The Spirit Eater

CHAPTER 17

When the sun rose on the third day, Josef Liechten woke up, took the Heart of War from his chest, and stomped off to his fight. Nico trailed him like a shadow, pulling Tesset behind her so that they made a strange sort of line pushing their way across Izo’s camp. The city was packed. Bandits wearing the Bandit King’s red and black had come from all across the mountains, abandoning their small camps and outposts for a day of glory.

“What are all these idiots doing here?” Josef growled, glaring as a gaggle of young men, some barely into their teens, made themselves comfortable on a rooftop with a good view of the arena. “This is a duel, not a circus.”

“For the men up here, the two are the same,” Tesset said. “Sted may have forced Izo to play host, but you’re kidding yourself if you think Izo isn’t going to get something out of it. The Council’s been cracking down and troop morale is low. How better to boost it than a spectacular fight to the death? It’s a clever use of a bad situation, but Izo’s famous for turning things to his favor. He didn’t become king of the bandits for his nobility, you know.”

Josef shook his head in disgust. “I just hope he remembered his end of our deal.”

“He did,” Nico said softly. “They’ve been hammering for days.”

Josef didn’t need to ask what she meant by that, for a moment later the arena itself came into view. Lying on the hard-packed sand was a jagged heap of newly forged swords. Some blades were almost black with imperfections, others were actually crooked, lying sideways across the blades beneath them. Still, hundreds of swords in all. Josef grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Perfect.”

Izo was standing at the arena’s edge with his retinue and the foppish man from the Council, whose finery was looking a little wilted today. They both turned as Josef approached, and Izo brightened visibly, grinning so wide Josef could count his gold crowns.

“The sleeper wakes,” he said, laughing. The Bandit King was dressed in silks like a lord and obviously in a fine mood as he stretched out his hand toward the pile of swords. “See, it is all here, as promised. You asked for a spectacle and I delivered.”

“The crowd is too much,” Josef said. “But Sted will probably like it, so let them stay. Neither of us will be holding back, though, so I can’t vouch for your men’s safety.”

“What bandit looks for safety?” Izo scoffed.

Josef shrugged and stared down at the circular pit of the arena, measuring the wood-braced walls with his eyes. “In that case, get some of your men started putting the swords on the walls. The blades are no good to me piled like that. I need every one of them on a hook, hilt up. I’m guessing that’s your seat?” Josef nodded toward the short tower at the edge of the arena topped with a crimson-covered box that held benches, a throne, and a balcony.

“Who else’s?” Izo said.

Josef ignored his boastful grin. “I’ll need a pillar about the same height directly across from it. There.” He pointed. “Just a simple post will do, so long as it’s at least a foot thick.”

“Easily done,” Izo said. “But why?”

“I need a safe place for this.” Josef reached over his shoulder and grabbed the Heart’s hilt. In one motion, he brought the enormous black blade over his shoulder and plunged it into the ground. The blade sank a foot into the hard dirt before it stopped.

Izo cocked an eyebrow. “As you like, swordsman. But better make it two feet.”

He snapped his fingers, and his men ran forward to get their orders. Moments later a small army swarmed into the pit, moving swords and getting the ground ready for the post Josef had requested. While they worked, Josef sat down on the arena’s edge, staring at the sandy circle until the men were shadows and all he could see was the field of battle. Behind him, he could feel the Heart’s power waiting, but he kept himself apart. As he’d slept, the Heart had been with him, fighting the fight against the Lord of Storms over and over again. Through it all, the sword never spoke, but the underlying message behind the endless fight was as strong and solid as bedrock. In their fight with Sted, Josef and the Heart had taken the first real step toward becoming a swordsman. They had achieved the unspoken understanding between sword and man. But that wasn’t enough, not for a fight like the Lord of Storms. To beat a man like that—no, not a man—to beat a force of nature like the Lord of Storms would take the greatest swordsman in the world wielding the greatest awakened sword. He had one part of the equation. Now it was time to work on the other. He crunched his knuckles together. Sted may have demanded this fight, but Josef was going to use it to his fullest advantage.

He heard a soft rustle and turned to see Nico sitting down beside him, the rope taut across her wrists. Tesset stood a good five feet away, talking urgently with the foppish man. It was the farthest Josef had seen him stray.

“They’re talking about Miranda,” Nico said. “She chased off after Eli and hasn’t come back yet.”

“Then we know the thief isn’t caught,” Josef said. “The Spiritualist girl is a better soldier than most wizards. If she had caught him, she’d have brought him back to the chain of command, and for now that seems to be the peacock man.”

“Sparrow?” Nico said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t think she likes him.”

“Like has nothing to do with duty,” Josef said. “I just hope Sted doesn’t do something stupid. He’s never been someone you could count on for sense.”

Nico stayed silent at that, and Josef looked over, taking note of the haunted look in her eyes, which now seemed permanently too bright for whatever light they were in.

“I’ll beat Sted,” he said.

