Unbonded (First of the Blade Book 1) Read online

  Unbonded

  First of the Blade Book 1

  D.K. Holmberg

  Copyright © 2021 by D.K. Holmberg

  Cover by Damonza.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Want a free book and to be notified when D.K. Holmberg’s next novel is released, along with other news and freebies? Sign up for his mailing list by going here. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  www.dkholmberg.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Interlude

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Interlude

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Interlude

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Interlude

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Author’s Note

  Series by D.K. Holmberg

  Chapter One

  Interlude

  Imogen stormed through the village, ignoring the worry from her younger brother Timo. He kept pace alongside her, as he often did, though this time he didn’t bother to hide the worry in his eyes.

  “You can’t do it,” he insisted. “You aren’t ready.”

  She looked over, glowering at him. “I am as ready as I need to be.”

  “But you only barely progressed to Second.”

  She snorted as she passed the blacksmith near the edge of town, the smell of sulfur strong in the air. The heavy ringing of the smithy’s hammer came rhythmically. The sound was fitting. Soon she would be going there for her prize: her blade.

  Imogen shook her head. “It’s not the time I spend as Second that matters. It’s what I have learned.”

  “No one progresses this fast,” Timo said.

  She didn’t need him to remind her of all the different ways she could fail, and she chose to say nothing. She had to keep her mind focused.

  Imogen had beaten every single Second in the village, and it was time for her to prove herself even further. They had plenty of fighters—all of the Leier villages trained fighters—but none who could challenge her the way she wanted.

  Timo would never understand.

  There were many different things he didn’t understand, but at his age, he still had time. He was skilled in his own right, and it would probably not be long before he presented himself for a challenge to reach the level of Second.

  She found the small clearing active, as she had expected. At this time of the day, most of the Firsts within the village gathered. The Seconds were not welcome.

  Unless they were here for the very reason Imogen was.

  She strode into the circle, and several of them looked up at her, a question in their eyes. They all knew Imogen. She had risen quickly, which drew attention.

  She hurried forward, making her way toward Hutan. He was lean, the way many of their people were, and taller than her by a full hand. His black hair was cut short so that it didn’t fall into his eyes the way hers did when she fought. None of that made her any less skilled, though.

  “Seconds aren’t permitted here at this time of the day, Imogen Inaratha,” Hutan said.

  She could practically feel Timo’s eyes on her back. He hadn’t crossed the small clearing. He knew the rules as well as she did. The difference between her and her brother was that she wasn’t willing to abide by them.

  She drew herself up. From this vantage, she could see two of the neighboring snowcapped peaks and could almost imagine the sacred temples that sat atop them. “I challenge you, Hutan Sarenal.”

  Hutan looked at her for a long moment, as if he was trying to decide how to react to the challenge. It was his right to refuse, but Imogen had prepared for that possibility. There were five other Firsts in the clearing, all of them lower in rank than Hutan, and she could challenge any of them. Eventually, one of them would want to put her in her place—or so they would try.

  It was part of the reason she had chosen Hutan as the one to fight. Imogen’s meteoric rise had gained notice, and there were those who felt she had risen too quickly. She counted on Hutan feeling that way about her.

  “You understand what happens when you fail,” he said.

  She nodded. “I understand what happens if I fail.”

  He returned the nod. “Then I accept your challenge.”

  Hutan was older than her by several years, and all of their people agreed he was one of the most gifted sword fighters their village had produced in nearly a generation. It was not long before General Derashen went to Hutan and called him to the service. He would be one who could serve their people and serve on the front line as they defended the Leier lands from the Koral invaders.

  It was another reason Imogen needed to challenge him. She was not going to reach the goals she had set for herself by accepting weak opponents. She needed someone strong. Someone like Hutan.

  It did not take long before the small courtyard filled with the sound of voices. She had expected as much. A challenge often attracted attention. And a challenge for promotion to First attracted a very different kind of attention.

  Her attempt to become a First was coming earlier than usual. She knew it. Everyone knew it. But everyone also knew that she had progressed rapidly. She imagined that the others would be here to see her finally fail and be put in her place.

  Imogen had no intention of failing.

  Neither did Hutan.

  He unsheathed his blade and bowed to her.

  She held her sword, etched with the marking for Second, and tipped her head to him. Challenging someone for promotion at all other levels involved practice staves. Challenging someone for promotion to First involved steel.

  She knew that, so she was prepared.

  There was a measure of precision required for this. Many had gotten injured during a challenge for First, and a few had even died. At least, that was what the stories always claimed.

