The tent wall parted as the blade sliced through, material slithering apart. Kinnevar bent his fingers into impossible-seeming shapes, a slice of shadow forming in his hand, so dark it was virtually a hole cut into empty air. Sylvia cast something as well, the ground beneath the rugs rippling and shifting, dirt streaming up towards her arms, wrapping them in thick gauntlets of stone.

A man strode through the hole sliced into the wall – his armour shone in reflected light from his blade, the metal covering his entire body except for his head. A shield bore a device Ruesin didn’t recognise, some swirling thing of feathers and blades.

‘Kinnevar! Today you perish!’ There were two others with him – lightly armoured, with lines of shining light somehow present on their skin, magical tattoos of some kind, both armed with paired shortswords. ‘And then I shall destroy your heirs!’

‘Oh, you need not worry yourself, Loric.’ Kinnevar stood, seeming dangerous despite his lack of armour and that Sylvia was having to climb off his lap. ‘The viziers, satraps and princes have their orders already. Should I perish, then they are to go their own ways. You will never rule, no matter your desires.’ Behind the attacker could be seen the swirling chaos of combat – a sneak attack must have been launched and somehow gotten past the guards and watchers. Many of the other tents were already on fire, soldiers of both sides indistinguishable in the chaotic firelight. Kinnevar stretched out his other hand, and a blade appeared there, this one looking more physical, wrought from rune-covered steel.

One of Loric’s companions made an arcane gesture and light burst from empty air, harsh and pitiless. Kinnevar’s blade withered away to nothing more than a sliver before Sylvia cast a spell of her own. Her body was wreathed in flickering darkness, hiding her form and plunging the area back into shadows. Ruesin reached up and grabbed the blade hovering in front of her, wanting a weapon to fight with.

The thing was cold, leeching the heat from her hand, the leather-wrapped hilt settling easily into her palm. Kinnevar gestured with a blade, bolts of darkness streaking out, two at each of the man’s followers. Both were hit, getting slammed backwards, dark energy appearing around their body and slowing their movements.

You must master the Blade, and not let it master you, or else we are all doomed. Ruesin Corpse-crow, flee this place. The Blade must be taken to the sanctuary and laid to rest!

An image flashed into her mind – a cliff-wall, and a ritual to open a hidden chamber. Lines of red power appeared around her, shifting to black as they touched her skin, settling into her body, momentary runes flashing into existence for a few moments before vanishing.

The shadows around Sylvia shifted and boiled, the ground beneath Ruesin’s feet shifting and making her fight to keep her balance. Sylvie recoiled from the attackers, looking at the lines of light wrapped around their bodies. ‘You would bind your allies with false and borrowed power? Such a wicked thing!’ Clods of earth rose up into the air before they were catapulted forward, Loric trying to block them with his shield, his shining armour now splattered with dirt. ‘To bind a soul with chains is a wicked thing, and I shall take pleasure in destroying you for your sins.’

Both the minions were trying to advance again, the traces of shadows clinging to them and slowing them down. Loric laughed. ‘They give freely of themselves! After all, am I not the chosen of light, destined to destroy the darkness? “The darkness shall consume the light, and the light shall cry out, and then the light shall devour the darkness”. I have the power to destroy you and turn your empire to the light!’

Kinnevar flung his blade of shadow, the thing shifting and warping as it moved through the air, evading the raised shield and impacting into Loric before vanishing.

‘This is not yet the time. And you are not the one, not matter how much you might wish it! We are not yet at the time of destiny!’

One of the two suddenly streaked forward, their markings burning brightly as they moved faster than humanly possible, dodging past a clod of earth and already swinging both their blades. Kinnevar moved faster, smoky shadows forming in his empty hand as he swung with his physical blade first, the dark metal cutting skin, golden thread getting dragged out of the man’s body, snagged on the blade, pulling blood and muscle along with it. Then Kinnevar struck with the shadow-blade. It passed straight through the man’s body without cutting, reforming into a bladed shape on the other side.

The attacker stiffened, suddenly paralysed, his body barely moving as a clod of earth smashed into his skull, blood spraying out before he slumped to the ground, body still twitching.

Flee this place, Ruesin! There is a guide on the altar – take that and go!

She gripped the blade as tightly as she could, the metal warming in her grip already, the thing feeling heavier than it should. An impulse stirred within her, to kill and murder, to drive the blade home into living flesh and bathe in blood, but it was dry and distant, like someone shouting at her from a long way away, easy to resist.