“I know you will,” Nico answered. “That’s not it.” She paused for a moment, sinking deeper into the dark folds of her coat. “Sted’s a demonseed now. I don’t know for sure how, but if he killed Nivel, then I can guess. He’s not a wizard, but he has powers like I used to have.”

“I know,” Josef said. “I fought him a little back at the hut. He’s got speed, shadow jumping, incredible strength, but I’ve sparred with you, remember? I know what seeds are capable of, and Sted’s on a different plain entirely, a lower one. He may be more dangerous now than he was in Gaol, thanks to that arm of his, but it’s a brittle kind of strength. He made a bad bargain when he left the League.”

Nico pulled herself in tighter, and Josef looked over to see she was clutching her arm under her coat. “Don’t underestimate how dangerous he is, Josef,” she said quietly.

“I don’t,” Josef answered. “But I also refuse to underestimate my own abilities. Even the crooked metal pokers down there will strike true if the swordsman wills them to. I know I will beat Sted, Nico. My only worry about this whole business is what happens when I do.” He heaved a frustrated sigh. “That part of things was always Eli’s job. I’m just here to fight.”

Nico looked worried. “I don’t think he has a plan this time.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Josef said, leaning back. “Eli’s sleeves have more tricks up them than mine have knives. Well”—he shook his empty sleeve—“usually. But I’ve been with the thief a long time. If there’s anything he can pull off, it’s an escape. Trust him.”

Nico lowered her eyes, leaving a lump of things unsaid in the air. Josef ran a frustrated hand through his short hair. He understood the silence even better than if she’d spoken. She trusted Eli to run, just not to take her with him. Josef gritted his teeth. He didn’t blame her for thinking that. It couldn’t be easy to trust the thief after the things Eli had said back in the cabin. But as he’d said, he’d known Eli for a long time, and for all his flaws, the thief had never left a companion in the lurch. It took him awhile sometimes, but he always came around. All Josef could do was put it out of his mind, focus on winning, and trust that today wouldn’t be the first exception to the rule.

They sat the next half hour in silence, watching as the bandits hung every last one of the shoddy, pot-metal swords on the arena walls. It took a team of ten men to raise the giant log Izo had selected to hold the Heart. When it was fully upright, the log’s top was four feet above the arena’s edge, but a dozen from the sandy floor, too high for either Sted or Josef to reach. Josef kicked it a few times to make sure it was secure before plunging the Heart deep into the wood. The sword slid in easily, poking out the top of the pole like a trophy in a tournament. Satisfied, Josef returned to his seat beside Nico to wait. Tesset joined them this time, his face neutral as ever, despite his heated discussion with Sparrow.

Neither Josef nor Nico asked him any questions, and he did not volunteer any information. Sparrow, however, had stomped off and was now sitting in Izo’s box, swinging a blue jewel on a leather thong and apparently talking to himself. Josef watched him awhile, and then put the fop out of his mind. Even if they were officially prisoners of the Council of Thrones, he had larger problems than Council business. Instead, he jumped down into the arena, circling and getting a feel for the sand, picking out some of the least warped swords to wear at his hips for the opening blows. Overhead, the sun climbed higher into the sky and the bandits began to settle into whatever seats they could find with a good view of the arena. Izo himself was up in his box, talking with the strange, thin man in black who seemed to be constantly at his side, while a bandit poured wine from a barrel into tall glasses. By noon, a hush had fallen over Izo’s bandit city. Though no time had been agreed on, everyone was waiting, craning their heads to be the first to catch a glimpse of Berek Sted when he entered the arena.

“I don’t understand it,” Miranda grumbled, pressing her eye against Slorn’s leather-bound glass telescope and shifting her weight so that the root she was lying on would stop digging into her ribs. “And I don’t like it.”

“What’s to understand?” Gin yawned beside her. “It’s an arena fight. You humans can be remarkably savage, considering your diet is mostly plants.”

“Who lines an arena with swords?” Miranda said. “And my diet is mostly plants. I know people who could put your carnivorous ways to shame.” She shifted her position again, switching the scope to her other eye. “What’s Liechten playing at? There’s no way he’ll be able to reach the Heart from the arena floor if he leaves it up there.”

“The man is a good hunter,” Gin said, his voice deep and approving. “If it’s up there, he has a reason.”

“I just hope Sted doesn’t take too much longer,” Miranda said, getting up. “I’m going back to report to Slorn. Keep an eye on things.”

Gin laid his head on his paws, patterns swirling lazily over his muzzle. “If anything exciting happens, I’ll let you know.”

