, and he was at a loss for what to do now that the moment had passed. He felt none of the elation that came with winning a race.

  Lexari coughed loudly and climbed to his feet. His mangled hand was bleeding freely. He looked down at it and furrowed his brow for a moment. Tendrils of light grew from the wound and wrapped around the hand. Lexari turned his eyes to Dravus, and walked towards him on unsteady feet, with his left leg dragging behind him like a club foot.

  "Name," Lexari said sotto voce. He had a rich voice like a fine liqueur, but this was the first time that he'd said anything that wasn't pitched for a crowd. Now it was low and hushed, like a secret shared between the two of them.

  "Dravus de Luca," replied Dravus, trying to keep his own voice as low.

  Lexari grasped Dravus's wrist and lifted his arm up into the air.

  "Never think that you are without power," Lexari called to the crowd. They went silent at his voice, which carried far. "There is nothing in this world stronger than courage and the conviction to do what is right. This man risked his life to save mine. Zerstor, long a scourge on this world, now lies dead." He turned to Dravus, but continued to project his voice out to the crowds. "I name you Dravus de Luca, Lightscour. May the story of your boldness and bravery be told for decades to come."

  Dravus's heart was hammering in his chest. He could barely believe what was happening. He had been given a name by Lexari himself. People were cheering around him.

  "Come," said Lexari, again pitching his voice so only Dravus could hear. "I have wounds that need tending to, and we have business to discuss."

  There were a thousand people shouting after the both of them. Dravus followed in Lexari's unsteady wake. The crowd pressed in on them. People touched him, tugged at his tunic, and pressed their flesh against Lexari, and they did the same to Dravus . It was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. Behind them, Dravus heard the sound of Zerstor's armor being pulled apart for souvenirs. It was becoming too much, too fast, and all Dravus could do was follow behind Lexari and try to remain calm. Questions were being shouted at him, too many to answer. The crowd was becoming more insistent, and more suffocating. Just when Dravus was about to start shoving back, Lexari grabbed his hand and helped him up into a closed palanquin carried by four servants.

  "This was sent by someone trying to curry my favor, no doubt," said Lexari once they were both inside. "On hearing that there was a fight, someone's first thought was that they should mobilize a litter to carry me away, so that they could improve their own position in the world. Would my nemesis have been shown the same deference, had he proven the victor?" The palanquin started to move through the crowd at a glacial pace. Lexari leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The glowing light around his mangled hand had shaped itself into crude fingers. Up close, Dravus could see the lines on Lexari's face, and the exhaustion that he carried himself with. He was dark-skinned, but with
a pallor. There was a wound on almost every inch of exposed skin, scrapes and gashes from his fall. Dravus had no idea how old the illustrato was, but to have accumulated so many stories he had to be at least in his forties, maybe older.

  "Where are we going?" asked Dravus.

  Lexari was a long time in answering. "My ship," he said finally. He opened his eyes, which were mismatched from his injuries, one of them blue and the other filled with blood. "I hope that's alright. Feel free to step out now if you'd like."

  Dravus didn't make a move. He was sitting a half a foot away from the greatest hero of modern times. Their knees were touching. Dravus had never been one to pay much mind to the illustrati's stories, but the stories of Lexari were well known. He'd single-handedly fought the Golden Horde to a standstill. He'd brought down warlords and brought an end to evil kings. Though it seemed like a lifetime ago now, Dravus had seen Lexari flying through the air like a bird. There was a reason they called him Lexari Sunhawk. Dravus wasn't invested in the lives of the illustrati like some of his friends, but here was a living legend, and a man of extreme power. He could make debts disappear with the snap of his fingers. Dravus had no idea what to say.

  "The story will circle the city," said Lexari with a long sigh. He touched his face and hissed with pain. When he pulled his hand away, white light had bloomed across his skin, covering the worst of the cuts and scratches. He settled into his seat, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. "The story will circle the city," he repeated, "By nightfall it will be on the lips of every man, woman, and child. Your name, mine, and Zerstor's, may he find some measure of peace in death. I don't imagine that you have much standing right now, hardly enough to know your domain if I read you right. But nevertheless, you will accrue an enormous amount of fame from this event."

  "Alright," said Dravus. "That's ... thank you, for what you said at the plaza."

  "You will have invitations," said Lexari, as though Dravus had said nothing. "The senatori, certainly, will invite you to have wine with them. If you deign to attend their parties, you will be asked to recount the story again and again, until you have perfected it. It was a moment of bravery and heroism, the kind that people like to see in themselves. Any bumps or rough edges in the story will be smoothed out, if not by you, then by others. What Zerstor said now has an ironic echo to it, don't you think? They won't be able to mention his name without mentioning yours. Fitting, for his last words."

  Lexari fell silent again, and the sounds of the crowds outside filtered through the heavy drapes inside the palanquin, which swayed and bobbed as it was carried through the city. Occasionally there were cheers, which cut against the somber mood that Lexari exuded.

  "You wanted to be the one to kill him," said Dravus. When the spear had gone through Zerstor's heart, Dravus hadn't felt good about it. He'd been full of nervous energy, like he was about to puke or collapse. He had been too struck by disbelief to really feel happy that the risk had paid off. Now his heart was beginning to sink in his chest, and his mind was returning to Korata and what she would do to him. If Lexari didn't help him -

  Lexari opened his good eye and looked at Dravus. "I think in narratives," he said. "It's an occupational hazard. Zerstor had built for himself an image of darkest evil, and blackened his soul enough to become a household name despite the bans and the taboos. I took the other path. It was natural for us to butt heads. Five battles. Murder writ large across the world, and I was always too much of a - he was right, you know. I could have let Sanguin drown a city in blood to chase him down. If I tally up the damages he's caused, can it really have been worth it?" Lexari closed his eye and sighed. The palanquin swayed in a gentle rhythm despite the throngs of people still outside it.

