An excerpt from Master of the Sundered Crown

Working their way back through the eerily silent Citadel made Luxon increasingly uneasy. He could sense a dark presence at the edge of his periphery, it had been with them as soon as they’d stepped inside. It wasn’t a Fell Beast, of that he was sure. He’d encountered enough of the damnable creatures to know what their malevolent presence felt like, no, this was different. Something powerful.

 “Stay on your guard,” he warned Thorn.

 “What is it?”

 “Something is here, I’m not sure what, but it isn’t friendly that’s for sure.”

They picked up the pace, hurrying as fast as they dared down the tower and through the empty halls. Passing the first group of dead N’gist they reached the inner courtyard and fresh air. Stepping into the sunlight some of the oppressive atmosphere eased but still Luxon could sense a presence. As they began to cross the courtyard a figure stepped from the shadows to bar their exit. It was a Crimson Blade assassin. The killers were some of the N’gists most deadly servants, capable of supernatural feats of physicality. Even the Nightblades struggled in combat against them. Thorn drew his sword from its sheathe and settled into a fighting stance.

 “I was hoping to encounter one of these,” the King remarked licking his lips in anticipation. Luxon loosened his shoulders and held Dragasdol at the ready.

 “Be careful what you wish for,” Luxon replied. Something was different about the hooded figure before them. With a deliberate smooth movement the assassin drew a sword unlike any Luxon had seen before. Its blade was blood red in colour and the presence of dark magic he had felt grew stronger, to the point where he began to feel nauseous. The strange sword began to glow and then two red eyes shined out from beneath the assassin’s hood.

The assassin's stance was predatory, their eyes were unblinking and fixed on them. The courtyard, now felt like an arena, with the silent, oppressive walls as its boundary. Luxon's grip on Dragasdol tightened, the familiar weight a reminder of his previous encounters with the Crimson Blades.

Thorn, with a determined scowl, readied himself. "I’d wager the skills of a Bannerlord of Kastador against any assassin," he muttered.

Without warning, the assassin lunged, crossing the distance in a single bound, its movements a blur of deadly precision. The clash of metal rang through the air as Thorn met the attack with his sword. As the weapons clashed the assassin’s mysterious blade hissed and to Thorn’s horror it began to cut through his own. Desperately he threw himself backwards, the swords disengaging. He landed heavily but thanks to the flexibility of his armor he was able to roll back onto his feet.

The assassin didn’t relent, it pressed the attack its blade a whisper of death. Thorn parried desperately but in a fleeting moment, he faltered and the assassin struck. Swatting his sword aside the assassin darted forward stabbing the glowing blade into the weak point of Thorn’s armour at the shoulder. The King of Kastador screamed as steel pierced flesh and blood sprayed. Luxon reacted instinctively. Light gathered at his fingertips, coalescing into a shimmering shield just as the assassin's blade upon the wounded Thorn. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the courtyard, but the magical barrier held. The assassin hesitated, its red eyes narrowing, turning on Luxon. Luxon seized the moment. With a movement of his free hand, he conjured tendrils of light that whipped towards the assassin, they coiled like ropes around it binding its movements. Thorn, wincing in pain, retreated, scrambling away from the assassin. Yet, the assassin was not easily subdued. It writhed, the dark aura around the Crimson coloured sword pulsating, breaking the magical binds. Luxon's eyes widened. This was no mere assassin; it was a conduit of dark magic. He settled into a fighting stance, his mind racing. The mysterious sword was somehow familiar, and then it came to him. He had read about it long ago in one of the books from Caldaria’s library. It was the legendary Crimson Blade itself. A weapon forged by the N’Gist, a weapon of myth and legend. The air crackled with energy and Luxon unleashed a blast of lightning. With supernatural speed the assassin deflected the strike with his sword. The air crackled and hissed. Luxon narrowed his eyes, and channelled all the power he could muster.

The courtyard seemed to darken, shadows twisting unnaturally. Then, with a burst of clarity, Luxon unleashed his might. A torrent of lightning surged from Dragasdol, striking the assassin with the force of a storm. The killer’s hood flew back, revealing the visage of a man. Their flesh was rotten as though twisted by dark magic. They staggered, the red eyes dimming, but not yet defeated. The torrent ended, the assassin’s black armor and cloak smoking but otherwise they appeared unharmed. A cruel smile crossed the assassin’s lips. Luxon felt panic. Such a blast should have vapourised his foe. He raised Dragasdol again but this time the Crimson Blade leapt high into the air, impossibly so, arcing they twisted bringing their sword down in a two handed blow that sheered Dragasdol in two. Stunned, Luxon was helpless as the assassin delivered a kick to his midsection that sent flying backwards. He crashed to the ground in a heap, all of the wind knocked out of him.