Miranda shook her head and started creeping through the undergrowth. They’d arrived early yesterday morning, setting up camp on the highest part of the rim of the stone canyon that shielded Izo’s camp from the outside world. It had been a breathless run. The legs on Slorn’s wagon weren’t there for show. The thing had scampered through the forest as fast as Gin could run, and Miranda still wasn’t sure who had been slowing down for whom. They’d cleared the distance from the mountains back to Izo’s in record time, slowing only when they reached the ring of patrols and towers that guarded Izo’s home base. There, creeping past lookouts, Slorn had led her to a place on a rocky outcropping both high and out of the way with a good view of Izo’s land. From the multiple flattened weeds in the hideout, it was clear he’d camped here before, but what had really shocked Miranda was what he’d left waiting for his return.

It was so out of place up here among the scraggly bushes, she hadn’t even noticed it at first. Now it was always the first thing she saw whenever she came back to camp. Behind the bushes where Slorn’s wagon crouched was a large… something. It was squat and lumpy, about as tall as she was, and covered in a drab cloth. A line of empty barrels made a sort of makeshift fence around it, keeping her from getting a good look at its shape, but it moved sometimes, and she could just make out the sharp wooden ends of what looked like carved spider legs poking out from the edge of the cloth. Slorn hadn’t even mentioned it when they arrived, but something in the bear’s eyes kept her from asking, and she’d never found the chance to peek. She did wonder, though.

As usual, Slorn was sitting on the stairs of his wagon, working something in his hands. It was roughly a foot long, round at one end and pointed at the other, vaguely off-white and soapy looking. At first, she’d thought it was the beginning of some Shaper project, an uncarved block he’d turn into something beautiful, but she never heard its voice and its shape never seemed to change. Slorn just kept turning it over in his hands, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

He didn’t look up from the thing as she entered the clearing, creeping low even though she was well out of sight of the city. “How’s it looking?” he asked in his usual gruff voice.

“No sign of Sted yet,” Miranda answered, straightening up. “Josef’s acting stranger than ever. He’s got them lining the arena with swords, really awful-looking ones. I’m no metalworking expert, but I can see the warping from here. Plus, he just put the Heart of War up on a stand like a trophy.” She stopped. “You don’t think he’s wagered it, do you?”

“No,” Slorn said. “Josef knows better than anyone it’s not his to wager. Still”—he raised a hand to his muzzle, scratching it thoughtfully—“putting down the Heart is a clever plan. I wonder who thought of it, Eli or Josef?”

Miranda gave him a funny look. “How is putting your best weapon out of reach for a hard fight clever?”

“Think, Miranda,” Slorn said. “What good is the world’s greatest awakened blade when you’re fighting a demonseed who cares nothing for what it eats?”

Miranda opened her mouth, and then snapped it closed. “Of course, that explains the awful swords. Metal with so many impurities is bound to have tiny, sleepy spirits, providing no meal for the seed even if he eats dozens of them. He’s set up the fight to protect his sword and keep Sted from getting stronger.” She nearly grinned at the simple cleverness of it. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“Actually, Miranda,” Slorn said, looking up at last. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a favor. How strong is your sea spirit?”

Miranda gave him a funny look. “Mellinor’s pretty strong. Depends on how much water is around.”

“I see,” Slorn said, nodding over her shoulder. “And do you think Mellinor could fill those?”

Miranda turned, following his gaze to the line of empty barrels around the cloth-draped shape. “Easily,” she said, turning back. “Why?”

“I’m going to need some water,” Slorn said. “I’d been meaning to talk to a local stream about it, but I’ve run out of time. I was hoping your Mellinor could oblige me.”

“Sure,” Miranda said, grinning. “What do you need us to do?”

Slorn opened his mouth, but he was cut off by a low growl from the trees.

“There’s Gin,” Miranda whispered, dropping her voice even though there was no chance of being overheard.

Slorn nodded and stood up, carefully placing the white lump of whatever it was on the wagon steps before coming over to join her. They crept back through the woods together, sliding in beside Gin, who was nearly over the cliff edge in his excitement. One look and Miranda could see why. The crowd of bandits, who’d been thick as flies over the city for the last day, were pulling away from a cloaked figure walking in from the north end of town. Even at this range, she could see Sted clearly, a head taller than anyone else, and behind him, stumbling through the dust on a rope leash like a petulant puppy, was a figure she knew even better.

“Eli Monpress,” she said, frowning. “He doesn’t look good.”

“He’s fine,” Gin growled. “Just making life hard for Sted, which is the most sensible thing I’ve seen him do.”

Miranda nodded and looked over her shoulder for Slorn, but the bear-headed man was staying back, keeping to the trees, his animal eyes large and sharp as he watched Sted drag the thief into the center of town. Down in the valley, a ragged cheer went up.

Josef stood on the arena’s edge, eyes squinting against the noonday sun as Sted strutted into the center of town. Bandits scrambled out of his way, whistling and shouting. Josef ignored them, focusing instead on the figure stumbling in Sted’s wake. Eli looked tired and disoriented, but unharmed. That was good enough for him, and Josef turned his attention to Sted. The enormous man came to a stop at the opposite side of the arena and grinned a wide, violent grin at Josef like he was the only man in the world.

