THE DRAGON'S RETURN

The shadow's Return

Blood washed off the steel blade, but the instinct to kill remained raw.

Julian walked down the winding stone stairs, his white armor dented and smeared with dark mountain mud. He held a heavy black iron broadsword he had taken from a dead guard, the thick blade scraping against the rock floor with a harsh, metallic screech. Behind him stood four elite knights of the Radiant Sword Sect, their faces hidden behind polished silver visors.

"You look surprisingly healthy for a man who was turning into a statue an hour ago," Julian said, stopping at the bottom step.

Thorn stood by the edge of the steaming pool, his freshly thawed left arm hanging loose at his side. "You are hard to kill, Julian."

"The wind charms broke my fall into the snowbank," Julian replied, a thin smile touching his lips. "It took me a while to climb back up, but I see you made yourself right at home."

"Get out of this cavern," Thorn said. His voice was steady now, free of the grinding rasp that had choked him earlier.

"I cannot do that," Julian said, taking three slow steps forward. "The sect elders gave me strict orders. Bring back the prince, or bring back his head. Personally, I prefer the head."

"He just healed his skin!" Lyra shouted, her silver light zooming toward Julian's face like a dart. "If you fight him now, you will lose more than just your sword!"

Julian did not even flinch as the silver light buzzed around him. He waved his heavy broadsword, forcing Lyra to dart back into the misty air. "Shut up, spirit. You are next on my list."

"You should have stayed at the bottom of the ravine," Thorn said, unsheathing his sword with his right hand.

"I have five men, Thorn," Julian said, gesturing to the armored knights behind him. "You have a broken body, a floating bug, and an old man who cannot even hold a staff."

The keeper stepped back into the dark recess of the cave, his hands raised. "Do not shed more blood in this holy water."

"Quiet, old fool," one of the knights barked, raising his cross-bow. "Or you die first."

Thorn shifted his weight, his boots gripping the wet rock. He felt the warmth of the spirit spring still lingering in his veins, but deep in his chest, the chaos relic sat quiet and dark. He knew the keeper’s warning was real. If he called on the relic's power to unmake their weapons, the dark stone would crawl right back up his neck.

"We do this without magic," Thorn murmured under his breath.

"What did you say?" Lyra asked, floating down to his left shoulder.

"No relic," Thorn whispered. "Steel only."

"Are you crazy?" she gasped. "Julian is one of the best swordsmen in the capital!"

"Then I will have to be better," Thorn said.

Julian raised his broadsword with both hands, his eyes narrowing. "Kill the spirit first. I will handle the prince."

Two knights pulled short silver daggers from their belts and rushed toward the edge of the pool, aiming for the floating silver light.

"Lyra, move!" Thorn shouted.

He burst into action, lunging toward the first knight. Thorn swung his blade in a low, vicious arc, catching the guard behind the knee. The metal armor split with a loud crunch, and the knight fell screaming into the shallow water.

The second knight thrust his dagger straight at Thorn’s side. Thorn parried the blade with his sword hilt, stepped inside the guard's reach, and slammed his elbow into the man’s helmet. The heavy visor crashed inward, and the knight dropped flat on his back.

"Not bad," Julian said, stepping past his fallen men. "Your speed is back. But your grip is light."

Julian lunged, bringing the black broadsword down in a brutal overhead chop.

Thorn raised his sword sideways to block. The sheer weight of the blow rattled through Thorn’s arm, sending shockwaves down his spine. The wet rock beneath his boots gave way, and he slid back two feet, his heels splashing into the edge of the pool.

"You are weak without your dark tricks!" Julian laughed, pressing his weight down onto the crossed blades. "Show me that purple light! Show me the stone!"

"You want the stone?" Thorn growled, his jaw tight.

Thorn suddenly let go of his sword hilt with his right hand, slipping beneath Julian’s guard. He grabbed the front of Julian’s steel breastplate with his normal left hand and drove his right fist directly into Julian’s throat armor.

The steel dented inward. Julian gagged, his heavy strike breaking apart as he stumbled backward, clutching his throat.

"He did not use the relic!" Lyra cheered, swooping around Julian's head to blind him with bright silver flashes. "Keep hitting him!"

"Get off me!" Julian screamed, swinging his broadsword wildly at the air to clear the light.

The remaining two sect knights charged Thorn together, their long spears leveling at his chest.

Thorn did not back down. He picked up a heavy piece of broken rock from the shore and threw it with all his strength. The stone struck the lead knight square in the faceplate, snapping his head back and sending him tumbling over the stairs.

The last knight lunged with his spear. Thorn ducked under the iron tip, caught the wooden shaft under his arm, and yanked it forward. The knight stumbled off balance. Thorn slammed his heel into the man's chest, kicking him straight into the deep section of the spirit spring. The heavy armor dragged the screaming guard down into the glowing blue depths.

Julian cleared his eyes, his breathing heavy and ragged. He looked around the cavern floor. All four of his elite guards were down, groaning in the water or unconscious on the wet stone.

"It seems your men are not very good," Thorn said, standing in the middle of the shore with his sword dripping red.

Julian spit blood onto the rock floor, his eyes burning with pure hatred. "You think you won? You think getting your skin back changes anything?"

"It lets me kill you," Thorn said.

"The capital is fortified, Thorn!" Julian yelled, holding his broadsword with trembling hands. "The Radiant Sword Sect has ten thousand men waiting at the gates! The puppet emperor has already signed your execution order! Even if you leave this mountain, you are a dead man walking!"

"Then I will kill ten thousand men," Thorn said, taking a slow step forward.

Julian looked at Thorn's cold, calm eyes, then down at the blood pooling around his boots. For the first time, a flicker of genuine fear crossed Julian's face. He knew he could not beat Thorn in a straight fight without his holy rapier.

"This is not over," Julian hissed.

Julian suddenly reached into his leather pouch, pulled out a small black glass orb, and slammed it onto the stone floor at his feet.

A thick cloud of blinding grey smoke erupted instantly, filling the air with the sharp smell of burning sulfur.

"Thorn, cover your eyes!" Lyra shouted.

Thorn rushed forward through the smoke, swinging his blade through the dense cloud, but his steel hit nothing but empty air. When the wind from the spring cleared the mist a few seconds later, the bottom of the stone stairs was empty. A trail of wet, bloody footprints led up toward the dark tunnel exit.

"He ran," Lyra said, hovering over the stairs. "Should we chase him?"

"No," Thorn said, sheathing his blade. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Let him run. He will tell the sect that I am coming back."

The old keeper stepped out from the shadows, looking at the dead guards floating in the pool with a sad, heavy sigh. "You have brought war into my sanctuary, boy."

Thorn turned to look at the old man. "The war was already here. You just refused to see it."

"Where will you go now?" the keeper asked.

Thorn looked down at his left hand, flexing his fingers one last time before wrapping his leather glove tightly back over his skin.

"South," Thorn said, his voice hard as iron. "To the capital."