“Good,” he said with a nod. “You should accompany me so that you might achieve vengeance for your fallen comrades. When it comes to people, vengeance may not always be the best option, but when dealing with demons…” he paused for a moment, watching her expression. “It is always the best option.”

  As he watched, a fire seemed to alight in her gaze. Her eyes locked on his and she nodded. “Vengeance.” She climbed to her feet and drew the sword from the scabbard that hung at her belt. “Tell me what I have to do.”

  “We can’t go rushing headlong into battle,” he cautioned, holding up one hand. “You’ll need to follow me and do exactly as I say. This place is dangerous and there could be zagoths lurking around any corner. If you rush in too quickly, all you’ll find is your own death waiting for you.”

  She nodded. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Good. This one had a reason to follow him, to listen. He hoped that it would turn out better than his last association with a young Calessan soldier. There was still a dull ache at the thought of having lost Mikel to something so trivial, so minor… but such was life, and the thought drove him onward.

  If the Old City needed to be cleansed of simple, mundane zagoths, then he would do so – and he would utilize this girl’s sword to help him. He was fighting to save the population of this city, and it was obvious that they needed someone now who could fight an everyday problem as much as they needed someone who could fight the corruption that was spreading across their lands.

  “Then we will find them, we will strike swiftly, and we shall destroy them,” D’Arden said, nodding at the girl. “What is your name?”

  “Elisa,” replied the young soldier.

  **

  “Die!” she screamed as she dropped from several feet above the ground, a flying leap off of a crumbling stone wall. The steel of her blade flashed in the light of the Deadmoon as she descended onto the head of one of the unsuspecting zagoths, plunging the sword deep into the creature’s body mass. It stiffened and fell forward, hauling her to the ground with it. It was clearly dead.

  D’Arden took that moment to come out from behind a stone wall of his own, wielding his manna blade as though it were as light as a feather. The demons that were camped in the square had no idea what had hit them, and began scrambling for weapons even as D’Arden cut down two of them before they had a chance to move. A spray of thick black fluid now coated both of them, but neither of them seemed to notice.

  Elisa dragged her sword from the body of the demon with a thick squelching sound and swung to face the next one. Out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but be impressed with the prowess of the young swordswoman. The thirst for vengeance that had alighted in her eyes drove each swing, and though they were amateur at best and she would have been soundly defeated in any kind of civilized battle, the place in which they were fighting was perhaps the furthest thing from civilized. The element of surprise lent them every advantage, and she cut down another even as he slew two more with swift and practiced cuts from the crystalline edge of the manna blade.

  Within moments, all of the demons in the camp were dead, and for a moment, the only sound was that of the crackling fire they had set up to try and keep warm in the deep-rooted chill of the Calessan night. Elisa wiped some of the black sludge from her face and turned to look at him with a slight, feral smile.

  “They don’t last long when we get the jump on them, do they?” she asked, clearing her blond hair – now coated with zagoth blood – from her face with one hand as she leaned on her sword with the other. “Really, they’re kind of stupid. It’s almost like hunting animals, if animals had thumbs and weapons.”

  She was a bruiser, there was no doubt about it, and although her technique was raw and mostly unbalanced, he could see the potential for a half decent sword-wielder in her. If the situation were different, he might have been inclined to sponsor her to the Royal Fencing Society – a mostly outdated group now, but still the best place to learn the art of the sword, second of course to the Arbiter’s Tower.

  In fact, he said to himself, if she makes it through this alive, I might just do that.

  He made the decision to see if, despite the hell that she was going through right now and the misery of their situation, she could be taught. He stepped up beside her and fell into a neutral sword stance, the blue crystal blade extending out in front of him at a slight angle from his body.

  “Here. Mimic this,” he said to her.

  She fell in step with him, holding her blade in roughly the same manner. Yes, he could see it now. Her balance wasn’t perfect, but she held the heavy steel blade with a natural talent and a good solid stance, and she appeared to be comfortable holding it. “From that stance, you can strike in any direction,” he said, making slow movements with the sword in different ways, showing her all of the possibilities that existed with the one simple stance. “Try not to let yourself get off-balance. If you’re not balanced, simply connecting with the enemy’s blade could throw you off enough for them to get in a killing strike, and your armor won’t help you if that strike hits your head or your neck.”

  She nodded, moving her sword in the same motions that he made with his, trying to get a feel for the more refined movements. “I don’t want to die out here.”

  Her straightforward confession surprised him somewhat. Despite the bloodlust in her, she was still a frightened girl who’d been drafted into the town guard. She said it with such a calm voice, though, that it unnerved him further. “I don’t intend to let you die,” he said at last. “I’ll make a bargain with you, in fact.” Might as well tell her your plan, he thought. Maybe it will help her get through this. “If you live through this night, without any wounds that would seriously cripple your ability to wield a sword, I will personally sponsor you to the Royal Fencing Society in Hartsknell. You can leave this place, and go somewhere that you can learn to fight effectively and be taught well, and then if you still want to be a soldier, you can join up with the Royal Army and know how to fight properly.”