She pushed aside a curtain of silk and found herself back in the main chamber. The shadows were more vibrant now, ominous shapes closer to physical form. One reached towards her before she waved the blade at it and it recoiled away. She ran towards the altar, the air turning gelid for a moment and trying to hold her back, before a magical barrier shattered. The blade bucked for a moment and a thirsty groan rose in her mind.

On the altar was a rolled-up scroll, which she grabbed. There were also a pair of daggers, the blades rippled and curved, and a jewelled amulet. She grabbed all of them, before spinning as someone yelled from behind her. She spun to see three soldiers, led by another of the attackers with a glowing tattoo. They immediately charged, the shadows swelling up as they approached. One screamed as a shadow-arm suddenly turned into gnarled and warped flesh, savagely sharp claws grabbing a shoulder and tearing. His arm was torn off, blood spurting and spilling to the ground. The shadows thickened into mist, a spiral of it rising up around him and obscuring him from view, before his screams suddenly went silent and the shadows vanished, leaving no trace behind except for the severed arm.

The others didn’t step, even as more shadows attacked them. The one glowing with light jumped to the side to evade a tendril, their own sword being held in a two-handed grip. Ruesin looked behind herself – there was nowhere to escape to. She held the sword in front of herself, unsure how to use it, the metal suddenly seeming light in her hands.

It pulled on her wrists, yanking her forward, and she felt the shock of impact as it stabbed into the man’s belly, easily puncturing his chainmail. Blood welled along the blade and dripped to the ground, as the urge to kill intensified. He staggered backwards, the light he had been emitting suddenly blinking out, his eyes now dim as he sank to the ground. The blade thrust forward again, sliding into his ribcage, sharp enough to cut straight through his armour and ribs, into his heart. Energy surged into Ruesin, making her shudder and gasp, before a ghostly form appeared in the air before her, a translucent wraith, shaped like the man. More attackers spilled into the room, the air now heavy with the scent of gore as the shades writhed and bubbled, more monstrous limbs flickering into physicality for a moment, just long enough to attack before fading away.

The few times the attackers were quick enough to strike back, the wounds they inflicted swiftly healing. They formed up into a shield-wall, now more intent on protecting themselves rather than moving towards Ruesin but were still blocking the exit.

Bolts of fire launched over their heads, scattering the darkness, the silk starting to catch afire. A blast of flame struck a monstrously oversized arm, the flesh bursting into flames itself, warped flesh melting away to reveal inhuman bones beneath. While everyone was distracted fighting those, Ruesin moved behind the altar and ducked out of sight. How could she get out of here?

She poked the blade at the silk – as soon as it touched the material, the silk withered away to nothing more than black dust. A few quick slices, and she had opened up an exit she could use to get out, wriggling through into the night. The moons shone down from above her, but the air was loud and hot, the screams and yells of soldiers, a blazing field of fire. Someone flew above her, their shape outlined with a pale blue glow, before a flight of arrows thrummed out, and they crashed from the sky, body falling into a campfire.

Where to go? In the crazed and flickering lights, it definitely wasn’t safe to check the scroll here. She needed to get away! There was a shout from nearby, and soldiers ran past, but Ruesin couldn’t even tell which side they were on. Movement caught her eye, a ghostly shape hovering close by – she turned to see that it was the ghostly form of her attacker, still following her, their eyes glowing a pale red, their body translucent and see-through.

She waved a hand at it – there was no response. ‘Can you hear me?’

It nodded its head, before staring at her.

‘Can you speak?’

Shake.

‘Can you show me how to get out? Will you obey me?’

It nodded, then started to move. It didn’t have proper legs – beneath the waist, everything trailed off into vague mist, but it didn’t seem to have any problems keeping its body stable. She was tempted to try touching it, to see what it felt like, but thought better of it, in case it drained her soul or something by a simple touch. It moved slowly, keeping to the shadows where possible, its ghostly form easy to miss. It didn’t seem entirely physical, arms fading into tents, with Ruesin huddling close by.

A fireball hurtled down from the sky, impacting amongst a group of tends, soldiers starting to scream in pain, those that hadn’t died from the impact. Fire started to spread, cutting away the comforting blanket of shadows. A soldier saw her and immediately moved to attack, sword and shield at the ready.

‘Attack him!’

Her ghostly follower obeyed, swooping forward with unnerving grace. A sword-blow passed through it, disrupting the misty stuff that made up its body, but not destroying it. In retaliation, it reached forward and plunged its hands into the soldier’s chest, reaching through his armour. The effect was immediate, the soldier gasping and his eyes popping wide, sword dropping from a suddenly slack hand. His face started to wither and age, his hair turning grey as she watched.