  "Let me tell you a story," said Lexari. "A prince is trying to secure an alliance, and agrees to marrying one of the three princesses, sight unseen. He meets the first, and she's incredibly ugly, so ugly that she must wear a veil at all times. He meets the second, and she's just as ugly as the first, if not more so. The prince is starting to regret agreeing to marry one of them. He meets the third sister, and do you know what she looks like?"

  Dravus waited for some time before he realized that Lexari expected him to answer. "If it weren't a story, I'd think she'd be just as ugly as her sisters. But since it is a story ... I expect her to be beautiful, I guess. Or different, at least."

  "You understand," said Lexari. "Stories have a logic to them, a way that they're shaped. I've traveled most of the world, and these shapes hold true. The story that Zerstor and I were shaping was to have its climax in the fifth fight, the fight where one of us was to die. I wanted that story. I lost loved ones for that story. But now ... now that story has been stillborn. There's a new story, with you at the center, a story about a mortal man stepping into godly affairs." He lowered his head and looked down at his mangled hand, where the soft light glowed. Then he turned his eyes up towards Dravus. "There's a new story here, and if you'll let me, I'll help you forge it."

  Chapter 2

  The Zenith was a small ship, with a complement of thirty men and women and little room for cargo. She had seven white sails that carried her all over the civilized world. When Dravus saw the ship, the thing that struck him most was artistry of it. By his estimation, half of the crew members must have been tasked with keeping every piece of wood freshly painted and every piece of gleaming metal polished. There were thin sheets of silver engraved with elaborate designs all over the ship, in the same style as Lexari's ruined armor, and carved wooden accents that displayed organic curls. The ship's railings were heavily lacquered, with none of the dents, gouges, or simple weathering that might be expected of a ship that saw regular use. And attached to the bow of the ship was an elaborate sculpture of glass, clearly Nemm's work. It showed a muscular man reaching forward, a fragile glass finger extended in front of him, as though he was trying to touch the horizon. There were no cannons, and nothing of its design suggested it was anything more than a work of art. Yet it was said to be the fastest ship in the world, able to outpace naval flagships and express packet boats alike.

  The palanquin was carried past a line of watchful crew members, to a spot that had been cleared on the dock. Lexari stepped out to the roar of the crowds. He gave a low, somber bow to them, then raised his mangled hand to the sky. He'd used the light to shape a defiant fist. Blood streamed down his forearm, though it wouldn't have been visible from a distance. Dravus followed Lexari up the plank and onto the deck of the Zenith, and his appearance drew another cheer from the crowd; the story had traveled ahead of them. There were hardly any waves, but Dravus felt unsteady on his feet - nearly as unsteady as Lexari looked. Lexari moved across the deck of the ship like a drunkard, down into the cabin, and gestured for Dravus to follow.

  The crew watched them duck into the bowels of the ship without comment. They all wore identical white uniforms, finely tailored and far better than Dravus would have expected to see on a sailor. They had silvered buttons down the front of their jackets, and blue trim around their throats and cuffs. In the stories that were told about Lexari - the ones that took place at sea - the crew were nameless and faceless. With their appearance, it was easy to see how they could fade into the background, like they were just another piece of the ship's elaborate decorations. They even had similar haircuts. Dravus was keenly aware of his sweat-stained tunic and his shaggy hair.

  The interior of the ship was used economically. The corridor that divided up the living space was only large enough for a single person to walk down, and then not without a bit of care. Lexari had already moved into the room at the far end, and Dravus followed. By the time he came in, Lexari was laying on a wide bed and bleeding onto white cotton sheets.

  A woman in glass armor stood over him. She had blond hair with a tint of red to it, which was pulled back in a simple braid. The armor was as clear as crystal, and a white blouse showed through beneath it. Glass was Nemm's domain, and where the armor would be suicidal on a normal person,
on her it was both an impeccable defense and a potentially lethal weapon. She was famed for taking two glass daggers into battle, one in each hand, but those were nowhere to be seen at the moment. She had a thick white scar on the side of her face which passed through her brow and down her cheek, but it didn't mar her - if anything, it made her look more distinctive, more beautiful, and hinted at her dangerous nature. Dravus had heard dozens of stories about her, and now he was in the same room with the Lady Nemm. She had as many names as Lexari: the Queen of Glass, the Whore of Abalon, the Childish Bride, the Princess of Blades, Sharddriver, Thornscraper, the Hand of Pane. She glanced briefly at Dravus when he entered, but barely seemed to register him.

  "Are you going to die?" asked Nemm.

  "No," replied Lexari. "I don't think so. I lost more blood than is probably good for me, and my leg's broken, held together only by light. My arm too. That will heal. My fingers won't." He held up his mangled hand, with the fingers of light still formed into a fist. Only his pinky finger remained, and he was missing most of his palm. "I should have picked them up, so Gael could stick them back on. Send someone to fetch them. Or send someone to make a story out of them. Some urchins probably took them as soon as it was clear it wouldn't cost them their lives, but you might be able to retrieve them."