  “I’d go in a heartbeat,” she said, a bit of the haunted look leaving her eyes. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, he noticed real excitement in her gaze. “I don’t have any family left here… they’ve all died, or been turned and… and put down. I’d love just to get out of Calessa, and I’ve never been to Hartsknell. But surely a sponsorship to the Royal Fencing Society must be incredibly expensive!”

  He nodded, but looked unfazed. “Expensive, yes. For one of your natural talent, though, a worthwhile investment. I have no lack of money, and I have little use for that which I have. To give you a chance to become a Royal soldier, or perhaps something else of your choosing, would be a worthwhile endeavor to me.”

  “We’ve just met, though!” she protested. “How could you think of spending that kind of money on a stranger?”

  He shrugged. “I like your stance, and I find your bravery admirable. There is little more good I could do in this world than to get a talented young woman such as yourself out of this terrible place.” He gestured at the crumbling stones around them, but really he meant to indicate the whole city. She seemed to get his meaning, and nodded.

  She thought for a moment, and then locked her green eyes on his azure ones. “All right,” she said. “I’ll get through this. I’m going to hold you to that promise of yours.”

  “Good,” he said with a slight smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She lifted her blade. “Show me that stance again.”

  **

  D’Arden had forgotten what it was like to have a student, a pupil, someone who looked up to him and hung on his every word. It had been years since he’d trained his last apprentice Arbiter, choosing instead to take every mission that would lead him across the land, hunting evil wherever it would take root. As this young girl stood beside him, though, mimicking his movements and showing real improvement even inside of a few hours, that memory began to rekindle. As he began to see more of Elisa’s potential as a sword-slinger, he almost wished that she were younger, that he might be able to indoctrinate her as an Arbiter, rather than sending her off to become a soldier. The pain that he suffered, though, he would not wish upon anyone. The burden of the heartblade, the drive to fell evil at every corner and to seek it out whenever possible was more than most could bear, and besides all of that, she was far too old to begin Arbiter’s training now. If she were only a few years younger… but alas, this girl was not to be his next apprentice.

  So instead he showed her every simple movement, every basic training in the way of the blade that he could remember. Obviously she was still too inexperienced for the more complex maneuvers, and some were downright impossible without the assistance of the manna, but many of the basics were the same no matter what kind of blade one wielded, whether it was steel, silver or crystal. Balance, leverage, proper swing arcs and stance were all things that he could impart on this suddenly willing student, and she absorbed all of it with alacrity.

  They spent almost an hour in the dying light of the zagoths’ fire, as the Deadmoon wandered through the sky overhead amongst the thin clouds that occasionally obscured its deathly white light. By the time they were finished, she was coated with a fine sheen of sweat and had shed most of her armor despite the cold. He had to admit, she was quite attractive even in the cold light, if several decades too young for his interest.

  “The night grows long,” he said. “We should take advantage of the cover of night to surprise more of these demons, if still they lurk here. You may not find all of the stances I’ve taught you to be comfortable, and more of them you’ll forget before the night is out, but the basics should help you to strike stronger and faster at our enemies.”

  “I’ll use them,” she said with a nod. “Let’s go.”

  **

  Under the cover of night, they struck at several more camps of the zagoths. It seemed to D’Arden that Elisa’s prowess with the sword grew steadily with each encounter, and with surprise on their side, they never suffered any wounds more serious than a scratch or shallow cut.

  As the night grew to its darkest and the Deadmoon began to set over the western sky, D’Arden knew that it would soon be dawn. There was little to be gained by striking in the bright light, and the demons were nocturnal creatures, living their lives at night and crawling back into their holes by day.

  They stood on the edge of the Old City near the dry riverbed, on the stones that had once made up the harbor district. The view of the eastern sky was clear, and he knew that the sun would be rising soon. The river itself was several yards to the bottom, but no water had flowed this way in centuries. It was hard to see in the dark, but he knew the land that stretched out before him which had once carried life-giving water to this place was now dry, cracked and parched.

  “We won’t find them once dawn comes,” he told her as they picked over the remains of another slain camp of zagoths. “They’ll vanish again in the daylight. They don’t suffer from the corruption itself – these demons are entirely nature’s creation – but they don’t like the light any more than something touched by corrupted manna. The Old City will be safe for the day, and you should go and get some rest. It’s been a very long night.”

  I should return to my manna font, he thought to himself. I’ve expended enough energy this night as it is. There doesn’t appear to be any real danger here in the Old City… the demons aren’t brave enough to venture out of their territory now that we’ve decimated their numbers.

  She nodded. There was a cut on her cheek that had already clotted, and there was a smear of drying blood. He hoped that it wouldn’t scar and damage her lovely visage, but then again, he supposed, there were worse things than a real battle scar on a woman. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go back to the barracks. I could use some sleep anyway.” There were thick dark circles around her eyes, and though some of the haunted-ness had left her eyes, he could still see the trauma of the loss of her friends lurking there behind her green-eyed gaze.

