Shade Part 1

DISCLAIMER: I wrote all three of these parts in high school. Please bear with the imperfect grammar. Enjoy!



The sword slid noiselessly back into its sheath, its job done for the day.  The wielder of the sword stared down at the body of the dead man at his feet.  It was a bloody mess, literally hacked into dozens of pieces.  The man sighed heavily.

         “Another foolish man throwing his life away for so little gain.”

         Indeed.  The voice spoke directly to his mind, having no other way to communicate.  The idiots that come here underestimate the rumor of our skill.  They wish to destroy the indestructible, to break the unbreakable.

         “You think too highly of us, Tlig’fin.  I am still only human, and you are but a construction of steel.  Magically enhanced, yes, but still just steel.  One day, there will come one who will best us.  It may be today, it may take years, but it will happen.”

         If you say so, Shade.

         Offic laughed at the sword’s pet name for him.  It had come up with the name during a fight once, when Offic had moved from shadow to shadow, attacking and moving on before he could be seen.  Since then, Offic had adopted it as his name.  Tales of Shade, the Untouchable Terror, had brought mercenaries and fortune seekers out by the hundreds, and Offic had easily dispatched every one of them.  He was beginning to get bored with all of them.

         Offic turned away from the failed attacker, and moved quickly through the woods surrounding him, following a path known only to him and his sword, back to his cottage deep within the woods.  He emerged into a small glade, approaching the tiny cabin in the center at a slower pace than what he had just been using.  Something was wrong.

         The snap of a twig alerted him to the danger, and he barely managed to draw Tlig’fin in time to block the blade swinging towards his head.  They met with a clang, and his attacker hung suspended for a moment, then dropped to the ground lightly.  Behind the black mask, Offic could sense the beginnings of a cruel sneer.

         “Master of Shadows, you call yourself?”  The harsh voice grated.  “The Master of Shadows?  You are not powerful enough to call yourself that.  I, Chesig, of the fourth Order of the Shadow, shall prove that.  Prepare yourself!”

         The assailant leapt back into the cover of the trees, and stood waiting.  He started swaying, almost in a taunting fashion.

         Annoying one, isn’t he?  Offic’s sword asked.  I give him five seconds, maybe less.

         “Agreed.  He’s an amateur.”  Offic swung the sword casually behind himself, neatly slicing through the other man’s midsection.  He fell in a heap, clutching the wound desperately.

         “But how?”  He gasped, losing blood at an alarming rate.  “How could you see through my illusionary double?  That technique is supposed to be undefeatable.  How did you see my real self?”

         “Because I invented that skill.”  Offic said, walking towards his dwelling.  The dying aggressor tried to utter something more, but the last of his strength faded, and death’s unrelenting grip took hold of him.  Offic didn’t look back.

         Upon entering his home, Offic took off his cloak, and proceeded to start a small cooking fire.  The dry wood crackled to life instantly, and he chopped up some vegetables he had left in a pot that morning.  He took the pot outside, vegetables and all, out past his garden, where grew an array of vegetables and some fruits, out to where a gurgling stream ran.  He proceeded to wash the chopped up meal, then he rinsed the pot out, leaving it half-full with water.  When he arrived back at his dwelling, the fire had died to a small, simmering pile of ashes, and Offic hung the pot over the still hot area.

         “So, Tlig’fin, how many was it today?  Seventeen?  I lost count after ten.”

         It was only fifteen, counting that last one.  The sword responded.  And the day isn’t done.

         “But it is interesting,” Offic continued, “That the Order of the Shadow sent another member out to attack me.  This is the fourth time that they’ve come, making it one from each tier of the hierarchy.”

         Let them come.  The sword told him hungrily.  Their blood has a good taste.  They are quite powerful.

         “I don’t let you rend their flesh for nothing, Tlig’fin.  I expect you to absorb their essences to increase your capabilities and power.”

         Don’t worry, my power has increased tenfold over the past month alone.  But you know the saying:  The stronger the sword, the more dominant the wielder must be.  Otherwise the sword itself will consume him.  Only then can he tap the true power of the sword.

         “Is that a threat, Tlig’fin?  You tried to ingest my essence before, to your peril.  Do you remember?”

         Of course.  I’m just reminding you to rely on yourself a little bit of the time.  The sword countered.