  She was the challenger. She was expected to make the first move.

  Imogen took a deep breath and then began.

  Fighting was easy for her.

  Ever since she had acquired her first practice staff when she was barely three years old, she had been quick. Once she had learned that precision with movements was the key, she had practiced until every move she made was perfect. She had watched and studied every great fighter she could so that she could learn beyond her level.

  And now she was a master. From here, she could join the army and take up the fight against the neighboring Koral, but that wasn’t what she really wanted.

  She wanted the temple.

  But first, she had to earn her title.

  Her first attack was defended. Hutan’s skill showed why he had earned his promotion with good reason. He deflected her, using a combination of patterns three, twenty-two, and forty-one.

  An interesting choice. Imogen recognized all of them and deflected with the proper counter.

  Then Hutan began his attack in full, with moveme
nts that were not only fast but precise. Imogen experienced a moment of doubt. She had convinced herself she was ready. She knew the patterns. She knew the precision. She knew every defense. And if she failed now, it would be years before she was offered this opportunity again.

  As Imogen was pushed back, she could hear the murmuring behind her. Those watching were disappointed in her.

  She would not disappoint anyone, least of all herself.

  Hutan was skilled, but she blocked everything he threw at her. Realizing that fact gave her confidence. Given his skill, he had almost been offered the opportunity to study at one of the sacred temples.

  Almost.

  As he darted toward her, fast as a streaking mosquito, she twisted ever so slightly, letting his blade slide harmlessly past her. She twisted and flowed through a series of patterns. For a moment, she almost became one with the patterns, nearly finding what her people called the unity. She drifted from one traditional pattern to another, until she saw an opening.

  It was not much of one. Only a brief lapse, but enough for her to notice it.

  Imogen followed the movement of pattern twenty-nine, hesitating for only a moment. Hutan tried to counter, bringing his blade up and exposing his midsection. She swept her sword up and around, knowing that it would take little more than a slice to disembowel him. She did not cut through his clothing—she did not need to.

  She stepped back, lowering her blade. Hutan glared at her for just a flash, then, thankfully, his honor bound him to lower his weapon. He tipped his head in a nod, and he walked away from her.

  She had done it.

  She was now a First.

  Imogen looked around at the others near her. Murmuring voices drifted up to her. Snippets of conversation, all of it earned.

  So young.

  Impressive for someone who’s lost as much as she has.

  Can she go to the sacred temple?

  That last comment was almost too much for her. The idea that she might be able to go and study at one of the sacred temples was a dream, and it was one that all Firsts had, but only a select few were granted the opportunity. For Imogen to continue her growth, she would need to go there. More than that, she was ready.

  She found Timo at the edge of the courtyard. He said nothing.

  When Elder Wurant stepped forward, he held his gaze on her, then presented her with a bundle wrapped in cloth. Imogen took it, feeling the weight of the blade within.

  “You have fought with skill and honor, Imogen Inaratha,” Elder Wurant said. “Congratulations.”

  She didn’t hear anything else that he might’ve said as she cradled the blade. Her prize.

  But it was only the beginning.

  Chapter Two

  The sword whistled through the air.

  The sweet sound was one that Imogen had come to know well, one that called to her in a way that few things did. It was a feeling of peace, which she knew was ironic considering how much violence could be inflicted through her blade, but it was peace for her nonetheless.

  That was something she did not have much of. Not these days.

  She focused, carving her blade through a series of patterns that she had long ago memorized. There was familiarity to the movements, and within them, she recognized the easiest way to flow through the patterns that fell before her. Her skills were quick and precise, and every movement she made was perfect.

  She had reached this point in understanding the blade through sheer force of will.

  Now, the sword was a part of her.

  Imogen slowed her movements, shifting from the traditional patterns of her people into those referred to as sacred patterns. She had learned them long ago, back before she had left her homeland and the temple. They were patterns that had stayed with her, even though she’d never mastered them. Had she done so, perhaps she wouldn’t have left her homeland. Perhaps she wouldn’t have felt the need to.

  The sacred patterns were her greatest failure.

  Imogen flowed through them as best as she could. They were all named, which was a stark difference from the traditional numbered patterns of her people. The sacred patterns were given titles, like Axe Falling, Stream through the Trees, Lightning Strikes in a Storm, and Tree Stands in the Forest. There were thirteen of them in all, patterns that were deceptively simple, yet incredibly complicated.