“Well, Sted,” Izo’s voice boomed down from his box, “you showed up. Hand over the thief, and the swordsman will fight you on whatever terms you like.”

Izo’s words hung in the air, but Sted didn’t even seem to hear them. He stepped out onto the arena’s edge before tossing Eli’s rope in the dirt. The thief scampered away as Sted reached up and ripped the threadbare cloak from his shoulders. A great gasp went up from the crowd, and even Josef’s breath hitched. Sted’s black arm was there, same as ever, but it looked almost natural compared to his chest. The black rot no longer stopped at the shoulder, where the arm connected. It had spread down, spidering across the enormous man’s chest in long, inky tendrils. The blackness poured into his scars like tainted water, eating its way across the remnants of his tattoos.

Quick as a flash, Sparrow stepped out from behind Izo’s booth to grab Eli’s rope, jerking the thief off his feet. He twisted the rope around his hand several times before leading the thief over to the far edge of the arena where Tesset was holding Nico. Sted didn’t even seem to notice what happened to his prisoner. He stood on the arena edge, drinking in the fear and revulsion as it rolled off the crowd, grinning at Josef like a wolf that’s finally cornered the running stag.

But Josef was too distracted to be intimidated. “Powers, man,” he said in a low voice. “What have you done to yourself?”

Sted’s smile faltered a moment before it was replaced by a sneer. “Nothing like what I’m going to do to you.”

He leaped off the edge, landing on the arena’s sandy floor with a thud Josef felt through his boots. Josef cast one last look at Nico and Eli before jumping down as well. Realizing they were about to get the blood they’d come for, the bandits began to cheer, but the sound was very far away. Here in the arena, Sted took up every scrap of Josef’s attention, leaving none to spare for roaring crowds.

“I see you’re able to stand again,” Sted said, walking across the arena. “Finally found your courage, eh?”

Josef’s answer was to draw the swords at his hips, swinging the warped blades in a whistling circle before settling into a fighting stance. Sted stared at him, his eager expression turning to one of disbelief.

“What is this?” he roared. “What are those, fire pokers? Is this some kind of a joke?” He looked around, spotting the Heart high on its post. “I didn’t call this fight so we could dance, Liechten,” he growled, thrusting his clawed arm into the air, curved fingers pointing at the Heart’s hilt. “Take your sword and fight me like a man!”

“Why should I?” Josef answered, looking pointedly at Sted’s transformed hand. “After all, you could hardly be called a man anymore.”

Sted’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to butcher you like a pig for that.”

Josef raised his swords, a feral grin coming over his face. “Try it.”

Sted clenched his fists with a roar, and then he was gone. Josef waited for the step from the shadows and whirled to his left, catching Sted’s clawed hand in his blades.

“I’m not like your coward girl,” Sted whispered as his claws began to eat through the steel of Josef’s swords. “I don’t hold anything back. Take the Heart and fight for real or I’ll kill everyone here, starting with you.”

Josef glared at him through the quickly vanishing cross of his blades. “You might have always been a monster,” he said. “But you were an indifferent brawler and even less of a swordsman. I don’t need the Heart to beat you.”

“Have it your way,” Sted hissed, and brought his demon arm down, ripping Josef’s swords in two.

But Josef had dropped the swords before Sted had finished speaking. He jumped nimbly back, hands going out to grab two fresh swords from the arena wall. The crude hilts slid into his hands and he brought the new pair forward just in time. Sted charged with an enraged scream, slamming them both into the arena wall hard enough to knock Josef’s breath out, but not hard enough to break his guard. For all its power, it was a sloppy hold, and Josef ducked under Sted’s arms with a quick step, his swords flashing in the sun as they raked under the larger man’s right shoulder.

Josef turned as soon as he finished the follow-through and was greeted by the beautiful sight of fresh, red blood running from two large gashes across Sted’s ribs. Even with his ears ringing from being bashed against the arena wall, he could feel the crowd’s roar through the sand. Had he been younger, stupider, he might have raised his arms in triumph, but he settled for a smile as Sted whirled around, hands going to stanch the flow of blood from his wound.

“No more iron skin, I see,” Josef said, flicking the blood from his blades onto the sand. “You’ll have to be better than that if you don’t want me to carve you up, Sted.”

He paused, waiting for a comeback, but Sted just smiled, his eyes unsettlingly bright, and removed his hand. Josef blinked. The blood was still there, slick and red against his skin, but the wounds were already gone.

“Yes.” Sted chuckled as Josef’s eyes widened. “Now you see. If you mean to carve me up, you’ll have to hit much harder than that.”

Josef started to answer, but Sted was on him before he could open his mouth, claws going for Josef’s throat. Josef blocked wildly, losing half his left sword in the process. He blocked again on the broken shard, but Sted was faster than ever. He flitted through the air, feet barely touching the ground thanks to the demon-gifted speed. Josef had no time to square his defense before Sted’s right fist, his human fist, slammed into Josef’s side. Josef coughed and staggered, but his remaining blade held true, keeping Sted’s claws away from him even as they sliced through the discolored metal of the sword. Sted roared and punched again, but this time he hit only air as Josef spun away, abandoning his sword, now skewered on Sted’s claws, and lunged for the wall.