         “Touché.”  Offic conceded, grabbing the pot away from the fire with his sleeve, then, dishing the vegetables out into a small wooden bowl, proceeded to slowly munch on the boiled food.  “You know, when most people think of Shade, they never imagine someone with a small cottage and a garden.  They think of someone surrounded in a shroud of darkness, an unquenchable bloodlust trapped in their eyes.  The truth is, I dislike battle almost as much as the constant annoyances that harass us every day.  But there is one thing I absolutely hate.  Do you know what that is?”

         I can’t say I do, Shade.  Care to tell me what brought on this conversation?

         “Maybe another time.  When you’re stronger.”

         ‘When I’m stronger?’  The sword echoed.  What do you mean by that?

         But Offic merely chuckled.  “You’ll find out.  Sooner or later.”

         Preferably sooner.

         “Good night, Tlig’fin.  Early start tomorrow.  We’re going to go talk to the Order of the Shadow.”

         When will I know?  The sword pressed.

         “Good night!”

         The sword’s sulking touch faded from Offic’s mind, and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

         He awoke the next morning before the sun had breached the tree line.  He strapped Tlig’fin’s scabbard to his waist, and exited into the darkened grove around his home.  He walked cautiously, not daring to make a noise, in case there was a fool out for glory this early in the morning.  His breath frosted slightly in the chill morning air, and his right hand never strayed from Tlig’fin’s hilt.

         Shadow Order warriors are here.  Tlig’fin warned him.  Three of them, moving to triangulate their attacks around you.

         Offic sighed, and slid his weapon of choice out of its scabbard.  “You can come out now, I know you are here.”

         Three cloaked figures stepped out from the shadows, surprise evident in their movements.  The three were in an inverse triangle, one directly behind Offic, and two off to the sides and forward a bit.  They eyed him warily, as if waiting for his attack.  He saw what they were preparing for, and stuck the tip of Tlig’fin into the soft earth.  He beckoned them all forward with one hand.

         “Come on now.  I’ll take you all out in one hit.”

         They snarled at the insult, and dashed forwards, swords gripped tightly.  At the last possible instant, Offic leapt straight up, using the planted sword for an extra boost.  His three foes yelled in surprise and then pain as they impaled themselves on each other’s blades.  But Offic wasn’t watching them.

         He was watching the fourth member of their group, who was dropping from above, sword swiftly falling to place itself in Offic’s head.  His hands snapped up, closing around the blade, averting the deathblow.  He drew his left foot up, striking the newest addition of his enemies in the nose.

         Offic landed clumsily on his right leg, while the other man fell heavily on his back.  Before he could rise, Offic withdrew Tlig’fin from the ground, and bringing it around in an arc, neatly severed the man’s head.  He stood in that position for a moment, waiting to see if there were any more surprises.

         He was powerful.  Tlig’fin hissed into his mind.  I couldn’t sense him until you already made contact.  His blood tastes good, a rare delicacy compared to what I have previously consumed.

         Offic looked down at the sword, a frown forming.  “I guess you’re not as mighty as you believe yourself to be.  But I’m worried about what is happening to us.  Before, we hardly ever fought; now, however, we fight many battles a day, and have fun during the fights.  Also, whenever you are drawn, something ends up losing its life force to you.  I no longer see Tlig’fin, the Sentient Sword, when we fight.  I see…something else.  And I don’t think I like it.”

         The sword was silent when he finished.  While it contemplated this revelation, Offic examined the four bodies.  He noted the different symbols on the inside of their wrists, four diverse markings distinguishing their ranks.  He didn’t like the last man’s markings.  It read Sho’lin, or Deep Warrior of the Dark, in the Shadow language.  This meant he was one of the highest ranks of the Order.

         Why are they so desperate to kill you?  Tlig’fin queried.  They must be pushing for something big, to try to rid themselves of you.

         “We can ask them what they’re doing when we get there.”  Offic replied stonily.

         He trekked on sullenly; encountering many more sell swords and Order assassins alike on his journey.  Thirty-two times his sword withdrew from its home, thirty-two times dead bodies fell before Offic.  Eventually, the forest yielded to a winding dirt road.  He followed it down its snaking path, determined to conclude these attacks.  He met five more attackers on the road, all from the Order, and Tlig’fin flashed five times.  Their bodies never moved again.

         The road came to a sudden drop, turning sharply to avoid the cliff face.  Offic stared down the cliff, looking instantly at the four towers standing in a field of dead grass.  Constructed entirely out of black marble, the four pillars emanated an aura of deception and evil.