  “Good,” he said with a slight smile. “You made it through, just as I said.”

  “I told you that I would,” she smirked. “You’ll make good on that promise of yours, right?”

  “I will,” he promised again.

  The first light of dawn began to break over the eastern horizon. Just as it did, D’Arden heard a commotion coming from behind him. He turned to look, and saw something horrific come out of the ground at them.

  It was a massive spider, several times larger than a man, burrowing out of the ground. Dust and small rocks flew in all directions, and D’Arden could see the red glow surrounding it and the tiny red pinpoints in its multiple eyes indicating that it was a creature born and made of the corrupted manna. He wondered how many of these spiders there might be even as he backed up, holding one arm out to keep Elisa behind him.

  “It’s a manna spinner,” D’Arden said breathlessly as it came fully into view. The huge black carapace was unmistakable – this was no ordinary spider, but a creature born to swim the underground currents of the manna, normally benevolent and non-aggressive, now twisted in its corruption as it came out of the ground near them. He wondered briefly why it might be emerging just as the light of dawn was breaking, but he had little time to wonder.

  “Die, beast!” Elisa was shouting as she raised her sword high in the air and rushed at the creature.

  “Elisa, no! You can’t…”

  Too late.

  As she swung the sword hard, it bounced off of the manna spinner’s hard body and reverberated so hard that the steel blade almost cracked. She was stunned by the sudden rebound of the sword and staggered backwards. D’Arden leapt forward to help her, but even his assisted speed could not help him as the manna spinner sank its giant, manna-tainted fangs deep into her body. She cried out and stiffened as the manna-venom coursed through her body, and collapsed like a marionette as its strings were cut as the spider withdrew its deadly bite.

  “Damn you!” he cried, leaping forward and drawing the crystalline sword from his back in the same motion, bringing it slicing downward through the air. It caught one of the spider’s outstretched legs and severed it on contact. The blue manna fire devoured the severed extremity within seconds, but the beast was able to resist its effect as the azure flames attempted to creep up its extremity.

  It hissed at him – a deep, terrifying sound – and struck back, stabbing at him with clawed legs. He swung at them as they came by, but the spider was too swift when it was paying attention to him, and he wasn’t able to connect with either one as they passed by. He danced forward and struck again, but the spider pulled back, moving just out of his range and lashed out at him once more, trying to push him off guard so that it might have a chance to bite at him as well.

  He could hear Elisa, lying on the ground a few feet away and moaning softly. Each successive breath was getting weaker, and he could hear her heartbeat slowly draining away. Each beat took successively longer, and with the help of his manna-tuned hearing, he could hear every labored beat as the corruption began to take her over. He didn’t have long to deal with the spider if he had any hope of saving her.

  What hope is there? He asked himself in despair. She’s been touched by manna, and corrupted manna at that. What hope is there for life after such a wound?

  His mind provided him with the answer. The heartblade.

  Could he do such a thing? Could he supply her with a tiny dose of purified manna, a boost against the corruption that now flowed in her veins, without completely killing her? Would the dose be too large and begin the manna transformation, or would it be too little to save her from the horrid fate that had befallen her?

  Fighting with the idea in his head, he struck again at the spider, this time connecting solidly with its carapace. Where the steel blade had bounced, his blade sank in, and the spider let out a hideous shriek as ichor spouted forth, luminescent, like the kind that had come from the fel dog he’d fought outside Calessa’s gates. He yanked the sword free and spun away as the spider attempted to sink its fangs into his shoulder, narrowly avoiding a poisoning himself.

  As the beast dripped its luminescent fluid on the ground, D’Arden could tell that it was beginning to slow. It fought with less certainty, less precision as it lashed out at him, and D’Arden knew that he’d struck a deadly point on the beast. Its attacks began to seem less and less like coordinated strikes and more like death throes.

  He moved in for the kill. As he stepped closer to the spider, one of its flailing strikes caught him squarely in the chest.

  D’Arden gasped. The world seemed to slow to a halt.

  Slowly, he looked down. The beast’s clawed limb had hit him straight on and had punctured straight through his chest, his ribs, breaking bones and tearing through muscle and soft organs as it went. Blood and manna flowed out from him as he tried to catch a breath, but found that he was already feeling faint from a sudden lack of oxygen.

  The spider yanked back its appendage and staggered backward, finally falling over the edge into the dry riverbed as it twitched frantically, trying to slow the loss of its vital fluid. It vanished into the darkness.

  He fell to the ground slowly, in a motion that seemed very well to take an eternity. He hit the ground with such force that it would have driven the breath out of him, had he not already lost the ability to breathe.

  D’Arden clawed at his belt, hoping that he had saved some sort of potion, some sort of alchemical substance that could save his life. His fingers closed only on the hilt of the heartblade.

  The Arbiter weakly unlocked it from its specialized scabbard, and brought it up to his eyes. The thrumming of the light in the heartblade was weak. It would not be enough to inoculate Elisa against the poison running through her and also to give him the strength he needed to force the manna to repair the wound he had sustained.

  There was no other choice.