The first sword he grabbed came apart in his hands, the hilt sliding off the blade as soon as he touched it. Josef swore and grabbed the next one, spinning just in time to keep from getting pinned against the wall. The second he moved, Sted switched up. Midcharge he turned and kicked off the wall with his legs, launching himself at Josef.

It happened so quickly there was no time to dodge, no time to block, so Josef did the only thing he could. Holding the warped sword with both hands in front of him like a spear, he dug in his heels and met Sted head-on. This time it was Sted who didn’t have time to defend. He slammed into Josef, sending them both crashing to the ground. Josef felt his shirt rip, followed by the skin of his shoulders as he skidded across the sand. Sted’s weight bore down on him, and he could feel the man’s monstrous claw tearing at the ground beside them, trying to stop the momentum and get control back, but Josef’s eyes saw only his own hands gripping the now-broken hilt of his sword, the warped, discolored blade of which was now lodged deep in the bloody mess that was Sted’s human shoulder.

Ten feet from where they’d started, the slide stopped, and the moment he could raise his arms again, Josef dropped the hilt, clasped his hands in a double fist, and brought them down hard on the broken blade lodged in Sted’s shoulder. It worked even better than he’d planned. The sword had landed not in Sted’s shoulder blade, but inside the arm socket. Josef’s fists hit the sword like a hammer against a wedge, and Sted roared in pain as the blade lurched sideways, disjointing his shoulder with a sickening crack.

Using both boots, Josef kicked himself free, scrambling across the sand before Sted could grab him again. The moment his feet were under him, he was running for the wall. He grabbed two more swords from the endless line and spun to face Sted again, but the enormous man was still on the ground clutching his shoulder. Overhead, the bandits were screaming, a great roaring ocean of throats that drowned out even the pounding blood in Josef’s ears. With a deep breath, Josef took a step forward, his eyes narrowing until Sted was all he could see.

It was a sickening, pathetic sight. Sted was thrashing on the ground, struggling to get his clawed arm up to his shoulder to pull out the blade while his human arm dragged on the sand beside him, useless. He finally got it, dragging the blade out with a pained roar. He tossed the broken shard away, glaring at Josef with eyes both too large and too bright.

“Don’t look… so cocky,” he panted, clutching his mangled shoulder. “Our duel isn’t anywhere near over.”

“Our duel never started,” Josef said. “Duels are tests of strength and skill between two equal combatants. This”—he swung his sword, taking in the bloody sand, Sted’s limp arm, the roaring crowd pressing in along the arena’s edge—“this isn’t a duel. This isn’t even a fight; it’s a slaughter. You’re not even a swordsman anymore. You’re an animal, an enraged bull wallowing in the dirt.” He flipped the flimsy swords in his hands. “I’m glad I couldn’t use the Heart on you now,” he said. “It would be a disgrace to the blade to waste it on blood like yours.”

Sted’s face went scarlet, and he began to pant, squeezing his butchered arm until the flesh bulged beneath his grip. “I’ll show you a fight,” he spat. “You’ll eat those words with your blood before the day is through.”

As he spoke, a horrible sound spread through the arena. It was an unnatural cracking noise, like hollow bones snapping, underlaid with the wet, sucking sound of something being drawn in. Josef stared at Sted, horrified, as the black stain from his demon arm began to grow. It leached across his chest, sliding under his skin, pouring into the rivulets of his scars like a black, hungry tide. As it spread, the horrible sound grew louder, and Sted’s shoulder began to pull together. Muscles sprouted out, bridging the gap between shoulder and arm. Bones pulled together, joints snapping into place as dark skin grew to cover the wound. It happened with blinding speed. One moment his right arm hung limp and useless; the next, Sted was pushing himself up with it, the gaping wound now no more than a patch of discolored flesh over his healthy, functional shoulder.

Sted grinned a horrid, feral grin and raised his fist to thump his chest, which was now completely covered with the black stain. “Slaughter, you said?” His voice had a strange double resonance to it that made Josef’s blood run cold. “How do you intend to slaughter a man you can’t even wound?”

“The same way you take apart any animal,” Josef said slowly. “One limb at a time.”

Rage flashed over Sted’s face, and he leaped forward with a roar. Josef sidestepped the mad charge in one neat movement, bringing his swords down across Sted’s open back. They struck in a clean slice, but Sted didn’t even flinch. He dug his feet into the sand and spun around, his clawed arm angled to smash into Josef’s face. But again, Josef was too quick. He jumped back, bringing his swords up for another swing. However, just before he struck, Josef stopped, staring at his swords in amazement. The blades were unbroken, but where the cutting edge should have been was a new curve in the exact shape of Sted’s back. The edges of the metal were still hissing, as though the blades had melted on contact. For a moment Josef just stared, trying to understand what had happened, and then he heard the hated, hollow sound of Sted’s laughter.