  Even though Imogen had never mastered them, she still moved through them while ignoring the forest around her. The trees were little more than observers, surrounding her and leaving her space to move. Though her blade was a blur, everything within her was still.

  And as she moved, she felt a hint of something within those sacred patterns. She had started to feel that way over the last few months, especially since she had started to meditate on the patterns in ways she had not before. There was something more to them, if only she could find it.

  She completed the thirteen named sacred patterns that she knew, then repeated them. She did this a total of seven times. Each time she went through them, she tried to mimic the postures she had been taught years ago, ones she had seen demonstrated but had never satisfactorily replicated despite every attempt to do so.

  When she was done, Imogen sheathed her blade in one fluid movement. Then she stopped, closed her eyes, and focused on the stillness around her as she breathed. One more part of the meditation.

  Eventually, she hoped she could use that to connect to something more. Whether it was understanding or peace of mind or even power, none of it really mattered. All she cared about was finding some way to master those patterns.

  She opened her eyes, unsurprised that Gaspar now sat on a boulder near the edge of the trees. He worked a leather strop along one of his knives, looking down at the blade while he did so.

  “Did you think you were going to sneak up on me?” Imogen asked.

  Gaspar grunted, his voice gruff but tinged with the hint of warmth she had detected from him when they had first met on the road all those years ago. “Not sure I could sneak up on you if I tried. There aren’t too many people who have that ability.” He worked the strop over his blade again before looking up at her. Wrinkled eyes narrowed slightly. “You are taking after him.”

  She knew who he meant. Their friend. One who was now gone from their lives. He had been there for what seemed like an eternity, but he had left Yoran—and now them—behind as he chased his own destiny.

  She wasn’t sure if Gaspar meant that she was taking after their friend’s personality. “I’ve been practicing like this for as long as you’ve known me.”

  Gaspar flipped the knife around in his hand, demonstrating a dexterity that she would have been surprised by had she not known him as long as she had. He looked to be in his late forties, but he moved like a man half that age. She didn’t think he had magic, but she didn’t really know. It was a question, among many, that she had never asked him. Much like he had never asked her many questions about herself.

  He carried enchantments on him, magic placed by sorcerers or enchanters that granted the bearer additional abilities. Some used enchantments for speed or strength, and she had seen some that gave a user impervious skin. She had thought the last type would be useful, until she noticed just the slight hesitation in her own movements when she carried an enchantment like that. Others enhanced eyesight, and still others helped maintain alertness. All had their uses.

  “You haven’t been practicing out here,” Gaspar said. He got to his feet, sweeping his gaze around the forest. “For somebody who claims not to like magic, you certainly have a tendency to use it.”

  She looked around her at several enchantments she had placed around the clearing. They were meant to give her a measure of protection, but that hadn’t worked against somebody like Gaspar.

  Imogen frowned. “It’s not that I don’t like magic.”

  He arched a brow at her, and a hint of a smile wrinkled his face even more.

  “Not like some of my people do,” she added. She’d trained to stop sorcery from a
young age, mostly to keep the Koral who were at the border of the Leier lands from attacking with their magic. Later, she’d learned of a different danger. One that was darker.

  “About that,” Gaspar said. The reason for his visit was becoming clearer.

  “What has he done?” she asked.

  He grunted. “It’s not so much what he’s done, it’s what he continues to do.”

  Gaspar turned toward the city in the distance. From here, the forest blocked most of it, but not entirely. Through the treetops, Imogen could make out a hint of smoke. The pine scent in the trees didn’t push back the smells of Yoran, which were a hodgepodge mixture of so many people living together. She had grown accustomed to that smell, though it had taken time.

  “What has Timo been doing?” she clarified.

  “He doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for the enchanters. Or their enchantments. And he walks around like he intends to cut someone’s throat if they look at him the wrong way.”

  “He sees sorcery everywhere,” Imogen said softly. “It was one thing that came from the time he spent chasing Sul’toral.”

  The Sul’toral were powerful dark sorcerers who were served by other sorcerers.

  “You’ve seen that type of magic, but you’re not like that,” Gaspar said.

  “I didn’t chase it the way he did. I didn’t lose what he lost.”

  Gaspar frowned, and he shook his head. “You’ve lost people. When you trained the Muvarth in Loruv, how many did you lose to the hyadan?”

  “Not as many as you would think.”

  “I faced those creatures of dark magic too,” Gaspar said. The hyadan were more than just dark magic. They fed on it. “I know how dangerous they are. You might want to downplay it, but I know better than to do that.”