Will Wight - Of Dawn and Darkness

This time he sensed…nothing. Just as he might have expected in a normal town.

They tied up to the dock and walked ashore; other than the boards creaking under their weight, the town was absolutely silent. When they got closer, Calder leaned a hand against the closest building.

The Intent was calm, almost welcoming. As though a happy family had lived within for years, investing the house around them with their peace.

For once, there’s less danger than I expected, Calder thought, pleased with himself. He’d over-prepared this time, and that was a good state to be in.

Then his memory died.

It was impossible to put into words, that sensation. It was as though someone had reached up and pulled a chain, switching his awareness off like a quicklamp. The world didn’t go black, it just…vanished, as though he’d forgotten to pay attention to anything.

When he came back to himself, blinking and looking around, the crew was gathered together in the pool of light cast by a single candle. The whole crew.

Urzaia, looking around grimly with a hatchet in each hand. Jerri, her mouth half open in awe. Andel, clutching his White Sun medallion with his eyes closed. Foster, sputtering and jumping to his feet. Petal, quivering and holding a tiny quicklamp out for light. And him. He realized he had his sword in hand, but didn’t remember drawing it.

As he adjusted to the gloom surrounding the dim light, he realized they were standing on smooth tile, not the rough cobblestones of Silverreach’s streets. Dark shapes loomed over them, the silhouettes of a hundred towers.

No. He squinted closer. Not towers. Bookshelves.

Books lined the towers in shelf after shelf, stretching up to the distant ceiling. They were shadowed and difficult to make out, but he caught a glimpse of a dozen different colors and styles of cover. More books than he had ever imagined.

They were in an enormous library.

The battle between Jarelys Teach and Jorin Maze-walker had been terrifying enough through a spyglass from a safe distance away. As Calder stood on the Gray Island docks, amidst the scattered bodies of those who hadn’t run fast enough, he found that the experience close-up was far worse.

Teach, clad in red-and-black armor, carried a matching sword. Tyrfang’s Intent was the macabre madness of a slaughterhouse, the sharp edge of an executioner’s axe, the fear of the condemned facing obliteration. It pressed against Calder’s mind with visions of blood and inescapable death, even as its aura actually darkened the ground around her. As Teach fought, desperate and defensive, the earth died with each of her retreating steps.

And Jorin advanced, following her, his own sword a twisted mirror of hers. Up close, Calder saw its defects: patches like rust or bloodstains that mired the surface of the blade. They seemed to crawl, like patches of worms, and its Intent was a knot he couldn’t begin to untangle. Like every spiteful, hateful, murderous Intent he’d ever felt, all trapped inside one weapon. Its power wasn’t as focused as Tyrfang, but it was heavier, the weight of two thousand years crashing down around Teach’s defenses. Jorin moved forward almost casually, hacking his way closer to a lethal stroke, his dark-tinted glasses flashing in the sunlight.

Mist played around their legs as they fought, and with every clash of Awakened blades, darkness and crazed Intent swallowed them. Rings of dirt blasted out whenever their swords met, as though even the dirt couldn’t bear to be so close.

And Calder was planning on walking into that .

Surely I’d be better off shooting him. He’d considered it before, but back on the ship, he hadn’t wanted to draw Jorin’s attention to The Testament for nothing more than a distant chance. Now, though…

Calder pulled the pistol from his belt and fired.

It wasn’t likely to be a lethal shot. At thirty yards, even someone much more skilled would need their share of luck to kill someone with a single bullet. Foster was always mocking his abilities, trying to goad him into practice, but today it seemed his luck was good. Jorin staggered back, struck in one arm, and for an instant Teach was able to push him back.

A pink light shone within the wound, as though Jorin hid a quicklamp in his coat, and an instant later he was as strong as ever. The light continued to shine, giving Calder hope that he’d at least inflicted some injury.

Then the Regent flicked his gaze over to Calder, just for an instant, and a river of dark Intent whipped out. That was all the attention Calder warranted, and it would be more than enough to kill him and dissolve his body. But Calder had prepared a defense.

He hoped.

As he’d done once before, Calder drew his own Awakened sword and braced his Intent through Kelarac’s mark. His Intent seemed to solidify, as though propped up by a bigger, more permanent force. He felt himself steady, and as Jorin’s power struck him, it was first lessened by the aura of Calder’s orange-spotted blade. The strange energy invested in this weapon seemed to be toxic to Elderspawn, and it did an admirable job of reducing Jorin’s attack.

So when the wave of shadow struck him, slamming up against his Intent fortified by Kelarac’s mark, Calder expected to survive. He didn’t expect to push through it so easily. It felt like pushing against a freezing wind blowing off of a graveyard, stinking and repulsive; it wasn’t pleasant, but it certainly wasn’t difficult. Resisting Tyrfang’s aura had been much harder back in the Imperial Palace, and judging by the way Teach had been repeatedly pushed back, Jorin’s weapon couldn’t be weaker.

Calder opened himself up to Read the atmosphere around him, and instantly understood. The Emperor’s white armor. He was wrapped in protective Intent so ancient and solid that it defended even his essence, letting him march forward even under Jorin’s attack.

That worked, he realized, with no small measure of disbelief. Now, can I take a direct hit? He decided not to test that.

Jorin still wasn’t watching him as he jogged closer, evidently having dismissed him with the single attack. Calder’s heart pounded. He only had to distract the Regent, to occupy him long enough to give Teach a chance to kill him.

Calder was close enough to begin his strike, stepping forward to drive his Awakened cutlass into Jorin’s side, before the Regent saw him. Jorin’s head jerked back in disbelief, and he barely managed to avoid a cut from Teach as he back-stepped away from Calder.

Together, Calder and the Guild Head forced Jorin onto the defensive. It wasn’t pleasant, fighting within both corrosive auras—it was like forcing his way through a lake of raw sewage—but it was bearable. Between his own sword, Kelarac’s mark, and the Emperor’s armor, he could stand among two of the greatest fighters in Imperial history.

For about five seconds, Calder had never felt more powerful.

Then Jorin blasted him with Intent, another gust of freezing wind, staggering him in his tracks. The Regent followed up with a slash to Calder’s face, making him jerk his cutlass up, but it was a feint. Jorin reversed the strike to land on Teach.

And it did land. Teach had thrown herself out of position to protect Calder, only to take the cut on her armored left arm.