“Surprised?” Sted said. He was laughing like a jackal, showing all his teeth as he tilted his shoulders, showing Josef his back.

The moment he turned, Josef understood. Sted’s back was the same as his chest, covered in the horrible blackness, including the skin where Josef’s strike had landed. The wounds were still there, still open and puckered and smoking slightly, but no blood leaked from the inky flesh, and the muscles flexed beneath it with no sign of pain.

“You see now, don’t you?” Sted laughed. “You’re right when you say I’m not a swordsman anymore. I’m so much more than that. So much greater than you or any pathetic human could ever be.”

“You say that,” Josef said, tossing the ruined swords aside. “But what happens when that black stain covers all of you?”

Sted shrugged. “Who knows? You’ll be dead long before that happens. After that, I don’t care.” He dropped into a crouch. “Come then, Josef Liechten. I’ll break your little swords until you’re forced to use the Heart, and then we’ll have a real rematch. Then we’ll have the fight I sold my soul for. Come,” he said and beckoned. “Give me my victory.”

Josef didn’t answer. They stood for a moment, sizing each other up. Then, in the same moment, they both moved, Josef dashing for the wall as Sted dashed for him. Josef got to his objective first, grabbing a fresh sword. Sted knocked the blade aside, his claws going through the metal like paper. He struck again and Josef ducked, scrambling out of the larger man’s reach. He’d dropped the ruined sword the moment Sted touched it, but he had another in his hand at once. He sprinted for distance, then turned and lobbed the sword with all his strength. The flimsy blade wobbled through the air, horribly off-balance, but it didn’t have to fly far. It caught Sted in the thigh, ripping into the flesh. For a moment Sted stumbled, then he was charging again, ignoring the sword in his leg even as Josef saw the black mark spreading beneath the rips in his trousers to surround the wound.

The moment he took to watch nearly cost Josef his head. Sted’s figure wavered in the air, and then the larger man was on top of him, raking his claw across Josef’s chest. Swordless, Josef did the only thing he could. He kicked Sted hard on his injured thigh, bashing the closing wound with his boot heel again and again. On the second kick the sword fell out, completely dissolved by the black mark that was spreading down Sted’s legs. Sted didn’t even seem to notice. He clung to Josef like a mad dog, biting and clawing, dragging the swordsman down under his weight. Josef’s legs began to buckle. Despite the flurry of clawing, Sted had yet to land a clean hit on him, but Josef could feel the sting from a dozen smaller wounds. Already his shirt was growing warm and damp as the blood trickled down. He had to get out, fast.

Josef dropped to the ground, going totally slack just as his old arms instructor had taught him in the earliest days of his training. It worked perfectly. He slid out of Sted’s grip like an eel, touching the sand with his hands for just a moment before ducking between the larger man’s legs, leaving Sted stumbling forward under his own weight. As he went down, Josef reached out, grabbed one of the discarded, ruined swords from the sand, and sliced the jagged, broken blade across the still-human skin of Sted’s lower back.

Sted bellowed and fell, landing hard in the sand. This time Josef didn’t wait for him to get up. He ran straight for the wall, grabbing for the next sword. But as he reached the edge of the arena, he felt a cold claw grab his ankle. He stumbled, slamming against the arena wall just as Sted’s fist slammed into his back. Grunting in pain, Josef fumbled for a sword. His fingers closed around the first hilt he found, but he was too slow. The hand on his ankle jerked up, and Josef felt himself lifted into the air. Sted rose from his crouch, holding Josef upside down by his leg, and then, with a great roar, he sent the swordsman flying.

Josef sailed through the air, tucking his feet instinctively toward where he thought the ground was. The world was a blur of sky and sand and the yelling crowd. Then he crashed into the dirt, and everything went black. For a second, Josef thought he was out. Then his breath came thundering back and he retched, coughing the gritty sand out of his mouth. He forced his eyes open, blinking against the enormous black spots that danced over his vision. Across the arena he could see Sted walking forward, kicking broken swords out of his path.

With a gasp that was half sand, half air, Josef forced himself up. His hands raced over the arena floor, searching for his sword. After what felt like a year, his fingers found the warped hilt, and he brought the blade up, holding it between him and Sted as he forced himself to his feet. Overhead, he could see the bandits cheering, see Izo sitting on the edge of his balcony with a worried look on his face, but he couldn’t hear anything. The blow had left him temporarily deaf. He took another breath and forced himself to focus, to tighten his vision until there was no more crowd, no more sting from the cuts on his arms, no more tickle of blood dripping down his chest. There was only him, Sted, and the swords. When he had his center again, Josef held the warped blade steady as Sted began to charge.

“Powers,” Eli muttered. “Sted’s going to carve him into little slices if this keeps up much longer.”