She attacked herself, thrusting forward with the blade. Whatever magic it bore was strong enough that the armour was easy to cut through, the blade sinking into his flesh. He groaned and twitched, before dying with a final sigh. She waited for a moment – would another ghost emerge? But his body just lay there, blood soaking into the ground, the spectral form still hovering close by.

‘We need to keep going. Show me the way.’

It immediately started to move again, drifting through the air, never quite in contact with the ground. With all the chaos and strife, then a single girl was not something any of the groups seemed to concern themselves with, the soldiers all too busy trying to form up into their own ranks and groups, or to hunt down leaders and commanders on the other side. The central tent, where she had fled from, was now utterly ablaze, surrounded by flying figures, magical blasts and bolts flickering through the smoky night sky. Was Kinnevar still alive? She’d heard stories of him, his conquests, both on the battlefield and in the bedroom, but why had he given his sword to her. She looked at it for a moment – even to her, the thing was clearly magical, so black it was almost invisible if she held it up against the night sky, that red gem seeming to glare back at her, albeit sleepily.

The urge to kill and murder was present still – was that the fault of the blade? Could she simply lay it aside and leave? As soon as she had the thought, her hand tightly gripped the hilt, so hard it hurt, and her guts started to roil. Only when she took a faltering step forward did the feeling abate, her hand able to loosen itself. That must be the magic he had mentioned – so she had to deliver it. Well, the money she had been given was far more than any courier she had ever heard of receiving, so as long as she could get out of here, then she could do whatever she wanted!

The spectre seemed to know the general layout, guiding her through the tents, at least those that were still standing. Everywhere was chaos, shadowy figures fighting and killing each other, the low light making it virtually impossible to tell the sides apart, several fights suddenly stopping as those involved realised they were actually allies. Several times she stepped on the bodies of the dead or almost-dead, soft lumps underfoot, threatening to unbalance her. The first few times, out of sheer force of habit, she knelt down and sliced open their pouches, finding nothing more than coppers and silvers – compared to the wealth she was already carrying, not worth taking. She helped herself to some of the rations she found, before taking a drink from a canteen, as a tent collapsed behind her.

By the time she made it to the edge of the camp, dawn was starting, a crimson-tinted sun revealing the extent of the destruction – the field was filled with the shattered remnants of the camp, most of the tents destroyed, the place still smouldering. Battlecries still sounded out, along with the ring of combat, although everyone sounded tired and drained.

The straggler’s camp, where all the camp followers were permitted to be, was a short distance from the camp proper – far enough not to be a direct risk, although that didn’t seem to have done much to save it from annihilation. Most of the tents had been knocked over or burnt, some magical effect having withered all the grass and trees in an unnervingly neat circle. She could see some survivors, everyone staying out of the withered area.

Her ghostly companion was still with her, although was now trailing along behind her, having gone passive once they had left the main camp. In the dawn sunlight, it was virtually invisible, nothing more than a vague suggestion of a humanoid shape hovering in the air by her. The attackers must have simply pushed through – there was no sign of them anymore, but plenty of evidence they had been here.

She was ignored, just another one of the survivors. Well, that suited her – right now the gold in her pouches and pockets was probably the most valuable thing around here. She unrolled the parchment and looked at it. It was covered with neat lines and shapes – someone had spent a lot of time carefully scribing it. ‘Can you read this?’ The spectre leaned over the papers, ethereal red eyes flicking over it. ‘Can you tell me what it says?’

The thing hovered there without responding, the red eyes turning to stare at her. It would be a lot more useful if the thing could speak! She tried not to yawn, the sunlight stinging her eyes, exhaustion from yesterday welling up.

‘Hey, brat! What’s that, hand it over!’ One of the bully-boys, bigger than her, trying to swagger despite his obvious exhaustion and wounds, yelled as he approached. He held his hand out towards the sword. It twitched in her hands, lunging out and sticking into him. He twitched and shuddered, gasping in pain, as energy flowed up the blade into her, enervating and energising her, driving the tiredness back. He gasped again as she withdrew the blade, before falling to the ground, managing a single step backwards before collapsing to the ground. Blood ran along the blade before she flicked it clean. A few people looked at the commotion but none moved to intervene, not wanting to bring any risk onto themselves.

That still left her with the scroll she couldn’t read – it looked like the symbols she had seen in towns and cities, that some people used to record things, but it was meaningless to her. Who in the camp might know how to read, that was still alive? Old Cullis was a tricksy bastard, and responsive to bribes – where was he?