         So, how do we get down there?

         “Like this.  Anatokiran!” he yelled.

         Instantly, a shimmering staircase materialized before them, continuing where the road left off.  Offic raced down the stairs, Tlig’fin trailing behind him.  “The Shadow Stairs!”  He explained to the sword.  “They can only be accessed by an Order member, otherwise you’d have to detour around to the front of the complex.  Oops, we have some friends.”

         At the bottom of the stairs, there stood two guards, who charged up at Offic.  Offic launched Tlig’fin at the first, and he was so surprised at the unorthodox attack, let it pierce him through the chest.  The other fell to Offic’s foot at his face.  He retrieved his sword, and barreled through to the center courtyard, the area between the four towers.  He skidded to a stop when he saw what was already happening.

         There was a roiling mass of Order members, surrounding two young boys.  The boys were bruised and bleeding, but they still fought back against their oppressors.  Every now and then, men in dark cloaks were thrown out of the center, the skill of the young men being exerted on the Order.  No one noticed Offic as he watched the horrendous fight.  He felt an anger rise in him, like a volcano preparing to erupt.

         Through clenched teeth, he whispered to his sword.  “This is what I hate, Tlig’fin.  The attacking of children, especially when the odds are against them that highly.  I need your utmost power here.  It is my turn to take the offensive for those boys.”

         The sword was subdued by the rage pouring out of its master.  Of course, Shade.  Moonbeams, I take it?  Or Blazing Shadows?

         “Moonbeams should be sufficient for that number of people, Tlig’fin.  Give me a little extra boost, though.  I need to teach them a lesson they will never forget.”

         Offic slowly advanced, letting the sword’s power flow into him.  Finally, the outer edges of the ring noticed him, and they turned to him, eager to have their share of the action.  Offic finally let the hatred bubble over, and his astonishing leap into the air frightened the watchers.

         “Moonbeams Slice Through the Night Air!”  He shouted, and swept his sword in a circle encompassing the ring of assassins.

         Nothing happened for a long while, except for that all of the Order attackers noticed him now.  The boys were forgotten as this new challenge presented itself for killing.  They all charged him, a wave of black thundering across the dead land.  He stood calmly, anger seething just below the surface, his breath coming in short gasps.  Before they got close though, a diagonal slash opened on all of their bodies, severing them in two.  Blood squirted everywhere as the Shadow warriors fell prey to his attack from nowhere and everywhere.  All of them were dead before they hit the ground.  Regaining his breath, Offic let the anger seep out of him, much as the blood of the fallen ones were seeping into the ground.

         He stepped through the mass of bodies to where the two young men were standing exhausted.  They looked fearfully at him, as if expecting him to attack them next.

         “Don’t worry, I won’t harm you.  Tell me, what are your names?”  He said softly.

         The first one, the older one, spit out a broken tooth.  “My name is Imalend.  This is my younger brother, Inomal.  We thank you for saving us.”

         “You’re welcome.  I couldn’t stand to watch that anymore.”  He staggered for a minute, feeling finally the loss of energy from his sword as well as body.  The two boys tried to help him, but he waved them off.  “No, no.  I’m fine, I just haven’t used that much energy for some time.  It is quite a strain, manipulating the air like that.  Now then, why were they attacking you?”

         They kicked their feet uneasily, not meeting his eyes.  “Well, they wanted their weapons back.  You see, we stole the artifacts they were holding.”

         Imalend held out a curved blade, and Inomal produced two small daggers from his waist.  Offic drew in a quick breath.  “I see why they wanted you dead.  Those are powerful items.  They hoard those like magpies.  But I must applaud the two of you.  It is not easy to fend off a horde of Shadow warriors and still live.  You must have received extensive training with someone.”

         Again, they looked shameful.  Imalend spoke up again.  “We used to be trained by the sword master of Galinth.  His name was Stolior, and we were getting revenge for them killing him.”

         Offic felt shocked, but kept it off his face.  He thought for a moment, and then nodded.  He whispered to his sword, “What do you think, Tlig’fin?  Should we?”

         Why not, Shade.  It would be fun.

         He accepted this with another nod, and then sheathed his clean blade.  “Come with myself and my sword that leaves none alive.  I will make you my apprentices.  In memory of my old student.”

         He turned his back to the oppressive towers and its multitude of dead, leading the two wounded back to his solitude, a new beginning formi