“It is a difficult fight,” Tesset said. He was standing at the arena’s edge just like Nico and Eli, watching the fight with keen interest. “Liechten is the superior combatant, but so long as Sted keeps regenerating, he has the upper hand. Your swordsman will have to land a finishing blow soon or Sted will simply outlast him.”

Nico clenched her fists, her eyes glued on Josef as the combatants went around again. Tesset was right; Josef was bleeding freely from a dozen small cuts. His movements were still lightning fast, but Nico had been watching Josef closely since the moment she woke up on the mountain, and she could see the telltale signs of exhaustion creeping in: the way his eyes narrowed even in shadow, the sloping set of his shoulders as he swung his swords, the slight hesitation when he jumped. The two men had been going full tilt for almost twenty minutes at this point, and while Sted seemed as ready as ever, Josef was pushing his limits.

“Let’s hope they finish it soon in any case,” Sparrow said, swinging Eli’s leash from side to side. “Fantastically entertaining as it is to watch two grown men try to kill each other, we’ve got a schedule to keep. What do you think you’re doing?”

This last bit was a shout as Eli suddenly dropped to his knees and reached down into the arena.

“Helping,” Eli said, grabbing the shoddy sword on the wall below him. “He’ll lose unless he can get a blade that will actually be able to finish Sted, and no one benefits if Josef loses.”

“Put that down!” Sparrow shouted, jerking Eli’s leash. But the rope unraveled in his hands, slipping off Eli’s neck with a snicker.

Eli looked over his shoulder and gave Sparrow a wide grin. “Don’t ever forget who you’re dealing with, bird boy. Next time, you should listen to Miranda.”

“Tesset!” Sparrow shouted. “Grab him!”

“No point,” Tesset said. “He’ll just get out again. Besides, if he was going to run, he wouldn’t have slipped the rope here where he’s cornered.”

“Excellent observation,” Eli said, nodding sagely as he sat down on the arena’s edge.

Sparrow had no answer. He just stood there, sputtering, as Eli placed the warped sword in his lap. Nico leaned in to watch as Eli began knocking on the blade with his fist.

“You’d better wake up,” he shouted. “You’re missing everything!”

For a moment nothing happened. The sword, its uneven surface a mottled mix of gray and black, just lay there. Eli kept knocking, harder now, and shouted again. “You’re missing the chance of a lifetime!”

The sword rattled in his hand, and then, very slowly, a tiny voice said, “What?”

“At last,” Eli said. “I was beginning to worry you’d sleep right through it.”

“Right through what?” the sword said, sounding more alarmed.

“The fight of your life,” Eli said. “Look down in that arena. You’re going to be in the hands of the greatest swordsman in the world, the Master of the Heart of War itself!”

The sword’s anxiety began to wane. “The what?”

Eli rolled his eyes. “The greatest awakened blade ever created. Do you have any idea what an honor you’ve been selected for?”

He waited for an answer, but the sword remained silent. A second later, Nico realized it had fallen back asleep.

“Damn small spirits,” Eli grumbled, whacking the blade against the arena wall. “Come on, wake up.”

“What?” the sword said again.

Eli shook his head and tried a different approach.

“Are you ready?” he said, his voice brimming with excitement.

“Ready for what?”

“To fight,” Eli said. “You’re a sword. It’s your purpose.”

“I’m a sword?” The sword rolled back and forth in his hand. “Since when?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eli said, grabbing the sword by the hilt. “Now, I want you to go out there and give it your all.”

“Powers!” The sword rocked itself toward the arena. “Do you see what’s happening down there? Look at all those broken swords!”

“Failures,” Eli said. “Listen, everything depends on this. Don’t fail me. And don’t go back to sleep. You stay together, no matter what it takes, do you hear me?”

“I’m not going down there!” the sword shouted.

“Forget those other swords,” Eli shouted back. “They were weak. You’re different. You’re going to win!”

“I don’t want to win!” The sword was vibrating madly in Eli’s hand. “Get me out of here! I never asked to be a sword!”

“You have to fight,” Nico said. “That man is a demonseed.”

Eli and the sword both turned to stare at her. Nico shrank back, unsure if she’d overstepped her boundaries, but Josef was dying down there. She had to go on.

The sword wobbled uncertainly. “He doesn’t look like a demonseed to me.”

“He’s a special kind of seed,” she said, taking the sword from Eli, careful to keep her coat draped over her hands. “One made to hide from spirits and eat them when they’re not looking. That’s why the League can’t find him, and that’s why you have to stop it.”

“Me?” the sword said. “No, no, no. I don’t want to be eaten.”

“You’ll have a strong ally,” Nico said, pointing at Josef. “The greatest swordsman in the world. But he needs a sword. You have to stand up to that demon. You have to fight!”

The sword didn’t answer. It sat there, trembling in her hand. Then, all at once, the trembling stopped. “Do it,” the sword said, its tiny voice suddenly calm and collected.