 “This is the wizard who my master fears so?” the assassin mocked, their voice a scratchy rasp like nails on a chalkboard. Luxon scrambled backwards, desperately trying to escape the assassin before clambering back onto his feet. He looked wide eyed at the two halves of the now broken Dragasdol. It had been forged by dragon fire and the Crimson Blade had cut through it like a hot knife through butter. The assassin stalked forward, he sensed weakness in his prey. Luxon glanced at Thorn, but the King was now slumped on the ground unmoving. He reached for Asphodel’s hilt and drew the sacred blade in one fluid motion. Instantly its power flashed through his body, instantly reviving him. The assassin halted.

 “Stay back. You know what this is,” Luxon warned.

The assassin's eyes flared with recognition and for the first time, a hint of caution. The air around them trembled as the power emanating from Asphodel resonated against the dark magic of the Crimson Blade. Luxon's stance was resolute, his eyes blazing with a mix of fear and determination.

"This is Asphodel, the sword of light. Forged by the God of Balance," Luxon declared, his voice stronger now, empowered by the sacred blade in his hand.

The assassin hesitated, then with a hiss of disdain, it shifted its weight, seemingly contemplating its next move. A tense silence fell over the courtyard, the fate of both adversaries hanging in the balance.

The assassin sneered, "I fear no such weapon. You are alone, and the Crimson Blade has not yet tasted its fill." With a swift, fluid motion, the assassin launched itself at Luxon, blade raised for a killing blow. Luxon parried, the clash of Asphodel against the Crimson Blade sending ripples of energy through the air. He struggled against the assassin's relentless assault, each block and counter drawing upon the power of Asphodel. Ferran’s training came to the fore but he knew he was no match for the assassin in terms of skill. The assassin was fast, brutally so, but the sacred blade in Luxon's hand was his lifeline, and he clung to it desperately. As they fought, the assassin's movements became more frantic, more savage, as if driven by an unseen frenzy. Luxon realized that it wasn't just the assassin he was fighting; it was the dark power coursing through the Crimson Blade itself. With a mighty cry, Luxon pushed forward, forcing the assassin back. Luxon battered the assassin’s blade aside and with a quick rotation of his wrists, a trick taught to him by Kaiden, he found an opening and seized the moment, his blade connected with the assassin's shoulder, the light from Asphodel searing through their dark armor. The assassin howled in pain and rage, the sound echoing off the walls of the courtyard. It stumbled back, clutching at the wound that now smoked and burned. Luxon held Asphodel in a two handed grip and settled into a fighting stance, ready to react to any sudden strike. It never came. Instead light coursed through the assassin. He staggered and the Crimson Blade fell from his hand to clang loudly onto the courtyard’s stone floor. The assassin fell to his knees and then his face changed. For a glimmer of a moment the red glow faded from his eyes. He looked at Luxon, an expression of horror on his face.

 “Asphodel is purging you of the darkness. I have seen this before. Accadus of Retbit was cleansed by its light, and now so are you.”

 Tears streamed from the man’s eyes and anguished sobs emerged from his throat.

 “Who are you? What is your name?” Luxon asked.

The man blinked and wiped his eyes.

 “My name? I- Valyn is my name. I- I- have done such foul deeds,” the man muttered in reply. “I can hear his voice inside my head, I cannot resist it,” he shouted suddenly. Before Luxon could stop him, Valyn lunched for the Crimson Blade. His gloved hand wrapped around its hilt and a dark shadow enveloped him. The red eyes had returned. "You have not won," the assassin spat, "My master will not rest until you are destroyed." With those words, the assassin vanished into the shadows from whence it came, leaving behind only the faintest trace of dark mist.

Shaken, Luxon sheathed Asphodel and ran to Thorn. The King groaned, his skin was pale and his mantle covered in blood. Luxon unstrapped the King’s pauldron, to reveal the injured shoulder beneath. Thorn slumped, his wound severe. Luxon, exhaustion etching his features, knelt beside him. His hands glowed with a soft light as he closed his eyes, murmuring healing spells. He then rubbed his hands together and channelled his magic.

“This is going to hurt,” he said.

He was no master healer but Hannah had taught him enough to be able to stop the bleeding and close the wound. He placed his hands on the wound and a light began to emanate from his palms. Thorn screamed in pain as the wound tried to close. Luxon tried harder but to no avail. The wound would not close.

 “Why isn’t it working?’ he thought panic starting to rise in his chest. He closed his eyes and focused on the wound. He could sense the same dark energy the assassin had emanated. It was undoing his healing spell. Desperately he shrugged off his cloak and tore one of the sleeves from his tunic and hastily wrapped it about the wounded arm.

“That should slow the bleeding. Can you stand?”

Thorn nodded and Luxon helped him up.

 “Take this,” he said handing him the gryphon whistle about his neck. “Blow it and Talon will come. I don’t think I’m in any condition to pilot her. You will have to do it. She will do most of the work, you just need to guide her.”

 Luxon nodded. He’d ridden dragons before. How hard could it be?