Nico stood, shouting Josef’s name as she rose. Across the arena, Josef looked up from his struggle against Sted’s hold. The moment he did, Nico threw the sword at him. It flew through the air in an unnaturally straight arc, screaming vengeance and death to the demon as it went. Josef caught the blade one-handed and dragged it across Sted’s human arm.

The sword cut like a razor, going straight and deep into Sted’s elbow. Sted screamed and lost his hold on Josef’s shoulder just long enough for the swordsman to spin away. Nico cheered, and beside her, Eli gawked, amazed.

“How did you know that would do it?”

Nico looked at him. “All spirits hate demons,” she said quietly. “Normally, the fear keeps all but the strongest of them from fighting. But Sted isn’t a wizard. He can’t open his spirit, and so the fear isn’t broadcast. Without the crippling fear, even small spirits are free to be heroes.”

Eli pursed his lips. “That’s actually quite brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Nico said, surprised, but all the good feelings from the compliment faded when she looked back at Josef, who was bracing for Sted’s next charge. “It won’t be enough, though. Even awake and trying its best, that sword can’t become something it’s not. It’s still pot metal, and Sted is still a demon.”

“Then we’ll just have to overwhelm him,” Eli said, reaching down to grab two more swords from the arena wall. “I’ll wake them up; you get them going.”

Nico grinned wide. “Right.”

They worked quickly. Some swords didn’t want to fight, and Nico set them aside. Others, though, were ready from the moment Nico told them Sted was a demonseed. These she tossed to Josef. He caught each one, sticking it point down in the sand beside him. The first sword they’d thrown him was already whittled down to a sliver, but it was still fighting, slashing Sted like a blade five times its sharpness.

Sted ignored the swords at first, attacking Josef with single-minded purpose. But as the blades began to build up, and the blade in Josef’s hands refused to break like all the others, his focus began to shift.

“What?” he shouted, swiping at Josef’s head. “You think it matters that your swords aren’t snapping like rotten wood anymore?” He thrust his arm into the air, proudly displaying the gash that Josef had made earlier, which was now little more than a red line on his skin. “You can’t beat what you can’t kill, Liechten! Not without real power. Give up! You don’t have a hope without the Heart.”

But Josef just smiled, dodging his swipe neatly while catching the next sword Nico threw with one hand. He swung his swords, one fresh, one eaten to nothing but still holding on, and announced in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “The day I need the Heart to beat an amateur like you is the day I give up swordsmanship.”

Furious, Sted launched into a mad charge, and that was when Josef struck. He jumped out of the way and spun, bringing his swords down on the back of Sted’s neck so hard the larger man lurched forward, landing in the sand with a grunt. As soon as he was down, Josef was on top of him, ramming sword after sword into his back. Sted bellowed in pain, but Josef only moved faster. He filled Sted up like a pincushion, using every sword Nico and Eli had woken for him. Nico could hear the blades all the way at the edge of the arena. They screamed at the demon, pressing down with all their might, turning to widen the wounds even as they pinned Sted to the sand.

Plunging the last sword down into Sted’s spine, Josef stepped back. He was panting, sweat and blood running down his sides, but his face was triumphant. Sted thrashed on the ground like a speared bull in front of him, the sand turning black as his blood ran down the swords. The blades hissed as he devoured them, but this was too much even for his healing abilities. His struggles grew weaker and weaker, and then, at last, they stopped.

The arena fell silent. The crowd stood still, staring in wonder at what had just happened. Down in the arena, Josef took a careful step forward, nudging Sted’s leg with his foot. The demonseed did not move, and a grin spread over Josef’s face.

“It’s finished,” he said, turning to Nico and Eli with his hands raised in victory.

A great cheer went up. Up in the wooden stands and the rooftops, the bandit crowds were falling over one another in their excitement. Money changed hands frantically as wagers were called in, and everyone was smiling, especially Nico. She stood on the edge of the arena, grinning like mad as Josef started toward them. But then, just as she moved to jump down and congratulate him, the Master spoke.

Nothing is over until I say it is.

As the words echoed in her head, a piercing scream shot through the air, and Sted ripped himself up. Josef whirled around and stopped cold, staring in horror as Sted pushed himself to his feet. Blood dripped from his body, sliding in red rivers over skin that was now totally black. He stumbled forward, his head up, his eyes too wide and bright as lanterns. When he opened his mouth, the sound that came out was no longer human at all.

“Not yet,” he said. “I will not lose.”

Even as the words tumbled from his black lips, Sted began to run. He lurched across the arena, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Despite his wounds, he ran faster with every step until he reached his goal. Sted slammed into the post that held the Heart of War. The wood groaned and crumpled under the demonseed’s pressure, and the Heart tumbled down, landing with a great crash on the sand below. Even before it hit, Josef was running toward his blade, but he was too late. Grinning around teeth that were suddenly too large and too sharp for any human mouth, Sted laid his hands, now both transformed into claws, on the blade, and the Heart of War began to scream.